under his nails.
“I know,” Kimball said unhappily. Then he burst out, “God damn it to hell, we’re not built to fight close-in actions. We have any sheet metal or anything we can use to shield our gunners’ backs?” The deck gun had a shield for the front, good against shell splinters but maybe not against bullets. As things stood, the machine guns were altogether unprotected.
“Maybe we could do something like that, sir,” Coulter said. He hesitated. “You mean to go on after this?”
“Hadn’t thought of doing anything else,” Kimball answered. He looked from the petty officer to Tom Brearley to the rest of the crew packed together in the cramped chamber under the conning tower. “Haven’t had any orders to do anything else, either. Anybody who doesn’t want to go on, I’ll put him off the boat right now and he can take his chances!”
“You mean here, among the niggers?” somebody asked. Lucky for him, he was behind Kimball, who couldn’t tell who he was.
“Hell, yes, I mean here among the niggers,” the submersible commander said. “Anybody who thinks I’m going to back off and let those black bastards—those Red bastards—take my country away from me or help the damnyankees whip us had better think twice. Maybe three times.” He looked around again. If anybody disagreed with him, it didn’t show. That was the way things were supposed to work. He nodded once, brusquely. “All right. Let’s get to work and figure out how to do what needs doing.”
Tiny Yossel Reisen woke up and started to wail. When he woke up, everyone in the crowded apartment woke up with him. Flora Hamburger opened her eyes. It was dark. She groaned—softly, so as not to disturb anyone who, by some miracle, might still have been asleep. This was the third time her baby nephew had awakened in the night. Her parents and siblings had to get up too early to go to work as things were. When a howling baby cut into what little sleep they got, life was hard.
“
Sha, sha
—hush, hush,” Sophie Reisen murmured wearily as she stumbled toward the baby’s cradle. Flora’s older sister scooped Yossel out, sat down in a chair, and began to nurse him. Little urgent sucking noises replaced his desperate cries.
Flora rolled over on the bed she shared with her younger sister Esther and tried to go back to sleep. She’d just succeeded when the alarm clock beside her head went off, clattering as if all the fire alarms in New York City were boiled down into its malevolent little case.
Blindly, almost drunk with weariness, she fumbled at the clock till it shut up. Then she staggered out of bed and splashed cold water on her face to bring back a semblance of life. She stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her dark eyes, usually so lively, were dull, with purplish circles under them. Her skin had a pallor that had nothing to do with fashion, but threw her cheekbones and prominent nose and chin into sharp relief.
And he’s not even my baby,
she thought with tired resentment.
Esther pushed her away from the mirror. She dressed quickly. By the time she got out to the kitchen, her mother had sweet rolls and coffee pale with milk already on the table. Her younger brothers, David and Isaac, were there eating and drinking. They’d risen no earlier than she had, but they hadn’t had to struggle with a recalcitrant corset.
Her father came in a moment after she did. The biggest mug of coffee was reserved for him. He already had his pipe going. The tobacco was harsher than what he’d used before the war cut off imports from the Confederacy, but the odor of smoke was still part of breakfast as far as Flora was concerned. Benjamin Hamburger bit into a roll, sipped his coffee, and nodded approvingly. “That’s good, Sarah,” he called to Flora’s mother, as he did every morning.
Sophie sat down, too. “He’s asleep again,” she said, sounding half asleep herself. “How long it will last—
Gott
“I know,” Kimball said unhappily. Then he burst out, “God damn it to hell, we’re not built to fight close-in actions. We have any sheet metal or anything we can use to shield our gunners’ backs?” The deck gun had a shield for the front, good against shell splinters but maybe not against bullets. As things stood, the machine guns were altogether unprotected.
“Maybe we could do something like that, sir,” Coulter said. He hesitated. “You mean to go on after this?”
“Hadn’t thought of doing anything else,” Kimball answered. He looked from the petty officer to Tom Brearley to the rest of the crew packed together in the cramped chamber under the conning tower. “Haven’t had any orders to do anything else, either. Anybody who doesn’t want to go on, I’ll put him off the boat right now and he can take his chances!”
“You mean here, among the niggers?” somebody asked. Lucky for him, he was behind Kimball, who couldn’t tell who he was.
“Hell, yes, I mean here among the niggers,” the submersible commander said. “Anybody who thinks I’m going to back off and let those black bastards—those Red bastards—take my country away from me or help the damnyankees whip us had better think twice. Maybe three times.” He looked around again. If anybody disagreed with him, it didn’t show. That was the way things were supposed to work. He nodded once, brusquely. “All right. Let’s get to work and figure out how to do what needs doing.”
Tiny Yossel Reisen woke up and started to wail. When he woke up, everyone in the crowded apartment woke up with him. Flora Hamburger opened her eyes. It was dark. She groaned—softly, so as not to disturb anyone who, by some miracle, might still have been asleep. This was the third time her baby nephew had awakened in the night. Her parents and siblings had to get up too early to go to work as things were. When a howling baby cut into what little sleep they got, life was hard.
“
Sha, sha
—hush, hush,” Sophie Reisen murmured wearily as she stumbled toward the baby’s cradle. Flora’s older sister scooped Yossel out, sat down in a chair, and began to nurse him. Little urgent sucking noises replaced his desperate cries.
Flora rolled over on the bed she shared with her younger sister Esther and tried to go back to sleep. She’d just succeeded when the alarm clock beside her head went off, clattering as if all the fire alarms in New York City were boiled down into its malevolent little case.
Blindly, almost drunk with weariness, she fumbled at the clock till it shut up. Then she staggered out of bed and splashed cold water on her face to bring back a semblance of life. She stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her dark eyes, usually so lively, were dull, with purplish circles under them. Her skin had a pallor that had nothing to do with fashion, but threw her cheekbones and prominent nose and chin into sharp relief.
And he’s not even my baby,
she thought with tired resentment.
Esther pushed her away from the mirror. She dressed quickly. By the time she got out to the kitchen, her mother had sweet rolls and coffee pale with milk already on the table. Her younger brothers, David and Isaac, were there eating and drinking. They’d risen no earlier than she had, but they hadn’t had to struggle with a recalcitrant corset.
Her father came in a moment after she did. The biggest mug of coffee was reserved for him. He already had his pipe going. The tobacco was harsher than what he’d used before the war cut off imports from the Confederacy, but the odor of smoke was still part of breakfast as far as Flora was concerned. Benjamin Hamburger bit into a roll, sipped his coffee, and nodded approvingly. “That’s good, Sarah,” he called to Flora’s mother, as he did every morning.
Sophie sat down, too. “He’s asleep again,” she said, sounding half asleep herself. “How long it will last—
Gott
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