“Blazes,” Byron said, sitting up, a stale taste of wine in his mouth, “I was supposed to report in at three, wasn’t I? Are you here to take me back in irons?” “Amnesty. You’re out of hack,” Aster grinned, “and you’ve got twenty-four hours’ leave. This just came in on the harbor circuit from Rome, forwarded via Lisbon, Washington, and San Francisco.” He handed a dispatch to Byron, who read it sitting cross-legged on the grass. ENSIGN BYRON HENRY, USS DEVILFISH X CAN YOU THINK OF A GOOD NAME FOR A SEVEN-POUND BOY X BOTH FINE BOTH LOVE YOU X NATALIE AND WHOSIS HENRY
