of them would volunteer, but they weren’t in any condition to do anything, let alone go back in the water.
Mike looked at Jonathan, who was bending over a soldier in a life jacket, unfastening its ties. The soldier didn’t resist, didn’t even seem to know Jonathan was there. Jonathan, who was fourteen years old and who would die if the propeller wasn’t unfouled, who would get his wish and be a hero in the war. I got my wish, too, Mike thought. I wanted to observe heroes, and here they are.
Jonathan had succeeded in untying the life jacket. “I’ll go, Grandfather,” he said, putting it on.
“No, I will,” Mike said, taking off his coat.
“Take your shoes off,” the Commander ordered. Mike obeyed. “And watch for that flotsam in the water.”
Jonathan thrust the cork life jacket into his hands, and Mike put it on and padded stocking-footed to the back of the boat. The Commander tied a line to the gunwale. “Down you go, Kansas. We’re counting on you.”
“You’re sure the engine’s off?” Mike said. “I don’t want the propeller to suddenly start up,” and went over the side.
The water hit him like an icy blow, and he gasped and swallowed water and then came up choking and clutching for the rope. “Are you all right?” Jonathan called down.
“Yes,” he managed to say between coughs.
“Grandfather says he’s stopped the engine.”
Mike nodded and worked his way around to the propeller shaft. He took a huge breath and ducked under. And immediately bobbed back up. “What’s wrong?” Jonathan called.
“It’s the life jacket,” Mike said, fumbling with the wet ties. “It won’t let me go under.” It seemed to take forever to get the ties unknotted and the jacket off. He let it float off, then thought, What if it gets tangled in the propeller? He went after it and tied it to the rope with numb fingers, then ducked under again.
It was totally dark under the water. He felt for the propeller, lost hold of the side, and then his sense of direction. He pushed up, and his head banged against something. I’m under the boat, he thought, panicking, and surfaced.
It wasn’t the boat. It was merely a floating plank, and he was right where he’d gone under, next to the side. “I can’t see anything,” he shouted up to Jonathan. “I’ve got to have a light.”
“I’ll fetch a pocket torch,” Jonathan said and disappeared.
Mike paddled alongside, waiting. Jonathan reappeared, carrying a flashlight. He shone it out across the water.
“Shine it straight down on the propeller,” Mike ordered, pointing. Jonathan obeyed, and Mike took a breath and ducked under the water.
He still couldn’t see anything. The flashlight lit a faint circle a few inches below the surface—no match for the oily water. He pushed back toward the surface. “We need something brighter,” he shouted up to Jonathan, and it was suddenly light all around him.
He must have gone and gotten the signal lantern, Mike thought, and then, Oh, Christ, the Germans are dropping flares. Which meant in five minutes they’d be dropping bombs. But in the meantime, he could see the propeller, and around it, a bulky wad of cloth. Another overcoat. One end of the belt trailed loosely through the water. Mike grabbed hold of the propeller blade and reached forward to disentangle the sleeve.
It fell away, and, oh, Christ, there was an arm in the sleeve, and what had fouled the propeller wasn’t a coat. It was a body. It and the coat were tangled in the blades so that it looked like it was embracing the propeller. Mike tugged gingerly at the arm. The other end of the belt was wrapped around the blade and the body’s hand. Mike unwound it, yanking on the end with the buckle to free it, and the soldier’s head flopped forward, his mouth full of black water.
The greenish light was beginning to fade. Mike pulled the arm free of the blade, wondering how much longer he could hold his breath. He reached for the other arm. It wouldn’t come. He yanked on it, his lungs bursting. He yanked again.
There was a flash and a shudder, and the body was flung violently against him, knocking the last of his air out of him. Don’t gasp, Mike thought, struggling to close his mouth. Don’t breathe till you surface. But he couldn’t surface. The loose tails of the belt had wrapped around his wrist, entangling him as they had the propeller, dragging him under. He grabbed frantically