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in the captain’s hands before the final mail call, if he actually expected to get out of the Navy at the earliest opportunity: five years to the day after he received his commission from the ROTC unit at Vanderbilt. The ship was still on the surface and rolled gently in the five foot swell that was following them out to deep water. After three years at sea, Jabo knew intuitively that if the rolling was bad inside the protected waters of the sound, they were in for a rough transit to Point Juliet, the earliest they could submerge. The XO walked out of the Captain’s stateroom, a wry smile on his face, paused at the sight of him. Like Jabo, he had a letter in his hand, but his was printed on fine official stationary.
    “Danny have you heard anything about this girl baby shit?” he asked, waving the letter. The XO was short. But he was solid and spry, with a boxer’s build and attitude. His shaved, gleaming head enhanced his tough guy look. There were legends in the submarine fleet about his physical strength, tales of bar fights he’d broken up in Subic Bay and boxing matches he’d won at the Academy. He was a submarine officer of the oldest school, fluent in profanity, torpedo targeting, and dismissive of protocol. Jabo agreed with the consensus that they were lucky to have him.
    Jabo was startled by the question. “Sir?”
    “The rumor-of-the-month: that radiation on a nuclear submarine means you’ll only have girl babies. Have you ever heard this?”
    Jabo nodded. “Actually I have, sir. Last patrol in maneuvering they were talking about it, after Chief Palko had his third kid.”
    The XO furrowed his brow. “Yeah, that dickhead does have three girls, doesn’t he? I’ll have to get on his ass about that…it’s starting to be a problem. Somebody just wrote their congressman asking off the boat because of this bullshit.”
    “Palko’s not the only one,” said Jabo. “I remember them going through the numbers…something like eight out of the last nine babies born to crew members have been girls.”
    The XO grinned and stepped in closer. “So you believe this shit too Jabo? Think neutrons are doing something to kill off all your boy sperm?”
    “I’m just saying…”
    “You know Jabo, one of the things we ask of our junior officers is to not be stupid. So if you hear anybody contributing to this bullshit…help me put a stop to it.”
    “Aye, aye sir.”
    “What the fuck is that?” he said, suddenly turning his attention to the letter in Jabo’s hand.
    “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to show it to the captain first.”
    “Just what I was afraid of: a resignation letter. Another JO heading for the fuckin’ beach. I take it Microsoft was impressed with your resume?” He nodded his head toward the Captain’s stateroom. “Go on in, Jabo.” He stomped down the passageway, whistling loudly and cheerfully.
    Jabo knocked on the open door. “Captain?”
    “Come in Danny.” A captain could call a junior officer by his first name, but the reverse was never true. The fatherly Captain Shields was calming contrast to the XO, the two complementing each other as they led
Alabama
to its place at the top of all the squadron’s rankings. He had salt and pepper hair and a perpetual twinkle in his eye. Unlike the XO, he’d acquired no legends about his physical strength, although he had been an All-America swimmer at the Academy. But he had built a rock-solid career, culminating with his command of
Alabama
, on steady leadership and his almost freakishly comprehensive knowledge of submarine nuclear power. While sailors told stories about a push up contest the XO had won against a Marine Corps General, the captain was of a different caste. He looked like a man who not only could solve quadratic equations in his head; he looked like he was doing it all the time, effortlessly.
    Jabo shuffled in and sat on the only other chair in the stateroom. “Captain, I’ve decided to resign my commission.”
    The