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fighting,” Hunter finally turned and asked Zal. “What is it called exactly?”
    The XO seemed stumped for a moment. He was a tall wiry guy, not really the poster-boy version of a naval officer.
    “What’s it called?” he asked. “I don’t know, take your pick.” He began counting off on his fingers. “The Second Great War. The War. The Big War. The Fifty-Year War…”
    “Fifty-Year War?” Hunter stopped him. “Why call it that? How long has it been going on?”
    Zal stared back at him for a long moment.
    “Man, you really have been someplace else.”
    He took a step closer and pretended to yell into Hunter’s ear.
    “It’s been going on for fifty years, Mack. That’s why…”
    “So it started in 1947?” Hunter asked him.
    Once again, the XO was caught off guard.
    “Well, no,” he replied. “Actually, it started in 1939—Germany invaded Poland…”
    “…on September 1st, right?” Hunter interrupted him.
    “So, you remember that at least.”
    “Jessuzz, I guess I do,” Hunter said anxiously. “Please go on.”
    “Well,” Zal said. “The Hundred Years’ War between England and France lasted longer than a hundred years, right? I guess it’s the same kind of thing. Maybe they can call it the Fifty-Eight Years’ War once it’s over.”
    But Hunter wanted to get this straight. “So, a war that started with Germany invading Poland in 1939 is still going on today?”
    “That’s right, sport,” Zal replied.
    The XO threw his cigarette away.
    “And that’s really all I should say to you,” he went on. “I’ve got to get back to the bridge. We’ll be pulling in about forty minutes from now.”
    He signaled the guards that he was returning Hunter to their care and began to walk away.
    “Commander?” Hunter called after him. “One more question?”
    “OK…shoot.”
    “When this war first started, what did they call it then?”
    Zal thought a moment. Then he shrugged.
    “Well, back then,” he said, “they called it World War II.”

Chapter 3
    T HEY KEPT SAILING.
    Even at two-thirds speed, the destroyer was making at least 100 knots, an incredible speed for such a vessel.
    Past New York Harbor. Up the coast of Connecticut, which was now an endless line of huge gun emplacements and military ports. Past Rhode Island, whose shoreline was nothing but oil depots and off-loading terminals. Past Block Island, now one huge airfield. Past Martha’s Vineyard—it was bristling with gigantic submarines, many of which had flight decks attached for launching and recovering aircraft.
    And all of it looked different, yet familiar to Hunter at the same time.
    Eventually the Louis St. Louis entered yet another busy Navy facility. This base was located in Buzzard’s Bay on the ass end of Cape Cod. Just like the coast of Connecticut and Rhode Island, this part of the Cape was thick with naval activity. The destroyer passed by ships that were so enormous, Hunter couldn’t see their decks and thus couldn’t figure out what it was they did.
    They passed a huge shipbuilding yard. Hunter didn’t have to wonder what they built here. They built aircraft carriers. It said so on a sign painted across an enormous two-towered crane. It read: “AmeriCorp Aircraft Carrier Division. Bigger Is Better.”
    There was truth in that advertising. These aircraft carriers were gigantic.
    What ships they were! There were at least 10 of them in various stages of construction. They were being assembled in sections on extremely high, raised docks. The network of steel surrounding these building platforms was frightening. There seemed to be clouds forming at the top of some of them, they were so high.
    The destroyer sailed past the construction bays and up to berthing for the completed carriers. From somewhere back in the deepest part of his skull, Hunter knew what a World War II aircraft carrier should look like. Small, narrow, wooden deck.
    But the ships being built here were at least fifty times that length. These