and you run south and then up between sicily and italy and then you stop by sardinia to do an operation with the italians , and the helos pound off the flight deck and the jar heads get the hell off the boat and everything is empty and echoing , and then one night when the boat is pulling up the anchor to move closer into the bay for backload day after tomorrow and you are on the bridge making log entries and looking out over the long low brown land and at the evening sky , the commodore comes up on the bridge and walks over to the skipper with everyone listening very carefully but they sort of talk low , and then the skipper hops down from his chair and they go out on the bridge wing and talk some more with everyone sort of listening in through the windows , and then the skipper comes back on the bridge and hops back up into his chair and he sits there with his head on one hand leaning against the bulkhead a little and thinking and you are all thinking along with him .