“Both are thick iron practice shells from forty-four.”

“Are the nose fuses intact?” I asked him.

“The top fuse on the second casing is badly oxidized,” Kenneth said.

“Base safety wants us out there before the morning beach walkers come over from the houses by the dunes.”

I went to my metal wall locker and opened the heavy steel padlock.

On the top shelf was my folded service dress uniform, freshly pressed, with the gold Master Chief badge pinned above the left pocket.

Right underneath the uniform sat a dark, brass-bound wooden service chest, eight inches deep and worn smooth from years of handling.