36. BUTCH
The marines had lovingly retrieved their fallen battle brother from the deck of the Potemkin. His spattered blood, gore, and viscera, however, remained. The mariners had all grown sullen and lazy with nothing to do. The carrier was dragging them along much faster than they could go under their own power, and the men pretty much had nothing to take care of. They were just lucky not to be in the brig. (That, apparently, was full.) Mo was trying his damnedest to take care of some necessary repairs and upkeep, but there was simply no morale for it.
“Go on, Jim,” Mo said, “go on and clean it up.”
He was trying to be gentle and nudging. It wasn’t working. Tuan Jim threw the mop down on the deck and folded his arms.
“No,” he said.
To his credit, Mo never looked to Butch.
