The Hill

Splinters of lightning ripped through the darkness, illuminating the raging swells of the Atlantic, which flickered in and out of view as rain pelted the Molly G. The small tugboat thrashed violently in the storm as she made her way up the coast toward Gloucester, caught off-guard by a demonic nor’easter racing toward New England. Thunder rumbling across the sea could barely be heard amidst the crashing waves that shook the hull of the old boat.

"I can’t believe it, Skeets," Johnny shouted, struggling to be heard above the fury, "I dragged your butt all over Europe for two years dodging Nazi shrapnel, I puked myself green crossing the ocean, and for what? Just so’s we can drown on this lousy little tug a few miles from home?"

The ship bringing troops home from the war in Europe had dropped the boys off in Boston that morning, where they hopped on board the Molly G for the last leg of their trip. Skeets Tyler and the Callahan brothers, Billy and Frank, were all coming home to the small seaside town of Blanesport, just south of Gloucester. Johnny was an orphan with nowhere in particular to go. He figured that returning to the States with his friends would be a good place to start. These were men with whom he had shared the horrors of war; he trusted them with his life.

"You always said I was your guardian angel, Skeets …" Johnny was stopped in mid-sentence as a wall of seawater whipped across the ship, slapping him in the face. The salt stung his throat. He coughed harshly, but shook it off. Johnny was tough. "… but I don’t know if I can get you out of this one, buddy."

The skies were pitch black; night had fallen prematurely as the storm took hold. The swinging lantern in the helm was the only thing that he could see as the lightning began to move off into the distance.

"Come on, Johnny." A strong hand grasped him by the arm. "Let’s get inside before we’re thrown over." It was Billy. They watched out for each other, these four. They had learned to do that. You didn’t survive the trenches unless someone watched your back.

Johnny reached for the door. "Frank," he shouted back, "you got Skeets?"

Before Frank could answer, the Molly G was tossed sharply astern, and all Johnny could feel was the cold New England water numbing him to the core. Thrashing around desperately in the icy void, he somehow grabbed onto a floating life preserver, and bobbed up to the surface.

"Skeets!" He called out, groping frantically in all directions. "Skeets!"

"Right here, Johnny," a voice shouted back. Miraculously, Skeets had found the same life preserver, and was firmly attached to the other side, facing Johnny. The Molly G vanished quickly into the abyss of the raging storm. The two men, merely inches from each other, could see only darkness. They searched for Frank and Billy, but to no avail. The salt water swelled their lips, and consciousness faded slowly in the chill of the night.

"Johnny." He heard Skeets call, but he couldn’t move. Sharp grains of sand pressing into his face began to awaken his senses. He fought to open his eyes, which the rain had rinsed clean of ocean salt. It was still dark, but he could make out the outline of a gentle hill rolling up from the still turbulent shoreline.

"Johnny, come on." It was Skeets, but Johnny was too weak to answer. "Get up. Yer gonna freeze to death out here."