Seaman Patrick Dempsey slowly opened the door to his crew quarters. After six months on his current assignment, this small, cramped little room had become more of a home than his real one on land. Yet for right now, the room had become something else. It was no longer a safe-haven. It had been transformed into something totally unrecognizable, something foreign. Dempsey found himself unable to enter.

He could still hear the reports slowly pour in, one by one. He had been on the bridge right after the victory…another crushing blow to those Axis bastards, supposedly. Everyone was celebrating and congratulating each other…but that would not last for long.

The reactor had been badly damaged, and could not be fixed. The sub was losing power. About a quarter of the sub was already flooded, with more water quickly finding its way inside. Communications were down. Surfacing was impossible. The oxygen supply was running low.

After a thorough brainstorming session, trying to find possible solutions, it became quite clear that nothing could be done. Only a few hours remained at best, before the sub either filled to the brim with water, or the oxygen supply ran out.

Dempsey could not recall much of what happened next…somehow, he had gotten off the bridge. He could remember walking down the cold metal hallways - they were still shaded red from the alert status. In a few places, water meekly sprayed from a bulkhead - a small reminder of their current situation. Every now and then, a sailor would rush frantically past him, in the futile cause of repairs, before someone would pull him aside and tell him what was going on. Some sailors stopped dead in their tracks after hearing the news, while others kept pressing on, as if they had never heard it.

Dempsey couldn’t say for certain if his quarters were his original destination. He just knew that he had been wandering…and now he was here. He had made a short stop at the weapons locker - that was his goal. Here was an afterthought. Nonetheless, he was here, but here did not seem like a valid destination anymore. He wanted to go in - there were so many letters, pictures from home, crayon drawings and small mementos he wanted to examine one last time. But as he stood at the entrance looking in, the weight that had been newly attached to his right hip became heavier and heavier. The silence from inside of the room was beginning to overwhelm him, as he became more aware of what the room was about to become. Thoughts and ideas were rushing to his head as rapidly as the water rushed into Bilge Bay after it had been hit. Seventeen men died in there.

Lucky bastards.

Quickly, Dempsey closed the door to his quarters. For a moment, he became a vagabond, not knowing where to go or what to do next. He took a look at the door next to him - it was the crew quarters of a Petty Officer Second Class Samuel Phillips. There were many nights where, lying in his bed, he’d look over at his wall and the sounds coming from it with a certain anger. Were those late night parties really necessary? Officers should have more composure than that. Surely they had better things to do than get drunk and belligerent. Dempsey did not particularly like the Lieutenant, but he did not particularly hate him either. Deciding that was more than enough, Dempsey walked over to his door and knocked on it.

“Come in,” the Officer’s voice said, calm and flat as usual.

Dempsey slowly opened the door. Instantly, a haze of smoke greeted him; it was thick enough to make him choke. The Officer’s room was fairly bare - it contained the essentials, nothing more. It was dimly lit, with only a small spotlight in the center of the room, where the Officer was sitting. A small folding table along with a few chairs had been set up. He sat slightly tilted to the right side, smoking a cigarette, while he flipped through a deck of cards. He was still fairly young - maybe only in his mid thirties - but he carried a look about him as if he had seen everything, and everything was not that special.

“Can I help y’w’somethin?” The Officer asked, not moving his eyes away from his cards.

Dempsey bit his lower lip. He shook his head and began to leave.

The Officer smiled to himself. “Well, since y’don’t seem t’be busy, why don’t’cha sit down here an join me in a game. There’s nothin’ worse than solitaire.”

“Well…I’m not really good at card games.”

“No better time to learn. C’mon, have a seat.”

“Yes Sir.”

“’Yes Sir?’ The hell’s that Dempsey? D’ya think we’re on duty? S’call me Sam.”

“Yes Si…er…Sam.” Dempsey carefully entered the room, making it a point to shut the door behind him. He slowly wandered over to the table, pulled out one of the folding chairs, and took a seat. Sam began to shuffle the cards more seriously now. Dempsey’s eyes widened as he watched Sam skillfully handling the cards, flipping them over as if they were connected to his hands.

“So…uh…what’ll we play?” Dempsey asked.

Sam looked up at him, his mouth agape. “What’ll we play? S’only one game worth playin m’friend. Poker.” He began to deal, quickly sliding cards over to Dempsey. “Poker’s the game of kings. If God played card games, he’d be playin’ poker.”

Dempsey laughed. “Why’s that?”

“Poker ain’t just a game. S’a way of life. All those other games…s’either all luck, or number crunchin. Probability and all that crap. Not poker. With poker, doesn’t matter what hand y’get. S’all about how y’play it. Y’can lose with the best hand in the house. Y’can win with absolutely nothin. S’why poker’s godly. An’ don’you forget that either.”

Dempsey really did not know what to say to that. He picked up his cards; he had nothing. An ace, the two of hearts, the seven of spades, the ten of hearts, and a queen. It was hard for him to concentrate on the game. His thoughts kept wandering away from him, as if they had been endowed with a life of their own and had decided to leave his custody. Before he knew it, Dempsey’s arms were shaking, slightly tapping the cards down on the table.

Sam threw a quick glance at him. “Y’know, that’s a nice deck I picked up in Britain. I’d like ta actually keep it.”

Dempsey forced a laugh. “Does it really matter now?”

“Course it does. We’re usin’ em now, aren’t we?”

Dempsey sighed, as he stopped his tapping.

“What’ll ya have?” Sam asked.

“I’ll take two,” Dempsey responded, giving away the two and the seven.

“Hey Dempsey…ya got a family, don’t’cha?”

“A wife and son. My boy was almost nine months old last time I saw him, I imagine he’s getting pretty big now.”

Somewhere off in the distance, in another part of the sub, a loud bang went off. The sound echoed off the walls and bounced cleanly through the air. It was not a noise from the sub…like a bulkhead falling or metal being imploded in. No, this was a familiar noise…one that Dempsey had heard before, but never in this capacity. Dempsey looked up from his cards, as a slight chill ran up his spine.

“Impatient fools.” Sam said casually. “So, what’ll you bet?”

Dempsey returned to his cards. “I’ll bet ten.” He looked up to see Sam carefully studying his face. The Officer smiled.

“Ten eh? I’ll see, and raise fifty.”

“Fold.” Dempsey said flatly, laying his cards on the table. Sam put his cards down as well, but in a manner that allowed Dempsey to catch a full glimpse of them. He only had two of a kind.

Dempsey sighed. It was almost impossible for him to think about card games. Not now of all times. His mind kept going back to his wife back at home. Much like everything else in Dempsey’s life, he had to fight for her. It was not easy, but he finally won her affections. Four years later, she was still as beautiful as the day he first met her, even after a pregnancy.

“Y’cards?” Sam said abruptly. “I need y’cards to reshuffle.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Dempsey slid his hand over to Sam, who began his skillful manipulation of the deck again.

“Where’d y’go? Just now.” Sam asked. “Cause y’sure as hell weren’t here.”

“I was just thinking about my wife. Beautiful woman, inside and out. The one thing that finally went right in my life.”

“The one?”

“Some guys have all the luck. Things get handed to them regularly. I’m not one of those guys. I had to fight for every scrap I got. I had to make my own fortunes. I wasn’t too good at it. But lately, things had started to improve. Especially after meeting my wife. I had to earn her as well. But she was worth it and so much more. Things were finally going right in my life…then this happens.”

“I don’ quite understand y’point Dempsey.”

“My point? My point is that after I finally get the life I want, I get stuck on this goddamned death trap! My point is that I’ll never see my wife and son again! My point…my point…” Dempsey’s voice cracked a bit, as he fought off emotion. “My point…is that when I finally win the life long struggle, God decides to come along and end my life. It’s not fair.”

“Well then…what’r’ya doin’ here? Go fix it. Go seal the bulkheads…stop the leaks…restore power to the reactor…an’ get coms up while y’re at it.”

Dempsey looked at him blankly. “Don’t you think we’ve already tried that?” He said, a little indignantly.

“Course y’have. An’ it didn’t work. An’ that’s why y’re here now. There’s nothin’ y’can do ‘bout all that stuff. S’why’re ya gettin’ all worked up over it? Yeah…y’wish things were different…but they’re not.”

Sam stopped shuffling the cards for a moment. His cigarette had burned down to the butt, so he reached into his pocket for another one. Dempsey looked at him, biting his tongue.

“Not a smoker, eh?” Sam asked, never looking up. “Lemme guess; they told ya these things’d kill ya, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Yet here we both are; ya the clean one, an’ me the dedicated smoker. Plus, I’m actually older than ya. So who got the better end of the deal, eh?” Sam took the butt out of his mouth, and took a long look at it before flinging it across the room. “Goddamn. That was the best one I ever had.”

Another far off burst of sound filled the room again. Dempsey looked up, as if he could see the origin. He tucked his lower lip in and hung his head a bit.

Sam began to slide cards over towards Dempsey again. “So, what d’y’think’ll happen with y’wife?”

Dempsey turned his head towards Sam, one eyebrow partly raised. “What do you mean?”

“Well…d’y’think she’ll remarry? Stay a widow…?”

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well then, think about it now.”

Dempsey was silent for a moment. He looked into the distance, as if he could see past the steel walls and into some far away future. “Well…she probably should remarry. My son should have a father.”

“You want y’kid callin’ someone else Daddy?”

“Of course not. But that’s probably what’s best. Besides, I’m in no position to argue about it.”

“S’true.” Sam said. “What’ll y’have?”

“Oh, I’ll take three.”

“Three it is. Dealer takes one.”

“Hey…uh…Sam? How long…how long do you think it’ll take for my wife to find someone else?”

“How’d I know? S’your wife.”

“Yeah I know. But how long do you think these things take?”

“D’pends on the person really. Situation, conditions…y’know, stuff like that.”

“But she probably will remarry…”

“Well, y’don’t want her t’go through life alone, d’ya? Like y’said, that kid should have a father.”

“I suppose that is true.”

Sam smiled. “But y’not keen on the idea are ya?”

“How could I be? How could I be comfortable with the idea of being replaced? My wife loving some other jackass…my kid learning the ropes from someone other than me?”

“S’not a replacement Dempsey. They can’t replace ya, an’ they won’t. If y’wife remarries, it’ll be something new. Not a fix - a whole ‘nother situation.”

“I just…I just wish I could see them one last time. Talk to them one last time.”

“An’ do what? Tell em stuff they already know? What’s your bet?”

“My bet? Oh! Oh…I’ll bet fifteen.”

“Fifteen huh. All right, I’ll see ya fifteen.”

There were a few more short bursts of sound. One quickly followed the other. Dempsey was again rattled by it. He stared at his cards intently, trying to avoid looking up.

“What about you?” Dempsey asked, desperately filling the air with a more pleasant sound. “You got anyone back home?”

“Not really.” Sam chewed the end of his cigarette. “I got two pair, how ‘bout ya?”

“Three of a kind.”

“Congrats.” Sam pushed the pile of chips over to Dempsey.

“Really? You don’t have anyone at all waiting for you back home?”

“Family’s dead, an I don’ have a wife or girlfriend, or kids far as I know. There are a few girls I’ve met in ports I’m gonna miss the company of…that was mostly physically tho. Hell, t’was all physical.”

“Wow, that’s not quite what I was expecting.”

“What were ya expectin?”

“Well…it’s just that with all the company you keep…”

“Right, ya live next to me, don’cha? Ya prob’ly hear those late night parties that get outta hand all th’time. Sorry ‘bout that. Those guys get a little alcohol in ‘em, an they lose all control. S’nothing worse than tryin to reason w’drunks.”

“You don’t like the parties?”

“Not partic’larly. I like it when I can get a game in…but at some point they all get stupid an s’no point to it anymore.”

“Then why have them?”

“I dunno. Prob’ly for the same reason ya wandered into my room just now.”

Dempsey played with his hands. “Maybe.”

Sam’s usual speed in shuffling the cards slowed down considerably. He seemed to be laboring through the task now. “Really is stupid, y’know? Y’wanna pretend y’re this strong, independent beast, who can take on everything. But then, the moment a little isolation sets in, ya become a puppy. Y’don’ want that to happen, an’ y’try to fight it, but y’can’t help it. S’we have t’do stupid stuff t’remain beasts. Y’can only be impressive when others are there to perceive it.”

Dempsey stared at the table in front of him. He did not move or respond. He would not even know what to say. He looked up to see cards sliding in front of him again.

“I love this game b’cause it’s got nothin t’do with the cards.” Sam said through his cigarette. “S’all about the players. If y’think good poker players are made through the luck of the deal, or the decisions to keep or toss cards, well y’re wrong. Y’should listen up, that’s the greatest poker tip anyone could ever give ya.”

Another sound filled the room again - a knock on the door this time.

“I’m a popular guy tonight, eh?” Sam asked behind a smile. “Come in.”

The door parted, and a young sailor stuck his head in the door. He quickly surveyed the room, his eyes darting about. Dempsey quickly took a look at him - his uniform was still pressed and neat. He could tell from the rank on this young man’s collar that he was a Seaman Recruit…therefore not that much younger than Dempsey himself. He was carrying a gun in his right hand - obviously not one he had obtained from the locker - and his hand was soiled with blood, which was obviously not his. The young man entered the room stiffly.

“Y’re awfully lost.” Sam said. “But hell, what does it matter now? Care for a game?”

“No Sir.” The young man stiffened himself. “I was just wondering…I need to request a favor, Sir.”

“What can we d’ya for?”

“Well…uh…I was wondering…if I might be able to…borrow a bullet, Sir.”

Dempsey’s eyes widened, as he turned around fully in his chair to get another good look at the young sailor.

Sam’s brow arched, as he covered his mouth with his right hand. Dempsey could sense was Sam was containing. Laughing was highly inappropriate, but in a way, he almost understood the reaction.

“Sure.” Dempsey said. He reached into his holster until his fingers were interrupted by the hardness. He took his .45 out and opened it up. Without thinking about it, he went to remove three or four from the chamber, but stopped himself to just one. He fumbled with it in his hand a bit, trying desperately not to think about the immediate future of it. His eyes first turned back to the young sailor; then his body, and finally, his opened hand. Dempsey could feel the warmth of the soldier’s fingers as he took the bullet from his hand.

“Are you sure this is okay, Sir?” The young sailor asked.

“Don’t worry about it. I still have five. Plenty I think.” Dempsey said lightly.

“Thank you, Sir!” The young sailor said, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Dempsey started to speak, but rolled his lips into his mouth, snuffing the words before they could emerge. The normal response did not seem appropriate.

Dempsey turned back to his cards. Behind him, footsteps slowly diminished. The door closed softly, and then the room was silent again. Sam still had his hand over his face; he was shaking his head now as well.

Dempsey went to put his gun away, but stopped himself. He looked at it for a moment, and then set it down on the table.

Sam looked up, his hand still over his mouth. “Well, I guess s’just as well he didn’t play. S’a lousy player.”

“You’ve played him before?” Dempsey asked.

“Never. What’ll y’have?”

Dempsey picked up his cards and studied them for a moment. “I’ll take…two I guess.”

“Two it is. Dealer takes one.”

Dempsey played with his cards, moving them around but never really looking at them. “You know, on our next shore leave, I was going to teach my son how to catch a football. Even bought one at the last port.”

“Y’always wanted a boy didn’t ya?” Sam asked, half smiling.

“I wanted a daughter. Mom could deal with all the body issues, and I could just be the overprotective father, screening dates and embarrassing her.”

“Were y’disappointed then?”

“Not at all. When the doctor handed him to us…that little red crying thing…and we realized that he was ours…it was more than we could have ever asked for.”

“S’nice. I never really liked kids. Sure, y’could deal w’others, but yr’own…that’s a whole ‘nother story.

“It’s not easy, of course, but well worth it.”

“If y’say so. If y’re like all the other family guys on this sub, y’prob’ly wanted th’ kid to follow in th’ old man’s footsteps, and enlist.”

Dempsey looked up at him - a strange, eyebrow raised look.

Sam chuckled. “Right…not after today. But I mean b’fore.”

“No, not even before.” Dempsey confessed. “I only enlisted because I was lousy at everything else. But my kid…he should have a future. Options, you know? I want him to go to college…out west, I hear it’s nice out here. He should graduate, and go into something lucrative. I hear industry is on the boom.”

“Metals, plastics, s’the stuff of the future.”

“Exactly. He should never have to fight for scraps like his old man. Word hard, earn your dues, and live the way you want to. Every man’s dream.”

“Sounds good e’nuff. An’ what about y’re wife?”

“My wife…my wife…well…I imagine she’d go back to her mother’s for a while. Y’know, emotional support, help with my son and all. After a year…maybe two…I think she’ll find work. She is a damn good seamstress, maybe she can find a job there. If the war drags on, they’ll need people to make more uniforms. That’ll hold her until she finds someone new. She’s not really the dating type…after five minutes of conversation, she can determine whether or not she has any interest in you as a person. So she’ll meet guys of course…but it won’t be anything serious until she finds the one. The next one, anyway.”

“Y’know…” Sam said slowly, “y’re upset at that guy already. But he’s the one who’s screwed. No matter what he does, y’will always be a part of th’ picture. S’gonna eat him alive. What’ll y’bet?”

“Huh? Oh! I’ll bet ten.”

“See ya ten, raise ya twenty.”

Once more, another sudden sound violated the room. Dempsey stopped abruptly; he nearly dropped his cards. This one was close…just a few yards down the hall. Dempsey knew…he just knew which sailor had produced the noise.

And he knew where the bullet came from as well.

His eyes widened as his breath accelerated. His eyes then narrowed, as his grip on his cards became tighter.

“Like I said b’fore,” Sam said, “y’gotta play the hand y’re dealt. Worst hand in the game can still win the pot…an’ the best hand can lose it all. D’pends on how y’play it, s’all.”

Suddenly, Dempsey felt a strange sensation run alongside his boots. He looked down - a fine trail of water was trickling its way in from the doorway, into the room. He stared at it blankly. It was the confirmation of a fact he had long since known. The trickle was slow now, but it would not stop. And with the pressure of millions of tons of water against the bulkheads, it would not be long before the trickle became a stream, the stream a steady flow, and the steady flow into a small geyser. Dempsey continued to stare at the water, at a loss for words. He stole a quick look at his gun on the table before turning away quickly, back to his cards. For perhaps the first time in this hand, he took a look at his cards. He did not have anything.

Sam looked down momentarily before returning to his cards. “Looks like it finally made it to this section.” He said, casually. “Anyway, are y’in?”

Dempsey took another look at the water below, and the gun beside him. Then at his cards, and his lack of a good hand. Then at Sam. Sam, whose facial expression was exactly same as when Dempsey first walked in. Sam, who was focused on the cards more than anything else. Sam, who treated this day like any other before it, and any other that would have followed. Dempsey knew that, whatever cards Sam held, it would not change much about his actions. For all he knew, Sam was laboring with nothing as well. Or maybe he had a royal flush. Impossible to tell. Even though Dempsey was by no means a good poker player, one thing he could ascertain though was that Sam was happy for the chance to get a game in.

Dempsey smiled. “Of course I’m in.”