Marita staggered. Extreme exhaustion caused her to slump against

the rail of the ship, Tena-rae. As the thick, gloomy fog thinned, revealing England’s shoreline,

 a group next to her began to sing “The White Cliffs of Dover” as a tribute to their homeland.

Marita shrank back and gazed across the choppy water. How dare they, she thought? We haven’t even left the harbour and here they are being so noisy!

She wondered how many submarines were lurking just outside of England’s waters. Hardly a week went by without some boat being torpedoed. No wonder rations were so scarce.  Far too many of the freight liners bearing heavy loads from Canada and elsewhere never made it back.

Her throat felt tight with fear, but when she tried to swallow bile came up.  Canada. What insanity had caused her to want to escape to Canada while a war was still going on? Will I even get there? Why was I allowed to go? She just knew it must have been a mistake that her papers were signed and approved.

 Randall shouldn’t have gone home home. How or why did he receive a leave of absence when he was a young, healthy soldier? The thought gnawed at her continually. Why wasn’t he fighting unless, unless he was discharged…dishonorably?  Will we ever get a pension or whatever it is called if he, he was—kicked out?

Something was seriously amiss. She just knew she was going to be nabbed even before they set out to sea and someone would tell her it was all a mistake. She should have never been allowed to go to Canada. 

An officer strode angrily towards them and her eyes widened in fright. Now it’s coming. Someone has found out that Randall was dishonorably discharged and –

“Get off the deck, you idiots! Don’t you know there’s a war going on? Do you want to be spotted? We are already moving, and there you stand!”