tips of her big cannons were ringed in black. Balto smiled, and could almost hear them blasting away at some distant enemy. Despite her fearsome guns, the name he had given her hardly suited her destructive purpose. Instead, he had named her in remembrance of how he and Jenna had first met, christening her The Northern Lights. Balto climbed the ramp up onto her deck and stood on the bow. Lowering his head, he took out a small Bible and began to pray. He prayed for his crew, that they might be given strength and courage to fulfill their duty; he prayed for the Marines on Attu, who were at that moment fighting for their very lives; he even prayed for the Japanese, that the Lord above might show them the error of their ways and protect them until they too could go home to their families. And please, he thought, keep my Jenna safe.

“Um, captain?” A nervous voice came from behind him. Balto turned and saw a young sailor, one of his crew, fidgeting slightly at the thought of interrupting his commanding officer. “It’s almost departure time, sir,” he stammered. Balto pulled out his pocket watch and frowned. Replacing it in his coat pocket, he thanked the boy and walked back down the gangway to the dock, where family and friends of the sailors had gathered. Many of his crewmen were already among them, hugging relatives and kissing their sweethearts and wives. As he approached the crowd, a tan husky caught his eye, wrapped in a blanket against the cold.

“Kaltag!”

“Ah Balto,” the man sighed, “I was hoping I’d catch up with you. I’m sorry I can’t make such an important mission.”

“Nonsense, you’re sick. You ought to be home anyway.”

“I don’t know what this is, but it’s worse than diphtheria, and we both know how bad that can be.” Balto nodded. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small key on a string. Pressing it into his friend’s hand, he whispered a request and Kaltag nodded, closing his fingers around the key. Just then, a sweet female voice rose above the noise of the crowd.

“Balto?” He turned and found the source of the voice. As soon as his eyes settled on Jenna, her eyes turned and met his. They embraced and Jenna began to cry. Wiping away a tear as is trickled down her face, he held her close and whispered,

“I’m sorry Jenna, but I promise you I’ll be home for our anniversary. No matter what it takes.” Jenna laid her head on his shoulder and tried to hold back tears. Overcome with sadness, Balto stroked her hair and began to softly chant an old song his mother had taught him when he was little. To him, it seemed appropriate.

“There’s a ship out, on the ocean, at the mercy of the sea,

It’s been tossed about, lost and broken, wandering aimlessly,

And God somehow you know that ship is me,

‘Cause there’s a lighthouse, in a harbor, shining faithfully,

Pouring it’s light out, across the water, for this sinking soul to see,”

He gently lifted Jenna’s muzzle so her eyes met his as he sang the last verse,

“That someone out there still believes…in me.

On a prayer, in a song, I hear your voice, and it keeps me hanging on, on,

Raining down, against the wind, we’re reaching out, till we reach the circle’s end, when you come back to me again.”

When he stopped, Jenna’s eyes were still locked with his. Smiling despite her tears, she hugged him tight and whispered,

“You come home safe, Balto.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “Then we’ll start our family together.” Balto kissed her and stepped back. Turning around, he saw his crew waiting, some of them watching him and Jenna with smiles on their faces.

“What’s the matter?” Balto said, “Never seen a man kiss his wife before?”

“Sir,” one replied, saluting and raising his voice to almost a shout, “somehow, we never really connected you with civilian life, sir!” Balto smiled at the sailor and laughed.

“Alright. All hands on deck!” On signal, the crew turned and ran single file up the ramp onto the deck of their ship. Balto turned to the crowd again. “Don’t you worry about your boys, I’ll bring them home safe, or die trying.” As he turned to follow, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Jenna undid the orange bandanna around her neck and held it out to him. Balto took it and kissed his wife on the cheek. Tying it around his neck, he climbed the ramp and two sailors pulled it up after him. He then made his way to the bridge and stood by the large front windows. “All back two-thirds.”

“All back two-thirds, aye.” A sailor confirmed the order, pushing the telegraph* to the designated speed. The crowd waved as the Northern Lights pulled away from the dock, guided by a tug boat to the open water. Soon after, Captain Nikki followed in St. Charles and Bill behind him, commanding the Beacon of Hope, named after the lighthouse at the mouth of Nome Harbor. All three destroyers passed this lighthouse with a quick toot on their whistles, which in fact sounded more like a bellow, but the kindly old keeper of the lighthouse, Mr. Samuel, waved back.

*An instrument in the bridge of a ship used to send messages, in the form of an arrow pointing at different speed designations on a semi-circle meter, to the boiler room(s) of steam-powered vessels.

Chapter Two

“What do mean they didn’t brief you?” Balto muttered through clenched teeth.

“It’s just what I said sir,” the lieutenant replied in a low voice, “We were told you would enlighten us once you thought it was safe.”

“They told me you already knew!” Balto shook his head and took a phone off its hook on the wall and turned a small crank to connect the line. He turned to a sailor hunched over the radio and said, “Pipe this through all three ships.” The man nodded and adjusted the radio accordingly, then gave Balto the thumbs up. A seaman’s whistle blew and he began to speak, his voice emitting from speakers in different compartments of every ship. “This is Captain Balto Wolf. I have just been informed that you currently have no knowledge of our destination or duty. I would apologize except I know that won’t do us any good at this point. So, I’m going to tell you straight out: Our destination is the Aleutian Islands, specifically a small one called Attu.” All over the three destroyers, heads turned and sailors exchanged nervous glances. “Our orders are to evacuate several hundred Marines off of that island back to Nome.” He paused for a moment in silent debate.

“The only problem is that there’s a Japanese fleet blocking our way. I’ve studied the maps and thought it out thoroughly, but I can see no course around them. That leaves us with only one choice. We’ve been ordered to rescue those men no matter what the cost. Why the brass think we’re worth less than a handful of grunts is beyond me.” Forced laughter accompanied Balto’s sarcastic joke. “But in all seriousness, those men are fighting for their lives right now and losing. If we don’t get them out real soon they’ll all die.” He paused again to let every sailor and officer think. “We are currently fifteen miles from the last reported position of that Japanese fleet. Be prepared for general quarters and God be with us all.” He hung up the phone. The radio man flipped a few switches and then went back to his work. Balto stepped out onto a metal balcony and turned to a sailor standing by a searchlight, which was also used to send messages in Morse code. “Signal the Charles and Beacon, make heading-”

“Captain! Enemy ships dead ahead!”

“Forget the message,” Balto said to the signalman, “Get to your battle station!” He followed the man back into the bridge and shut the metal door behind them. Turning to helmsman, he shouted, “Hold your course!” Spinning around, he looked to a younger officer, his lieutenant. “Talbot!”

“Sir?”

“Sound general quarters.” Obediently, the man picked up the speaker phone off its wall mount and spoke into it.

“General quarters! General quarters! This is no drill! Man your battle stations!” Even as he spoke, the same order was being given on board the St. Charles and Beacon of Hope and on all three destroyers men donned helmets and flak jackets and bulkhead doors slammed shut as the forward cannons elevated and spun in the enemy’s direction.

“Fire when ready!” Balto shouted. The crew was ready.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the small island of Attu, not far away, a Marine captain put his back against a tree and slammed a new clip into his Thompson submachine gun. There’s too many, he thought, There’s just too many! He leaned around the tree and blasted away at the Japanese soldiers who were charging headlong towards them. Just then, a young private dashed up to him, dodging bullets as he ran.

“Sir!” he shouted, “The Japs brought a tank, sir! We’re getting massacred!”

“Well, better to die running than hiding. Where is the tank?”

“Just over the hill, sir,” the private said, pointing to where a lumbering shadow spewed fire from twin machine guns. The cries of his men were more than enough to convince him.

“Stay here!” the captain shouted,