Don Winslow Of The Navy

On the white sand of a jungle bordered cove, two men and a girl stood gazing seaward, their eyes shielded against the rising sun's first beams. To judge by their torn, mudstained clothing, they had been meeting hardship in large, tough chunks. Out here on the beach they would soon face more of it, when the sun grew hot enough to broil a white man's skin.The slim, dark-eyed girl had suffered less, apparently, than her two companions. Yet her stout whipcord breeches showed rough wear, and her face, under a mass of wind blown curls, bore traces of weariness and jungle dirt. The society columnist who had described her coiffure at a Washington ball, six weeks ago, would have been startled to recognize Mercedes Colby, daughter of a retired Navy Admiral.