Billy’s first name had been Arminius.
As the Walrus rocks with each swell sliding under her hull, Billy remembers floating on the Rhine as a boy; remembers falling asleep in the saddle as his garrison pushes forward.
Sometimes he wakes with a start and old German or Latin on his tongue.
Out on the wide open ocean, Billy finds himself longing for Germany’s forests – those so tall, so old trees who’ll whisper secrets if he pauses long enough to simply listen; who’ll loom over him and hide him away.
Billy’s first name had been Arminius – and he never forgets it.