Dart’s letter reads a little like last-minute instructions before leaving on a trip; I guess that’s exactly what it is. After noon chow tomorrow, he’ll be boarding a ferry that will take him to the troop transfer ship. The good news is that he will probably be a “passenger” on a brand new transport vessel. It’ll be squeaky clean, with great dining and laundry facilities and handy storage to keep his belongings with him.

He gives Dot another new address to use until he gets his ship assignment. He advises that she be prepared to write quickly when these last couple of letters arrive in Greenwich if her letters are to reach him in a reasonable time frame. Already it’s been three days since he’s received any mail and even longer since hearing from Dot. It feels more like a millennium to him.

He’ll not be allowed to mention the name of his ship in the letters, or even what type of ship he’s on. However the name will be in his mailing address and the type of ship will be encoded in initials in the same place. Dot can get a little booklet at the dime store to look up what the initials represent. He’ll try to put stamps upside down to signal “I love you,” and he’ll talk about Tonsilectomy if he can get it by the censors, but he’ll no longer be allowed to put any coded messages inside the envelopes.

He’s decided to forego any mention of how much he loves her and misses her because it might make him sound homesick and full of longing. “I am, but why make the letter sound like it?”

Dot’s first letter of the year is a rushed little note saying she has no time to write, but wants to wish him a happy new year. She’ll try to write him a longer letter tomorrow to bring him up to date on how her holiday weekend has been going. Until then, she sends wishes that 1945 will be the best year of his life – so far.