don’t have to look at it no more! ’Course, when I tell ever-body what a chickenshit deck-ape you are, Spanky won’t even take you as a bilge coolie!”
Scott bristled, but Silva held him back. Then he grinned and sauntered over to the stanchion next to Laney. He peered over the side.
“Woo, Laney, you’re so brave! I ain’t never seen a snipe this close to the water before! I hope you’re holdin’ that safety chain tight. I wouldn’t want you to fall!”
“Hell with you, Silva! Least I ain’t scared of the wa… Aaah!”
He shrieked when Dennis pulled the pin on the stanchion that held the chain in place. He went over the side and the chain went taut with a clanking thud heard over Laney’s high-pitched scream. Silva looked down and saw the machinist’s mate bouncing against the hull, mere feet above the deadly sea, hands clenched tight on the chain, his upturned face contorted by a grimace of terror.
“SHIT! Help! Help! Goddamn you to hell, Silva! HELP ME!”
“But you ain’t scared of the water, Dean,” Silva called down mildly.
“I… I am scared, damn you! HELP ME!”
Silva heard running feet, and Felts and Scott grabbed the chain and started pulling.
“Shit!” exploded Scott. “You could’a killed him!” Other men arrived and between them they soon had Laney on deck, gasping and shaking, tears in his eyes.
“You could’a killed him!” Felts accused under his breath. Silva shrugged, then squatted and looked Laney in the eye.
“Damned ol’ rusty pin must’a gave,” he said. “No tellin’ what might happen if a fella ain’t careful what he does-or says.” He stood and laughed. “Whoo-ee! Lucky you was holdin’ that chain, Laney! Gives me the willies. The very idea of fallin’ in the water scares the shit out’a me!”
Sandra scrubbed her hands in the tiny basin in the compartment that once belonged to Lieutenants Ellis and Rogers but that she now shared with Ensign Theimer. Karen sat expressionlessly on a small chair, knees together, staring at her hands on her lap. They were caked with dried blood, and black rings encircled her fingernails. There was more on her clothes and face, and it even streaked her hair where she’d been squirted by a pulsing artery.
“You did well today, Karen,” Sandra complimented her. Which was true-to a point. She’d followed orders and done her job, stitching wounds in her professional, economical way. She’d done exactly what she was told to do-but no more. All the while her face was slack, her eyes dead, as if her body ran on autopilot but she wasn’t really there. Sandra saw that the expression was still the same. She sighed.
“Get cleaned up and go to the forward berthing space with Jamie Miller to check on Seaman Davis. I have an idea I’d like to try.” Ensign Theimer didn’t respond. She didn’t move. “Karen?” Worried, Sandra dried her hands and looked in the other nurse’s eyes. For a moment she saw no recognition, no spark of human consciousness. “Karen!” she shouted and shook her roughly by the shoulders. “Karen, speak to me!”
Huge, shiny tears welled up in the empty eyes and when she blinked, they gushed down her face-and somehow she’d returned from wherever she’d been hiding. Her large, glistening, haunted eyes desperately searched Sandra’s, but didn’t see what they’d hoped. She closed them again, and a piteous moan escaped her lips.
“I want to go home!”
Sandra went to her knees, embracing the younger woman as tight as she could.
“Oh, God, me too, me too!”
The tears came then, like rivers, from both of them. For a long moment, Sandra held her while Karen sobbed and sobbed. Finally, when it seemed she’d exhausted herself, Sandra drew back and put her palm on Karen’s face. “Me too,” she whispered again, “but I don’t think we can. For some reason, here we are and we’ve got to deal with that. I need you, girl. God, I can’t do this alone! The ship needs you, and so do these men. We both have to be strong-to hold up.”
“But it’s so hard!”
“I know. Believe me, I know! I nearly lost it myself today. But don’t you see? We can’t! We don’t have that… luxury. Too many people are counting on us, and we’re all they’ve got. We can’t let them down-we can’t let ourselves down.” She wiped the bloody hair from Karen’s eyes with a gentle, tearful smile. “You okay?” Miserably, Karen nodded, and Sandra squeezed her filthy hands. “I’m glad you’re back-don’t leave me again. I’m the first woman chief surgeon on a United States warship. I’ll mark you AWOL!”
Karen snorted a wet, almost hysterical laugh, but nodded.
“Good. Now get cleaned up and check on Seaman Davis. We don’t want these goons to think we’re weak sisters.” She watched while Karen, still sniffling, washed her hands and then left the compartment. As soon as she was gone, Sandra felt the tension flow out of her and she put her face in her hands. “I want to go home too,” she repeated, whispering, almost surrendering to sobs herself.
She still had to talk to Matt. It would probably be a long talk, and all she really wanted was to curl up in her bunk and fall into a dreamless sleep. She shook her head, wet one of the dingy washrags, and wiped the grime and tears from her face. Standing in front of the noisy little fan with her eyes closed, she let the tepid breeze dry her and tried to pretend it was refreshing. After a moment, she ruefully realized that she was fooling herself. She ran a brush through her sweat-tangled hair and stepped through the curtain.
Seated in the wardroom talking in quiet tones were the captain, Bradford, Gray, Dowden, Shinya, and Sergeant Alden, who seemed relieved that his charge had returned to his custody. The Marine was getting around better every day, but the idea of his climbing up and down ships, given the consequences of a fall, was ridiculous. He took his “escort” duty seriously, though, and he’d been disappointed when his request to accompany them to the Lemurian ship was denied.
They stood and greeted her with strained smiles, and Lieutenant Shinya nodded politely. They couldn’t have avoided overhearing Karen’s sobs, or indeed much of the women’s conversation. Sandra realized with a start that Matt’s “smile” seemed even more troubled than the others’. As soon as they resumed their seats, Juan appeared at her elbow and poured a cup of weak coffee (he’d begun to conserve) that she’d have mistaken for tea if not for the smell. Ordinarily, in meetings like these, Juan would have excused himself, but ever since the Squall, he often lingered, and Matt didn’t send him away. He figured it was easier to inform the crew through the grapevine than make announcements every day. Besides, Juan would be careful what he passed on.
“I trust you’re well?” asked Bradford. “Mr. Shinya told us your efforts were tireless.”
Sandra smiled wanly. “Not tireless,” she said. “It’s been a tough”-she paused and looked reflective-“but interesting day. I think we were a help, once I figured out when to leave well enough alone, and we learned a lot.”
The others nodded solemnly.
“True,” said Matt, “but I wish you hadn’t stayed behind.”
“I wasn’t alone. Lieutenant Shinya was there.”
Matt glanced at the Japanese officer speculatively but nodded.
“As were several armed men,” Tamatsu said. “She was in no danger. Your gunner’s mate… Silva? He is a formidable man. If the lieutenant had been threatened in any way, I believe he would have contrived to destroy their ship around us, by himself.”
Gray grunted. “Silva!” he muttered. “He’s part of what I was worried about.” Everyone, including Tamatsu, laughed at that.
“Well,” said Matt, “you must be starving. Juan? Pass the word for sandwiches, if you please.” The Filipino bowed his head and whispered through the wardroom curtain. There was no telling who was on the other side, but he returned to his place against the hull with the expression of one who fully expected the task to be performed.
“While we’re waiting, tell us what happened when you went to see this Keje again,” Matt suggested. “Lieutenant Shinya said you should be the one to speak, but I’d like to hear what you both have to say.”
Sandra nodded. “He was weak from his wounds, but not debilitated, I think. Their medicine’s not nearly as primitive as I expected. They have no concept of germ theory, but their infection rate is low. They clean wounds with hot water for no other reason I could see than that it just makes sense to do so. They hold cleanliness in high regard.” She glanced down at her uniform blouse and wrinkled her nose to the sound of sympathetic chuckles. “They also apply a kind of salve to wounds that must be antibacterial in some way, in addition to being a local analgesic. I asked for a sample and they gave me a whole jar. There’s no telling if it’ll be helpful to humans, and I don’t know what it’s made of yet, but I want to try some on Seaman Davis, with your permission. His fever just
