Choosers of the Slain

27

The hours just past midnight were a favorite time for Amanda to prowl the Duke's passageways and compartments. It wasn't an inspection in the classic sense, but more a chance to attune herself to her ship's state.

She moved quietly through the dim, red, night lighting, extending a hand out occasionally to a bulkhead to catch herself against the destroyer's pitch and roll and stopping now and again to listen to the whisper of air through a duct, or to feel the faint vibration of a pump. Once, she paused near the partially open door of a berthing bay to listen to the low murmur of conversation coming from within. It wasn't eavesdropping; she had no interest in the contents of the conversation, just in its tone. Angry? Uneasy? Confident?

A burst of bantering laughter came from the darkness. Amanda smiled and moved on.

She exchanged a few words with the duty security patrol and the junior officer of the deck as they made their rounds. She hit the CIC to check on the latest weather states and intelligence updates, then went down two decks to Main Engineering for a look at the fuel-consumption projections.

Under normal conditions, that would have been enough of an early-A.M. walk-around. She would have dropped by the galley to sample tomorrow morning's batch of cinnamon rolls, then turned in for another couple of hours' sleep before rising again to be on the bridge at first light.

Not this night, however.

"Good morning, Terrel."

The Corpsman striker who had the night watch in sick bay scrambled to his feet from behind the desk in the small office/examination room.

"As you were," Amanda said quietly. "I just came down to see how your patient was doing."

"Yes, ma'am. Pretty much no change. Chief Robinson is concerned about fluid buildup around his lungs, so we're keeping an eye on that. He threw a fever spike earlier in the evening, but it seems to be coming down now."

"Thanks, Terrel. Carry on."

Erikson's medical file was sitting out on the corner of the desk. She picked it up, flipped it open, and began to study the latest entries and evaluations.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," the striker asked hesitantly, "but are you going to be here for a couple of minutes?"

"I imagine so. Why?"

"I just finished the sick-bay supply inventory, and we're short on a couple of things. I've got orders from the Chief not to leave Erikson alone, but if you were going to be around for a while, ma'am, I could make a run down to the medical-stores room and get us restocked."

"That'll be fine. Go ahead."

The striker departed on his task. Amanda returned the file to the desk and stepped across to the entrance of the ward bay. Pushing aside the curtain, she peered in.

She didn't like hospitals, especially in the still, close hours of darkness. Such places reminded her of the night she lost a large part of her family.

It had been an automobile accident. Amanda's mother and eight-year-old younger brother had been driving in to Norfolk to pick her up after an evening dance class. A drunken driver had crossed over the road's centerline and had hit them head-on. Despite the best efforts of the trauma teams, they had died the same night, within two hours of each other.

Her father had been in the western Pacific when it had happened. It would be almost two days before he would be able to get home. Amanda had been fourteen years old and alone. The hospital staff had tried to get her to leave, but she had refused. She had been at each of their bedsides at the end, because that was where she needed to be.

"Terrel? Hey, Terrel, you there?" Erikson's voice came weakly from out of the dimness and he shifted a few painful inches in his bunk. Moving swiftly, Amanda entered the bay and dropped down at his side.

"Are you all right?"

The young seaman must have been startled at having his commanding officer suddenly materialize at his call.

"Uh… yes, ma'am, I'm okay. I was just trying to get the Corpsman."

"He's out for the moment and I'm minding the store. What can we do for you?"

"It's nothing, ma'am. Just a little thirsty. I was wondering if I could get some more of that ice they've been letting me have."

"No problem."

Amanda got to her feet and filled a plastic cup from the ice dispenser on the forward bulkhead. Returning to the wounded man, she carefully fed him a few of the ice chips.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, easing back down onto his pillow. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."

"You didn't. I did come down here to see how you were doing, after all."

"That was nice of you, ma'am. I'm doing okay. They're taking pretty good care of me, I guess." The seaman shifted in his bunk in weak discomfort. "It's just that I don't much like having to be taken care of in the first place."

"I know what you mean," she replied, sitting down on the deck and tucking her feet under her. "I hate being fussed over myself."

"Yeah. I guess I won't be able to get around for a while. This just lying here is gonna drive me crazy."

"I seem to remember that you were big into sports. Football, wasn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Fullback. My senior year, my team was runner-up for our state triple-A championship. I tried out for a couple of athletic scholarships, but I never made the cut. That's how I came to join up. Mom and Dad are divorced, and neither one of 'em have all that much money. I figured that the Navy would be my best chance for college."

"The Matching Funds Program?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've got a couple of thousand bucks riding the books already. I'm going to be signing up for some of the college-level correspondence courses, too. I'd really like to be a building contractor someday. Run my own outfit, you know. I figure that becoming an architect is my best first step…. Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to start carrying on like that."

"It's all right," she replied, letting her gaze drift off into the middle-distant darkness. "I've been there. When it's the middle of the night and you're hurting, sometimes you want to talk."

"Yeah….Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Have my folks been notified that I've been wounded?"

"I'd guess so. We notified Second Fleet about our damage and casualties before we went EMCON. Why?"

"I was just wishing that there was some way that I could rig it so they'd know that I was okay, that everything was going to be all right, you know?"

"I wish we could, but it's just not possible."

"I understand, ma'am." The young sailor hesitated for a moment, then went on. "Captain, could you do me a favor?"

"Like what?"

"If anything happens, could you tell my folks that I was okay, that I wasn't hurting or scared or anything?"

"I've got a hunch that's not exactly the truth."

"No, ma'am," the young seaman replied tightly. "It isn't."

Amanda came up onto her knees and took Erikson's hand in both of her own. "Look, you can tell your family yourself, because we are getting you out of here. I've never lost anyone under my command yet, and I'm not starting with you. You remember that, sailor. I'm taking us all home."