Choosers of the Slain

37

Amanda knelt down quietly beside the bunk in sick bay. Erikson's eyes were shut, and he didn't react at first, giving her a chance to fully take in his condition. He'd been a young man in good shape when he came aboard. That had changed. There was an ominous slackness to his body and a sallow tint creeping in under his fading tan. Even without a stethoscope she could hear the rales in his labored breathing.

"Hi, sailor," she said gently. "How's it going?"

He opened dulled eyes and tried for a smile. "I'm doing okay, Captain. Was that a missile launch I heard a while back?"

"It was. The Argys came hunting us again and we had to show them the error of their ways. Knocked two down and scared the daylights out of a third."

"Way to go."

It obviously hurt him to talk, and Amanda winced inwardly.

"I just dropped around for a second to keep you posted on what's been happening," she continued, carefully keeping her voice under control. "I also wanted to check with Chief Robinson about how soon we can expect you back on the duty roster. We need every good hand we can get."

He could only nod a reply. The pain, leaking past the analgesics he had been given, showed in his eyes. Amanda rested her hand lightly on his shoulder for a moment, then got to her feet and left the ward.

Chief Corpsman Bonnie Robinson was waiting for her out in the dispensary. Silently Amanda tilted her head toward the passageway door. They needed to talk beyond Erikson's hearing.

"He's failing," Amanda said flatly after the soundproof door had closed behind them.

"Captain, he's dying," Robinson replied with equal finality. "The antibiotics have prevented infection so far, but that's about all. There's a fluid buildup in his lungs, and I'm going to have to put him back on oxygen pretty soon. I suspect that there's still some low-grade internal bleeding going on in there. What's worse, that piece of shrapnel isn't stable. The last set of X-rays indicates that it's shifted position. This man needs surgery now."

Amanda shook her head. "It'll be at least four more days before we can rendezvous with the task force."

"In four days he'll probably be dead."

"Just what am I supposed to do about it, Chief?" Amanda snapped, her growing sense of frustration boiling over. "The only port open to me is in the Falklands. Going there draws me way the hell and gone off my blockade station. The Brits can't come out to us because that pulls them off their station. I can't even radio for help without compromising the safety of this ship. What am I supposed to do? I'm open to any suggestions!"

"I really don't have any for you, ma'am," the young woman replied quietly. "I'm just reporting the situation as I see it."

Amanda was instantly ashamed and angered with herself. Brilliant, Amanda, go ahead and kill the messenger bearing the bad news. God, gold oak leaves or not, Dad would take you over his knee for this and you'd deserve it.

"So you are, Chief. Sorry I blew my stack. This thing with Erikson is getting to me a little."

"It's okay, ma'am. I've never handled anything like this before either. It's kind of scary."

"You're doing good work, Chief. Just keep him going a while longer. I'll figure something out."

Deep in thought, Amanda headed forward beyond the CIC and into officer's country, seeking out her intelligence officer's quarters. She knocked quietly on the door that bore not only Christine's official white-on-black Bakelite name-plate but a second, gold-lettered "Resident Genius" plate.

"Somebody's home. C'mon in."

Christine's cabin was a small shrine to human individuality within the ordered structure of the Cunningham. Science-fiction art posters and beefcake photography dominated whatever bulkhead space was not taken up by her personal stereo and state-of-the-art video game system. Her desk terminal was mounded with papers, books, and magazines that threatened with every roll of the ship to cascade down onto the collection of paperback-stuffed cardboard boxes parked on the deck.

Christine was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, surrounded by such a concentration of disordered hard copy that it was difficult to say whether she had been working or trying to build a nest. "Hi, boss ma'am," she said cheerily. "Sit and stay a while. By the way, you look like hell."

Amanda smiled tiredly. "Thanks, Miss Rendino, I love you too." She removed half of a Milky Way bar from the seat of the cabin's only chair and dropped into it. "I need some input. What are the odds of our being spotted if we break EMCON to contact Second Fleet?"

The intel shrugged expressively. "Heck, you know the answer to that as well as I do. No matter how tight a beam we squirt or how short a burst we transmit, there's bound to be some sidelobe. If somebody happens to be in the right place at the right time and with the right equipment, they could get a bearing on us. We run that risk every time we query a weather or a recon sat. If you actually want to talk two-way with someone, the risk increases with every exchange.

"You could eliminate that risk," Christine continued, "by using laser-corn, but that means we have to come out from under weather cover to get a clear line-of-sight on a satellite.

"My bottom line is this. If we're careful, and given the resources the Argys have available, we might be able to pull it off safely…but I can't give you a carved-in-granite guarantee on that."

Amanda sighed and crossed her arms over her stomach. "That's how I figured it. Chris, that boy in sick bay is going to die if I don't get some help for him soon."

"Ah, so that's what's sticking it to you."

"Yes, and unfortunately the smart move is to just eat the loss and let him die. To do anything else is to risk the ship, the rest of the crew, and the mission."

"That isn't what you're going to do, of course. You're going to get on the blower and scream, yell, and put all of our necks on the line until you get that kid some help."

Amanda cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think that, Lieutenant?"

"Because in certain areas you are very predictable. Just now, you're in a conflict between what's right and what's smart, and, fa' sure, smart don't have a chance. You'd made your decision before you even walked in here. You just had to sit around for a while and talk yourself into it."

"Well, that's interesting. Do you often go around forecasting my future intentions?"

"Sure," Christine grinned, "anytime you want to know what you're going to think about something, just ask me."

The Intel swung her feet down off the bunk and reached across to her desk. She shoved aside a mixed stack of Playgirls and International Defense Reviews and revealed her interphone. Flipping the handset out of its cradle, she passed it to her captain.

Amanda accepted it and felt a little of her burden ease.

"Radio shack, this is the Captain. Heat up your systems. We're going to be breaking EMCON."

Chief Robinson went alert as the Duke's trudging propeller beats suddenly accelerated. When the change wasn't followed by the blare of the general quarters alarm she relaxed again and returned her attention to her sick-bay paperwork.

They must only be doing a sprint to a new location. After a moment, the interphone at her elbow buzzed.

"Sick bay, aye?"

"Chief, this is the Captain." Amanda Garrett sounded relieved and pleased. "We've got it worked out for Erikson! We're going to rendezvous with the British ice-patrol ship Polar Circle. They not only have a doctor on board, but they have a full medical team and a surgical suite. The problem is that the Brits will have to swing out wide to the south and east to stay out of the range of the Argentines.

"Tonight we're going to work over to the east side of our patrol area. Then, tomorrow, as soon as the Polar Circle reports that she's in position, we'll execute a second high-speed run to the east to get within range of their helicopter.

"With a little luck, the Argys will never even know we've been gone. We're just going to need a little more time to pull this off. Can you keep Erikson going another twenty-four hours?"

"You just bet we can, ma'am! May I tell him what we're going to try and do?"

"Negative, Chief. I'll be down in a little while. I'd like to do that myself."