Part 17 (1/2)

So many tankers had been sunk that an oil shortage loomed, threatening war production both in the US and in Britain. Just when they needed more s.h.i.+ps and sh.e.l.ls and bullets.

Arch entered the bridge superstructure and climbed the ladder to the pilothouse.

Lt. Emmett Taylor stood behind the helmsman and smiled. ”Reports for me?”

”Yes, sir.” He handed them to the chief engineer. ”Soundings of the peak tanks and voids. All's well.”

”Should be riveting reading. Anything else to report?”

Taylor had more experience. Perhaps he'd have some advice before Arch reported to Buckner. ”The usual complaints of sleepy sailors.”

”Again?” Buckner's voice sounded behind him, from the doorway to the captain's sea cabin.

Apparently now was the time. Arch wasn't ready, but he drew a deep breath and faced the captain. ”Yes, sir. I'd like to speak to you in private.”

”Very well.” He motioned for Arch to follow him to his cabin, where the CO took a seat at the desk.

Arch stood tall, scrambling to organize his thoughts on such short notice. ”I've observed two problems. First, some of my men are jittery and suffer from nightmares.”

”Make them buck up. We're at war.”

With a slow nod, Arch clasped his hands behind his back to conceal the fisting. ”It isn't as easy as it sounds, sir. These are good men, volunteers who want to fight for their country. But constant vigilance is a strain for anyone, and the sights we've seen try the strongest souls.”

Buckner raised one dark eyebrow. ”I refuse to coddle them. This is a destroyer, not a nursery.”

”I understand, sir. However, I fear this might be leading to a second problem.” He gripped his hands harder. ”The drowsy sailors.”

”They're lazy. You need to make them buck up.”

Back to that again. ”I fear the drowsiness is only a symptom. There is some indication the men might be treating their frayed nerves with drugs.”

The captain sat forward, his dark eyes piercing. ”Drugs?”

”Yes, sir. I . . . I've heard rumors.”

”Who? I need names.”

Arch measured his words. If the captain cracked down and arrested Hobie, the investigation would be over and the problems would continue. ”As I said, rumors. I've discussed the situation with Pharmacist's Mate Lloyd, and he shares my concerns.”

Buckner tapped his pen on the desk, over and over, shaking his head. ”No. No, I don't agree. I run a tight s.h.i.+p. Very tight. Nothing like that could occur under my watch.”

Yet it was indeed occurring. ”Yes, sir, but-”

”No.” Buckner jabbed his pen in Arch's direction. ”They're lazy. You coddle them. They need stronger discipline, and you need to give it to them.”

That was an order, and only one response was allowed. A sigh eased out. ”Aye aye, sir.”

”Dismissed.” Buckner waved him to the door. ”I'm beginning to wonder if you should be a.s.signed to sh.o.r.e duty.”

”I-I'd rather not, sir. I'll make the men buck up. Don't worry.” He strode from the cabin. Sh.o.r.e duty? That would kill his career. If the war ever ended, if he survived, if he didn't lose his commission for his weak nerves, what would remain for him? A polite suggestion that he go to the reserves, that he would be better suited for civilian life.

In Concord with Lillian, he'd realized he trusted in his career. What a flimsy anchor. A doctor could take it away with the stroke of a pen. He had to trust in G.o.d as his anchor. Had to.

But without the Navy, who would he be? Just another rich sn.o.b, using people for gain. Oh Lord, not that.

The simple, wholesome life in the Navy had built his character. If he returned to high society, it would all be undone.

Dear Mrs. Lafferty's face filled his mind. The Vandenberg housekeeper had been so good for young Arch-kindly when he needed affection and firm when he needed discipline. And he'd repaid her with betrayal.

His stomach caved in, and he couldn't see for the frenetic twitching of his eyelid. Never again. Lord, help me. Be my anchor.

Arch stood inside the doorway to the bridge superstructure, praying, breathing heavily, his hands groping empty air.

”Excuse me, sir.”

Arch sucked in a breath and spun around.

Parnell Lloyd stood in the pa.s.sageway. ”Didn't mean to startle you, sir. Do you have a moment?”

”Yes.” Arch wiped his palms on his blue trousers. ”Yes, I do.”

Doc beckoned him deeper into the pa.s.sageway. ”I overheard Fish yelling at Stein for not paying attention, and Stein complaining of his nerves, not getting enough sleep. Have you . . . have you had any more incidents with your men?”

”Several.”

”I've been asking around.” Doc glanced behind him. ”The men won't talk to me. They insist they can handle it. But you work with them. Who's having the biggest problems?”

Why was Doc acting so suspicious? ”Why do you want to know?”

Doc turned back, all wide-eyed innocence. ”I'm responsible for the health and welfare of the crew. It's my job to know.”

It was also his job to refer men for medical discharge. ”I'll let you know if any man's condition seriously interferes with his work.”

”No, it's more than that.” Zeal shone in Doc's brown eyes. ”I want to find out who's suffering, who might be using medication. I want to help them.”

Arch studied the man's intelligent face. Were they working toward the same goal-to find the source of medication on board? Or did Doc just want to drum sailors out of the Navy? ”How can you help?”

Doc huffed out a breath. ”Honestly, sir, I don't know. The physicians have some success with rest under heavy sedation, but not many patients return to duty.”

”So once they enter the hospital-”

”I know. I wish I could treat the symptoms on board and keep them on duty.”