“Go up forward and draw me a cup of coffee, black. Take ten minutes before you come back. I got some things to do I don’t want you to know about. What you don’t know about you don’t have to lie about.” The man nodded and left and Hendershot busied himself in the small head.
The head in the Maneuvering Room was built into the after port corner of the compartment. The head floor was covered with a thick layer of linoleum and the bow of the toilet itself was made of bronze so it wouldn’t shatter under a depth charge attack. A small metal foot rest was fastened to the deck in front of the bronze bowl. The entire head was so small that to use it a man had to back in, sit down and then close and latch the Monel metal door.
Lieutenant Simms appeared the next day on schedule. He talked in grandiose terms about his plan to turn the After Torpedo Room into a PT boat berth. Hendershot, lounging on the padded bench in front of the control console, nodded.
“Been thinkin’ on that idea, Mr. Simms. Sounded crazy to me at first but now it doesn’t sound so crazy. Like you say, all we’d have to do is flood down a little aft, open the clam shell with hydraulic power and the PT boat could get under way.”
“I can see myself at the helm, roaring into a Jap harbor!” Simms said, his eyes glittering. “Four torpedoes in the deck tubes, all set to go! Machine guns manned! We could be among the ships in the harbor like a wolf in a herd of sheep!”
“Sure as hell would scare the Japs shitless,” Hendershot said. “Scare me shitless, too, waitin’ here for you to get back!”
“I’d get back!” Simms said, arching his broad chest. “When I played fullback at the Academy, I was all-conference, did you know that? When I played football and we had to have two yards the little quarterback we had would look at me in the huddle and say ‘Pete, I don’t know how you’re going to do it but we need those two yards. You call the play.’ And I’d get the two yards! Every time! When I set my mind to do something I always do it! Excuse me, I’ll use the head.” He backed into the head and closed the door. Hendershot cocked his head toward the closed door. He heard the steady drum of urine into the bowl and he reached down and closed a small knife switch that lay back of the padded locker on which he sat.
A wild scream burst from the head and the door burst outward. Lieutenant Simms, screaming, fell out of the head, both his hands clutching at his genitals.
Hendershot poked his head through the watertight door to the After Torpedo Room.
“Two men! In here! Now!” he yelled and stepped back as two burly torpedomen came through the door.
“Pick Mr. Simms up and get him forward to the Crew’s Mess,” Hendershot ordered. “You!” He turned to the man on watch with him. “Call the auxiliaryman in the Control Room and tell him to get Doc in the Crew’s Mess in a hurry.”
The two torpedomen grabbed Lieutenant Simms, who was curled into a fetal position on the deck, alternately screaming and moaning. They carried him forward through the two engine rooms and into the Crew’s Mess and laid him on a mess table where he curled up tighter and screamed. The Pharmacist’s Mate, roused from sleep, rubbed his eyes and looked at him.
“What in hell is wrong with him, anybody know?”
“Don’t know,” one of the torpedomen said, trying hard to hide a grin. “All I know is I heard a God-awful scream and then Hendershot yelled for two men to carry him up here. The man is heavy, you know? He didn’t say nothin’, just yelled a lot.”
Johnny Johnson, Ship’s Cook First Class, came out of his galley and looked at the officer lying on the mess table.
“If that guy has got the clap or some other good disease get him off’n that table, Doc. People got to eat there in an hour.”
“I don’t think he’s got the clap,” Doc Whitten said.
“Then why’s he holdin’ his cock and balls for?” Johnson asked. “He’s probly got a stricture or somethin’, can’t piss. I had that once on the Asiatic Station. Like to killed me.”
“Couple you guys straighten him out and hold his hands so I can see what the fuck is going on,” Doc Whitten said. “How come his shorts and skivvies is down around his ankles?”
“He was in the head back aft,” one of the torpedomen volunteered. “Takin’ a crap, I guess.”
“Look at that!” one of the spectators said. “His little old cock is swellin’ up and it’s turnin’ blue! Look at his nuts! Fuckers’re gonna be big enough to play basketball with they keep goin’ like this!”
Dusty Rhodes’ deep growl scattered the people standing around the mess table. Doc Whitten turned to Chief Rhodes.
“Don’t ask me what happened, Chief. The guy on watch dragged me out of my bunk and when I got in here they’d laid Lieutenant Simms on the table. He was all curled up in a ball, yelling like hell.”
“You wait and see, the man’s got the clap, got hisself a stricture, can’t piss,” the cook said. “Happened once to me on an S-Boat.”
“Shut up, Cookie,” Rhodes snapped. “Let me sort this thing out. Who brought Mr. Simms up here and why?”
“Me and him,” one of the After Room torpedomen said. “We was cleanin’ the Bos’n’s locker when Chief Hendershot yelled for two men. We went in the Maneuverin’ Room and Mr. Simms, here, was laying on the deck all curled up in a little ball and yellin’ like hell. Hendershot, the Chief I mean, he told us to bring him up here. Door on the head’s busted off, I think!”
“You know what’s wrong with him, Doc?” Rhodes asked.
“If I was back in Wyoming where I’d like to be, I’d say he got crotch-kicked by a horse but they ain’t any horses aboard. Son of a gun is sure turning blue, isn’t he? Look at his nuts! Pretty near as big as tennis balls already!”
“Well, what the hell are you going to do?” Rhodes said. “At least do something for the man to ease his pain!”
“He’s probly got the clap,” Johnson said dolefully. “Got hisself a stricture, can’t piss.”
“Oh, shut up, Cookie! Get back in your damned galley!” Rhodes voice was harsh.
“Well Jesus Christ, Chief!” Johnson muttered as he went toward his tiny galley. “Don’t have to bite a man’s head off for tryin’ to help!”
“Give him a shot of something,” Rhodes said to Whitten. “Something to stop his pain. The Old Man’s gonna be in here in another five minutes he keeps yelling.”
Ginty walked into the compartment and looked at Simms. “Hot damn!” he said in his deep growl. “Hope it ain’t anything minor, Doc.”
“Shut up, Ginch,” Rhodes snapped. “Make yourself useful. Take his legs and help carry him up to his bunk. You ready, Doc?” Whitten nodded and withdrew the needle from Simms’ shoulder.
“He’ll stop kickin’ in a second or two. Gave him enough to keep him under a couple, three hours. When we get him in his bunk I’ll pack some ice bags on him, see if that helps.”
Captain Mealey and Joe Sirocco listened to what Chief Rhodes told them without comment and then went aft to the Maneuvering Room. Sirocco looked with interest at the door of the head, which was badly dented outward at about the center of the door and hanging by one hinge. Captain Mealey turned to Hendershot.
“You were on watch, Chief?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, sir, Mr. Simms was back here, he comes back here almost every day to talk about his plans for a PT boat in the After Room, sir, and he was talking like he always does.”
“PT boat in the After Room?” Captain Mealey’s voice went up a notch.
“Yes, sir, his plans. Mr. Simms said we should split the hull in the After Room like a clamshell and take out the tubes and the bunks and the other gear and put a PT boat back there. Then we could get outside a harbor and he could take the PT boat in the harbor with his cutlass and sink ships. He said submarines aren’t aggressive enough, sir. I thought it was something you-all were talking about in the Wardroom, sir. That’s why I didn’t say anything to anyone else, I thought maybe he shouldn’t have been talking about it, sir.”