Fernandez took a towel with him and left the compartment for the head. He had just passed the other compartment and turned down the companionway when someone jumped out directly in front of him, and before he could more than try to step sideways, a fist slammed into his face, then again and again, until he went down to his knees.
For just a moment the other man started to kick, then put down his foot.
"Fucking greaser asshole," the man said. That was when Fernandez knew the attacker was Douglas. He tried to get up. Douglas pushed him sideways and he fell on the deck, skidding his right hand and producing a floor burn. Douglas snorted and hurried down the hall.
Fernandez got to his feet, his head still woozy and his vision not what it should be. He tried to clear his head. His face felt like he'd been run over by a tank. He made it to the head, tried to wash his face off with cold water, then half walked and staggered back to his own compartment.
The lights were off inside. Even the Hawaiian was sleeping. Fernandez hadn't noticed much difference in the appearance of his face when he looked in the mirror in the head. Tomorrow morning would be different. Damn, what would he say when the JG asked him how he got his face beat up? Fernandez didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to stay in the SEALs more than anything else in the world. Well, with the exception of his wife and family. They came first, then the SEALs. But it was a damn close call.
Murdock spent half the morning in sick bay. The doctors had decided to let Franklin rest during the night. They said the operation would be on at 0730.
It didn't get started until 0930. They wanted to do more tests. An X ray found the North Korean slug. It had hit some hard tissue and curved around, and was now lodged two inches from the spine, pushing gently against the Lumbar Five vertebra and a bundle of nerves that controlled the lower extremities. If it didn't come out, it could paralyze him.
The surgery took two hours. Murdock and DeWitt paced the compartment like caged tigers. They took turns filling the coffee cups. Just before 1200 the doctor came out smiling.
"Got the damned thing. Looks free and clear. Ordinarily on a wound like that, the bullet would go in the front of the side and out the back causing little trouble. This man will need at least two months before any strenuous activity. Somebody say he's a SEAL?"
"Right, sir," JG said.
"Put him behind a desk or give him a month's liberty. Don't let him anywhere near that O course of yours in Coronado or I'll have both of you up on charges."
"Tomorrow morning would be too soon to send him to a mission then, I imagine," Don Stroh said from behind them. The doctor scowled, turned and left.
"Way too early, Company man," Murdock said. "We're down to thirteen good men, so from here on let's keep it simple. How is your war going?"
"It's evening up out there. The South Ks are getting their defenses together. Might even be some counterattacks soon. What I'm wondering about is what you did to that general. I still don't know his name. I was having breakfast with the admiral when this Army guy called Kenner. He put it on the speaker phone so I could hear.
"This one-star general called you every name in the book. Said you were insubordinate, refused to follow his orders, claimed you outranked him on this mission, and about a dozen other charges.
"'Kenner listened to him, then snorted and asked this general if the SEALs had saved his ass. He said yes, but… Kenner cut him off, told him he was lucky he didn't get left behind. Told him he better write up a glowing report about the SEALs' rescue or Kenner would forward to General Reynolds a copy of your after-action report.
"That cooled down the one-star in a rush. He said maybe he was a little hasty and he wouldn't press any charges. "'Charges!' Kenner thundered. He said the general should at least recommend you for a Silver Star or a Navy Cross."
Murdock led the other two men to the SEALs' assigned assembly room.
"I'm still going to send a copy of my after-action report to General Kenner," Murdock said. "He probably never will see it, but I owe it to my men to protest that asshole general's actions."
Stroh grinned. '"Yeah, you're a real team player, Murdock. Trouble is, I don't have a single job for you to do today. You get to sit fat, happy, and warm while those GIs out there are fighting for their lives."
"Good for them. I hope you had a good breakfast. Now, time for us working stiffs to get to it."
Jaybird had the men going over their gear, doing resupp ly on their ammo packs, and cleaning their weapons, again.
Ed DeWitt checked over his men. He had five now instead of seven. Fred Washington was still in sick bay from his wound suffered in the action in the Kuril Islands. Now Colt Franklin was also in sick bay with that strange side wound. DeWitt stopped in front of Fernandez, who had his H&K PSG1 sniper rifle broken down on a wipe cloth in front of him. Fernandez looked up and DeWitt scowled.
"Fernandez, into my office." DeWitt walked down to the far end of the room and put the SEAL in a chair.
"Just what the hell happened to you?"
"Fell off my bunk, sir. I'm the third one up. Hit some gear on the floor. Hurt like hell. Then this morning I see I got some bruises. Nothing busted, though. Fit for duty."
DeWitt closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fernandez…" He gave up and looked away. "Am I going to have to talk to the rest of the squad?"
"They don't know a thing, Lieutenant. Happened in the companionway. It was dark. I never got a good look at who hit me."
"But you have a good idea."
"No hard evidence, sir."
"You know our squad is down to five men. I leave both of you behind, that gives me three men. What the hell am I supposed to do with three instead of seven?"
"Sir, this is personal, not professional. I would never violate my job as a SEAL to settle a personal problem. I have no doubts that the other man in this problem would also act like a SEAL in every aspect of a combat situation. We can function in the same squad, sir, and we won't let you down."
DeWitt sat down near Fernandez and stared at him. He was a good man, a fine SEAL, a team player. He was so thrilled to be a SEAL that the vibrations shot out of him in all directions. He knew his job, he did it, he was happy in his work.
Douglas was another matter. He had made the grade, passed through BUD/S, earned his Trident, and was in his second year with the teams. But something just didn't jibe right. Something wasn't 4–0 with him. For the life of him, DeWitt couldn't pin it down. It was nothing right now that would get him ramrodded out of the SEALs. Still…
"I'll have a talk with Douglas. In the meantime and from now on, you keep away from him. You're in separate berthing compartments, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Carry on, Fernandez." DeWitt watched Fernandez go back to his field stripped sniper rifle and begin putting it back together. He knew Fernandez was married, the only one in the platoon. Marriage was almost impossible for a SEAL. Long hours, days, weeks, sometimes months away in the field. No schedule, no time together with a wife and family that could be counted on. Most SEALs who got married found that it didn't last long. Miguel had held on.
DeWitt walked down the line and motioned for Douglas to follow him. At the other end of the room, he had a standup talk with Douglas.
"You notice the bruises on Fernandez's face?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any idea how he got them?"
"No, sir. He told Mahan that he fell out of his bunk. Said he had a third-level slot."
"You believe that?" "No, sir."
"Did you beat him up in that dark companionway last night, Douglas?"
"Me? No. No, sir. Not me."
"Who else?"
"I don't know."
"Douglas, if it turns out you're lying to me, I'll have your ass keelhauled. You know how long it would take you to go all the way under the keel of this carrier and come up on the other side?"