The blow knocked Fromley off balance, sending the sailor, his arms outstretched, onto the cells charging on the port side. Sparks flew and Fromley’s body shook as the powerful electric current charged through him. Smoke erupted from his coat. The lights flickered on and off.
Bleecker whirled around to the forward bulkhead and hit the emergency shut-down switch, stopping the flow of electricity from the diesel engines to the forward battery compartment. He turned and shoved Potts backward against the aft hatch. Potts’s head hit the handle, cutting his head open and knocking him out. Blood started to puddle on the deck. Potts slid to the deck in a seated position, his head resting on the hatch.
Bleecker grabbed Fromley and jerked him off the open cells, lying him on the deck. The man was still breathing. He grabbed the sound-powered phone from its handset and called the control room.
“Medical to forward battery compartment on the double. We have a man down — electric shock.” Then as an afterthought added, “And send me four stout sailors with handcuffs.”
“What’s going on down there?” Shipley asked from topside.
“Don’t know, sir; the lights flickered for a moment.”
“Call Lieutenant Bleecker and ask him what the hell is going on.”
Weaver turned away from the opening and was heading toward the sound-powered handset when the grinding noise of someone calling reached him.
He lifted the handset, and on the other side was Bleecker. He listened, taking in everything, snapping his fingers for the logbook. When Bleecker hung up, Weaver shoved the logbook into the hands of the signalman. “Write this down: man down in forward battery room; electric shock.”
Weaver grabbed the microphone to the speaker system. “Medical to forward battery room on the double,” he broadcast.
Weaver turned. “Handcuffs?” He turned to Boohan. “Senior Chief, you hear that?”
“No, sir,” the COB said from near the helmsman. “Something wrong.”
“Someone hurt?” Boohan asked.
“Someone got electrocuted. Lieutenant Bleecker wants a working party of four men in the forward battery compartment. He wants them to bring handcuffs.”
“You want the damage control party away?”
Weaver shook his head. “The CHENG didn’t ask for a damage control party.” He looked at Boohan. “He just asked they bring handcuffs.”
Boohan turned back to the helmsman. “Sounds like a party.”
“Take care of the working party, if you would.”
Weaver stepped over to the hatch. “Skipper!”
“Handcuffs?” Boohan said, shaking his head. “What have those sailors done?” he muttered to himself.
Boohan slid down the ladder to the control room, opened the hatch, ducked, and hurried aft. Reaching the mess decks, he stuck his head in the door.
Crocky looked up. “Hi there, COB, you come for—”
“Crocky, grab your crew and come with me.”
“Senior Chief, I got lunch to cook and potatoes on.” Crocky pointed with the metal spoon at a nearby huge pot, water boiling, and steam floating up from it.
“Then turn them off. We got a medical emergency in the forward battery compartment.”
“What’s that got to do with us cooks? Somebody want us to feed them?”
“Ah, Crocky, don’t give me a rough time. Just get your crew together.”
“Let me secure the heat to everythin’ but the oven. You think we’re goin’ to be gone for a while? I have biscuits cookin’.” Boohan let out a deep breath. “This could be life or death and you’re worried about biscuits?”
Crocky wiped his hands on his apron, reached over, and turned off the heat for the pot. Crocky had Washington grab the two Filipino stewards, and within three minutes the four of them were following the COB, who shouted for them to put on their coats. The mess was warm, but once outside of the cooking area, the rest of the boat was below freezing.
“Can’t you tell us what’s goin’ on?” Crocky asked Boohan as they hurried down the passageway, passing through the control room en route to the forward battery compartment.
“I don’t know myself. I just know they want handcuffs.”
“It’s livin’ too long in Scotland if they want handcuffs. They want whips, too?”
Boohan opened the hatch leading into the forward battery compartment. Potts’s head fell into the opening. A moan escaped his lips, and the man’s eyes fluttered.
“Jesus Christ!” Crocky said, stepping forward, grabbing Potts by the shoulders, and pulling him out of the battery compartment. He laid him onto the passageway deck leading toward the control room. “Washington, take care of this sailor.”
Washington saw the face of his nemesis through the blood running from the gash on Potts’s head. Taking care of Potts was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Do it,” Crocky said again, his finger pointing at the man. “Make sure he ain’t bleedin’ anymore.”
Boohan stepped inside. Fromley lay on the deck. First Class Pharmacist Mate Story leaned over the man, his stethoscope on Fromley’s chest.
“He’s breathing.”
Bleecker was breaking out tools from the locker on the side of the forward bulkhead.
“Lieutenant, what you need?” Boohan asked.
“Get both of them out of here is what I need. And when they come to, handcuff them to their racks.”
Blood was everywhere, and the smell of burning cloth and an odor that Bleecker and Crocky had smelled before filled the compartment.
“I don’t think this youngun is going to need handcuffs,” Crocky offered softly, speaking directly to Bleecker.
Bleecker nodded. “Just handcuff Potts to his rack.”
Without saying it, both World War II veterans knew the smell of burned human flesh. Beneath those clothes the doctor was peeling off Fromley, he was going to find fried skin. How much would determine whether Fromley lived or died.
Doc Story looked up from where he squatted. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but both of these men need to go to medical.” Doc slid the coat away from the chest. The dungaree shirt was wet beneath it.
“Doc, I wouldn’t try to undress him here.” Crocky reached out and touched the pharmacist mate on the shoulder. “Let us take him to medical before you do anythin’ else. You undress him here, what you gonna do then?”
Boohan looked at them and then said to Crocky, “You’re right. Have your men take them to medical and stand guard. I’ll bring the handcuffs along shortly.”
Potts moaned. “What happened?” he muttered, opening his eyes. Washington’s face was the first thing he saw. Potts’s eyes widened. “What the hell. .” Then he shut his eyes. “My head hurts.”
Washington leaned down, his mouth beside the sailor’s ear. “God hates you, Potts. You goin’ down, man. They gonna love that little butt of yours where you’re goin’.”
Potts reached up to push Washington away, but Washington grabbed the hand and looked at Santos. “Take the other hand.” The two men pulled Potts upright. Washington had never stood next to Potts until now. There wasn’t much difference in height, but Potts did have him on weight. “Stand up,” Washington said.
“Take him to medical,” Story said as he stood. “We’re going to need a stretcher for Fromley.”
Bleecker turned back to the toolbox, grabbing hand tools. Pliers, two screwdrivers, and wire cutters came out. “You think you can move him into the passageway? I’ve got to start repairing the damage here.”
Crocky, with the help of Marcos and Story, lifted Fromley from the deck. Fromley let out a horrid scream that filled the compartment. Story and Marcos jumped. Bleecker never batted an eye over the pain-filled scream. There was time for sympathy and punishment later. Right now, the boat needed these batteries.