The Golden Rendezvous (18 page)

Marston, is it possible to take those men down to your surgery without endangering their lives?" the good samaritan, all overcome with concern for his fellow men.

"I don't know." marston finished his temporary bandaging of carreras' hand and crossed to bullen. "How do you feel, captain?"

bullen looked at him with lack-lustre eyes. He tried to smile but it was no more than an agonised grimace. He tried to speak but no words came, just fresh bubbles of blood at his lips. Marston produced scissors, cut the captain's shirt open, examined him briefly, and said,

"we may as well risk it. Two of your men, mr. carreras, two strong men.

See that his chest is not compressed."

he left bullen, bent over macdonald, and straightened almost immediately. "This man can be moved with safety."

"Macdonald!" I said. "The bo'sun. He-he's not dead?"

"He's been hit on the head. Creased, probably concussed, perhaps even the skull fractured, but he'll survive. He seems to have been hit on the knee, to-nothing serious." I felt as if someone had lifted the sydney bridge off my back. The bo'sun had been my friend, my good friend, for too many years now, and, besides, with archie macdonald by me all things were possible. "And mr. carter?" carreras queried.

"Don't you touch my leg," I yelled. "Not until I get an anaesthetic."

"He's probably right," marston murmured. He peered closely. "Not much blood now you've been lucky, john. If the main artery had been severed-well, you'd have been gone." he looked at carreras, his face doubtful. "He could be moved, I think, but with a fractured thighbone the pain will be excruciating."

"Mr. carter is very tough," carreras said unsympatheticcally. It wasn't his thighbone; he'd been a good samaritan for a whole minute now and the strain had proved too much for him. "Mr. carter will survive.

chapter 7

[wednesday 8:30 pm.-thursday 10:30 a.m.]

I survived all right, but no credit for that was due to the handling I received on the way down to the sick bay. The sick bay was on the port side, two decks below the drawing room; on the second companionway one of the two men who were carrying me slipped and fell and I was aware of nothing more until I woke up in bed.

like every compartment on the campari, the sick bay was fitted out regardless of cost. A large room, twenty feet by sixteen, it had the usual wall-to-wall persian carpeting and pastel walls decorated with murals depicting water skiing, skin-diving, swimming, and other such sporting activities symbolic of fitness and good health, craftily designed to encourage to get on their feet and out of there with all possible speed any patient unfortunate enough to be confined to any of the three beds. The beds themselves, with their heads close up to the windows in the ship's side, struck a jarring note: they were just plain standard iron hospital beds, the only concession to taste being that they were painted in the same pastel tints as the bulkheads. In the far corner of the room, remote from the door, was old marston's consulting desk, with a couple of chairs; further along the inner bulkhead, nearer the door, was a flat-topped couch that could be raised for examinations or, if need be, the carrying out of minor operations. Between couch and desk a door led to two smaller compartments, a dispensary and a dentist's surgery. I knew that because I had recently spent three quarters of an hour in that dentist's chair, with marston attending to a broken tooth; the memory of the experience would stay with me the rest of my days.

the three beds were occupied. Captain bullen was in the one nearest to the door, the bo'sun next to him, and myself in the corner, opposite marston's desk, all of us lying on rubber sheets placed over the beds. Marston was bent over the middle bed, examining the bo'sun's knee; beside him, holding a metal tray with bowls, sponges, instruments, and bottles containing some unidentifiable liquids, was susan beresford.

She looked very pale. I wondered vaguely what she was doing here.

Seated on the couch was a young man, badly in need of a shave: he was wearing green trousers, a green sweat-stained epauletted shirt, and green beret. He had his eyes half-closed against the smoke spiralling up from the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth and carried an automatic carbine in his hand. I wondered how many men with how many automatic carbines were posted all over the campari. Detailing a man to guard three broken-down crocks like macdonald, bullen, and myself showed

that carreras had plenty of men to spare or was excessively cautious.

Or maybe both.

"What are you doing here, miss beresford?" I asked. She looked up, startled, and the instruments rattled metallically on the tray in her hands.

"Oh, I am glad," she said. She sounded almost as if she meant it.

"I thought how do you feel?"

"The way I look. Why are you here?"

"Because I needed her." doc marston straightened slowly and rubbed his back. "Dealing with wounds like these-well, I must have a helper.

Nurses, john, are usually young and female and there are only two on the campari in that category. Miss beresford and miss harcourt."

"I don't see any signs of miss harcourt." I tried to visualise the glamorous young actress in the real-life role of florence nightingale, but my imagination was in no shape to cope with absurdities like that.

I couldn't even see her playing it on the screen. "She was here," he said curtly. "She fainted."

"That helps. How's the bo'sun?"

"I must ask you not to talk, john," he said severely. "You've lost a great deal of blood and you're very weak. Please conserve your strength."

"How's the bo'sun?" I repeated. Dr. Marston sighed.

"He'll be all right. That is, he's in no danger. Abnormally thick skull, I should say; that saved him. Concussion, yes, but not fractured, I think. Hard to say without an x-ray. Respiration, pulse, temperature, blood pressure-none of them shows any signs pointing to extensive brain injury. It's his leg i'm worried about."

"His leg?"

"Patella. Kneecap to you. Completely shattered, beyond repair.

Tendons sliced, tibia fractured. Leg sawn in half. Must have been hit several times. The damned murderers!"

"Amputation? you don't think-"

"No amputation." he shook his head irritably. "I've removed all the broken pieces I can find. Bones will either have to be fused, so shortening the leg, or a metal plate. Too soon to say. But this I can say: he'll never bend that knee again."

"You're telling me he's crippled? for life?"

"I'm sorry. I know you're very friendly."

"So he's finished with the sea?"

"I'm sorry," marston repeated. Medical incompetence apart, he was really a pretty decent old buffer. "Your turn now, john."

"Yes." I wasn't looking forward to my turn. I looked at the guard. "Hey, you! yes, you. Where's carreras?"

"Sefior carreras." the young man dropped his cigarette on the persian carpet and ground it out with his heel. Lord dexter would have gone off his rocker. "It is not my business to know where sefior carreras is."

that settled that. He spoke english. I couldn't have cared less at the moment where carreras was. Marston had his big scissors out, was

preparing to slit up my trouser leg.

"Captain bullen?" I asked. "What chance?"

"I don't know. He's unconscious now." he hesitated. "He was wounded twice. One bullet passed clean through below the shoulder, tearing the pectoral muscle. The other entered the right chest a little lower, breaking a rib, then must have gone through the lung near the apex. The bullet is still lodged inside the body, almost certainly in the vicinity of the shoulder blade. I may decide to operate later to remove it."

"Operate." the thought of old marston hacking round inside an unconscious bullen made me feel even paler than I looked. I choked down the next few words I thought of and said, "operate? you would take the grave chance, you would be willing to risk your lifetime's professional reputation "a man's life is at stake, john," he said solemnly. "But you might have to penetrate the chest wall. A major operation, dr.

Marston. Without assistant surgeons, without skilled nurses, without a competent anaesthetist, no x-rays, and you might be removing a bullet that's plugging a vital gap in the lung or pleura, or whatever you call it. Besides, the bullet might have been deflected anywhere." I took a deep breath. "Dr. Marston, I cannot say how much I respect and admire you for even thinking of operating in such impossible conditions. But you will not run the risk. Doctor, as long as the captain is incapacitated I am in command of the campari in nominal command, anyway," I added bitterly. "I absolutely forbid you to incur the very heavy responsibility of operating in such adverse conditions. Miss beresford, you are a witness to that."

"Well, john, you may be right," old marston said weightily. He was suddenly looking five years younger. "You may indeed be right. But my sense of duty

"It does you great credit, doctor. But think of all those people who have been carrying a bullet about inside their chests since the first world war and still going strong."

"There's that, of course, there's that." I had rarely seen a man looking so relieved. "We'll give nature a chance, hey?"

"Captain bullen's as strong as a horse." the old man had at least a fighting chance now; I felt as if i'd just saved a life.

I said weakly, "you were right, doctor. I'm afraid I have been talking too much. Could I have some water, please?"

"Of course, my boy, of course." he brought some, watched me drink it, and said, "that feel better?"

"Thank you." my voice was very faint. I moved my lips several times, as if speaking, but no words came. Marston, alarmed, put his ear close to my mouth to make out what I was trying to say, and I murmured, slowly and distinctly, "my thighbone is not broken, but pretend it is."

he started, eyes reflecting astonishment, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He wasn't all that slow, the old boy. He nodded slightly and said, "ready for me to begin?"

he began. Susan beresford helped him. My leg was a gory sight but looked worse than it was. One bullet had passed directly through the leg, but the other two had just torn superficial gashes on the inside, and it was from those that most of the blood had come. All the while he was working dr. Marston kept up, for the sake of the guard, a running commentary on the extent and severity of my wounds, and if I hadn't known he was lying fluently he would have made me feel very ill indeed.

He certainly must have convinced the guard. When he'd cleaned and bound

the wounds, a process I bore with stoic fortitude only because I didn't want to start yelling in front of susan beresford, he fixed some splints to my leg and bound those on also. This done, he propped up my leg on a pile of pillows, went into the dispensary and reappeared with a couple of screwed pulleys, a length of wire with a heavy weight attached to the end, and a leather strap. The strap he fitted to my left ankle.

"What's this in aid of?" I demanded.

"I'm the medical officer, please remember," he said curtly. His left eyelid dropped in a slow wink. "Traction, mr. carter. You don't want your left leg to be permanently shortened for life?"

"Sorry," I muttered. Maybe I had been misjudging old marston, just a little. Nothing would ever make me reconsider my opinion of him as a doctor, but he was shrewd enough in other things: the first thing a man like carreras would have asked was why a man with a broken bone in his thigh was not in traction. Marston screwed the two hooks into holes in the deckhead, passed the wire through, attached the weight to one end and the strap to the other. It didn't feel too uncomfortable. He then picked up the length of trouser leg that had been cut off, checked quickly to see if the guard was watching, splashed some water on it, and then wrung it out on top of my bandages. Even to myself I had to admit that i'd seldom seen a more convincing sight, a patient more completely and thoroughly immobilised.

he finished just in time. He and susan beresford were just clearing away when the door opened and tony carreras came in. He looked

at bullen, macdonald, and myself, slowly, consideringly he wasn't a man who would miss very much -then came to my bedside.

"Good evening, carter," he said pleasantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Where's that murderous parent of yours?" I asked. "Murderous parent? you do my father an injustice. Asleep, at the moment, as it happens: his hand was giving him great pain after marston had finished with it"-i wasn't surprised at that"so he was given a sleeping draught. The good ship campari is all buttoned up for the night and captain tony carreras in charge. You may all sleep easy.

You'll be interested to hear that we've just picked up nassau on the radarscope-port forty, or some such nautical term-so you weren't playing any funny tricks with that course after all."

I grunted and turned my head away. Carreras walked across to marston. "How are they, doctor?"

"How do you expect them to be after your thugs have riddled them with bullets?" marston demanded bitterly. "Captain bullen may live or die, I don't know. Macdonald, the bo'sun, will live, but he'll be a stiff-legged cripple for life. The chief officer has a compound fracture of the femur-the thighbone. Completely shattered. If we don't

get him to hospital in a couple of days, he also will be crippled for life; as it is, he'll never be able to walk properly again."

"I am genuinely sorry," tony carreras said. He actually sounded as if he meant it. "Killing and crippling good men is an unforgivable waste. Well, almost unforgivable. Some things justify it."

"Your humanity does you credit," I sneered from my pillow. "We are humane men,'9 he said.

you've proved that all right." I twisted to look at him. "But you could still show a little consideration for a very sick man."

"Indeed?" he was very good at lifting eyebrows. "Indeed. Dan'l boone, here." I nodded towards the sentry with the gun. "You permit your men to smoke on duty?"

"Jose?" he smiled. Jose is an inveterate chain smoker. Take his cigarettes away and he'd probably go on strike. This isn't the grenadier uards, you know, carter. Why the sudden concern?"