Commander "Bob"--Robert Heinlein at Okinawa--an excerpt from MacArthur's Luck

An excerpt from MacArthur's Luck (available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords):

CL Rochester, Sick Bay

Near Okinawa

1625 Hours, 28 April 1945

"Commander Bob will be down in a few minutes to see the wounded," said a grim-faced, completely exhausted Lieutenant Derek Stone.

Rochester's senior medical officer, fifty-nine-year-old Commander Dan Easterling, snorted in disgust.  The actual Sick Bay had proven so inadequate to house the flood of burned and broken sailors that Easterling had simply begun commandeering the largest safe spaces he could find below decks as makeshift wards.  Sick Bay itself he and his two primary assistants kept as a surgical unit.

"The damn fool ought to be down here himself.  Should have been down here four hours ago.  I've half a mind to shanghai him with a syringe of morphine when he gets here," Doc Easterling said.  He peeled off the latest in a succession of bloody gloves; his scrubs were spattered with body fluids to such an extent that it was almost impossible to tell that their original color had been light blue.

"He thought you might say something like that," Stone replied.

"He did, huh?  So what did Commander Heinlein have to say about that?"

Stone was weaving on his feet.  He had been leading a firefighting crew for five straight hours.  Only in the last half hour had Lieutenant Commander Cronkite, the Damage Control Officer, declared the worst of the blazes to be under control.  The cruiser's pumps had finally managed to balance the rush of water in through the gaping hole on the port side.  Gun Mounts One and Four had each shot down another kamikaze.  Chaplain Lindstrom had so far recovered twenty-six mangled, burnt bodies, including that of Captain Sandy Fitch.

Through it all, Commander Robert Heinlein had appeared to be everywhere.  He was a ghastly sight, almost an apparition.  Somewhere along the line the bandage around his forehead had been lost:  his scalp and close-cropped hair were crusted with dry blood.  He shambled rather than walked, using his left hand to keep pressure on the broken ribs along the right side of his chest.  One trouser leg had caught fire and only been doused when it had burned all the way up to his knee.  He had lost most of his voice, and could only croak orders directly into people's ears.  Several times he had fallen and been unable to rise without assistance.

Officers, chiefs, and ordinary seamen asked him to go to Sick Bay, promising to stay at their posts while he had his hurts attended to.  Heinlein just looked at them, smiled crookedly, and mouthed the words, "When the fires are out and Rochester's on the way to a safe harbor."

"What did he say to about that?" Lieutenant Stone parroted.  "He told me that if you or anyone else approached him, before he had given the word, that I was to shoot you."

Easterling gawked in disbelief.

Stone continued, "Commander Bob said to be sure and make it just a flesh wound, preferably in the lower leg, so that you'd still be able to operate if we propped you up.  But he was . . . quite emphatic . . . that I convince you that I would shoot you."

"This is crazy, Lieutenant.  The man's not in his right mind.  You know that I can certify him as medically unfit for duty, and if he doesn't stop this nonsense and get treatment immediately, I shall."

Stone shook his head sadly, looked down, and unbuttoned the flap of the holster that Easterling had not heretofore noticed.

"You're probably right, Doc.  He's undoubtedly half way 'round the bend by now.  Still, after what I've seen today, if that man told me to threaten my mother, I'd tell her to get her hands in the air.

"So you're not really going to give the Captain any trouble, are you?"