Halliday persuaded Oshley to lie down. He tried to question the suffering patient, but the sick man was in no condition to answer him. He moaned and held his stomach, oblivious of everything but the pain. When Halliday tried to palpate Oshley’s abdomen, the sailor screamed louder.

There was something terribly wrong. Gallbladder? Kidney stones? Duodenal ulcer? Halliday didn’t know and he didn’t have the test equipment aboard Toledo to find out. There was nothing to do but make Oshley as comfortable as he could and get him to a hospital as fast as possible.

Halliday was still taking Oshley’s blood pressure when Edwards walked in.

“He going to be okay, Doc?” the XO asked.

“Not unless we get him to shore real quick,” Halliday answered. “There are half a dozen possible causes of these symptoms that I know of and who knows how many more I don’t? I can’t treat any of them. Almost all are fatal without treatment.”

Edwards gulped. He had never been in a situation like this before, one where the life of one of his crew depended on his decision. The bulkheads of the already confined space seemed to be closing in around him. After everything they had been through already on this trip, he couldn’t believe this was happening now.

“XO, I need you to unlock the controlled medicinals locker,” Halliday said. “This man needs a painkiller pretty bad.”

Edwards grabbed the key from around his neck as he headed for the medical corpsman’s office. On the cramped Toledo, most space had to be dual purpose. Doc Halliday shared his tiny examining room with two mini-torpedo tubes, called signal ejectors, designed to shoot flares and evasion devices. Their plumbing protruded well into the closetlike room. Just aft of them, welded to the bulkhead, was a small locked cabinet that contained the various narcotic medicines that might be needed. Edwards had the key. He opened the lock and removed the vial that Halliday had asked for, and wrote on the inventory sheet that he had removed the drugs and why. Then he headed back to the bunkroom.

Halliday took the vial from him and measured out a dose. He reached over and injected the suffering sailor. Oshley relaxed as the shot took effect.

Edwards looked on with noticeable discomfort. For all his cockiness, the young executive officer hated needles.

“XO, nothing more you can do here,” Doc said under his breath. “Why don’t you go help the skipper get us to somewhere for a medevac? I’ll take care of Oshley.”

Edwards nodded and headed toward control. Joe Glass was waiting for him at the periscope stand.

“How is he, XO?” the skipper asked.

“Not good, Skipper,” Edwards answered bleakly. “Doc says we need to medevac him as soon as we can.”