Later, Parris, Roy, Raj, and Marchetti watched as two corpsmen carried Moses, now conscious, out of the head on a stretcher. The ship’s doctor, a lieutenant commander, followed and turned to Parris, “His collar bone is shattered,” he said. “It’s a clean break. We can set it in sickbay. He’s going to be laid up too long to do you any good.”
“Thanks, commander,” Parris said. “I’ll come up later to see how he’s doing.”
“We should be finished in about an hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Parris placed a reassuring hand on Moses’ chest. “Take it easy.”
“Sorry, sir,” Moses said in a blur of pain. “I screwed up.”
“Hey, things happen,” Parris said. “You’ve got to admit it, though, even for Crazy Horse, this is pretty good.”
Moses groaned as much from the pain as embarrassment at his own absurd predicament.
“But I don’t think I can write you up for a medal this time.”
Moses grinned at Parris. “No purple heart, huh.”
“I’ll see you up in sickbay. The doc is going to take care of you.”
“But you’re going to need a corpsman?”
Parris nodded to the two sailors at either end of the stretcher. They picked Moses up. Parris looked at Roy, then back at Moses. “Don’t worry about it.”
The corpsmen moved down the passageway. Parris turned back to Roy, and then glanced at Private Raj. “All right, Private, you’re in. Get your gear ready.”
The boy grinned broadly, “Yes, Sir. You won’t regret it, Sir,” he said, then ran as fast as the pitching ship allowed him to down the passageway.
“I hope not,” Parris murmured.
“You won’t,” Roy said. “He’s a good soldier—and an excellent medic.”
“We’ll see.” James murmured, just clearly enough for them to hear.