I have to tell you about Vern Engdahl. We were all from the _Sea
Sprite_, of course--me and Vern and even Arthur. The thing about Vern
is that he was the lowest-ranking one of us all--only an electricians'
mate third, I mean when anybody paid any attention to things like
that--and yet he was pretty much doing the thinking for the rest of
us. Coming to New York was his idea--he told us that was the only
place we could get what we wanted.
Well, as long as we were carrying Arthur along with us, we pretty much
needed Vern, because he was the one who knew how to keep the lash-up
going. You've got no idea what kind of pumps and plumbing go into a
prosthetic tank until you've seen one opened up. And, naturally,
Arthur didn't want any breakdowns without somebody around to fix
things up.
The _Sea Sprite_, maybe you know, was one of the old
liquid-sodium-reactor subs--too slow for combat duty, but as big as a
barn, so they made it a hospital ship. We were cruising deep when the
missiles hit, and, of course, when we came up, there wasn't much for a
hospital ship to do. I mean there isn't any sense fooling around with
anybody who's taken a good deep breath of fallout.
So we went back to Newport News to see what had happened. And we found
out what had happened. And there wasn't anything much to do except pay
off the crew and let them go. But us three stuck together. Why not? It
wasn't as if we had any families to go back to any more.
Vern just loved all this stuff--he'd been an Eagle Scout; maybe that
had something to do with it--and he showed us how to boil drinking
water and forage in the woods and all like that, because nobody in his
right mind wanted to go near any kind of a town, until the cold
weather set in, anyway. And it was always Vern, Vern, telling us what
to do, ironing out our troubles.
It worked out, except that there was this one thing. Vern had bright
ideas. But he didn't always tell us what they were.
So I wasn't so very surprised when I came to. I mean there I was, tied
up, with this girl Amy standing over me, holding the gun like a club.
Evidently she'd found out that there weren't any cartridges. And in a
couple of minutes there was a knock on the door, and she yelled, "Come
in," and in came Vern. And the man who was with him had to be somebody
important, because there were eight or ten other men crowding in close
behind.
I didn't need to look at the oak leaves on his shoulders to realize
that here was the chief, the fellow who ran this town, the Major.
It was just the kind of thing Vern _would_ do.
* * * * *
Vern said, with the look on his face that made strange officers wonder
why this poor persecuted man had been forced to spend so much time in
the brig: "Now, Major, I'm sure we can straighten all this out. Would
you mind leaving me alone with my friend here for a moment?"
The Major teetered on his heels, thinking. He was a tall,
youngish-bald type, with a long, worried, horselike face. He said:
"Ah, do you think we should?"
"I guarantee there'll be no trouble, Major," Vern promised.
The Major pulled at his little mustache. "Very well," he said. "Amy,
you come along."
"We'll be right here, Major," Vern said reassuringly, escorting him to
the door.
"You bet you will," said the Major, and tittered. "Ah, bring that gun
along with you, Amy. And be sure this man knows that we have bullets."
They closed the door. Arthur had been cowering in his suitcase, but
now his eyestalk peeped out and the rattling and clattering from that
typewriter sounded like the Battle of the Bulge.