Excerpt
A few men were vomiting so violently that they were actually doing somersaults in the water. Trying to keep his wits, Dr. Haynes called out, "Here! Right here! Where is the sick sailor?" And then he moved into the throng. It was not a happy sight. In the crowd, about a dozen sailors were holding a body aloft, an incredible feat of strength considering they were all treading water furiously to stay afloat beneath the added weight.
The man in question was in terrible shape. His eyes had been burned away. The flesh on his hands was gone and what remained were bare tendons. The boys held him in an effort to keep these terrible wounds out of the salt water. Haynes recognized the man as his good friend and liberty buddy, gunnery officer Stanley Lipski. Miraculously, Lipski had made his way blind from the quarterdeck, off the ship, and into the water.
Haynes knew that Lipski's pain must be unbearable—he himself could barely look at his old friend, who was moaning softly. Stanley, he knew, was one tough bird; Haynes also understood that he didn't have long to live. Reluctantly, he turned away to those he could actually help.