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Bulge |
| Written by Tommy Dee | |
| Friday, 29 June 2007 | |
Matt had to admit, Tony didn’t look very good. Perhaps it was the remains of the metal 88 shell lodged in his throat and the gurgling caused by it, or possibly because most of his face was covered in splinters from the exploding trees. It just didn’t seem right, though, just to leave him on the frozen ground. Matt looked up. He didn’t know who to help next. Brian looked pretty bad, given that his ankle was blown off his leg, but the again Rich looked just as; he didn’t have any detached body parts, but it seems that about 3 88 shells had exploded around him, not to mention the outline of blood which outlined his form. Don’t worry Brian, your next, thought Matt. “Hey, Private! Help me get this guy up!” Matt looked at Rich’s broken figure. “Hey Rich, how you doin’,” said Matt. A muffled reply came back, mainly because Rich’s face was face down in the snow. Just from the look of things, Rich had two broken legs and a broken right arm, with various wounds caused by the shrapnel caused by the 88 shells. “Private, help me lift him. Lift by the arms. Try not to let his legs drag on the ground.” Matt and the Private ran as fast as they could further into the woods. Once the explosions and splintered trees became less common, Matt decided to put poor rich down. “O.K., this is good. Private, I want you,” Matt went through his med kit, but couldn’t find any more plasma, let alone morphine. “Shit. Private, stay with Rich. Keep him awake. A jeep is gunna come by here in a few minutes. Tell them to send another jeep for Brian. Got all that?” The Private nodded, and Matt was on his way. Sprinting back to the line, the 88’s became more sporadic. Although he couldn’t see him, Brian was screaming in pain, only about 100 yards away. Matt shouted into the distance, “I’m coming Brian! Hold on!” In a matter of 30 seconds, Matt was kneeling over Brian’s screaming figure while a few men from 2nd platoon crowded over him. With the speed of a skilled surgeon, Matt got a cloth and wrapped it around the stub that was the remains of Brian’s ankle. The shell had taken out Brian’s leg up to the middle of his calf. Matt’s first concern was that the pain would send Brian into a state of shock, but he seemed to be calming down and definitely knew what was going on. Everyone was talking to him and telling him he was fine, to which he would tell them he felt fine. Matt’s second fear was assuaged when he realized that the shell fused the artery in Brian’s leg; If that artery was allowed to keep pumping blood, he would quickly die of blood loss. Grant you, a fused leg would cause plenty of problems for the field surgeons, but it made Matt’s job easier. “Anyone have morphine?” “Here, Matt,” Said corporal Wade Jackson. “No, save it, I’m fine,” Brian mumbled. “Where the hell are you… Ah, Hill, call the Jeeps, we can’t move Brian.” Hill got on his radio and started chattering to someone, requesting immediate med evac. After about 5 minutes, a jeep came picked up Brian, who was sufficiently quieted since the mishap of the 88. It seemed that Rich was also picked up, along with the Private who was going to pick up supplies for Matt. Everything seemed to have cooled down sufficiently and everyone went back into their foxholes and watching the line, making sure no Germans tried to take their position. Matt was sitting in his foxhole, scooping snow into his helmet to cool down his head, when Lieutenant Speirs appeared over his foxhole. “Private, come with me.” When Speirs gave you an order, you better hope that you follow it. Apparently, he once shot one of his own men, just for being drunk and refusing to go onto a patrol. He also supposedly killed 20 German POWs on D-Day, but the most amazing part is he killed them after he gave them smokes. Matt looked at Speirs. He believed the rumors. Speirs had that “look.” “Well, Private, are you coming?” “Oh. Sorry. Yes sir,” Matt stammered as he climbed out of his foxhole. The pair walked far enough to make sure they were out of earshot, and Speirs gave Matt a stern look. “Private, what the hell happened?” Matt was confused. What did Speirs mean? Did he do something bad? As if he could read his mind, Speirs started, “Today, why did you hesitate? Why didn’t you just pick a man to help and get to it? And why didn’t you try to help Private Vich? He was clearly dead after the 88 shell exploded and lodged into his throat.” “Oh, I couldn’t decide who needed more help, Rich or Brian. And I figured I could have helped Tony.” “For Christ sake, use their last names. And it shouldn’t have taken you an entire minute to decide who to help. They were both in bad shape, so you should have just gone to the person closer to you. But you didn’t. You went to the person who was farther away. What the hell was that?” Now sufficiently down heartened, Matt looked at the ground, giving it a “It won’t happen again,” and was left to sit as Speirs marched away. Nothing happened for about a day, and Matt got some supplies from the Private. According to the field hospital, Rich would never walk right again, but he would live. Brian, on the other hand, suffered a mistake by a novice medic at the aid station, and died when the artery Matt was so worried about was cut. That was war. Matt was ordered to go over to Easy to see if they needed any help. Matt seriously doubted it; the Medic they had, Doc Roe, was one of the best he had ever seen, although he always had this bizarreness to him. After a short walk over to Easy and a weak welcome by Lieutenant Compton and First Sergeant Lipton, Matt went looking for Roe, who was relaxing in his foxhole. “Hey there, Doc Roe! You got everything covered over here?” “Hey there, Private. How is everything?” That stung. Here Matt was, calling the Roe by his last name, and Roe didn’t even call Matt by his last name; he was just “Private.” Since Matt wanted to get back onto his line, he made the conversation short. “You need help?” Roe nodded as he drained his canteen. “Ya. Do you have…” Roe checked his kit. Matt took a peek into his bag. It was almost completely empty. “Jesus, do you have anything? Plasma, bandages, syrettes? Oh, and scissors, you got those?” Matt shook his head. “I can give you some morphine, but that’s it. I need the Plasma, and I barely have enough bandages for my own guys.” “Scissors? I can’t find a pair.” Matt shook his head again, but so did something else; the Earth. “Oh ****!” Roe hissed, to which someone in another foxhole replied, “88s!” The 88s shook the Earth. It was truly incredible to watch. It was amazing to see a small piece of metal destroy a giant evergreen tree. Through the rubble and scrap, “Medic!” was shouted. Roe put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, preventing him from getting up. “I got this handled. You go back to D company.” “You got it. Here, morphine,” said Matt as he tossed Roe some morphine as he climbed out of the foxhole and ran towards D company. Things weren’t as bad as he expected when he got back on the line, but Speirs was pissed. “Private! Get to helping!” He bellowed over the 88s. The problem was, no one was very hurt. Only PFC London was growling in pain. He had his hand over his bicep. Matt ran over to him, where he cursed as his face contorted with anger and pain. “Hand off your arm. Let me see it.” The wound wasn’t nearly as bad as London was playing it up to be. As far as Matt could see, the blast just ripped some skin off of his arm. It wasn’t even bad enough for morphine. Matt got out one of the last bandages he had and wrapped it around the wound. “Don’t worry Doc, I’m fine. It’s nothing. Don’t call a Jeep.” Matt looked at him with a smirk. “It’s not bad enough…” “Matt, get your ass over here,” Speirs said. Matt just couldn’t get a break. “Yes sir…” Matt expected Speirs to take him far into the woods again to lecture him. Instead, he just took him a few feet from the foxhole. “Better, Matt. Much better. You didn’t hesitate. You knew right where to go. You did good. Keep it up.” “Yes, Sir. Thank you, sir.” “Go check up on Corporal Mohr. He was limping after the Artillery strike. I told him to see you, but I guessing he never did.” “Yes sir. I’ll see how he is.” “Mohr, What’s with your leg?” "Doing just fine, Doc…” Matt looked at Mohr. He looked O.K., with the exception of a small hole on his clothes’ thigh, along with some discolor around the rip. “What happened? Why are you limping? And what’s with the hole?” Matt jumped into the foxhole, deliberately hitting his hand onto the small hole on Mohr’s thigh. Mohr winced. “What happened. What’s wrong.” Mohr got his two fingers, put them in the rip, and opened it further. In it was a chipped piece of wood about an inch deep in his skin. He was still bleeding. “It was the 88, right?” “Yeah. It blew up a tree next to the foxhole I was in. It fell on it, and, I dunno, a broken branch or something went into my leg. No one saw it, and I didn’t want to be a nuisance." “Jesus guy, that’s not smart. Look at this, its still bleeding. How long ago was the bombardment?” “I’d say… 20 minutes ago.” “Christ. Do you have a history of Hemophilia?” Mohr gave him a long, blank, confused stare. Matt got out his last bandage and wiggled out the timber from Mohr’s leg. “When you were younger, did you bleed a long time when you were cut?” Mohr nodded as Matt stuck a syrette in his leg, just above the wound. “O.K., we need to get you off of the line.” Mohr was shocked and angry at this suggestion. “I’m not going off the line Matt. No matter what you say, I’m not-” Mohr was cut short by a shell, which exploded outside of the foxhole. “Mohr! Mohr! Are you O.K.!?” Truth is, Mohr couldn’t here him, because the shell cut half of his face off. Matt was saved by Mohr’s body. It’s hard to be killed by shrapnel if someone blocks your way. Matt waited until he heard the familiar cry of “Medic!” before rushing out of the foxhole. Why get yourself killed before anyone needs you. It was Brolotti who called for help. “Agghh! Help! Medic! Doc! Aggh! Help!” Brolotti was in his foxhole with a halo of blood around his head, augmented by the white snow. “Jesus, Brolotti, hold on!” Brolotti was shaking and moaning in his foxhole. He didn’t look good; blood covered his face because of the splinters and dirt. He no longer had his left arm, and his front, all that Matt could see anyways. His right hand was over his eyes. “Brolotti, I’m here! I gotcha.” Matt started on the big chunks of wood stuck in Brolotti’s torso, after sticking Brolotti with two shots of morphine. “I’m here buddy. Don’t worry.” The 88s stopped, and for the first time, Matt felt completely alone. The only other sound was Brolotti’s groans and the creaking of the tree’s, or what remained of them. Matt had taken out most of the splinters, and Brolotti was sufficiently anesthetized. Brolotti’s worst injury was his arm, which would have to be amputated from the elbow. Brolotti woiuld also be blind for life because of the shrapnel. A piece of timber mixed with rocks lodged themselves into Brolotti’s eyes and he blinked them in. Matt’s chief problem was his lack of bandages. He had to use pieces of his own uniform just to cover all of Brolotti’s injuries. The Jeeps came shortly after the flood of artillery. Fortunately, no one else was injured, because there was no way Matt could have helped them all. “You’re gunna be O.K. Brolotti. Your gunna be O.K.” “Where’s Speirs?” Matt was standing over a foxhole of 3 men. “Knock first. Why don’t you try his foxhole?” “I did. He isn’t there.” One of the men snorted. “Jesus doc,” He said as Matt walked away. “Do I look like his biographer? I don’t know where he is.” Matt looked around for Speirs. He needed to talk to him. He had a problem. “Hey guys, where is Speirs?” A cold voice came from behind Matt. “Behind you, Private. Your Lieutenant Speirs is behind you.” “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I need a talk.” “Well then, Private, talk to me.” “Sir, it’s private.” The two walked over to Speirs’s foxhole and jumped in. “Yes, Matt.” Matt was amazed. Speirs used his first name. “Sir, I just can’t do this. I need to go off the line.” “What the hell?” “Sir, I have to stop this. This lying. It hurts. All I do is lie. I don’t do anything special. All I do is natural instinct. I just… I put a ****** needle in someone and then do what I can to stop bleeding. ****, most of the time I can’t even do that. Do you know what I learned at basic? Huh? I learned how to lie to someone. I learned how to say ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’ I’m ****** useless! And I hat having to lie to my friends! You saw Brolotti! He was hopeless. And there I was, lying to him. ‘Don’t worry Brolotti. You’re O.K. Oh, you can’t see? Don’t worry. You’re O.K.’ I can’t do it anymore. It’s to fuckin… I can’t do it. I’m done.”
Matt was crying, and his tears froze in the cold. Speirs just gave Matt a hard, unreadable look. Copyright 2007 Tommy Dee {moscomment} |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 04 July 2007 ) |
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