Brotherhood Of War: The Lieutenants Part 34

She looked down at Lieutenant Lowell.

"Relax," she said. "I just did that to get him off your back about the gun. How do you feel?"

"s.h.i.+tty ," he said, "now that you've asked."

"I'm going to give you a bath anyhow," the nurse said.

"Was.h.i.+ng your mouth out won't be much extra work."

"Sorry," he said.

The elevator stopped and the door whooshed open.

"What happens now?" Lowell asked, as they rolled down another corridor.

"Well, the first thing we're going to do is get that cruddy uniform off you," she said. "And give you a bath. And pump some blood in you."

"I'm hungry," he said.

"And then we'll see what else you need," she said.

"You're not going to knock me out," he said.

"We won't? Get this straight, Sonny boy, I'll do whatever I d.a.m.ned well please to you."

"I'm not going to let you knock me out and grab the pistol," he said.

"What's with that pistol, anyway?" she asked.

"It saved my a.s.s, and I intend to keep it," he said.

She looked down at him with surprise in her eyes, but said nothing. The cart was rolled into a private room. The orderlies moved him from the cart onto the bed. She saw his face go white from the pain.

"We'll just cut that jacket off," she said to him. "It won't hurt that way."

"I want the jacket, too," he said.

I want the jacket and the pistol. The rest of it you can have."

What she should do, she knew, was give him something to knock him out. And cut his clothes off, and give him a bath, and take the pistol. He was probably going right up to the OR anyway.

"You've got a hard head," she said, and bent over him and pulled the intravenous needle from the inside of his wrist. Then she reached for the holstered pistol he clutched to his breast.

"I'll put it under your mattress," she said. The young nurse with the whole blood looked at her in surprise when she did exactly that.

"Help me to get his jacket off him," the operating room nurse said. "And then send for one of the Schwestem to help me undress him and give him a bath. For reasons I can't imagine, it embarra.s.ses healthy young men to be undressed by a healthy young woman." She was pleased when the boy in the filthy, blood-soaked uniform chuckled. She wondered what had happened to him.

"Major, really," the nurse in the crisp whites and the starched cap and the lieutenant's bar said.

"Good G.o.d," the operating room nurse said. "You're lousy. Where the h.e.l.l have you been, anyway?" She looked at the young nurse. "He's going to have to be deloused before we do anything else." The young nurse left the room. Two middle-aged German nurses, called Schwestem, sisters, came in and matter of factly, impersonally, efficiently, stripped him, deloused him, and then bathed him in alcohol. The major pulled off his bandages, looked, and put them back. The blood transfusion apparatus was hooked up again.

"You need a haircut and a shave, too," the major said. "But that can wait."

"I'm hungry," he repeated.

"If we have to put you under," the major said, "you'll just throw up allover the recovery room."

"I was sewn up at Ioarmina."

She picked up the telephone and gave a number. She asked for a colonel, and then said, "OK," and hung up. A few moments later, a doctor in surgical whites pushed open the door.

"I thought you were going to prep him and bring him right up."

"It looks to me like the guy in Greece knew what he was doing," the major said. "I just called up to ask yon to look at him."

"How do you feel, Son?" the doctor asked, very tenderly raising the loosened bandages and examining the sutures.

"I'm hungry," Lowell said.

"Well, that's a good sign."

"He was lousy," the major said.

"I don't see any point in opening him up now," the doctor said. "Not until we get some X rays, anyhow. And let's get some more blood in him. Are you in pain?"

"I feel like 1 was run over by a locomotive," Lowell said.

"What happened?"

"I forgot to duck," Lowell said.

"Let's get some more blood in him," the surgeon said. "And get him something to eat. We'll have another look in the morning. I asked if you were in pain. You want something for it?"

"h.e.l.l, yes."

The surgeon scribbled an order. He smiled down at the bed.

"You're going to be all right," he said. "Sore, but all right." The ward nurse, a captain, had come into the room. The surgeon handed her the orders. The immediate care of the patient was no longer the responsibility of the operating room nurse. She left the room, and started toward the elevators. Then she changed her mind, and turned around, and walked to the kitchen.

"h.e.l.lo, Florence," the dietician said. "What brings you here ?"

"You got a steak in the cooler?" she asked. The dietician, a captain, raised her eyebrows. "You're about to get an order for a high-protein, low-bulk meal for 505," the operating room nurse said. "505 is about thirteen years old. He came in lousy, skinny as a rail, just about out of blood, and st.i.tched up like a baseball. I figure we can do better for him than a couple of poached eggs on toast."

"All right, Florence," the dietician said. "I'll see to it."

"Thank you," the operating room nurse said. She picked up the telephone and gave a number, and when it answered, she said, "This is Major Horter. If anybody wants me, I'll be with the multiple shrapnel case in 505." Major Horter walked back down the corridor to the PX refreshment stand. She reached into the flap of her operating room whites and took a dollar in script from her bra.s.siere and bought two c.o.kes from the attendant. Then she went to 505.

"Chow's on the way," she said, handing him one of the c.o.kes.

"Thank you," he said.

"There's a phone line to the States she said. "You got a number, I'll call your mother or somebody and tell them you're all right."

"No," he said, immediately, firmly. Then he smiled. "Thanks, anyway."

"By now, she's going to have a telegram, or they sent somebody to tell her," Major Horter' said. "She's liable to be worried. "

"When Mother heard I was in Greece," he said, she sent me a list of restaurants I shouldn't miss. The less she knows about all this, the better off she'll be." The ward nurse came in carrying a tiny paper cup on a tray.

"What's that?" Major Horter asked. The ward nurse told her.

"I'll give it to him, after he's eaten."

"He's supposed to have it now;" the ward nurse said.

"He's an emergency surgical patient, and I'm the Chief Emergency Surgical nurse," Major Horter said, flatly. "OK?"

"Yes, ma'am," the ward nurse said, snippily. She set the tray and the pistol on the bedside table and marched out of the room.

"You're a real hard-nose, aren't you?" Lowell said to her.

"Takes one to know one;" she said. "You want a cigarette?"

"I don't use them, thank you," he-said. "I smoke cigars."

"You're not old enough to smoke Cigars," she said.

He shrugged.

When the WAC from the kitchen brought him his steak, Major Horter cut it up for him, and fed it to him, piece by piece. When she asked him if he wanted the bedpan, he said he could make it to the toilet, and she realized that unless they put somebody in the room to hold him in bed, he was going to try it the minute he was alone, so she helped him to the john, and smoked a cigarette until he was finished, and then she helped him back in bed.

"You want me to clean your Luger?" she asked. He was surprised at the offer.

"Iy's not the first one I've ever seen Sonny boy," she said.

"I got one in a leather case with a shoulder stock. Captain from the 2nd Armored gave it to me. I know how to clean a Luger."

"Please," he said.

"Who'd you shoot with it?" she asked, idly.

"He was supposed to be a Greek. But he was blond. He was probably a Russian," he said. "Sonofab.i.t.c.h sneaked up behind us and started throwing grenades."

"Is that what happened to you? A grenade?"

"No," he said: "I'd been hit two hours before that."

She gave him his medication. Then she took the Luger from under the mattress and wrapped it up in his b.l.o.o.d.y, dirty British battle Jacket. She stood by the side of the-bed and waited until the narcotic got to him and his pupils dilated and his eyelids fell. Then she lowered the top of the bed, and walked out of the room.

She went to the dressing rooms for Operating Ampitheaters Four and Five, and put the battle jacket in the linen sterilizer, giving it fifteen minutes at 500 degrees to kill the lice and whatever else it was infested with. Then she took it and the Luger, now wrapped in surgical towels, to her rooms. She filled the bathtub, added Lux and got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the battle jacket. The rinse water was still dirty, so she filled the tub again, and left the jacket. to soak overnight. She took her baths in the OR dressing room anyway.

Then she took the Luger and removed the magazine. There was one round in the magazine, and when she worked the action, another 9 mm case came flying out. Then she took it apart, cleaned it and oiled it, wrapped it again in the surgical towel, and put it in the top drawer of her dresser under her khaki s.h.i.+rts.

On the way to see him in the morning, she stopped by the PX and got a really weird look from the clerk when she handed him her ration card, and said she wanted a box of the best kind of cigars.

(Five) "Dearest Sharon," the Mouse wrote from Ioarmina, "you remember what Scott Fitzgerald wrote about the rich being different from you and me. I want you to remember that if Craig Lowell comes to see you. I don't know why I said 'if.' He said he would come to see you, and I think he will. I will.

be surprised and I guess hurt if he doesn't, because I have come to think of him as a friend, probably the best friend I have ever had, and I don't think he would have promised to come see you unless he meant it.

"What happened to him sounds like a movie starring John Wayne.

"I already wrote about him sort of adopting one of the Greek companies up near the border. I don't know if Colonel Hanrahan knew what he was doing or not. If he did know, he looked the other way when Craig stole anything that wasn't nailed down, as they say in the army, and carried it to 'his' company'. Food, liquor, clothing, fuel, and even an oil heater from the senior (U.S.) officer's quarters here.'

"He was up with 'his' company when there was a large attack on it. The communists were trying to overrun the forts.

They used a lot of mortars; and a large number of people, including all the Greek officers, were killed or wounded. Craig was badly wounded himself. But he took command (which is really unusual, since the Greeks normally won't take orders from anyone but another Greek) and held out until we were able to get a relief force up to help. When they got there, there were only twenty-eight men left alive (out of 206), and they were nearly out of ammunition.

"When they got Craig back here, the doctor had to give him five pints of blood. He'd lost that much. They flew him out of here on a Royal Air Force seaplane to an army hospital in Germany. The doctor said he will be all right, but when I first saw him, I was frightened for him. He was gray.

"He thinks he'll be coming back here, but Colonel Hanrahan doesn't think so. Colonel Hanrahan thinks they will probably, eventually, s.h.i.+p him to the United States. Colonel Hanrahan is usually right, which means that you will probably soon get to meet the fellow I've written so much about. I don't want you to judge him by first impression, and I want you to warn Mama and Papa beforehand that he will certainly say something that will either hurt them or make them mad, or both. The language Craig uses-and sometimes it's really raw, honey, if you know what I mean, I guess is some kind of a defense mechanism, to hide his feelings, but you had better be prepared :0 be shocked. You'll have to remember that he doesn't mean anything by it. Tell Mama and Papa that.

"I want you all to be very nice to him. I don't think he has many friends, and not much of a family either. I really don't understand his relations.h.i.+p with his mother. He just doesn't seem to care about her at all. And she feels the same, from what I've seen, about him.

"That's all I have time for now, except to tell you that Colonel Hanrahan liked an intelligence a.n.a.lysis I drew up for him, and is going to put something about it in my' efficiency report. I told him that I wanted to be an' intelligence officer, and this will probably help me.

"And tell Papa that Colonel Hanrahan said he would have me flown to Athens for the Holy Days. And never forget even for a second, that I am Your faithful and loving husband, Sandy (also known as "the Mouse") (I don't even mind anymore.) (Six) Headquarters , War Department Office of the Surgeon General The Pentagon, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. 13 September 1946 "Within the hour," the surgeon general of the United States Army said, "I'll delighted to be of service, Senator." He broke the connection with his finger, and then tapped the phone to get his secretary on the line. "Ask Colonel Furman to come in here right away, will you, please, Helen?"

Colonel William B. Furman, Medical Service Corps, Chief of Administrative Services, Office of the Surgeon General, appeared ninety seconds later.

"Get on the phone, Bill," the surgeon general said. "Call the 97th General Hospital in Frankfurt, and get me a complete rundown on the medical condition of a soldier named Craig W. Lowell."

"Do you have his rank and serial number, sir?"

"No serial number. But he's either a lieutenant or a private, if that's any help," the surgeon general said smiling: And then he thought a moment. "And, Bill, when you get his rank and serial number, send a TWX. Medical condition permitting, s.p.a.ce available, have him put on the next medical evacuation flight to Walter Reed."

He's somebody important, I gather, sir?"

"I just had the senior senator from New York on the phone. He leads me to believe that Private Lowell, or Lieutenant Lowell, whatever he is, owns just about a square mile of downtown Manhattan Island," the surgeon general said.

"I'll get right on it, sir."

(Seven) The commanding officer of the 97th General Hospital was an old friend of Major Florence Horter. They had served together three times before, and it was unofficial but rigid Standing Operating Procedure that when the hospital commander scheduled an operation, Major Florence Horter was scheduled as his gas-pa.s.ser; and if the Medical Corps officers who were board-certified anesthesiologists felt slighted, tough teat. Major Horter, in a green blouse and pink skirt, and wearing all of her ribbons, walked into his office.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on, Flo?" the hospital commander asked.

"About what?"

"With you and this kid from Greece," he said. "Don't tell me May and December."