Fool's Wisdom

by Jay Heavner

  Chris took one look at the wound and began to help Tom into the Huey. A hand reached out and helped pull Tom in. He laid on his back in horrible pain. The air shook with noise and bullets. Chris shook as the rounds found their mark. “Help me!” he said to Tom and anyone who may hear. “Help me!”

  Tom reached for Chris to pull him in, but he hurt so badly and only got him part way in. From somewhere behind, a big hand attached to a long arm reached forward, and with this help, Chris was pulled into the Huey. He fell on top of Tom, and they lay nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye. The chopper lifted off rapidly in a hail of bullets. Soon, it was out of range of ground fire and headed to the base camp twelve miles away.

  The men, packed like cordwood, groaned in pain as the chopper flew toward its destination. Tom could feel Chris’s warm blood draining on him. Still face-to-face, Chris raised his head and looked eye-to-eye at Tom and said through the pain, “Tom, I’m dying. I know it.”

  Tom said, “Hold on, Chris. We can make it.” He said this as much to reassure himself as he did for Chris’s benefit.

  Chris slowly shook his head from side-to-side. “No, Tom, I ain’t goin’ to make it,” he said. “You remember what I told you, and promise me this.”

  “What? What do you want me to promise to?”

  “Do you promise?” asked Chris.

  Tom nodded the best he could under the circumstances. “Yeah, I promise. What do you want me to do?”

  “Go see my father and tell him I died in battle. It’ll mean a lot to him. Promise you will.”

  “I promise,” said Tom.

  A little smile came to Chris’s face, then his head dropped on Tom’s shoulder and stayed there. Tom’s shirt oozed with sweat and hot blood. His groin ached in pain. A tear rolled from his eye, followed by many more. He cried like he had not cried since he was a child. And then like a child, he fell asleep much the same as a dead man.

  Chapter 9

  “Hurry up! Get ‘em out of that chopper. And get that ammo ready to go,” yelled Big Tony.

  It was organized confusion around the MASH unit as the choppers landed with their grim cargos. Grunts with bloody hands and bloody clothes untangled the casualties in the choppers. Quickly and not gently, they removed the human cargo. They put the men on gurneys and took them to triage where Staff Sergeant Chief Medical NCO “Big Tony” separated them into three groups: dead and beyond hope, salvageable and in need of immediate attention, and salvageable and can wait for treatment. Usually, a doctor did this, but today was no usual day. They were short of doctors. Two were sick with malaria, and one was out with appendicitis. It was up to Big Tony to fill in the slack.

  When the last wounded man was removed from the chopper, Big Tony threw a bucket of water in the cargo area to wash away the slippery blood that covered it.

  “Now, get that ammo in the Huey! Those guys are dying out there without it,” screamed Big Tony. He was a man who could out cuss and out growl a roomful of drill sergeants any day when he wanted to, which wasn’t often necessary. When Big Tony spoke, men moved in a hurry. The chopper was soon full, lifted off, and headed back to the battle. It had been doing this all day.

  Big Tony went around inspecting the casualties for the severity of their wounds. He decided who went next to the surgeons and treatment. Literally, he held the lives of many men in his hands. If you were too far gone from waiting, you went to the first group to die and another man moved to the head of the line for treatment. As he walked around examining the wounded, a hand reached out and grabbed him. He looked down at the man who stopped him. Big Tony saw his name was Kenney, in spite of the blood and dirt covering his shirt. “Is he gonna survive?” the wounded man asked.

  “Is who gonna survive?” asked Big Tony.

  “My friend, the big Indian. Is he gonna make it?”

  Big Tony looked into the wounded man’s face and immediately knew who he was asking about. The big Indian’s body was among the dead taken from the airships, lying on the ground, and waiting for processing. Big Tony lied as he had to so many GIs who’d asked the same question. “He’ll be all right. You need to take care and worry about yourself. We’ll take care of him.” Big Tony patted the man’s hand and lied again, “He’ll be all right.” Then he raised his head and yelled out to someone, “Private Smith, get your ass over here and start an IV in this man, lots of happy juice for him.”

  “Sorry, Sarge,” medic Smith yelled back. “Still busy on this one. Can you get someone else?”

  Big Tony grumbled some strong profanity under his breath. Yes, he would get it, but he was not going to like it. He got the IV and a bag containing morphine, found a good vein in the arm of the blood-covered soldier, inserted the IV, and began the flow. Big Tony yelled, “Need blood here,” and a man nearby brought a bag and an IV. Big Tony inserted this IV in the other arm and began the blood flow.

  Private Smith came over and was examining the wound. He reached down, pulled at something, and blood squirted everywhere. “What the hell are you doin’?” screamed Big Tony.

  “I pulled a stick out of his leg,” replied Private Smith.

  “You idiot! It was in his femoral artery! He’ll bleed to death!” Big Tony pushed the startled man away and put his hand over the wound to stop the blood squirting. “I should put you on report. Get out of my sight! Now!”

  Private Smith nearly ran from the angry Sergeant. Big Tony shook his head. Moron. He could have killed this man if I hadn’t been here. If the enemy doesn’t kill ‘em, our own stupid people will. He stopped the bleeding and looked again at the wounds to the man’s groin and legs. It was worse than his first hasty assessment had determined. The man would survive, but he needed more help than was available at this MASH unit. The 8th Field Hospital in Nha Trang had doctors and facilities for this kind of wound. That was where he was going. “Private Smith,” he yelled. “Come here. This man needs transported to the big hospital. Do you think you can help me without tripping over your own feet and dropping this poor soldier?”

  “Yes, sir,” he yelled. “Coming right up, sir.”

  Private Smith arrived, and the two men quickly picked up the stretcher. They moved him to the group waiting for evac. Soon, he’d be heading for the hospital on the coast. Big Tony walked away and spoke to Private Smith. “Smith,” he said, “keep up the good work. Anyone can make a stupid mistake. Learn from it and don’t ever do that again. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Private Smith continued back to the triage area. Big Tony looked at the carnage around him and shook his head. If there was a god, how could he let horrors like this happen? He sighed heavily. And if there is a god, please be with the man on the stretcher me and Smith just carried over there. He’s sure gonna need your help now, and in the future. And then he moved on to the wounded, checking who was savable and who wasn’t. War was hell. Only the dead have seen the last of it.

  Chapter 10

  Oh, my head hurts. Through the blur, Tom looked around. Where am I? Nothing seemed familiar. He was on a bed in a hospital somewhere and had an IV was in his wrist. But what am I doing here? He looked around the room and saw other men in hospital beds. Slowly, it came back. Vietnam. The battle. Getting hit. At triage. And now he was here, wherever here was. He tried to move, and intense pain hit below his waist. “Awhh!” He screamed, and a nurse appeared from somewhere.

  “Well, you finally woke up,” she sharply. ‘Thought we had another Rip Van Winkle in the ward. Some of you guys sleep for days. Trauma and some crazy anesthesia will do that.”

  Tom looked at the nurse and groaned, “Nurse, who are you, and where am I?”

  “I’m one of the nurses on this ward. The name’s Lt. Jackson, Lt. Marg Jackson, but most people call me, Nurse Jackson. And the answer to the second question is, you’re at the 8th Field Hospital in Nha Trang in the vacation capital of the world, South Vietnam.”

  Tom grunted. “Looks like this vacation took a turn for the worse, and I had too much fu
n. How bad is it?”

  “I’ll get the doctor. He wanted to talk with you when you awoke. Be right back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he lamented to her backside as she turned and briskly walked away.

  A short time later, the doctor and nurse walked up to Tom’s bed. “Well, Private Kenney, I’m Dr. Kalidas. I see you’re no longer asleep, and I bet you have questions. I’ll answer all I can.”

  Tom said without enthusiasm, “I remember the battle and getting hit. Guess the army got me here while I was knocked out and patched me up as best they could.”

  The doctor said, “You’re very fortunate to be alive. Twenty years ago, your wounds would have been fatal.”

  “Just how bad is it, doctor?” Tom asked.

  “Compared to a lot of what I have seen here, you’re lucky. This hospital holds a little over one hundred, and most would gladly change places with you.”

  Tom let out a deep sigh. “When you put it that way, it sounds much better, but what’s wrong with me? I feel pain in my legs and lower trunk. What happened?”

  The doctor looked at the nurse and then spoke. “From what we can figure out, you were hit by a bullet, shrapnel, flying debris, or all three. The best news is, you will recover and have the ability to live to an old age if the fates allow.”

  “That’s good,” said Tom, “but what’s the bad news?”

  “The bad news,” repeated the doctor. “The bad news is, you nearly died. If not for someone’s actions, you would have bled to death. Someone patched up a hole in your femoral artery somewhere between the battle and when you got here. It was expert work. Whoever did this, saved your life.”

  “Any more bad news?”

  With a straight face showing no emotion, the doctor said, “You lost one of your testicles. Whatever hit you took it off and damaged the other. I was able to save the second and reattach the damaged ducts. You’ll look a little different in the manhood department from what you were, but with our corrective surgery, you should have no problem having a family.” Tom sighed. The doctor continued, “You had some shrapnel or debris in your legs and trunk, which we removed. How much these spots will scar is unknown, but we should know by the time you leave here.”

  Tom asked, “And how long will that be?”

  “Two to three weeks if all goes well, and the swelling goes down.”

  The nurse next to the doctor suppressed a snicker. The doctor looked at her questioningly and realized what he had said. He smiled and said to Tom, “The swelling in your legs from the dirty intruders that is. Your favorite organ should be able to swell and function quite normally and effectively.”

  “Well,” said Tom. “That’s certainly good to know.”

  “I better be going. I need to check on some others upstairs. Private Kenney, I’ll be around each day checking on your progress, and if you have more questions, please ask. See you then.” He turned and hastily left the large hospital room.

  When he was out of sight, the nurse let the snicker out and said, “The doc’s somewhat of a no-nonsense, straight-laced guy with some things, but there’s no one here who questions his surgical skills. I was there assisting as he put your broken parts back together. You were in good hands.”

  “Seems like I’ve been in lots of good hands lately,” Tom and smiled.

  The nurse laughed. “It’s good you haven’t lost your sense of humor. It will help with your recovery.” She got near Tom’s bed and whispered in his ear, “Soldier, as a nurse of twenty years, I’ve seen it all including yours up close and personal. You’re going to be all right, and I think, keep a wife very happy when you fulfill your lovemaking abilities with that bad boy.”

  Tom was a little shocked to hear her frankness with him, but also pleased and relieved.

  The nurse drew away from Tom and said, “Just like the doctor, I have others I need to see. I’ll check on you later. Anything else you need before I go?”

  Tom thought for a moment and asked, “Yes, I was with a friend, Private Chris Benally, in the battle. He got hit bad. Could you check and see how he’s doing?”

  “Be glad to, soldier. I’ll get on the horn and see. It may take a while, but I’ll get you an answer.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said. “I’m thankful there are still angels like you.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll check about your friend, Private Benally, and give you the information when it comes in. Bye.” And she was off to her other duties.

  Tom suddenly felt very tired. He was alive and in good hands. As he thought about that, he drifted off to sleep.

  One week later

  Tom sat on a bench and looked out of the hospital window towards the ocean. Somewhere, many thousands of miles away across a vast ocean and a continent was home, and he wished he could be there. He thought of the guys who’d been here and been sent back to their units. The doctors said he’d be back with the other soldiers after a month of recovery. A few short months ago, when he was in school, if someone had told him all that would happen to him from then until now, he’d have said them they were nuts. But here he was. How he wanted to go home to the USA. He let out a sigh and looked up to see Dr. Kalidas and Nurse Jackson coming his way.

  They walked up to him. “Private. Kenney, we’ve been looking for you. We have news that concerns you.”

  Tom looked at them and said, “Okay, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the news? How soon? When?”

  The nurse and the doctor traded glances. The doctor spoke first. “An Army board has been looking at your situation and made a decision based on finding out about two things.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Tom.

  “The two are related to keeping you in the Army. Number 1, the Army is concerned about a report they received on your father’s health. His wife, your mother, has been dead for some time, and you are the only close relative. They’re concerned about who will care for him as his Parkinson’s progresses.” He paused. “And Number 2, because of your injury and you being the only one to carry on the family name, they’re concerned if they send you back into action, a similar injury will extinguish the family line. Because of these two things, the board recommended an honorable discharge with full benefits. You’re to be discharged as soon as you are well enough to leave.”

  Tom said nothing. He looked stunned and remained mute.

  “You did hear me, Private Kenney? You’re going home.”

  Tom looked at both of them. “Yes, I heard you. I just can’t believe it. Home and soon. I thought for sure they were sending me back to my unit.”

  Nurse Jackson spoke, “I have some news too. It’s about your friend, Private Benally. I’m sorry; he didn’t make it.”

  Tom murmured, “I know. I could feel it in my heart. I knew he was gone.”

  “We’re sorry about your friend,” she said, “but glad you’re going home.”

  “Life’s not fair,” said Tom. “It should have been me and not Chris. Why? Why am I still here?”

  Nurse Jackson replied, “No, life’s not fair, and neither you nor all the doctors or nurses in the world can make it so, as much as we’d like to. You just have to go on and try to make some sense of it.” She stopped. “There’s a hundred people in this hospital that wish those discharge orders were for them. Consider yourself lucky. You survived it and will live to tell about it. Don’t try to understand everything. Just get yourself healed up and go back to where you were and make a life of it. Isn’t that what your friend would want you to do?”

  “Guess you’re right. It’s so much to digest. Gonna take a while to get used to being a civilian again,” said Tom.

  “Let’s leave the young man to his thoughts,” the nurse said to the doctor. “If I were in your shoes, I’d want to be alone to think.”

  Tom smiled, “Nurse Jackson, you’ve known me for only a short time, and already you can read my thoughts. Thank you two for all you’ve done for me. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

  “Go lead
a good and long life. That’s payment enough,” said the doctor, and the nurse nodded her head in agreement. They walked away, leaving Tom to his thoughts.

  Home and my dad. Will it all be the same? Somehow, after what I’ve been through, it will be the same, only different. And what of the promise I made to a dying man? What can I say to Chris Benally’s father? Nothing can bring Chris back. What could I possibly say to him to bring him comfort?

  Chapter 11

  Tom walked through the airport terminal in San Francisco. It marked the start of his grand plan to see the country on the way home. California was a welcome change from the heat and stench of Vietnam. He’d already been clued in that some may not give him a welcome home if they knew he was a GI returning from the war zone. The Army would ship what little possessions he had home to West Virginia for him. He wanted to see the city, but first, there were some things he wanted to do. At the airport, he checked out what public transportation available. Tom saw he’d have more options once he got into town. He especially wanted to ride the cable cars once there, but that would have to wait, so he took the bus from the airport to the downtown area.

  So many new things had entered the country boy’s life since he’d made that crazy decision to go with Johnny joy riding. And now he was heading to a place he’d only heard about. Tom hoped the city would like up to the hype, and he wouldn’t be disappointed. California didn’t look like West Virginia or Vietnam for that matter, either.

  There weren’t too many passengers riding on that Saturday morning. The bus rolled along the dark blue waters of San Francisco Bay. Houses side by side took up every available spot of land, and multilane highways occupied what little was left. The air was arid, unlike Vietnam, where it felt like an overheated steam bath. Tom noted the mountain between him and the ocean. White fog rolled over the green hilltop, but it quickly dissipated as it went down the steep slope. In a short time, the bus rolled to a stop in an area called the Embarcadero, which another passenger told him was Spanish for the wharf. Today was his day to see as much of this compact city as possible. He hopped another bus that took him to Fisherman’s Wharf. From a map he picked up at the airport, he had developed a plan for his day in the city by the bay.