Mass Casualties

by Michael Anthony

  Waters turns soft then as she changes tactics and tries to convince us of the virtues of staying late. “Gagney will probably let you come in late anyway. You're young too, and don't need much sleep. Besides, I'm sure there will be plenty of late nights. You might as well get used to it.”

  We should have just fucking told them we were leaving instead of asking. Reto has now fallen for her trap and decides to take one of the cases. Waters takes the other one. I stay for another hour and help put instrument sets back together. As I leave for the night, their patients are just coming in. I tell Reto I'll cover for him so he can sleep late tomorrow.

  0200 HOURS, MY ROOM

  When I get back to my room, my new roommate is asleep and snoring. Reto told me his name is Specialist Markham. He sounds like a hibernating bear with sleep apnea. He's probably going to die, but I'm too tired to care.

  Do I wake up in four hours at 0600 to eat then go to work, or do I wake up in four and a half hours at 0630, skip breakfast, and go directly to work? I'm asleep before I can even think about it.

  WEEK 1, DAY 3, IRAQ

  0600 HOURS, BARRACKS

  My eyes crack open at the sound of my alarm. I only went to sleep four hours ago, and now I have another full day ahead of me. Markham is still asleep and snoring. I want to “accidentally” make some noise as I get dressed because my pounding headache is being aggravated by the sound of him choking on his tongue. I slam my door as I leave to go to Denti's room.

  Denti is wide-awake, smiling, well rested; he went back to his room after the first case. He's lighting up a cigarette, telling me I look like shit. I have to stop myself from hitting him, all hair-gelled and teeth brushed. He's so full of bullshit.

  “Hey man, remember yesterday at the gym when I almost died?” We're walking along the road to the dining facility on the same road the Humvee stopped us. A crowd of people is standing around and taking pictures.

  There's a six-inch-deep and two-foot-wide indentation in the ground. In the parking lot, Humvees are peppered with shrapnel; all their front tires are blown out, and the tires on one of them have melted into the ground.

  A soldier taking a picture says, “It happened last night during the second attack.”

  “Holy shit!” Denti gasps.

  “We were standing in this exact spot last night. Two times in one day I was almost …” Denti begins and trails off . No one is listening. No one cares how close he, Reto, and I almost came to dying. Three more people in the crowd speak up about their own near-death experiences last night. Millions of people almost die every day, and thousands do die everyday. But listen, I don't have to be psychic to guess what Denti's thinking; I know how his mind works … These people on the road may not be impressed, but they're gonna love it in the D-fac at breakfast.

  “So there I was …” “Minutes away …” “No I wasn't scared …”“The bomb hit right after we'd …,” “Seriously, I was minutes away from death.”

  I'm just shoveling it in.

  0700 HOURS, OR

  When we get to work we have four cases already lined up. They are all I&Ds for the mass casualty patients from yesterday. As we prepare, Specialist Torres and Reto come in.

  Denti and I have our rooms set up for surgery, but no one is here yet. We take our gowns and gloves off and head to the break room to wait for the doctors. They're most likely tired from last night, too, but unlike us, they can come to work whenever they want.

  Torres, Reto, and I complain about having to wait around for the doctors, but we shouldn't. It's an unexpected break and we don't see too many of those.

  0800 HOURS, OR

  Staff Sergeant Gagney walks in; he is an hour late for work and Reto and I stare at him as he saunters into the room and plops himself in a chair near us.

  “Aargh,” Gagney sighs, trying to make a production of how tired he is.

  “Man, am I tired. Hey Reto, go make me a cup of coffee, will you?” Gagney says as he pushes further back in his chair.

  “I was up late all night working on a schedule for you guys,” he says, as he gives a fake yawn.

  Reto just stares at Gagney with fire in his eyes and doesn't move to get him a cup of coffee. I try to avoid eye contact with Gagney so he won't ask me to go.

  “Aaaghh,” Gagney sighs again as he now stands from his chair, feeling satisfied that we understand how hard he worked and why he has an excuse for being late. He walks over to the break room and posts the schedule on the door. It's three pages of yellow-lined paper and only covers this month.

  As Reto, Torres, and I are crowding around the door to read the schedule, Denti walks over and rips the schedule from the door: “For Christ sake. Look at the schedule. Anthony. You're on first shift today; tomorrow you're on second shift. The day after that you're on third shift and the day after that first shift.”

  He starts talking to me slowly as if I'm a child. “That means tomorrow you work three to eleven. But the next day, you work eleven to seven, got me? And the day after that you work seven to three. That means you'll be working sixteen hours.”

  Reto grabs the schedule and starts analyzing it.

  “How the hell are we going to sleep if our shifts change every day? Elster, Gagney, Hudge, and Waters all have the same shifts every day. It's just us fucking specialists getting screwed over.”

  Torres grabs the schedule from Reto. I know he can barely understand it, but he stares at it as if he is reading a book. “So what does this mean? We will be working a different shift every other day? Why? That doesn't make sense.”

  “It means we're getting screwed. Gagney is such an idiot!”

  0900 HOURS, OR

  “Needle holder …” Dr. Bill yells, taking me out of my daze. I don't know how many times he's asked for it, but I grab the closest one and hand it to him. It's the wrong kind, but he uses it.

  1445 HOURS, OR

  When I first met Chandler at our training in Wisconsin, I didn't like him. He seemed too goofy for me to be able to talk to or take seriously, but as the days go on and we've formed a common enemy — no, not Al Qaeda or Osama bin Laden, Staff Sergeant Gagney — I would say we're now friends. In fact, the first day I met him, he had a saying that summed up how people feel about him: “I'm like mold. You may not like me at first, but I grow on you.” He had all kinds of bumper sticker sayings like that. He once even told me a line that he wrote in a Valentine to his fiancée, Jill: “My love for you is like herpes. It may subside at times, but it will never leave you.”

  Denti is ripping the schedule off the door again. “He has us changing shifts every other fucking day.” Hudge and Chandler are looking at it now.

  “What!” Chandler squeaks out as he spits up the sip of Pepsi he was drinking.

  That's another thing about Chandler. It seems like he has a can of Pepsi permanently glued to his hand.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Denti is going on. “First of all, there are no days off scheduled for any of us, except for Gagney. Next to his name in parentheses it says, ‘will make own days off,’ whatever that means.”

  “This is wicked retarded,” Hudge says, her voice thick with a Boston accent.

  Chandler starts laughing.

  “Look at this. Gagney and Elster are on first shift every day together. I'm sure that's going to be fun,” Denti says, making reference to our first day where Gagney chewed him out in front of all of us.

  “It always seems to be something with this guy doesn't it?”Hudge says. “He can't even make a schedule without somehow making it the worst schedule possible.”

  “We've got to say something,” Chandler says. “We can't let this stand. He's probably just trying to make a point that he can do whatever he wants. You want to know what the worst part is, and no offense Hudge, but the reason that Elster, Waters, and you are all on shifts that don't change is because Gagney knows you three are the most vocal people. He knows that the rest of us probably won't complain.”

  “Fuck that, I'll walk ri
ght up to him and shove the schedule down his throat,” Denti angrily exclaims.

  Reto jumps from his chair. “Let's go talk to him.”

  The six of us walk together toward the main OR, we're like a gang about to kick some ass. I start snapping my fingers and bobbing my shoulders like in West Side Story.

  “We need to talk about the schedule,” Hudge announces as we reach Gagney's desk.

  He is busy playing a computer game and doesn't look up.

  “What is it!” he says as he starts to shut down his computer.

  “Well,” Hudge says, her confidence starting to subside, “We just had a few concerns about the schedule we wanted to talk about.”

  Gagney's computer is now off, but he still hasn't turned around to look at any of us. He stands and grabs his weapon and his jacket from the back of his chair.

  “Well, there shouldn't be a problem. Like I said, it's not permanent. I still have to work guard duty into it.”

  “There seems to be — ” Hudge is saying.

  “But this is the military, so I suggest you find a way to deal with whatever problems you have. The schedule sticks so deal with it.” Gagney doesn't make eye contact with any of us as he walks out the door.

  We are all left standing there. Denti, who said he would shove the schedule down Gagney's throat, looks like he's about to cry. His voice is trembling and he sounds like a child.

  “Fucking unbelievable.”

  Hudge is especially silent. Right now she isn't one of us. After all, she has the comfort of working the same time every day while our schedules are changing.

  “Maybe he just doesn't understand what's wrong with the schedule. Maybe if we explain things to him …” says Chandler. He already knows his plan isn't going to work.

  “Listen guys, go back to your rooms and get some sleep or go eat. I'll try to talk to Gagney when I can. Maybe even Dr. Bill can help.” Hudge's voice is now calm and caring; she sounds more like a mother than a soldier. We feel some comfort knowing that she has this side to her. That even with everything that's going on we still can have someone who truly cares about us … even if they … aren't going to do anything.

  1600 HOURS, OR

  My quick notes on three women:

  Hudge met her husband in the military. She loves chocolate. If she starts craving chocolate she'll do almost anything for it, even give you a back rub.

  I'm still not sure if Sellers is a lesbian. I flirt with her and she flirts back, but after work she spends time with the other lesbians in our unit. I spend a lot of time with Sellers because she is an insomniac and she'll come in on every shift. Most of the time she does more work than the person on shift. She is also a major germophobe; she washes her hands once before going to the bathroom and twice after. She puts gloves on to floss her teeth, and she uses an entire roll of toilet paper whenever she goes to the bathroom — and that's just to build a nest on the toilet seat.

  I also met another officer I'll be working with. Captain Tarr is a Caucasian woman from Washington State. Although she often tries to tell people she is in her forties, the crows-feet around her eyes and mouth give her away. She looks good for a woman in her fifties, though, and you can tell that she used to be attractive when she was younger. She's married, has two kids, and gives a killer back rub. Often I'll be sitting there and she'll come up behind me and start rubbing away — these are on her good days. She does have bad days, too. Or I guess it's more good hours and bad hours. One minute she'll be giving you a back rub and the next she'll be cursing at you for unplugging the coffee maker. I've learned to wait and see how she acts around other people before I approach her. I'm worried she is bipolar.

  WEEK 3, DAY 1, IRAQ

  2200 HOURS, MY ROOM

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  It's ten at night, but it's morning to me. It is my second day in a row on third shift and I've got to be at work in one hour. I'm still tired and Markham is sleeping next to me. He always sleeps well and his schedule never changes. As a laboratory technician, he tests blood to make sure it's good to put in patients and collects it from donors when our supplies run low. I'm working eight hours, then I get eight hours off, then I'm back on for eight hours. Two days ago, I was on first shift. Gagney didn't come in to work; he gave himself a day off. It's been two weeks and none of us have had a day off . Gagney's had two.

  0300 HOURS, OR

  Waters wakes from her nap (inside the supply closet) and finds that I have fallen asleep while working on putting instrument trays together.

  “Anthony, wake up! What are you doing sleeping on the job?”

  I put my arms in the air and open my eyes as best as I can.

  “Whhatt?”

  “You were late. I had to stand around waiting for you.”

  “I'm sorry, I fell back asleep, I told you — ”

  “I don't want to hear it, you were on this shift with me yesterday, two days in a row; your body should be on schedule.”

  I knew little about her. Besides being a “waitress,” she's a registered nurse. She says she makes more money working at the strip club so she does that instead. I get an image of Waters in my head working at the strip club and having men slip dollar bills into her thong. If only they knew later on she'd be fighting for their freedom.

  “Get the sterilizer machines ready. You didn't finish the work you were supposed to do; now we'll both have to do it.” Waters starts rummaging around the room. I'm not sure what she's looking for.

  “Didn't you do anything while I was sleeping?!” She screams.

  I come out of my daze enough to realize that Waters is asking a rhetorical question. She doesn't want an answer but I decide to answer anyway. “I didn't do anything while you were sleeping! God forbid you should do anything, actually do some — I'm sooo sorry that Waters has to do work. God forbid, I fall asleep and you might actually — I'm switching shifts every other day. My sleeping and eating are all fucked up and you might actually have to do something — you might actually have to do something yourself like some of your own work… .”

  I'm tired; I'm not thinking straight, I keep talking.

  “You've been on third shift every day since we got here. Have you even done any surgeries since our first mass cal? Third shift never gets the surgeries. You sleep your entire fucking shift!” For the first time in two weeks I feel as though a burden has been lifted off of my chest, as if the yelling has released all of my pent-up anger. Waters breaks eye contact first; her eyes go to the floor and she starts working. I start working and we finish up what we had to do. After that we go to opposite sides of the OR. Waters starts reading a People magazine; I'm writing in my journal.

  WEEK 3, DAY 6, IRAQ

  0645 HOURS, MY ROOM

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Turn that thing off,” my roommate Markham says as he throws a pillow at me. I open my eyes and stare at him. I don't know what's going on —

  “Wwwhhhatt … thheehhell …”

  Markham shuts my alarm off.

  “Gagney is really screwing you guys over. I didn't think you could get any whiter than you are, but you look like a fucking holocaust victim.”

  “What time is it?” I grumble as I start to get out of bed.

  “Six forty six,” Markham replies.

  I need to be at work at 0700.

  0705 HOURS, OR

  Reto and Torres tell me that Gagney is taking a day off and that Elster is in charge of us. I can't remember the last time I smiled like this. The world seems like a better place. Captain Tarr approaches us and I smile at her.

  “What do you think you're smiling at!?! You came in here late. You think you can come in late just because Gagney is taking a day off?”

  I quickly snap to the position of attention. Even though she is not my boss, she is higher ranking so I have to show her the proper respect.

  “This is incredible. You men are all the same. You think you can get away with anything. When the cat's away, the mouse
will play.”

  Captain Tarr continues to ramble and I notice that she's starting to not make sense. She's been acting strange for a few days now — stranger than I've seen her before. Normally her mood is up and down; she's either giving you a massage or verbally strangling you, but now it's as if her mood is constantly on one side — the bad one. And I know I'm not the only one who's noticed it. Just yesterday Reto told me she yelled at him for using the last piece of paper in a notebook. The day before that she yelled at Denti and threw a pen at him because he ate the last muffin in the break room.

  She continues to yell and I stare at the middle of her forehead. I refuse to give her the respect of my eye contact as she screams at me.

  “Unbelievable … piece of … you should be … screw… .”She yells and yells and I can't help but wonder if there isn't some type of heavy suppressed anger underneath. Something must be eating her up, and she's taking it out on all of us. But she continues to yell, and I begin to wonder what it would be like if she and Gagney had a child. I wonder if it's really possible for someone to be screaming every time they open their mouth. Eventually she storms off. I don't know how long we stood there; because when you're staring at someone's forehead you lose track of time.

  “No cases until twelve today,” says Reto in the break room.

  Today is Sunday and the doctors don't come in until twelve. They all go to church in the morning. Well, they all say they're going to church. Half go and the other half use it as an excuse to come in late.

  It feels good to have a break from doing surgery. The last few days we've been loaded with them. We've been getting bombed at least twice a week, and that means we're overloaded.

  Torres looks happy. This is his third day in a row on first shift so he's getting into a routine.

  “Anthony, listen to what Reto was just telling me. You will never believe who got caught having sex.”

  I don't have to hear any more, I'm already laughing. Torres told me that in Guatemala everyone minds their own business and no one cares what anyone else is doing. But since he came to America, and specifically since he joined the Army, he loves to hear gossip; sex is usually the number one topic of discussion. It's probably because it seems to be the most taboo. People have sex, yet the military likes to pretend they don't. The Army does this to try and keep everyone under control. They want to run things like a well-oiled machine, and when sex is brought into the equation you bring in emotions; emotions have no place in a machine. I don't know whether it's because of the no-sex rule or in spite of the no-sex rule, but regardless, everyone still has sex and because of the rule they are forced to sneak around, which can often lead to hilarious circumstances. Like in Wisconsin when two soldiers got caught having sex in a Porta-Potty, and then two got caught having sex in a dumpster. I guess that's what happens when you try to control people — sex in a dumpster. Personally, I don't want to do that.