For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  “Can you stand by this wounded man and hold this IV above his head for me? I have to move on and so does this corpsman,” Katie explained. “There will be someone along shortly with a stretcher to take him to an ambulance.”

  “Certainly, ma’am,” the soldier answered, shouldering his weapon and taking the IV bag, raising it so that the fluid inside it continued to flow freely down into the wounded soldier’s arm.

  “Thank you,” Katie said, offering the man a small smile.

  She got up and glanced about the area again. Seeing nobody available, she called out, “I need a stretcher here,” and within minutes, two soldiers arrived beside her with the requested equipment. They gently picked up the injured soldier, laid him on the stretcher, then the soldier who was holding the IV aloft moved off with them back to the waiting ambulances.

  Katie closed the EMC and picked it up. “Thank you, Lance Corporal,” she said. “I’m finished here and need to move on to the next casualty. You can go about your duties—and thank you.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Katie hurried to the next casualty. The injured soldier was moaning quietly and obviously in a great deal of pain. Tears ran down his ashen, bloodstained face, and his breathing was rapid with panic.

  Katie dropped to the ground and rested a soothing hand on the soldier’s forehead. “It’s all right,” she reassured him gently. “Stay with me. You’re safe now, and you’re going to be fine.”

  Quickly assessing the torn, mangled arm, she decided that she needed assistance, and turned to see if there was any available. Seeing the young corpsman who had helped her with the first casualty was still standing where she had left him, she called to him, “Lance Corporal. Can you give me a hand here?”

  An expression of relief flitting across his young, tired face, as though he was thankful that someone knew what they were doing and had given him an order to do something, the young soldier came back to join her.

  “We need to stop this bleeding and stabilize him,” Katie explained.

  Working quickly, Katie and the corpsman succeeded in arresting the heavy bleeding, packed the terrible wound in the soldier’s arm and shoulder as best they could, set up an IV and administered a morphine injection. The soldier began to shiver as the night had grown chilly and Katie quickly wrapped him in a combat casualty blanket to keep him warm. By the time they had completed the treatment, the soldier had lapsed into unconsciousness. Noting that his pulse was becoming weak and irregular, Katie yelled for a stretcher and the soldier was rushed to a waiting ambulance.

  As the casualties were treated and stabilized, there were frequent shouts for stretchers overriding the moans of the conscious casualties. Soldiers assisted with IV bags containing saline solutions and blood products or helped to carry the stretchers transporting the injured back to the ambulances.

  Katie and the corpsman moved from one casualty to another, treating where they could and assisting the CTTs and other medics where necessary. As much as Katie could work out, there were a total of ten injured with two dead.

  After what seemed like hours, all the casualties had been assessed, stabilized and transported back to the CTH, and the medical personnel began to leave the site, heading back with their charges.

  Katie was the last to leave, the corpsman who had worked with her tirelessly having already left, dragging dusty booted feet with head and shoulders stooped as though there was a heavy weight balanced on his back. She stood exhausted amidst the wreckage, gazing around, numb and emotionless, at the bloodstained ground, discarded bandages, empty IV bags and ripped open packets of bandages and gauze, smelling the stench of explosives and blood and burning rubber. The white portable lights lit up the bloodstains in all their starkness, throwing into prominence the burned and charred areas of ground and the destruction of the concrete wall. The sight stirred a sick, sad feeling in Katie. She wanted to scream at the utter waste and vent her anger at the people who had done this.

  Sighing, she picked up her bergen and thrust her arms through the straps then grasped the handle of the EMC, which now seemed to have doubled in weight. She followed the last of the medical personnel back to where the four-tonner waited to pick up her and her colleagues to take them back to the CTH.

  Wearily approaching the rear of the vehicle, she was about to climb aboard when someone called, “Corporal Walker,” in a familiar American voice.

  Katie immediately stopped in her tracks and spun around. A tall soldier was standing at the perimeter of the motor pool and she felt a reckless sense of excitement when she saw that it was Joe. She hesitated briefly, knowing that it was important that she get back to the CTH as they would almost certainly need her presence urgently, but the sight of Joe waiting for her and the almost desperate need to speak to him was too much to resist. Handing up the EMC to her colleagues already inside the truck, she went around to the driver. “I have to speak to someone for a few minutes,” she said.

  “Well, get a move on, Corporal. They want you back at the CTH ASAP,” the driver stated, giving her an impatient sidelong glance.

  Katie nodded, turned and strode toward Joe. As she approached him, she saw that he too was wearing full combat equipment including helmet, body armor, limb protectors, webbing yoke with a multitude of utility and ammunition pouches, and he carried a large, black weapon in his arms. He stood perfectly still as she approached him, tension evident in his body. There was no welcoming smile on his face as she drew closer, and she realized that this man was very different to the calm and compassionate one with whom she had spoken with the previous day. Coming to a stop, Katie said softly, “Hello, Joe.”

  Now that she was face-to-face with him, she could see that it wasn’t just his posture that was different, or the way he was carrying himself, but the look on his face. His blue eyes were the color of flint, with a cold and distant look in them. His jaw was set rigidly, as though he was gritting his teeth. He was staring at her with that unfathomable gaze and she wondered what he was thinking.

  He managed a small smile. “Katie,” he finally answered and nodded his head in greeting. He looked away from her and asked shortly, “How many?”

  Katie glanced down at her hands. “Twelve,” she answered softly. “Ten injured and two dead. Oh my God, Joe, they weren’t your men, were they?”

  Joe glanced down at the ground then, raising his head, he pushed his helmet back slightly from his forehead. “No,” he answered curtly, “but we went along there in a training run about ten minutes before the other squad. If we’d been any later, it could have been us.”

  God, so close.

  “American?” Joe asked.

  Katie nodded, “Yes, I’m so sorry, Joe.”

  “Fuck!” Joe exclaimed, “Motherfuckers!” He spat the words out viciously, and by the thinning of his mouth, Katie could tell that he was furious.

  “Joe, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m needed back at the CTH,” she said, wishing so much that she could stay with him, but as had been happening to them over the past few days, their respective duties called to separate them. Continually dragged apart, she suddenly felt heartsick and tired. All she wanted to do at that moment was take Joe’s hand and lead him to a quiet place, away from the carnage and blood and the noise and smells of the base, where they could both lick their wounds and comfort each other.

  However, all she could do was wait for his response and wish desperately that she could wipe away the anger that was darkening his features. At that moment, the driver of the four-tonner shouted out to her impatiently.

  At last, Joe nodded again. “Yeah, I have to get back to my squad. Take care, Katie.” He gave her a casual salute, turned on his heel and marched back in among the vehicles of the motor pool.

  Katie watched him go, wanting to call him back and talk with him a bit more. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked back to the truck.

  By the time they arrived back, the CTH was in organized chaos. Both operating theaters were in use with four more casualties stabili
zed in a trauma room and two more waiting for assessment. The two dead were already in the mortuary. It was noisy, busy and crowded, with medical personnel monitoring, assessing and assisting where necessary.

  Katie quickly changed from her combats into scrubs and gloves and tied on her surgical cap. Taking her cue from the other CTMs, she proceeded to the theaters to assist with the surgeries.

  Each surgery proceeded with a professional smoothness, as though each team member had a telepathic connection to another. Surgeons held their hands out blindly and even before a request was verbalized, instruments were slapped into their palms. Trauma nurses and CTMs clamped blood vessels and retracted internal organs within split seconds of an order. There was no panic or pressure, although tension was at its peak.

  Katie assisted where needed, taking patients’ vital signs, checking IV bags, and changing them skillfully when they became empty. Exhausted as she was, she kept going, maintaining her composure, even though she was screaming inside at the unfairness of it all.

  At last, with all the surgeries completed, surgeons removed their protective goggles and stretched the stiffness out of their necks and backs. Medical personnel lifted sleeping casualties gently from the operating tables, laid them on gurneys then wheeled them swiftly to the CCU. CTMs went with their charges to hand them over to the trauma nurses, who were to watch and carry out the crucial twenty-minute post-op observations. The CTMs began the arduous task of cleaning the theaters and trauma rooms and readying and replacing equipment. The surgeons and anesthetists disappeared to the R&R room to fortify themselves with strong cups of coffee.

  Like an automaton, Katie cleaned, scrubbed and sterilized. Finally, at 2300 hours, her duties were finished. Exhausted, she stretched luxuriously and offered Henry Barrow a tired, smile. “I’m for some coffee,” she announced.

  “I hear that,” Lance Corporal Barrow answered.

  At that moment, Sergeant Webster appeared at the door to the theater. “Briefing in my office,” he ordered and disappeared from sight.

  “Ah, no rest for the wicked,” Lance Corporal Barrow exclaimed, sighing. He and Katie left the spotless theater, and with other medical staff, made their way down the corridor to the sergeant’s office. The room was already full when they arrived and Katie and Henry Barrow squeezed their way in.

  A huge map of Base Independence, with the Role Three CTH situated in the center, dominated the back wall. Surrounded by concentric squares known as range squares, each one showed, at a glance, the distance a CTF could cover in a set time to reach a casualty. The first boundary was ten minutes away—five minutes out and five back again. Every minute mattered in the event that a CTT went out to a casualty in the field. On a call coming in for casualty extraction, a range was taken from the map and the nearest appropriate aircraft deployed.

  “Okay,” Sergeant Webster said without preamble, “the base remains on red alert. There are patrols outside the perimeter and inside the base searching for hostiles who might have infiltrated the base itself, and for any IEDs if they have. It’s confirmed that two trucks loaded with explosives driven by four Taliban injured and killed our men. The good news is that the bastards blew ’emselves up in the process. We have ten extra patients tonight. Six are on the critical list and are in the CCU. Four others are relatively stable, and we have five who have been with us for a couple of days. Two are dead and are in the mortuary. All patients in the CCU are receiving twenty-minute observations, saline, blood products, and antibiotics via IVs. The roster for tonight is CTT One, Trauma Team One and CTMs Walker and Sheridon on duty. CTT Two, Trauma Team Two and CTMs Harris and Taylor on standby. CTTs Three and Four, Trauma Teams Three and Four and CTMs Windberg and Stanley on stand-down. The rest of you can get lost. That’s all, folks.”

  There were a few tired chuckles at the last remark, then people began to leave the office to change from their scrubs, collect their equipment and leave. The teams assigned to remain trooped down to the R&R room.

  Once there, Katie found herself a plastic cup and poured herself some scalding hot coffee. She felt completely exhausted and desperately in need of a strong caffeine boost to keep her senses alert, so she left out the milk and stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar. She perched herself on the arm of one of the chairs, made herself comfortable and sipped at the drink, wincing at its heat and strong, bitter taste. She listened with half an ear to the conversation going on around her, but finally her mind drifted to the motor pool and to the explosion. Patrols would be guarding the area and helicopters would be searching the surrounding terrain for the insurgents. That finally raised the inevitable questions about Joe. Was he out there on a patrol in the dark desert with his squad, isolated and in danger?

  She pictured the meeting between them at the motor pool and could remember the way he had looked, so distant and cold, but she could not stop thinking about him. Up until a week ago, she had never had the slightest inclination to have a relationship with a man. She was a normal, hot-blooded woman like any other, but preferred to be on her own, did not want the problems of a relationship or the heartbreak that getting involved with someone created. Staff Sergeant Joe Anderson was different. That evening he had looked dangerous and that look had strengthened the attraction she felt for him.

  “Katie! Corporal Walker!” An insistent voice spoke to her, interrupting her reverie.

  Katie started violently, spilling some of the hot coffee onto her leg. Jumping to her feet, she turned around to find Sergeant Webster standing behind her, hands on his hips. “Asleep, Corporal?” he asked, a smile twitching his mouth.

  “No, Sergeant, just miles away,” Katie replied, embarrassment evident in the tone of her voice.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Sergeant Webster continued. “I need you to get some food up here. It’s going to be a long night.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Katie left the R&R room, went to the sergeant’s office and used the radio to contact the mess to order the food as the sergeant had requested. She then went back to join the others to finish her coffee. Some of the teams had dispersed to other parts of the CTH to catch some sleep while a few had set up a poker game on one of the trauma room tables. Others catnapped in the R&R room, and the atmosphere settled and finally became quiet, broken only by loud cheers and conversation coming from the location of the poker game.

  The night was a long one. After everyone had eaten supper, Katie periodically relieved one or another of the trauma nurses in the CCU so that they could have a break, taking over the monitoring of all the patients’ vital signs, making sure that the IVs were working properly and that heart monitors were doing what they were supposed to be doing. She spent a few minutes each hour checking the drug cabinets and replacing drugs. Finally, the clock on the wall of Theater One ticked its way to 0700 hours and the teams on the day shift started to arrive. Everyone congregated in Sergeant Webster’s office for patient notes with the status and conditions of the patients discussed at length then finally, at last, Katie was free to go off duty. As was her usual routine, she divested herself of her scrubs and wandered wearily to the showers. A brief hot shower did nothing to relieve her tiredness. The only solution to that was a long sleep. Once dressed in her combats, she put on her webbing and helmet and was on her way toward the entrance to the CTH when Sergeant Webster apprehended her before she could leave. “Everything all right?” he asked, eyeing her tired face.

  The sergeant oft times acted like a proverbial mother hen around her, and at any other time this might have caused her some amusement, but this morning she was too tired and too concerned about Joe to muster even half a smile. “I’m fine, Sergeant,” she answered.

  “Well, you’ve got a stand-down for twenty-four hours,” he announced, surprising her. It was rare to receive twenty-four hours off and even rarer when the CTH was so busy.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Katie responded, smiling at him gratefully, not about to argue, and after collecting her weapon, she left the medical facility to return to her ten
t and to the comfort of her bed and sleep.

  Outside the CTH the early morning was warm and sultry, as if there was going to be a storm. As usual, the air was tainted with dust, which got into her eyes and mouth and down inside her clothing. Due to the high security level caused by the explosion of the previous day, Camp Churchill was busier than usual. Personnel now had to wear combat helmets at all times when outside sections and buildings, and many soldiers marching around the camp were wearing full combat clothing. Katie could hear aircraft taking off and landing with more frequency than usual and the fumes of aviation fuel curdling the air were stronger. Helicopter blades hammered at the morning and there was faint shouting in the distance.

  As Katie walked tiredly toward the road, she was convinced that a familiar American voice would hail her from behind, and when that didn’t happen, she felt a surge of concern and regret. She even turned to glance over her shoulder once or twice, but there was nobody around. She made her way back to her tent, negotiating squads of soldiers jogging along the roadside and other personnel hastening along to their sections. Everyone moved with a purpose and had a job to do during the alert, and there was no loitering along the roadside.

  Katie arrived at Tent D, and on entering, dropped her webbing and helmet onto the floor beside her bed. The tent was empty, hot and silent. Almost asleep on her feet, she stripped off her combats, folded them up, quickly put on her nightwear and flung herself onto her bed. She was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. Despite the fact that the last thought on her mind was of Joe and hoping that he was all right, before a few minutes had passed, Katie was sound asleep, one small fist thrust under her chin, the way she had slept since childhood.

  Chapter Six

  It was 1600 hours when Katie eventually woke up. On opening her eyes, she felt disorientated and fuzzy-headed. Gazing up at the ceiling of the tent, she yawned, her mouth dry as though she had swallowed a mouthful of dust. Sitting up, she glanced around. The tent was still and quiet, the air so humid that perspiration broke out on her forehead. Grimacing, she unraveled herself from her sleeping bag, stood up and stretched, feeling her shorts and T-shirt clinging to her back and stomach with moisture. Reaching for her toilet bag and towel, she quickly headed for the showers.