Mike swallowed hard. It was wonderful, and awful, to hear. “If I do stay, I’ll figure out how to wire you money for her expenses.”
Bob waved him off, his hand blurring. “Don’t worry about it. We can settle it when you come home. It’s not like we’re paying college tuition.”
“And the cat, you know, we’ll have to decide about him.”
“What cat?”
“Our cat, remember? Jake.” Mike didn’t know why nobody counted the cat. He loved that damn cat. “If the boys want to keep him, they can. Sara said they loved him, and I won’t ask for him back. Thank her and Don for me.”
“Will do. Oh, and guess what, we might be getting an offer on your house. Somebody who lives around the block from you wants to buy it for their daughter.”
“Sell it.” Mike didn’t care about the house. He was preoccupied with Emily and his decision.
“The Realtor’s asking 425. The comps are 420. I wouldn’t go below that. I can handle it for you. The power of attorney covers it.”
“Handle it, thanks. 420 is great.”
“What about the cars? Want me to try and sell Chloe’s?”
“Yes, fine.” Mike didn’t know how he’d get back into Emily’s life, a year from now. “Danielle, do you think that Emily will forget about me if I stay? Or do you think she’ll, maybe, like me better when she’s older?”
“She’ll love you whenever you come home.” Danielle smiled, sympathetically. “Mike, do what you need to do, and we’ll take care of her for you. We love her and we love you.”
Mike felt the words touch his heart, already tender. The memorial service, the deaths, Chloe, it was all too much, which told him it was time to sign off. “Thanks, I’d better go. I’ll stay in touch and let you know what I decide.”
“Yes, of course. Be safe, Mike.”
Bob put his arm around Danielle. “Right, take care.”
“Bye, thanks.” Mike hit the END SESSION button, and the laptop screen turned black. Suddenly, his radio/walkie-talkie started to crackle at his waist, alerting they had incoming casualties. He heard shouting outside, and a frantic Joe Segundo ducked into the Tactical Operations Center.
“Doc! Davy’s brigade hit an IED on the way back, and they took fire. Four wounded. They have no medic, so we don’t know how many urgent. The bird’s already in the air. We got customers!”
Mike leapt to his feet, his adrenaline surging. It was a worst-case scenario come true. The Taliban was kicking them when they were down. “Two docs and four wounded. I don’t like those odds.”
“Me, neither.”
Chapter Thirty
Mike and Chatty triaged the casualties, then hustled to the sink to scrub up, where Chatty turned to Mike, his long red scratches distorting his cheeks.
“Scholl’s, what’d your in-laws say?”
“They’re fine with the baby.” Mike scrubbed up. “Now’s not the time to discuss it, right?”
“Fair enough, let’s review. The first urgent is the gunner and he’s the most critical.” Chatty finished scrubbing up and dried his hands. “Gunshot to the chest, entrance through the armpit, transmediastinal. Losing blood fast.”
“Got it.” Mike dried his hands and grabbed a packaged gown, his thoughts racing. A soldier with a transmediastinal gunshot wound, or TMGSW, was shot through the chest, crosswise. The bullet would have done grievous damage, and the IED blast was a double whammy, because it sent shockwaves that rattled brains, shattered bones, and caused internal bleeding.
“The second urgent is a driver. Neck and face wounds, and his left arm is severely injured but still intact.”
“Right.” Mike gowned up with the help of a nurse who came over, assisting him silently. He knew that the driver’s neck and arm would have glass and metal fragments from the explosion. Humvees had armored windows, but they couldn’t withstand an IED blast within ten feet.
“The third urgent is Davy’s aide.” Chatty gowned up with an assist from the same nurse, who left when she was finished. “Soft-tissue damage in the right thigh from fragments or bullets.”
Mike grabbed a package of gloves and opened it, remembering Davy’s aide, who had just set up his videochat. He didn’t know which one got wounded.
“I’m happy Davy wasn’t hit. Nobody takes him out but me.” Chatty flashed a wicked grin, and Mike cheered to see a glimmer of his old self.
“Number four is a GSW to his right foot and leg. He’s calling my name.”
“Right, so what’s the game plan?” Chatty gloved up. “How do we run an offense with only two of us?”
Michael blinked. Chatty had never asked him for a game plan before, and he felt the relationship turn topsy-turvy. “You’re going to need me to assist on the gunner, so I say you start on him while I start on the driver. Once the driver’s started, I move on to the aide, and we put the sarge on ice.”
“I’m worried about the gunner. His color’s bad.” Chatty’s face fell. “He shoulda gone to Bagram, but we’re closer. They coulda worked him up, they have the toys.”
Mike knew the old Chatty never would have said anything like that. “We can get it done. Our DOW rate’s as good as theirs.”
“You don’t realize what a monster that case is gonna be.” Chatty shook his head. “If we miss any bleeders in his chest, he’s a goner.”
“We won’t miss any.” Mike tried to convey confidence to Chatty, which was backwards. They had to get going. “We’re gonna need fresh whole, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“So let’s get Joe started.” The 556th had a pre-screened blood-donor system to get fresh whole blood from the nurses, staff, and brigade. It was an order Chatty would have given, but Mike spotted Joe and motioned him over. “Are we good to go on the walking blood drive?”
“Sure. We got the Form 572s and lab confirmations of blood type. You want me to tell the nurses to start drawing?” Joe looked from Mike to Chatty and back again, awaiting instructions.
“Yes,” Mike answered. “Tell them to get ready to transfuse it, too. How are we fixed for plasma?”
“We got four units, fresh frozen.”
“Thaw it out.”
“Will do.” Joe turned around and took off.
“We’re back in business, Chatty.” Mike clapped him on the arm. “Let’s do this. You’re still Batman.”
“No, I’m not.” Chatty didn’t move. “He doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Yes he does. Ever see Catwoman? He shoulda put a ring on it.”
Chatty emitted a burst of laughter, but it sounded hollow, then he leaned over. “I can’t stop thinking about them. I can’t believe they’re gone. They should be here. They would want to be here.”
“They wouldn’t want us to get distracted, not now. Why don’t we get this done, for them? We’ll dedicate it to them. Let’s go!”
The next few hours were a bloody blur, as he and Chatty swung into action. Chatty and his team got busy on the gunner, and Mike took the driver. He said his homemade prayer, staunched the bleeding, and extracted fragments at speed, then left Linda to finish. The driver became The First Guy After Phil And Oldstein.
Mike changed his blood-soaked gloves and gown, then rushed over to the aide, whose femur had been shattered, so he’d have to use binders, which would take longer than he’d expected. “How you doing, Chatty?” Mike called out. “I’m gonna be a little late.”
“No worries, honey. Dinner will be ready.”
“Keep it warm.” Mike felt reassured by Chatty’s joking, so he sent up another prayer, cleaned out the bone splinters, and finished with The Second Guy After DeMaria And Goldstein. He sent Joe to call them a transport, then checked Chatty’s bay. “Chatty, I’m free. You need me?”
“I love you, Scholl’s, but I don’t need you,” Chatty called back, and a few of the nurses smiled.
“Okay.” Mike hustled to the sergeant, whose left foot needed a few pins.
“Scholl’s, which little piggy went to market???
? Chatty called out, to some chuckling.
“This one!” Mike called back, and everybody laughed. He shifted into another gear, finished The Third Guy After Phil And Oldstein, changed his gown and gloves, and hurried to Chatty’s bay, which was crowded with nurses who parted for him, revealing a sight that required a strong stomach. The gunner’s chest cavity showed a massive incision from left to right, splitting the torso like a huge and bloody grin.
“Don’t barf, Scholl’s.” Chatty sutured a bleeder, his fingers nimble and his technique flawless. “To catch you up, the bullet entered the left chest along the anterior axillary line just above the nipple. The bullet exited the torso through the right midaxillary line, at the nipple. It was a 7.62 mm round, not deformed.”
Mike glanced at the bullet, which lay bloodied on the side tray, a coppery missile as long as a dog tag. The fact that it wasn’t deformed meant that it hadn’t damaged as much tissue as it tore across the gunner’s chest.
“I performed a bilateral tube thoracostomy and evacuated a large hemopneumothorax from the left chest.” Chatty kept working. “I found a large laceration of the upper lobe, hemorrhaging from segmental pulmonary vessels…”
Mike translated. The gunner had been a living hemorrhage, and the evidence was everywhere. Blood drenched Chatty’s gown, gloves, and Kerlix bandages on the tray. Empty bags of PRBCs and plasma lay on the floor. “So what do I do?”
“Make sure I didn’t miss any bleeders.”
“In other words, he’s good to go?” Mike asked, code for is he going to live?
“Sure as you’re born, Scholl’s.” Chatty smiled behind his mask, his bloodshot eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Four up and four down. We did it. Way to go, everybody. I think we made them proud today.” He acknowledged everyone with a nod, and there were wet eyes around the table, because they were all thinking of Phil and Oldstein.
Mike’s smile faded when he noticed Davy in the triage bay, supporting his men or waiting for Mike’s answer.
Either way, it didn’t matter.
Mike had made his decision.
Chapter Thirty-one
Mike felt satisfied with his decision, which he’d told Davy when they had a private moment, and he stood with the others in the blowing snow, watching the helicopter take off with the last cases, tilting forward like a top-heavy firefly. Davy, Chatty, Joe, and the soldiers ducked to clear the rotors, then the soldiers piled into the Humvees, closing the doors behind them.
He watched the Humvees turn, fall into a line, and drive off. Even that was dangerous because the brigade didn’t have any of the new MAPS, or Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicles, which withstood IEDs better than the older Humvees. Mike couldn’t help feeling that combat infantrymen never got the respect they deserved. They were called grunts, but there had to be a better word for somebody driving a vehicle that could be blown up, to an outpost directly in harm’s way, to serve his country and protect each other. A better word would be hero.
Mike wondered if he could have been one of them, living in utmost danger, protected only by Heskos, walls of lined wire baskets about eight feet high, made by the soldiers themselves, who filled them up with rocks and sand. They’d shape their Heskos like a U or a hook, facing the enemy, and they’d use plywood and sandbags to build bunkers. They’d name their outpost whether the Army liked it or not, scrawling slogans on the sides, making it their own, a home.
Mike doubted he could live the way they did, for months on end. They’d lose weight and get acne, stomach issues, and ringworm. They’d have no electricity or running water and no hot food. They’d pee in PVC tubes stuck in the ground and they’d defecate in common pots, having almost constant diarrhea. The Taliban paid teenagers five dollars a day to shoot at them, a fortune in a country with an average yearly income of four hundred dollars. The Taliban also paid in heroin, or they would attack when they were high, making them even more dangerous.
Mike came out of his reverie when he noticed Chatty and Joe walking toward him, their heads down and their hands shoved into their pockets. He knew that only one of them was going to be happy about his decision, and he walked to meet them, ready to take the heat.
Chatty’s expression went grim. “Why’d you extend? I begged you not to, man.”
Joe extended a hand to Mike. “Doc, I jus’ want to say thank you. The 556th needs you. You doin’ the right thing.”
“Thanks.” Mike shook Joe’s hand, then turned to Chatty. “Think about what we did in that OR. That made the decision for me.”
“So you want to be a hero, is that it?”
“Maybe, yes, or maybe I just don’t want to be a jerk. I can’t turn my back. I don’t want to be the guy who abandons them. Or you.”
“Don’t do it for me, man.” Chatty groaned, shaking his head and looking down, over his red scratches. “Please, don’t.”
“I did it for me. I don’t want to be the guy sitting safe at home on the couch, knowing I left you all. I couldn’t live with myself. You did two tours, Joe did three. There’s a reason those kids write their blood type on their boots. They need docs.”
“What about your family?”
“I know.” Mike felt a deep pang. “But it won’t cost the baby, it’ll cost me. I’ll be home in a year, and I’ll still be her father, and we’ll be a family again.”
Joe nudged Chatty. “It’s done, Jefe. It’s over. He made his decision, and we gotta respect it.”
Mike chucked Chatty on the arm. “Right. You’re stuck with me for a year. We’ll leave together, you and me. We’ll turn out the lights. Bye, see ya, Afghanistan.”
“You piss me off.” Chatty smiled, begrudgingly. “It’s like you saw a burning building and ran in. This has to be the dumbest move in the history of dumb moves.”
“Thank you,” Mike said, and Joe laughed, but Chatty remained incredulous.
“Scholl’s, this has to be the dumbest thing you have ever done. In fact, it might be the dumbest thing any podiatrist has ever done and they do the dumbest things in the history of dumb things.”
Mike gave him a playful shove. “Come on, you didn’t think I was going to let you stay by yourself, looking pretty for some other guy, did you?”
Chatty pushed Mike back. “I told you to get out, but you had to do it your way.”
“Yes, I did.” Mike shook it off and started walking toward the OR, and they fell into step beside him. “You need me here, Chatty. Who else can you get to do three procedures while you do just the one?”
“Oh, salt!” Joe erupted into merry laughter, clapping his hands. “Doc, you did not just say that!”
Chatty’s red eyes flared. “For real? For real?”
“You heard me, slacker. Race you to the OR.” Mike took off running, bolting past the nurses.
Chatty gave chase, then Joe joined in and all the nurses, even Linda on her crutches, the entire 556th taking leave of its senses and tearing like demented children toward the bloody OR.
Chapter Thirty-two
Mike sat with Joe at his desk, reading the forms to renew his contract. He flashed on the custody agreement, but he tried not to think about that and picked up the pen. “Last one?” he asked, signing.
“One more, Doc.” Joe took the signed form and replaced it with another.
“Don’t do it, Scholl’s!” Chatty called out from his rack, in back of the tent. They’d had to move into the Tactical Operations Center since the fire.
“Thanks for the support!” Mike called back, then signed the last form.
“Thanks.” Joe took the signed paper and started scanning them into the computer. “Don’t listen to him. We’ll get it done, yo.”
Chatty hollered, “No we won’t, yo! Scholl’s, I’m changing your name to Bonehead. What do you think?”
Mike smiled. “Joe, I should email home and let my in-laws know that I extended. Can’t we consider this official business and use your email?”
Joe nodded. “Gimme a minute, and I’ll lend you the la
ptop.”
“Thanks.” Mike sat down, trying to compose an email in his mind. He’d email his practice later, assuming there was still a practice to email, and he’d stop taking his base share, too.
“Here we go.” Joe slid him the laptop, which was logged onto the military server. “Don’t be long, okay? We’ll be in Bagram soon to resupply, and you can Skype then. Also, remember OPSEC. I’m reminding you because of Operation Viper. The last thing I heard, they were delaying the offensive because of our staffing issues.”
“I understand.”
Chatty hollered out, “Explain it again, Joe. Talk slow. He’s a bonehead, remember?”
“Chatty, go to sleep!” Mike started typing, keeping it short and sweet, because he could explain more later, when they were in Bagram:
Dear Bob and Danielle, I have decided to stay here so I would appreciate you taking care of Emily. I would write more but I can’t now. I’ll call as soon as I can. Thanks so much. Kiss Emily for me. Love, Mike
Mike pressed SEND and passed the laptop back to Joe, managing a smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Doc. You’d better get some sleep, too. By the way, here’s your mail.”
“Thanks.” Mike glanced at the mail wrapped around a Journal of the American Podiatric Medical Association. He’d put in a forwarding order online and it hurt to see the home bills, like gas, electric, phone, and water, from when Chloe was alive.
“Wait, hold on. I have one more thing for you.” Joe ducked under the table, rooted around, and popped up again, holding a silvery tin heart, with flames coming from the top. “It’s a milagro, a good-luck charm.”
“Really?” Mike accepted it, touched
“I asked you to stay, and you agreed. This keeps you safe from harm, keeps you healthy.”
“Where did you get it?”
“My girlfrien’ gave it to me.”
“No, I can’t take it then.” Mike tried to give it back, but Joe put up his hand like a wall.