ONE
Jan 5th, 1953: 0300 hours
In the early morning hours, yet another long operating room session at the Army surgical hospital unit known as the 4077th was drawing to a close. To help relieve some of the tension, and to keep themselves distracted from the carnage they were encountering, Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt had been conducting their usual back and forth banter. This time, their topic concerned rabbits.
A sudden, anguished yelp had shocked the OR personnel into silence.
Lieutenant Sarabeth MacAllister, her face pale and filled with pain, swayed as she fought to stand upright.
"Baker, take her table!" Margaret Houlihan called to the circulating nurse. She reached the younger woman's side at the same time that Hawkeye Pierce grabbed her other arm. They held on to her as her knees buckled.
"Her face is whiter than her mask," Pierce noted. "Pulse is rapid; skin's cold; she's going into shock. Let's get her outside."
Weakly, the surgical nurse objected, "I can't leave. I have a patient on the table."
"You're going to be a patient on the table if you don't lie down," the Chief Surgeon responded as he and Major Houlihan helped her out of the operating room.
In the alcove outside the surgery area, Hawkeye eased Sarabeth onto one of the cots. He covered her with a blanket while the charge nurse elevated her feet with a shock block. She then took the Texan's pulse and blood pressure, reporting her results.
"Major Houlihan, Doctor Pierce," the woman softly spoke, "I apologize. I have never had to leave a surgery session for any reason."
"Knowing your brother's been shot sounds like a pretty good reason to me," the man answered. Satisfied that she was out of immediate danger, Hawkeye added, "Margaret, I'll stay with her for a few minutes until her color's better. And then I'll return to the OR."
"Yes, sir. MacAllister, I'm changing the duty roster. You'll be on the third post-op shift, rather than the second," Houlihan stated.
"Major, I can work the second shift, like always," the nurse protested. "There's no need.…"
"Take the time to recover, Lieutenant," the senior officer advised. "I don't want you passing out while on ward duty. And…I hope that everything turns out all right with your brother." She started towards the scrubbing area. "I'll have your next patient ready in a few minutes, Doctor," Major Houlihan announced over her shoulder.
"Thank you, ma'am," Sarabeth MacAllister called to her. She tried to sit up. Captain Pierce held her down. "I'm all right," she told him in mild exasperation.
"I've seen cadavers that look better than you do," Hawkeye retorted; and then realized what he had said. "Sorry. Just ignore any of my stupid remarks."
"I always do." Tears forming in her eyes, MacAllister looked at him, "Oh, Hawk. He's been hit so hard! But he's madder than hell. And he's got a job to do. He's not going to let a bullet stop him."
"He sounds as stubborn as someone else I know," the dark-haired man grinned at her, "Just rest, Sarabeth. And don't get up. You'll be all right."
"It's not me I'm worried about," she replied.
Soon after Pierce left the area, Sarabeth sat on the edge of the cot. She was trying to force away her dizziness. "Pull yourself together, MacAllister," the Texan chided herself, "You've still got work to do." Taking a deep, determined breath, she pushed herself up from the bed. Immediately regretting her movements, she braced her arm against the wall to keep from falling.
"Oh-h-h. He's starting to feel the blood loss," she whispered. "Come on, Crockett. Stay with us, big brother. Stay with us!"
The operating room had returned to some semblance of normalcy. Christie Baker was now working with Colonel Potter as his surgical nurse. They were finishing their procedures, preparing the soldier for a trip to the recovery room. B J Hunnicutt and his team were working on a man with minor injuries. Hawkeye Pierce and Margaret Houlihan were taking care of the very last wounded man waiting to be treated.
With a sigh, Major Winchester finally completed his surgery. "Corpsman," he indicated his patient, "give him a very smooth ride to post-op." To the head nurse, he added, "Margaret, make certain his urine output is monitored. I want to see if the repairs to his kidney are going to hold."
At her acknowledgment, he stripped off his gloves and announced, "Since there are no more unfortunate souls waiting for my assistance, I intend to adjourn to the Swamp for some much needed sleep."
"Winchester," Colonel Potter spoke. "Escort the lieutenant to her quarters and tell her I'll talk to her, as soon as I hear anything."
"And tell her I'll stop by, later," Hawkeye Pierce added.
"And that all of the MacAllisters are in my prayers," Father Mulcahy contributed.
Other operating room personnel offered their kind words, as well.
"I shall relay the messages," the officer promised as he left the surgery area for the changing room.
Major Winchester walked over to the alcove outside the operating room. Since MacAllister wasn't there, he expanded his search. He found her in the pre-op room, sitting on a stool while the nurse on duty finished her routine cleanup procedures. The doctor stood near the entrance way and listened to their conversation. He was relieved to discover that, while still pale, she had partially recovered from her earlier distress.
"Are you sure I can't help you do something, Kellye?" the Texan inquired.
"No way," the dark-haired nurse responded. "You need to sit there and rest. When you staggered in here, your face was as white as a sheet."
"So was yours, after I told you what had happened," MacAllister softly retorted.
"I know. But I'm all right, now."
"So am I," Sarabeth replied.
Kellye looked at her skeptically, "I'd like a second opinion on that."
"I shall be happy to oblige," the man announced as he walked into the room. He looked critically at the red-haired nurse. "You're right. She is in need of rest. Lieutenant MacAllister," he spoke, "I am to take you to your quarters, per Colonel Potter's orders."
"I'll go; but I sure won't be able to sleep much," the woman declared.
As they stood outside the nurse's tent, Winchester told MacAllister about the concerns of the medical personnel. He then added, with apologies, "Sarabeth...I wanted to come to you. I couldn't. I was in the middle of a renal reconstruction. I couldn't leave my patient. Please forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, Charles," she answered. "In the OR, your patients must come first...no matter what. I'm embarrassed that I had to leave," MacAllister admitted.
"Some things simply can not be helped, my dear. What I don't understand is; how did you know, and feel, that your brother had been shot?" Winchester asked.
Sarabeth shrugged, "All of us kids have always been able to pick up very strong emotions from each other; like when we're sad or scared or happy…or hurt."
"Are you able to determine his…condition…at this moment?"
"I know he's still alive…for now. But, he's lost so much blood..." she shuddered helplessly.
"MacAllisters are notoriously...determined...individuals. Crockett will be all right," the man asserted, hoping that his words would prove to be accurate. "Get some sleep, Sarabeth," he directed. "And, please, do not hesitate to call me if you need me---for any reason."
"If you were Hawkeye Pierce, I'd be suspicious of that offer," she managed to grin. Placing her hand on his arm, she added, "You're a good friend, Charles. Thank you."
Seizing the opportunity, surprising them both, Winchester placed his hand over hers. With a gentle, caressing motion, his thumb moved across the top of her fingers. "Sarabeth, you are a dear friend of mine. In fact…."
A sudden blast of cold wind howling around the corner of the tent staggered both of the medical officers. Shaking his head in frustration, the man opened the door for the woman, "I would like to continue this conversation…later…under better conditions and warmer surroundings…if I may."
The woman from Texas smiled at him, "I would relish that."
Alone in his office, in the pre-dawn hours, Colonel Potter sat waiting. He was expecting a call; a call that he was not looking forward to receiving; or delivering.
"I wish this whole damn nightmare was over," he said as he poured himself a drink.