Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to MASH, they are owned by 20th Century Fox. Only Nurse Pelt is of my creation.
Quiet. It was quiet here at the 4077th MASH, Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. Five days and no wounded. Before that though, almost four hundred cases, including North Korean and Chinese prisoners, arrived for them. Careful hard work and care led to not one patient to be lost, not even an enemy soldier.
When a lull came, everyone fell onto their cots or onto their floors to catch up on deprived sleep. Even sentries were nodding off at their posts that were a grave invitation for trouble. Most MASH units were tent establishments however the 4077th was lucky to have aluminum sided building with a solid concrete floor where their surgery and recovery wards lay. Only a few times were they forced to evacuate this dwelling, each time they came right back to start all over. One of the few other buildings that was not a tent was a supply room stocked full with medical supplies including plasma, morphine, penicillin, blankets, and I.V, all this was essential to their warfare.
It was dark, an overcast night. Thick, black clouds were low, blocking out the mountains just a few miles away. Guiding to the supply shed by a dim light bulb dangling just above the front door, Nurse Pelt picked out a key from a ring full of them given to her by Radar, opened the lock, and entered, closing the door behind her. She went in fully expecting to find another light bulb to switch on there by giving her plenty to see, instead, she found not a light bulb, but another person.
Outside the shed and inside the compound, no one could hear her screams for help as she was thrashed and thrown about. Her petite body was bashed against the walls, shelves rattled, bottles and boxes crashed to the floor. It lasted several agonizing minutes. Pelt tried to fight back, but she was scared, the attacker was big though she could not see and distinguishing features. Whomever it was had strong hands and a thick, heavy, breath wreaking of alcohol.
Walking through his paces as a sentry, Corporal Klinger, having to deal with extra duty after another lame attempt to free himself from the U.S Army, was muttering to himself in Lebanese. He was a good corpsman, cared for the sick and wounded, but it was this that he was trying to remove himself from, the carnage. He feared death and did not wish to wait to have Death come to him. Several times the unit had been sniped, shell, and aerial attacked and even ravaged by Mother Nature. As he strolled through the compound, M1 rifle thrown over one shoulder, he chewed on a cigar, puffing it lightly as he muttered some thoughts. Supply shack was just a few yards away; it seemed secured, so he gave it not a second thought when the front door flew open like a heavy wind had struck from the inside. Alarmed, Klinger spun about, holding his rifle tightly, finding the door ajar, but not a soul to be seen. Cautious, he came forth, rifle at the ready. He was scared but thought that it was just the wind. It was his duty to be alert for any act of aggression against the camp so he approached praying it was the wind. Stepping into the door way he looked in nervously, his thick, black curled hair flowing underneath his steel pot helmet. No light inside. Reaching through the darkness he found the light switch and turned it on; nothing.
"Damn supply sergeant" grumbling as his teeth gnawed on his cigar.
Without a flashlight the brave corporal went on, carefully treading as his rifle pointing into the darkness.
"Whose is in here?" he called out.
No answer.
A minute passed, he went about behind one shelve and then another. If anyone was in here, he could smell them due to his rather large nostrils. A light perfume hung in the chilly air. Smelled nice, something romantic, and he homed in on it. Then, his foot struck something. It gave a light moan. Sounded like a women, and the only women in camp are nurses.
"Good lord" he said as the warm Lebanese blood in his body ran cold.
In the Swamp, nicknamed for the tent occupied to Captain's Pierce, Hunnicutt and Major Burns, all three were fast asleep on their cots. A few stiff drinks from their private still made the two captains tipsy but still coherent enough to hear Klinger's cry for help. Some one was hurt. In a flash the two of them threw on their colorful robes and made a V-line for the shed, the straggler was Burns whom whined that he did not wish to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.
Hawkeye, as Pierce was more commonly known, entered into the abyss. He too was unable to see whom it was laying there. Just behind him was Father Mulcahy, the camp priest. Hearing the commotion, he came out with a flash light and shined some light on the situation, literally.
"Oh, dear god" Hawkeye groaned when he realized whom it was.
Nurse Pelt, Jessie Pelt. A new comer to MASH, she hailed from Florida following a brief career as a nurse in Pensacola before she volunteered for Korea where she hoped to earn some experience at an army hospital. She now lay in a near fettle position on the floor of the supply shed. Blood was oozing from her nose, mouth, eyes, and ears forming a small pool beside her head. It looked like someone had used her for a punching bag.
"Pelt, who did this to you?" Hawkeye asked as he kneeled besides her examining the gruesome wounds to her head as Hunnicutt examined the rest of her body that she was trying to shield with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach knees bright up to her chest. Both of her eyes were swollen shut yet, she knew Hawkeye by his voice from his many attempts to win her over right after arriving. "I…I…did not see him, he was…so big" tears were trying to come out.
"Don't talk" he consoled, "I have you fixed up in no time."
Klinger rushed off once more, fetched Radar, the company clerk. When they returned, they brought a stretcher. Carefully, Radar and Klinger loaded Pelt onto the stretcher as it as Mulcahy ran to notify Major Houlihan, the chief nurse, of the situation. Next stop for Pelt was pre-op or pre-operation where injuries are assessed that was inside that permanent structure.
Radar was having trouble carrying the stretcher all the way; Klinger's stride was too much for his tiny legs. "Pick it up, Radar, we need her inside," Hawkeye was running alongside them.
"I'm trying, sir, but Klinger is too fast," Radar complained.
"Try walking faster" he encouraged.
"I can't. Walking too fast makes me dizzy," Radar concluded just as they entered pre-op and placed the stretcher on a table. Once down, in better light, Hawkeye was able to examine Pelt. Just moments into this, the doors flapped open again, another hurricane came through, and this one was a well-built Major Houilhan and she had a rare concerned look on her face.
"Pierce" she called out as she darted through the two corporals, "I just heard. Is it true?" The answer lay right before her on the table. Her face turned stalk white like all the others looking at one of her nurses helpless on the table. At first, Pelt was unrecognizable with all her injuries, and then she remembered the dark hair, almost black that shined in the light.
"What happened?" the major asked to which Pelt did not or could not respond to, merely quivering her lips before slightly rolling her head away.
Turning to Pierce at her side, Houlihan asked, "How bad is it?" Her voice was low, in a whisper to conceal her worry.
"Not sure" Pierce replied matching her volume. He then looked around to see Radar with a very concerned look on his face. "Radar, why don't you…."
"I'll wake Colonel Potter" finishing his sentence and ran right out the door in which he came. He wanted him gone to talk to Houlihan as he directed Klinger to put down his rifle and start up the X-ray machine. He feared that there might be internal trauma in her head as well as chest thus Pelt was wheeled to the X-ray room to have her innards photographed. As they developed she was wheeled to the surgical table. Radar was the one developing the photos and when they were done he rushed in and placed them on the wall chart and turned on the light to illuminate them. Looking at them amazed Pierce carefully went over her body from head to stomach as the Major stood beside him doing the same thing. "Okay, we're gonna have to operate," Pierce began and turned back to Pelt just as a voice condemned it.
With him gone, Pierce finished it off, "I won't know till I go in there. I'll need an assistant."
She snapped, "I'll do it"
"X that order," a heavy voice called out. It was Colonel Potter, a man of short stature but a well-seasoned soldier and surgeon. He came in with a bathrobe, slippers, and a garrison cap bearing his rank. Though calm, collective, and mild mannered, he was fully against the duo operating on Pelt. "Pierce, you and the major are not fit to operate." Those words came as an insult. Before they could interject Potter held up a hand, "I'm not trying to be mean to you two, but I watched the way you handled the situation and I don't want to risk personal feelings from jeopardizing a serious operation. Major, grab one of your nurses and Pierce, Hunnicutt will operate instead. Though trying to sooth the feathers of the subordinates did quite fair out, Potter's words were final. Finished, he looked at the captain, then the nurse. "You'll be fine," he said to both of them then departed for his office.
Houlihan was forced to watch from the washing room as Hunnicutt, Nurse Able, and Nurse Kellye scrubbed their hands and dawned their white gowns and masks before going in. Though he cracked jokes to ease the tension, the surgeon was clearly nervous and tried to remain focused as they made Margaret more worried for the life of Lieutenant Pelt. For four hours she watched from the window, a spectator from beginning to end. Kellye did her job in handing tools, suction, and sewing, while Able gave a steady dose of gas to keep Pelt asleep. Though most of the injuries were to the head, there appeared to be internal bleeding in the chest and stomach that required opening her up. Hunnicutt, the father of a little girl, fast and light on his fingers, the only words that came from his mouth after they started was what tool he wanted next. Both Able and Kellye had never seen him so and were scared themselves as one of their friends was under the knife and tried to not look at her face. One stitch and one wound at a time, B.J. proceeded. Four hours flew by rather fast and it was at last over. Able and Kellye wheeled Pelt away on the gurney to post-op while B.J. ripped off the rubber gloves from his hands and entered the wash room where Houlihan and now Colonel Potter were anxiously waiting.
"How is she?" Houlihan jumped at the approaching captain just as he stepped out into the wash room.
"She's going to make it. But will have one hell of a headache in when she finally comes too," he remarked rather lowly as his face mask dropped showing his tired face then he began to remove his gown and throw it into a laundry bin before slumping into a bench against the wall.
"What in Sam Hill happened to that poor girl?" Potter asked standing beside the major.
Replying slowly, "Not sure. She only said that the person was big," B.J. sighed, his head leaning back and thumping against the wall.
"That's it?" Houlihan gasped, "She didn't say anything else?"
"Look, Margaret, it was dark in that shed. That was all she said to me and I don't want to press her anymore."
"How bad is it?" Potter asked.
"A massive subdural hematoma, her cheek bone and nose is fracture, two molars knocked out, jaw broken in two places, one rib broken and stomach bleeding. I patched her up but it will require more work in Tokyo." B.J's voice was fatigued and waning. Potter agreed, called for Radar whom was right behind them, clip board in hand.
"Call Seoul, request a chopper first thing in the morning. Then call Military Police, have them canvas the neighborhood for any suspicious people, then bring Corporal Klinger to my office, I want to ask him a few questions, then I want bed check on the entire camp to make sure everyone is in their place." Potter said the first few words; Radar finished the rest and departed to complete them. That was his best feature.
Everything was moving like a wheel behind the scenes allowing Hawkeye to enter the recovery ward where Pelt had a cot, and a ward, all to herself. It was quiet, no other patients so she received all of the attention there was. When the sodium pentothal wore off her eyes were still swollen shut and she could not answer any more questions, only muttering or groaning. A clip board that he held showed all of the stats Pelt had, so far, as well as all that had been done to her, by her attacker and patched up by B.J.
Reading the chart Hawkeye pictured the attack in his mind the more he read and it was worse than what B.J. told the Colonel earlier. A broken rib, internal bleeding in the lungs and stomach, a broken nose, two black eyes, fractured skull with internal bleeding, major fracture to the jaw, two missing teeth, and a serious concussion were all filling up his mind as to the brutality of the attack and looking over the edge of the clipboard bandages covered up most of her gorgeous face and she was under an itchy wool blanket with tubes in her to drain out blood from her lungs and stomach, "Oh, Pelt…" Hawkeye muttered as he lay down on the cot next to her. Able was taking her pulse as he began to drift off back to sleep…