Christmas Blues

This is a direct sequel to "The Winter Beasts," so it will make more sense if you've read that one first.

Chapter 1: Two-Day Pass

"You gonna get a dame for Christmas, Doc?" Kirby looked up from his poker game, an impish smile on his face as he relished the medic's discomfort. "You'll tell us all about it when you get back, won't you? Let us know what we're missing?"

"Shut up, Kirby," Caje raised his friend a dollar. "Give Doc a break."

Doc shot him a grateful look as he stuffed another shirt in his duffel bag.

"Well, how come he's the only one to get a pass?" Kirby asked in aggrieved tones. "We've all been through hell in the last few days!"

"We've been through nothing," Caje snarled. "Think you've had it hard?" His dark eyes caught Kirby's, who looked away quickly. "I've raised a dollar and Littlejohn's seen my bet. Are you in or out?"

"I'm out," Kirby muttered, tossing his cards down. "Can't ever seem to stick, can I?" He shoved his chair back and grabbed his jacket, pushing past Doc and disappearing out into the night.

Caje rubbed the stubble on his chin and shook his head. "Ma bouche."

Littlejohn shrugged. "He's not mad at you."

"I know." Caje sighed, glancing at Doc. "He's not sore about your leave, either. Jealous, but not sore."

Doc nodded, swinging his bag onto his back.

"Eat some turkey for us, OK?" Littlejohn said.

"Sure." Doc's voice was soft. "Sure. That's probably just what I'll do."

"You'll tell us when you get back, right?" Doc could see the hunger on the big man's face. How long had it been since any of them had eaten a meal that hadn't come out of a can?

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it." Dropping his eyes, Doc quickly opened the door. He nearly ran into Kirby, who was coming back in, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Kirby looked like he was going to say something, but Doc didn't give him the chance. He hurried on without looking up, jumping into the truck that was waiting, engine idling, to make the trip back from the front.

X X X

Doc's destination was a village only fifteen miles behind the American lines, but it took nearly an hour to get there. The road was rutted and icy, with deep potholes that were hard to avoid in the dark. Doc was far better acquainted with his fellow passengers than he'd have liked by the time they arrived. He figured he'd spent most of the last mile trying to stay out of the lap of the corporal sitting across from him.

It was amazing the difference fifteen miles could make. Doc swung down out of the truck as soon as it stopped, gaping like a kid at the soldiers in crisp uniforms, their faces close-shaven and clean. Laughing voices poured out of a café near the corner. The medic closed his eyes briefly, breathing in the fresh, cold air. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and despite the Germans' efforts to the contrary, it looked like he would live through it. A couple of days ago, he wouldn't have laid any bets.

Under other circumstances, he'd have headed straight for the café and ordered the best meal he could with his limited French and even more limited funds, but food was the last thing on his mind. Shouldering his bag, he set out for the field hospital. Lieutenant Hanley had told him the army had commandeered a girls' boarding school near the center of the village. There's no way you can miss it, he'd said. Doc hoped that was true. Hanley had also told him, his face drawn and solemn, not to waste any time.

Doc's feet were blistered from walking too long in wet boots, giving him a wobbly, ungainly gait. He should have taken better care of them, but he hadn't noticed how damaged they were until yesterday. Then it was too late. He knew he should stay off them for a couple of days and let them heal, but that wasn't an option.

He was limping by the time he reached the center of the village. The lieutenant was right: the hospital was easy to spot. A white banner emblazoned with a red cross hung out of one of the second story windows, marking it off-limits to the antagonists. The building was originally three stories tall, but the left wing had been reduced to half a story by artillery. The right wing was largely intact, and it was here the Americans had set up their largest hospital in the sector.

As Doc climbed the stone steps to the main door, an ambulance screeched to a halt just below him. Two medics rushed out with a stretcher, nearly knocking him over. They looked so harried, he thought about following them and offering his help, but then he remembered the concern in Lieutenant Hanley's eyes. Casualties are heavy and they don't have enough staff. Take a look and see what the situation is. Doc sighed. His orders were clear and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

He had to stand in line for information, shifting impatiently from one sore foot to the other as he waited his turn. The nurse looked like she was ready to snap and he'd have liked to bypass her, but it was quicker to ask for directions than to search the wards. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably be stopped anyway before he got very far, but Doc figured everyone was so busy tonight he probably could wander into an operating room and start cutting before anyone thought to ask who he was. "Excuse me, miss?"

"Lieutenant." The nurse frowned fiercely, and Doc almost wished he were back up at the front under fire. At least then he could duck.

He remembered he was still wearing his helmet and pulled it off, awkwardly tucking it under his arm. "I'm… I'm sorry, lieutenant, you see, I…"

"What is it you want? There are six men waiting behind you, you know."

"Yeah." Doc glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I'm looking for my sergeant—Saunders, from King Company. He was brought in yesterday."

"How badly was he wounded?" The nurse consulted her clipboard, not looking up.

"Well, not too badly," Doc said, "but he's sick with the flu. He's got a real rough case and I'm worried it might have turned into pneumonia…." He broke off in dismay as the nurse's face suddenly softened.

"Oh," she said, "yes. That one."

"Well, what is it?" Doc's mouth was dry. "Why're you saying it that way? Is he dead?"

"No." The nurse shook her head, but Doc could read a lot from her inflection. He knew how medical people sounded when they were trying to break bad news. What she meant was Not yet.

"Where is he?" Doc's genial features hardened.

"Upstairs, third ward, but…"

Doc never heard the rest of the sentence. He was already halfway down the hall.

X X X

He found Saunders in a tiny room lit only by a single, dim lamp on a corner table. They'd put him in semi-quarantine because of his illness, unwilling to risk contaminating the main ward. Doc understood the necessity, but he hated to see the sergeant completely alone, lying as still as death on a narrow cot, his breathing labored. If he goes out like this, Doc thought, solitary, neglected, with nobody beside him, I'll…

Saunders stirred a little, his hand moving minutely, and Doc was kneeling at his side in an instant, gripping it with all his strength. The medic's face fell into determined lines. It didn't matter what that nurse thought. She didn't know Sarge.

He murmured soft reassurances as he quickly assessed Saunders' condition. He checked the wounds on the sergeant's arms first, satisfying himself they'd been well-stitched. The bandages were clean, with no blood or evidence of infection, which mollified him somewhat. As busy as the doctors were, he grudgingly admitted they were trying to do their best.

Saunders didn't move again or make a sound, and Doc suddenly remembered what his grandmother always said about sick children. "You don't have to worry about the ones that fuss and cry. They'll be all right. But when they get quiet and still, then it's real bad."

"Hey," he said softly, "hey, Sarge, it's Doc. Can you hear me? All of us have been worried about you." He readjusted the bandage on Saunders' arm, sucking in his breath as he felt the heat emanating beneath it.

"Sorry." The word was low and slurred, but Doc's face broke into a wide grin. His joy was short-lived, though. He brushed his hand against Saunders' forehead. If possible, the sergeant was even hotter than he'd been when they'd found him in the hunter's cabin the previous day. It was like a furnace was inside him running at full blast.

Saunders tried to open his eyes, but only managed to slit them. "Doc, where am I?" He dragged his tongue over cracked lips. "I gotta report…" he made a feeble effort to rise, but the medic quickly restrained him.

"Stay still. You're sick, remember? We sent you back yesterday. You're in a hospital."

"I don't…" Saunders' expression was confused. There was something young and lost in his face that made Doc catch his breath. He didn't think he'd ever seen Sarge look so vulnerable.

"Here," Doc snatched a glass from the table with the lamp and filled it with water from his canteen. "When was the last time you drank?"

Saunders shook his head. It took all his energy to take a sip and he fell back limply as soon as Doc released him. "Dunno." His head lolled to the side. "Don't know where I am… what time it is…"

"Don't you worry about that stuff right now," Doc said, feeling his gut clinch. By his reckoning, the sergeant was about one step away from delirium.

"Gotta report." Saunders tried to rise again and the medic held him down more firmly.

"Now, you listen to me," Doc said severely, "you don't have to go anywhere. All you need to do is stay still and do what I tell you!"

"Keep your voice down!" A heavy hand fell on Doc's shoulder, pulling him away from the cot. Doc spun around to see a doctor looking down at him. The nurse he'd spoken to earlier stood in the doorway. "Who are you and why are you abusing my patient?"

"Abusin'?" Doc glanced in consternation from one face to the next. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" He cleared his throat, releasing Saunders and coming to attention. "This is my sergeant—I'm the medic for our squad. Lieutenant Hanley sent me here to see how he's doing. I've got a two-day pass." Doc fished in his pocket and presented the orders.

"I see." The doctor relaxed, his face softening. "I think I understand." Taking Doc by the elbow, he guided him away from Saunders. "You can stay if you'd like, but don't touch him like that again. It shouldn't be much longer—maybe just a few hours—and I want to keep him as comfortable as possible."

"What shouldn't be much longer?" Doc's voice faltered.

"His fever keeps going up," the doctor said quietly. "We've given him aspirin, we've given him water, we've rubbed him with alcohol, but he's not responding. His temperature was 105 degrees half an hour ago." He shook his head. "I've seen this before—his body's just too weak to keep fighting. He'd lost a lot of blood before he arrived. We gave him a unit, but the illness has taken a firm hold." He regarded Doc sympathetically, but the medic only looked at the floor, his hands clinched.

"Has it gone into his lungs?"

The doctor frowned. "No, not yet, but…"

"Has his fever gotten higher than 105? Has he had convulsions?"

"No, but soon…"

Doc's head shot up. "Now, you listen here, Captain," he said, looking the doctor straight in the eye, "you know more about medicine than I do, but I know more about this patient than you and I'm not going to let you write him off. You say he's too weak for there to be any hope, but let me tell you this: If he'd come in here with just one cup of blood left in his body, he'd still be stronger than you and me put together!" Doc's eyes flashed. "I don't care if he's comfortable—I care if he's alive!" He jabbed a finger towards the cot where Saunders lay, insensible. "Now, there's a lot of snow outside. Let's get some up here and cold-pack him before it's too late!"

"That's needlessly cruel!" the doctor snapped. "If his body was capable of rallying, we'd have seen some progress already. Let him go peacefully!"

"I'm not gonna let him go peacefully or any other way," Doc said stubbornly. He kept his gaze locked on the doctor's until the officer looked away. "Can you just give up knowing you didn't try everything?"

The doctor's lips thinned, but Doc could tell he was considering the suggestion. "It'll be agonizing for him. The shock could send him into cardiac arrest."

"I know." Doc glanced at Saunders again, praying he still had the strength the medic had seen so often before. "I know, but he wouldn't care about the pain or the risk. Trust me, sir—he'd want us to give him every chance we can."