Chapter 2 Hospital
In the St. Francis emergency area waiting room, Bobby turned to Tank, "Do you often pick up women in the vet clinic?"
"I've seen battle casualties looking better than she did. I rarely see you pull out the oxygen bottle. How is she, Bobby?"
"It was close," Bobby said shaking his head. "Initially she wasn't too bad; I thought we could risk bringing her ourselves. Dix doesn't have the services she needs, they would have transferred her here."
Time passed, Tank talked to the Rangeman office on his phone while pacing the waiting room floor. Bobby filled out papers. The double doors opened and a doctor came out and went to Bobby. "Bobby, it was good you called me, we were ready for her. I concur with your decision, here was better. We still may have to transfer her up to University Hospital in Newark. The problem is the weather. Med-evac won't fly, the roads are getting worse and there's a big accident up on 95."
Bobby turned to Tank, "Tank this is Dr. Steve Marshall and the guy that constantly beats my ass in hand ball." Tank nodded and shook hands.
"Steve, she was adamant about going to Dix and would have driven herself if necessary."
"She would not have made it," the doctor said.
"No," Bobby replied simply. "That became apparent."
The doctor motioned towards the double doors leading to the treatment bays, "Let's go back and talk." Bobby and Tank were shown to a small conference area where Dr. Marshall picked up a metal chart file and said, "I saw you were about to relieve the pneumothorax when we opened the Jeep's door."
"I'm glad I looked up and saw the emergency room doors. Inserting the needle in a moving vehicle with the patient sitting upright would have been difficult."
"Do you know what happened to her?" The doctor asked.
Tank answered, "Apartment complex on Cutler exploded. She was thrown against walls, twice in two different explosions."
"We had an elderly lady come in earlier from that complex in very serious condition. The EMT said a female soldier carried the woman and her kittens to safety. I assume Major Pappas is the officer."
Opening a metal file Dr. Marshall began, "She wasn't conscious when we reached the bay. She is still out. CT Scan will determine degree of head injury. In addition to the pneumothorax there's smoke inhalation, of course. Ribs 2 and 3 are fractured; number four has hair line fracture. There is no intrusion into the pleura or lung. Left clavicle and scapula are fractured, anterior dislocation and fractured proximal humerus. Duverney fracture left iliac, no arterial complication. Basically her left side got wiped out slamming into the walls. First and second degree burns on right side of her face, neck and hands."
Bobby calmly asked, "Internal injuries?"
"We are still checking. So far none are apparent at this time beyond the pneumothorax we are also watching for pulmonary edema. Otherwise, diaphragm intact, spleen absent; It's not the first time she's been knocked about."
"Can you deal with all the injuries?"
"We are fortunate Dr. Johansen, an orthopedic surgeon from University in Newark is here for a few days. He is still evaluating her along with Doug Murphy. Of course the CT Scan will determine what is next.
"She will be alright?" Tank asked
"The shoulder will need surgery. If she regains consciousness soon and the CT Scan comes back clean, pulmonary radiograph is clear, and nothing else crops up, we'll jump on the shoulder. Anything more, she's heading to Newark, if possible."
"How long will she be hospitalized?" Tank asked.
"Maybe a week, then we'll evaluate; rehab or home."
"Her apartment building is gone, she has no home." Tank responded.
"Then it will be a rehab facility. We don't need to worry about that today; she'll be here for a while."
Quickly Tank spoke up, "When she is released she can stay with me."
Bobby raised both eyebrows, "Tank, you don't even know her."
"I have extra bedrooms, I'll hire a nurse and pay Stephanie to help out," Tank offered. "Stephanie always needs extra money."
Bobby frowned; he had never seen Tank act this way about a woman. He cautioned, "All of this depends on her doctor's opinions and her own desires. Let's go day by day."
Turning back toward Dr. Marshall Bobby asked, "Steve, how long will she be off duty? Dix will need to be notified."
"Of course depending on what else we find, but the ribs alone should keep her sidelined for six weeks at least, the shoulder more depending on her job; however, this is the Ft. Dix Bitch we are talking about."
The two Rangeman men looked at the doctor, "The what? You know her?"
"Who do you think beats me at handball? I play several times a week at Dix. She came up from Ft. Bragg several months ago. I don't know her job, this was the first time I've seen her in uniform. Usually she's in gym attire. When she's not dominating the hand ball courts, humiliating hand to hand instructors, working over kick boxers, she teaches martial arts to kids and now apparently saves kittens."
Bobby chuckled, "Sounds like a female version of you, Tank." Tank smiled. He knew there was a reason he was drawn to her.
Bobby continued, "Steve, assuming her and her medical staff agrees to go with Tank, I can check on her twice a day. When she's ready for rehab, I'll work with her at Rangeman, if it can be cleared with command."
The doctor laughed, "Lots of Ifs there Bobby, we'll see."
I knew I was in the hospital, puffing oxygen and being monitored for everything except toenail growth. I really wasn't feeling much pain unless I tried to talk or swallow, apparently the big time pain drugs hadn't discovered that area. I wanted to sleep for about a week until things settled down.
Once again my injuries seem to be on my left side, just as they were so many years ago, Then I thought my life and dreams were over. No family until Colonel Halvers, a man I hardly knew, became my savior. Now I take care of myself.
There was a brief knock on the door and three men walked in.
"Three hot men," I croaked. Somewhere in my brain I knew that was totally inappropriate but I couldn't control myself. It must be the pain meds. The doctor and medic ignored the rude comment, but the biggest guy looked embarrassed.
"Hello Major, looks like tomorrow's handball match is cancelled," said the man with the white jacket. He looked familiar, "Later," I croaked.
"How are you feeling Major?" The man next to Mr. White Coat asked.
He looked familiar too, was he at the vet's office? Didn't he have white hair before? I pondered his question. How was I going to express myself in as few words as possible? "Pissed off," I all but whispered.
That seemed to bring a few tight smiles. I didn't think it was funny. I was serious, but I wasn't in the mood for chewing ass, even if I could get the words out. Talking was hurting not only my throat, it was killing my head. I was also nauseous and the last thing I wanted was to vomit.
"Nauseous."
Dr. White Coat looked a little surprised. "We'll get you something for that right away."
"I need to sleep," I whined petulantly. I'm never petulant, what is wrong with me? "How will I stay awake?"
"I'm here to sit with you ma'am," the big guy said softly. "The doctors want you awake as much as possible in the next 24 hours to monitor the concussion."
The two doctors made cursory exams; they spoke quietly to the big man and left. The big man came and sat down next to me.
"OK handsome..." I cringed when I heard myself. "Sorry, it's these pain meds."
He shook his head in understanding, "That's alright. They make me loopy too."
"You called me "barbecued."
"Yes ma'am."
"Kansas City or Memphis?" Geez, where did that come from? What meds am I on? Shouldn't there be some security person here guarding my mouth?
His lovely golden brown eyes narrowed a bit and if he was trying to read my mind and understand my question. Lovely golden brown eyes? Since when have I noticed eye color?
"Sir, what is your name?" There, I thought, that was more controlled.
"Tank"
"Tank?"
"Yes ma'am."
"…parents First Armor?"
"No ma'am". He sighed. Apparently he'd been asked that question before. "My name is Pierre Sherman. My family name was Chermond but my grandfather Americanized it to Sherman. I've never liked Pierre so when I started growing the kids started calling me Tank. I liked it better than Pierre. "
"Tank Sherman?" I asked and would have raised an eyebrow, if I still had one.
"No ma'am, just Tank."
I nodded.
"Ma'am, would you prefer I call you...Major?"
"… you in service?" I really wished there was a Teflon spray for throats.
"Not any longer ma'am. My contract expired some time back, I did not renew."
"IRR?" Army's Individual Ready Service where one can be called back as needed.
"No, I was under contract to the Army and certain government agencies," he answered.
Certain agencies! I know what he's talking about. He was a government contractor, perhaps even special assignment or mercenary; all very hush hush. Wonder if I've known any of his missions. Good thing I don't have those eyebrows, in my drugged state I might let on I knew about them.
"Mr. Abrams, I'm Efrosyni."
"Excuse me, ma'am, it is Sherman, not Abrams."
"Excuse me. I'm...Fro-See-nee." I paused to breathe, "Or Major."
He tried it out, "Fro-see-nee."
"Tank, the medic's name?"
It's Bobby Brown. Actually it is Dr. Bobby Brown but he shuns the doctor title. He prefers that title medic. He takes care of us."
"Us?"
"Company we work for. Bobby is our private medic."
"Nice company." What type of company employs mercenaries, I wondered.
The doctors wanted me awake for as long as possible as they monitored the head concussion. The man, I had forgotten his name, sat with me and we talked. Dr. No Hans came and went, he was tall and blonde, I thought with his name he'd be Chinese. Another doctor came, Dr. Dog. He said he saw me in the emergency room. I wondered what breed he was. The big man did most of the talking as I had trouble even breathing, but I nodded and contributed short conversations. I have no idea what we talked about and that was troubling. I had stuff somewhere in my head that could not be discussed.
"Sir," I said as I couldn't remember his name. 'What is your clearance?"
He looked at me with concern, "Why?"
"I might say things I shouldn't." I explained.
"Ma'am, I was a Special Forces ranger and when under contract had fairly high clearance. Now I'm part owner of a security company here. I know how to keep my mouth shut."
I nodded again because it just hurt to talk.
He was a big guy, several inches taller than me which is unusual since I am a giant. In the back of my mind I was hearing the song "Big John."
He talked softly but had a thunderous laugh which he used very little at first. He was trying to keep me awake and would gently touch my right arm, not my hand because of the burns, if I started to fade. I'm not used to people touching me except when working on hand to hand, kick boxing or various martial arts. It's one of my phobias. Each time he touched me I'd instantly come awake. I guess phobias have a good side too.
The sun set and rose again when the doctor Wyatt Earp, or whatever his name is and Dr. Mercenary, walked back in, "OK, you two, bed time."
The big guy, Big John, blanched which is difficult for a darker skinned man. I don't know if he felt it, but yeah, I wouldn't mind curling up next to him. He looks warm and cuddly. Whoa, the pain meds really have me loopy.
"I'll take Tank home," Dr. Mercenary said.
Why was Dr. Mercenary taking a tank home? The mercenary doctor pulled out his phone, "Steph, I need help with a woman." The big man barked a laugh.
"No, no Steph, not that kind of help," he said laughing. "Actually it is Tank who needs help."
I tried to grab the big man's hand, but missed. He caught the motion and leaned over, "Frank, names again; Dr. No Hans, Wyatt Earp, and Buster Brown?"
"Drs. Johansen, Steve Marshall and Bobby Brown," He replied with had a strained look on his face.
"I know you aren't Abrams..."
"Sherman, ma'am, Tank Sherman."
Where did John go, I wondered.
My little memory problem netted me an extra trip through the CT Scan machine and games to play with Frank for the next few days. It was Trivial Pursuit: What's my name, who is the President, what base are you currently assigned? I wasn't very good initially. I asked my doctor when we'd be playing handball again, but then called him Dr. Marshal Dillon. He thought I was being cute, I wasn't. I honestly couldn't remember his name.
Somewhere in the game playing I went through the repair shop, got my shoulder screwed and wired and was placed in a strange device that kept my arm perfectly still. I felt like a bird with a partially extended but broken wing. Surely there's a song about this.
The best part was Sherman Tank came to visit every evening. What a silly name. Who in the world would name their child Sherman Tank? I wanted to ask if his parents served in First Armor. As he left one evening he said, "I have an answer to your earlier question...Memphis." I had no idea what he was talking about.
