4
On the Cusp of Freezing
Salem mumbled an awkward prayer to a god had didn't believe in, and pressed his thumb and index finger against the taught toffee hued flesh of Tyson's lower right groin. The scalpel, glimmering in the circle of light thrown out by his helmet's head lamp, felt warm in between his gloved slightly trembling fingers, despite the cloying heat of the jungle. Outside of the men's crude shelter, a driving rain sluiced down through the dense Rain Forest canopy. If nothing else, Salem thought, they'd have plenty of fresh water. He flinched when Giddy's calm and reassuring voice crackled in his right ear.
"That's the correct location. That's McBurney's point. Go on, pull his skin a little bit tighter, press and make your first incision on an angle between eleven o'clock and five o'clock."
He took a deep tremulous breath and a final look up at Tyson's face, now relaxed in the Ketamine induced slumber. Then, resolved pushed the stainless steel blade against Tyson's skin drawing it slowly toward himself for three inches, blanching when a thin rivulet of bright crimson blood percolated to the surface. Buck's deep voice re-focused him.
"Good, now I know that we talked about a three inch long incision but I want you to go just a little longer, four and a half. That will give you some extra room to work in since you don't have any real tools to keep the wound open."
"Snap?"
"Roger that. I concur with Buck, go ahead and do it."
Salem did as the two men instructed and then, daubed away the slight flow of blood. Seeing the blood was making him ill, and he gagged on the bile rising in his throat. He'd seen his fair share of it over the years; his, Tyson's, the enemies, and he damn near been bathed in the gore of it on more occasions than he could accurately count, but for some reason being the cause of Tyson's bleeding was impacting him negatively. Conversely, he thought, maybe any sight of blood should make him sick and the fact that it did not was a negative reaction.
"Now, you need to cut through the next three layers. Just repeat what you have just done and when you reach the last one, his Peritoneum, take care not to cut too deep."
"How deep is too deep?" he squawked, the caution sending a wave of anxiety through him. "You say that like I should know, Buck."
"Easy Green Giant, easy," Giddy cut in, "just go very slowly and imagine that you are cutting into the skin of a length of the Boudin that you love. We just don't want you to nick the Cecum. You're doing great and so is he. His vitals are stable."
Salem groaned and went to work. Tyson's tissue separated beneath his knife and scissors and he began to relax slightly. When he reached the Peritoneum he took a breath and carefully snipped at it.
"Good, now we have to deliver his Cecum and with it the Appendix. We know a second pair of hands is the typical arrangement, but you can do it alone. Stick your finger into the opening and gently begin pulling his Cecum, it looks like under stuffed sausage, out until you can manipulate it around and expose the Appendix."
The idea of jamming his finger into Rios' abdomen sent another wave of nausea through him. Salem tamped it down and recalled Heckler holding his finger in his chest to save his life and after squeezing his eyes shut went back to work. He froze at the initial sensation of slipping into the wound and feeling Tyson's warm mushy innards.
"You have this Green Giant, keep moving."
After several long, tentative seconds the Cecum popped free and the Appendix, swollen and discolored appeared just beneath it.
"Got it. It's nasty looking. Looks almost gangrened a little."
"It is, so it's a good thing we went in. Now locate the artery, it looks like a whitish tube."
"Got it."
"Ligate it with your clamps. You have done it before in training just with other arteries. Good, do you have your cauterizing tool ready?"
"Yea."
"Make a small cut just at the end of the Appendix where it attaches to the Cecum, right below the artery and slide your forceps through it, the snip and cauterize it. Then…"
The rest of the procedure passed in a haze of monotone instruction from Giddy and Buck. Salem set himself on auto-pilot and tried not to think about all the errors that he could potentially make. The procedure had gone a little long though, and they opted to hit the sick man with the maintenance dose of Ketamine.
As he pulled the final sutures snug, the adrenalin, which had kept him focused, began to burn off and he started shaking. He snipped the excess material away and sighed. Tyson's vitals looked fine except for his fever and the incision looked neat, which considering his lack of skill, surprised him.
"Okay, Green Giant just bandage it, hit him with the Ciprol, and the Aleve, and then get ready to move out."
It was Murray's voice giving the order and he fought down his anger but lost. As he bandaged the site, he screamed at the mission runner.
"I am not going any fucking place until he wakes up."
"That might take a while and we need to make up for lost time."
"Fuck you. I'm not leaving him. I'm not leaving him to wake up alone. What if he stays fevered and can't do for himself? What if he can't drink when it's time, what if…"
"Green Giant you have your orders. Pack your gear, don't forget to retrieve anything that you might need from Rios' ruck and move out. The sooner you leave the sooner you will get back to him. We pushed the mission clock and you will go in without that extra seventy-two hours of added intell. Do you copy?"
"He's infected! They said he needed the antibiotics regularly and if he can't take them, or can't drink what will happen? How will he have his I.V? How…"
"Move out Green Giant, or I will send in a team to neutralize you both!"
"Fuck you, Dalton!"
"How did he get back in the net? Cut him out now." Murray ordered Secour. "Settle down the both of you. Green Giant disregard that last, and please just pull it together, saddle up and move out. We will do a comms check in three hours on this freq. Delta HQ out."
Salem, seeing that he had little choice in the matter, completed his ministrations with Tyson, donned his pack, slipped from the dry security of the shelter and out into the sopping wet jungle. Then, after switching to night vision, he checked his compass and moved out swearing to the same god, whom he prayed to earlier and still did not believe in, that if Tyson died not a single member of his SSC team would live out the year.