Her Majesty's Secret Service Chapter 11.
Trigger warning for more war action here, fighting and injuries, not in graphic detail. Sorry, but integral to the story. If you choose to skip this chapter I will once again quickly summarize at the start of the next.
John was in the loo when his pager went off. "Bloody pager, can't get away from it even here!" He checked the message but most unhelpfully it was just an extension number without a message. "Bloody idiots can't even learn to send a message properly through the computer system. Bloody using the bloody phones again…" he grumbled.
He wandered out to his desk and returned the call, ready to give a right reaming to whoever paged him with just a number and no message. However, the calm greeting at the other end forestalled him.
"Hello Captain Watson. Thank you for returning my call so promptly," said a cool woman's voice.
Shit. It was the RAMC Major on the base, John's direct superior. She only ever called him when there was a problem. She was usually more of an email memo person.
"Major Velovska, what can I do for you?" John said, cautiously.
"There is a bit of a Situation with one of our patrols. I need you to go out there to assist with on the spot evaluation of wounds and to organize the evacuation of the injured."
"That sounds bad. How many injured are there?" John was immediately concerned.
"It was a large manoeuvre, an entire platoon went out. Unfortunately the company medical officer was one of the first to be wounded, so the reports are all coming through the assistant medic who is clearly panicked and unable to manage the triage properly. I need you to go out there and do a proper assessment and make any necessary arrangements."
"Right. I'm on it," returned John without hesitation. "Will I have a driver? And should I take my own assistant medic?"
"That's a very good suggestion, John." The Major sounded unflatteringly surprised that John should have any good ideas. "By all means take your own assistant. The driver will call for you at your sick bay in five minutes. Keep me informed of your progress. Good luck, Captain." She hung up without waiting for his answer.
John had no time to spare. He ran to the computer and sent an urgent message to Bill to meet him at the sick bay immediately. He then grabbed his medical kit and started stuffing in all the painkillers and bandages he could lay his hands on. Sixty men and just him to sort them all out. He would have crossed his fingers that the company Captain was still alive and at least securing the area, but he was too busy to waste fingers on such a forlorn hope.
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John and Bill arrived at the site to find it was more under control than John's fears had lead him to expect. The ambush had been complete, and both the Captain and the First Lieutenant had been killed in the initial firefight. But the Second Lieutenant and the Senior Sergeant had rallied the survivors of the platoon very effectively and driven off the attacking guerillas. Casualties had been heavy, and with the damage to the vehicles they were pinned down out in the open. It was the kind of situation to make the back of John's neck itchy – he could just about feel rifle sights on his back.
He reported in to the Second Lieutenant, "Captain Watson, medical corps, here to take over triage and medical care, sir!" It felt a bit odd to be calling such a young soldier 'sir' but if he was holding the platoon together and controlling the area every bit of respect was due to him and John was going to bolster his authority in any way he could.
"Lieutenant Cooper, current senior officer. I'm securing the area and calling for transport to complete the evacuation of the wounded, C-Captain." He stumbled over the rank, clearly not used to having a Captain as a subordinate. His glance looked for confirmation that he was doing the right thing, and he seemed reassured by John's subtle nod.
"Captain Watson, please take control of the wounded and triage," he tilted his head towards the centre of the makeshift camp. "I am establishing a perimeter patrol and I hope to have the evacuation under way within the hour. Estimated time to complete evacuation is more than four hours, however, due to the number of wounded and terrain conditions."
John's brow furrowed with worry, but he saluted and said only, "Yes, sir."
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Three hours later, John straightened up and stretched his back. Triage had been brutal for a while there, but the worst was over and into the next transport would go the last of the non-walking wounded. All things considered, it had gone better than he had expected. Bill had been a treasure, and worth at least three times the other assistant medic. John snorted internally and made a mental note to find out where he had trained and never to go there for medical care.
John scrubbed his hands over his face, hoping futilely to wipe away the weariness and grime. Not long to go, then he could head back to base himself and indulge in a hot shower. He swept his gaze once more around the edge of the camp, absently noting the passing patrols of the perimeter guards. There was one pair in the north, another pair patrolling to the east. The southern team were currently engaged in checking a vehicle about to enter the restricted area. John turned around to check to the west, staring directly into the setting sun. Which was why he did not recognize the attacking force for what it was for a few long moments. By the time he shouted a warning it was far too late.
The guerillas swept in from the west, straight out of the sun, overwhelming the perimeter guards easily. They smashed straight through into the centre of the camp, shooting everything that moved, then retreated as quickly as they had come. Clearly, their plan was to create as much damage as possible in as short a time as practicable. Anyone standing up or moving was a clear target, but they did not bother with those already incapacitated. Which was the only reason John survived.
During the initial attack John had shouted a warning, marking himself as a target. One of the guerillas had carelessly shot from the hip. He had been aiming for the centre of the chest, but the shot had gone slightly wide and taken John in the left shoulder instead. The impact had knocked him to the ground, stunned and bleeding as the rest of the guerillas swept past him and into the centre of the camp.
Bill had heard John's cry and seen him go down. He was quick enough to hit the dirt himself, John's yell had done at least that much good. In a few minutes the attack was over and the guerillas withdrawing. Bill ran to John, already unconscious and bleeding out all over the ground. Bill quickly wrapped a bandage around John's torso and shoulder to control the blood loss. He then threw John over his shoulder and ran for the troop transport. Quickly but gently, he laid John in the last open space and shouted at the driver to gun the engine and get the wounded back to base. Then Bill turned to take over John's work to finish the triage and evacuation of the new group of wounded. He had done his best for John, but could not afford to think further of him now. He needed to use the skills John had taught him to do the work as John would want it done.
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As the troop transports rolled into the base they were directed straight to the theatre complex. John's pre-assessments of the wounded made everything orderly, though not straightforward. Only John himself arrived without a triage category and tag. Some minutes were lost in working out who he was and who should be told about him. In the absence of any members of his unit, Major Velovska was informed of the injury and need for surgery on a certain Captain John Watson. She signed the surgical consent form without looking at it, and John was taken into the operating theatre, still unconscious.
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Bill came back to base with the last troop transport, escorting the final group of wounded. As soon as the base medics arrived to take responsibility for the patients Bill set off at a run for Captain Spier's office. He threw himself through the door without the formality of knocking.
"How is John?" he demanded.
Captain Spiers looked up from his endless paperwork, immediately attentive. "What do you mean? Wasn't he was with you?"
Bill's mouth dropped open. "You didn't know? He was shot and returned to base about two hours ago."
Captain Spiers turned pale, then red. "Let's go. You can brief me on the way to the surgical suite."
They left the office and set a double pace march for the hospital. On arrival, Captain Spiers lit a fire under the tail of the unfortunate Corporal at the desk of the surgical suite to find Captain John Watson and report on his status right now, dammit! John was quickly discovered to be out of surgery and in the recovery bay.
Captain Spiers marched straight into the recovery bay, overriding the feeble protests of the Corporal that he needed to change into theatre greens and that it isn't permitted to just walk in there, sir! The Captain swept past and into the recovery area which was full of people in various states of awareness as they came out of anaesthesia.
Bill spotted John first, in Bay Four. He must have only recently come out of the operating theatre, as he was still unconscious and a nurse was sitting by his bedside closely monitoring his breathing.
"He's over there, sir. Still asleep, I think." Bill waved towards Bay Four.
"Thank God for that. At least he didn't wake up alone,' muttered Captain Spiers as he strode over to John's bedside. He leaned over the bed and took John's right hand in his own, careful not to jostle the cannula in the back of John's hand. Only then did he turn to introduce himself to the nurse hovering uncertainly at the other side of the bed.
"Captain Peter Spiers, I'm John's unit Captain. How is he?"
"Sir, he sustained a gunshot wound to the left upper chest and shoulder. The bullet was successfully retrieved and the contaminants removed from the wound but there was significant trauma to the shoulder and brachial plexus. After a few weeks of rehab and exercises we will know how much function he will retain in that arm." The nurse looked down at him with pity in her eyes. "He's lucky it was his left shoulder and arm, really. Otherwise an injury like this would be the end of his career."
Captain Spiers sat down suddenly, managing not to lose contact with John's hand. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and glared at the nurse. "How much rehab until we know what use he will have of the arm?"
Bill added from over his shoulder, "He's left-handed, you see."
The nurse looked like she wanted to bite her tongue. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I think six to eight weeks would do it, but be aware we do not have the necessary rehab facilities here on the base. He'll need to be transferred out. Under the circumstances, it might be best if he was sent home to complete his rehab back in England. Then, if it doesn't go well…" she shrugged, not wanting to spell it out. "He would already be home and surrounded by his family and friends."
Captain Spiers rested his forehead on the rail of the bed and closed his eyes. "I always knew I'd lose you one day, but not like this…"
Bill leaned down to hear better. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't quite catch that."
Captain Spiers straightened up and opened his eyes, "Never mind. Find Lt. Chandran and tell him to organize a roster for the next five days. I want someone with John every minute while he is here. We will stand by him, night and day, right up until he boards the plane for home. And divert my pager to him as well. I'm staying with John until he wakes up."
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