#12 Jules
"Get me a little more retraction on that bleeder, will you, Jules?…Jules!"
Jules snapped back to reality, having drifted away on a train of thought and loosened his grip on the retractor. He pulled back on the shiny, durasteel instrument, giving Goose a better view of a ruptured vein, all the while reprimanding himself for his inattention. Jules tried to mumble out an apology, but was embarrassed by how tired it made him sound. Across the operating table, which was really only a stationary gurney, Goose continued to work as if he wasn't there. She could probably manage on her own, he guessed.
They were nearing the end of their eighteenth straight hour of surgery, and Jules was so worn out he was worried his mind was slipping. Somehow, Goose looked no worse for the wear, even though she'd already been up an hour before she called for his help. It was amazing to watch her operate, because she never slowed her pace, never made mistakes, and didn't look the least bit fatigued. The long hours of standing and the endless stream of wounded seemed to roll off of her like water off an Aqualish's back. Of course, Jules had never met an Aqualish before, so he wouldn't even know.
Right now, they were working in the cramped, undersupplied medbay of the temporary Republic forward command base. The base had been slapped together in about a day out of prefabricated sections offloaded from the Resolute. Therefore, all the surgical equipment they had were compact, portable versions of the originals, making them balky and unreliable. However, Goose took it all in stride, not the least bit fazed by the terrible conditions. In his eyes, she was an angel of life, able to save men's lives with the most graceful sweeps of her scalpel.
Of course, none of what they were doing could ever be considered graceful. It was gory, down-and-dirty work. But, to his naïve and often sleep-deprived mind, Goose was flawless.
She was more of an enigma to him than anything else, seeming to constantly contradict herself. It had been a little over a week since Goose was made an official member of Torrent Company. Captain Rex had come to the agreement with her that she could take command of a clone medic in the case of a medical emergency, and less than a day later the emergency came. The Separatists were on the offensive again, pushing back with their droid armies. She'd tapped him to help her with the casualties, and had been almost constantly by her side ever since. He'd been eager at first, but not he wasn't so sure.
It was all a very strange experience for Jules, since he'd never had so much contact with a non-clone before, especially a female one. Not that he'd really had any real conversations with her yet, both of them being too exhausted for words by the time they were done. Still, he had noticed inconsistencies in her behavior. In the OR she was focused and serious, seldom cracking a joke. Once outside, she was as sarcastic as could be, whenever she chose to speak to him. In the same way, it seemed odd to him that her own dress and appearance were so sloppy when compared to how meticulously she operated in, and organized, the medbay.
Goose was also a mystery to him in that she always seemed to have energy long after he'd run out. She was on call every time of the day or night, and she was constantly being woken up at odd hours, getting only brief snatches of sleep in between. Yet she was still able to function, working like a surgical juggernaut all day if she had to, until the last wounded man was in post-op. Up until only a few days ago, Jules had thought her to be completely invincible. However, the exertion was finally starting to catch up to her. She'd started to shift from foot to foot, since they ached from standing so long, and she kept having to stretch her arms out. Her eyes, which used to be clear and ambitious, now only reflected her weariness and despair every time a new patient was brought to the table.
Yet her efficiency as a surgeon had not deteriorated. She was brilliant, able to pull a trooper from the very brink of death with practiced ease. Only half a dozen men had died under her scalpel, a regrettable but tiny fraction compared to the hundred troopers, his brothers, she did save. Jules had always been taught that civilians weren't trustworthy, that they couldn't handle the stress of the front line, and they'd let you down I you relied on them. Goose seemed to be living proof to the contrary. If she had any faults, he hadn't found them yet.
In other words, she was his total opposite, or so he thought. Being a medic, Jules had been given basic training in medicine above what normal troopers received, and until then he'd believed himself very good at it. Now, in comparison to Goose, he felt that he was just a bumbling idiot. On the first day when she'd called on him in to assist her, he was sure she'd thought he was completely useless because he hadn't known half of the instruments or what they were used for. He'd improved since then, but he still made mistakes, much to his chagrin.
Not to say that he was in bad physical shape, in fact he was very fit, but Jules wasn't always able to keep up with her. To him, battles consisted mostly of taking cover, shooting back, and maybe sprinting around a bit. It was all familiar, so most of the exhaustion was emotional. Each marathon session of surgery left him remarkably drained, so much so that he occasionally forgot to bathe. He wondered what Goose thought of him, if she was offended by his ineptitude.
Jules didn't believe she needed him at all. He imagined that she only kept him around because the med droids hadn't arrived due to some clerical mix-up. It had been days since he'd even talked to any of his brothers, much less his squad. For the first time in his life, he was separated from other clones, and it made him anxious. On top of that, he felt too exposed without his armor. He'd started wearing the same blue surgical scrubs as Goose for the sake of convenience, since the plastoid plates were too cumbersome for such precise work, yet it made him uncomfortable. It set him apart from the others, and he didn't like it. He was different.
He wanted to back out there, in the field, fighting alongside his squad again. Most of the patients they received had been stabilized on the battlefield by his fellow medics, and he wished to be with them rather than making a fool of himself all the time in front of this civilian. However, at the same time, he could not deny that he was excited by this opportunity. Ever since he'd started training as a medic, Jules had been curious about what it was like to really be a doctor. Now, when he finally had the chance, he had mixed feelings about it all.
At the moment, it didn't really matter. Goose was his superior, and he was helping her save the lives of his brothers. For Jules, that was all he needed. He was following orders, something he would likely to until the day he died.
'Sponge."
"Sponge," Jules echoed, as was proper protocol.
He picked one up off the instrument tray and used it to dab away the blood that was obscuring her view, then tossed it into the waste bin with all the other used ones. That was how most of his days had been going, lately. Goose was so utterly absorbed with hunting down pieces of shrapnel and fixing injured organs that she only seemed to notice he still existed in the short times between patients. Of course, such determination was probably a very good quality in a surgeon, no matter how monotonous things got.
Before long, she'd done another fine job and was ready to move on. She did everything with such effortless grace that you'd never tell she was having trouble unless the patient flat out died. Her face was often unreadable, but that was due largely to her ubiquitous white sterile mask. Then again, she probably wasn't be able to tell much from his face, either.
"All right," Goose sighed. "Close him up and give him his bill."
As had become custom over the past week, Jules would do the relatively easy job of closing the patient with a few quick sutures while she went and prepped the next patient. They were several hands short of a working unit, so their improvised system worked out well enough. What caught his attention was that she'd made joke, something she usually didn't do during surgery. Moreover, she sounded exhausted, more so than he'd ever noticed before.
Jules decided to keep it to himself started on the sutures, trying to make it as neat as possible so as not to leave a scar. At first it had been nerve wracking to make everything look nice, but it almost didn't bother him anymore. Like Goose had told him once, during their second session, this was meatball surgery. It wasn't meant to be pretty, so as long as it healed up okay you've done your job. While he worked, Goose went to the small antechamber that served as pre-op. Much to his surprise, she walked out a moment later with obvious relief all over her face, even through the mask.
"I guess I must have forgotten," she said as she stretched her arms a bit. "He was the last of it."
He smiled weakly under his mask, too tired for words. That was it, for the time being. Now he could go rest, take a shower even…Jules fantasized a bit about sleep, his fingers slowing down as once again his attention wandered away from him.
"Spoke too soon." Goose groaned, not a full minute later.
He jerked his gaze up from his sutures, and was dismayed to see two new stretchers being rushed in. Carrying one end of the first stretcher, he recognized Coric, the first time in days he'd even seen him. Even from a distance, Jules could see that both of the troopers were in bad condition. Goose, obviously quite experienced in triage, wasted no more than a moment to look them over before springing into action.
"Bring them both in, now," she ordered. "We don't have any time to waste."
While the first patient was hurriedly set on the first operating table, Goose quickly set up a second gurney that had been folded against the far wall. Wordlessly, she started to prep the first patient as the second one was laid down. Jules started to suture faster, knowing that she would need some assistance soon. The stretcher bearers were already out the door, running back to whatever disaster they'd just came from. Only Coric lingered for a moment, seemingly a little guilty for dumping such a burden on them.
"What?" Goose demanded tiredly, as she started the first trooper on an IV of whole blood.
"I hate to leave you like this, but there's more where it came from, and-"
"Go, we can manage," she cut him off tersely, scarcely glancing up.
Coric nodded and ran out, leaving just the two of them and their patients.
"Jules, how much longer?" Goose asked shortly.
"Almost there," he answered, frustrated that he was not already done.
"Make it snappy, then scrub up," she said as she did so herself, giving her hands a quick rinse in a basin of antiseptic alcohol. "These guys can't wait."
Jules finished closing with a few sloppy stitches, then yanked off his gloves and scrubbed before reaching for a sterile pair. It was messy, and he'd probably end up having to fix the stitches later, but it would hold for the time being. He pulled on the gloves and stepped around to where Goose was already operating. Up close, their wounds were even worse than what he'd seen farther away. The first trooper's chest was riddled with shrapnel, his own warped armor impaling him in some places. A few feet away, the second trooper was conscious and starting to moan in pain.
"Go put him under," Goose said breathlessly as she desperately tried to stop the bleeding.
"But don't you need help with-" Jules started to protest.
"I can handle this here on my own," she said impatiently, not even looking up, her hands moving too fast for him to see exactly what she was doing. "And he needs you, now. Hurry up, Jules."
Her harsh tone stung him a little, but he brushed it aside as he sedated the second patient. Then he hooked him up to a vitals monitor, and was alarmed to see that his blood pressure was dangerously low. This was bad. He'd be dead in a matter of minutes if Goose didn't get to him soon.
"Goose, he's fading fast." Jules reported uneasily, "He isn't going to last long."
"Neither is mine," Goose grunted back. "You'll have to get started without me."
He stared down at the wounded trooper in disbelief. How could she expect him to start operating? The procedure would be much too complicated, and he didn't even know where to begin. Jules was sure that he was looking at several severe lacerations of the small intestine, and he hadn't a clue how to resect a bowel.
"I can't," he said frantically. "I'm no surgeon, I'd just mess up."
Jules could feel his mouth go dry, and his tongue almost got stuck on the last vowel. For the first time all day, his skin started to go clammy and he started to tremble, almost shiver, in a way he couldn't control. His heart was beating so fast it hurt, and he kept forgetting to breathe. Jules had felt this fear before, but it had always been on the battle field, in the privacy of his helmet. And he had gotten over it. He grit his teeth, dreading her answer, hoping she'd tell him to just leave. But, of course, she didn't.
"Come on, why should I have all the fun?" she tried to quip, even as her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "You've seen me do it dozens of times. Just get started, and I'll help you as soon as I can."
In his own panic, Jules could not see how that would possibly work. It was nuts. Couldn't she see there was no way he could do it? All he could think of right then was that it was his fault this trooper was going to die. Either through his inaction or his botched attempt to save him, it would all be on him. And he didn't even know this trooper's name.
"I've never cut a man open before!" Jules balked. "There's still enough time, you can-"
"Shut up, Jules," Goose snapped, glaring at him from across the room. "I can't leave my patient. Right now, that man's life is in your hands. I can talk you through this, but only if you calm down."
Shell shocked, Jules just stared across the small room at her, and was startled by what he saw. She was shaking. Whether from fear, fatigue, or something else, he couldn't tell. But at that moment, his perfect image of her shattered. Goose was tired, just as worn down and exhausted as he was, and this was the first time he'd really seen it. He'd noticed it before, but not truly registered it. How there were always dark circles under her eyes, and she flinched whenever the enemy artillery started up again. Goose was scared, just as much as he was.
Jules looked down at the injured clone again. One of his brothers. How had he almost given up on him?
"Okay," he nodded slowly, drawing a shuddery breath. "Okay. Where do I start?"
Well over an hour later, Jules finally wheeled the last patient into post-op. It had almost been surreal, how Goose had tersely instructed him on what to do while she struggled to save her own patient. However, her curt tone had belied her anxiety. Even as his own hand had shaken as he pulled shrapnel for the first time, she'd fumbled with an instrument and nearly dropped it. Sweat beaded her brow, and she'd muttered curses in between instructions.
Somehow, either through blind luck or actual talent, both of those patients had survived. Jules still wasn't sure how he'd done it, but knew it was all because of Goose. Had it been left to him, they both would've died. After that, of course, more wounded troopers had been brought in. It appeared that they'd all been hit by the same explosion, most likely a mine. The two of them had worked from then on in stoic silence while Jules once again assisted her.
And, at last, it was over. With the fall of night, the war machines of both sides would grind to a halt, and everyone would gain a few hours respite. The generals on both sides seemed to prefer to launch their attacks in the daylight, which was a boon to the clones, who couldn't see as well in the dark. Naturally, the fighting never completely stopped, and clones on patrol would run into their droid counterparts, leading to middle of the night emergencies for Goose to contend with.
But, for the time being, Jules was just relieved that he'd made it through another day. Though he really just wanted to leave and never come back, he decided to stick around and clean up the medbay, which had gotten trashed over the course of the day. While he picked up the mess, Goose went around and checked on the day's wounded, all thirty-two of them. It wasn't the most they'd ever treated, but it wasn't the least, either. Most of them would recover well in a few days or so, but with others there was less certainty. Later, in the darkest time of night, a gunship or two would sneak down to ferry the most critical cases to the Resolute.
It was always dangerous to fly so near the enemy airspace, so transport ships rarely flew near the front during the day. Jules figured that Goose would wake up when those ships came, to determine which ones had the greatest priority in getting to a real medbay. He couldn't know for sure, since he'd never been awake for it before. Whenever she called him to the OR, usually very early in the morning but hardly ever at night, there were always less patients in post-op than before. Jules was a little embarrassed that she let him sleep longer, but grateful as well. He'd thought all the training on Kamino had been enough to prepare him for war, and perhaps it had, but it'd done nothing to get him ready for over a week of nearly uninterrupted surgery.
Goose was shuffling out the door just as Jules finished tidying up, so he followed her on out, pausing only to flick off the lights. As he walked out into the corridor, he was surprised to see Goose leaning against the wall, looking utterly exhausted. As he stood there in stunned silence, Jules watched as she let her back slide down the wall, and with a sigh sat down on her butt. Then she stretched her legs out and gave another tired sigh.
Jules felt nervous. Even though he'd realized she wasn't the unstoppable titan he'd thought her to be, he'd still never seen her like this. Just moments after stepping out of the medbay, Goose had crumpled like a rag doll. He wasn't so sure how he was still standing himself, but it probably had to do with the fact that she'd been up before him. He stood there for an uncomfortably long while, not sure if he ought to say something or just leave her alone.
He had just decided to go, since she'd appeared to have fallen asleep sitting there, when she slowly forced her eyes open again.
"Hey, Jules," she slurred just a bit, due to exhaustion. "I just wanted you to know you did a real bang-up job in there."
At first, he'd just stared at her in confusion. Jules had heard that idiom before, and knew that it meant he'd done a good job. But he didn't see how she could possibly be serious given all of the day's failings, especially when he'd frozen up. He was so staggered and his mind to foggy that he forgot to answer, and she correctly assumed he didn't believe her.
"Really, I mean it." Goose looked at him earnestly, "I know you've had a hard time keeping up, and I haven't exactly been having a ball either. I hope you understand I would've burned out days ago, if not for your help."
Still dumbfounded, it took Jules awhile to form a coherent thought. She didn't thing he was useless after all?
"Really?" he finally asked, the first thing he could think of.
Goose laughed softly and smiled weakly at him.
"You bet," was the simple reply.
He decided to sit down next to her, and was surprised by how much of a relief it was to finally be off his feet. For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, and both of them started to doze off. They drifted back to wakefulness, however, when the smells of dinner drifted over to them. Goose struggled to her feet first, weaving just the slightest bit as she did so.
"Shall we?" she sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the base's mess hall.
Jules nodded slowly, then heaved himself off the floor. Then the two of them, walking in some sleep-deprived stupor, wordlessly shuffled down the corridor together. How they would be able to keep this up much longer, neither of them had any idea.
