He laughed inwardly at the irony.
Instead of being confined to the cell he had first woken up in, he got delegated to the 'operation theater' instead. The one with the boxes of corpses stacked at the sides, yes.
The headache was coming back.
Quickly, before more patients arrived. Adel snatched the bottle of aspirin from the shelf and popped a few of the tablets into his mouth. That should give him about two hours' worth of relief – enough to tide him over the next operation.
"Hey! We've got a few more coming in!"
Unceremoniously, yet another soldier was dumped onto the table, his groans eliciting no other help from the two burly men that had brought him on the old stretcher. Adel sighed and went over, pulling on a fresh surgical mask.
"Got some more, doc. Just a second."
"Oh. How many?"
"Frickin' mine took out at least three people."
"… I see."
The soldier threw a bag at him. Prying open its mouth Adel found a rather grim collection – six human legs, all detached and still bleeding.
"… Um. You're lucky you found all the legs, at least."
He looked up, just as they were done with bringing in the other two. A total of three wounded soldiers and six legs.
A twisted child's idea of a simple matching game, probably. Except that there was also the consideration of rejection, especially if he matched them wrongly.
He caught the soldier's expectant gaze, and silently willed himself to continue with the operation.
Leaving the six legs on another table, he set himself to work, removing the bandages and scraps of tan-red splotched cloth. The severed stumps of all three patients soon came into view, or at least, as much as he could see with only a flashlight to aid him. Ripped, flaky and dripping chunks of flesh set around a hole where the femur would have been, if it had not been so forcibly removed.
Right, he was still being timed.
Concentrating hard on his hands, he eased himself into that trance-like state that he had gotten used to back at the HOA. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, slowing down the very hands of the clock that ticked away in the soldier's hand, as he picked up the plates and sutures and pulling the nearest patient towards him. Reattach the leg, place the bone back in its normal position, pull it into place, stitch the flesh back together with the needle and thread, plaster it all with antibiotic gel, wrap it down with a bandage. Good, all done – one leg and two more patients to go.
Beginning on the other leg, ignore the buzzing headache that was coming back.
Stitch the blood vessels together, jam the bone in, make sure it is secure, wrap it up with a mix of sutures, antibiotic gel and bandages. Ignore whatever the soldier's saying, ignore the patient's cries. It is just the shock wearing off. He would feel pain, of course. There was no anesthesia to administer!
The other patients would also be starting to feel again. He grabbed another pair of legs and got started on the second patient – remove debris, clean the wound, jam the bone right back into place, glue the seams of flesh back together with the antibiotic gel, reinforce it with the stitches, wrap it all in bandage. Next leg, just slot the bone back in, glue it together, wrap it, then stitch the remaining bits back in. Other than the fact that the cloth on one leg did not match the other for this patient, he was all set on recovery.
Third. Adel sighed, settling into the routine, ignoring the crescendo of shouts and cries around him. Pull off any pieces of the browning flesh away from the pelvis, stick the bone in, glue it down with the gel, wrap it all up till the affected area is the same width as the rest of the leg, stitch the surrounding flesh to the bandage. Good. Now for the last—
His procedure was interrupted with a large hand grabbing hold of his wrist, crushing it under its grip, causing him to drop the forceps onto the operating table. There was shouting in his ear, it seemed to be playing out of a slowed-down tape recorder. No, he had to keep going. The patient was going to die if he did not see to it!
Wrenching his arm out of the person's grasp, he simply grabbed the remaining leg and jammed it straight up into the wound, not caring whether the debris had been removed or not. With his other hand, he pulled tight the ring of bandage around the wound and stitched the fleshy gaps shut.
The person grabbed his torso, adamant on moving him away from the operating table. He must need a procedure as well.
His hand – the one that held the needle in it – raised itself towards the soldier's face, closing up all five holes in less three seconds. That seemed to do the trick, he was free, but the patient – he needs attention.
Adel stepped forward and pushed the soldier onto another operating table, pinning him down by the throat and finishing off his stitches. Oh, and looks like there's something moving under his throat – better remove it, just to make sure that he is not choking. Oh, it's nothing, just the Adam's Apple. Adel stitched the hole he had cut open there shut, just as the patient finally relaxed.
Good.
Oh, his hands have gotten all sweaty. And he did not wear gloves during the procedures too. How naughty of him.
There was a thrashing on the tables behind him. Turning around, he saw that all three patients, with their now reattached legs, were screaming and scratching at the bandages. Annoyed, he pushed every single one of them back down onto the table, ramming the needle and thread through their faces as well, for good measure.
Now, this was a war. Where were all the other patients?
Humming to himself, Adel strolled out of the room, surgical instruments in hand and a slasher's grin on his bloodstained face.