Prompt from Wordwielder: Pest

Afghanistan

At the scuffing of a broom on the wooden floor, Surgeon Captain John H. Watson looked up from his book.

"Murray, what are you doing?"

"Sweeping, sir." The young orderly was stripped to his shirtsleeves, black suspenders accenting his lean frame and exaggerating the width of his shoulders. The shirt down the middle of his back was damp with perspiration.

"You swept this morning." Watson sighed and tried to find where he had left off. It was a rather interesting bit about suturing a deep laceration in the abdomen and he felt it could be very useful information all too soon. Murray's broom scraped over the planks again and Watson scowled at the younger man. "Murray, could you please find something else to do? I am trying to read."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir," said Murray. He couched the broom in the crook of his arm and looked disconsolately about the small, hot room. Propping the broom in the corner behind the door, Murray went to the low chest in which Watson kept most of the personal items he would take on campaign. From this, Murray took the leather holster containing Watson's 54 bore Adams revolver.

"Murray?'

"Sir?" The man seemed suddenly chipper, almost eager.

"What are you doing?"

"You said I should find something else to do, sir," said the orderly. "Thought I would clean your pistol."

"I meant, please find something else to do somewhere else," said Watson. "You needn't do busy work. Go find your friends and do whatever it is you usually do when you haven't got an officer to look after."

"Oh. Sorry, sir. It's just that I haven't got much else I could do."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, with the rest of the regiment already on the march, my mates are all gone, sir." Murray returned the revolver to the chest. "I suppose I'm just bored, sir. I've always been like this. Got to keep my hands busy."

"I see," Watson said, sitting up on his narrow cot. He thought for a moment while Murray waited. "Tell me, do you know much about medicine?"

"Sir?"

"Well, you are my orderly and you do a fine job of seeing to my needs around here," Watson said, gesturing at the small room. "Where I could truly use help, though, is in surgery. I have never been in a battle, you understand, but I think there are likely to be situations where there will be more wounded than I can tend to, and an extra pair of hands to deal with less severe injuries would be a great help."

"Oh. I see, sir." Murray looked embarrassed but he paused in thought before saying, "I know how to carry a litter, sir. And, I have pulled a few teeth. Not much use in a battle, I suppose. I have put splints on before. A mate of mine broke his arm and I splinted it until a surgeon could see to him."

"That's better than nothing," Watson said judiciously, swinging his feet to the floor. "See that thin book there on the shelf? The one with the tan binding?"

"This one, sir?" Murray extracted the slender volume and held it up.

"That's the one. It is written by a doctor from Edinburgh. It is a treatise on battlefield injuries and how initially to deal with them. Not comprehensive, you understand, but a good beginning. Now go find a quiet place and read it."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir!"

~ 0 ~

'… and I expect to…'

A scuff and a light knock on the doorframe caused Watson to look up from the letter he was writing. Murray stood just outside, smiling and eager.

"What is it, Murray?"

"I finished the book, sir."

"The book?"

"This one. By Doctor Bell. You told me to read it. I'm done, sir."

"You read through it in one night?"

"And very interesting it was, sir." Murray flipped through several pages, placed his thumb in the valley and held the book up, open to an anatomical illustration of how to bind a wound. "Very useful stuff, sir. I was especially interested in stanching blood flow. I always knew it was important, but never realized just how dangerous even a small puncture wound could be. And the precautions against infection! Washing wounds! Very interesting, sir!"

"Excellent, Murray. Just put it back on the shelf there. Thank you for returning it." Watson scanned down his page, skimming the sentences to regain his line of thought.

"Sir?"

Closing his eyes and pressing his lips tight, Watson took in a breath and let it out slowly before turning to his orderly.

"Sorry, sir. I see you're busy, but I was wondering if you had another book like that."

"Another?"

"It's just that I still have nothing in particular to do, sir. And you did say I could be of more use if I knew more about medicine."

Watson sighed. He had said something to that effect. Murray meant well, obviously.

"I don't suppose you are versed in human anatomy."

"Anatomy, sir?"

"The structures of the human body. Muscles and organs and the like."

"Oh. No sir. Just what was in that book."

"That one with the red binding. Many detailed illustrations of various parts of the body. I think you could forego the chapter dealing with the geography of the brain. Any wound there is likely fatal. The rest could be of use."

"Thank you, sir! I'll bring it back when I'm done."

When Murray departed, Watson smiled and shook his head.

"Now, where was I?"

'… I expect to depart for the Pass in two days' time. My orderly…'

~ 0 ~

"Captain, are you in there, sir?"

"I am." Watson groaned as he sat up on his cot. The tent was cool but the atmosphere rather thick. He swung his bare feet onto the square of old tent canvas, thighs screaming and back aching from too many hours in the saddle. "What is it?"

Murray drew aside the tent flap and poked his head in, smiling and looking pleased.

"I finished it, sir."

"Finished what?"

"This anatomy book. The one you loaned me. I even went through the chapter on the brain. Never know when I might need that."

Watson's shoulders sagged and he sighed.

"I've cleaned your kit, seen to our mounts and hung your shirt out to air in the breeze, sir."

"And you are looking for something to occupy yourself."

"I am, sir."

"Murray, have you not made any new friends?"

"No time, sir. Not with reading those books. Ever so interesting, sir. I've been thinking. After I muster out, I might like going into medicine. Maybe I could be your orderly when you go into private practice. Or, you know how I like animals, maybe I could be a doctor for them. Treat horses and dogs and such."

Watson rubbed his temple. Murray wasn't human. No human being could be that chipper and energetic after the days of march they had just endured.

"You want another book."

"If you have one I could borrow, sir."

"You know the black one I had you pack?"

"The one you said you didn't think you would need but it isn't that heavy, so you brought it anyway?"

"It is all about tropical diseases and infections. Has a chapter on herbs, for good measure."

"I know right where it is, sir! Don't get up. You look done in."

"Thank you. Call me when supper is ready."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir!"

~ 0 ~

"I do not think this is too severe," Dr. Watson said, examining the corporal's swollen ankle. "How did you do it?"

"Got off my horse, Captain, and stepped right in a hole. Then the horse sort of pushed me over. Is it broke?"

"Doesn't seem to…"

"Sir?"

Not turning around, Watson closed his eyes and held his breath.

"Murray?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

"I am in the middle of examining this man's ankle. Can it wait?"

"It's just that I was wondering if I could a… attend. That's the right word, isn't it? Attend?"

"Attend what?" Watson could not help himself. He glared at the overly eager younger man.

"Your surgery, sir."

"Surgery? This is not a surgery. Only a sprained ankle."

"All right, sir. Sorry. It's just, well, you've been good enough to loan me those books, sir, and I thought since it was nothing serious, perhaps you would let me take care of it and sort of talk me through what needs to be done."

Watson opened his mouth to scold the man but closed it again immediately. Murray had a good point. Learning from books was all well and good, but until you laid hands on a patient, you did not actually understand in a visceral sense what you were supposed to be doing.

"Come on, Murray."

"Captain?" the corporal said, his face suffused with concern and confusion.

"I will be right here. I won't let him hurt you."

"Where do I start, sir?" Murray asked, clapping his hands together and rubbing them as if he were about to pitch a tent or dig a latrine.

"Examine the injury, Murray. Until you know what is wrong, you cannot treat the patient."

~ 0 ~

"Hold him down, Murray! Hold him down!" Watson's hands were slick with blood and the soldier thrashed too much for him to probe the wound. "It's all right, young man. We've got you. Put the stick back in his mouth, Murray!"

The skirmish had come out of nowhere. Shots fired, a volley exchanged and the Ghazis were off into the wilderness, lancers on their heels. Such a beautiful country and yet so violent and dangerous.

"That's it. Well done, Murray." Watson inserted the probe, feeling for the bullet. "You there! Hold his legs. Don't let him kick!"

The other orderly, a man Watson did not know by name, lay across the soldier's legs, pinning them to the wagon bed. With forceps, Watson delved into the wound, moving surely but with care. There was too much blood. He could not see what he was doing and then a wad of bleached cotton wool covered the wound, quickly turning crimson. An instant later, it was gone and Watson could see.

"Thank you, Murray."

Out came the bullet, as big as the tip of a man's finger. Blood pooled and Murray used more cotton wool.

"Suture kit," said Watson, taking the cotton wool in his red-stained fingers. The kit appeared on the patient's chest, open, gleaming needles already loaded with thread. Watson looked at Murray and asked, "You did that?"

"I was bored, sir."

"Of course you were." Watson smirked and shook his head. "Hold this here while I get ready."

Later, when the wounded had been loaded onto camels, Watson sat on a boulder, catching his breath. Murray approached with a bucket of water.

"I thought you would want to wash, sir."

Watson looked up at the younger man and smiled.

"I do. Thank you, Murray."

"You're welcome, sir." Murray placed the bucket at Watson's feet and stepped back. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Is it always like that? I mean, the screaming and the blood and all."

"You've been in the army longer than I have, Murray."

"Yes sir. This is the first time I've been on campaign, though. And today was the first time I actually did anything for the wounded other than carry one of them."

"I fear it will not be the last time." Watson used the cake of soap and the rag to scrub away the dried blood, quickly turning the water in the bucket pink.

"I saved this for you, Captain."

"Saved what?" Watson looked up. Murray was holding out his hand. In the palm was a lump of lead.

"It's the first bullet you removed, Captain."

"Is it?" Watson plucked the thing from Murray's palm and eyed it with distaste. "Wouldn't want to be hit with one of these. You did very well today, Murray. Why don't you keep this? Poor reward for your service, but you're not likely to win any medals as an orderly."

"Thank you, sir!" Murray flicked the lump of lead into the air like a coin, caught it and held it up to have a closer look. "Don't want no medals, Doctor. I'd just be glad to go home all in one piece. That would be enough for me."

"Column is reforming." Watson observed and got to his feet. "Where are our mounts?"

"I'll fetch them, sir!"

~ 0 ~

Men and horses were screaming and yet Watson could hardly hear them over the noise of rifle and cannon fire. Snapping, buzzing sounds filled the air and men were dying.

"I've got you! I've got you!" Watson cried above the din, dragging another wounded man into the dubious shelter provided by the carcass of his dead horse.

"My legs! I can't feel my legs!"

"I know, son!" Watson unfastened the man's belt and tore open his tunic, buttons flying. "It will be all right. I have you."

The man stopped moving and Watson turned, pivoting and squatting to see if he were still alive.

Pain!

More pain the John H. Watson ever imagined exploded from his shoulder and knee. He collapsed onto the blood-damp soil, gasping, unable to focus. Why was he so weak? Why was everything so grey? He stopped thinking and lay there as bullets smacked the ground and men continued to scream and die.

Pain!

"I've got you, sir!"

"Murray?"

"Yes sir. Hold on. I have to tie this off."

Watson felt something tug tight around his leg and he moaned in pain. The fusillade was still deafening. Somewhere the artillery was still firing but it sounded as if there were fewer cannon.

"What's happening, Murray?"

"Left's collapsing."

"The wounded?"

"Off. Cavalry is screening them."

"You should go. Leave me."

"Shut up, sir." Murray pulled Watson into a sitting position.

"I can't move my arm." Through the grey haze that seemed to cloud everything, Watson saw his chest wrapped in blood stain cloth and his left arm supported by a sling improvised from his pistol belt, holster still attached.

"You have to stand, sir! Come on!"

"Can't."

"You bloody well can!"

"Leave me!"

"No!"

Stronger than he looked, Murray hauled Watson to his feet.

"I can't walk, man!"

"I've got a horse. Now come on, damn you!"

Somehow, Watson found strength enough to hobble a pace to the side of one of the packhorses. There was no saddle and no stirrup, but Murray lifted him onto the balky animal's back. Bullets whipped through the air and Watson was sure that any second he would feel the hammer of another Jezail bullet. Miraculously, the horse began to trot, each hoof fall sending knives of pain through the doctor's body. Murray led the way through the broken army toward a swarming mass of retreating men. Watson's vision faded and his strength left him. He collapsed on the horse's neck and into blackness.

~ 0 ~

"Awake, sir?"

"Murray?"

"Can you drink? You should try to swallow some of this. It's tea. I found a tin in your bag."

"Where are we? Why is it so dark?"

"Nighttime, sir. We've stopped for a bit. Be moving again soon, though. Drink, sir, while you can."

Watson felt the rim of a tin cup pressed to his lips and the warmth of the liquid. He sipped and then swallowed. His mouth was parched and the tea helped. In the dark, he could make out the shape of his orderly over him.

"Why didn't you leave me, Murray?"

"I suppose I just got bored, sir. Now finish the tea. Got to get you back on Bess and start again."

"Start? Where are we going?"

"Home, sir. Home."