THIRTY SEVEN
Dec. 23rd: 1200 hours
Dear Dad,
It is two days before Christmas and I'm sitting in a cave, listening to mortar shells explode all around me. Actually, I'm sitting just outside the entrance of the cave, trying to keep my panic under control, while listening to mortar shells explode all around me.
And why am I in a cave when I'm claustrophobic? Good question. Because: four hours ago, the 4077th was caught in the middle of a heavy artillery barrage between Chinese and American outfits. Our patients were being knocked out of their beds and off their bed pans. Not to mention the medical staff who were being knocked off their feet.
When Colonel Potter contacted Regimental HQ, the U. S. Army, in its infantile wisdom, refused to halt their attack. Hoping to avoid becoming a battle statistic, we vacated their playground and headed for the imagined safety of this nearby cave.
Potter apologized to me for this shelter. He knows how I feel about caves. But he had no choice and I agree. The safety of our patients must come first. The only good thing about all this is: this is only a temporary 'bug out'. Not one where we have to move the entire camp and stay there. We'll be returning to the grand and glorious gutter we call home, as soon as they run out of shells to throw at each other. Which will be too long---no matter how short of a time it is.
It wasn't so bad, at first. We were busy setting up cots and heaters; and bringing in the wounded from the buses; and repairing the damages caused by the trip. However, once we finished taking care of everyone, the walls started closing in on me.
My heart started pounding. I couldn't breathe. It was all I could do to keep myself from running...screaming...right out into the middle of this sniper-lousy, mine-filled sector of Korea; which isn't necessarily the smartest thing to do. So I have been hovering on the edge of the cave, trying to not turn into a quivering, whimpering mass of Chicken ala Pierce.
Margaret also knows how I feel about closed-in spaces. She came out to talk to me for a few minutes but was called back inside to attend to some minor problem. Sarabeth came out a few minutes later and brought me an extra blanket. She stayed to sit with me. The cave is cramped but not so crowded that she couldn't be inside where it is safer.
Despite my protests, she has refused to leave my side. She reminded me, with one of her wonderful smiles, that sisters have the option of ignoring their big brothers' commands. I asked her if I was her favorite brother and she replied that I was definitely her Maine one.
Charles Winchester is also sitting out here with us. Now, that's an unexpected development. After Sarabeth had been out here for awhile, he came out, carrying a cup of soup. He offered the cup to her. After she thanked him, he said: "You're welcome, my dear. I don't suppose I can convince you to come back inside, can I?"
She took a swallow from the cup and answered: "Nope." Charles shook his head and asked: "Are all Texans this...determined?" Sarabeth just smiled at him in reply. So then, Charles, who loves his comfort, sat down on the cold ground beside her and said: "Very well. I shall enjoy the questionable safety of our cave---from outside the cave." She told him it wasn't necessary. He insisted it was. Sarabeth didn't say anything else. She just lifted the edge of the blanket to cover him, as well.
Ever since they returned from Tokyo, he's been observed sitting next to her in the mess tent and calling her "my dear" more often. The speculation is that Charles is very fond of Sarabeth. But, he's so reserved---so filled with that peculiar sense of high-society decorum of his---that I'm not sure he is even aware of it, himself.
Anyway, here we are: the three of us, sharing one blanket, passing a cup of lukewarm soup back and forth and listening to all the war noises down the road. We've been talking, mainly to get my mind off the cave behind me and the bombs in front of me. (This was initiated by Sarabeth, of course---Charles and I argue a lot but we seldom actually talk to one another.)
We've discussed our family Christmas traditions; and what inspired us to go into medicine; and our favorite songs; and several other topics. A peaceful, comforting feeling just seems to have settled around us; even though we aren't in the least bit comfortable. And our surroundings certainly couldn't be considered peaceful.
I've been thinking about Christmas...and you...and home...a lot recently. This is yet another Christmas I'll be spending here in Hell's vacation resort. I sometimes get the notion that I'm never going to see you or Crabapple Cove again. That I'll be trapped here forever...trying to mend countless mangled bodies...with more and more coming all the time...Sarabeth just squeezed my arm and smiled at me; I think.
I can't see her face very well because of the scarf she has wrapped around her face and head. But the smile and compassion showing in her eyes is having a calming effect on me. And I do need calming.
The shelling seems to be letting up. I guess we'll be moving back to our compound soon. And I know the casualties will start rolling in: both military and civilian. I hate this rotten place so much!
Our main route has been impassable, and deemed unsafe, for several days now. Until early this morning, they hadn't even able to get a supply truck through to us. Of course, they still managed to bring us the wounded---mostly in and out by chopper.
Luckily, we were able to stockpile most of the supplies we needed before the road was closed. We have had to conserve fuel, though; by limiting the time that heaters and lights can be used and by moving some of the personnel into other tents.
The enlisted men and corpsmen have doubled up together. Sarabeth and Ernie, her faithful follower, moved into one of the nurses' tents and Margaret moved into the other. Filled with the sharing spirit, I generously offered to share our fourth cot with any, or all, of the nurses. The colonel assigned Father Mulcahy to share our room with us, instead.
Our mild-mannered, yet strong-minded, priest was planning a party for some of the local orphans on Christmas Eve at the 4077th. He convinced almost everyone here to help prepare gifts for the children. Some of the nurses made rag dolls while some of the men carved wooden toys. (I didn't attempt that—I need all my fingers for surgery.) Klinger tried to get extra blankets for them, as well.
I don't know if we'll be able to have that party now or not. We may be very busy.
I don't even know if we'll be able to have our own Christmas party. There's supposed to be a 24-hour truce starting at midnight Christmas Eve. Will it be kept? I hope so. But I doubt it.
Guess I need to stop writing. Colonel Potter has called a senior staff meeting. Now, if I can only stand up. Judging from the groans coming from Charles and Sarabeth, they're thinking the same thing.
I'll write again---the first chance I get.
Love always---your son,
Hawkeye
