The Major Incident
Chapter 14
Monday 11.00am
As Sharpe bent down to examine his handiwork, he was surprised to see the brunette twist painfully, bringing up an identical weapon to his own. His surprise still registered on his face as the cascade of bullets spattered through his body, the brunette's finger jamming against the trigger, convulsively.
As Sharpe's body hit the floor, Starsky pushed his way from underneath Hutch's body and dived towards the General's still twitching form. All the pain and suffering of not only the past six days, but the two hellish years of the draft suddenly poured out of Starsky as he savagely brought the bayonet down time after time, wounds appearing on the dead man's body as blood fountained up, staining the brunette's face and chest as he stabbed repeatedly into the thin body of the man he had come to hate.
Finally, his strength ran out and he pushed himself away, shaking, and panting. His mind cleared, his killing frenzy dissipating and he turned to his blond partner, terrified of what he would find. He shuffled over to the supine detective and gently reached to the neck and found a pulse. It was weak and thready, but proved that the life had not yet gone.
He gently pushed Hutch over onto his back and looked down at the neat hole in the blonde's right hand side, midway between ribs and hip. He glanced down at his own body, to see a matching wound there, the bullet having travelled through the two of them. Well that's a whole new meaning for Me and Thee, partner. He patted the side of Hutch's face ' Hutch? Hutch can ya hear me. I need you to open your eyes for me, Blintz' Nothing. He tried again and was finally rewarded with a view of those ice blue eyes.
Leaning forward, he put his ear close to the blonds' mouth to hear the whisper. 'Another fine mess you've got us into, Gordo'. Hutch coughed, clutching at his side as a wave of pain threatened to send him back into unconsciousness.
Starsky assessed the situation. They were both bleeding pretty badly now. He slipped off the fatigues jacket and balling it up, placed it beneath Hutch's head. Hutch watched as the brunette then took off his black tee shirt, gasping as the material pulled from the bullet wound.
Hutch let out a gasp of his own as he saw the damage done to his friend's body. The bruising now covered the whole of his chest, abdomen and back, colours varying from purple to a sickly green mottling the otherwise tanned skin, and there were two livid red burns over the curly haired man's kidneys. My God, buddy. What did that evil son of a bitch do to you?
Starsky ripped the tee shirt in two. One half he pushed against the wound on Hutch's side, the other he pressed to his own. Finally the adrenaline flow started to subside and the brunettes' body started to rebel against even the slightest movement. With his remaining energy, he lay down next to his now unconscious partner, put his arms around the body protectively, and passed into blessed blackness.
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Monday 14.30
The five soldiers, two detectives and Dobey pushed their way cautiously into the prefab building, the soldiers with their weapons drawn; gazing down the barrels of the guns as they methodically searched each room in turn. The lead soldier turned the corner into the corridor, coming up short and holding his hand up, fist clenched in the military silent speak for 'Stop now'.
Slowly he approached the two bodies on the floor, and after final confirmation that there was no trap, he knelt down and checked pulses and breathing.
'Get a corpsman in here now' he shouted as Dobey shouldered past and knelt by the side of his two star detectives. He stared sadly down at them, Hutch held protectively in his partner's arms, both near death. How many times might he witness this? He remembered other times with other members of his team. It never got easier. But with Starsky and Hutch it was even more difficult. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was incredibly fond of the two men he sometimes had cause to curse for their recklessness. Heck, they were even God Fathers to his daughter Rosie.
He pulled away and stood up as the corpsman bustled past. Checking vitals, they gently placed one body on each of two stretchers and carried the two detectives out to the waiting ambulance.
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Wednesday 7.00am
Hutch wondered for a moment where he was. The ceiling was unfamiliar, certainly, and the bed sheets didn't feel like his own. His throat hurt and his head ached, and shivers shook his body. A female figure in a white uniform looked down at him.
'Ken? Good, it's nice to see you awake. I'm Maria. You're in the military hospital in St Augustine, Florida. You've been here two days now. I don't want you to worry. You have a temperature, but we've dealt with the bullet wound and we're giving you antibiotics'.
For the first time Hutch noticed the IV in the back of his hand, and the feel of another tube in a far less comfortable place.
'Starsky? Where is he?' his first thoughts, as always, for the welfare of his partner.
A shadow fell over Maria's face. 'Yes, he's here, and we've dealt with his wounds too. The bullet which passed through you lodged in his abdomen, shaving his liver. He had emergency surgery and is recovering well from that. In fact, he's one tough guy – he woke up yesterday. Amazing after what he's been through'.
Hutch was used to seeing his partner immediately after injuries. 'I need to see him, nurse. Can you take me to him?'
Maria shook her head. 'I'm afraid Major Starsky is in anther part of the hospital, Ken. He, em'. She faltered. 'He's refusing to speak, or eat or drink. The doctors are worried about his state of mind'.
Hutch was struggling to get out of bed, ignoring the pain from his multiple burns and the hole in is side/ 'I need to see him, now. If you don't get a wheelchair and take me, I'll damn well walk – the choice is yours'.
Maria pushed him gently down onto the bed, noting the sweat now pouring from his forehead down the sides of his face.
'Wait there, Ken. I'll get the doctor, then you can make a decision together'.
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Wednesday 9.30am
Maria pushed Hutch's chair towards the double doors marked Psychiatric Wing. Oh God Starsk. Hang on buddy, I'm coming. In the previous hour, Doctor Carson had explained the type of treatment Starsky had endured at the hands of Sharpe and his accomplices. Hutch had felt physically sick at the torture the brunette had had to face, even though no-one could actually get Starsky to go into details. Hell, they couldn't even get him to talk. The details they had were from the soldier who had been knocked out and tied up in the small cell. Starsky had been completely silent since his admission, even through the painful treatment of his injuries, before and after the surgery. He had silently but forcefully refused any pain killers, and so his temperature was rocketing. The good doctor had suggested that anything Hutch could do to get the brunette to open up would be a breakthrough.
Hutch braced himself as he came to the door of Starsky's private room. Maria opened the door and wheeled Hutch inside. Hutch's heart died as he saw the figure in the bed.
His partner of seven years was propped on pillows in a semi upright position, on his back, facing the door. The white sheets, which were pulled to his waist contrasted horrifically with the bruises showing over his body, and the large white dressing on his right hand side. He had an IV in his right wrist, another in his left hand, and a naso-gastric tube exited his nose and was taped to his cheek. Starsky's wrists were bound to the sides of his cot with soft medical restraints. He stared straight ahead head slightly lowered, and did not blink as Hutch entered.
The doctor had explained the NG tube and restraints. Apparently, Starsky had refused to eat or drink and had twice pulled the offending tube out. In a last ditch attempt to get much needed nutrients into his body, they had re-passed the tube and secured his hands, to stop any further attempts at renewal.
Hutch pushed his chair forward. 'Starsk? How ya doin, buddy?'