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A/N-- Yes, I know y'all hate A/N's, but here it is anyway. I'm sorry this is short. At least I posted, right? Anyway here goes. And just so you know: italicsflashback.
Read and Enjoy!! P.S.- Reviews are nice too.
--Chinese hospital unit--Hawkeye's POV--
chapter five- COLOR OF ENMITY
It's hard to believe I've been here a month already. It's even harder to believe I said the same thing after my first month at the 4077th. It's hard to believe because there I said it, and everyone understood me.
It's hard not to compare this place to the 4077th. After the first two weeks I tried to stop; it was too painful. It still is. I still do it.
After my first month at the 4077th Trapper and I had already managed to wiggle our way out of our first court-martial, found the key to Henry's liquor cabinet, built the still, and run Frank up the flag pole in his skivvies. Here though, there's no time for such sanity. Of course, it doesn't help that, with the exception of Steele (whose real name is actually Dr. Suen) and Tan, no one around here speaks English. It's painfully obvious that the Pierce humor simply doesn't cross language barriers.
I've tried learning some Chinese, but as the camp locals are still somewhat skittish around the strange American, it is a little difficult to come across a willing tutor. Suen and Tan are extremely helpful, but there just aren't enough hours in a day, even the kind of days we pull around here, to keep a camp running, prevent the homicide of an American doctor, and teach said doctor to communicate with the people who would commit said homicide. I picked up medical instrument names quickly out of necessity and far more repetition than I would have liked. In the same way, I learned to ask the quickest way from various camp locations, usually the mess tent, to the little doctor's room. However, I'm afraid that is about the full extent of my foray into the wonderfully confusing world that is the Chinese language.
There are, however, many other things to do with my time. I operate, kitten nap in the corner of OR, demonstrate techniques that could normally help save lives in hell on Earth but don't do much in Hell itself, occasionally grab some chow between operations, and repeat endlessly. To spice things up I might pray for my life during enemy attacks… or "friendly" fire depending on how I wish to see it that particular day. Tuesdays are enemy fire days usually; I've always hated Tuesdays.
This last Tuesday was particularly hated. It was a friendly fire day since I was in one of my martyrish, self-pitying, oh-I'm-going-to-die-because-my-own-side-is-shooting-at-me moods. I didn't have long to dwell on that. The wounded had been in abundant (read: continuous) supply for nearly a week and supplies were even lower than their usual sub-zero levels. That, combined with the still hellish and steadily worsening conditions and nearly three-weeks of frazzled, frayed, fried, and snapped nerves on my part, led to very interesting results.
The day started off normal enough. As expected, we still didn't have any decent rubber gloves, so I prepared myself for the inevitable pain of having alcohol poured over my dry and cracking skin.
"Let's get down to business. Who's bartender today?" I asked as I walked into OR behind Tan and Suen.
One of the orderlies shot me a wary look just like all the non-English speakers did when I talked. He quickly decided I was no immediate threat and turned his attention to his CO. Out of his frenzied Chinese I only picked up the word for alcohol, and that was only due to the number of times it was repeated.
"What's going on?" I asked finally.
"We have no alcohol. We'll have to wash between surgeries." Dr. Suen said this in a defeated, matter-of-fact tone that left no room for my accustomed ravings.
It only went downhill from there.
It never fails to amaze me that there always seems to be a downhill no matter how far down you think you are. I've decided I hate tall hills.
I hate steep hills more. With steep hills you're constantly rolling down, you keep picking up speed, and there's no way to stop until you hit bottom.
The problem here was the hill showed no sign of having a bottom to hit.
That's why I decided to make one…or die trying.
The high speed sliding before I did was sickening.
My silence over the sanitation situation was hard to keep. Of course, it was a little easier knowing that even if I did speak up, only two people would understand, and currently those people were just as pissed, helpless, and silent as I was.
On the other hand, it became harder and harder to ignore the nausea of anger, sadness, and sickness as I realized how much longer this was taking us, how many more lives we were losing, with the added scrubbing time. It didn't help that we had also run out of clean towels and were running dangerously low on soap.
"I need more AB positive blood here."
"Damn. Don't have any right now, Hawkeye. They're tapping the personnel right now. Can you wait?"
"Me? Yeah. Him? No."
Suen's head bowed in exhaustion and defeat. "Give him some fluids for now. Try to wait it out."
I opened my mouth to argue, but closed it again quickly. At the 4077th, I would have protested. Here…well, here had taught me a lot about picking my battles. Here, I knew there was no other option, and I knew Suen hated it as much as I did.
That didn't mean I wasn't devastated… and pissed.
We began running out of more blood after that. The casualties kept coming, but soon everyone in camp had given more than they should have, and we were still running low.
We were running low on everything.
Except wounded and tension.
"4.O silk," I said, too tired to remember to ask in Chinese. The nurse looked at me blankly, and I remembered. I repeated myself in Chinese, and her face cleared then darkened.
She replied with the new phrase I'd learned recently and begun to hate with my entire being. The English translation? Something along the lines of "We're out."
I sighed and was about to ask for whatever thread was left when I was interrupted by the 13th, by my count, round of shell attacks of the day. I shut my eyes as my stomach churned in despair and frustration, and I tried to keep from screaming.
I couldn't take any more.
I knew it with a frightening clarity. This was the straw—hell, the haystack—that would break me.
How I managed another sixteen hours of that I will never know. I try not to think too much about it.
The one thing I do know is something changed. I'd promised Tan I'd help them, not just share their misery but actually help them, and that day I remembered that. That day I realized I wasn't content with being and extra body they didn't need and showing them procedures they couldn't use. They needed more basic help than that.
They needed supplies. Desperately.
Last Tuesday, I came up with a plan to fulfill the promise I made a month ago.
