"All personnel! Incoming wounded!"
Jessie swore as long as she lived that she would never grow accustomed to such a rude awakening as that damn loudspeaker in the middle of the night. Throwing on a robe over her shirt and shorts, she raced out the door, almost forgetting to put on her boots. The idea of going barefoot in OR, with all the blood squishing underfoot, almost made her sick, so she raced back inside to put them on, not even bothering to lace them.
The nurses were now in charge of triage, freeing up the doctors for even more surgery. Trying to calm the wounded while assessing their situation was more difficult than it looked. Of the ones who weren't passed out, some could be extremely hostile, even violent at times, but most were glad to be getting some relief from their pain. With so many casualties to attend to and so few nurses, Jessie often found herself assessing the damage and not paying attention to men themselves, only jotting down enough information to clear each body out of the compound and get them into pre-op as fast as possible.
"What's your name, soldier?"
"JC? Is that you?" His voice was so faint, it was almost indistinguishable.
Jessie almost dropped her clipboard. Not too many people called her JC . . .
"Holy cow! Danny!" She grasped her brother's childhood friend's hand, which was smeared with his own blood. "Danny! How in . . .? What in the world . . ."
"I got drafted," he whispered simply, his brown eyes briefly lighting up. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."
Jessie motioned an orderly over with some pain medication and administered it herself. Briefly, she glanced under the hasty dressing of his wounds by the staff at the aid station, cringing inwardly at the deep belly wounds. Definitely close range. "You're going to be just fine, Danny Boy. You'll be cruising the town again in no time flat."
He tried to chuckle, but a moan escaped his lips.
"Lieutenant Callahan! Over here! On the double!" Maj. Houlihan yelled from nearby.
Jessie patted his shoulder, longing to stay with him. Thoughts of all the fun, innocent times they had growing up flew through her mind. "I gotta go, Danny. But, I'll be right here if you need anything."
" 'Kay." The pain meds seemed to be taking affect. Reluctantly, Jessie trotted off.
*****************************************
She kept up with Danny in pre-op, making sure he was comfortable. However, she was assigned to Col. Potter's table and once surgery began and lost all track of him. Until she heard Charles barking orders from across the room.
"There's too much blood here. Suction."
"I've lost a pulse, Doctor."
"Rib spreader."
Jessie looked up from Col. Potter's bowel resection. A heart massage always brought any other activity in the room to a screeching halt.
"Do you think that's really necessary, Major?" Colonel Potter eyed the other surgeon from across the room.
"Colonel, with all due respect, I don't think he really cares if it's necessary." He motioned towards Danny's still form.
Jessie froze in the middle of handing Col. Potter an instrument.
"Damn it, Lieutenant, I don't have all day!" Col. Potter blustered as she was distracted.
"Yes, Lieutenant! Get your butt in gear!" Margaret yelled at her.
Bigelow saw Jessie in pre-op with Danny and heard her half-heartedly joking with him. She put two and two together and took the instrument from Jessie's hand.
A little dazed, Jessie slowly made her way across the room to where Charles was diligently working on the broken body of her childhood friend, leaving a confused Colonel Potter behind. She motioned for the nurse operating the anesthesia to step away and took over her job, her whole body numb.
"Lieutenant! What is the matter with you? We don't have time for . . ." Margaret began.
Kelleye trotted up to her. "Major. He's from back home."
Margaret's harsh gaze softened briefly, and she reassigned the befuddled nurse whose job had been taken over to Col. Potter's table, ceasing berating Jessie.
Charles briefly glanced up at her as he worked. "You know him?"
All Jessie could do was nod, not trusting her voice.
I told him he would be okay!
The minutes dragged on. They thought the heart massage had worked based on the triumphant note in Charles's voice. Jessie almost breathed a sigh of relief until his pressure plummeted once more.
"I've lost his pulse!" Jessie cried out.
Charles immediately tried again.
After several long, agonizing minutes of focusing on Charles and Margaret working diligently, blood coating the fronts of their gowns, with no results, Jessie focused on her friend's face. He looked so . . . so at peace. So at odds with the yelling and cursing and stench of the OR.
"Stop! Just stop!" Jessie cried, removing the oxygen mask from Danny's face.
Charles didn't reply, her plea not registering as he worked. "Adrenaline."
Margaret reached out to hand Charles the needle, but Jessie leaned over and took it from her instead. "No. No more. Let him rest. Please."
"But . . ." Charles looked up at her, preparing to lash out. But, she wasn't even looking at him. All she was doing was stroking the cheek of her dead friend.
"Listen to her, Major. Let him be." Col. Potter's calm demeanor could reach anyone during a time of crisis.
Breathing hard with exertion, Charles stepped back.
There was complete silence in the OR for a few moments. Jessie wiped her eyes and stood up. "Orderly, I need fresh gloves. And we need a new body in here. Step on it!"
She couldn't think about it now. She wouldn't think about it now. Maybe later, when this . . . this bloodbath was finished, she would wail, scream and lash out at whoever allowed such a horrid death for such a sweet boy. But not now. She would go crazy if she allowed it to get to her. So, she returned to Col. Potter's table and went back to work.
Charles watched her back quizzically as Danny's lifeless body was taken away.
*************************************
Jessie flipped the switch, illuminating the now empty OR. It had been a good session. Everyone that arrived at the 4077th had lived.
Except one.
Graves' services were on their way to pick him up, so the orderlies had put him in the OR, out of sight of the living.
Didn't want to upset anybody.
Mercifully, someone had covered him with a sheet. Jessie didn't want to pull it back and look at his lifeless face that had once been so easy to laugh and smile. Wearily, she pulled herself up onto the gurney next to him, her feet dangling off the floor. Somehow, she had made it through surgery by focusing on each new wound that was wheeled in front of her. Each one she helped save would be spared Danny's fate.
But at the end of the day, the knowledge of all the living that were there because of her didn't help because her childhood friend was gone, killed by a faceless enemy and covered by a stained sheet.
She brushed off their mumbled words of comfort, knowing if she gave into them, she'd turn into a crying, screaming ball of uselessness. They all meant well, they really did. And, it wasn't healthy to hold it all in. But, it was all she had.
She was glad Radar was in Seoul for the weekend. He would know just what to say to her, to help her grieve and the tears to come. She didn't want that. Not now. She wanted to revel in the pain and the hatred, cling to it. At least she could feel it.
She heard a noise behind her, the sound of the door hesitantly opening, realized he was pausing just inside the doorway, debating on what to do.
So careful. So calculating. Never making a decision without thinking at length.
He made up his mind and strolled purposefully into the room, stopping next to her, his hands in his pockets.
She wouldn't look at him, just continued staring at the outline of her friend underneath the sheet.
"I'm sorry," he said, peering at her.
Jessie snorted. "You know, I was just thinking how much I appreciated you not offering any . . . any useless words of comfort. So much for that."
He sighed. "I don't think I could have done anything more . . ."
Jessie glanced at him, her eyes red with unshed tears. "This isn't about you, Winchester."
Charles was slightly taken aback. "I didn't mean for it to appear as such."
She took a deep breath, willing herself not to take her frustrations out on him. "I know. It's just . . ." She felt the tears come again. "You know, he was always afraid of the dark." She used the cuff of her shirt to wipe her eyes.
Charles wasn't sure what to say. His sole purpose for finding her was to rid himself of the feelings of guilt of her friend dying under his care. Instead, he found himself drawn to her, wanting to make sure she could cope under the pressure. But, he didn't want her to speak of her friend, to give this dead man a face and a character and a life all his own by hearing about him. It made it seem like the man could rise from the gurney, push back the sheet and get on with his life.
It was the stuff nightmares were made of.
But, he listened anyway.
She was all alone, since O'Reilly wasn't due back until morning. Plus, he could relate to the dead man in a way, harboring a few of his own fears deep inside.
Jessie took a ragged breath and continued. "He used to stay over at our house with Johnny all the time. There was a passel of those boys, and you always saw them together. When all of them would fall asleep in Johnny's room, Danny used to sneak into mine and Andrea's room. We always left a light on for him and slept in the same bed, so when he got there, he would have somewhere to sleep. At dawn, he always snuck back into Johnny's room, and no one would know."
"And now . . ." Jessie felt a sob rise in her throat. But, she fought it. "And now, they're going to bury him in the cold ground. In the dark. With no light. All alone." She knew her thoughts were irrational and wanted to weep bitterly for her friend and for wars that made boys into men and men into corpses long before their time.
But, she didn't.
Charles didn't say a word. Just sat with her throughout the night. It was all he knew to do.
***********************************************
The compound was dark, the silent shadows of the guards drifting along nearby. Radar thanked the driver and watched as he sped along into the darkness away from camp. He was surprised to see a light on inside his office. Grabbing his duffle, he shuffled along, hoping it wasn't anything to keep him up any longer than necessary. He had planned on a few hours of sleep before morning, but it wasn't to be, especially after he saw the wreck in his office.
"That Klinger . . ." he mumbled under his breath, tossing his bag on his cot. More papers stacked on the blanket rustled and fell to the floor.
Radar honestly didn't know where to begin.
The door from post-op opened.
"Hi, Colonel," he muttered without turning around as he studied a stack of files pulled from God knows where.
"How was Seoul?"
Radar shrugged. "Better than here."
"Klinger put a hurtin' on your office."
"Did he even get anything done? Besides make a mess," Radar scowled.
"Well, he did figure out how to answer the phone. That's about it."
Radar finally turned to face the Colonel. "Sir, can't sleep?" He motioned towards the Colonel's attire – bathrobe and combat boots.
Colonel Potter sighed. "It's been rough the last couple of days. Almost consistent casualties."
Radar noticed the inflection in Colonel Potter's voice. "Is something . . . wrong?"
He handed Radar a file he was holding. "Only one didn't make it."
Radar looked questioningly at the colonel before opening the file, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. Until he got to the address. "What happened?" He shut the file and handed it back.
"He came in with fairly extensive wounds. Winchester tried to save him, but couldn't."
Radar couldn't imagine watching someone you knew die in such a horrid manner.
"She's closed all us out, Radar. She covers her shifts, but she won't interact with anybody! She won't even talk to any of the nurses, and you know how close they all are. I even mentioned briefly calling you, and she flew into such a rage, that I didn't dare."
Radar understood. It was how she dealt with pain, pushing it away.
"Go see her." Colonel Potter waved his arm around the office. "All this can wait until morning."
"You don't think she's asleep?"
"Son, she spent the first night you were gone sitting up with his body. Wake her up. Shake her until her teeth rattle. Do whatever you have to. Just make her talk about it."
"Yes, sir." Just the idea of her being alone with her memories made him shudder. With one last glare at the mess, he walked into the compound, loosening his tie on his dress uniform as he went.
*************************************
There was a light on in her tent, but he knocked anyway.
"Jess? You awake?"
There was no answer.
Hesitantly, he opened the door, wincing as it creaked on its hinges.
She had fallen asleep on her stomach, her arms curled up underneath her, an unfinished letter hanging precariously on the edge of the cot. She looked fragile in the dim light from her lamp by her bed, so out of place in this hell hole.
Too bad he couldn't protect her from this hell hole.
She didn't stir when he reached down to pick up the letter, moving the pen to the night stand.
Dear Mr. Coleman & Mrs. Annie,
Danny was not alone. I was with him when he died . . .
Radar couldn't read the rest of it. It was just too personal. Plus, he wanted to hear it from her.
The cot groaned with the extra weight as he sat carefully on the edge, reaching out and moving her hair from her face. In sleep, she looked peaceful, but he knew she had been crying as she wrote the letter, could feel it with every fiber of his being. He wanted – oh, how he wanted! – to shelter her from the unspeakable acts they witnessed daily. But, there was nothing he could do. Tears
Her eyes fluttered open. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself." He gave her a half-hearted smile.
She stayed curled up. "How was Seoul?"
"It would have been more fun if you were there." He tried to be light-hearted.
That comment earned him a small smile, at least until her eyes settled on the unfinished letter in his hand. The light in her eyes vanished, replaced with a haunted look he had never seen before. She sat up, taking the letter from him, folding it carefully before placing it gently on her nightstand.
She pulled her knees to her chest, looking so vulnerable, it made him ache. "I'm not crazy."
"I didn't think you were."
It was almost as if what he said didn't even register. "Just because I wouldn't talk to them, they thought I was losing my marbles." She swallowed hard, trying hard to compose herself before she continued. "I wanted to feel the hate and the anger and the . . . the sheer uselessness of it all! They said crying was better, helped to let it all out, or some hogwash like that." The tears started, and she didn't stop them. "Well, let me tell you something. It doesn't matter how much I cry. He's still dead! Along with . . ." she hiccupped. "Along with hundreds of others. I just . . . I just . . ."
She knew she shouldn't, but she finally met his gaze. The understanding and love she saw in his eyes was the final shove, knocking down the temporary wall she built up against everyone else.
He saw it coming and pulled her against his chest, her sobs shaking them both. He wanted to say something to chase away her demons, but his mind was a blank. So, all he could do was hold her tightly as she wept.
His jacket smelt like cigarette smoke and gasoline fumes from the jeep, but Jessie didn't care. As long as he was here.
Her great, gulping sobs eventually abated, only the occasional shuddering sniffle breaking the silence. But, still he held her as if he were trying to take her pain and make it his own.
Her anger had vanished, in its place a dull ache, almost like a part of her – an innocent part – had died, an emotional casualty of war. As she clung to him, listening to his even breathing , she wondered how many others were walking around daily in Korea, feeling the same way she did.
"More than you realize."
"Huh?" she asked, still holding onto him like he was her only link to the world.
He shifted uncomfortably. "I think a lot of people walk around here feeling numb. How else are we going to deal with it, after all."
She sniffed, not at all ruffled by his ability to peer into her thoughts. "If they gave out Purple Hearts for that, we'd all have one."
"Yeah, I guess so."
She wiped her face one last time with her blanket and sat back. Reluctantly, he let her go. They sat looking at each other for a moment.
"You know, you've always managed to be there when I need you. I don't know what this place would be like without you."
Radar blushed and held her gaze. "You're tougher than you think, you know."
"You sure couldn't tell by all the tears I've shed here," she said cryptically. "I think I must have been saving them up all those years just for this occasion." She held up her arms in a weightlifters stance. "Or, maybe you're right. Maybe I am tough."
He chuckled at her silliness, relieved to see she was trying, despite the haunted look on her tear-stained face.