by Jeff Shaara
FORTY-ONE
Biggs
NAVAL HOSPITAL, HOSPITAL POINT, OAHU—FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1941
“You have the maggots?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Biggs stared at the small tin. “Is that really…You’re gonna put those things on me?”
The doctor glanced up at Loretta, a look that showed Biggs he had heard this before. “Mr. Biggs, you’re hoping to train in medicine. One lesson you’ll learn pretty quickly is that when you’re dealing with infection or decaying tissue, maggots can be a lifesaver. They only eat dead tissue, and leave the healthy tissue alone. It’s called ‘maggot debridement therapy.’ ”
Biggs looked away while the doctor unwrapped his arm, the familiar smell turning his stomach.
“You ought to watch what I’m doing, Mr. Biggs. Just view the arm as though it’s detached, belongs to another patient.”
The gauze was removed, and Biggs forced himself to look at the wound, a gash more than a foot long, elbow to wrist. But worse, he could see decayed flesh and the signs of infection, what the doctors had cautioned against from the beginning. The doctor had a small scalpel, looked at Biggs.
“Before we start the MDT, I’m going to cut away some of the dead tissue. It’ll hurt a bit, but like I said, it’s dead, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll be quick about it. I don’t want to give you any morphine, not for this. We have to be careful how much of that stuff you’re administered.”
Biggs looked away. He clenched, felt the blade, a sharp pain tearing through his arm, down to his fingers.
“That’s it. Got most of what needed to come off. I can’t treat the wound with anything that will harm the maggots, so you’ll have to tough it out. The pain should fade in about a half hour.” He took the small box from Loretta, removed the top, began to pour the tiny larvae into the open wound. Biggs stared at the wound now with a mix of horror, nausea, and fascination, distractions from the pain.
“How long’s it take, Doc?”
“As long as it takes. But this is the best way we have to treat the kind of problems that wound is giving us. All right, nurse, you can wrap it up. I’ll check on you later, Mr. Biggs. Keep the arm as still as you can.”
The doctor moved away, another nurse calling him to another patient. Loretta was on the edge of his bed now, gently wrapping the arm, a glance toward him.
“You’re staring at me again, Mr. Biggs.”
“You’re welcome to stare back, Nurse Powell. Just be careful of our little squirmy friends.”
She kept working, and he could see she was trying not to smile. She unrolled another strip of gauze, said, “I know they’re useful, but these maggots are pretty disgusting. Like the doctor said, they’re larvae. I don’t know what would happen if they were allowed to hatch. Some kind of nasty creature, I’m sure.”
“Gee, nurse, you’re really good at comforting your patients.”
She seemed embarrassed now, said, “You’re not going to lose the arm. That’s the most important thing. The doctor wasn’t so certain of that a few days ago.”
Biggs felt a bolt of alarm. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“No, he didn’t. Unless he knows for certain, he won’t say. It wouldn’t have done you a bit of good if he had told you there was a chance of amputation.”
Biggs closed his eyes. It was a word he hoped never to hear again.
“Hey! I found you! Son of a bitch!”
Biggs pushed himself upright, knew the voice, the smile, heard a scolding hush from one of the nurses.
“Yeah, you found me. Now pipe down. Damn, you’re still ugly.”
Loretta finished with the arm, stood, and Biggs knew she was waiting for an introduction.
“Nurse Powell, this is Ed Wakeman, the stupidest, laziest idiot I ever met. And if he bends over, I’ll kiss him on the lips.”
Wakeman scowled, shook his head. “He must be on some really heavy drugs, huh, miss? Damn, it stinks in here.” Wakeman glanced around, then lowered his voice, the good cheer wiped away. “My God, this is the burn place. I never thought to look for you over here. I checked the other bases, Ford Island mainly. A lot of our guys ended up there. They’re putting together the list of casualties, but they’re stingy with the details.”
“You find anybody else from the compartment? Mahone?”
“Not a word. I did hear…” He stopped, looked down.
“Heard what? Come on, Ed. We’re all gonna know sooner or later.”
“Tommy, I know you were buddies with some of the musicians. They didn’t make it.”
“Which ones?”
“None of ’em. All twenty-one guys, the whole damn band.”
Biggs let out a breath, felt Loretta’s hand on his shoulder. “Jesus, Ed. How does that even happen?”
“It doesn’t get any better. A bunch of the marines didn’t make it. Not sure which ones. They’re already announcing that over a thousand men were lost with the ship. The whole forward section, plus a whole lot more.”
Biggs lay back down, stared at the ceiling. “Sick bay.”
Wakeman said, “Yeah. Guess so.”
“Dr. Condon’s over in officer’s country. He may be the only one who made it.”
“And you.”
“That doesn’t feel so good, Ed, not like it should. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful. I am. But, good God. I wonder how long it’s gonna be before we learn who survived.” The name burst into his brain. “Oh, Kincaid’s here. He was burned up pretty good. I found him, or he found me, in the oil. Guess we got blown off the ship about the same time.”
He looked up at Loretta. “Do you know where he is? He came in with me, same boat.”
“Petty Officer Jack Kincaid?”
“Yeah. He probably got wrapped up pretty tight. He was burned over most of his body, and had a bad wound in his leg. If they wrapped his face, I wouldn’t know he was here.”
She moved away, checked the clipboard on the far wall.
Wakeman leaned low, said, “Hell, I didn’t know his first name was Jack. Did he save your life or something?”
Biggs thought a moment, couldn’t find the anger he had held on to for so long. “I guess I saved his. We were both in the oil. I found debris, used it as a raft, helped him to it. Pretty sure he’d have drowned.”
Wakeman put his hands on his hips. “Well, what do you know about that?”
Loretta was back now, and Biggs could see the answer in her face. She said in a low voice, “I’m sorry, but Petty Officer Kincaid died two days ago. The burns were too severe. It’s been this way, some of the men just dying in the middle of the night. I’m so sorry.” He saw her hopelessness, reached out for her hand. “They scream and cry and beg for their mothers, and there’s nothing we can do. It’s the hardest part of this job. I remember Mr. Kincaid. He knew he was going to die, told the doctor to leave him be. Said he never should have been pulled out of the water.”
Biggs looked at Wakeman, knew they were sharing the same thoughts, a smoldering hatred that had now become something very different. Biggs wanted to say more, to tell Wakeman more about Kincaid’s unhappiness, his hopelessness so unexpected. He looked up at Wakeman, said, “He was set to retire end of the year. Didn’t want to. I guess that’s why he was so pissed off.”
Loretta whispered, “I’m so very sorry. So, he was your friend?”
Biggs looked at Wakeman, expected a wisecrack, but Wakeman just shook his head.
“No, miss. He was in charge of our compartment. He was real tough on us, Tommy most of all. Maybe that’s why we’re still here and he isn’t.”
NAVAL HOSPITAL, HOSPITAL POINT, OAHU—WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1941
She had walked with him every day, his legs getting stronger. His feet and hands had healed completely, and his scalp was no longer bandaged. For the first
time since the attack, he had been given a mirror. The bald, scarred head had been a shock, but she had laughed, her effort to lighten his feelings. She encouraged him that in time, the hair would grow back. And, if it didn’t, he was a very distinguished-looking bald man. He didn’t believe her.
But the pain in his lungs and his throat wouldn’t leave, his breathing still labored. The doctors feared it might develop into something even worse. There was even more concern over the ugly wound in his arm, that the attention they could offer might be no substitute for a difficult surgery.
Her arm was around his, but by now, both of them knew he didn’t require the support. He had visited Dr. Condon as often as he could. It was an excuse for Biggs and Loretta to spend even more time together, but Biggs could feel that Condon needed the visits, the doctor greeting him with almost too much enthusiasm, as though needing to be reassured that someone he knew had made it out alive.
She led him into the officers’ house, where they put on a good show for the guards, the damaged sailor and the helpful nurse, as though he needed support for every step. Biggs hated the way they looked at her, but it was a game she was used to, and once more, she reassured him that it got them where they wanted to go without any annoying questions.
Condon seemed to be waiting for them again, with the usual smile. “How’s the arm?”
Biggs raised the bandaged limb toward him. “About the same. The maggots have helped keep the infection down, but closing the wound is another problem.”
“Exposed the bone. Pretty tough bit of surgery.”
“Yes, sir.”
Condon looked at Loretta, smiled. “How are you, Miss Powell? He as annoying a patient as I am?”
“I enjoy being annoyed by him, Doctor.”
Condon smiled again, said to Biggs, “You know, not every sailor here gets his own private nurse. Not even the officers.” He leaned over, past Biggs. “Right, Captain?”
Biggs looked that way, saw the older officer reading a magazine. “I won’t need a damn nurse if they let me out of this place. It’s just a bullet hole, for crying out loud.”
Condon was serious now, said, “A bullet that damn near severed your spine. Let it heal, Doug. You know that.”
“Whatever you say, Doc. Bad enough I have to listen to those fellows in the white coats—I get one in the bed next to me.” He looked at Biggs. “Son, you might have your personal nurse, but I’ve got my personal physician.”
Biggs felt an opportunity. “Um, Captain, do you know where they’ll post casualty lists?”
The old man got serious. “You in a hurry to know?”
Condon said, “I told you, Doug, he was with me on the Arizona. He’s got a right to know.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. You can reach my aide at the Ford Island air station. There’s a card with my name and such, there, in that bag on the floor. If you happen to notice a pint of Scotch in there, keep quiet about it. From what I’ve been told, most of the known losses are being compiled at the naval station on Ford. Not sure how long it’ll take for the unknown, the missing. We may never know, especially on the Arizona. Process of elimination. Take the official crew manifests, subtract everybody we can account for. The rest…Well, that’s how it’s gotta be.”
The question came now, pushed out by a nervous fear Biggs couldn’t avoid. “Sir, besides the Arizona, are there lists from other ships, not just battleships?”
Condon said, “What ship, Mr. Biggs?”
“The Curtiss, sir. Seaplane tender…”
“Curtiss is my boat. Who’s asking?”
Biggs looked toward the voice, several beds away. A younger man was sitting up, heavy cast on his leg. The older captain said, “Go ahead, son. Find out what you need to know. But I’ll warn you, he’s the only man in here grouchier than me, and he’s half my age.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The captain waved him away, and Biggs moved toward the Curtiss’s officer, Loretta still on his arm.
“Excuse me, sir, but my best friend served on the Curtiss. I want to make sure he’s okay. I’m not sure how much damage you took, or anything.”
He knew he was babbling nervously, the younger officer waiting for him to finish.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Ray Russo, sir. Seaman second.”
He felt Loretta’s hand squeeze his arm, a reflex of emotion. He stopped talking, saw what she saw, the look on the officer’s face.
“We lost a few, but only a few. We got off easy. Not like you boys.” He paused. “We took two hits, the worst a bomb that cleaned off a chunk of the deck, knocked us to hell, busted my leg in three places. But we’re still floating.”
Her grip was relentless, and now the voice in his head. Say it!
“Seaman Russo was your buddy?”
Was.
His response came in a quiver, his gravelly voice cracking. “Best friend, sir.”
“I’m sorry, sailor. Seaman Russo was killed when we took that bomb. Never knew what hit him, if that matters. He was a good fellow. I’ll miss him.”
Biggs put his hand on Loretta’s, still wrapped around his arm. He had nothing left to say. So far, his own wounds had been agonizing and inconvenient, his world confined to a single burn unit in a single hospital, one part of a greater whole. As he turned away from the young officer, his eye caught the window, a view to the harbor. The fires were out, the wrecked hulks of so many ships being swarmed over by mechanics and salvage crews.
He had not even told her about his nightmares, would not make this some kind of drama. Nearly every night, the dreams took him back to the bloody wounded, the bomb blasts and the oil and the smiling face of the Japanese pilot. Every morning, it was all swept away by the comfort of white sheets on a soft bed, and thoughts of her. But he could never tell her that even she couldn’t erase it all, that being awake was a nightmare still: the stink of the burn ward, patients beside him dying in the night, his constant pain and the tedium of healing his body. All around Pearl Harbor, men were mourning shipmates and friends—what the reports said were thousands. But still, those were just words and numbers, until now, just one more part of the unending nightmare. But nightmares aren’t real. Except now, Russo was dead. Now it was real.
* * *
—
“It’s confirmed. You’re one of twenty-four men here who will make the trip.”
The words came from a young lieutenant, and Biggs looked at the doctor beside him.
“I really don’t want to leave, sir. This is kinda like home.”
The doctor shook his head. “Nobody ever wants a hospital to be home.”
“No, sir, I mean Hawaii, Oahu, Pearl.”
The two men glanced at each other, and Biggs knew what was coming. The lieutenant said, “Apprentice Biggs, you no longer have a ship to report to, no posting here. But with the war there will surely be one, assuming you can be made whole and judged fit for duty.”
The doctor seemed annoyed with the officer, said, “Look, Mr. Biggs, what this man is so discreetly trying to say is that you require the kind of attention we cannot give you here. There is an entire convoy of ships that will be carrying a great many wounded men to the naval facility on Mare Island, near San Francisco. You are fit for travel, so you’re on the list. Most of the craft will be destroyer class, perhaps a little larger.”
The lieutenant couldn’t seem to contain his expertise. “The destroyers will be extremely useful should you encounter Japanese submarines. We’ll make them wish they had stayed home.”
Biggs saw a look on the doctor’s face that suggested indigestion. He said, “Mr. Biggs, the ships are being outfitted to accommodate patients. A number of nurses are traveling with you, so it will be more or less like a fleet of floating hospitals.”
The lieutenant started to speak, but the doctor was already pull
ing him along to the next patient who’d make the journey.
Biggs lay back in the bed, one desperate thought suddenly pushing everything else away. Will I ever see her again? He closed his eyes, tried not to let anything else seep in, no thoughts of Arizona, or of all that was lost. But Russo was there, always, the worst loss of his life. So many others, he thought, friends, brothers. I don’t have the right to feel so damn awful. Now, they’re gonna ship me off to some place I don’t want to be. And the one good thing that’s happened to me, the one thing I look forward to…Jesus, I’m gonna lose her, too.
He knew the sound of her shoes, the muffled rubber of her heels, the rhythm of her walk.
“Hey, sailor, I hear you’re going for a boat ride.”
He opened his eyes, was amazed to see a smile he couldn’t return.
“Yeah. I just got the orders. God, I’m gonna miss you. I haven’t said this, and now, I may never get the chance. Maybe I screwed up not telling you…well, how I feel. I wanted to let you know…to tell you…I’ve never felt like this. I really want to be with you, I mean like, a whole lot.”
She whispered, “Not now, Tommy. We’ve got an audience here. Too many ears. I’d rather you say nice things to me when we can enjoy it. We can go for a walk tonight. It’s beautiful outside, should be a nice sunset. That sound all right? I promise you, I’ll enjoy whatever you want to say.” She laughed now. “I know how you feel, even if you’re not very good at saying it. I don’t know that I’m any better at it, but I’ll try.”
“I don’t know when any of that’s gonna be. I don’t know how long before I can see you again.”
“Well, I have a surprise. You see, I requested a transfer to serve the convoy. It was approved. They don’t need nearly as many nurses here now. And, I think the doctor knows just how important morale is. Yours. Maybe mine too.”
