by Len Levinson
Nurse Morrison entered the operating room. No one recognized her with her face mask on. She walked past the tables, looking at the soldiers on them, and finally saw Butsko, the anesthesia mask on his face, and Dr. Schearson sawing off the plaster cast.
The cast fell off, bearing Butsko's mangled, bloody leg. Nurses bathed it, and Nurse Morrison looked at the stitches and torn, angry flesh. It was a mess, but Nurse Morrison didn't think it looked bad enough to be amputated. Dr. Harris and Dr. Schearson bent over Butsko's leg and examined it as Butsko's chest rose and fell with his strong, steady breathing.
Nurses, doctors, and orderlies walked back and forth in the operating room, but one of the orderlies wasn't really an orderly. He was Frankie La Barbara, wearing an orderly's white uniform and face mask, which he'd stolen from an orderly after cold-conking him in a corridor of the ship. He spotted Butsko and walked toward the table, his knife up his sleeve, ready for instant use.
Frankie felt crazy and wild. He wasn't dealing from a full deck, and never had been in his life. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, clicking his teeth, he wondered what to do next.
The doctors picked up hypodermic needles from the tray next to the operating table. Nurse Morrison knew they'd shoot up Butsko with some additional painkilling drugs and then start cutting. She decided that it was now or never, and she was a little afraid, because she knew she was putting herself into a very messy situation.
“That leg,” she said, “doesn't look anything like the leg in that X ray.”
Both doctors looked up at her, aghast that anyone would question their medical skill.
“What are you doing here?” Dr. Harris demanded.
“I've come to see the operation,” she replied, “and it's clear to me, as it should be to you, that leg isn't damaged nearly as badly as the X ray indicates. I still think, more than ever, that the X ray you're using belongs to somebody else who needs to have his leg amputated right now, not Sergeant Butsko.”
Dr. Harris stood erect and glowered at Nurse Morrison. “I know that romance makes people do strange things, but really, Lieutenant, please restrain yourself if you can.”
The insult and sarcastic tone of Dr. Harris's voice didn't escape Nurse Morrison, but she stood her ground. “You said his leg was hanging on by a few threads, but it looks much more substantial than that to me. Why not take another X ray and be sure? What are you afraid of?”
“Nurse Morrison,” Dr. Harris replied, “quite often in-these cases the skin outside is quite intact and most of the damage is internal. This soldier's bones, muscles, and ligaments are destroyed, and his skin is all that's holding his leg together. I don't have to explain this to you, but I am, and now I'm afraid that I just ask you to leave this operating room.”
“It would be so easy to be sure, Dr. Harris,” she pleaded. “Why not take a few extra minutes for another X ray so that you can be sure.”
“My dear Nurse Morrison, I am sure. If you do not leave this operation room at once, I'll be forced to call the Marines.”
Nurse Morrison hadn't been able to stop the operation, but she didn't want to leave.
Dr. Harris stared at her. “I'm not going to ask you again, Nurse Morrison.”
“You're making a big mistake, Doctor.”
“No, you're the one making the big mistake, Nurse Morrison.”
Dr. Harris turned to call the Marines, when suddenly a tall orderly who'd been lurking behind him leaped forward, wrapped his arm around Dr. Harris's neck, and held the blade of a knife against Dr. Harris's throat.
“Don't nobody move!” said Frankie La Barbara.
All eyes in the operating room turned to Frankie La Barbara, who felt as though someone had plugged him into the wall. He held Dr. Harris tightly. Dr. Harris didn't struggle, because he wasn't a fighter. He just went limp.
“Do whatever he wants,” Dr. Harris said, terror in his voice.
“That's right,” Frankie said, “you'd better fucking do whatever I want, or I'm gonna take off the head of this croaker here, and don't think I won't, because his life don't mean a fucking thing to me!”
Frankie felt intoxicated by the fear he'd inspired in the operating room. Suddenly he was in a position to give orders instead of taking them. “Okay,” he said, “all you doctors can i go back to work, except the ones on this here table!”
The other doctors and their aides resumed their operations. One orderly slipped out of the room to call the Marines. Frankie I held the blade of his knife against Dr. Harris's throat, and the razor edge drew some blood.
“Don't kill me!” Dr. Harris begged, his insides quaking.
“This is the way it's gonna be,” Frankie replied. “I just heard what that nurse said, and it makes sense to me. You're I gonna give Butsko here another X ray, right now, and if you I don't, I'm gonna send this croaker here to hell, where he belongs.”
“Do as he says!” Dr. Harris screamed.
Dr. Schearson held up the palms of his hands. “Okay,” he said. “We'll do it. We'll all just go to the X ray room right now and take the pictures, okay?”
“No, it's not okay,” Frankie said. “Bring the fucking X ray machine here.”
“But it's too big! We can't do that!”
“Then I guess I'm gonna haveta kill the croaker.”
Footsteps resounded in the next room, and then the Marines arrived, ten of them, carrying loaded carbines.
“What's the problem?” asked the sergeant leading them. He looked around and saw Frankie holding a knife to Dr. Harris's I throat. “Uh-oh.”
“Well, if it ain't the fucking jar-head Marines,” Frankie said. “Hiya, jar-heads. You'd better move an X ray machine down here right now, or else I'm gonna kill the croaker.”
The sergeant didn't know what to do. He looked around for help, but there was no one to give it. A lunatic with a knife was loose in the operating room. The marine sergeant had never heard of such a thing in his life.
Dr. Schearson turned to Frankie. "But you don't understand. We don't have the voltage capacity here in the operating room for our large X ray machines.”
“Then run a line down,” Frankie La Barbara said. “I don't give a fuck how you do it, just do it, and if you don't get started by the time I count to ten, this croaker here is a dead motherfucker. One!”
Dr. Harris fainted. Dr. Schearson wished somebody would do something. The Marine sergeant wondered if he could shoot Frankie before Frankie cut Dr. Harris's throat, and decided he didn't want to take the chance. It was a classic Mexican standoff, and Frankie continued to count.
More footsteps could be heard. Then Colonel Hutchins marched into the operating room, followed by the detail from the recon platoon. Everybody was armed to the teeth. A new wave of shock and terror swept across the operating room. The doctors and nurses weren't used to such excitement. Their routine day in the operating room was becoming a nightmare that got worse with every passing minute. Frankie La Barbara was so shocked, he stopped counting.
“As you were!” Colonel Hutchins said, looking for Butsko on the operating table, and than his eyes fell on the tall orderly holding a knife to the throat of a doctor.
“Colonel Hutchins!” said Frankie La Barbara. “Am I glad to see you!”
“Who in the fuck are you?”
Frankie took a step back and ripped off his mask. “Me— Private Frankie La Barbara!”
Free, Dr. Harris ran to the far side of the operating room, pointing at Frankie La Barbara. “I want that man put in the brig right now!”
Frankie backed against the wall and held out his knife. “The first jar-head that touches me'll get cut high, wide, deep, and forever.”
Colonel Hutchins raised the submachine gun and aimed it in the general direction of the Marines. “Settle down over there,” he said.
The Marines stepped back. The operating room became silent except for the snips of scissors and the cuts of scalpels as doctors at operating tables continued their grisly work.
“I'm th
e nurse who called you last night,” Lieutenant Mor- rison said. “Remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Colonel Hutchins said. “You're the reason I'm here.” He looked at Butsko and saw that his leg still was whole. “Nurse Morrison, could you please tell me what the hell is going on here?”
“The doctors refuse to take another X ray,” she said.
“Where the hell's the doctors?”
“Here,” said Dr. Harris and Dr. Schearson in unison.
“Why won't you take the goddamn X rays?”
“Because we don't think it's necessary,” Dr. Harris said.
“Well, I do. Take the goddamn X rays now.”
Dr. Schearson was certain that an Army colonel wouldn't dare shoot him. “I simply refuse to do something I consider medically unsound.”
Colonel Hutchins pointed his submachine gun at Dr. Harris. “You do?”
Dr. Harris suddenly wasn't so sure than an Army colonel jfl wouldn't shoot him. “If you insist, but I wish to file a formal protest.”
“Shove your formal protest up your ass. Let's get a move on and have these goddamned X rays taken. I haven't got all day.”
“You'll have to go to the X ray room,” Dr. Harris said.
Colonel Hutchins kept his submachine gun leveled on Dr. Harris. “Lead the way, sawbones.”
Just then Captain Forbes, the chief medical officer aboard the hospital ship, entered the operating room with a few of his aides. His rank of captain in the navy was equivalent to colonel in the Army.
“What's going on here?” he asked.
Everybody spoke at once, but Colonel Hutchins had the loudest voice, and he drowned out everybody else. “My man here, Master Sergeant Butsko, is about to get his leg amputated, but there's some question about whether that's necessary.”
Dr. Harris decided the time had come for him to retake charge of his operation, and he pointed at Nurse Morrison. “She's the only one who doubts whether it's necessary, and that's because she's in love with Sergeant Butsko—who, by the way, tried to kill me yesterday.”
Everyone looked at Nurse Morrison.
“I think Sergeant Butsko's X rays might have been switched with somebody else's,” she said, “because these X rays indicate that the wound was caused by shrapnel, and Sergeant Butsko says there were no explosions taking place when he was wounded.”
“Let me examine the X rays,” Captain Forbes said.
He walked toward the wall and looked at the X rays. Then he bent over Butsko's leg and checked it out. “I see no reason why we shouldn't take more X rays, just to be sure,” he said.
Butsko, accompanied by Colonel Hutchins and the men from the recon platoon, was wheeled to the X ray room. They positioned his leg under the X ray machine and took pictures. Then the long wait began as the pictures were developed. Colonel Hutchins paced back and forth. Dr. Harris sweat like a pig. Nurse Morrison prayed. Finally the pictures were ready and the X ray technician pinned them on the wall next to the previouslytaken X rays. The doctors and nurses crowded around, but you didn't have to be a doctor to see that the pictures were different.
“Well,” said Captain Forbes solemnly, “it appears that Butsko and Lieutenant Morrison were right. Evidently Butsko's X rays were exchanged with somebody else's by mistake. Now all we have to do is find the man whose leg needs to be amputated this morning.”
Dr. Harris nearly shriveled up and died. Dr. Schearson muttered and stuttered and just about shit his pants.
“I think I'm gonna take Sergent Butsko back to my regiment,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“But he's not well yet,” Captain Forbes protested.
“I'm afraid he's gonna get worse here. I got qualified doctors in my regiment. They'll be able to take care of him. Let's go, men. Find a stretcher and put Butsko on it.”
“What about me?” Frankie La Barbara asked.
“You're coming too.”
Dr. Harris pointed at Frankie. “But he tried to kill me!”
Colonel Hutchins turned to Dr. Harris. “And you tried to cut off Butsko's leg!”
Dr. Harris didn't know what to say. He looked at Dr. Schearson for help, but Dr. Schearson was a coward, too, and couldn't open his mouth.
“Let's get out of here,” Colonel Hutchins said. “Somebody get a stretcher for Butsko. Hurry up, because I can't stand the stink of hospitals.”
Captain Forbes told two orderlies to obtain a stretcher for Butsko, who still lay on the table in the operating room, oblivious to the drama going on around him. Captain Forbes was embarrassed by what had happened and apologized to Colonel Hutchins.
“I'm very sorry about this,” Captain Forbes said. “You can be sure that I'll take steps to ensure that nothing like it can ever happen again.”
“If I were you,” Colonel Hutchins replied, “I'd shoot those two doctors, and then I'd shoot them again to make sure they were dead.” Then Colonel Hutchins turned to Nurse Morrison and shook her hand. “Well,” he said, “I guess we have to thank you for saving Butsko's leg.”
Nurse Morrison felt awkward and self-conscious. “I was just doing my job.”
“I'm sure when the sergeant gets better he'll want to show his appreciation in some way.”
“That won't be necessary.”
“It won't be necessary, but I'm sure Butsko will want to do something anyway.”
“Yes... well... I hope he gets well soon. If you'll excuse me now, I have work to do.”
Colonel Hutchins tipped his fatigue hat. “Of course.”
She walked away swiftly, passing two orderlies returning with a stretcher. Sergeant Cameron and the Reverend Billie Jones rolled Butsko onto it and then looked toward Colonel Hutchins.
“Move it out,” Colonel Hutchins said.
The soldiers marched in a long procession through the corridors of the ship and up the ladder wells, heading for the main deck. Butsko, still unconscious, jiggled with every step, and Frankie wondered what Butsko would do to him when Butsko got well again. Frankie's mind did a flip-flop, because he wasn't the most mentally stable person in the world. Now he thought again that maybe he should have killed Butsko while he had the chance, because Butsko sure as hell was going to try to kill him as soon as he was strong enough.
On the main deck of the hospital ship, the sun was hidden behind clouds. Colonel Hutchins commandeered a motor launch, and they loaded Butsko onto it. The motor launch was empty I except for the men from the recon platoon; it was on its way back to the beach to pick up more wounded.
Colonel Hutchins climbed down into the motor launch and sat with his back against a gunwale, taking a sip from his canteen full of white lightning. Then he lit a Camel cigarette. Back to the war, he thought. wonder what the fucking Japs have been up to while I've been away.
The motor launch pulled away from the hospital ship and puttered over the rolling waves, making a wide circle in the water and then heading toward the mainland.
EIGHTEEN . . .
Colonel Akai sat at his desk, studying his maps and planning the offensive that he intended to launch that night. The phone on his desk rang, and he picked up the receiver.
‘This is General Hyakutake,” said the voice in his ear.
Colonel Akai was surprised, because he'd thought General Hyakutake was still in Rabaul, conferring with General Ima-mura. “Good morning, sir,” Colonel Akai replied. “When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago, and Lieutenant Oyagi told me that you're planning an attack for tonight. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call it off.”
“What!”
“I said call it off.”
“But my regiment is all ready to go. Why should I call it off?”
“For two reasons. The first is that the Americans will whip you, because they outnumber you in every way, and the second is that General Imamura has ordered us to retreat. It is felt that the battle here on Bougainville has been lost.”
“But it is not lost, sir. With more me
n and equipment, we can win.”
“Imperial General Headquarters does not have the men and equipment to give us. Prepare your regiment to pull back toward Buka Passage.”
“Will we be evacuated, sir?”
“Not yet. General Imamura has ordered us to wage guerrilla warfare against the Americans and he wants us to raise our own food.”
Colonel Akai couldn't believe his ears. “Raise our own food, sir? How are we supposed to do that?”
“Call together the men in your regiment who were farmers before the war and ask them.”
“But we have no seeds, no farm implements... and how can one plant crops in the jungle?
“As I just told you, speak with the men in your regiment who were farmers. You have your orders and I know you will obey them as meticulously as you have always obeyed orders in the past. Do you have any further questions, Colonel Akai?”
“No, sir.”
The phone connection went dead in Colonel Akai's ear. He stared at the wall of his tent for a few seconds, then hung up the receiver. His eyes fell on his desk and maps, which were covered with arrows and jagged lines. Colonel Akai frowned as he placed his elbow in the middle of the maps and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. So Bougainville is lost, he thought. When will we stop retreating before the Americans?
He reflected upon the failure of General Hyakutake's big offensive and the loss of New Georgia, Guadalcanal, most of New Guinea, and numerous other islands. It was clear to Colonel Akai that the Americans were pushing the Japanese army back, but he thought that might be a good thing. The Japanese army was spread out all over the South Pacific and had too much territory to defend. Perhaps, with less territory, the Japanese army could stop the Americans and inflict terrible defeats on them.
Then the face of the war would change, and the Imperial Army would be victorious again. Colonel Akai and his regiment would do their part, tying up as many Americans on Bougainville as they could, using hit-and-run tactics, and growing their own food.
Bougainville would become a sideshow in the war. Colonel Akai tried to convince himself that he and his regiment would still be doing important work, but he had difficulty believing it.
