by Allan Cole
She said, “I needed this little break, Mark. Thanks for nagging me into it.”
Mark said, “No problem, Doc. You haven’t been out of the hospital in weeks. I don’t know how you do it. You’re like the energizer bunny… You just keep going…”
They came to a sharp bend where a good portion of the roadway had crumbled away and without missing a beat, Mark did a series of things with the gears, clutch and brakes
– meanwhile throwing his six-foot-six frame to the right, tacking like a yachtsman – and the Jeep skittered past the obstruction on raised wheels, then slammed down on all fours when the road was semi-flat again.
“… And going, and going,” Mark continued, without missing a beat. “The rest of us mortals need food and sleep and the occasional airing at your friendly neighborhood black market.”
Ann was so used at Mark’s skill at anything he put his hand to – from driving across impossible terrain, to helping her overcome sucking chest wounds and severed arteries that she barely noticed his deft maneuvering.
She smiled at his witticisms, then glanced back at the heap of boxes and crates jostling against their restraints. Most were marked with distinctive DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS labels.
“I still can’t believe we had to buy our own supplies back,” she said. “Don’t people realize they’re stealing from themselves? It’s like robbing your own medicine cabinet, for crying out loud. I mean, the supplies are here for them.”
Ann smacked one of the crates, labeled, AIR MATTRESSES. “What the blazes do they need with this, I ask you?” she railed on. “Why steal air mattresses meant for hospital ward cots?”
She saw Mark open his mouth, no doubt wanting to say that the reason they stole air mattresses, which they had no use for, was because they expected to sell them back. But then his jaw snapped shut, wisely deciding to remain silent on the subject.
Ann snorted in amusement. “I’m not going naïve on you, Mark,” she said. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know the lay of the land. I’m just letting off steam. Of course, the black market thieves don’t give a damn about anything except profit.”
Her eyes glittered. “But just wait until one of them takes a bullet in the butt and comes to me for help. Believe me, I’ll charge for my services then. Cases, and cases of our stuff… all returned to the lockers again.”
“Don’t let it get to you, Doc,” Mark advised. “It’s the way of the world. We help the sick and wounded and at same time keep capitalism alive by providing valuable goods to the local markets – black though they might be.”
“I wish I had your attitude, Mark,” Ann said, her good humor restored.
Mark said, “Hey, we got off cheap this time. I only had to part with one case of scotch. Still got the other in the back.” He indicated a labeled crate snuggled beneath the mattresses.
Ann turned to look, saying, “Well, at least we can still get a decent drink around here.”
At that moment there was a flash and the road erupted in front of them. Mark jammed on the brakes as clods of dirt, mud and small stones rained down on them.
Ann was momentarily stunned, ears ringing from the explosion.
She didn’t have to ask what had happened. It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a landmine. She’d not only witnessed the horrible aftermath of landmines – everything from legs and arms ripped way, torsos and faces mutilated but had personally encountered minefields herself.
Ann had followed teams of men and women from the United Nations organization dedicated to ridding the world of such things into places where it was estimated that ten million mines were hidden and five to ten people were killed or injured each day.
Especially troubling was the fact that the majority of landmine victims tended to be children. Small boys and girls playing innocently in the fields had their tiny limbs ripped away or were horribly mutilated; victims of long ago wars, where peace had been made, new governments installed – the emergencies over.
People could go back to normal lives, correct? Kids could once more play in village fields and city parking lots, right?
Experience, not fear, made Ann’s heart pump faster as she cleared her eyes. One ear popped, then the other and suddenly sound flooded in. With the sound, she found that she could focus her eyes, which went first to Mark.
With relief, she saw he was not only okay, but was turning back to her to shout: “You okay, Doc?”
She nodded, absently squeezing her friend’s huge hand, grateful that he was alive and unhurt. Then she stood up in the Jeep, knowing what she would see, but sick to her stomach just the same.
Mark said, “Damn it, Doc, I thought they’d cleared this road.”
Ann wasn’t paying attention, her eyes were sweeping the area for victims. After a single tour, anyone from Doctors Without Borders could look through the black spume of battle and death and misery to pick out who might be saved, and who could only be comforted before they died.
Immediately, Ann spotted a Cambodian woman collapsed on the ground – not many meters from a smoking blast hole – writhing and moaning in pain.
Ann grabbed her emergency kit and jumped out, legging it toward the injured woman. Experienced with mines, she didn’t run in a straight line. She ran like a brokenfield runner in a football contest, swinging this way and that, light-footed dances dodging humps and hollows and ruts, until she reached the woman’s side.
Meanwhile, Mark was on the radio, keying in the mike. He said, “Mark Corey to base. Are you there, Ruth?”
Ruth replied: “What’s up, Mark?”
Mark said: “Woman injured by landmine. We need an ambulance… We’re about three klicks out.”
“We’re on it,” Ruth said. “I’ll alert Dr. Brenner to prep for trauma.”
Mark thanked her, then hurried to help Ann. He didn’t bother with broken field running. He chose Ann’s footsteps in the mud, except as long-legged as he was, he jumped many footsteps ahead, until with a few gazelle like bounds he was by Ann’s side.
Ann was kneeling over a young, very pregnant woman whose left leg was shattered and bleeding profusely. A frail, elderly man hovered beside them, frantic to help, but not knowing what to do.
Mark jumped in to assist with the bleeding, using his belt for a makeshift tourniquet, which he tied around the upper part of the woman’s leg. Then he applied direct pressure to the wound, firmly stanching it with his tremendous, albeit gentle, strength.
Ann removed her jacket and tucked it around the woman.
The woman was babbling incoherently in Cambodian, weeping and clutching Ann’s hands as she checked the woman’s vital signs – pressing a stethoscope against the woman’s swollen belly to listen for the baby.
Mark was relieved when Ann smiled and pulled away. “Your child is excited,” she told the woman in Cambodian. “Kicking and happy inside you.”
The woman cried out in Cambodian, “My daughter, my daughter. You must save her, please.”
Ann soothed the woman, and said in fluent Cambodian, “Your daughter is fine. It’s only your leg we have to fix. The rest of your body is quite well. Soon, you will give birth to a beautiful new woman.”
The woman flailed about and groaned and was not comforted. “Save my daughter,” she cried. “Oh, Sitha! I’m so sorry. Save my Sitha, please!”
While Ann comforted and reasoned with the woman, Mark glanced about and saw the problem.
“Excuse me, Doc,” he said. “You gotta look at what’s happening here.”
Impatiently, Ann looked and her heart stopped when she saw what Mark was pointing at. Across an empty field she saw a small girl, about ten years-old, frozen in fear. It was immediately apparent to Ann and Mark that this was Sitha and she was standing in the middle of a mine field.
At that point the grandfather came to life. In Cambodian, he said, “Sitha likes to wander. She’s a romantic child and dreams of things and no one can tell her to stop. I think it’s a good thing she wandered this day, becau
se otherwise she might not have legs.” He indicated the weeping mother with her shattered limbs. “She still has legs. Pretty little girl legs.”
He turned to Ann. “But it seems she is not safe. And if she moves… boom!” His hand went up in the air as if lifted by an explosion. The grandfather started to cry. “Now she is trapped. Can you help her, lady? Can you save her life and her pretty little girl legs?”
Ann eyes were darting around, seeking a solution. In Cambodian, she said to the old man, “Tell your
granddaughter not to move. Not a step. Tell her I will come and get her. But first I have to help her mother. So she must be brave while I do that. While I make certain her mother is without pain.”
The grandfather shouted to the girl, his voice both beseeching and then commanding. In a small voice Sitha seemed to agree and she stood there in the field trembling like a fawn.
Mark leaned in and whispered, “This is bad, Doc. I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Ann nodded and reached in her bag for a syringe. The Cambodian woman was still alert and when she saw the syringe she started to panic.
“No, no,” the woman cried. “I must go to my daughter.” She tried to push Ann away. “Medicine not good for baby.”
She struggled to rise, but Mark and Ann gently pressed her down.
The old man said, “She is frightened that the foreigner’s medicine will harm her baby.”
Ann understood and stroked the woman’s hair, calming her. “Please, little mother, you must remain at peace. I am going to give you something for the pain. It will not harm your baby.”
The woman grabbed Ann’s arm and looked beseechingly into her eyes. “Please, no,” she said. “Do not do this. My baby will die.”
Ann hesitated, then passed the hypo to Mark for disposal and reached into her bag to retrieve a very special kit. Made of wood and leather, it was emblazoned with Chinese symbols.
She fingered an ornate latch and the lid popped open to reveal a whole array of compartments, sheathed vials, and small jars. Ann lifted up the center, revealing an array of acupuncture needles and other necessities for Chinese medicine.
She showed the woman the kit, saying, “Let me help you. I have also been trained in same treatments your own doctors use. Let me soothe the pain and stop the bleeding… Then, I will get your daughter… I promise this.”
The woman was too weak to talk, but calmed down when she saw the acupuncture needles, knowing these would give her relief- and might possibly save her baby. She nodded and closed her eyes.
As Ann got busy, Mark reminded her, “When we get to the hospital we have to be able to give her real, Westerntype drugs.”
Ann grimaced. “One battle at a time,” she said. “First we need to get her to trust us.” She indicated her kit of needles. “Besides, for the time being, these will work just as well.”
Then Ann started putting very thin, fine acupuncture needles into the woman’s ear – and at a point between her eyes. She gave a vial of powder to Mark, who applied it externally to the leg wounds.
“Chinese medicine to the rescue,” Mark chortled.
“In a pinch, they do the trick of slowing down bleeding,” Ann said. “And I’d say we were in a definite pinch right now.”
By now the woman was visibly calmer. Color was returning to her cheeks. She even smiled, then grasped Ann’s hand in thanks.
Mark, however, was looking around… getting agitated. “Where the hell’s that damned ambulance?” he demanded, as if Ann and the woman could answer his question. “We have to get back ASAP if we’re going to save that leg.”
Ann was just a little grim. “Not just her leg,” she said. She indicated the little Sitha still frozen in the field. “I have to go get the girl.”
Mark was appalled. “What are you talking about, Doc? Get the girl?” He gulped, frightened at what he was about to say, but got it under control. He was more frightened for his friend. “If someone has to negotiate a landmine garden,” he said firmly, “it’s has to be me. Only makes sense.”
He started to rise but Ann stopped him. “Don’t you even think about taking your hand away from that wound, Mr. Macho. I’m the one with the landmine training…”
Mark snorted. “Yeah, a two-week Princess Diana course, is what you had.” Ann’s brow furrowed and Mark immediately relented, raising a hand. “I don’t mean to denigrate the folks in the World Landmine Commission. Do what you have to do and I’ll do my best to pick up the pieces later.”
He went back to focusing on applying pressure to the woman’s wound, muttering under his breath. “She’s just so damned stubborn. Like nobody cares about her. Whatever I say, I all I get is, ‘blah, blah… blah, blah…’”
Ann ignored him. She leaped to her feet and sprinted to the Jeep and started wrestling with the ties holding down the crates. But the knots were stiff, resisting her strong fingers.
She called to the grandfather – “Sir, come and help me. And please bring your hoe.”
The old man didn’t question her, but climbed to his feet and with his mud-encrusted hoe in hand, approached the Jeep.
Ann indicated the ropes. “Cut them,” she said in Cambodian, making motions of swinging the hoe. “And hurry.”
The Grandfather needed no further urging. He knocked the mud off the hoe’s blade, revealing a long edge as sharp as any knife, and he whacked at the ropes, splitting first one, then another.
Ann started to tear at them, then stopped. She looked out across the field at the frightened girl, Sitha, who was standing in the same spot, body trembling, tears streaming down her face.
“Sitha,” she called out. The girl looked up at her, dark eyes so wide they filled her face. In Cambodian, Ann cried, “Be brave, my dear Sitha. Be brave. Your mother needs you. Your baby sister needs you.”
The girl looked over at her mother, where Mark was crouched, keeping a firm grip on the pressure bandage. She wiped her tears.
“I’m ready,” she called out. “Come for me if you can.”
The last ropes were free and the grandfather helped Ann pull the air mattress crates onto the ground. At her direction, he broke them open with his hoe. As Ann dragged the mattresses out, she pressed buttons that operated batterypowered compressors and within seconds the roadside became a bizarre sight – squirming rubber forms jumping about in the dirt, growing larger, turning this way and that like aliens in an episode of Dr. Who, scaring the hell out of all the peasants who were watching.
Finally, the air mattresses settled into being just plain air mattresses and peasants murmured understanding. But then they reacted in shocked surprise as Ann grabbed one of the mattresses and rushed to the edge of the road – directly across from the terrified Sitha.
She hesitated at the edge of the minefield, lowering the mattress so she could see the girl. “Sitha, can you hear me?” she called out in Cambodian. The terrified girl managed to nod. “Good. Now, I’m coming to get you. I have to go slowly. No matter what happens, do not move. Do you understand me?”
The girl said she did. By now, Ann had the grandfather and other farmers organized. She slid the first air mattress out across the field, covering about six feet of ground.
Gingerly, she crawled out on it, keeping her body as flat as she could. Ann turned back, signaling the grandfather. He passed up another air mattress which Ann awkwardly maneuvered over her body, then placed it ahead of her homebase.
Carefully, she crabbed her way from one mattress to the other. At one point, when she reached the seam between two air mattresses, her knee plunged through.
Ann’s heart stopped as the knee touched the earth, then pressed into it. The mattress wasn’t quite full and her body rocked on it, the knee hitting the earth again and again.
Ann stretched, hands and feet splayed out as far as she could reach. An insane thought hit her – I’m making a snow angel without snow. Unaccountably she started to giggle.
Ann got herself together, taking deep breaths. Then continued her s
now angel effort, trying to disperse her five foot eight inch, 125-pound frame over as much territory as possible.
The girl called out to her, frightened. Ann replied, “Don’t be afraid, Sitha. I’ll be fine. One more mattress and we’ll be together.”
Finally, she reached the girl. She eased over on her back and stretched her arms over her head. “Come to me, Sitha,” she said. “Take my hands and let me lift you up.”
The girl did as she was told. Ann was surprised at how light the child was. Carefully, she put the child next to her, then rolled over on her stomach.
“I want you to go ahead of me, Sitha,” she said. “On your hands and knees. Don’t worry, you are so light that you will be safe the whole way.”
The girl started crawling, slowly at first, then in a mad scramble. Ann followed, slithering like a snake.
In a few minutes she was out of the danger zone and climbing to her feet.
The child raced to her grandfather, who swept her up, weeping in relief. Then Sitha remembered that her mother was hurt. She started crying and knelt beside Mark, who was still pressing against the wound.
The woman reached up to grip Ann’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said in Cambodian. “Thank you.”
At that moment a Doctors Without Borders ambulance rushed onto the scene. A medic scrambled out, carrying a stretcher.
Ann took over from Mark, stanching the bleeding with direct pressure, adjusting the tourniquet and applying more herbal powder. Mark helped the medic lift the woman onto a stretcher and into the vehicle. The medic saw the acupuncture needles and looked alarmed.
“What the hell are those?”
Mark gave him a warning look. “Best not to question the good doctor,” he said.
Ann came up behind them. “I’d better ride with her,” she said. “She’ll be terrified when we reach surgery. Especially when she meets Dr. Brenner.”
