Prisoner in Time (Time travel)

by Petersen, Christopher David

  Several minutes later, Dr. X completed the first leg of the rectangle as the saw enter the previously drilled hole. He pulled the tool from the opening and waited as Dr. Acosta irrigated the area. He rubbed his gloved hand over the cut-line and felt its surface. Satisfied with the results, he continued on with the next leg.

  “One down, three to go,” he announced dryly.

  Seconds later, the low rumble of the high-speed saw marked the beginning of his next cut. Like before, he worked the tool back and forth as it progressed along the cut-line. Minutes later, he entered the second hole. Without stopping, he immediately moved to the third leg of the rectangle. Unlike the previous two legs, the end of the third was marked by the intersection of two lines. He slowed his cut as he neared the end, ensuring not to overshoot his mark. Once he completed his line, he backed the saw out of the cut-line and placed the saw in the first hole. Starting on the fourth line of the rectangle, he made his way up towards the intersection point where he had just finished. As he moved the saw along, he took extreme care not to place weight on the inside cut, fearing the added pressure would fracture the bone flap from the skull before he had completed the final pass. As he neared the end, he slowed his pace along the line. Seconds later, the saw blade broke into the previous cut-line, freeing the bone flap from the skull.

  He handed the saw back to Nurse Taylor and called out, “Dissector.”

  With the flat side of the instrument, he slowly pried the bone flap up from the dura membrane that held it in place. Working the probe around the rectangular skull fragment, he was able to separate the attached membrane and lift the bone flap out completely.

  Staring down at the rectangular hole in the patient’s skull, he felt a sickening feeling in his stomach. A dark bloody red, the dura membrane pulsed and budged from the opening.

  “I don’t ever recall seeing internal pressures this high,” Dr. Acosta recalled.

  “Me either,” Dr. X concurred. Turning to anesthesiologist Dr. Haskins, he shouted, “Give him seventy milligrams of Mannitol, STAT.”

  “I’m on it,” Dr. Haskins shot back instantly.

  Quickly, he turned to Nurse Taylor.

  “Twenty-two blade,” he demanded.

  With his scalpel in hand, he stared for a moment and determined the location of his incision. Bringing the blade to the edge of the dura membrane, he lightly nicked its skin. Instantly, a stream of blood raged from the tiny incision.

  “SUCTION! STAT!” he demanded.

  Continued…

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  Chapter 14

  In the days that followed, surgeries continued on, day and night. The previous weeks of fighting took a momentary pause and now the surgeons rushed to treat the thousands that were wounded. While David and Doc worked at an intense and frantic pace, they continued to instruct Geoff in rudimentary surgical skills. By the end of his first week, under their guidance, he soon began to treat the most basic of injuries…

  Daylight broke above the horizon and the sun’s rays reached through the trees, adding natural light to the operating field. David motioned to the assisting private to remove the lantern, allowing Geoff to work in closer. Using forceps to hold open a wound, he grasped an artery with another as David tied off the bleeder.

  “You’re doing great work Geoff,” he commented. “I’m not just saying that either. You’re a natural. I’ve seen dozens of surgical techs struggle for years trying to learn what you’ve done in a week. Just amazing.”

  Geoff beamed once more in pride.

  “I don’t know how you work so fast,” Geoff retorted, returning the compliment. “You finish with things even before my mind figures out what you’re doing.”

  “Well, if you miss anything, speak up and I’ll make sure you understand it. It’s really important that you get this. Time is so critical right now. With the amount of wounded, it’s going to take a long time to wade through them all. Some will lose their limbs simply because we didn’t get to them in time, so it’s critical that we get you up to speed and able to treat the simple wounds, while Doc and I concentrate on those with more serious injuries.

  Geoff nodded, then sighed loudly. Hearing his exhale, David looked up and noticed a look of distress on his face.

  “You ok?” he asked.

  “Fine… just a little tired,” he replied. Looking back at David, he felt guilty for complaining, and added, “But it’s not a problem. I can handle it.”

  David thought about his response. Staring into Geoff’s eyes, he could see his exhaustion and it reminded him of his guilt regarding Bobby’s death.

  “Maybe you should take a break Geoff,” he said.

  Geoff stood back for a moment and stared at David. He could see the strange expression on his face that suggested a hidden purpose.

  “David, I know you still feel guilty about Bobby, but I think you’re moving in the wrong direction. Are you going to give up during surgery every time you feel a little tired?”

  David thought about Geoff’s response and realized the truth of his words. Looking over to Doc, he saw him nodding back approvingly.

  He turned to Geoff and smiled in appreciation. Resting his hand on Geoff’s shoulder, he gave him a gentle nudge of thanks.

  “You’re right. I need to learn from that mistake, not turn it into another,” he said with genuine appreciation.

  Suddenly, he saw his bloody fingers staining Geoff’s jacket and pulled his hand away quickly.

  Geoff looked down at the bloody imprint and frowned.

  “Great! When my mother sees this, she’s going to kick my ass,” he joked.

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  A month later…

  After two weeks of surgery, Gen. Thomas’ corps of surgeons spent weeks convalescing the wounded. Those with non-serious wounds rested in the open air or inside their canvas tents. Those with more serious wounds were loaded into trains and sent by rail to army hospitals further north.

  Making rounds to those they treated, David, Doc and Geoff moved about the camp ensuring the men’s recovery.

  Geoff leaned over the wounded man’s leg and inhaled through his nose. Instantly, he recoiled in reflex.

  “Wow, this one’s infected too,” he said, his face still grimacing.

  Doc carefully lifted the edge of the dirty bandage, wrapping the soldier’s lower calf. Looking inside, he shot the young man a disgusted look.

  “Lad, I’m a bit out of sorts. Did we not insist that you take care of this wound? If I was a betting man, I’d say you’ve doing a bit of wrestling with the boys again,” his said in serious tone.

  “Yes Sir, Doc. Me and some of the fellers got to talking about fightin’ and one accused me of being yeller… joshin’ acourse,” the wounded private said, now grinning. “It was just a little tussle is all Doc.”

  “Lad, allow me to be clear one more time,” he said, starting off in firm tone. “Do you smell that awful stench emitting from your bandage?”

  “Yes Sir,” he responded, unsure of direction of the conversation.

  “That’s from bacteria. I believe I gave you explicit instructions to keep off your leg and to keep this bandage clean.” Leaning closer for effect, he continued, “Lad, you’re in grave jeopardy of losing your leg. I caution you once more: lay still until the infection is gone. Keep a clean bandage. If you maintain this regimen, we may be able to save this leg. Is any of this unclear?”

  “No Sir, Doc,” he said obediently.

  Doc nodded to the private. Standing up, he smiled to David and Geoff. As the three walked away, he said, “We’ll need to revisit the lad on our way back.”

  “Why, is his wound that bad?” Geoff asked.

  “His wound is nearly gangrenous, but his behavior is the real problem,” David cut in.

  “My thoughts exactly, David. We might need to throw him in irons just to save his leg.”

  “Irons? You mean jail?” Geoff asked with surprise.

  “Yup, sometimes you hav
e to take drastic measures to save people,” David responded.

  “That’s crazy. You can’t just lock people up. Can you?” he asked, now uncertain of the answer.

  “Lad, he’s a brigadier general. He can do just about anything he pleases,” Doc replied.

  As Geoff turned back toward the wounded private, Doc shot David a humorous grin. David nodded in understanding and smiled.

  Suddenly, a man on horseback galloped toward them. David noticed the speed that he rode and immediately sensed urgency. Looking toward Doc, he noted the same expression on his face.

  “What do you think, Doc?”

  “I’m thinking Gen. Thomas has just received his orders to march,” Doc said, not taking his eyes off the approaching rider.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same,” David responded, nervously.

  “March? Where to this time?” Geoff asked in exasperated tone.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say Atlanta,” David said.

  “Atlanta? That’s like a bazillion miles away,” Geoff exclaimed, now disgusted.

  “I’ve never heard that mathematical term before, but it sounded quite high Geoffrey. I really don’t think Atlanta is that far. On a quick march, we could be there in well under a week’s time.”

  “A week of marching?” Geoff complained.

  “Lad, read my lips: under a week,” Doc said with a smirk.

  “Read my lips? Where the heck did you learn that modern term?” Geoff shot back, laughing.

  “Young David here taught me that the last time he I was here.” Turning to David, he asked, “Did I not use it in the correct context?”

  “It was perfect,” David said, now laughing.

  As the rider hauled back on his reins, he came to an abrupt stop in front of the three. Instantly, he leaped down from his horse and saluted Doc and David. Glaring at Geoff, he waited for him to come to attention. Understanding the formality, Geoff raised his hand in salute.

  “Sirs, orders from Gen. Thomas. All medical units need to break camp immediately. We’ll be marching in short order,” Lt. McCormick announced in official sounding tone.

  Geoff flashed Doc a sickening stare.

  “Any idea where we’re headed?” David asked.

  “Yes Sir, Gen. Warner. Gen. Sherman is moving his entire army on Atlanta,” the lieutenant responded proudly. “He hopes to whoop Gen. Johnston there once and for all.”

  “Ok lieutenant, we’ll be ready,” David replied.

  The lieutenant came to attention once more, saluted Doc and David, then waited on Geoff. Staring condescendingly at the teen, he waited for his response. Geoff reluctantly raised his hand to his brow and saluted.

  As the lieutenant leaped back up onto his horse, he nodded to Doc and David and sped off. Doc turned to Geoff and glared at him.

  “What?” he replied, in a whiny defensive tone.

  “Having a bit of trouble with authority there, Lad?”

  “I just think saluting is stupid,” he responded in childlike tone.

  “Geoffrey, officers have earned their rank. It’s a sign of respect.”

  “I still think it’s stupid,” he shot back.

  “I’m quite certain your parents would give you a good whipping if they heard you say that,” Doc teased.

  “I’m a man now. No one whips me Santa,” he replied, in joking tone, lightly bumping Doc with his shoulder.

  “SANTA? Why, I oughta’…”

  Doc grabbed Geoff by the shoulder and hauled him in close. Instantly, he wrapped his arm around his neck and waist and kicked out his legs. As the two fell to the ground, Doc locked his arms and legs around the squirming teen.

  “Ole Santa’s got a present for you, Lad,” Doc said, struggling to control his laughter.

  “Let go man. I was just kidding,” Geoff responded, nearly immobile.

  Doc squeezed his grip around Geoff’s neck and shouted, “Say uncle.”

  Standing over the top of the two, David watched with curiosity as Doc delivered his lesson. He smiled down on them, then said to Geoff, “Better do as he says. Remember, he fought real Indians. What do you think he’ll do to you?”

  “You’re a friggin’ general, man. Order him to stop,” Geoff shouted back.

  Doc smiled back at David and tightened his grip further, now nearly choking Geoff.

  “Say uncle, Lad… or next it’ll be the double knuckle torture,” Doc said in ominous tone.

  “Double what?” Geoff shouted in shock.

  “Oooh, the dreaded double knuckle torture. I can’t look,” David moaned in exaggerated tone, turning his head away for added effect.

  As Doc squeezed harder, David looked back and grimaced.

  “Man, I’d say uncle if I were you,” he warned, then turned away once more.

  “Ok, ok… UNCLE, for crying out loud – Uncle!” Geoff shouted loudly.

  Doc released his grip and rolled Geoff off him. Standing up nonchalantly, he smiled to David. Geoff jumped to his feet and dusted himself off.

  “What the heck is double knuckle torture?” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed by the defeat.

  “It’s nothing. I made it up,” Doc laughed.

  “Sure sounded awful,” Geoff responded, his face reddening.

  “Trust me lad, I’ve tangled with Indians. If they ever did have a knuckle torture technique, I can assure you it would be excruciating. They’re masterful wrestlers,” he nodded assuredly.

  “So did you ever lose against an Indian?” Geoff asked.

  David stared at Doc with curiosity, waiting for they reply.

  “Lad, you don’t win against an Indian. You only survive,” he said cryptically.

  “Well, I’d say you survived pretty well,” Geoff commented.

  “I was fortunate, Lad,” Doc said, simply.

  “Fortunately? How?” Geoff persisted.

  Doc stared at the two for a moment thinking. His face grimaced as his mind flooded with ancient memories. As the two waited on his response, he nodded, then took off his woolen officers jacket. Turning around, he lifted his shirt, showing his back. David and Geoff both recoiled in horror.

  “Holy Crap!” Geoff exclaimed in reflex.

  “Doc, I had no idea. You never mentioned anything about that,” David responded, in shock.

  Across Doc’s back were several slash marks made by old knife wounds. He turned sideways and pulled up his shirt even higher. Across his ribs was another deep scar that ran front to back. He pulled his shirt back down, tucked it in and grabbed his jacket.

  “You never win against Indians,” he repeated ominously.

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  Several hours after receiving word of the march, Gen. Thomas and his army were on the move, marching south from Rome toward Atlanta. The mile long column of men marched shoulder to shoulder in tight formation, while supply wagons and artillery brought up the rear of the line. Riding just ahead of the wagons, Doc and David followed the column of men on horseback. Just ahead of them, in the last row of the men, Geoff marched with the common foot soldiers.

  “You doing alright down there, Lad?” Doc shouted down to Geoff, marching just in front of his horse.

  “I’d be much better if I was riding. Can’t you guys do something?” Geoff shot back, disgusted.

  “Sorry, Lad. It’s customary for Infantrymen to march. It would be unfair to the others marching beside you if you were to ride,” Doc exclaimed.

  “But I’m not an infantryman. I’m a medical assistant,” he protested.

  “Sorry again, Lad, but the two are basically the same… at least in the eyes of command.”

  “Well that sucks,” he griped once more.

  Turning his attention to the soldier marching to his left, he noticed a private staring back at him. Geoff guessed his age at eighteen, although his baby face made him look younger. The private reached up and scratched at his patchy hair that barely covered his face and smiled strangely. Instantly, Geoff realized the sound of his childish complaini
ng and felt embarrassed.

  “New, ain’t ya,” the private asked, in a slight mocking tone.