Springfield.
“Got him,” someone yelled.
Good work, Bear thought. Once they cleared out all the Japs, Ruby could head back to her home at Anchorage. She said she had some things to clean out and then added that she thought she was through with the restaurant business. She’d told him she’d had enough of waiting on a bunch of drunken lechers who tried to paw her and then left lousy tips. She would stay with Bear. She told him it would be fun hibernating with him during the cold, snowy winter. He thought he would burn up a lot of firewood keeping it warm enough so they could romp naked, but decided it would be well worth it and, besides, Alaska had a lot of trees. Come summer they would worry about making a living and other long-term stuff.
More shots and this time he dropped to the ground. He recognized the sound of a Japanese rifle, followed by a rain of shots from Springfields. A moment later came the
Farris had spent much of the time since he’d been wounded floating in and out of consciousness. He’d dreamed sometimes, and the dreams were often terrible. He kept seeing Stecher being blown up and then a montage of Japanese faces, their mouths open and all of them screaming that he should die. What was worse was that he couldn’t force himself to wake up, as he could as a kid with a nightmare. He’d heard people’s voices saying that they were keeping him sedated until his injuries had healed enough.
Injuries? What the hell were they talking about? He felt like he was underwater and trying to reach the surface. His mind strained and reached for the light. He opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dimly lit and he had trouble focusing. He looked around and saw another bed, but it was empty. The room was stark and sterile and obviously a hospital.
Then he realized he was looking through only his right eye. Oh Christ, he wondered, have I lost an eye?
He mumbled something and a man appeared and stuffed a drinking straw in his mouth. “Drink this. You’ve got to get yourself lubricated before you can talk properly.”
Farris did as he was told and the cold water was an elixir. “Drink all you want, buddy, just take it slowly. I don’t want to have to clean up your puke.”
With each successive swallow, he felt his strength returning. A distant memory recalled his aunt watering her potted plants and how some of them would perk up almost immediately. He decided that’s what he was, a house plant, a house plant with one eye.
Shit and double shit.
He tried to move and realized that his left arm wasn’t responding. He reached over with his right and found his left side was swathed in bandages. He gingerly checked his head and the left side of his face was also bandaged. Damn it, was anything working? He groped between his legs and was relieved to find that everything seemed at least present and accounted for in that department.
Another face appeared and this was clearly a doctor. His nametag said so. “I’m Doctor Greeley and you’re in a military hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia. You were wounded a couple of weeks ago and were flown down here for treatment once your wounds had stabilized. You are very lucky.”
“Am I blind?” Farris managed to say. His voice came out raspy and he wondered if he could be understood.
The doctor took a deep breath. “Not really and maybe not at all. Obviously you can see out of your right eye, but we are a little concerned about your left. We are also concerned about your left arm. We’re not totally certain what happened, but you may have lost some use of your left side as a result of being buried under a pile of bodies. Maybe you were pinned for too long and there was some nerve damage or other problems resulting from oxygen deprivation or something else we don’t quite understand. Tell me, do you recall what happened to you?”
Farris closed his eyes and tried to remember. At first it was snapshots, then he saw Japanese, like in a movie, screaming and yelling, and coming straight at him. Only this time it wasn’t a nightmare. Then he was inundated and buried under a pile of flesh.
“I remember,” he said. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”
“Good reasoning. But it does tell me that your mind is working and that is a very good sign.”
“If my mind worked all that well in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this stupid situation. By the way, Doc, what am I doing in Canada?”
“Kindly recall, Lieutenant Farris, that Canada and the United States are allies, and that we Canadians have pretty good doctors and hospitals. We use anesthetics and some of us have been known to clean our hands and our surgical tools before operating, even though we’re not sure why,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“Either that or we could have left you up north in the care of some well-meaning medics who would have called on an Eskimo shaman if they needed a second opinion. Which would you prefer?”
“I think I like it here. What happens next?”
“That’s somewhat up to you. Now that you are fully conscious and likely to stay that way, we are going to wean you off of morphine and then arrange for you to be flown south, either to San Francisco or San Diego. Not that it matters to the military, but do you have a preference?”
“San Diego, if you can arrange it. I have an uncle down there and maybe a girlfriend, a nurse, and she can maybe take care of me.”
Jesus, he thought. Would Sandy even want to see him if his arm was crippled and he had only one eye?
“Excellent choice. I’ll put you in for Kansas City and see what the army comes up with.”
“Doc, when I get out of this bed, you know I am going to have to kill you.”
Greeley smiled. “Ah, but you’ll have to catch me first, which would mean you are quite well indeed. By the way, you have some mail.” He handed Steve a thin bundle of letters and left.
After Greeley left, a male nurse took pity on his fumbling one-handed attempts to pry open the envelopes and did it for him. The first letter was from Colonel Gavin praising him for his bravery and hoping he would recover quickly. He was also being put in for a medal. Stecher was getting the Silver Star, posthumously, of course.
The second was from Dane, also hoping he’d get well and come down to San Diego. He added that there was a surplus of beer and steaks. Well, Farris thought, that was a plan.
The third was from Sandy and he looked at it hesitantly. She hoped he was well. Hell, if he was well he wouldn’t be in a hospital. She wanted him to come down to see her. She was friendly but curiously noncommittal. She said they’d started something very nice, kind of like Amanda and Tim, and she wanted to know where it would end. Well, so did he, but he wondered just what lay under the bandages. Did he have an eye? If not, would he get a glass eye? He’s seen people with glass eyes and they looked so terrible and out of sync with the rest of a person’s face. Maybe he’d just wear a patch. Or was he so scarred under the bandages that he’d scare her away? Tim had mentioned a buddy of his who’d been burned when the
Damn it to hell. First, though, he had to get out of the hospital and out of Vancouver, no matter how friendly the natives were, and go south. In order to do that, though, he had to quit feeling sorry for himself and start working what was left of his body into shape.
Krause was bored to tears. But, he consoled himself, at least he was alive. He had been billeted in a rather pleasant two-bedroom bungalow on an American naval base and he was being treated with at least a small level of respect. The Yanks had made a promise and he was relatively confident they’d live up to it. He had decent food, comfortable furniture, and even a small garden that he found surprisingly pleasant to work in. The house had once belonged to an officer who’d been killed in the Midway debacle. A shame, he thought, but at least he could put the house to good use.
Of course, the Americans didn’t trust him any farther than they could throw him. He’d done his part and now wanted to be released from this genteel captivity as soon as possible. He was guarded by military police under instructions to keep conversation to a minimum, although he was permitted a radio and local newspapers that kept him abreast of the course of the war.
