For All Their Lives (14 page)

Inside the lavatory she hiked up her skirt and peeled the rubbery girdle down over her legs. She tossed it into the trash can next to the sink. For as long as she lived, she would never, ever wear a girdle again. She rummaged in her bag for panties and almost groaned when she realized they were rayon tricot. They would be just as clingy. She doused herself with Lily of the Valley talcum powder.

The water running from the faucet was light brown and warm. It smelled foul. She wondered what would happen if she brushed her teeth or stuck her head under the water. She'd been told never to drink it. She settled for brushing her hair, which was a mass of tight, damp ringlets plastered against her head.

The captain seemed a nice sort, Casey thought, as she rolled on garters for her stockings, perhaps nice enough to take a message to the Saigon USO. She'd have to lie again and say Mac was her fiance. She hoped that would make the message more important, less likely to get lost in the shuffle.

Casey headed for the makeshift buffet in the room next to the one in which they'd spent the last two hours. The girls were munching on sweet, sticky buns and drinking orange juice. For some reason, Casey thought there would be eggs or pancakes. Now she realized how stupid the thought was. She went down the line, ignoring the buns and doughnuts. She settled for a glass of orange juice and a cigarette she really didn't want. She carried them over to the table where the captain was going through a pile of papers. If they hadn't been about the same age, Casey didn't know if she would have had the nerve to make her request. The captain looked up and smiled warmly. Casey explained the situation.

“I'll be glad to do it. I go off duty at seven. I'll drop it off on the way to my hooch. By the way, my name is Sue Collins.”

“Casey Adams.” She took a seat and nodded in the direction of the whispering nurses. “Seems a nervous group.”

Sue shrugged. “I wish they wouldn't send us the young ones. Very few of them can handle it. They're fresh out of school, and most of them have never seen operating room duty. The ones with experience prefer to work at home. On the other hand, we have some nurses here who are on their third tour. It's hard to leave, and quite a few come back because they're so desperately needed by the young kids who come in all shot to hell. Wait till you meet some of those crazy medevac pilots.”

“Medevac?”

“They fly out the wounded in helicopters patched together with spit and mud. They call themselves dust-off pilots.”

“You have great affection for them, by the look in your eyes.”

“I should—I've been dating one for about a year. His name is Rick. Of course, I only get to see him about once a month, and then he gets antsy to get back to the kids out in the bush.”

“Does he fly into Qui Nhon? I can give him a message if he does. You could write it out. You pass on mine and I'll pass on yours.”

“Deal.” Sue laughed as she scribbled off a huge i
LOVE YOU
on a piece of tablet paper. Casey slipped it into her flight bag. “Rick's regular schedule is Da Nang to Chu Lai and sometimes Quang Ngai. He hits Qui Nhon at least once a week. But what about your guy?”

“He's kind of special. He didn't know I was coming here. At first I wanted to go to Walter Reed to work, but they were full up, the recruiter said, so I volunteered for Vietnam. We met on the tarmac. He was on the same plane, and I didn't even know it.”

“Good luck to you both.” Sue looked at her watch. “It's time for you to leave. Great talking to you. Good luck, and remember what I said about Pleiku, about it being cooler up there in the highlands. Give Rick a hug for me if you see him.”

“Will do,” Casey said holding out her hand. “Thanks.”

“You bet. Now the hard part starts, convincing those babes they're going to love it over here. See you around.”

Casey made her way through the huge double doors, her cases heavy in her hands. She felt herself assaulted almost immediately by the foul, humid air. If all of Vietnam smelled like this, she was going to get very tired breathing through her mouth, she thought as she shoved her cases aboard the bus.

Exhausted, she slumped down in a worn, cracked leather seat whose stuffing lay in huge patches on the floor, half of which was rotted away. What was left was so rusty that Casey was afraid to put her feet down for fear she and the seat would fall through to the tarmac.

The bus stopped twice, but no one got on. Each time, the driver cursed, ground the gears, spit on the steering wheel, and cursed again, at which point the bus squealed to life.

The plane, even at this early hour, was full of GI's. They whistled appreciatively when she climbed aboard. She smiled and nodded as they helped her aboard. She'd never seen so many willing hands.

“We've been waiting for you, blondie.” One of the soldiers grinned, freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose. “Guess you're the VIP.”

“Me? I'm a nurse!”

“Then you're it. We've been waiting for almost an hour. It's not that any of us are in a hurry to get where we're going, but it's goddamn hot in here, as you can see.”

“I'm terribly sorry. The bus broke down twice. The driver had to . . . to spit on it and make all kinds of noises before it would work again.”

“Oooh, la-la, you're French. She's French, guys!” The freckle-faced young soldier laughed.

“You're supposed to be sitting up front since you're a VIP,” a second GI said tightly.

“That's almost funny.” Casey smiled. “I would like very much to stay back here, if you don't mind.” It was obvious to Casey that some
did
mind. She probably reminded them of their sweethearts back home. She realized no offense was meant.

“First time in Nam?” someone asked. Casey nodded.

“Where you headed?” another asked.

“Qui Nhon. Do you know it?” Several of the GI's nodded.

“You going to the 85th Evac or the 67th?”

“The 85th.”

“Hang on, we're lifting off,” someone said.

“But . . . the plane is still open,” Casey squawked as the ground gave way beneath the plane.

“This ain't Orly Airport in France, honey, this is Vietnam,” a voice said sarcastically.

Casey squeezed her eyes shut.
Mon Dieu,
what had she gotten herself into? Buses that have no floors, planes that have no doors, air that smells like death. And Mac. The moment she opened her eyes, a few of the GI's clapped their hands. “Welcome to Southeast Asia, Lieutenant. Now, guys, let's give her the real skinny on this godforsaken piece of shit called Vietnam.”

Casey listened as they told her horror stories of their time in-country. After a while she swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears. She looked around at the group of faces. They were so young, most of them in their late teens. Youthful bodies and eyes as old as God's.

“Do you ever write home?” she blurted.

Home. It was the magic word. Even the sarcastic young man who had snarled at her smiled. Home. She learned about Edison, New Jersey; Hastings, Pennsylvania; Raleigh, North Carolina; Salisbury, Maryland; and a host of other states she'd studied in her American geography class a long time ago. She heard about moms and dads, sisters and brothers. She envisioned gowns worn to senior proms by girls with names like Carol, Patty, Debbie, and Connie. She found herself asking all the right questions and making all the right comments. When the talk switched to their various pets, she found herself choking up. She listened to the good-natured arguing about cats versus dogs until one youngster said he had a dog and a cat who were best friends. They were quiet after that, their thoughts far away.

Home.

Casey felt fear clutch at her heart. How many of these young men would survive to return home?

Ten minutes later the soldiers began to stir. Casey roused herself, straining to look out the open end of the plane. They were flying low. She was aware again of the awful stench of the country. She started to breathe through her mouth the way the soldiers were doing.

The freckle-faced youth grabbed for his gear. “This is Cam Ranh Bay, we get off here. The other guys,” he said, pointing to six GI's who were dozing, “are going on to Quang Ngai, north of where you're going. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Good luck to all of you,” Casey said with a tremulous smile. “And remember, I don't want to see any of you in my hospital.” She wagged a playful finger in the freckle-faced soldier's face.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She watched them straggle off the tarmac carrying M-16's. She'd recognized the guns from one of her basic training classes. A major had shown the class how to load the weapon, but no one had been permitted to touch it. She wondered if Mac would be carrying one.

Casey closed her eyes and daydreamed about meeting Mac somewhere, anywhere, in the lush jungles. Maybe even Saigon. Her mind weaved exotic fantasies, so exotic she felt her neck and ears grow warm. She was feeling something she'd never felt or experienced before, and she
liked
what she was feeling. How long would it be before she saw the handsome captain again? Months, weeks, days . . . hours? The worst scenario would be months. But whatever it turned out to be, she would have to live with it. She was in the army now, and it controlled her life. Damn.

Casey picked at the loose stuffing on the seat, shredding it between her fingers, while fantasies about Mac Carlin consumed her thoughts. Then she felt the plane begin its descent into Qui Nhon.

The moment Casey stepped off the plane, the heat slapped at her, circled her, cut off her breathing, and then wrapped itself around her like a thousand steaming blankets. She gasped, reeling. A hand reached out and then another.

“Welcome to Vietnam,” someone said.

If one more person said those words, she was going to jam them up their sweaty butts. She nodded curtly.

“I need a bath,” she said to the chief nurse, who identified herself as Major Maureen Hagen.

“Don't we all! The bath will have to come later. I hate to do this to you, but we need you in the O.R. Follow me and scrub up,” she ordered.

“Wait,” Casey said, digging in her heels. “I've had hardly any food or sleep in four days. I'm in no condition to work in an operating room.”

“That's a very nice story, Lieutenant. Now, let me tell you mine. We're short-handed, and the operating room is full of young boys who might die. So move your ass and move it now.”

Casey almost ran to keep up with her, and when they reached the O.R., Casey gasped in horror at what she saw. This wasn't, it couldn't be a hospital. It was too primitive.

“Scrub! You'll assist Dr. Farrell. He's at the third table from the rear. If I see one tear in your eye, Lieutenant, you will work double shifts. What that means over here is you will be working twenty-four hours a day instead of twelve or fourteen.” She pointed a finger, with a chewed-off nail, to a corner. “Gowns, masks, caps. Booties are in the bin.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Casey said. She looks just as tired as I feel, Casey thought.
This
was not what she expected. She'd stupidly expected a gleaming, sterile hospital with adequate facilities. This place, she thought grimly, was more like a butcher shop. Stretchers were constantly moving in and out. “Next!” bellowed a corpsman, sending a chill through her body. An assembly line.
Mon Dieu!

Casey squared her shoulders. “I'm ready, Major.” The major's eyes were kind, Casey noticed, and knew intuitively that the major had shed tears.

“I'm glad you're here, Lieutenant. Now a word of advice. We have at least ten hours of surgery to get through. It'll be easier on you if you don't look at their faces.”

Casey tied her mask in place. “Yes, Major. I'm ready.”

She decided a moment later, when she walked over to Luke Farrell's operating table, that she wasn't ready at all. She did as the major instructed and avoided looking at the patient's face. Instead, she looked at the boy's feet, and saw to her horror that his left foot was hanging by a tendon.

Casey's head buzzed and she knew she was as close to fainting as she'd ever been in her life. She was aware of the intense heat, and of the smell of blood—blood on the floor, blood on the walls, blood staining the surgical garb, spurting blood. Blood everywhere. From somewhere to her left she could hear a conversation about last year's Army-Navy football game, and someone else was complaining about needing a root canal. Suddenly all sound ceased. She swayed, her knees started to buckle. She knew she would have blacked out and fallen into the pool of blood on the floor if the doctor hadn't given her a direct order.

“I need to cut it
now,
Lieutenant! Scissors!”

Her voice returned, somewhere between a squeak and a yelp. “Yes, sir.” She reached for the surgical scissors. If she lived to be a hundred, a thousand, she would never forget the sound of the boy's foot hitting the galvanized bucket at her feet. Then she looked at the patient's face. “I don't think he's ever shaved,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I think you're right,” the voice behind the mask agreed. “I'm Luke Farrell, glad to have you, Lieutenant . . .”

“Casey Adams, sir.”

“Your papers said you're an experienced O.R. nurse.”

“Yes, sir.” Casey's eyes followed the doctor's hands, anticipating which instrument he would need next. She slapped it into his hand with cool efficiency. “Please don't say welcome to Vietnam,” she said tightly.

“Clamp! I wouldn't welcome my worst enemy to this hellhole. Suture!”