Post by T/5. Joseph Shelton on Aug 27, 2010 2:42:34 GMT
It had been a long ride in from the port. The jeep made its way across the dirt path, over several hills throughout the English countryside as it headed for its destination. Joe sat in the passenger seat as he looked around. It was becoming mid-afternoon, it was warm but dry. Not a cloud was in the sky and birds were seen flying all around. You would have never guessed there was a war on until a flight of P-51s flew overhead in formation.
In the back of the jeep laid all of Joe’s supplies. Being a medic, he was not allowed to carry a weapon, and thus he only had his medic bag, and several pouches to attach to his belt. He didn’t mind though. He already acknowledged to himself that he would hesitate with a rifle. To kill another human being? He was going to school before the war to save lives, not take them. And so the hospital corps is what made the best sense to him.
As he was driven to his new permanent assignment, he read over this medic bag checklist, that listed the items and quantities of everything placed within the bag and other pouches. There was a lot to read over, and to ensure he had everything, he read it once more:
There were several other items not listed on the sheet but were in the bag. Joe made a complete check, and was rested knowing he would be going into this war one-hundred percent. But his mind dwelled on how would he come out.
He had never been a fighter. Sure he had his fair share of school yard scraps, and he was by no means a pacifist. Joe just never expected he would be asked of so much. No one of this generation had expected it. But when the call to arms was sent, they answered, regardless of duty.
Joe tried to put these thoughts at rest as his jeep entered the compound in where he was ordered to report. He was still unsure under which unit he would be serving. There were several in the area. Most were infantry or airborne units, and a few armored divisions scattered in the outlying areas.
The jeep passed the guardhouse and checkpoint, coming to a stop at an encirclement where other jeeps and transport vehicles were in and out of the area, moving troops, equipment, and other materials around the base. There was nothing fancy about this facility either. It was your typical Army set up with barracks, headquarters, mess, latrine, motor pool, and aid station. Nothing was paved, and there were no concrete buildings. It looked almost like a small tent city of the 1930s in America.
Joe hopped out of the jeep and thanked the driver, he was an African American soldier, drafted into the transportation corps. Joe never understood segregation. Sure he was raised in the south, and was brought up mostly conservative. But he also believed in tolerance and equality. He never had an issue with race, religion, politics, or lifestyle. He was himself, and accepted those who were true to themselves.
He carried his medic bag, infantry pack, and put his helmet a top his head. The freshly painted red cross and white circle gave him the obvious symbol of “replacement.” He didn’t mind it though. He was now here, and it was time to put in some work.
Still now knowing where to go, Joe figured the best bet would be to visit the aid station and meet with a surgical officer and find out which unit needed a field medic. He made his way down a dirt path towards the aid station, which too was marked with the red cross a top it.
Outside of the tent were piles of bloody clothing and equipment, broken weapons, bandages that fell off. It was at this time when reality hit Joe square in the nose. He was in the war, this was for real. When he entered that tent he would not see simulated casualties. He would see the true horrors of war. The images of death and despair.
Joe slowly walked into the tent, holding his break. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he saw all around him soldiers on cots receiving various types of care. Some were moaning, some were quiet, some were arguing to leave and get back with their unit. Doctors and nurses made their rounds about the cots, checking and assisting the casualties as best they could.
The place smelled of rotten food and blood. This didn’t make Joe feel uncomfortable however. He had been around the smell of death and injury when in school. This still didn’t make up for the sites. In one row alone there were seven amputated soldiers. One man in the front corner was missing nearly his entire chest cavity.
Joe prepared to put his gear down and get acclimated when from behind him two soldiers carrying a stretcher entered the tent, one of them shouting, “We’ve got a bleeder here!” Joe snapped into action. He dashed over to the stretcher as they laid it on the ground for him. He placed his medic bag to his side as he looked over the wounded soldier.
He immediately spotted the wound. The soldier had been hit in the right arm, just above the elbow. The hemorrhaging was a pink squirt. The brachial artery had been nicked. Placing his left hand over the bleed to control it, Joe took his other hand and opened his bag, grabbing his surgical kit and instructing one of the soldiers to grab the hemostat clamp.
Blood had seeped through his fingers holding pressure by now, and Joe knew that if he couldn’t clamp the artery in time, the soldier would die. He removed his bloody hand to look for the broken skin. He found it, and with two fingers he pushed inward, searching for the artery. The wounded soldier screamed in pain, attempting to fight, but was held down by the soldiers that brought him in.
Joe gave the man reassuring words to calm him. ”Settle down! You’ll be fine if you just sit still!” Joe felt the pulsating artery slip in between his index finger and thumb. With his other hand gripping the hemostat, he carefully inserted it until he could feel the artery tapping the clamp. Blood had now shot onto his uniform, hands, bag, and equipment. He didn’t stop to clean up, or even flinch over this matter.
He opened the clamp just barely to slide it around the artery, and then locked it down. Immediately the blood began to shoot less and less. Joe left the clamp in place as he applied a dressing and wrapped it close with a gauze bandage. To make sure he could keep blood loss at a minimum, he applied a tourniquet above injury site and wrote down the time he applied it.
Lastly, to calm the wounded soldier, he took a morphine syrette and stuck it into the fatty part of his thigh and pushed the medicine into his body. Joe pinned the empty syrette to the wounded’s shirt to inform a surgeon of the used dose. The soldier calmed down, almost to a zen like state, with just a few soft moans here and there.
Joe smiled as he cleaned up his equipment and a nurse came over to assume duties. He patted the wounded soldier on the chest as he was carried away. ”God help me, you’re gonna live. Or I’ll kill you myself.” He left his equipment where it was so that he could go properly cleanse himself of the blood. When he returned he picked up his gear and began to look around for someone to finally report too…
Note to Mods:
You can close this thread, I pretty much just wanted to make an intro and get myself in this. Unless a player wishes to reply, there’s really no need. Thanks.
In the back of the jeep laid all of Joe’s supplies. Being a medic, he was not allowed to carry a weapon, and thus he only had his medic bag, and several pouches to attach to his belt. He didn’t mind though. He already acknowledged to himself that he would hesitate with a rifle. To kill another human being? He was going to school before the war to save lives, not take them. And so the hospital corps is what made the best sense to him.
As he was driven to his new permanent assignment, he read over this medic bag checklist, that listed the items and quantities of everything placed within the bag and other pouches. There was a lot to read over, and to ensure he had everything, he read it once more:
US Army Medical Personnel Inventory Sheet
12x 5g Crystalline Sulfanilamide
1x Lead Pencil
10x Aromatic Ammonia
10x Iodine Swabs
5x Morphine Tartrate
72x Compressed Gauze Bandage
6x Triangular Bandage
4x Small Dressing
1x Metal Container
1x Vial of 1000 Acetophenetidin Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Acetylsalicylic Acid Tablets
1x Vial of 100 Atabrine Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Cathartic Compound Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Glycyrrhiza & Opium Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Sulfanilamide Tablets
3x Field Tourniquets
1x Field Surgical Kit
12x 5g Crystalline Sulfanilamide
1x Lead Pencil
10x Aromatic Ammonia
10x Iodine Swabs
5x Morphine Tartrate
72x Compressed Gauze Bandage
6x Triangular Bandage
4x Small Dressing
1x Metal Container
1x Vial of 1000 Acetophenetidin Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Acetylsalicylic Acid Tablets
1x Vial of 100 Atabrine Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Cathartic Compound Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Glycyrrhiza & Opium Tablets
1x Vial of 1000 Sulfanilamide Tablets
3x Field Tourniquets
1x Field Surgical Kit
There were several other items not listed on the sheet but were in the bag. Joe made a complete check, and was rested knowing he would be going into this war one-hundred percent. But his mind dwelled on how would he come out.
He had never been a fighter. Sure he had his fair share of school yard scraps, and he was by no means a pacifist. Joe just never expected he would be asked of so much. No one of this generation had expected it. But when the call to arms was sent, they answered, regardless of duty.
Joe tried to put these thoughts at rest as his jeep entered the compound in where he was ordered to report. He was still unsure under which unit he would be serving. There were several in the area. Most were infantry or airborne units, and a few armored divisions scattered in the outlying areas.
The jeep passed the guardhouse and checkpoint, coming to a stop at an encirclement where other jeeps and transport vehicles were in and out of the area, moving troops, equipment, and other materials around the base. There was nothing fancy about this facility either. It was your typical Army set up with barracks, headquarters, mess, latrine, motor pool, and aid station. Nothing was paved, and there were no concrete buildings. It looked almost like a small tent city of the 1930s in America.
Joe hopped out of the jeep and thanked the driver, he was an African American soldier, drafted into the transportation corps. Joe never understood segregation. Sure he was raised in the south, and was brought up mostly conservative. But he also believed in tolerance and equality. He never had an issue with race, religion, politics, or lifestyle. He was himself, and accepted those who were true to themselves.
He carried his medic bag, infantry pack, and put his helmet a top his head. The freshly painted red cross and white circle gave him the obvious symbol of “replacement.” He didn’t mind it though. He was now here, and it was time to put in some work.
Still now knowing where to go, Joe figured the best bet would be to visit the aid station and meet with a surgical officer and find out which unit needed a field medic. He made his way down a dirt path towards the aid station, which too was marked with the red cross a top it.
Outside of the tent were piles of bloody clothing and equipment, broken weapons, bandages that fell off. It was at this time when reality hit Joe square in the nose. He was in the war, this was for real. When he entered that tent he would not see simulated casualties. He would see the true horrors of war. The images of death and despair.
Joe slowly walked into the tent, holding his break. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he saw all around him soldiers on cots receiving various types of care. Some were moaning, some were quiet, some were arguing to leave and get back with their unit. Doctors and nurses made their rounds about the cots, checking and assisting the casualties as best they could.
The place smelled of rotten food and blood. This didn’t make Joe feel uncomfortable however. He had been around the smell of death and injury when in school. This still didn’t make up for the sites. In one row alone there were seven amputated soldiers. One man in the front corner was missing nearly his entire chest cavity.
Joe prepared to put his gear down and get acclimated when from behind him two soldiers carrying a stretcher entered the tent, one of them shouting, “We’ve got a bleeder here!” Joe snapped into action. He dashed over to the stretcher as they laid it on the ground for him. He placed his medic bag to his side as he looked over the wounded soldier.
He immediately spotted the wound. The soldier had been hit in the right arm, just above the elbow. The hemorrhaging was a pink squirt. The brachial artery had been nicked. Placing his left hand over the bleed to control it, Joe took his other hand and opened his bag, grabbing his surgical kit and instructing one of the soldiers to grab the hemostat clamp.
Blood had seeped through his fingers holding pressure by now, and Joe knew that if he couldn’t clamp the artery in time, the soldier would die. He removed his bloody hand to look for the broken skin. He found it, and with two fingers he pushed inward, searching for the artery. The wounded soldier screamed in pain, attempting to fight, but was held down by the soldiers that brought him in.
Joe gave the man reassuring words to calm him. ”Settle down! You’ll be fine if you just sit still!” Joe felt the pulsating artery slip in between his index finger and thumb. With his other hand gripping the hemostat, he carefully inserted it until he could feel the artery tapping the clamp. Blood had now shot onto his uniform, hands, bag, and equipment. He didn’t stop to clean up, or even flinch over this matter.
He opened the clamp just barely to slide it around the artery, and then locked it down. Immediately the blood began to shoot less and less. Joe left the clamp in place as he applied a dressing and wrapped it close with a gauze bandage. To make sure he could keep blood loss at a minimum, he applied a tourniquet above injury site and wrote down the time he applied it.
Lastly, to calm the wounded soldier, he took a morphine syrette and stuck it into the fatty part of his thigh and pushed the medicine into his body. Joe pinned the empty syrette to the wounded’s shirt to inform a surgeon of the used dose. The soldier calmed down, almost to a zen like state, with just a few soft moans here and there.
Joe smiled as he cleaned up his equipment and a nurse came over to assume duties. He patted the wounded soldier on the chest as he was carried away. ”God help me, you’re gonna live. Or I’ll kill you myself.” He left his equipment where it was so that he could go properly cleanse himself of the blood. When he returned he picked up his gear and began to look around for someone to finally report too…
Note to Mods:
You can close this thread, I pretty much just wanted to make an intro and get myself in this. Unless a player wishes to reply, there’s really no need. Thanks.
