Angel of the Night (2 page)

“I have to admit it. That was fun. And the way his face turned red. I’ve always heard that gingers could really blush, but that was something else!”
she thought as she climbed out of the tub and toweled herself dry. Truth told, she really did think that Dr. Driscoll was attractive.

“He’s just so sure of himself,” Wendy thought. “Maybe he’ll think twice about trifling with Wendy Shafer.”

Wendy was glad that she had taken a nap by the time her shift was complete. A roadside bomb had exploded on the A1A about 15 miles west of Kabul. The bomb blast had wiped out most of a five Hummer convoy that was transporting a group of Canadian troops just off of leave and on their way back to the front. Seven soldiers had been killed instantly, and 15 had been wounded. Of the 15, four died on the way back to Kabul, bringing the total deceased to 10. Wendy worked feverishly at the side of Lt. Major Will Hudspeth who was sharing key surgery duties with Captain McGuire.

“Retractor, please,” Dr. Hudspeth said to Sophia Nolan-Hart who was assisting alongside Wendy.

“Certainly, doctor,” Sophia said.

“Okay, I need you to hold that artery in place while I try to stanch the bleeding that is still going on behind it,” he said to Wendy.”

As an experienced combat nurse Wendy knew that an audible response was neither necessary nor desired. Extraneous talking was something that all of the newer nurses did because in a domestic hospital setting, it is the norm for there to be a conversation between the healers during surgery. Operating rooms in a war zone are less about chitchat and chatter, partly out of necessity. Domestic operating rooms are quiet and orderly. Battlefield operating theaters tend to be loud and chaotic. The less talk the better. Wendy put it in the back of her mind that she would mention this to Sophia some time when they weren’t wrist deep in a bleeding soldier.

“Dammit!” Dr Hudspeth said as he nicked the artery that Wendy had attempted to move out of his way. A fresh flow of blood appeared from the nick. Sophia quickly handed the doctor some gel that could be used to stem the new bleed. The gel, called LeGoo, was first developed in 2006 at the Rambam Health Care Campus in Israel, and was more commonly used than surgical gauze to stop a stray bleed that might occur during surgery.

Dr. Hudspeth quickly shut down the new flow and glanced at Wendy. Just as quickly as he glanced her way, though, he looked away. Dr. Hudspeth went back to working his way behind the artery to the flow that he had been dealing with prior to the accident.

Wendy could have kicked herself from Kabul to Kingdom Come. She was certain that she had retracted the artery to the point that it wouldn’t be an issue. She didn’t think that she had been distracted by Sophia’s extra commentary, but she supposed that it was possible.

“Keep your head in the game, Shafer,”
she berated herself.
“You’re not the head nurse or even Sophia’s supervisor. You have your own job to do, and you had better get it done correctly, or this young man will develop an infection and die!”

About an hour later the surgery was complete, and the patient had been sent to recovery. Recovery was a bit of a misnomer as the operating theater was too small to have a separate area where the patients could wake up. The patients out of this operating theater were placed behind dividers that might be seen stateside in an office cubicle setting. It was there that the staff could check on them and make sure that post-operative care was given to the best of the staff’s ability.

Wendy took the patient’s vital signs before handing him over to the care of a post op nurse. His blood pressure was 96 over 49. His pulse was 61. His temperature was 96.9. All of these were considered to be within the standard range for a patient who had been anesthetized for almost four hours in a surgical setting. The body’s natural rhythms are slowed by the anesthetic. Satisfied that the patient, a 19-year old from Winnipeg, Manitoba, was doing as well as could be expected, Wendy left to see if she could find Dr. Hudspeth. She found him outside talking with Sophia Nolan-Hart.

“That was excellent work, Private Nolan-Hart,” Dr. Hudspeth was saying. “You were quick with the LeGoo, and I just wanted you to know that I appreciated it.”

Sophia’s face reddened at the compliment. “Thank you ever so much, Doctor. It means the world to me that you appreciate my work.”

Wendy walked up just as Dr. Hudspeth appeared to be ready to end the conversation and be on his way. She didn’t want to let her apology go without delivering it. “Doctor Hudspeth, could I have a word with you?”

The doctor quickly glanced at his watch. “I suppose so, Miss Shafer. But please be quick about it.”

Wendy was taken aback. The doctor had been solicitous to the point of affability to Sophia, but now acted as if he had better things to do than to deal with Wendy. As far as Wendy could remember no one had described the doctor as hard to work around. Away from surgery he had always been polite and professional with Wendy. Maybe he was just tired from a long surgery. Wendy decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was her apology that he needed to hear.

“I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was about allowing the artery to get in your way. I thought that I had it far enough…”

Dr. Hudspeth interrupted, “Don’t worry about it, but also don’t let it happen again. You are a competent enough surgical nurse, but you also aren’t as good as you ought to be. I need a better performance out of you in the future, or I’ll be talking to Captain McGuire about assigning you to post op duty in the future. This is no place for amateurs to learn. This is a place for professionals to shine. Now, is there anything else?”

Wendy was stunned into silence. Angry words boiled up just behind her lips, but she swallowed them. She knew that she had made two mistakes. The first mistake had occurred in the operating theater. But the second mistake had been her expectation that the doctor would accept her mea culpa without giving her a verbal blast. If Wendy had known that he was going to take her apart like that she would have waited to talk to him privately. As it was, Dr. Hudspeth, had denounced her in a public place and in front of a nurse that was junior to Wendy, both in nursing and battlefield experience. She couldn’t let this kind of treatment go without response.

“Dr. Hudspeth, I came to you to apologize, but I don’t think that I deserved to be talked…” Wendy would have considered it a small success just to be able to finish a sentence; however, that wasn’t going to happen today.

“Another time, Miss Shafer. I’m late for an appointment.”

Wendy was about to retort in an angry fashion when she and Dr. Hudspeth were interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from just inside the storage unit that was closest to the surgical building of the medical complex.

“Oh my God! Oh Jesus! Somebody come quick! General McKillop is dead!”

An Army base is usually an atmosphere of controlled and disciplined hurry. Kabul Air Base was anything but that in the moments that followed the shouts about General McKillop’s demise. Medical personnel raced from the hospital, whether they were on duty or not. An ambulance was dispatched. General chaos erupted as word spread rapidly through the camp. To the shock and dismay of those stationed at the base, corroboration of the original report was quickly gained. Gen. McKillop was dead.

The body having been removed, military police and investigative units sealed the area. Yellow “Crime Scene” tape was produced, and the inquest into the killing was underway within an hour of the discovery of General McKillop’s body. Brigadier General Cole McKillop was more than just a one star member of the military elite. He had been commanding officer to some of the senior staff when they had been rising through the ranks, and was well-liked by everyone with whom he came into contact. His untimely demise, and subsequent discovery, against a wall in the storage unit created a great shock wave throughout the camp. In the days to follow many stories were to be told about the General and the impact that he had on the troops at Kabul Air Base.

General McKillop was laid to rest four days later. His funeral, officiated by Chaplain Boyd Dalrymple, and assisted by Chaplain’s Assistant Gerald Giacomo, was attended by every man and woman stationed at Kabul Air Base. The gathering, 6,000 strong, was held in Ghazi Stadium in Kabul, as it was the only open space that would hold a throng that large. Gen. McKillop’s body was to be flown home to his native Ithaca, New York for eventual cremation per his wishes.

Over the next several weeks, the camp buzzed about the incident and why it may have taken place. Wild speculation ensued (lover’s quarrel, drunken fight bursting out of control), but no one came up with a theory that carried any particular credence. The general was married, and had no girlfriends on the side, at least as far as anyone could tell. He was a light social drinker, but no one had ever seen him the least bit out of control. The investigation into the general’s death was being carried out deliberately, and news about its progress was non-existent.

Speculation was no more rampant anywhere on base than it was in the medical unit’s lunchroom. The topic was hashed and rehashed by the doctors, nurses, and medical support personnel.

“How long do you suppose it will be before we find out anything about who killed Gen. M? I mean, it’s been almost a month. Shouldn’t there be some answers?” Corporal Lisa Glenn said one day over a hummus wrap during her lunch time.

Capt. McGuire finished chewing his ham and cheese on rye before offering his thoughts. “You know, there’s a good chance that no official announcement will ever be made. They may just arrest someone and take him away, especially if they determine that it was random. If it becomes some sort of international incident then, of course, we will hear about it. But I don’t think it will be like that.”

Captain McGuire was sitting with an orthopedic surgeon and three nurses. All of his dining companions put their lunches down and turned their attention to the Captain when he spoke.

Dr. Richard O’Reilly was the bone doctor, and he was the first to ask the question that was on everyone’s mind. “I’m sure we would like to know your theory Capt. McGuire.”

“It isn’t so much of a theory as a hunch, Rich. Gen. McKillop was a great guy. Everyone here loved him,” Capt. McGuire paused to see if his statement elicited anything but agreement. No one had anything negative to say.

“That said,” he continued. “His career was pretty much in stall mode. It wasn’t as if he were going to be made a five star before he retired. He seemed to be pretty much in cruise control as far as his time remaining. I doubt that he was privy to any special secrets. And I don’t think that he was on the leading edge of the kind of decision-making process that would attract any negative attention. In short, I think he was satisfied to be liked, respected and well-paid until it was time for him to hang up his star and move back to New York State.”

There was general agreement with Capt. McGuire’s assessment of the situation, but it didn’t do anything to quell the curiosity shared by everyone who was seated at the table. Lisa Glenn stabbed her salad a little harder than was necessary to impale it on her fork. She had shared a military transport plane to Afghanistan with General McKillop, who eschewed most of the trappings of power that could have come his way, and liked to fly on the transport flights. She had been a lonely, scared nurse on her way overseas for the very first time. The General had encouraged her and told her how great he was sure that she was going to do.

Richard O’Reilly chewed his food pensively, having played squash with Gen. McKillop on more than one occasion. The doctor had been impressed with the general’s genuine curiosity about setting a leg fracture in a desert setting.

Wendy Shafer was late to the gathering, but didn’t have anything to offer. She had met Gen. McKillop just one time, and that was in a professional setting. She didn’t share the other folks’ personal reminiscences of the slain General McKillop. Her grief was primarily for the wife and children of the fallen general.

Things at work improved a bit for Wendy during the rest of the week. Having been told by Dr. Hudspeth that she was “competent enough” served to anger the high-achieving Lieutenant Shafer. If he had hoped to inspire her to greater heights, he appeared to have been successful. Several days after the incident and during a tricky open heart procedure Wendy proved herself to be a valuable addition to the surgical team that was performing the surgery.

On her way back to her CHU, the day of the open heart surgery Wendy was looking forward to nothing more than a cool shower and a long nap. The day was a scorcher. Nothing and no one was going to be able to get Wendy Shafer out in the weather today. Except that someone did.

A general bulletin had been issued to all personnel about procedures to be followed during the extremely hot conditions. Temperatures at or near 100 Fahrenheit were common during the summer months but on this day the mercury had spiked at 124.4 degrees. Cases of chilled and bottled electrolyte water had been delivered to the housing units with instructions for the troops to stay in a hydrated state. All non-essential work had been postponed, and all physical training cancelled until the hot weather passed.

Apparently Pfc. Randy Kitcavage and Private Henry Washoe hadn’t gotten the memo. It also became readily obvious that they didn’t have the sense that God gave a goat. The two privates, with more courage than intelligence, brought out the soccer ball and decided to have a kick about and a quick game of one on one. The fact that the Kabul Air Base playfield was empty didn’t strike the two young men as odd. Rather, they thought it was simply their good fortune to have the pitch to themselves.

The game commenced with each man gaining temporary advantage over the other. Pfc. Kitcavage was smaller and faster than the 6’4”, 240 pound Washoe, but Private Washoe had more experience on a soccer field, and had sharper elbows in close quarters. Finally, with Pfc. Kitcavage holding a 4-3 goal advantage, Private Washoe took possession. He dribbled the ball from side out on the right of the goal and, with a tricky crossover move that Gordon Beckham made famous with the L.A. Galaxy, scored the equalizer! He pumped his fist, turned to give his friend a bad time about poor defense…and found Pfc. Kitcavage motionless on the hot and dusty ground.

Henry Washoe thought at first that his friend had fallen to the ground as a result of being so thoroughly schooled by Henry’s superior moves. Henry was quickly disabused of that notion when he found Randy Kitcavage unconscious. He felt for a pulse. When he found the pulse to be racing he jumped up and ran to get help.

Private Washoe ran out of the fenced in playfield. The open roads of the camp, almost never completely deserted of pedestrian traffic, were empty this day. Henry began to panic. He wanted to find a doctor but at this point finding anyone would do. He ran across the street and started to turn a corner when he ran into Wendy Shafer. Literally ran into Wendy, knocking her to the ground.

Wendy didn’t know what hit her. She was walking toward her CHU, looking forward to the relaxing evening ahead, and then she wasn’t. She was prone on the ground, looking up into the stunned eyes of Private Henry Washoe. All that she knew for sure was that she had a splitting headache and a sore shoulder.

The impact was so sudden and unexpected that Wendy wasn’t immediately sure whether she had run into something or had simply fallen to the ground. It was in seeing the anxious look on Henry Washoe’s face that she finally realized what had transpired. This mountain of a man had crushed her.

Private Washoe’s words rushed together as he reached down to give Wendy help to her feet.

“I’m sorrysosorry, ma’am. I’m only justtrying to get some help for m’ friend. He’soutcold!”

Wendy was trying to make sure that her body parts were working in concert. In fact, she was barely listening to Private Washoe’s words when the phrase “out cold” got through to her. Suddenly the nurse in her snapped to attention.

“Did you say that someone is out cold? As in unconscious?”

“Yes ma’am,” Private Washoe said rapidly, bobbing his head up and down in concert with his words. “He’s out!”

“Where is he?” Wendy snapped.

“On the soccer field.”

Wendy processed Private Washoe’s words and headed for the kitchen at a fast trot. If there had been time she would have gone into a stern lecture about being out in the heat, but there would be time for that later.

Private Washoe caught up with the young nurse, concerned that she was planning on leaving Pfc. Kitcavage where he lay. “Wait! Ma’am he’s on the field!”

“I know. I heard you.” Wendy said without breaking stride. “I’m going to go to him, but I’m willing to bet that, whatever happened to him is heat related. We’re going to get some ice.”

Private Washoe fell into stride beside Wendy. In less than 30 seconds, the two of them were inside the back door of the main camp kitchen. No one was there who could help them.

Wendy ran to one of the large walk-in freezers and pulled on the door. It wouldn’t budge. An ice barrier had formed that held the door sealed. She looked at Henry.

“Open that!” she snapped.

Henry pulled on the door handle without success. Finally, he set his feet and threw his weight behind the effort to open the walk-in freezer door. Little by little the ice started to crack and the door eased open. Wendy and Henry went inside.

“Grab a bag of ice. Just one will do!” Wendy said.

Henry did as he was told, and hoisted a 12 pound bag of ice on to his shoulder and closed the door of the freezer behind them. Then he accompanied Wendy out of the storage area of the kitchen and outside.

Wendy and Henry ran together to the playing field where Pfc. Kitcavage lay where he had been from the time that he went to the ground. Wendy knelt beside him and calculated his vital signs.

“His pulse is racing, probably to the point of tachycardia. His temp is at least 105. Your friend has heat stroke!”

Private Washoe’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Is he going to die? Right here on the grass?”

Wendy was busy ripping Pfc. Kitcavage’s shirt off and sliding his shorts down to his knees. “Open the ice, quickly!”

Private Henry Washoe didn’t need to be told twice. He tore the plastic container of ice in two, and ice fell around the three soldiers. Wendy thrust her hand into the bag of ice
“Thank God it’s crushed ice. I didn’t even look.”
and put a handful of ice under each of Kitcavage’s armpits and a double handful of ice around his groin. Being careful not to allow any of the precious cold packs to touch the ground where they would have melted on contact, Wendy soaked her hands in the cold water already forming in the bag and placed her hands gently on Kitcavage’s cheeks and forehead. Wendy quickly realized that she had miscalculated. The bag of melting ice that she and Henry Washoe had pilfered from the walk-in freezer wasn’t enough.

“Run to the medical center and tell them that we need a gurney and more ice. What we brought is pretty much melted, and we need more ice for his back. I can tell that his core temp is down a little, and that’s good, but he needs more treatment than I can give him out here.”