Joint Task Force #4: Africa (24 page)

“Here give me a hand.”

MacGammon stepped around Rockdale and lifted Carson’s head. Rockdale held the water bottle to the injured man’s lips and tilted it slightly so water slipped into Carson’s mouth.

“He’s swallowing,” Rockdale said, watching Carson’s Adam’s apple bob. Rockdale leaned closer, watching the water trickle into the man’s mouth. He didn’t want to pour too fast for fear of choking Carson.

“I wouldn’t give him too much. Don’t want him throwing up.”

Rockdale drew the bottle away as MacGammon gently laid the man’s head back down. “Let’s get his helmet off.”

“And let’s find a better place to spend the night than here. I think a little higher ground would be better,” MacGammon said, pointing toward the tree he had just climbed down. “Up there should be okay.”

Rockdale unsnapped the flight helmet.

“On second thought, I’d leave that on until we get him moved.”

Rockdale looked questioningly at MacGammon.

“If he’s got something broke or out of line in his neck or head, then the helmet is kind of like a brace.”

“Should we move him with this leg?”

MacGammon lower lip pushed against the upper. A few seconds passed before he spoke. “Guess you’re right this time, Rocky. I guess we’re going to have to cut the leg of his flight suit and check it.”

“Let’s hope the bone hasn’t pierced the skin.”

“Nope. I don’t think it has. We’d see blood, wouldn’t we?”

A few minutes later, the left leg of the flight suit had
been cut open from the ankle to only a few inches from the hip. Carson’s left foot was turned awkwardly to one side. Above the ankle, a large raised bump showed where the bone had snapped. The skin had turned a dark blue where the bone poked upward from below. The knee faced straight up in an awkward direction from where Carson’s left foot now pointed. Above the knee a second bump, the same size of the one near the ankle, identified a second break.

“I don’t see where the bone has pierced the skin.”

“Told you, didn’t I, Rocky. No blood—no pierced skin. It’s a little something you learn when you live in a neighborhood where bullets are a common neighbor.” MacGammon dropped a small tube of anti-bacterial ointment beside Rockdale. “That’s good for you. Your face is a mess. You’ll need this.”

All they had for cuts was anti-bacterial ointment, and Rockdale didn’t think that would be too effective against a large wound. Rockdale rubbed the ointment over his face as the two sailors studied their shipmate. Carson’s breathing seemed normal to Rockdale, but only two things could be keeping him unconscious—head injury or pain. Or both.

Rockdale screwed the top back on the tube and shoved it into one of his flight-suit pockets. He reached forward and touched the bump above Carson’s knee. “What do you think?”

“I think—” MacGammon started, then suddenly stopping. “Christ! I don’t know what I think. This leg of his is one busted piece of shit.”

“Thank you, Doctor MacGammon,” Rockdale said, his voice tight. They had better be rescued soon. He didn’t think he could tolerate more than a night with this doofus.

“Don’t try to be funny. You’re going to have to straighten
it, and hope when you do that the bones inside the leg don’t cut through an artery or a vein.” MacGammon turned and started away. “I’ll go find three or four limbs we can use for splints while you straighten it.”

“What do you want me to do? I can’t straighten this leg on my own. You’re going to have to help.”

MacGammon finally nodded and shrugged, “Okay, but let me find something for splints before you do it. I think you should stay here and make sure he doesn’t decide he wants to turn over or something.”

Rockdale agreed.

“The other thing you can do is decide how we are going to turn this leg to straighten it without doing more damage.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t straighten it,” Rockdale said, his voice louder. “Maybe we should leave it as it is and strap it down that way.”

MacGammon shook his head back and forth several times slowly. “Man, I don’t know. You know, as long as Stetson is out cold like this, it don’t matter which way his leg is pointed, but eventually he’s going to surface and when he does, you can bet that leg is going to be one humongous pile of pain.”

Rockdale sighed and took a deep breath. He looked up at MacGammon. “Go get some splints. I’m going to unlace his flight boots. We’ll use his laces to hold the splints in place.”

“We can use the straps from the parachute.” MacGammon pulled his survival knife out. “I’ll cut them off and bring them back with me. Leave his flight boots alone. At least they help hold some of his leg straight.”

“We’ll need to take off the one on the broken leg.”

“I don’t think so. He may have broken feet, also. I’d leave his helmet, his boots, and his gloves on until we move him and do a better check on him. The flight boots
act like casts. Even if we don’t take them off, we’re going home tomorrow. Let the docs do it. That’s why they get the big bucks and get to wear white uniforms.”

Several minutes later MacGammon returned, carrying several long sticks. With the exception of one, the other five had been on the ground a long time. The two men sorted, argued, and measured each one against Carson’s leg before cutting them, as near equal length as a survival knife would allow. Rockdale and MacGammon decided four sticks would be enough to hold the leg steady. After all, they kept telling each other when they agreed on a decision, tomorrow they’d be going home, and Navy doctors could have their shipmate. As long as Stetson was breathing, the two couldn’t do anything wrong.

The two men sat back, wiped sweat from their eyes, and discussed the pros and cons on whether to set the leg or not. For thirty minutes, they weaved through the argument of either leaving it alone, or trying to set it, until finally they decided, with Carson still unconscious, that they’d follow the rules learned in Survival, Escape, Evasion, and Rescue school. They’d set it as best they could.

“We’re going to have to turn on our flashlights, Rocky, to do it.” MacGammon looked around the area where they sat around the prone Carson. “Another few minutes, and we ain’t gonna be able to see anything.”

Rockdale nodded. He had the task of turning the leg. The kneecap was upright, so the committee of two decided the upper leg break was okay. They’d leave it alone because it appeared properly aligned with the knee, but the break above the ankle was another story. The foot angled about forty-five degrees to the left. The only reason Rockdale could give for why the foot wasn’t completely turned around and pointing backward was that the ground prevented it.

“You think it’s a clean break?” he asked MacGammon.

“Man, any bone broken ain’t clean. It’s jagged. Ever seen a broken animal bone? They don’t break even either. All we can do is try to line up the foot with the knee and hope when we get home tomorrow, we ain’t screwed him up too much.”

With MacGammon holding Carson by the shoulders, Rockdale settled down on his haunches, the toes of his boots digging into the ground under his buttocks. He grabbed the left flight boot.

“You know you’re going to have to pull down and then turn, don’t you?”

Rockdale nodded and released the boot. He licked his dry lips and wiped the sweaty palms on the knees of his flight suit.

“What’s the matter?”

Rockdale pulled his handkerchief out and wiped his forehead. “I’m scared, Mac. What if I do something wrong?”

“If you do something wrong, then stop and do it right. Look, Rocky, grab the boot by the heel and toe. Stetson’s unconscious. He ain’t gonna know whether you did it right the first time. He ain’t gonna know shit until he wakes up.”

“But—”

“No buts. You grab that boot. One hand under the heel and the other grabbing the toe. Then, I’m gonna count to three. When I hit three, don’t even think about it, you pull down and twist that boot to the left. When the toe of the boot is lined up with the knee, hold it there.”

Their eyes locked in the faint light.

“Of course, you may have to push up on it for a moment so the bones connect again,” MacGammon said, his voice low.

Rockdale leaned back on his legs. He took several deep
breaths, his eyes locking with MacGammon’s, who winked at him. “You can do it.”

Rockdale nodded, leaned forward, and grabbed the boot.

“One, two, three! Now!”

Rockdale jerked down and twisted. Carson screamed, knocking MacGammon aside as his upper torso rocketed up at the waist. Startled, Rockdale fell backward, releasing the flight boot. MacGammon, on all fours, scrambled back, grabbing Carson by the shoulders. When the breath ran out, the screaming stopped, and the injured man collapsed back into MacGammon’s hands.

“Grab the foot!” MacGammon shouted as he eased Carson back to the ground. “I’ve got him!” MacGammon shouted, pressing down on Carson’s shoulders.

“You got him?” Rockdale shouted, reaching forward and holding the boot steady.

“Check that leg. Make sure it’s straight from the foot to the hip.”

“It’s straight,” he said sharply. Keeping one hand on the boot toe, Rockdale crawled to Carson’s left side. He ran his free hand up his friend’s leg, rubbing it over every inch. He couldn’t talk. His throat was constricted. At any moment, Rockdale was afraid he was going to cry. What if he’d killed him? What if twisting the leg, ripped an artery or vein in half? What if he killed Carson without meaning to? Maybe they should have left the leg alone.

MacGammon released Carson’s shoulders and scrambled on all fours to the other side of the aircrewman. He moved alongside the leg, tossing a couple of parachute straps to Rockdale. “Come on. You can let go of the boot. That leg ain’t gonna move. Let’s get these splints set before Stetson plays Tarzan again.”

Ten minutes later the splints were set and tied.

Rockdale fell over to the side, his right arm holding him up as his hip rested on the ground.

“Looks okay to me,” MacGammon said, sitting back on his haunches.

Rockdale nodded. “I hope he’s okay,” he said, his voice low and trembling.

“Well, whatever you did, it’s over with. Carson’s back out of it again. Man, did that scare the shit out of us or what! One moment Stetson’s out of it with only a moan here and a moan there, as if he wants to make sure we know he’s alive, and the next he’s screaming like a trapped bobcat. You should have seen your face.”

Rockdale pushed himself upright. “I thought I had killed him.”

“Naw, man. Dead men don’t scream. Live ones do. And the less hurt they are, the more they scream.” MacGammon stood, brushed off the seat of his flight suit, and walked to the tree he had climbed down earlier. “We can’t rest, Rocky. While he’s out we need to move him.” He walked back to where Carson lay. “Come on, give me a hand. Help me clear away the debris over there near the tree, and then we’ll roll out the parachute.”

“Think that’s the place?”

“Looks as good as anywhere else around here, and it is slightly higher ground. Looks to me as if we’ve found where we’re gonna be when they show up tomorrow to rescue us.”

More moans escaped from the injured Carson, drawing their attention again.

“I thought you said we were going to move farther away?”

“I did, but I think the less we move him the better his chance is that we didn’t screw the pooch when we set his leg.”

A low, drawn-out moan escaped from Carson.

“Leave him for a moment. He’s probably moaning over having you stroke his leg for him.”

“Not funny.”

“Wasn’t to him, either. A couple of times there, I thought maybe you were enjoying it too much.” MacGammon laughed. “For the right amount of money, Rocky, I won’t tell.”

Rocky glared for a moment, unsure whether he should be angry. MacGammon was abrasive and wasn’t someone Rockdale would even consider a friend, but they were stuck with each other so he had better make the most of it. The absurdity of the situation washed over him. Here they were in the middle of a jungle filled with people trying to kill them, and he was upset over being stranded with MacGammon. He shook his head and started laughing. He surprised himself. Laughter wasn’t what he wanted. But it relieved his tension. It didn’t make him feel a closer bond with the man with whom he was rolling and fighting through the African brush about an hour ago, but it put their situation in a better perspective. They needed each other.

MacGammon turned on his flashlight again and then slapped Rockdale on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Night won’t wait on us.”

“Looks as if we finished Stetson while we could.”

“Remind me to put you in for some sort of award, Rocky. Shit, man! What do you want—a band?”

The smile faded from Rockdale’s face. They’d better be rescued soon.

MacGammon and Rockdale spent time clearing away the loose leaves, twigs, limbs, and such from the area. MacGammon piled the twigs to one side. “For a fire later,” he explained.

Rockdale shook his head. “We might want to do without a fire. We’re not the only ones around here.”

MacGammon shrugged. “Okay with me, but don’t come looking for protection when our flashlights burn out and the flesh-eaters come out for dinner.”

“If we light a fire, we might attract attention.”

“And, if we don’t, we might attract attention. If we attract that type of attention, it isn’t you or me who are going to make some wild animal’s meal, it’s our buddy, Stetson, here,” MacGammon said, jerking his thumb toward the injured man.

It didn’t take long to start a fire. To Rockdale’s satisfaction, the smell of the burning fire was as much a comfort as the sight. Earlier, the place had been bright with eye-catching hues of greens and browns, and with nightfall, it was as if a curtain had fallen across the scene, changing everything to black and gray.

“Let’s get the parachute laid out, so it doesn’t catch fire, and then we’ll move Stetson up here without killing him.” Five minutes later Carson was on top of the parachute, his leg immobilized by the splints. They took Carson’s helmet off gingerly and checked the unconscious sailor’s head, discovering a huge bump stretching across the left side of it from near the left temple to where the spinal column joined the head.