The Easy Day Was Yesterday (27 page)

Most of the patients were located in an area between two wings of the hospital, and we were pretty much covered from view and from the gunfire which we could hear coming from the other side of the hospital. Carol and I had a talk about the situation and agreed that she would return to the compound to prepare the CCP, and we’d triage the worst of them and send them to her on stretchers carried by the ever-faithful infantry. Jon, Rob and I started the triage process. But where were we to start? In the end we just grabbed the nearest patient who looked bad and gave him/her a priority of one, two or three — one being the worst. But we’d start on one person then another would appear in far worse condition. At times we were called on to play God and put people to one side whom we thought wouldn’t survive or would take too much time to save when that time could be better spent saving two or three other IDPs.

Back in the compound, Lieutenant Tilbrook had organised his defences around the compound itself and had also established communications with AUSMED Headquarters. At this stage a mass casualty evacuation was declared.

The Jordanian UNICEF guy wanted to point out some more casualties outside the hospital in the town courtyard. I saw about 30 people there; some were dead, but most were in the final stages of life. So I rolled them onto their sides to improve their airways and at least give them some chance. It had rained through the night and all the bodies were lying in pools of muddy, bloody water. Large numbers of IDPs began approaching me at this time with freshly inflicted injuries. This concerned Jon and me. It meant that the gunfire we could hear close by was directed at these people. People were being shot and killed in our vicinity, so we decided to re-enter the hospital and work on what we could manage for now. The Jordanian kept saying, ‘What about this one?’ and ‘What about that one?’

‘Yeh, wait on mate, there’s only three of us,’ I yelled over the sound of gunfire. ‘Here, grab one of these and start bandaging someone.’

Jon and I continued triaging patients. I was treating a woman by the name of Maria (I remember her name because she was in the back of the ambulance all day) who had been shot through the hand and into her right lung. Her hand was quite a mess, but she only had a small hole in her chest about the size of a 20 cent coin. My first response was to treat her hand, but soon remembered the priority of treatment and began to treat her sucking chest wound, although there wasn’t a lot of air or blood coming from her chest. I listened to her chest with my stethoscope, and even though I really had no idea what I was doing, I knew the lung wasn’t working properly — this made her a priority one.

Jon drew my attention to the patient he was treating. He had a very deep cut across his eye and through his face and another very deep cut through his chin and into his throat. Jon completely bandaged his face and had no fear of not maintaining an airway because the man was breathing through the slice in his throat. The man was fighting Jon the whole time and became difficult to manage, so he left him and moved on to another who wanted help.

Jon, Rob and I continued to prioritise patients when the infantry arrived and stretchered the indicated patients back to the Zambian compound where Carol had prepared the CCP to handle the incoming patients. Most of the infantry had never seen a dead person before and certainly had never seen such ruthless carnage but, just like everyone else, they drew down the emotional curtain and got on with their business. The Infantry (in true grunt style) were tireless in their efforts stretchering the patients back. Quinny, the communications guru, managed to establish communications with AUSMED Headquarters and began the lengthy and tiring process of trying to get an immediate AME. But, with the gunfire and mortar fire in the background, the UN refused to allow one of its helicopters to land at a hot landing zone.

Jon continued to process patients for the infantry lads to carry back. I took a moment and watched him work. He was moving through the injured, rapidly identifying those who needed immediate help, patching them very quickly, pointing them out to the infantry lads and then moving on to the next unfortunate. He was like a machine — it was unbelievable how quickly he adapted to the situation. This playing medic stuff wasn’t our core skill. We were SAS operators filling a gap that needed filling. We were using this opportunity to improve our medical skills which were just a small part of the expertise required of each SAS soldier, and Jon was doing some really great stuff this morning. He was smooth, calculated and compassionate when required.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard and around the hospital, the firing escalated and we were ordered to return to the compound. We left the hospital, informing the MSF workers who had finally shown up, that we were leaving to work on the casualties we had. The MSF workers decided to stay and were subsequently caught in the battle and couldn’t leave the hospital. Once again, it was the under-appreciated infantry who had to go and pull the MSF from the hospital. In doing so, Lieutenant Tilbrook took fire from a sniper. Corporal Brian Buskell was quick to take a sight picture on the sniper, but to take the shot would have endangered the lives of further IDPs and the sniper slipped back into the crowd.

The work continued in the compound with many casualties walking in themselves. At about 10.00 am, some of the IDPs made a run for it through the re-entrants surrounding the compound. We watched (and could do little more) as these people were hunted down and shot. The RPA were terrible shots and, at times, were within 10 metres of the running IDPs and were still missing their targets. If the RPA managed to wound an IDP, they would save their bullets and bayonet the IDP to death. The RPA had RPGs (recoilless rockets) sited up on the next ridgeline which they were also firing into the IDPs. This went on for two hours until all the IDPs who’d made the break were either dead or dying. This was all happening about 300 metres away from us which was, unfortunately, too far for us to go and help them. As I watched the IDPs being bayoneted to death, I could only imagine how much it would have hurt having a bayonet continually thrust into your body — not to mention the fact that you were dying at the time. It was a slow, painful, horrible death that the young infantry guys were forced to watch as, under the UN mandate, they could not intervene. I say ‘forced’ because it was happening right in their line of sight.

As patients were stabilised, they were loaded onto the Unimog truck where Nico the medic was looking after them; those deemed critical were loaded into the ambulance which, by now, had become a makeshift intensive care unit. The treatment was quick; we went from one patient to another. If someone was having trouble, another person would come and help or, if it was serious enough, Carol would come and help. But she was in great demand, so it was a matter of doing our best without her.

It was now about 10.00 am, the firing had intensified and it had begun to rain. But the work continued, with the infantry providing and holding a secure perimeter. Everybody was either behind a truck or a sandbag wall working. We strung up hutchies to keep the rain off the patients and, if we needed to clean their arms for an IV line, we simply hung the arm out in the rain. I moved to a position behind a sandbag wall to see what was going on when I noticed the Zambians trying to tell a young boy to get down to the ground. I could see the boy about 50 metres away. He was frightened and confused with everyone yelling at him and the bullets flying all around him. So, with my weapon in my right hand, I bolted out of the compound, grabbed the boy around his waist with my left arm and ran back. All the while, some pricks continued to take pot-shots at us. I tried to get him to lie down, but he kept babbling something to me, so I kicked his legs out from under him, motioned that he should stay there, and went back to see if the infantry needed any help. Damn, that was a pretty crazy thing to do, but if the UN wouldn’t let me use my weapon to protect these people, then I was determined to use my body. I returned to the boy after five minutes and saw him flat out on the ground with a glazed look in his eyes. Nico said, ‘He’s dead, Jordo, leave him.’

‘What? How can that be?’

Terry came over and we both saw him move and that was good enough for us. We started to work on him and were later assisted by Carol. We could see blood in his mouth and eventually found a small piece of shrapnel in his right lung. I put a mask on his face and forced air into his lungs with the attached bag, while Carol managed to get a cannula into his femoral vein to provide him with more fluids — his other veins had shut down, so the femoral vein was the best access to the circulatory system. We got him breathing again and then put him into the ambulance where he was watched closely until he was evacuated that afternoon. Later we found that his mother had told him that, if they should be separated, he should run to the
mazungus
(white people) which he had tried to do.

As the work continued, an IDP ran into the compound with no apparent injuries. I was walking across the compound to assist the infantry on the perimeter when this IDP ran straight at me. I raised my weapon to fend him off, but he grabbed it and I found myself wrestling with him. His eyes caught mine as we wrestled with my weapon. He had a look I will never forget: a look of true and absolute terror. It was an alarming thing to see in the eyes of a grown man. I tried to pacify the man as I knew he didn’t mean any harm. I could have rammed my size 11 boot straight into his chest, but I didn’t want the other IDPs seeing an Australian soldier assaulting an IDP. The Zambians, however, do things a little differently. A Zambian soldier decided to help me by kicking the IDP in the head. It was good kick, plenty of height and nice momentum, and connected with a horrible thud. The IDP’s eyes rolled back in his head, he let go and collapsed to the ground unconscious. The Zambian gave me a big toothy grin. What could I do? ‘Thanks, mate,’ I said and continued on my way after rolling my unconscious friend onto his side. The Zambians didn’t piss around with these people; they had been in Kibeho for six months and knew them better than we did.

Everyone was flat out. We had no time to eat or drink all day. Those who managed to pick up a water bottle went around and poured water into the mouths of everyone else who had blood up to their elbows. We drank water periodically, but no-one ate at all during the day. There was no time and I don’t think any of us noticed our hunger anyway.

The technique of putting in IV cannulas had to change a little from the way we’d learnt on medical courses. Basically, a cannula was only thrown away if it was broken. On one occasion, Nico and I were working on a boy trying to get an IV in. The boy had lost a lot of blood and his veins had shrunk until they were barely noticeable, which didn’t help. Nico had one arm and I had the other. I’d have a go and miss, then I’d hand the cannula to Nico. As Nico was having a go, I’d be getting another vein ready and when Nico blew it, I’d have a go. Eventually I got it into the back of the boy’s hand. It was amazing that the cannula even went in because, after nine or ten attempts, it would have been very blunt.

The firing continued with more IDPs shot all over the camp, but it wasn’t only the RPA doing the killing. The IDPs were doing their fair share of killing their own as well. The RPA had demanded the handing over of the Interahamwe elements among the IDPs. The Interahamwe were the militia elements of the Hutu population who’d been involved in the genocide the year before. There’d been a lot of finger-pointing which obviously the Interahamwe resented, so they were resorting to killing as well. They used machetes and guns, and the injuries they inflicted were always horrific. We worked flat out all day with the continuous gunfire in the background and with barely enough time to scratch ourselves. Time flew by and, before we realised, it was mid-afternoon.

Lieutenant Tilbrook spent most of his time negotiating with the RPA to allow him to bring in helicopters to evacuate the wounded. Obviously he did a great job, because the AMEs went ahead. However, the mortars continued to fall around the camp and the rifle fire wouldn’t let up, so the helicopters still couldn’t land. Lieutenant Tilbrook was the tactical commander all throughout the time we were in Kibeho and certainly had his work cut out for him. When all was said and done, he had total control of the Australians at all times and did a bloody good job.

By the time we’d gathered 25 casualties in the Unimog and the ambulance, Quinny the Sig had managed to organise an AME, so we moved out of the compound to the helo landing place. On the way there a large formation of RPA soldiers, possibly company strength, marched down the road towards the IDPs. The soldiers were singing in hushed tones and morale seemed to be through the roof. Jon and I just looked on and wondered what they were up to — it couldn’t be good.

Jon and I sat in the ambulance with our feet on the dash waiting for the helo when a lone IDP ran down the road towards us. An RPA soldier was chasing the runaway IDP and firing wildly at him. No rounds hit the IDP, again they were crap shots, but every burst landed around the ambulance. There’s nothing like a few bullets landing around you to wake you up, and Jon and I quickly bailed out and took shelter behind the ambulance. Some of the bullets came very close to a group of RPA officers standing near the front of the ambulance. When the IDP arrived at the ambo, he threw himself at the feet of the RPA officers and begged for mercy. The officers barely acknowledged him and nodded to the pursuing RPA solder who dragged the IDP behind the nearest building and shot him in the head. We always cringed when this sort of shit was happening. The IDP kicked and screamed for our help the whole way to his execution point. We should have done something for the poor bastard.

At about 4.00 pm the helos arrived and, once again, I was forced to argue with the RPA Major about the evacuation. I could see he didn’t really care; he just didn’t want to make life too easy for me. Again he insisted that one of his officers inspect each patient to ensure we weren’t trying to smuggle people out of the camp, or that the IDPs were not faking injuries to get evacuated. The helos brought in a load of journalists to make a quick report on the situation. They raced around snapping photos and trying to secure interviews. Sergeant Brett Dick and WO2 Scott (Scotty) were also on the helicopter. They’d come in to lend a hand.