Authors: Peter Glassman
Yes. Long Island. New York. Home. After four tours in Nam I’ll be close to home. I wonder if my family is waiting. My friends are surely eagerly anticipating my homecoming.
The thoughts repeated again like a recording loop and they brought fatigue. He got tired easily. His own last thought brought sleep.
They won’t recognize me. I weigh less than a hundred pounds now.
Remo’s hands tightened around his Australian Digger hat as he went off to sleep.
Chapter 2
February 1973
Arrival–Fort Dix, New Jersey
“Oh God Paul.” The Navy nurse wrapped her arms and legs around Dr. Paul Norman as they moved their hips in total synchrony. Lieutenant (JG) Minnie Zettler and Lieutenant (Senior Grade) Paul Norman had two years to go in the Navy. They were engaged to be married and every chance they could they expressed their love for each other. In the privacy of their hotel room in New York City during a rare weekend liberty the intensity of their affection was reaching its peak in physical form as they both climaxed together with panting affirmations of their love.
“Do you think we should get married now Paul.” She looked sideways at her intended.
“We’ve discussed this a thousand times. I have an anesthesiology residency to go through after the Navy and we both have two years left in the service.”
“There’s talk about everyone getting early-outs with the signing of the January 15 ‘Suspension-of-Offensive’ agreement. President Nixon is really pushing for the peace talks to activate full American withdrawal. You keep telling me that yourself.”
“Okay. Let’s compromise. First…” Norman touched her right nipple. “…with the war ending and if the Navy says we can get out early we’ll set a date. Second…” He touched her left nipple. “…we’ll get married two months after we have our Honorable Discharge in our hands.”
Zettler moaned and moved on top of him. “Okay. It’s a deal.” She looked at her diamond engagement ring and straddled his manhood. They made love again and then lay side-by-side looking at the ceiling.
“How long is your anesthesiology residency going to be?”
“The one I want is in Minnesota. It combines anesthesiology with addiction medicine. Addiction is soon to have its own professional board status but I could qualify for certification in both therapeutic areas with the combined program.” He looked at her perfect fertile-looking body. “To answer your question, for the tenth time this year, the combined residency takes three years.”
“As soon as you get your residency acceptance we have to apply for our practitioners licenses in Minnesota. And…” Zettler took a deep breath seeing his new erection. “…with both of us generating incomes, we should start a family after two years into your residency.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s practice on how to do that some more.” Their extended kissing and groping led to a repeat of their love’s passionate expression.
‡
The Starlifter had emptied its patient load in Dover Air Force base and forty patients were bused to Fort Dix New Jersey. Fort Dix would attend to administrative accountability and identification of their thirty-eight patients and a single bus would take them to Queens Naval with a Navy ambulance escort carrying a driver, corpsman and nurse. A second bus, smaller than the first, would contain the duffle bags and belongings of the patients. The exception was Boomer Stiles and Sebastian Remo. They were placed on a train headed directly for Queens Naval Hospital, New York because of their classification on the semi-critical list. Critical or acutely ill patients were air-lifted to their destinations by helicopter. The train was halfway on route on a crisp February 1973 Monday morning. The three-vehicle road convoy would start for Queens Naval Hospital at 1030 hours with an ETA for Queens Naval of 1300 hours. Teletypes to the Navy hospital were sent ahead at 0700.
‡
“Ever notice we always get the duty after we have a weekend leave Paul.” Zettler looked at the roster of the incoming air-evacs.
“I’ve learned to accept it dear. And you’re worth it.” He squeezed her hand. “Thirty-eight air-evacs by bus and two by train.” Paul Norman was the JMOOD or Junior Medical Officer of the Day and he would be on duty for the next twenty-four hours along with the JNOOD or Junior Nurse Officer of the Day who was Minnie Zettler. The JMOOD was an experienced military MD who was assigned to work the emergency room, take responsibility for the day’s air-evacs and report to the MOOD or senior staff MD who in turn reported to the executive officer and commanding officer. The JNOOD was the nurse counterpart reporting to the senior nursing staff.
“Let me see the two train patient summaries.” She read it softly aloud. “Total body cast but no indwelling catheters or running IVs. That’s strange. And the second one has a chest tube but it’s not going to underwater seal. It must be draining an abscess or something. If it is I’ll set him up for dirty surgery admission and isolation precautions.”
“Let me take a look at those summaries.” Norman scanned the documents. “We never know what the hell we’re getting until we get them. Let me know when you need me at the train station after you see these two train air-evacs. It should only take me an hour to get my air-evacs triaged and assigned to the admitting interns and residents. It looks like your train patients will get here ahead of the busload but you never know so call me. The JMOOD is supposed to be there once you get them into the ambulance.”
‡
Crosley Bizetes scratched his black goatee and adjusted his red-paisley necktie. “We gotta shipment comin’ in twice this week at Queens Naval Hospital because they had too much stuff for our truck to get in one pick-up. Jetta you go at visiting hours afta the air-evacs get there to get the information.”
Jetta Minone adjusted his soiled scarf at the neckline of his black leather motorcycle jacket. “I go three hours afta the bus gets there. Othawise, we won’t know nothin’ from our man inside.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just do what you do. Remember I have to make a report to my boss in Brownsville.”
‡
Adam Stokely at the FBI office in New York City sat opposite his DEA counterpart. “I hope we can crack this drug ring before all the casualties are emptied from the overseas hospitals Bob. Nixon wants the troops out of Vietnam as soon as possible but he’s said nothing about the final mobilization of the wounded from over there.”
Robert Dempsey wore a green wool hound’s-tooth sport jacket and black gabardine pants. He sipped his morning coffee on the other side of Stokely’s aged light oak wooden desk. “You know Adam, with the war ending the FBI may get out of the drug liaison business. So I’m with you on getting this thing solved.”
“We have the non-military opium pathways from Vietnam, Laos and Thailand under control but now most of the heroin seems to be coming in via wounded Vietnam returnees.” Stokely prodded an open file with his right index finger. “Our agents at all exit points in Southeast Asia are focusing on known addicts coming back to the states and now they’re looking at the returning casualties.”
“I still can’t fathom patients being a part of this Adam. But your info is more than suggestive.” Dempsey poured himself a third cup of black coffee. “DEA’s central office shows major influxes of new heroin product spiking with large air-evac arrivals.” He opened a file on his lap. “In fact, the major civilian drug busts are occurring in areas around the big military hospitals.”
“Yeah, Bethesda Naval and Walter Reed in DC, Miami near Orlando Naval Hospital, Los Angeles and San Diego around San Diego Naval Hospital.” Stokely paused and fingered a document. “And around the northern sector Great Lakes Naval Hospital and Oakland Naval Hospital are almost parallel with Fitzsimmons Army General Hospital areas.”
“You have agents at all these places?”
“C’mon, Bob. We’re in this together. There’s no competition between the FBI and DEA here. You know damn well DEA agents are with us at these key locations. What I need from you is more manpower. The FBI is not budgeted stateside for drug-traffic resources like you are. Here’s my estimate for Queens Naval Hospital and Walter Reed Army Hospital.”
Dempsey looked at the paper. “We can handle this. I’ll put a rush request in today.”
“One other thing. You and I should meet at least twice a week on this. Nixon’s pushing to get all combat-trained US troops out of Vietnam by March.”
“How many insiders do you have at Queens Naval Adam?”
“I have enough. I just need one staff and several professional visitors...” He smiled. “…including me–as a professional patient visitor that is.”
\
Chapter 3
Destination Queens Naval Hospital
The gray Navy ambulance driver pressed the microphone call button. “Queens Naval, Queens Naval this is air-evac ambulance Dix. Do you read, over?”
“Air-evac ambulance Dix. We read you loud and clear, over.”
“ETA in thirty minutes. I have one patient bus–no emergent situations–and one logistic bus, over.”
“Logistic bus to south gate for complete bag and gear inspections per usual, over.”
“Will activate siren one-mile from main gate for patient bus, over.”
“See you soon. MPs will escort you to the emergency room from main gate. Over and out.”
“Out Queens Naval.”
‡
“I wish to hell I could smoke Ike.” Boomer moved his eyes to the left in his oval cast window to find Corpsman Ike Kaplan.
“I’m right here boomer. Yeah, I sometimes wish I had a cigarette too even though I quit in college.” Kaplan looked out the train window as the two-car train slowed into the Queens Naval Hospital train depot. It was a small station with the depot building more of a long lean-to structure with sliding glass doors to enclose an area capable of sheltering a dozen patients prior to transport to the ER for immediate evaluation.
Two gray US Navy Pontiac ambulances were waiting with their red dome roof lights flashing. A fire truck with its revolving red lights was also in attendance per military hospital regulations. It was almost never needed but last Christmas some anti-Vietnam War protesters blew up the train depot, thankfully without any patients in it, and the duty crew was now more vigilant than ever.
“Let me check the chest-tube patient first.” Zettler motioned the ambulance corpsmen to get the thin Remo wrapped in blankets for the transfer to the first ambulance. She climbed in beside him and read his identification tag. “Corporal Sebastian Remo correct?” She looked from Remo’s face to the large chest tube connected to the empty drainage bag.
“I have to have your head completely clear and put this oxygen mask on until we get you to the ER.” She removed his Aussie hat with the central silver-and-red skull hatband pin. “What’s with the hat anyway Corporal?” Zettler gave him her best welcome smile.
“It’s my Happy Hat, ma’am. I had it on every time I went into the bush in Nam. It brings me luck.”
“Well you can have it back right after we spray it with disinfectant. We’ll do it in the ambulance so it doesn’t leave your sight.” Zettler squeezed Remo’s hand for reassurance. She had seen many a talisman come back with the casualties and the only thing the staff was concerned about was bringing Asian infectious organisms into the hospital. She checked Remo with the corpsman. “Your lips and lower eyelid color is good even without oxygen.” She followed the chest tube to his chest wall. “Hmm. No sutures or scars indicating your chest was open. You have a lot of lumps all over your chest and back Remo.”
“I got blown up with a Claymore ma’am.” He shivered with the cold air reaching his skin. “One of the lumps was full of pus. They cut it and stuck the tube in. I have two bags on my belly too.”
Zettler looked at the medical record and saw the surgical summary for an abdominal exploration and double-barrel colostomy following a colon resection and removal of shrapnel. “These bags are empty. Did they change them at the Dover Airport?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay corporal. You’re good to go. Dr. Norman will be here shortly for some paperwork and examine you in the ER.” Zettler called the ER for Norman.
“Dr. Norman here. How bad are the two patients Minnie?”
“They’re stable. I just need you to sign off on the transfer from the train so the train can go back to Fort Dix. You can check the patients in the ER.” She left the ambulance and watched as two corpsmen and two security MPs helped maneuver the large man totally encased in white plaster into the second ambulance. An unfamiliar corpsman in a black peacoat was directing the transfer.
“Petty Officer Corpsman Isaac Kaplan, ma’am.” Kaplan gave a quick salute “I accompanied this patient from Vietnam, in between, and all the way here, ma’am.”
Zettler stared at Boomer as the ambulance corpsman checked him over with Kaplan in attendance.” She looked at Kaplan. “His own personal corpsman? Unusual isn’t it?”
“Sort of. I got my orders to Queens Naval when Boomer got hit. They were short-handed all along the way so I opted to stay with him. I’m also a part of a continuity of care project.”
Zettler went through her check list for what-to-do with total body plaster patients and looked back at Kaplan. “I never heard of that. Has he had his malaria pills?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“He doesn’t seem to be in much pain for so many fractures. His urine bag is clear. That’s also unusual for a long term indwelling Foley catheter.”
“He doesn’t have a bladder catheter, ma’am. It’s a condom catheter–for convenience. Boomer has complete control of bowel and bladder, ma’am.”
“Dr. Norman will check him into orthopedics. You may have to report to him on arrival if you have orders for staff duty at Queens Naval.”
“Yes, ma’am. You can see by my orders, I’m also to be assigned to the orthopod who gets Boomer on his ward. It’s part of a new continuum of care protocol as I mentioned.”
Zettler looked at the orders and back up into Kaplan’s brown eyes. “Boomer…his nickname? Okay, this kind of air-evac order is a first for me. But go ahead and make room on the ambulance. See Dr. Norman in the ER.” She watched as both gray US Navy Pontiac ambulances went slowly with their red lights flashing for the one-mile trip to the emergency room.
Norman arrived as the ambulance got ready to proceed on the short trek to the ER.
“Okay Paul. Just sign off on these forms and the train can leave.” Zettler smiled.
Norman signed the train transfer for the patients and watched as the engineer gave three “toots” and then clanged the bells as the train moved slowly from the Queens Naval Hospital depot.
‡
“They’re both here.” Crosley Bizetes put the binoculars down. “We’ll find out where the two patients go from our inside guy.”
“When do we connect? I have to get set up in our lab.” Jetta Minone looked around their Chevy pickup and then back out the windshield. He grabbed the binoculars. “Holy shit, she’s lookin’ at us.”
“Who?”
“The charge nurse with the air-evac ambulance. She’s lookin’ straight at our friggin’ truck.”
“So what?” Bizetes grabbed the glasses. “She’s just lookin’ in this direction. For Christ Sake Jetta I need the binoculars to see her. She can’t see nothin’ but a gray truck parked legally.”
“Yeah, but we got our motor runnin’.” Minone tried to grab for the binoculars again but Bizetes pulled them out of reach and put the strap around his neck.
Bizetes looked at his colleague. “Man are you jumpy. She’s just a friggin nurse and it’s almost fuckin’ February. It’s snowman cold for God’s sake.”
Minone looked around again, his neck twitching right-and-left. “We’re the only live-parkers. We stick out.”
Bizetes handed the glasses to him. “Okay she’s not lookin’ at us anymore. Time to go home. Take it easy, the nurse was never lookin’ at us.”
‡
LT Paul Norman sidled up to Zettler with his clipboard and watched her take off her heavy navy blue cloak. “The interns will check them over for anything acute. What do you think so far? Candidates for ICU.”
Zettler smiled and rubbed her hands together after stowing her gloves in her cloak pocket. “Surprisingly no. The chest tube turns out to be just a drain for a chest wall abscess and the total body cast soldier is practically pain free and has bladder and bowel control.”
“If I confirm your first impression and the interns don’t find anything, we can send the chest drain guy to plain dirty surgery and the plaster guy right to orthopedics–but I’ll send him to a first floor ortho ward, they have more help with the incapacitated.”
“Oh, I forgot. The chest tube guy with the Australian bush hat has a double-barrel colostomy. A Claymore mine got im.”
“Okay he goes to the colostomy dirty surgery ward after a day-or-two on the infected wound ward.” He looked up from his clipboard. “Here comes the MOOD.”
Dr. Ronald Loomis was a Board Certified General Surgeon and as senior staff today was the designated Medical Officer Of the Day. He was as tall as Norman but thinner than the muscular JMOOD. He listened as Norman gave his take on the two train air-evacs and then walked out of the ER. Norman turned back to Zettler.
“Ron told me the air-evac bus is thirty minutes away. When the orthopedic tech checks out our train guy, have him stay for the bus.” Norman smiled and touched her left hand.
“Yes, sir. Anything you say sir.”
“I’ll take you up on that when we’re off duty Lieutenant.” He watched her cute bottom as Zettler disappeared into the triage area.
‡
G-3 was on the third floor of the sand brick “new” part of Queens Naval Hospital. The tan brick edifice was built for the Korean War and still looked pristine compared to the “ramp” wards left over from WWII. The single story ramp buildings were all wooden single floor structures sprawling from the main tan brick structure. They were designated with letters from where the main building left off. Immediately off the primary corridor of the main building where the enlisted and officers mess halls abutted the central auditorium the ramp wards began with “H” and went to “Z”. During WW II every bed in the hospital was occupied, as it was now. The last three ramp buildings–X,Y,Z–were now a tuberculosis center for the Navy’s Atlantic coast.
G-3 Corpsman Second Class Amstel Perkins smoothed the plaster for the long leg cast with both latex-gloved hands. Perkins looked at his dripping hands. “Not too much water. I’ll have plaster on my eyelashes for Christ Sakes.”
The cast extended from the ankle to the right crotch up to the patient’s exposed genitals. Perkins wore a thin rubber apron with a tee shirt underneath to spare his uniform top from the white gypsum cast material. He looked at the Army sergeant lying on his back on the gurney with his hands behind his head. “How long you had the other cast Adams? There wasn’t a white space left on it.”
The clean shaven Vietnam returnee started to reply when the ward nurse entered. “Miss Gomez… please.”
Ensign Delilah Gomez smiled. “Sergeant Adams, I’m a nurse and have seen everything about a man there is to see.” She paused and gave him a smile. “And I’ve seen you before, remember.” She turned to the corpsman and the assisting cast technician, also a hospital corpsman. “We’re going to need you both in the ER for the air-evac. And we have one coming from the train in a total body cast but apparently in good condition.”
Perkins looked up. “What’s the ETA?”
“Twenty minutes.” Gomez looked at her watch. “So speed this up.” She gave Sergeant Adams a pat on the head. “But do a good job.”
Adams and the other corpsman watched Gomez swivel from the cast room. Adams looked at his new white cast and then at Perkins. “Two weeks.”
The assistant cast tech looked at Perkins with raised eyebrows. “Two weeks what?”
“I had the last cast on two weeks. I came in the air-evac two-days ago and you guys just changed it now.”
Perkins looked down at his patient. “So you got it first after your surgery in Subic Naval Hospital, like it says in your chart and this is the first cast change since then. Right”
“Right.” Adams strained his head to look at his crotch. “Who’s going to clean my groin up and get rid of the excess plaster–Miss Gomez?”
“No Sarge. I’ll do it.” The assistant smiled and grabbed the old cast remains. He began to walk from the cast room.
“Where you goin’ with that?” Perkins shouted so loud it startled both Adams and the assistant who froze at the doorway.
“I’m takin’ it to the trash bin. Why?”
“I’ve told you before Slater. All first cast changes on Nam returnees have to be cultured for Asian germs before we chuck them out. Put it in a trash bag liner and I’ll take care of it. God, I’ve made it quite clear about first cast changes throughout the hospital haven’t I. Do you want to get transferred elsewhere–like the TB ward? I have to log all first cast changes with LCDR Skagan.”
“No. I’m sorry. I forgot.” Corpsman Cecil Slater sealed the bivalved long leg cast remains in a clear plastic bag and took off his latex gloves. “I’ll leave it right here.”
“Good. Look, if you violate the infectious disease rules here, I’m the one responsible. I get hell. I get busted to a lower rank and then there’s LCDR Skagan–the cast Nazi.” The explanation was his dismissal speech. Perkins looked at his patient. “Okay, sergeant–all done and better than new. Your stitches are healing well and there’s no sign of infection. You want the stitches I removed as a souvenir?”
“No thanks.”
“The next cast after this one will be a short walking cast.” Perkins wheeled the patient back onto the ward to his bed and went back for the bagged old cast. He smoothed the clear plastic to look at all the dates next to the signatures. It was unusual to get a cast applied at Subic Bay unless the patient required more surgery or there was a problem with the first cast from Nam–which there wasn’t.