Authors: Denise Kahn
FORT SAM HOUSTON, SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
2004
CHAPTER 21
Sam and Chantal finished their basic training and all the tests including the Army’s physical fitness. It included hospital processes they were knowledgeable about and their training was more focused on war injuries. In addition, they learned about weapons such as M16 rifles and 9mm pistols, and hazardous materials procedures. They also became proficient with gas masks and MOPP suits, the protective gear used during a biological or chemical strike.
The medical staff wasn’t comfortable having to carry a firearm, but they understood the need. There was always the potential to get hurt or perhaps even killed, especially in a war zone. And that’s exactly where they were going. It was their opportunity to help wounded military personnel, as well as Iraqi people.
The night before they had gotten word. They were shipping out in two days.
“Well, I’m all packed, how about you Chantal?”
“Almost there. But I’ve got a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve only got so much room, so should I take my Prada purse of my Jimmy Choo’s?”
Sam stopped what she was doing and stared at her best friend. “Seriously?”
Chantal laughed. “No, of course not silly, but a girl can dream, right?”
“Absolutely. Now, since we’re packed and we have a few free hours left, what do you say we go pamper ourselves?”
“You mean at the spa in town?”
“Who knows how long it will be before we get another chance.”
“We’re talking manicure, pedicure, facial… right?”
“And sauna.”
“Lead the way, girl, I’m right behind you.”
The next morning the men and women boarded the white school bus with the red cross painted on its side, and headed out to the airfield. They would travel with all the equipment and supplies that were needed to set up the CSH (pronounced cash), the Combat Support Hospital. Sam and Chantal felt refreshed and relaxed from their spa treatment from the day before, but mentally they were embarking on an unknown journey. They were, of course, apprehensive and their biggest regret was knowing that the people that loved them would worry. Sam thought of Maureen Nagel who had been such a loving, caring person when young Sam no longer had anyone in the world. Sandstorm, the kitten Sam had rescued during a snowstorm stayed with the older woman. It was a match made in heaven. They adored each other. Sandstorm was pampered incessantly, and in turn the furry feline gave Ms. Nagel a love and companionship she craved and was grateful for. Chantal was thinking about Aunt Clo and her hometown. She missed them already, but she also knew that this was something she needed to do, not to mention the terrific, yet unfortunate, experiences she would be partaking in the medical field. No school or medical facility, other than a hospital in a war zone, could provide that amount of experience. Just a few months of exposure would be the equivalent of years of conventional study.
Every person on the bus was lost in their own thoughts, thoughts about their families, and the unpredictable voyage they were about to embark on.
“Hey, Sam,” Chantal said.
“What?”
“I’ve never been out of the country.”
“Normally I would ask if you have your passport, but in this case we’re on a private plane and you won’t need it.”
“You’ve been overseas, what’s it like?”
“Well, I haven’t been to Iraq.”
“I know
that.
But other countries.”
“Well, each country is different. Each has its own beauty, traditions, culture, language, food and even music. And that’s my favorite part, that they’re all unique.”
“Some countries don’t like us, though.”
“Most countries around the world used to, especially after the First and Second World War, and many still do like us or respect us. Of course we can’t please everybody. It’s like politics. Nowhere will you find that everybody is happy with their government. At some point they might have been, but then they aren’t anymore. You’ll find that people will always crave for more, even though they have everything they always wanted. But then they want something more.”
“Sounds like a vicious circle.”
“It is. Hey, there’s the plane,” Sam said looking out the window.
“It’s huge! I thought you said we’d be on a private plane.”
“What did you think I meant? A Lear jet with leather seats?”
“Well, no, but maybe a commercial airliner.”
“Naw, this is going to be much more fun,” Sam said looking at the impressive Hercules 130. “She’s a beauty.”
“She’s a beast.”
“That too.” Sam laughed, and loved that she was on an adventure with her best friend.
♫
WASHINGTON, D.C. 2004
CHAPTER 22
Davina was glued to the television. She had canceled all of her concerts. Her life was on hold. How could she perform? She imagined the bullets flying by her young son’s face and felt her heart miss a beat when she thought about one getting even closer. She immediately eclipsed it from her mind. NO, he would not get hurt! She insisted to herself. The talk shows all wanted interviews as they knew the famous diva’s son was somewhere in Iraq, but the military was doing a good job of not divulging any details. However, even with her connections, they wouldn’t give her any information either. With the networks covering the war every minute of the day she was hoping she might get a glimpse of her son. And that evening she did. “Alejandro!” She screamed. He came running.
“What is it,
Amor?
”
“There, there’s Max!” They watched a group of Marines who were standing next to prisoners kneeling. They’re hands were tied behind their backs.
“How do you know? They all pretty much look the same.”
“A mother knows her child.”
“My God, you’re right! It is him.”
“Oh, Alejandro, look at him!”
Alejandro’s eyes were wet as he watched his son with great pride. In the hell they called war Max was handing something to one of the prisoners, maybe food. His body language portrayed the goodness and humanity that can still exist in times of battle.
The proud parents held each other even after the news program ended.
The next day Alejandro went to Spain. As the Spanish Ambassador he would have to go back and forth several times a year.
Davina dreamed of a military car stopping in front of their house. If the two Marines were in dress-blues Max would be gone forever. If they were in fatigues, then Max would have been wounded, but how bad would be the question. Would he be burned? Would he have lost a limb? Would he be blind? She couldn’t see the uniforms.
Stop it!
She commanded herself. He’s fine. He’ll come back safe and sound, and as handsome as ever.
But she wanted to see him, to hug him, to kiss him. She wanted to know that he was alright, but it was impossible to communicate with him. Even with all her connections no one would tell her of his whereabouts. She didn’t really want to know
where
he was, she just wanted to hear his voice, and know that he was okay. And then an idea started to form in her mind. Davina picked up the phone and called Jacques, her manager.
♫
IRAQ 2004
CHAPTER 23
The CSH team landed in Kuwait. They disembarked and gathered their belongings. They were also told that the casualties and wounded were growing by the minute and they were to immediately set up the hospital. The team quickly donned their gear, helmets and Kevlar vests, boarded the trucks and started towards Baghdad. A phalanx of dozens of trucks caravanned up the highway towards the capital. Along the road they came face to face for the first time with the annals of war. Exploded, overturned and still smoking vehicles of all sizes, military and civilian, lined the sides of the highway. Monotonous, dreary caravans of small groups of men and women, young and old, followed the asphalt next to the desert toward indefinite destinations. Some were on foot, some rode camels, others ran alongside the military convoy and begged the Americans for anything they could spare—food, water, one dollar bills, and hope.
“I’m glad I’m here,” Sam said to Chantal.
“Me too, but what makes you say that?”
“Look at these people. They’re the descendants of one of the oldest civilizations in the world. They should be basking in comfort. Its criminal they’ve been put in these circumstances. How can one man create such misery toward his own people? And Why?”
“Well, Saddam Hussein isn’t the first son-of-a-bitch to do that. Remember Hitler, Pol Pot, the South American dictators? Hell, I could go on and on. History is full of these assholes.”
“I know, I know. And the worst part is history repeats itself. Why don’t people ever learn?
“Well, at least we’re here to help this oppression, maybe restore some of their civilization, and do the best we can for them.”
“Yeah, I’m glad we did this, Chantal, and I’m grateful that we’re doing this together.”
“I’ll second that, Sam.”
The women stared out of their trucks. Every once in while they would see a real caravan, one with camels. The animals seemed to glide across the desert of Iraq as their ancestors had done for centuries. The camel guide waived to the convoy that would maybe bring peace to the land where he and his family had always lived. The Americans waived back. The herder turned towards Mecca and said a prayer he fervently hoped Allah, the Merciful, would hear. The newcomers, as well as his own people, would need all the help they could get.
The drive from Kuwait to Baghdad took three days. They were on such a tight schedule that they only stopped for physical necessities, and a real pit stop it was—a hole in the ground that they, of course, had to dig themselves. Men went to one side of the highway, women to the other. Once back on the truck Chantal started giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked.
“Well, that was definitely
al fresco
.”
“Well, it wasn’t that cool, it’s blistering hot out!”
“Yeah, but what little wind there is kicked up just enough sand to imbed itself in places I didn’t even know existed in my body.”
Sam and others, who were sitting as close as sardines in a can, all laughed out loud. They continued telling jokes for several hours. Laughter was one of the best medicines and stress breakers in the world.
“Alright, I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me up when we get to the Ritz,” Sam said.
“In your dreams.”
“Exactly.”
“Can I take the floor for a while,” she asked the group.
“Sure thing.”
Sam put her backpack on the floor of the truck, carefully stretched out, put her head on the makeshift pillow and immediately fell asleep. She didn’t mind, or even felt, the pairs of boots that were next to her ribs. Chantal and two other nurses did the same thing. There was just enough room for four people, and they were spooned together. In two hours they would shift with four others and sit back on the benches. In these circumstances those two hours were as powerful as a full night’s sleep.
The convoy arrived on the night of the third day, at an airfield on the outskirts of Baghdad. It was an ideal location for a CSH, as helicopter ambulances could easily bring in wounded and large aircraft like the Air Force’s Hercules 130 MEDEVACs could fly the more severely injured out to larger hospitals in Germany or the United States.
The men and women of the Combat Support Hospital jumped off the trucks and followed orders to crawl into their sleeping bags and get a few hours of sleep. They did just that and with great anticipation. They hadn’t really had any semblance of a decent amount of sleep since they left Kuwait, and they were soon fast asleep.
Sam woke up the next morning only because her arm was moving. Why was it doing that? She wondered. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at Chantal who was shaking that very same arm.
“What is it?”
“Rise and shine, sunshine, the Riviera of sand beckons,” Chantal answered.
“Do we have to?”
“If you don’t want to get screamed at, you’d better move.”
“Alright, I’m up,” Sam moaned. She had been dreaming about Robert. Where was he? Was he alright? Was he in Baghdad? It would be so nice to see him, she thought. She put her dream aside for another time and concentrated on the present. “How did you sleep, Chantal?”
“Well, the sleeping bag didn’t do too much for the dust and sand. I think half of the Iraqi desert wound up in there with me. And the latrines, well the holes in the ground that is, were quite primitive.”
“Oh, great. That’s my next stop.”
“Oh, just think of it as a camping adventure,” Chantal said, laughing.
“Chantal, do you know my definition of camping?”
“Tell me.”
“Bad service in the middle of the night at the Ritz.”
“Right. Welcome to the real world.”
The entire team was present and ready. It would take three days to build the CSH. The men and women were all medical specialists but they became construction workers, from the newest privates to the commanding Colonel of the deployable facility. The entire hospital was packed in military containers. Once opened most of the units became three times their original size and were used as fully functional, climate-controlled operating rooms, ICU’s, laboratories, X-Ray and CT scanning, a pharmacy and dental units, as well as accommodations for the staff. Whatever a fixed hospital could provide the CSH could as well.
The team went to work. They marked the spots where each tent would go with little red flags. Dozens of the staff carried huge, long, rugged material that would be used as panoplies. They looked as if they were carrying an enormous almost stadium long cigar. The containers and tents would be interconnecting, creating a mini village of beige and green shelters. Nothing was missing from this CSH, from the hospital to the offices to the sleeping quarters, and it provided its own power from generators. The men and women finished their hospital in three days.
On the fourth day most of them were relaxing in their rooms, or in a folding chair in front of their tent. Although they were ‘open for business’ no casualties had arrived so far at the hospital. Sam and Chantal were reading, sitting in chairs when a mortar exploded a short distance behind them. The women immediately fell to the ground and covered their heads. Shrapnel flew everywhere. Everyone at the base was running to take cover.
“Lord have mercy!” Chantal yelled.
“My thoughts exactly,” Sam screamed back. “Hey Chantal, on a scale from one to ten how scared are you?”
“Shitless!”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Why are we doing this again?”
“Hippocrates?”
“Sounds right. If I make it out of here alive Tyrone is going to kill me.”
“Chantal?”
“Yeah?”
“Promise me that I won’t have to make a trip to New Orleans to see Tyrone and Aunt Clo on my own.”
“If those assholes who are dropping bombs on us would be so kind and cooperate, then I promise.”
The two women stayed there for a few minutes until it was all clear and then quickly scrambled to see if there had been any wounded. They found one just a few feet from where they were, and thankfully no one had been killed.
“I never thought our first cases would be some of our own,” Sam said, tying a tourniquet on the wounded man’s leg.”
“I’m going to get a dolly,” Chantal said, “I’ll be right back.”
Sam nodded, never taking her eyes off of the man on the ground in front of her. “Hey, Doc, it’s not too bad. Looks like a piece of metal flew into your leg. I don’t think we’ll even need to operate. We’ll give you a shot for the pain, clean it and sew it up and you’ll be like new.”
Chantal returned with a patient transport dolly. With Sam’s help they lifted the injured man onto it.
“Loss of blood?” The doctor managed to ask through pain and clenched teeth.
“Nothing we can’t take care of. Now, shut up, Sir, and stop wasting energy.”
♫