IN SHOCK
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trifle with Jason though. Jason was delicate but ferocious. A Harvard
scholarship rescued him from his family.
He dreamed of a day when our kind would be able to force a
redress of grievances.
As
for now, he was willing to settle for invisi–
bility. We had a vantage point
in
the music room from which we
could see each other. That was enough.
"Get me in, Jason," I told
him.
"I don't want any war."
The next day, while I was out on rifle range duty, Jason got
the transfer underway. The rifle range was a lazy job for a medic.
I took off my kits and lay under a tree while the men fired at
targets. When they got up from the firing line they staggered. The
heat and noise were stunning. On the right was Battle Village, sur–
rounded by mine fields and barbed wire. Men wiggled beneath the
barbed wire. Machine guns fired overhead. Dynamite blasts simulated
artillery. Afterwards the GI's charged the mocked-up village, firing
at false fronts. Dummies in windows represented snipers. Immobilized
vintage tanks gave bazooka teams a target.
With these cozy sounds of battle as background, I sent my dreams
ahead to scout the terrain of war. I dreamed of what would happen
if
someone should cry, "Aid man!" I'd hook up my pistol belt, run
toward the wounded man, dodging shellfire, my hands on my kits to
keep them from flapping. That action was imaginable. I could face
shellfire. When I reached the wounded man, I'd look. And then
what? What if it was a chest wound, the cavity penetrated, the lungs
collapsed? Plug up the hole. With what? What
if
the bandages didn't
fit? What if an artery were severed? Walk away and let him die.
I didn't have the knack of finding pulses or pressure points. My hands
lost their feeling. Use a tourniquet. A tourniquet tied too long meant
gangrene. Any move of mine risked another man's life. I was unfit for
that responsibility. Let them send for Witty or Dewey Carrol. They'd
plug up the hole. They'd stop the bleeding. They had sure hands.
After retreat those sure hands of Joe Witty's would clobber me. Then
I'd withdraw to the music room and listen to Wagner and hold out
till
the end of the war as a clerk. Everyone would be better off.
Someone shrieked. "Aid Man!" Then again, "AID MAN!" I
was almost asleep and dreamy and had imagined just
this
call, just
this screechy, desperate wail and I didn't jump up, but turned on
