Post by Capt. Masterson on Jan 14, 2009 1:24:39 GMT -5
"Captain. Captain Masterson, can you hear me? Nurse! Nurse come quick! I think he's coming too!"
Masterson groaned as his head rocked back and forth. His eyes opened, but there was still black. He blinked several times while moaning in pain.
"My eyes. My eyes! Why can't I see?!"
Masterson could feel two pairs of hands come over his body to keep him from moving too much in the bed. He felt hands across both his ankles and two hands on his shoulders. Knowing it was better to not fight, he laid back and surrendered to whomever stood over him. He was then calmed by a soothing voice of the doctor.
"Settle down, Captain. You're fine. You're in an Army hospital just north of Carentan, near Utah Beach. You can't see anything because we have bandages over your head."
Masterson shook his head. He didn't understand why he was here, or what happened. What put him here?
"But what happened, doc? How'd I get here?"
The doctor removed his hands from Masterson's shoulder, he sat gently at the bedside and laid his notepad down near Masterson's hip.
"When you and your men set out to take care of that German gun battery near Brecourt Manor, you were hit nearly head on with a German grenade. The blast was close, and even though the shrapnel missed, the shock was enough to knock you out."
Masterson hurt his mind to think back to the event. He slowly regained some thought of the subject, and can recall moving for a hedgerow, with the majority of his company behind him. He then remembered those fateful words... "Captain get down!". . .
"Yes... Yes I remember now. I remember seeing the grenade, then a bang... and then everything went dark."
The next thing that Masterson had thought about stoped him in his talk. He was quick to ask the doctor.
"How long have I been out doc?!"
Sensing that Masterson was about to become more anxious, he quickly settled him by giving him a direct answer.
"Five days. It hasn't been long, captain. And before you ask, you'll be fine. You suffered a major concussion and several lacerations to your arms and legs. Other than that, you're fine."
Masterson's next concern was his men.
"What about my men? What happened to them?"
"Your casualties are one KIA, three wounded. Your men were able to successfully able to seize and destroy all four guns, as well as inflict heavy casualties upon the German forces, who retreated as soon as the first gun was taken."
Masterson's face tightened when he heard one of his men been killed. The guilt ran over him. Had he taken more precaution, he could have been there to help his men.
"Who was the KIA?"
The doctor lifted back up his notepad. He flipped through several pages on it and folded them back behind the clipboard and read out a small line from a report he was given.
"... Reported KIA(s), a one, Pvt. Albert Blithe, First Platoon, B Company, 506th."
Masterson knew Blithe, and knew him well. It was indeed sad to lose any soldier, but Blithe did his job exceptionally well. Masterson didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself now for Blithe's death.
Just as Masterson was about to speak again, he felt a pair of large warm hands come over his face. The doctor began to unravel the face bandages.
"Let's take the bandages off now, and see how you look."
Masterson could only lay and wait as the bandages came off. As the dark became light, and the light became vision, he could slowly begin to see the face of his doctor, and a small young nurse behind him, standing with a glass of water. The nurse handed the water to the doctor, who then placed it in Masterson's hand. He then inspected Masterson's face.
"Looks good. A couple of scares, the worst of them is right here on the left side on the back of the cheekbone. It'll be visible for the rest of your life, but the others will heal up fine. All in all, I'd say you'll be fit for duty in three months."
All the while the doctor was speaking, Masterson was greedily drinking his water. But when he heard three months, he quickly stopped and placed his glass of water on the small cupboard.
"Three months? Oh no, that won't do. I have a company to get back too."
The doctor stood up from the bed and looked down on Masterson.
"Three months Captain, I'm sorry, but that's regulations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to some other patients. If you need me, call for a nurse first."
The doctor smiled and nodded at Masterson, and then left the ward at a brisk pace. Masterson then took the time to look around. He couldn't move his head too fast, or he'd feel dizzy. He saw other men around him, some less hurt, some more, and some dead.
He wasn't about to sit hear and watch this room of emotions fill with sad and sick. He was a combat soldier, and if he was going to die, he'd die in the field, not as some helpless wounded man.
Masterson slowly removed his bed sheet and rolled himself out of his bed. He stood up but could only stand at such an angle without feeling weak. He looked to his right and on the wall was a coat hanger holding his helmet, fatigues, jacket, and his pants that were folded up. They look like they were washed.
On the ground rested his M1, his equipment, and his boots. He put aside his physical incapabilities for the time being as he began to dress and gear himself up. Minutes passed and he finally finished off by placing his helmet on his head and putting his pistol in his holster.
Masterson slung his Garand around his back and then slowly made way for the exit. As he neared the doors, he could see the doctor coming in. When the doctor entered and saw Masterson, his papers fell from his hands.
"Captain what are you doing?! You need to be in bed! You can't go out there!"
Masterson grinned and continued to walk to the entrance.
"Awh come on now, like you said, it's just a flesh would, doc."
Masterson winked to the doctor and left the ward. Outside he saw a small convoy of troops loading up into a trio of trucks and a duo of jeeps. He walked over to the nearest soldier and tapped him on the back. The soldier, a corporal, saluted Masterson.
"Where's this unit going, son?"
The corporal put his hand at his side and in his best bearing, answered Masterson.
"Paris, sir."
Masterson slowly nodded his head.
"Paris huh? Well, I don't suppose you guys would mind if I tagged along until we hit Carentan do ya?"
The young corporal didn't even have time to answer as Masterson boarded the rear truck and made himself set for the trip back to the front lines.
It was time to get back down to business.
(Coming back to the forum. I've decided to close the Brecourt Map since no one participated. In trade for a win, I give Blithe as a casualty).
Masterson groaned as his head rocked back and forth. His eyes opened, but there was still black. He blinked several times while moaning in pain.
"My eyes. My eyes! Why can't I see?!"
Masterson could feel two pairs of hands come over his body to keep him from moving too much in the bed. He felt hands across both his ankles and two hands on his shoulders. Knowing it was better to not fight, he laid back and surrendered to whomever stood over him. He was then calmed by a soothing voice of the doctor.
"Settle down, Captain. You're fine. You're in an Army hospital just north of Carentan, near Utah Beach. You can't see anything because we have bandages over your head."
Masterson shook his head. He didn't understand why he was here, or what happened. What put him here?
"But what happened, doc? How'd I get here?"
The doctor removed his hands from Masterson's shoulder, he sat gently at the bedside and laid his notepad down near Masterson's hip.
"When you and your men set out to take care of that German gun battery near Brecourt Manor, you were hit nearly head on with a German grenade. The blast was close, and even though the shrapnel missed, the shock was enough to knock you out."
Masterson hurt his mind to think back to the event. He slowly regained some thought of the subject, and can recall moving for a hedgerow, with the majority of his company behind him. He then remembered those fateful words... "Captain get down!". . .
"Yes... Yes I remember now. I remember seeing the grenade, then a bang... and then everything went dark."
The next thing that Masterson had thought about stoped him in his talk. He was quick to ask the doctor.
"How long have I been out doc?!"
Sensing that Masterson was about to become more anxious, he quickly settled him by giving him a direct answer.
"Five days. It hasn't been long, captain. And before you ask, you'll be fine. You suffered a major concussion and several lacerations to your arms and legs. Other than that, you're fine."
Masterson's next concern was his men.
"What about my men? What happened to them?"
"Your casualties are one KIA, three wounded. Your men were able to successfully able to seize and destroy all four guns, as well as inflict heavy casualties upon the German forces, who retreated as soon as the first gun was taken."
Masterson's face tightened when he heard one of his men been killed. The guilt ran over him. Had he taken more precaution, he could have been there to help his men.
"Who was the KIA?"
The doctor lifted back up his notepad. He flipped through several pages on it and folded them back behind the clipboard and read out a small line from a report he was given.
"... Reported KIA(s), a one, Pvt. Albert Blithe, First Platoon, B Company, 506th."
Masterson knew Blithe, and knew him well. It was indeed sad to lose any soldier, but Blithe did his job exceptionally well. Masterson didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself now for Blithe's death.
Just as Masterson was about to speak again, he felt a pair of large warm hands come over his face. The doctor began to unravel the face bandages.
"Let's take the bandages off now, and see how you look."
Masterson could only lay and wait as the bandages came off. As the dark became light, and the light became vision, he could slowly begin to see the face of his doctor, and a small young nurse behind him, standing with a glass of water. The nurse handed the water to the doctor, who then placed it in Masterson's hand. He then inspected Masterson's face.
"Looks good. A couple of scares, the worst of them is right here on the left side on the back of the cheekbone. It'll be visible for the rest of your life, but the others will heal up fine. All in all, I'd say you'll be fit for duty in three months."
All the while the doctor was speaking, Masterson was greedily drinking his water. But when he heard three months, he quickly stopped and placed his glass of water on the small cupboard.
"Three months? Oh no, that won't do. I have a company to get back too."
The doctor stood up from the bed and looked down on Masterson.
"Three months Captain, I'm sorry, but that's regulations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to some other patients. If you need me, call for a nurse first."
The doctor smiled and nodded at Masterson, and then left the ward at a brisk pace. Masterson then took the time to look around. He couldn't move his head too fast, or he'd feel dizzy. He saw other men around him, some less hurt, some more, and some dead.
He wasn't about to sit hear and watch this room of emotions fill with sad and sick. He was a combat soldier, and if he was going to die, he'd die in the field, not as some helpless wounded man.
Masterson slowly removed his bed sheet and rolled himself out of his bed. He stood up but could only stand at such an angle without feeling weak. He looked to his right and on the wall was a coat hanger holding his helmet, fatigues, jacket, and his pants that were folded up. They look like they were washed.
On the ground rested his M1, his equipment, and his boots. He put aside his physical incapabilities for the time being as he began to dress and gear himself up. Minutes passed and he finally finished off by placing his helmet on his head and putting his pistol in his holster.
Masterson slung his Garand around his back and then slowly made way for the exit. As he neared the doors, he could see the doctor coming in. When the doctor entered and saw Masterson, his papers fell from his hands.
"Captain what are you doing?! You need to be in bed! You can't go out there!"
Masterson grinned and continued to walk to the entrance.
"Awh come on now, like you said, it's just a flesh would, doc."
Masterson winked to the doctor and left the ward. Outside he saw a small convoy of troops loading up into a trio of trucks and a duo of jeeps. He walked over to the nearest soldier and tapped him on the back. The soldier, a corporal, saluted Masterson.
"Where's this unit going, son?"
The corporal put his hand at his side and in his best bearing, answered Masterson.
"Paris, sir."
Masterson slowly nodded his head.
"Paris huh? Well, I don't suppose you guys would mind if I tagged along until we hit Carentan do ya?"
The young corporal didn't even have time to answer as Masterson boarded the rear truck and made himself set for the trip back to the front lines.
It was time to get back down to business.
(Coming back to the forum. I've decided to close the Brecourt Map since no one participated. In trade for a win, I give Blithe as a casualty).