Biography of

Fred Thompson
Shark 7

A Vietnam Retrospective
PART 17

Click on the blue cube to go back to Part 16

==========================

They put me into the gun well of a dustoff slick with some guys on stretchers in the cargo area, and we flew up to about 6000 feet to go over the weather between Khe Sahn and Quang Tri. I froze my ass off back there with no jacket. Also, did you ever consciously try not to move your eyeball . . . or eyelid? It's impossible but extremely painful when I did.

We arrived at the Med pad, which was right between the hospital and the orphanage our company had set up shop in. I was walked into the hospital, which was a series of World War II vintage quantset huts, connected by covered walkways.

After x-rays, a very inquisitive but friendly doctor asked me where I was from. "San Fernando Valley, L.A." I responded. "Well, what do you think about old California falling in the ocean like that?"

Not funny.

The doctor pinned my eyelid open, put some kind of numbing agent on it, and it was instant relief. He began the task of picking out the shards of plastic. I was briefly visited by Major Searcy, whose only remark to me was: "Are you gonna be able to fly tomorrow?" Sure, I thought to myself. As soon as somebody answers that phone!

He left without an answer and the doctor told me about what he knew of the great Sylmar earthquake, as he too had relatives in my part of the world. After cleaning up the eyeball, which I could now see with, he cleaned the large opening of my damaged scalp. It looked like hell and I had images of this big, ugly, round scar messing up my already questionable appearance.

He set about with his needle and thread and merely pulled the top down to meet the bottom and sowed it straight across. It turned out to be only a two-inch scar, right in the hairline. According to him, the only fear was infection.

The x-rays were negative except for a narrow groove cut across the surface of the skull by the grazing round and a moderate concussion below the bone. The doctor told me: "I'm going to keep an eye on you for a week or two. You'll be back flying in no time!" (Swell. Like I was in a hurry to get back to that?)

Well, so much for going home. The hospital was my new love. I got real food and a real bed. I was in a ward and right next to Bruce Marshall. They'd already bolted the three main pieces of his leg back together and he was in traction. His lower leg was left partially open to allow it to seep. He was doped up quite a bit and we both got a steady flow of visitors from our nearby company, especially at night.

You know, there is a false myth about beautiful nurses being near combat zones. All the visitors had left and I'd finished a dinner that wasn't from a green can. Horns and alarms started going off, and the sounds of impacting mortars--or whatever--could be heard in the distance, when this very large, yet short woman came waddling into the ward wearing a flak jacket and a steel pot.

She was a full colonel nurse and so ugly I know she'd probably demand to be called sir. She looked at Bruce and I just knew by that nightmarish scowl on her face that she would have just loved to make his existence more hellish than it already was.

She just grunted and moved over to my bed and states: "What's wrong with you?" I wanted to respond: "I'm here with you!" but respectfully I just pointed to my head. Her comment was: "You're ambulatory. Get your ass down to the bunker." I replied: "Yes Ma'am!"

I guess she assumed I knew what ambulatory meant. I followed exit signs with my one uncovered eye, through several wards to the bunker. I went down about five steps to what I assumed was a dirt floor, covered by about three or four inches of water. It had an opening to the west and I could see the glowing of burning fires above the mountains, to the west of Quang Tri.

I was only there maybe twenty seconds, savoring the odor of unknown decay, when the buzzing of millions of mosquitoes that could only consider me room service, blurred the vision of my one good eye. I fled the place, back to my ward only to find Bruce screaming in pain. For Bruce's protection, the troll colonel had placed a mattress over the top of him, bending back his incredibly swollen toes. I pulled it off him and he groggily thanked me.

I guess my bedside manner wouldn't be the cheeriest either if I'd been dealt the hand she was playing.

------------------------
End of Part 17 of 20 Parts.
Click on the beacon to go to Part 18