Friday, January 18, 2008

MR. TRUCK DRY-VAH: The Saga Continues

Do to the overwhelming, popular demand from our readers for more of the exploits of our hero, we will be chronicling some of his past on this blog. The latest of many entries appears below. Warning: Some of what you are about to read is graphic in nature and may not be suitable for kids, Jews or accountants. Reader discretion is advised.

Part One

The med-evac chopper raised a swirling cloud of sand as it landed in the pre-dusk haze. The heat from the day still rose from the hard-packed sand as an Army medic and a young Army trauma surgeon waited for the chopper blades to tire. They had been radioed about the casualty they were about to receive; the field medic conveyed the pertinent clinical information to the surgical hospital over a background of battle. The young doc back at the hospital miles from the front knew he faced a great challenge but doubted he would ever be forced to confront it. The wounds described to him by the field medic told the young surgeon that this particular patient would never survive the evac flight. Still, despite his reservations and to his surprise the side door of the chopper was sliding open and grunts baring a stretcher were rushing out. They half walked-half ran towards the waiting gurney the surgeon stood next to. They looked at him angrily, almost with menace. One of them smacked the surgeon hard across the side of his head, another was screaming insanely in his ear. The surgeon thought for a moment he was trapped in a dream, a surreal scenario spun up by his sleeping mind. That thought did not remain intact for a nanosecond; he knew this was all real.

As one of the infantry soldiers kept bellowing in his ear and the other prepared to smack him again, he finally glanced down at the wounded warrior before him. The man was huge, enormous, actually, with severe head, thorax and abdominal wounds. Pressure bandages had been placed atop other blood soaked pressure bandages. There was an IV into each arm. How could a human being survive such dramatic trauma?, thought the young surgeon. Suddenly his thoughts were broken as he felt himself being pulled close to the wreckage on the gurney. How was this happening? He then realized that the brutally wounded man before him was not only alive but wide awake and pulling the surgeon towards him by the collar of his scrub shirt. In a second they were literally nose to nose amid the clamor and chaos of the landing pad. The young surgeon was fixated on the eyes of his patient. Suddenly, in a clear, steady voice the wounded man spoke. “Hey, how about it, hello come in? What do I gotta do to get a cup a coffee in this clusterfuck?”

The others present reacted quicker than did the startled surgeon. They began wheeling the gurney towards the triage room. As the surgeon trotted behind them to keep up, one of the grunts who arrived with the wounded giant turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Now you don’t worry Doc. You just do what you gotta do. He’ll do the rest. He’s a truck driver, Doc. That’s right a real, genuine American truck driver. Now get your bony ass in there and get to fixin my friend or I’ll rip your spleen out.”

Part Two

He was aware of his surroundings but the opiates had found their way to his cerebellum. He felt no pain, just some soreness like he got when he rode a mechanical bull. He had a headache, was very tired but, worst of all, he needed a fuckin cigarette. He heard the choppers coming and going, felt the wind driven sand on exposed flesh and heard shouting as he sensed he was being wheeled indoors. Suddenly, he was freezing; colder than he had ever been before. Colder even than that night on Battle Mountain when he was forced to replace a U-joint in a blizzard with only a pair of pliers and some JB Weld. He opened his eyes fully and knew he was in some sort of hospital. The medical people scurrying around him wore concerned looks on their faces. One, a pretty blonde nurse with a cute ass caught his attention. He grabbed her ass as she raced by but did not stop. He knew she’d be back; they always were.

Things started moving fast around him although the mega-dose of morphine he’d received on the chopper prevented him from feeling anything like urgency. He was simply content to lay on that gurney as his bandages and clothes were cut off him. Suddenly, the medics and nurses hurriedly scissoring off the bandages ducked down in unison. As one, they all suddenly disappeared as the sound of a huge explosion rocked the triage room. He thought this was funny. He smiled. He knew why they all ducked and feared for their lives. This made him laugh. His laughter brought forth another tremendous blast, the concussive force of which knocked several fillings out of the teeth of the hunkered down medical staff. He was proud that he still had the ability to fart like a Brahma bull grazing on chile. Hail, they think that was a bunker-buster, he thought to himself. He knew it was merely the by product of the last Flying-J buffet he had eaten before finding himself on the ground in Baghdad.

To be continued…

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