James Mullins - The Winter Sniper

“What’s sulfa?” Hale asked.

“It’s a powder that you put into wounds to prevent them from becoming infected. It was invented by the Germans a few years back. It is supposed to revolutionize the medical arts. For the first time ever, we can actually prevent and treat infections.” Gar said. Noticing Hale’s blank look the Doctor added, “Trust me, this is an exciting development.”

“If you say so Doctor.” Hale replied.

“It’s going to save millions of men who survive their injuries from infection.” The doctor replied.

Gar, looked around for the nurse and her tray, they had both disappeared. Frowning, he retreated to a gray metal cabinet set into the far corner of the tent and opened it up. He withdrew a small packet from one of the shelves. As he approached Hale, he tore the packet open. Next, he stood over Hale’s injury and tipped the packet so that the powder slowly poured into the wound.

Hale winced at he felt the grains striking his open wound. The Doctor continued this process for about a minute as he spread the powder evenly over the knife injury, “There we go. Now I just have to close it up.”

“Close it?” Hale asked nervously.

“Yes, I have to sew it shut or it will never heal.” The Doctor replied. Seeing Hale suddenly turning pale he added, “Don’t worry it won’t hurt.”

The Doctor was wrong. It did hurt, a lot. His shoulder now feeling like it had been kicked by an angry jack ass, throbbed mightily, “Thank you.” Hale winced as a shooting pain from his shoulder caused him to grimace, “I think. Am I free to get dressed and go?” Hale asked.

Gar smiled at Hale, “Don’t worry. I know it hurts now, but you’ll feel better later. Let me spread a bit more sulfa onto your stiches so they don’t become infected.”

Hale stood by patiently as Gar went back to the gray metal cabinet. He pulled the latch to the right and tugged on the door opening it. The mechanism screeched in protest at being disturbed. Within seconds he had picked up another packet of the sulfa powder from the neatly arranged shelves and had torn the top off as he walked back across the small space to Hale. Gar then concentrated as he carefully spread the white powder into Hale’s stitched wound.

“There you go, that should prevent infection. You need at least seven days of rest, and then you’ll be good as new.” Gar said.

“After the seven days, will I be able to fire a rifle then without pain? I’m a sniper, that’s kind of important.”

Gar eyes widened at Hale’s words, “It will probably still hurt, but it should be able to take the kick at that point. What do you shoot with?”

“A Mosin-Nagant.” Hale replied.

Gar pointed at Hale’s weapon on the floor, “That hunting rifle?”

“Yes, my parents got it for me.” Hale replied.

The doctor tilted his head back so that he was staring up at the ceiling of the tent and laughed mightily, “What’s so funny?” Hale asked, irritated.

After Gar’s mirth abated, he met Hale’s gaze and said, “We are invaded by a large modern army with all of the latest equipment, countless technologies devised for the destruction of mankind and we send out the flower of our youth armed with hunting rifles to stop it.”

Hale bristled, “I’ve killed many of the Soviet swine with my hunting rifle.”

Gar held up a hand, “Peace Hale. It wasn’t meant as an insult to you. On the contrary, it was meant as an insult to the Russians. Despite all of the advantages they bring, young boys, like you, who were born free spirts are able to make them pay dearly for every inch of our soil.”

“One of us is worth ten of them.” Hale added.

Gar smiled, “I don’t doubt it. You, and many other good free-spirited Finnish boys are proving the value and ingenuity that growing up free instills in a man.”

The horn on the truck outside honked. At the same moment Gar’s nurse re-entered the tent. She reeked of tobacco smoke, “You had best get going. Enjoy your rest, you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, Gar.”

Hale finished dressing. As he turned to leave, he shook hands with the doctor as the older man handed him a piece of paper.

“Your pass.” Gar said.

Hale smiled at the older man in thanks, took the paper from the doctor’s outstretched hand, and hastily walked out of the tent. As he emerged outside, a blast of cold air and darkness greeted him. A few feet in front of him, on the road, sat an ambulance. The vehicle had a cab much like the other trucks Hale had seen. On the back, instead of a canopy covered flat bed, it was fully enclosed. How did I rate such comfort?

Seeing Hale emerge from the tent, the passenger, one of the orderlies who had taken the man with the gut wound away, got out of the truck and said, “Let me help you into the back.”

“Thanks. Where are we going?” Hale asked.

“We’re taking you to the hospital outside of Perkjarvi” The man responded.

Hale smiled, Perkjarvi is close to home!

Seeing Hale smile the man asked, “What’s so great about Perkjarvi? I grew up in Viipuri. Seems like a quaint little shithole by comparison.”

“It’s close to home.” Hale responded.

The man’s eyes widened as he realized the insult, he had just paid Hale. He quickly recovered from his blunder and said, “The hospital there is nearly full, and you don’t seem to be that bad off. Perhaps they’ll let you go home to recover.”

Hale’s heart leaped as he climbed into the back of the ambulance. Stepping into the dim interior, he saw that the right side of the space was occupied by the unconscious form of the man who had just gotten the operation. Opposite him was an empty stretcher, sitting securely in an apparatus designed to hold the stretcher in place.

The medic gestured at the empty stretcher, “Get some rest. It’s a long trip to Perkjarvi.”

Hale did as he was told. He set his weapons on the floor of the vehicle and laid down on the stretcher. The medic pulled a pillow out of a metal cabinet set into the forward wall of the ambulance. He handed Hale the pillow, along with a gray woolen blanket, and then retreated. The last sound Hale remembered was the sound of the door being latched shut and then nothingness.

Hale awoke in mid-air. Immediately realizing his lack of contact with any physical surface his stomach lurched. A moment later he landed back on the stretcher with a thump. As his heartbeat thundered in his ears from the adrenaline rushing into his bloodstream, he heard a groan from the darkness, The man with the gut wound. He thought as realization came back to him. I must have been deeply asleep .

The squeal of breaks filled the small chamber the two men occupied as Hale felt his body sliding forward. Not thinking, he stuck his right arm out to stop his forward motion. The sudden searing pain caused him to cry out. The moment the motion of the vehicle ceased; Hale heard the sound of a door opening up front. This was followed by the sound of boots on gravel as someone, presumably the orderly, made his way around to the back of the vehicle.

With a moan of protest, the latch on the door twisted and the door opened revealing a shadowy figure in the moonlight, “Is everyone all right?” The orderly asked.

“What happened?” Hale asked.

“There was a huge hole in the road. Maybe from a Russian bomb? I’m not sure. It wasn’t there when we came through earlier today. The driver swerved to miss it, but he still caught the edge of it with the back tire on your side.” The orderly responded.

“Russians here? Where are we? I thought we were going to Perkjarvi!” Hale’s mind raced as he blurted out the words.