Bombs On The Beach

Directly after the Recon log

Yahzee lets the Naval medic patch up his chest, "So how are you doing, corpsman?" asking Kappedal. "You look a bit banged up." to both men.

Jenkins pauses to mutter something. "Shouldn't have made to go after that one in the east." A pause. "Must ha-ve spotted me then."

"I'm okay," Kappedal, having packed Yahzee's chest wound as well as one can out here in the forest and mud, finally takes a look at what the bullet did to his side. He's still cresting on that phase before real pain hits, when it still feels like you're looking at someone else's flesh rather than your own. He looks at Jenkins, concerned, then back at Yahzee. "We need to get back so the doc can see you."

Yahzee offers as the Naval corpsman keeps the bleeding closed. "You need some care yourself, bud."

Jenkins lets the other two deal with the manners. He trudges on up north. Hopefully no planes are taking off, though he wouldn't notice if they were.

Kappedal arrives from the South.
Yahzee has arrived.
Yahzee arrives from the South.

Jenkins meanders his way through the camp. He knows where the aid station is, he trudges some more, maybe not. Finally his knees just fold up and he falls on the sand with a soft thump.

Yahzee is able to walk, his chest and head wounds now bandaged. The chest wound looks back, bile seeping through the bandaging from his liver.

Kappedal helps the two Marines into the station - mostly Jenkins since he's relatively worse off than Yahzee is. Dirty, muddy, bloody, all three of them.

Jenkins colaspses in the nearest bunk, fortunately it's not occupied, both his bandaged arms hang limply as he draws in a few ragged breaths. He does think of something eventually though. "They'll have packed up and buggered off by now wont they?" Optomistic lad.

A new day almost ready to dawn, a new start, a new adventure… Mildred comes tromping into the aid station from the other side, an unhappy, tired look on her face and a duffle bag over her shoulder. Her uniform looks like it's been in use for more hours than it's designed for, and in the wrong environment, as, at the moment, does she. "Alright, who's the…" she starts before noting not only a lack of staff, but a surplus of patients. The bag is tossed to the side unceremoniously as she starts towards the trio. "What happened?"

Yahzee looks over to Jenkins and Kappedal, "Ran to radio it in, only made it thanks to you." A wave to the wounds. "How bad's he?" asked of the wounded medic with a nod to injured Jenkins.

"Where's the other guy?" Kappedal asks, quickly. Presumably that means Austin. He sits down on the edge of a crate, pressing his arm against the bottom of his ribs as he looks over at Mildred. "Ground recon, ma'am. Four casualties. One should've come back to base ahead of us, he was unconscious."

Jenkins doesn't mind not getting his glum rhetorical question answered. He does looks up and blink at the nurse, but there's someone with a little less blood loss and a little more sense to answer that question. He just stares past the woman blankly as the rest talk.
Yahzee turns to look around. "Saw Austin go down." The radioman seems about to add more, but just goes silent. Grim.

Austin has been brought in, with his chest wound. He's still unconscious, almost looking peaceful at the moment.

Kappedal sighs quietly. It's only then he processes that Yahzee asked him something. About Jenkins, no less. "Not going to be shooting anything for a while, I don't think. But I'm no doctor."

Mildred's eyes dart around the group, from the bandaged arms to the clutched ribs, and then the chest wound. "Speaking of, Corpsman, any idea where he might be found?" she asks as she heads to the chest wound, her hand heading to find a neck pulse.

Jenkins gives a short nod. "Right near me." He adds then a faint. "Christ." He hasn't seen Austin yet. "Didn't think to get him out of there." He's still staring over where the nurse had been, even though she left now.

Yahzee spots Austin's stretcher outside. "Is that him? Over here?" sitting up and getting a bit too excited for his chest wound's health.

"No, ma'am," Kappedal tells Mildred. His helmet slides a bit down the front of his head and he reaches it, shoving it back a bit. "Probably up the beach." His attention gets tugged towards Yahzee and Austin.

Jenkins doesn't look up, though when Yahzee passes his field of vision. He blinks. "You talking 'bout Aust?" he questions dully. "We got him out?" It's all in the same flat monotone.

Yahzee pulls off the helmet, revealling the lesser wound where the sniper's shot impacted into his helmet before it ricocheted off. "A guy's out there, kinda looks like him." A visible relief on the young man as the stretcher's brought in.

Mildred kneels down next to Austin, her hand going to his neck, and then her head bending down to listen. "Stable enough," she says as she stands back up, starting towards Jenkins, eyes on his arms. "Alright, get an IV in him and…" she manages before realizing there's no other help. "Corpsman, what's your status?" she asks as she crosses back to start digging through supplies.

Yahzee offers a thumb-up to Austin, so the fellow knows he's in friendly hands now in camp if dazed. As Mildred speaks to the corpsman, the wounded radioman just rests back and smiles a bit to Jenkins and Austin as they get help from the corps.

"I'm fine to work, ma'am." Kappedal's been busy wrapping gauze and a foul-smelling antibiotic in the gunshot tear under his ribs, teeth grit in his closed mouth. He tosses away a bit of bloody cloth and stands up, straightening his muddy jacket. "Just tell me what you need."

Jenkins thinks for a moment, it's another few seconds before the next question peeps out of his mouth. "Is, is he alive?" His own helmet is slowly slipping down his forehead, though he doesn't seem inclined to move it. A sudden shift of the head to eye the approaching figure, but then she starts going somewhere else andhe relaxes, time to clutch at the straws of her words. "Woman, she said stable? Is that Aust she's talking about?" He asks. The upper left arm is still seeping from two gashes.

Austin remains out of it, off in his own little world, perhaps. He'll remain like that for a long time now.

Yahzee offers, "Looks alive." in response to Jenkins. "Out of it, though." commenting about Austin's status.

Mildred mutters something rather unladylike, but very navy-like as she tries to find where everything is. "We need an IV started in that one," she says, pointing to Austin, "and some plasma if we've got- Ah, bandages." She grabs a handful and starts towards Jenkins. "Here, son, hold this against you're arm, we'll get to you in a sec. So IV, plasma, mark him is he's had morphine, and we'll need the doctor to take a look. Got it?" she asks as her eyes point towards Yahzee.

Yahzee has been given first aid in the field, so there's a field dressing across his chest where the serious wound likely has penetrated into the liver. The head's got a bandage wrapped as well, but it's only a minor wound from a glancing impact on the helmet.

Jenkins gives a short sort of nod, followed by a muttered. "Good." A bundle of bandages get stuck in his good hand. He looks at it for a moment, then at his right hand, it's not to bad off but he's sensible enough not to use that for anything. So he presses the bandages agaisn't his wounded hand and ignores his arm for now.

"Aye aye." Kappedal's much calmer than he was just a little while ago when bullets are flying. The teenager's back on his feet quickly, heading for Austin's bed and grabbing the correct bag for an IV.

Mildred pulls the bandage up on Yahzee's head, glancing at it briefly, her ands cool to the touch. "What's your name marine. Do you know where you are right now?" she asks as she reaches out to the side for something that's not there. "Saline?" she asks Kappedal as she starts looking around again, looking through storage bags. "Nevermind." She takes a bottle back and starts squirting it into the would to clear it out.

Yahzee offers in response to the nurse or doctor. "Private Yahzee, ma'am." His features non-European, likely native american. "Got me there…" nodding his head back a little, "An there." a gesture to the bandage on his chest. No indication of trouble breathing or speaking, so the bullet missed his lungs.

Kappedal points MIldred towards the crates of saline, though it looks like she's already found it. The young man pulls a bag of liquid up over Austin's quiet body, hanging it, then he leans a bit over Austin's left hand to get the IV started. Mmm needle.

Mildred looks more closely now that there's less dirt in the way. "Doesn't look too bad, private. Can you tell me where you are?" she asks as she starts wrapping a fresh bandage around it.

Yahzee nods again, "Aid station. I was patched up on the field, sure hurt then." indicating the chest wound. "I'm pretty clear-thinking now." and nods as she's inspecting the wound.
Jenkins hasn't moved. People are busy, he's more or less fine, if a little addled and completely useless. There's even a nice sunrise to watch when the tent flap's open.

"Good boy," the nurse replies as she starts scanning down his body. "And what have we here…" she says as she cuts open the chest bandage, her eyes eyeing the hole before rolling him on his side to check for an exit wound.
Yahzee tries to roll over, but there is some pain there. Bullet passed through, damaging the liver's edge enough for some bile leakage. The emergency first aid insured it didn't get worse. "Uhhhh" letting out his breath with the roll.

Mildred puts a fresh wad of bandaging there and keeps him on his side. "Good job private. You remembered your VD films. No bringing any foreign souvenirs back with you." She leans down, taking a few sniffs around the wound. "Alright, this one needs surgery," she says across to Kappedal. "We need to get an IV in him and get him ready to move." She pauses for a moment before asking, "Where do we move them to from here?"

Yahzee nods to accept Mildred's orders as best as he can, and rolls slowly back over to keep still on the cot.

Jenkins has been sitting on his cot all this time. Now he lifts his legs and lays down properly, boots and all, he stares up at the ceilling for a moment, hen his eyelids begin to flicker.

Kappedal busies himself with seeing to Austin, checking the man's vitals and peeling up the bandaging to see to the wound. Cleaning, prodding, repacking and re-wrapping. Gauze winds around Austin's chest and midsection like half a shroud, pressed down with a little surgical tape. He turns around as Mildred speaks. "Nowhere, ma'am. You're looking at everything we have until another ship comes through. The Legion left."

Mildred stands stock still for a moment before letting out a little sigh. "So I am. Well, we can get everything all nice and ready for the doctor then." She starts rinsing her hands with the saline as she moves to Jenkins. "What's your name, marine?" she asks as she bends over his cot, reaching for the redder bandage.

Jenkins was just about to dose off. He blinks a few moments, thinking. "Patrick." A pause. "Patrick Jenkins. Private." He takes another look and a few more moments thought. "Ma'am."

Yahzee remains quiet now, frowning a little to himself knowing surgery's to be expected. The young man has scar tissue on one arm from a long-healed wound, likely only given some sort of fundamental treatment as a boy.

Kappedal is done with his settling-in of Austin, pushing over a tray with some wrapped supplies for Fredricks' surgical pleasure later. He runs his hands through some relatively clean water, flicking them off and rubbing them down with a small towel, drying the skin until it's reddened. His eyes watch Mildred and Yahzee, then Jenkins.

Mildred watches Jenkins for a moment before carefully lifting up the pillow from his head and folding it under his feet. "Well Patrick Jenkins Private, you've lost a lot of blood. I'd prefer it if you stopped, but I know how stubborn you marines are. Corpsman, some plasma and an IV needle please. Where are you from, Private Jenkins?" she asks, trying to keep him focused.

Yahzee closes both lids as they grow heavy from exhaustion and medication. The adrenaline rush from the battle's faded, and as his body starts the healing process for a long time to come, his conciousness fades into slumber.

Jenkins limply lets the treatment continue. A light bump as his head lands on the cot. "Pensylvania. Aubern Pensylvania." He recites almost automaticly.

"Aye aye, ma'am." Kappedal brushes his hands on the sides of his jacket and slides past the head of Jenkins' cot on his way to a pile of crates. Plasma…needles. There isn't much space to be organised in here, but the young man seems to know where most things are despite some chaos. Fetching the requested things, he comes back over to the cot and sets them down in the tray.

Mildred grabs an IV needle, eying both of Jenkins' injured extremities for a moment before sticking it between her lips and reaching for scissors. "Got ah grrl ah hom, rhrirate?" she asks him as she starts cutting up his pants leg towards his groin.

Jenkins rallies himself for a sort of limp protest as things really start to happen around him. "I'm, I'm fine." He manages. "Jus' a bit con- con." A breath to try again then, then he's distracted. "Lucy." He says. "Pretty as- as- She coo's fine grub." He finishes.

Mildred finishes cutting, tearing open the last foot or two with her hands, exposing the marine up to his skivvies. Dropping the shears she grabs an alcohol pad and starts wiping the inside of his thigh. "What's her best dish?" she asks Jenkins after pulling the needle from her mouth and bending down to slide it into his femoral artery.

Jenkins considers the question a moment, twitching as he gets a needle in the leg. "Mighty fine corned beef hotpot." He considers then begins to ramble. "Meat loaf ev'ry third sunday, can always be there, gotta stay wiv ma, pa." His finger is unadorned. "Better than wet rations." His tongue crawls out to wet his cracked lips.

"Corned beef, private? You should have joined the Navy," she comments as she gets the needle in and ties it down, attaching a jar of plasma and hanging it from a hook. "What's first Sunday, Jenkins?" she asks as she watches the liquid work its way to the needle and in before moving back to check his wounds for fresh bleeding.

Jenkins thinks for a moment. "First sunday is roast, at her place." He grins. "Us'illy I'm at ma's for cold meal." He grins inanely, might have been something he said.

Mildred gets her saline and starts spraying the shoulder wound, cleaning it of dried blood more than the dirt the bleeding removed on its own. "Roast beef, corned beef. I'm sensing a Sunday theme, Jenkins." She works quickly, grabbing fresh bandaging as newer blood starts out again and pressing it on tightly.

Jenkins sort of half shrugs, rather painfully. "Her pa were well off." A pause, then a bitter and rather more coherant. "Bastard." He ignores all the fiddly medical stuff, Mildred's distracting him at least.

Mildred is focused on her work, but is a quick one on the uptake. "Doesn't approve?" she asks as she ties down the bandaging and moves around to check his hand.

Jenkins nods a little, he can do that without pulling something out. "Say's 'meh not a proper man, trouble maker." He mutters. "Showed 'im though, join-ed up." As Mildred moves past she flickers into his field of vision. He blinks some. And tries to form a sentance independant of questioning. "Why, Wha' you here for?" He manages, the coherance goes out of the window.

Mildred looks up to check the plasma bottle, and looks down to check the IV in his leg. "Me? Well, Archie Reedy's little girl wanted to see the world," she says glibly as she starts cutting the bandages off his hand, inwardly sighing at the example of the foolishness of impetuous youth laying in front of her. "She write you letters?" she asks, changing the subject back to him.

Kappedal reappears from some other depth of the aid tent. His helmet's been put down somewhere, switched out for a dark green cloth cap with a brim. The front has the characteristic white circle and small red cross, his dark hair peeking out in its rather wild way in the back. He picks his way around the beds he'd been to earlier, checking on Yahzee and Austin as they doze.

Jenkins flips his head from side to side. "Can't write. Keep sending her mail. She knows I'm right." A concentrated pause. "Picture in my pocket." Another think. "Shirt pocket." Maybe he hasn't quite cottoned on to the fact that she's keeping him alive at the moment.

Mildred frowns when she sees the hand. "Corpsman, a bowl full of soapy water, if you can find something. Or at least a helmet, we need to get this clean so we can see the damage… She a pretty girl?" she asks as she turns back towards Jenkins.
Woods has discovered the joys of banging coconuts and halves of coconuts together. Woods is a regular drum-machine. Clopclopclop. He stops, near the aid station now and peeks in.

Jenkins filters through the words that might be for him. He half sits up before he decides he's probably not corpsman, whoever that is. "Picture in pocket." He repeats.

"Aye, ma'am." Kappedal finishes his check on AUstin and heads for the water, things clanging softly as he digs about. No, not that. Not that. Aha, small basin. He dumps out the few things that were in there and dunks it into the water, splashed hitting his trouser shins. His chin tilts up as someone's shadow appears. "Hey, Vince."

Mildred firmly pushes Jenkins back down onto the cot where the blood needs to be at the moment. "I'd hate to get it all dirty, tell me about her," she says to him, though her attention is back to see how Kappedal is coming along.

Woods smiles, "Heya, Ben." Then he notices Kappedal seems to be doing stuff and things, "Oh. You need help?" His way of apologizing for distracting the Corpsman it seems. He isn't near enough to hear Mildred and Jenkins just yet.

Jenkins catches a name mentione he begins muttering. "Vin? Never got chance say thanks." A pause. "Save my life." Now that's off his chest, whether Woods heard or not, he turns his attention back to the nurse, who's a lot stronger than him at the moment. "Curly hair, nice eyes, freckles." I wouldn't be enough to put a criminal in court but then he adds. "Smile, like, like." He hasn't regained the art of using similes yet.

Stuff and things, the enlisted man's specialty. Kappedal grits his teeth as he straightens, gut muscles pulling at the self-stitching he did not long ago. "No, I've got it." His voice lowering, he says to Woods under his breath, "Jenkins and the…" One whose name he doesn't know. Yahzee. He just tips his head towards that young man's cot. "…shot. Make sure everyone stays quiet tonight." He gives the man a slightly forced grin and starts back towards Mildred with the basin and a clean cloth.

Mildred stands up to take the basin from the Corpsman, resting it on the side of the cot and lifting Jenkins's left hand and putting it in. "What's her smile like?" he asks, keeping him going. She waits a moment to lift the hand out, dabbing at it carefully with clean wadding.

Stuff and things, a prodigous specialty indeed. Woods peers as Kappedal grits his teeth. He's slightly skeptical, but nods. And his head tilts as Kappedal speaks again to him, "Ooh… right, quiet," He nods. Then a guilty look at the two coconuts he'd been using as percussion instruments. He bobs his head again though. Quiet, got it. He follows for a moment though, just in time to hear Jenkins. "Oh. You saved mine too, and the medical staff here is nice," He smiles at Jenkins. Righto! He goes quiet then, to listen and - a nurse. Mildred gets a few blinks from the wide-eyed private.

Jenkins tries again. "Like." A pause. "When you see someone you miss, been away a long time. An' you see them, from far." He takes in some air and finishes. "Like that." He flops his head in Woods' direction, both his arms are in bandages somewhere along their lenght, quite a lot of it in both cases. "Vince say something?" he questions?

Kappedal piles a few extra cloths by the basin. Drying is good. He slips a hand under his cap brim to scratch the front of his hidden hairline, quiet while he watches.
Mildred looks… worn, and comparatively old to the company she is currently keeping, but her lipstick is red in the lights of the station and her eyes are sharp and focused.
"Alright, the bleeding has stopped, and it looks clean enough," she says as she reaches for a fresh towel to start drying the shot appendage. Her eyes pause momentarily on the new arrival. "We need to get antibiotics going on the other two, and I'll need to give this one a shot of them in the maximus once I'm done with this."

And Woods, by contrast, is a rather short, wide-eyed and goofy looking young fellow. He pauses, being good and quiet. "Huh? Oh, just a thank you back. Don't let me distract you," He nods at Jenkins. "I um, figured I'd say hi." He's holding two coconuts in front of him. Good times. He just smiles politely at Mildred, looking a bit curious about the maximus business. Sounds kinda ominous.

Jenkins considers Mildred's words for a while, eventually figuring out that they cannot be answered with some snippet of domestic bliss he decides to ignore it. Which means he can focus his attention on Woods, which confuses him rather. He frowns, considering it, then flops his head back to stare at the ceilling.

Kappedal is usually the shortest male in a room. One day he'll realise how subconsciously grateful he is for Woods' existence. "Aye aye, ma'am." He hasn't said much else to her tonight besides those words. Enlisted don't really need to say much else around here when working. He glances at Vince and then steps away, back over to Austin and Yahzee. Antibiotics tended to.

Mildred gives a little sigh as she finishes wrapping and stands up, carrying the basic with her. "He's lost a lot of blood," she says to Woods by way of explanation as she caries it to the edge of the station to dump outside. Bringing it back in she starts to rinse it out, adding in some disinfectant.

Woods doesn't seem to mind being short. He's a cheery lil gopher who will likely invariably die messily. Seems to run in the family and all. Woods is keeping out of the way, although he inches over towards Jenkins, and pauses. "Hey," He offers a smile to the man. He pauses, "I'll come by soon." He looks a bit worried as the sirens wail. Woods will scurry once again, coconuts in hand off and away.

Though the Corpsman's promptly stopped by the sound of sirens. Kappedal tenses, sucking in a breath through his nose. He sets down the antibiotics he was about to work with, quickly clearing the nearby table of glass and other breakables. "Ma'am!" He shouts to Mildred. "Don't go out there."

«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Sea with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Plains with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs River with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Beach with 4 x 250kg bombs!

You are the target!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Swamp with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Beach with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Swamp with 4 x 250kg bombs!
«Airstrike!» Betty level bombs Beach with 4 x 250kg bombs!

Mildred drops the basin and dives down behind sandbags, adding tropical dirt to the white on white motif of her uniform.

Jenkins winces as the sirens sound. He doesn't move however as bombs go off places. He screws his eyes shut tightly. "Christ." He mutters, to the rapidly emptying room.

Kappedal stays down on one knee, gathering the breakable bottles of their precious medications into cloth nearby. He pushes those under a small table and folds his arms on the edge of Austin's cot, corners of his eyes tense as the sirens wail on.

Woods quietly hunches down near Jenkins' cot. Meat shield! Very tiny meat shield, more like a chicken nugget than a steak really. Woods nods meekly at the Christ statement. He's hunkered pretty well.

Mildred, for her part, seems to be chanting from where she's covering her head with her arms. "…spartihatethispartihatethispartihatethispartihatethi…" her mantra continues.
Jenkins doesn't believe repition wears words out. In that vein he continues to mutter the same cuss word over and over again, not much variety but he does have an excuse. You couldn't get his eyes open with a screwdriver.

Kappedal is completely silent, not even mouthing any words. His eyes are closed, chin rested down behind his folded arms so his nose is touching his sleeve. When his eyes do open it's when the sound of another plane goes by overhead, even if he can't see it through the tent.

Mildred takes advantage of the pause in explosions to stick her head up, giving a quick scan of the room before getting her head back down.

Jenkins falls silent as things seem to go quiet. He doesn't open his eyes though. "Anyone there?" He asks, his voice remarkably clear, if terrified, when compared to his daze tone a few moments ago.

Woods peeps up as things go quiet. He's near Jenkins' cot side, "I-I'm here." Woods offers meekly, smiling in that faint, twitchy way. "Everyone's okay?" He's still nestled in his safe spot.

Kappedal sits back on his heels, his hand still on the side of Yahzee's cot. His voice is all but inaudible, mumbling quietly and with head half bowed, "Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam…Dayan Haemet." HIs blue eyes lift again and he twists around, looking back at the others. "We're here," he calls towards Jenkins. "Is everyone alright?"

Mildred continues to not hear more bombs, and risks sitting up as well. "Is that it?" she asks, dusting off her arms and listening for more whistling bombs.

Jenkins thinks about those questions for a moment. "Think so." He says carefully. "S'pose should look outside, check on rest of camp." He muses, fortunately he's indisposed. "God I hope so." He mutters at Mildred's comment, hoping she's far enough away not to hear him.

Woods offers to Jenkins. "I can go take a peep," He smiles, apparently his voice quiet enough to be drowned out. "I think odds are our pilots've gotten to those bombers by now," Woods tilts his head.

Kappedal stands up then, bringing the armful of towels with him that he'd wrapped up all Yahzee's medicines in. He sets them next to Yahzee's cot again, glass bottles clinking. "We'd hear a lot more if they weren't gone by now," the teenager reasons. He watches Woods as he starts going right back to what he'd been doing with Yahzee's antiobiotcs, eyes eventually turning down to watch what he's doing with the IV.

"Right," says Mildred as she gets to her feet, her white hose now covered with dirt. "Looks like we're fine, but everyone else may not be so lucky. Corpsman, we need to to set out bandages, cleaning supplies, needles, pain killers, antibiotics, and splint materials; and Jenkins still needs his jab in the ass." She pulls out a small compact from her pocket and opens it up, checking her own appearance before pulling out a small tube and touching up her makeup. Both going back into her pocket she starts fixing her hair as well. "By the time we're done with all that we'll hopefully have some help, otherwise this could get interesting. We'll triage outside, and put the critical cases inside. What do you do?" she asks Woods as she pins her hat back on.

Woods nods. He looks meek in the face of Mildred. Apparently Woods is fairly easy to boss around most times. "I occupy otherwise empty spaces and prop doors open," Biiiiig grin at that. "Actually, ma'am, I'm just a private. Vincent Woods," Nod. So he's a Marine grunt. "Figured I'd see if any of my friends were here and if they were alright. I helped bring in boxes the other day, but I'll clear out of the way if you're busy." Smile.

Kappedal balks slightly at Mildred's swearing. He frowns a little, glancing at her as she does her makeup, and then back at the addition to the IV that he's setting up. "Aye, ma'am." Even if he sounds like now he might be saying that solely for her benefit rather than his.

Stansfield has arrived.
Stansfield arrives from the East.

Mildred's bedside manor seems to end there, and she stares blankly at Woods while he gets around to explaining his purpose. "Alright, boxes. Good start. We need bandages out of storage, where ever that might be." She finishes with her cap and gazes around the station. "More basins or bowls. Steal them from the mess if you have to, clean ones if you can, or we'll sterilize them ourselves." She heads towards the sinks and starts washing up, scrubbing at her hands with soap. "Is this usual?" she asks Kappedal somewhat more gently.

Stansfield stumbles in from the airfield. Still wearing his lifejacket, flying helmet and flightsuit, he looks to be in a bit of a hurry. As a wounded F4f Wildcat just flew over the field, this must be the pilot, holding his bloodied hand gingerly as he steps into the aid station, looking around, "Ehhh, help?"

Woods blinks. Did he just - volunteer- oh dear. Woods' face twists, "Yes'm." The small Marine will dart off then, quietly hoping to find or fetch something and not return empty handed. He smiles at Kappedal in passing, although he stops to see the pilot enter- better not stop, keep running.

"It's not so bad," Kappedal replies to Mildred without looking at her. He squints at some high-stacked crates and climbs up on one to tug another down, equipment shifting and clanging inside. Crouching, he thunks it on the floor and slides the top off, rummaging about inside and pulling things out. His eyes lift as someone comes in from outside, and he dusts his hand off on his trousers as he stands. Oh hey, blood. Good thing they just got into the bandages, a handful of which he grabs as he gets up. "Sit down, we got it. Shrapnel hit?" Kappedal smiles back at Woods too, in passing. Seeya, sucka.

Mildred watches as their first new arrival appears and the corpsman goes to take a look. Only an extremity by the looks of it, could be far worse… She continues getting things ready for a larger rush, setting out supplies as she's able to find them, including finally finding antibiotics for the now sleeping Jenkins, which she begins loading into a syringe.

Stansfield finds himself a seat, shaking his head, "Jap bullet.. lucky bugger.. almost shot out my joystick." he says, glancing around, "Stocking up? Expect a rush?" he says grimly as he lets the medic go to work.

Kappedal steels himself for this before he sits down in front of Stansfield, holding out both his hands so he can inspect the wound. "Didn't know how many might've got hurt outside. Was there a lot of them? Jap planes?" His dark blue eyes lift briefly to look at Stansfield.

Stansfield shrugs, "A few zeroes and some bombers.. nothing too heavy.. them zeroes hit hard though, an they sure can turn." he murmurs, "Sure hope we can get some more pilots… if we start taking losses and gettin wounded we ain't gunna be able to fly a lot."

Mildred finishes loading, and with a cotton ball and bottle of alcohol moves over to Jenkins, rolling him onto his side carefully. Then lifting the cut-open leg she swabs as high as she can reach and slides the needle home.

Kappedal pulls over one of Fredricks' rickety rolling tables. Stitching equipment, however basic. The wound to Stansfield's hand is gory, and the medic irrigates it carefully before putting pressure on to stop the bleeding. "Maybe more will come on the next ship," he says, hopefully.

Stansfield winces a little as his wound is cleaned and dressed, grumbling, "Maybe… we can hope…." he mutters, watching the medic work.

Mildred puts the private back into place and heads back to add the needle into the next batch for sterilizing. Then the alcohol goes back, and she continues getting ready for more potential casualties.

Kappedal is silent for a while after that. He's no surgeon; he needs a good deal of his concentration for this simple stuff. But he does a good job of it, even if the stitch work is rudimentary and will just get torn out later when Fredricks gets his hands on it. He wraps the hand up carefully in gauze up past the wrist, securing it. "There. You'll want to talk to Dr. Fredricks or nurse…" He glances at Mildred, whose name he doesn't know. "…the nurse."

Stansfield nods, "Thanks.. can I go back to my quarters or should I hang about here for a bit?" he inquires, "I don't want to take a bed from someone who's more seriously hurt."

Slayback walks in from watch duty. Bored. He yawns and looks around for someone to pester. A good listen and he hears people talking in the aid station. He spies people and steps inside, "Hey everybody." A dashing, Superman grin and a wave to those inside the station.

Mildred is just finishing with setting everything out when the new arrival enters akimbo. "You don't look particularly injured," she says as she starts towards the door. Her uniform is, at this point, rather disheveled and dirtied from the air raid, though her hair and lipstick are perfectly in place. There are standards afterall.

"Stay here," Kappedal says, wrinkling his nose at the bandaged hand. "At least let the doctor do some better stitching, and let us clean it again in a few hours. You wouldn't want that getting infected, it'd be nasty." He scratches his nose, glancing up as someone else comes in.

Slayback waves to Kappedal, "Hey there, Stitches." It's a cool name, Slayback likes it. He grins at the nurse, "Oh, no ma'am, I'm not wounded. I just find that you doctor-types can sometimes use the assisstance of an able-bodied Marine."

Mildred is suddenly smiling. Brightly. "Oh, such a good lad," she older woman says as she starts towards him. "Your mother raised you right, and all that. I'm so glad you came down here to volunteer. Sit, here, now," she says as she pushes him towards a cot.

Stansfield nods to Kappedal, "Ok, i'll just stay here then…" he says, grinning a bit.

Kappedal gives Stansfield a brief grin in return that brings out his dimples, then picks up the basin of bloody water and the red, sticky extra packing gauze. Hauling that off towards the front of the tent, he slides by Mildred and Slayback, giving the latter a nod. Stitches? Mmkay. He brushes the flap of the tent aside with his shoulder, hefting the basin up and tossing the bloody water outside.

Slayback looks confused but follows his directions. He makes his way over to Mildred and sits on the cot as instructed, "What? You need volunteers to hold down beds these days?"

Mildred bats her lashes. Warning sirens should be going off by now. "That's exactly what we need. Big lad like you, that cot won't go anywhere…" she turns and starts gathering some supplies. Some tubing… a glass bottle… a big needle…

Woods wanders back, with the pans requested. And even a couple of boxes. Woods is humming merrily.

Slayback eyes Mildred, "Uh…what exactly is the needle for, ma'am?" He peers at her, hands instinctively reaching for his stiletto, but not pulling it out.

Kappedal brings the empty basin back inside, kneeling down and pushing it under a table. He stands back up carefully, mindful of stitches, and sits down on the edge of a crate, picking up a mess of gauze that got knocked over during the bombing and starting to re-roll it.

Tavua is, well, snoozing outside as he usually is. The barely clad islander reclines outside the aid station, a good way away so as to not cause any trouble or congestion, resting beneath a palm in the sand.

Mildred is advancing upon Slayback, a length of tubing in her hand. "Roll up your sleeve and make a fist," she says in a tone that brooks no argument. Around on other cots are two men awaiting the doctor for surgery and a third with heavily bandaged arms who are all asleep now that the bombing excitement has wound down.

Slayback nods and rolls his sleeves the rest of the way up. He removes his hand from the hilt of the knife and clenches his fist tightly, pushing the veins to the surface.

Annabelle has been mostly keeping to herself since arriving from the missionary station. She's wearing the borrowed marine uniform Woods got for her, the too-big sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. After a brief look around, she heads for where Tavua is snoozing. "Tavua?" she calls quietly, not wanting to wake him up if he's well and truly asleep.

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