An Anomaly in Time
by Charles Merkel
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
The other soldiers helped Private Tommy Gettlefinger ever so gingerly onto his bunk. He had just stumbled upstairs from the shower, and his shivering was uncontrollable.
“Man, you’re hardly alive,” Jimmy Downey said. “I’m your bunkmate, too, I shouldn’t have let you do it. You’ve been sick as a dog all week. I noticed you was really bad yesterday around lunch. Then, last night, we have bivouac in the freezing-ass cold and, then, today, we’re all day traipsing around in the woods waitin’ for tonight’s biggie, the infiltration course. That’s what did it, those three hours bein’ soaked and crawlin’ in the frozen rain and son-of-a-bitchin’ snow.”
“You... couldn’t have done nothing,” Tommy said, coughing deeply. “You ain’t our sergeant. Just another soon-to-be grunt. God, I’m like so cold.”
“Better do something,” Ramsey Dole, another buddy said. “He’s got pneumonia, sure.”
Murray McRedden palmed Tommy’s head. “Helluva fever,” he said. “We got to get you outta here and to the hospital. You don’t wanna die at eighteen, not now in sixty-six when you can live a few more months before Charlie kills you in sixty-seven.”
Tommy huddled under a blanket, but the others pulled it away and began to dress him. “I can’t go,” he objected. “I’ll be totally screwed if I do.”
A freakishly cold November was half gone at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. As the clock above the exit of the basic training barracks registered 11:00 p.m., the temperature outside stood at nineteen degrees as husky snowflakes darted in the wind.
“Damn, Tommy, you made it all the way to week eight. We only got five more days then graduation,” Jimmy said. “But that’s all right, buddy, they won’t send you all the way back when you come out of the hospital, no matter when that is. They’ll just put you in another basic company in week eight. It’s okay, Tommy boy. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, neither.”
“Yeah, man, hell, you made it. You did good for a scrawny kid, sharpshooter, over four hundred-fifty on the PT test. You’re all done, just the pud-easy proficiency exam, some parade practice, and graduation,” Ramsey said consolingly. “But you’re sick, bad.”
Jimmy Downey and Ramsey Dole escorted Tommy to the orderly room.
“Gonna have to send him by cab; ambulances are busy. Wicked pile-up on some ice up on Route 66, and there’s a bitch of a meningitis breakout here on post,” the CQ, another trainee, explained, hanging up the phone after a chat with the hospital. “They’re hauling ’em in left and right. The main hospital’s packed. We’re supposed to instruct the cabby to take him to the emergency station of the old hospital.”
Tommy’s teeth chattered as he waited in the emergency room at the rickety, older, hospital which seemed no more than thousands of yards of wood-framed corridors that furrowed past boarded-up wings.
A stern-faced doctor, a major with a name plate reading Alvarez, having methodically worked his way through a roomful of sick troops, finally got to Tommy and eyed his chart. He listened to his heart and lungs with a stethoscope. “Admit this boy right away,” he said to a nurse’s aide. “Double pneumonia, strep throat, one-hundred-four degree fever. Watch closely for meningitis.”
“Doctor, Major, sir, can I get back on Monday? I only got five days to go before graduating from basic,” Tommy mumbled, barely audibly.
The weary-appearing physician shook his head and stated strongly. “Five-feet-ten, one-hundred-forty-two pounds, and only eighteen years old. Forget it, son, you’re gravely ill. That basic company will be well into its next batch of boys by the time you get out. Don’t worry, though. They’ll get you graduated soon enough and headed off to God only knows what.”
Tommy tried to relax in a two-bed room with another soldier who appeared to be out of it. Tommy ached so badly that despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep.
Nearly an hour later, he roused from a hazy stupor to the sound of voices. A lady nurse and two male orderlies were hovering over his roommate. Tommy gazed at the back of the nurse’s white-stocking-clad legs. “Get him out of here now,” she said with urgency. “There are no doctors here at this hour. He’s got to be rushed to the main hospital immediately.”
The orderlies sped away, then within seconds zipped back into the room with a gurney. They lifted the soldier from his bed and whisked him away.
“Get this bedding out of here, too,” the nurse yelled after them.
She turned and surveyed her new patient for several seconds. Through his haze, Tommy found her attractive, with her short-cropped sandy hair, large blue eyes that indicated stress, and the regal bearing of a competent officer. Taller than any nurse he’d ever seen, her presence was remarkably calming. She wore the silver bars of a first lieutenant. Her white uniform was plain except for a name badge which bore the name WINGATE. “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be right back,” she announced.
When she returned minutes later, Tommy realized he felt as though he did not have the strength to lift five pounds. She took his temperature and looked into his ears. Then she untied his gown at the neck and applied the stethoscope to his back and chest. She had him lie back, and then slowly she began to smooth her hands over his bare chest. Her incredibly soft hands felt as sensual as anything Tommy could imagine, even at his stage of sickness.
“I’m checking you for meningitis,” she explained. “The fort has been stricken with a serious outbreak. We’ve already had two deaths, so we aren’t taking chances.”
For several moments she continued her work on him. “Can you breathe deeply?” she asked.
“No, lieutenant,” he said huskily.
“I’m putting you on stronger antibiotics than the doctor suggested. We’ll give you two of these, every four hours.”
He nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Eighteen and probably in Vietnam in three months,” she said sadly. “What’s your MOS going to be?”
“Infantry, I made a mistake, I think, by volunteering for the draft. I wanted to get it over with.”
“Are you allergic to penicillin?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Turn over and lie on your stomach for me,” she ordered.
He reddened. “Ma’am, when they gave me this gown, they made me take everything off. Something’s wrong with it, it doesn’t seem to have any back to it all the way down.”
“All of them are that way. Now go ahead, turn over.”
He flushed more deeply. “Ma’am, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t have any underpants on.”
“I’m a nurse. not a choir girl. You’re an enlisted man with no rank,” she said with a slight snicker. “.I’m also an officer, and you, as sympathetic as you are, you’re probably going to cooperate with me, and quickly. I do have other patients to tend to.”
Tommy rolled over, as embarrassed as he could be. She fiddled with the hypodermic for a while, then used her hands to smooth and knead his skin as if to find the perfect spot for the needle. It seemed to Tommy that she was engaging in some procedural act that possibly mirrored intimacy.
When she finally swabbed a spot with alcohol and stuck him, Tommy winced. The long lance drove deeply and stung much worse than he’d anticipated. He gritted his teeth to keep from grunting or calling out.
She helped him take the pills and some cough syrup, then tucked him in, turned off one particularly bright light, and departed.
At four-thirty she reappeared. The soft massage began again as he held the thermometer under his tongue.
“How do you feel?” she asked, shaking the instrument and tossing it in a jar of alcohol with several others.
“Terrible, ma’am. I’m so weak and cold.”
“I heard you moaning,” she said. “You’re worse. Your fever is a hundred five. I’m almost afraid to leave you for very long. You really should be in the main hospital, but I just got reamed by Colonel Hollis over there for forcing your roommate on them.” She took the bedpan from him and set it on a cart.
“I don’t remember moaning.”
“That’s because you’re semi-delirious. You don’t have meningitis, as far as I can tell, but no matter, you’re quite ill. If you do what I say, I can help you.” She took his hands and squeezed them. “Okay?”
“Okay.” He returned her gesture and, unbelievably, she allowed him to hold her hands for a good five seconds. It dawned on him that he was caressing the hands of a comely, caring lady who would be taking care of him for a time. How great is this? If I just don’t die.
She appeared again at six and Tommy smiled slightly.
“Back down to one-oh-four,” she said. “It’s something, at least. I’m going off now. I’ve got the night shift all this coming week, so I’ll see you around seven tonight. There’s a nurse shortage on base, so our hours are all screwy, but we do what we have to. I’m the ranking nurse for the old hospital, so that means I have to act as doctor, too, at least during the night.”
Tommy looked at her longingly. “I need you... I need your help. Sometimes tonight, I couldn’t remember where I was,” he said, immediately embarrassed at showing his fear.
She smiled lightly and said, “I’ll leave instructions, and I’ll call the crew around noon. We’ll do everything we can. But you must rest and drink everything they bring you, even if you can’t eat solids.” Tommy had a rough day of hacking phlegm and trying to get comfortable. He could never seem to make himself warm enough to get any serious sleep.
At nearly 8 p.m., she entered Tommy’s room. “It’s getting hectic here. They lost another boy at the main.”
Again she began her slow massage, which Tommy noted was quite different from the brief touch and tapping he’d encountered from the nurse who checked him during the day.
“Temp’s still one-oh-four,” she said ruefully. “Did you do what I said?”
“Yes, lieutenant,” he answered, having vowed earlier not to call her the more appropriate ‘ma’am.’”
Coincidentally she asked, “What’s your first name, private?”
“Tommy.”
“Okay,” she said with an inspiring smile, “I’ll make a deal with you. If you do what I say, when no one is around, I’ll call you Tommy. Okay?”
“Yes, lieutenant, does that mean I can call you — ”
She cut him off: “No ;It doesn’t.”
“Lieutenant Wingate, what is your first name? I mean, I’d just like to know,” he said, somewhat frightened that he had asked this of an officer.
“Glenda, though I’ve never told a patient that, not even a colonel,” she answered, gazing at him with a slight squint.
“Glenda Wingate,” he said. “That’s nice. It’s the perfect name for you.”
She snickered. “You’re almost cute.” She remained, conversing with him while he ate soup and drank fruit juice.
Over the next three days, Tommy saw his temperature rise and fall several times, never dropping below 102 and going as high as 105.
At one point Lieutenant Wingate, looking grave, placed her hands on his shoulders and whispered. “I don’t think you’re trying hard enough. You’re giving in. I don’t know if it’s from a total lack of strength or if you’re just not giving it the determination you need to improve. You have to overcome an illness this bad; you don’t just get better. When your temperature is this high, you can’t let go. Maybe you’ll think about this and use it as an incentive. If you’ll do the things you need to do to beat this, including willing yourself to get better, I promise I will have, I think, a splendid surprise for you.”
“Okay, lieutenant,” Tommy said quietly.
“Just for right this minute, while you don’t have a roommate, you can call me Glenda,” she said, squeezing his hands.
Tommy squeezed back and smiled. “Okay, Glenda.”
For hours after her departure, Tommy’s mind wandered, as he tried to figure out what she had meant. He allowed his thoughts to drift into a range he knew wasn’t remotely possible. Still, the visions were delicious, and he hoped against hope that her words indicated something that a lowly private, barely of age, could only dream of in the harsh, demeaning world of a trainee.
On Thursday, his fever finally fell to 101. This seemed to please Lieutenant Wingate. “You’re doing much better, Tommy boy,” she said, pinching his cheek. It was early in the evening, and she stayed for a good half hour.
Copyright © 2025 by Charles Merkel
