The Savage Horde

Chapter 9

Whole blood—and while hers was being typed, Rourke had coordinated with the ship's doctor, Rourke already working with transfusions for the injured trooper who, like Natalia, but less in real danger, had lost too much blood.

He looked at the name tag on the pharmacist mate's white jacket. "Kelly—get the blood pressure cuff inflated to one hundred millimeters of mercury so I can distend and locate the vessels."

Rourke began the same procedure with the soldier—there had been no time to change the man, Rourke for the first time read his name from the sewn tag on the fatigues. "Henderson—if you can hear me, you son of a bitch, we're gonna save your life now." Rourke secured the velcro closures on the blood pressure cuff, then started pumping air. He ran his hand along the inside of the forearm, selecting a likely looking vein. He pumped up a little more so he wouldn't lose it.

"You ready, Kelly?"

"Yes, Doctor," the pharmacist's mate answered. "I never did a direct transfusion before."

"You'll get the hang of it," Rourke nodded. "Got the tube in?" He looked but didn't wait for an answer. "Secure that with some adhesive tape," then he looked at the donor. An ordinary seaman—his name was White. "Mr. White, I'd be lying if I said this won't hurt at all—kind of a numbing sensation. We're just gonna get a pint or so from you.

Afterward, in case I forget—go He down, get some orange juice into you. And thanks for volunteering."

"Yes, sir," the seaman nodded, not looking at the tube now extending from his arm.

Rourke cranked down the table on which the injured man—Henderson—was lying, to get a better flow. He made the veinapuncture on Henderson's forearm, readying the tube—it was already filling, nearing the end. As it did, Rourke attached the tubing to the needle, his left hand already starting to deflate the blood pressure cuff on Henderson's arm.

"Losing a little pressure in White's blood pressure cuff, Doctor," Kelly murmured.

"Mr. Kelly—then get it back up—I need pressure until we're completed. Sing out and have that next donor ready."

Rourke heard a door opening behind him, glanced over his shoulder—it was the ship's doctor—He tried to remember the name. Milton, he thought.

"Doctor Rourke—we typed her at positive—lucky for her it wasn't a negative RH

factor. I'm getting as many five hundred millih'ter size transfusion bags made up as I can."

"You've got filters for clot removal?" Rourke asked automatically.

"Yes—we're getting the tubing ready now as soon as we wheel her in."

Kelly again. "Doctor—Doctor Rourke I mean—we're at twenty drops per minute—"

"Hold the rate of transfusion there for ten minutes." There was more noise behind him, then he noticed Doctor Milton was gone.

Rourke glanced at the clock on the wall—he gave Natalia another fifteen minutes at best. "Doctor Milton,"

he shouted- "She ready yet?"

He heard the door open behind him into the smalter of-the two surgery rooms.

"Yes—just now, Doctor Rourke."

"Why don't you finish up this man—Kelly's set for the next donor." Rourke moved aside, letting Milton take over for him, walking toward the swinging door, another pharmacist's mate there, scrubbed, helping Rourke as he degloved, then regtoved.

"I'm getting started stitching this man's lips," Milton called out.

"I'll begin work then," Rourke nodded, not looking. He stepped into the second and larger surgery. Two men with medical training attended the table, neither of them a surgical nurse, neither really a pharmacist's mate either. "Get that pharmacist's mate—Kelly—get him in here quick," Rourke called out, again not looking—his eyes were riveted on Natalia. He knew it was anesthesia working on her now—that she wasn't dead—not yet.

He approached the operating table, hearing the door swing to behind him.

"It's Kelly, Doctor."

Rourke nodded. "Let's start those transfusion bags." He glanced at the chart Milton had begun, then at Natalia's blood pressure—it was falling too fast.