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| A Simple Deception; The Fort; Marines/Connor | |
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| Topic Started: 10 Mar 2008, 06:57 PM (442 Views) | |
| Royal Navy & Marines | 10 Mar 2008, 06:57 PM Post #1 |
Master of Puppets
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OOC - Continued from Rude Awakenings. IC - "What's going on?" The reedy bloke asked, as the cart rumbled slowly down the road toward town. "I don't understand...why are the marines rising? What do they want with us?" Guthrye shrugged. "It's all because of that India Company. They've been makin' things all sorta unpleasant an' a buncha the lads din't like standin' for it." He scoffed. "Madness, if you ask me." From the back of the cart, Weston added, "But we done fer 'em an' nicely, mates or no." "The sergeant, he's one of the mutineers, he was on his way up to the Governor's house, he is probably already there!" It was Weston's turn to scoff. "Branning? The lads've gone to deal with him. Nothin' to worry o'er." The younger marine forced a snicker and hoped it sounded natural. He was glad to be in the back of the cart instead of walking. His legs were going to be sore for days after lugging Tully around on his back. He prodded his mate's unconscious form in annoyance and was surprised when Tully grabbed his wrist and opened his eyes, an angry scowl on his face. Despite his shock, Weston shook his head at his mate, holding up a finger against his lips in a gesture meant to keep the bigger marine quiet. They weren't quite safe yet. The young marine winked at Tully and grinned, hoping he would figure out that he was not, in fact, in loyalist hands. "Shouldn't be too hard to get through town," the young marine said off-handedly, scowling pointedly at Tully, who looked on the verge of speech. "There's friendly lads all over. Poor ol' Finch's gonna be busy fer awhile, though. Been a fair few wounded." Apparently, Tully finally got it. He relaxed again and shook his head slightly, which made Weston grin again. Took him long enough to sort it out! |
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| Deleted User | 23 Mar 2008, 04:45 PM Post #2 |
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Guthrie answered Connors first question with something that still confused him. It was all because of the East India Company, well that explained why they hated Mr. Brinton. But how was the Company making things unpleasant, he didn't get that part. Especially to make the marines rise against their officers and the town people that had nothing to do with the company at all. Finally Guthrie just shrugged off the question by saying it was madness. Maybe it was just madness but Connor didn't believe in men doing things for no reason and he wanted to understand what this was all about. Connors nature was to ask questions to himself, other people, nature and god and he would dig for the answers pretty hard sometimes. But when Weston added "But we done fer 'em an' nicely, mates or no." He flinched, Connor didn't like death and the idea of friends turning on friends was a terrible one. He wasnt sure he really wanted to dig for the answers about what would cause men to do that. But that was when he had thought of Branning which jerked his thoughts to a different place. "The sergeant, he's one of the mutineers, he was on his way up to the Governor's house, he is probably already there!" he had said. Weston was the one who answered it and he said without sounding concerned "Branning? The lads've gone to deal with him. Nothin' to worry o'er." He snickered and there was a little quiet for a bit while Connor relaxed into his seat. Weston started making conversation and said "Shouldn't be too hard to get through town, There's friendly lads all over. Poor ol' Finch's gonna be busy fer awhile, though. Been a fair few wounded." Finch was probably the surgeon at the fort or the sawbones as Tully and Davy called him. It was probably especially good that Connor came with Davy then, because he was sure that the fort surgeon would be treating the loyalist wounded first and the mutineers would be treated a lot later if they got treated at all. "Maybe I can give him a hand" Connor said "if he needs an extra assistant." He could end up being at the fort until long after dark or maybe even all the way through until tomorrow if he did that. But lessons were interrupted at the Brintons house anyway, their whole daily schedule was interrupted and that was putting a mild word on it. They wouldn't miss Connor and they would probably be happier to have him out of their way. There was something bothering him though but he couldn't think of it at first, it was something Tully said before and then he heard a voice go through his head. "Get kitted up, we're gonna go help Sarn't Branning." Tully said that just before Mr. Brinton and Connor and the footmen attacked the marines. Then he felt the hair rise up on back of his neck. Connor had just said "The sergeant" when he told them about the marine going up to the governor's house but Weston had gave a name, Branning. He knew who Connor was talking about and the way he said it sounded like he was familiar with Branning's plans and not surprised at all about what Connor had to tell them. There were several more than one sergeant in the marines, he knew that even if he didn't know very much about the military. "How did you know it was Sergeant Branning?" he asked slowly with his back very stiff and his hands flat on the seat beside him. He watched Guthrie but he was suddenly really sharp aware of Weston behind him and his shoulders twitched. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 2 Apr 2008, 11:11 PM Post #3 |
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Master of Puppets
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"Maybe I can give him a hand," the reedy bloke said. "if he needs an extra assistant." Weston snorted a laugh, but said nothing. He had little doubt that the sawbones would need help. There'd be a lot of loyalist bastards in need of sewing up. Tully smirked silently from his place sprawled in the back of the cart. It was easy to guess that both men were entertaining similar thoughts. "Perhaps," Guthrye replied, leading the pony toward a back-street. Weston heaved himself up to his feet and braced himself against the rough wooden side of the cart. With a grin, the younger marine flicked a bit of dirt at his mate. "Any help's better'n that useless sod Briggs, innit?" Guthrye made no reply and Weston settled for picking at a splinter that stuck up from the side of the cart. If there was one big down-side to the slow journey up to the fort, it was that it was boring. Part of him wished he'd been able to get into the actual fighting, instead of shuffled off on the side-errand to the Swanns'. "Reckon they'll do for Branning?" The young marine asked his mate. Abruptly, the reedy bloke stiffened on the cart's bench. Weston lifted an eyebrow at the man's back and gave a half-hearted tug at the splinter. He hadn't said anything wrong, that he was aware. "How did you know it was Sergeant Branning?" "Eh?" Weston said, confused. Why shouldn't they know it was Branning? Who else would it be, with Sergeant Devlin busy managing things at the fort? "That's what them bastards tol' us, innit?" Guthrye said. "It was Branning an' Devlin who planned everythin', an' Devlin got topped nice's ya please." Weston frowned slightly. Despite the answer that his mate gave, he wasn't sure it was enough to put the reedy bloke off. One question would lead to another, and more after that. Questions were dangerous. "Oi, Guth..." When the older marine glanced back, Weston canted his head just slightly toward the reedy bloke and darted a glance the man's way. Guthrye only shrugged and turned his attention back to the street. That was agreement enough for the young marine. He drew out his bayonet and tapped the flat of the long triangular blade pointedly on the reedy bloke's shoulder. "Like questions, do ya?" Weston said quietly. "Leave off askin' 'em if ya don't want a sock stuffed in yer gob, yeah?" |
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| Deleted User | 7 Apr 2008, 04:28 PM Post #4 |
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When Weston laughed after Connor said he would help out Finch if he needed it Connor didn't hear it, if he did hear it he would have been a little hurt. Since he really did just try his best and he wasn't stupid, he could actually make himself useful there and it would hurt him to know they thought he was not good for anything. But he was thinking about the other things that he was worried about, he was busy remembering exactly what Tully said and he didn't hear their talking after that either. It was right after they said "Reckon they'll do for Branning?" that Connor asked his question. Weston was confused and he just mumbled "Eh?" but Guthrye answered pretty fast with a pat answer, "That's what them bastards tol' us, innit? It was Branning an' Devlin who planned everythin', an' Devlin got topped nice's ya please." It sounded alright at first but he remembered how the mutineers were when they were at the Brintons house. Would they just tell all their secret plans to their enemies right away? That was pretty stupid and he thought it was pretty unlikely because none of Branning, Davy and Tully seemed like stupid people to him. But Connor realized questions were dangerous right now and he was totally quiet and holding himself still. He heard Weston said "Oi, Guth..." from behind him but he didnt look back at Weston, he had his eyes fixed right straight ahead on Guthrie. Guthrie looked back at Connor, or actually behind Connor and then he shrugged and he turned back around so that he could lead the pony straight. But Connor felt something tap him on the shoulder, he jumped in the seat when the contact was made even though he had been half expecting something to happen back there. He twisted to look at what was touching him and steel glittered in sunlight, it was Weston's bayonet. Connor didn't stare at it for long and he met Weston's eyes instead. "Like questions, do ya? Leave off askin' 'em if ya don't want a sock stuffed in yer gob, yeah?" the marine said in a quiet and dangerous voice. Connor knew that he was right in his guess, Weston just proved it. If Guthrie and Weston weren't mutineers then they wouldn't care about any questions. He expired a deep breath from his lungs and kept his hands down, he couldn't fight them and he knew it. The only good thing about all of this was that everyone was away from the Brintons now, their house should be safe. Connor didn't think that him being there could make them any more safe, it would probably just make them less safe since his track record with dealing with the mutineers was pretty bad. At least this time he only got himself into trouble with his bad judgement instead of dragging other people into it too. Connor tried to think of what he was going to do. How did this change the situation, it made it a lot more dangerous for him of course but did it really change what he should do? He would stand by his word anyway, it was important to him to be a gentleman of honor. But he had to say something to defuse the situation and he knew that the only thing that would defuse it would be convincing them that he was not a threat. He was pretty sure that they didn't like him so that trying to joke or be friendly or anything like that wasn't going to work. He could just be honest. "So you are mutineers then" he said quietly. "I guess that doesn't change anything for me. I gave my word to Sergeant Branning and I'll keep it. You don't have to keep pointing that at me, I won't fight you." |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 13 Apr 2008, 11:20 PM Post #5 |
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Master of Puppets
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"So you are mutineers then," the reedy bloke said quietly. "I guess that doesn't change anything for me. I gave my word to Sergeant Branning and I'll keep it. You don't have to keep pointing that at me, I won't fight you." Weston pulled the bayonet away but kept it in his hand. "Better if ya don't," the young marine grumbled, glancing down at Tully. "Don't matter if it changes anythin' or not, yer still gonna be helpin' our sawbones." The cart rumbled past the market-square and Weston curled his lip back. He hadn't stuck around for the fight there, but the absence of any other mutineers in the square meant that the fight had not ended well. Another thing to hold against the loyalists - whether they were marines or soldiers. Feeling passively angry, as there was no way to give vent to his temper, Weston sagged down into the back of the cart. In the distance, musket fire crackled but he barely looked up. It was probably only the lads going toe-to-toe with those Army bastards. He held his bayonet up in front of him and studied the triangular blade, deciding after a moment that he should sharpen it after getting back to the fort. "Gate there!" Guthrye called out. "Got two wounded an' a prisoner!" Weston heaved himself back to his feet, as the fort's heavy gates were dragged open. They'd made it without incident. Relieved, he sheathed his bayonet and grinned slightly. There looked to be a bit of a fight still going on near the work-offices, but it was bound to end soon. He'd go join in after turning Tully and Willen over to the sawbones. "C'mon, down y'go," the young marine said to Tully, hopping down to the ground first and helping the heavier man out of the cart. Between the two of them, they managed to unload Davy Willen and carried him quickly into the hospital, leaving Guthrye to deal with the reedy prisoner. |
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| Deleted User | 15 Apr 2008, 03:23 AM Post #6 |
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The marine put the bayonet down and that helped a little bit for Connor's nerves which were way overwrought already. He let his shoulders fall down in a slump and he watched the cobble stones going past slowly. "Better if ya don't" Weston said and since that was what Connor already thought he was not going to say anything back. He just felt really stupid right now not to guess before that, he could do great at other things but he just let them pull wool over his eyes. “Don’t matter if it changes anythin’ of not, yer still gonna be helpin’ our sawbones.” Connor liked it better when he thought he had a choice about it and he would rather think that it was what he would do anyway even if the marines ordered him to do it. Couldn’t they leave him a little bit of his manliness left over? Did they have to handle him like a baby and then just…just handle him like a baby some more? His spirit was sunk pretty low right now. First when he tried to fight Tully he just bounced off of him and Marie and the cook had to step in. He had to be saved by a pair of women and that just wasn’t good for his ego. Then he couldn’t tell that Weston and Guthrye were fooling him. Now he was just going to do what he was told like a good boy. Sit Connor, stay, heel. He was in the middle of those kind of thoughts and then the sound of musket fire took him out of them. It was far away, but he started being more alert. He didn't want to be shot because he was on a cart full of marines, and that was really a possibility. They were close to the fort now and Guthrye yelled, "Gate there!" Guthrye called out. "Got two wounded an' a prisoner!" Now he was a prisoner, he felt even more happy about that. Connor’s usual grin was set into a very glum expression that said worlds about his inner feelings of self doubt and anger at himself. He never could hide his emotions at all. The marines looked pretty happy to be home but Connor wasn’t, except that there wasn't very much shooting in here. He looked back behind him while Tully and Weston carried Davy out, but he sat up on top of the driver’s seat of the cart. They made it really clear that he shouldn’t do anything without being told. He didn’t want the shooting to start in here. But Tully and Weston carried Davy away and he noticed that Guthrye was the only marine left with him. Connor was really thinking about something stupid now. Fortunately he figured that out really fast. All it took was just one look at the musket that Guthrye had in his hands. “Is all of this really necessary?” he said unhappily. He was still sitting on top of the driver’s seat. “Can I get down yet?” |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 23 Apr 2008, 04:29 PM Post #7 |
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Master of Puppets
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“Is all of this really necessary? Can I get down yet?” Guthrye slung his musket after retrieving it from the back of the cart and shrugged. "Can stay there if y'want, ain't nothin' t'me." The marine turned away, starting toward the hospital without a backward glance. Truth be admitted, he didn't care if the fellow stayed or followed. They'd gotten Davy Willen where he needed to be and that was the important bit. A pair of marines came scuttling up from near the officers' quarters, a third marine slung between them. Guthrye paused to give way to them and the taller marine nodded stiffly as the awkward group hurried past. There wasn't any hope for the wounded man, he knew, after seeing the large, dark stain that consumed the man's shirt-front. It was the rare bloke who could survive being gut-shot. "Move!" A coat-less marine bellowed at him, shoving roughly past with a load of clean, folded linen in his hands. Guthrye stepped aside only for a moment before following the marine into the working-room. The room was all chaos, blood, and groaning men. There was barely enough room to step, such was the number of wounded. Finch was working gamely on a marine who had caught a bayonet through his chest. Guthrye didn't know the first thing about the sawbones' trade, but he knew enough about various wounds to guess that the poor fellow didn't have much chance. He spotted Tully and Weston near the door, keeping a careful eye on their mate. The gut-shot marine that had been carried in was now being carried out, the thin thread of his life having broken somewhere along the journey from wherever he'd been hit. Guthrye glanced out into the receiving hall and belatedly saw the collection of bodies just inside the room across the hall. A clever way to hide the grim sight of the dead, he had to admit. He shuddered and looked away. There were too many bodies in there, from what little he could see. "Who all's in here?" He asked the nearest marine, who was holding a ruined waistcoat to his side. "S'all our lads," the man replied thickly. "Ain't 'ardly a loyalist t'be seen 'bout, they're either arready gone under or locked up inna brig." "Or they're still bloody fightin'," another marine added. "Jones' squad's holed up in the offices still, the stubborn bastards." A third man, this one with his own shirt tied haphazardly around his head, scoffed. "There's them Army sods too. Dunno how any o' our boys made it back, with those vultures all over. I were down onna docks, when those bastards came 'long. They laid inta us wit' cavalry, before settin' up fer a volley. A damned slaughter, s'what it were." There was a muted murmur of disgust. Guthrye picked uneasily at the sling of his musket. He hadn't known anything of what had been happening in town and had thought the fighting had been going well. Clearly it had not. Unnerved, he glanced toward the door and spotted the reedy bloke who'd come down from the proper part of town with them. "C'mon inta the place, then, an' start helpin' these gennelmen," the marine snapped, annoyed without really knowing the precise reason why. Shoes clattered over the stone floor and a wild-eyed, broadly-grinning marine burst in, waving a bloody sword. "They captured the Commodore!" A cheer went up from the men crowded into the working-room, coming even from the marine currently being treated by Finch. Guthrye felt a quick surge of pleased relief. The fighting might not be going well, but now they had the bleedin' Commodore for a prisoner. There was hope yet! |
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| Deleted User | 24 Apr 2008, 01:02 AM Post #8 |
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Connor didn't move until Guthrie said "Can stay there if y'want, ain't nothin' t'me." Then he climbed down, first he hung from the seat of the cart by his arms like a weird lemur and then he dropped onto the ground. So what was he supposed to do now, where was he supposed to go? Maybe he should have stayed on the cart. He didn't know where the hospital was and if he went wandering around to the wrong place he thought he would probably get shot. But he started looking around him, there was fighting somewhere in the fort because he could hear the guns going off. He better figure out where the hospital was fast, because he didn't want to be caught in the middle of a battle. Scientific reason said that probably the hospital was where marines were carrying other injured marines. He didn't know that was where Guthrie had gone but he saw two marines with another man held up between them and he went after them. The activity inside of the building they went into said he was right, he could guess from the groaning that it was the hospital. Connor didn't know where he should go inside the building and that was why his first turn was the wrong turn when he got into the receiving hall. He was confused enough to walk in the sitting room where they were stacking the dead bodies. Connor went to standing stiff with shock, he smelled blood in the air and he felt like his head was buzzing for a bit. He never saw the after math of a battlefield before. He never saw anything like it. There were so many dead men in there, they looked much smaller and pitiful lying there. Some of them were mangled like something from a nightmare. Connor just stood there with horror in his face and then he was shoved out of the way by two living people he never heard come behind him. They were the same ones he followed into the hospital building. They ignored him after they pushed him aside, they were still carrying their friend and they put him down on the floor, they crossed his arms over his chest. Connor stood there watching them for just a little bit more, he stood inside the door of the sitting room for a little bit where nobody would see him. Connor put his head down and shut his eyes with his hands hidden in his pockets, he was talking to God for the second time that day. He asked for mercy for the dead men and for the ones that were still living in the hospital that he could hear calling out in pain. He forgot the other things that happened that day, any anger he had against the mutineers wasn't in him during that time. Not after he saw those bodies piled there. When he opened his eyes again he saw the receiving hall of the hospital through the door across the hall. The working room was in another part of it but there were already men piling up in the receiving hall because the other room was full. Connor knew that the fort doctor must be in the working room but he wasn’t going to go and shove his way into the chaos and give the doctor another thing to worry about. He needed to look and find out what he could do to really help. There were several injured men waiting for their turn in the receiving room. The first one was close to Connor, he was sitting against the wall and his face was very pale. Connor went onto his knees next to the man and he looked him over, the marine opened one eye and stared at him. “Who the hell are you?” He uttered in a weak growl, Connor told him “Doctor Finch’s assistant” quickly. The man didn’t know that he wasn’t usually that and it was a lot better than explaining who he really was and what he was doing here. The pant leg of the man was soaked with blood. Connor wanted to cut it away but there wasn’t anything to use handy…actually there was. He asked the marine “Can I use your bayonet?” The man handed it over reluctant, and Connor ripped the clothes open with it, now he could see where the man was shot. He was overwhelmed for a bit, it was pouring blood. It was much faster than Davy’s was before. He had to get the bleeding stopped because this guy was not looking that good. “What's your name?” he asked the man while he looked around for something that he could use. There wasn’t any thing that he could see, of course he didn’t have linen sheets for making bandages usefully by him here. Where was a maid when you needed her. The man answered him “Lowe”. “Well Mr….um Lowe,” he remembered what Davy and Tully were like about being Mistered, “I need your…” Connor looked at Lowe’s shirt, that was about as dirty a shirt that he ever saw. It looked like it wasn’t washed in maybe a year. Connor looked at his own shirt, it was pretty patched but it was clean. He gave a resigned noise and got ready to kiss his shirt good bye. “I need you to lie down,” he said instead, and he helped the marine to move forward until he was flat on his back. But maybe maids weren’t there when you needed them but sometimes marines were. There was one walking across the receiving room right now and he had a whole armful of clean linen. “Thank you very much mister,” Connor said and he swiped some of it off of the top of the stack, the marine glared at him but he didn’t stop to argue. So Connor got away with them clean, he returned to Lowe. The marine was just flopping his head back on the floor now and he looked like he didn't really care what Connor did. Connor looked to his side at the chair that was near them, there was a marine sitting on it a little bit ago but it was empty now. Connor took it before somebody else could sit down on it, that was just what he wanted! He pulled Lowe’s leg up and then he set it on the chair, the marine lifted his head again and he made a noise that sounded like it was probably a curse but Connor ignored that. He just went right on going! The first thing he did was he started tying the linen on to the wound making a tight bandage, maybe there was a bullet in there but he was just trying to stop the marine from losing all of his blood right now. “Alright Lowe. Keep your leg right there where I put it and you’ll be fine” he told him, there was one done. You were supposed to put pressure and elevate the wound, Connor knew that. Now there were a few other men in here, he stood up and stared around him and that was when Guthrie saw him. “C’mon inta the place, then, an’ start helpin’ these gennelmen,” he ordered Connor. Connor was already trying to do that, so he thought that he would follow the order and just go on doing it. There was another man in the receiving hall with his hands on his face over his coat, he was pushing the coat to the side of his head and he was trembling all over. Connor was going to look at that but the marine shook his head without saying anything and he backed off, there wasn’t anything that he could do unless they let him, so he looked at Lowe again. The bandage he put on the wound was totally soaked through and it didn’t look like it was slowing it down any at all. The little bit of confidence Connor had a bit ago just went away like it was bleeding out of him as fast as Lowe was bleeding. Now what should he do? Maybe he should call the doctor. “They captured the Commodore!” Connor didn’t even figure out what that marine was saying although he heard the cheer that was raised. He didn’t CARE if they captured the man in the moon then. He went to the door but the man who had to be the doctor was already working on one man, that looked in pretty bad shape and there were more on the tables that were waiting for him. Lowe was still going to wait, Connor had to figure out something to do for him now. But he couldn’t think of anything! He went back to Lowe and he put his face into his bloody hands, he should know what to do. But he didn’t until he looked down again, and then he realized that he did know something he could do. He knew how the blood in the leg was supposed to flow, so if he tied it off with a tourniquet that would stop it before Lowe died. He took another piece of the linen and he tied it around Lowe’s upper leg and then he twisted it and he put the bayonet handle in the twist. Then he held onto the bayonet carefully so he wouldn’t cut himself, he put his other hand on Lowe’s leg below the tourniquet and he felt around until he found out where the pulse was. Then he started turning the bayonet until the pulse stopped. Connor looked back at Lowe’s face and he was glad to see that the marine was still awake. Though he was even more pale than Connor first saw him. “Are you still with me Lowe?” he asked the marine who nodded but he didn’t say anything back. “Make sure you stay with me. Alright?” The marine didn’t bother to say anything to that one again but Connor was sort of used to that now. What happened to the marine with the head injury, he wondered…He couldn’t see what was wrong since he wouldn’t let Connor touch him but he didn’t look very good. Connor put his head into the working room and the first man he saw was Guthrie. He told the marine “Come on out here. This man needs the doctor now.” He pointed to the marine holding the coat to his head. Turning pale and blue lips looked pretty bad to Connor. “Help me get him in there or drag the doctor out here.” |
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| Brendan | 24 Apr 2008, 02:02 AM Post #9 |
A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Post rated Mature for slight medical content. The last time he had seen this many wounded, Dauntless had been anchored just off the Isla de la Muerta. Then, however, there had been more dead than wounded. Whatever the marines and sailors had battled with, mercy was not something it had employed. This mutiny though... the number of wounded crowding in the hospital was bewildering. Finch was close to being overwhelmed by all the marines awaiting treatment. Even with Everett helping, Finch was finding it difficult to ease the over-crowding. He'd already failed in his goal of saving every man. At least four had died already, and one while under the knife. It was a foregone conclusion that more would follow. Everett appeared, carrying a fresh load of bandages. These were quickly set onto the nearest clean surface and the marine went directly to work cleaning a head wound belonging to a man who had previously been wearing his own shirt as a bandage. Finch was glad for Everett's presence, not the least because the man was a loyalist. He was helping alleviate the work-load as well and was doing an admirable job of it. "Forceps!" Finch barked, struggling to keep a profusely-bleeding incision he'd made from closing up. The marine in whose midriff the incision had been made was lucky to still be alive, since he'd been gut-shot. Finch had found the musket ball and now needed to extract it, but he had given the forceps to Everett only a few minutes before. The metal tool was delivered to his hand at once and he put it to use immediately, deftly fishing out the lead ball that had nearly perforated the marine's stomach. He didn't bother suturing the wound, at least not yet, and settled for packing the wound and tying a tight bandage over it. Then, bidding two lesser-wounded marines to help the gut-shot man outside to the receiving hall, Finch moved on to the next patient. Guthrye watched the sawbones work and felt a measure of admiration. That was some sure and true work Finch was doing. He'd just patched up a gut-shot marine and the man was being helped out of the room - if that wasn't skill, nothing was. Then the reedy bloke finally decided to obey the command that Guthrye had given him. About damn time. To Guthrye's surprise, however, the insolent dog had commands of his own to give. “Come on out here. This man needs the doctor now.” Despite feeling deeply incensed by the man's audacity, Guthrye looked in the direction he was pointing. There was a marine with his coat pressed against his head and looking about to pitch over. The reedy bloke said “Help me get him in there or drag the doctor out here.” Closer study of the barely-conscious marine revealed him to be a corporal - the stained shoulder knot was barely visible amidst the folds of the coat. Guthrye shrugged. The odds were the corporal was a loyalist and not worth crying over. Another marine standing nearby, however, said abruptly "Oi, that's Corp'ral Southerland, innit? Catch him quick!" A coat-less marine was the first to grab hold of Southerland before the Scotsman could hit the floor. " 'Ere, lend a 'and lads! Make way!" Guthrye stepped aside as the now-fainted Southerland was carried into the working room. He didn't care what happened to the man, even though the others apparently did. The mutineer glanced side-long at the reedy bloke and shrugged. "Better git in there an' be useful, yeah? Finch ain't got time to waste on that sod." |
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| Deleted User | 24 Apr 2008, 02:35 AM Post #10 |
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Connor didn’t care that he made the marine mad, maybe it was a bit of him acting up out of the way he was treated earlier but it was mostly just that he didn’t feel like he had time to say “please” and “thank you.” Connor turned around to look back at the marine and then at Guthrye, but the other marine just shrugged carelessly. Connor was outraged, the man could be about to die and Guthrye didn’t care at all? He turned away from Guthrye with disgust on his face but it wasn’t going to help him to argue with him. If he had to try to carry the marine into the working room on his own he would do that. “Oi, that’s Corp’ral Southerland, innit? Catch him quick!” Connor had an ally who ran forward and he caught Southerland in his arms right when he was almost about to fall over. Thank God there was a decent man there. Connor was there next to them but he jumped right back to be out of the way when another marine took Southerland’s legs and they carried him into the working room. Connor followed but Guthrie stopped him in the doorway, the marine said “Better git in there an’ be useful, yeah? Finch ain’t got time to waste on that sod.” Sometimes Connor just couldn’t say what he wanted to because he never said anything filthy. “Damn your eyes!” he told Guthrie and he pushed past the door way without saying anything else, something was coming up in Connor that wasn’t really usual. He didn’t get angry very often. He followed the men carrying Corporal Southerland to a table, the one that the gut-shot marine was on before but was gone from now. Corporal Southerland wasn’t holding the coat to his head anymore. Connor went white in his face at what was under the place where the coat was and he forgot Guthrie. He thought maybe he would try to clean the wound and bandage it but this was much worse than he imagined. He looked up at the doctor who was still busy with another patient and then he looked back at Southerland but he knew he couldn’t deal with this. Connor wasn’t a doctor, he managed to help Lowe but he couldn’t help Southerland. He just didn’t know what to do. If he tried to do anything he knew he would just make it worse. He crossed the room to the doctor, he was careful to stand back so that he wouldn’t be in the way of anyone moving around. The patient that the doctor was working on looked bad but to Connor he didn't look as bad as Southerland. “Doctor Finch,” he said, “I’m sorry but there’s one who can’t wait, it’s his head.” |
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| Brendan | 24 Apr 2008, 03:54 AM Post #11 |
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A Legend. In regimentals. Pwn.
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Post rated Mature for medical content. “Damn your eyes!” The reedy bloke snapped as he shoved brusquely past. Guthrye only rolled his eyes and called out to Weston. It was well past time that the two mutineers re-joined the fight, if there was still one to be had. Everett, the self-appointed surgeon's mate, felt a sharp stab of despair when the two marines laid Corporal Southerland out on the table before him. He barely knew the Scotsman and it was impossible to know if the man was a loyalist or mutineer, yet the severity of the man's wounds made all else immaterial. The furrow across the corporal's temple and the sunken-ness just above his left eye suggested what had happened, though Everett didn't really want to think of it. "Here lads, fetch that vinegar - easy there!" The loyalist marine barked, his blood-stained fingers working nimbly to feel around the damaged area of Southerland's head. God but this wound was well beyond his non-existent ability. A vial of vinegar appeared and he grabbed almost blindly at it, clinging desperately to the rudimentary treatments that Finch had barely had time to explain to him earlier. "Sir!" There was no way he could adequately treat the poor corporal. It didn't matter that Finch had his hands literally full with a marine who had caught a musket ball in the side. His desperation was swelling quickly to panic when he bent his head to listen to Southerland's breathing. He was already sick of having marines die before him. There was a stranger in the working-room, a civilian - Everett noticed the man's bloody hands and shirt-sleeves - and he was moving toward Finch with a determined air about him. “Doctor Finch,” the man said, “I’m sorry but there’s one who can’t wait, it’s his head.” Finch paused briefly in his work, glancing sideways at the man curiously. Then he looked toward Everett, who had just called out "Sir!" again in a voice that was barely controlled. The loyalist marine's widened eyes barely registered anything except the physician's abrupt change of expression and he was moving to take over treating the other marine without a word being passed. It was plain to see that Southerland's state was far more tenuous and in far more dire need of attention. "Hold his head still," Finch said curtly, his nimble hands going at once to work. This would be a very difficult surgery, since he needed to relieve the pressure that was being exerted upon Southerland's brain. The sunken-ness above the man's eye was indicative of a heavy blow, likely from a musket butt. The marine was lucky to not have been killed outright. Though... it was hard to say where the furrow along the man's temple had come from, but that was a far less serious injury. "Do not let him move." The command was given through gritted teeth, for Finch was already making an incision in the skin that would expose Southerland's skull. It would be as much a trial of luck as it was of skill, for this surgery to be successful. Once the bone was laid bare, he picked up the trepine and nodded at the two marines who had carried Southerland in. Willing hands held the corporal's limbs still. Finch paused only for a heartbeat, then gave the trepine a twist and the operation was started. Part of his mind blocked out the procedure, even as he moved through it, until at last he had lifted the carefully-cut bone away from the brain. It was, however, only partially successful. He couldn't do anything about the damage to the brain, even if he knew how to recognise any. There was also the matter of the furrow along the corporal's temple, the cause of which was still unknown. Finch had nothing to replace the lost circle of bone in Southerland's skull either, which presented a problem all its own. The most he could do was carefully cover the spot with clean linen, bind the man's head thoroughly, and give strict instructions that no one was to touch any part of the marine's head, face, or neck. Then, once Southerland was gingerly carried out of the working-room, Finch sagged against the table. For a long moment, he found that he couldn't move. There were still many other marines that needed their wounds attended to, yet he suddenly lacked any will to summon the next man. "Such a waste," he murmured, turning away from the sight of a marine whose breeches had gone completely scarlet with blood. This was never going to end. |
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| Deleted User | 24 Apr 2008, 08:05 PM Post #12 |
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Deleted User
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The doctor just glanced at Connor before he looked for Southerland and the other marine that called "Sir!" It was another sign of how bad things were, Connor just appeared out of nowhere but nobody really cared where he came from or what right he had to be there yet. The marine assistant went to work on the man that the doctor had left behind to go to Southerland and Connor was to his own devices. He didn't just stand there and he didn't go to watch Finch like it was a show either, he went to go see if there was someone else that he could really do something for. First he looked out in the receiving hall at Lowe just to check and see if the marine was still breathing, and he was still alive and he didn't look a lot worse than before so he went back in. Connor heard Everett call for vinegar before and after Davy he knew what the vinegar was for. There were a few bottles of it around the room, he picked one up and some cloths and bandages and he put himself to work. Once he looked at Finch working on Southerland and that was when Connor really knew he wasn't a doctor and he couldn't ever be one. The doctor was trepining the man's skull, which meant he was cutting a hole in it and he was just lifting out a piece of bone. That would leave nothing covering the brain to protect it in that place. Connor was able to deal with the blood until now but when he saw the doctor lift that bloody fragment between his forceps he actually swayed for a bit and he felt his stomach do a flip flop and then it tried to do some more acrobatics. Connor had to make himself look back down at the marine on the table near by. He didn't look like he was so bad as some of the others, like the one that Everett was working on and the one that Finch was. He was holding his arm and he was cursing with a long stream of muttered bad words but that was all. Connor said "Can I take a look at that arm of yours?" and the marine stuck it out at him. This was going to be easier than the last man he tried to help because this wasn't bleeding as bad as Lowe. And he didn't have to use a bayonet to try to cut his sleeves because there were proper scissors here. He chopped the clothes away and then he started cleaning the injury out with a cloth and vinegar, but it didn't take Connor really long to figure out that there was a bullet still inside of the wound. He didn't have sugar tongs to pull it out with anymore. Connor put his head up and he looked around the room. The doctor had finished with Southerland and the marine was gone out of the room, but he looked like he was very fatigued. He was just leaning against a table with his head bowed. Connor thought it was better not to bother him about it and he looked over at the marine assistant instead. "Is there something to" He made a motion with his hand like pulling something out, but he forgot what kind of tool it would be. Then he remembered the name. "Forceps! I need forceps." Connor wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve and then he remembered Lowe. "And there is another marine out there who is badly shot in the leg." He told Everett. Connor stopped the bleeding on Lowe but he was pretty sure it was just temporary measure. The doctor should look at him. |
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| Royal Navy & Marines | 26 Apr 2008, 10:35 PM Post #13 |
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Master of Puppets
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The marine who'd caught a musket ball in his side was mostly patched up and was able to move under his own power, so Everett had sent him upstairs to the enlisted ward. Then he looked toward the table that Corporal Southerland had been lying. The corporal was gone and Finch was slouched against the table looking troubled. Everett frowned, unnerved. There were still too many men who were in desperate need of seeing to and Finch wasn't moving. There was, however, movement nearby; Everett saw that it was the civilian fellow. What was he doing? The marine lifted an eyebrow when he realised that the man was attempting to work on a marine who'd been shot through the arm. "What - " Everett started to ask, only to be cut off by the fellow's motioning with his hand. "Is there something to... forceps! I need forceps." Forceps. Everett decided that it wasn't worth his while to ask questions just then and looked around for the requested instrument. Ah, there it was. He retrieved it, tapped it against his palm to knock loose a bit of bloody musket ball, and tossed the forceps over. Perhaps this bloke was a doctor from town? "And there is another marine out there who is badly shot in the leg." A quick glance around the working-room revealed several men who were badly shot. "There's loads of boys who're shot up," he replied unhelpfully. Then, shrugging, Everett bent to help a wounded man stand up; the same one whose breeches were thoroughly soaked scarlet. With the assistance of another marine, he got the barely-conscious man up onto the empty table. It was easy work to cut away the man's breeches and see the hole that had been punched into the man's groin. The wounded marine let out a long, wheezing breath then his chest stilled. Everett pressed his fingers against the man's neck and felt nothing. Shite. "Get him outside," he said to the nearest marines, who looked miserably unhappy. There was nothing any of them could do for the dead man, though. Everett turned away and saw that Finch had finally stirred from his unusual stupor. The sawbones was helping that civilian bloke, so Everett went to work on an unlucky fellow with a slash across his middle. From somewhere outside the hospital, many voices rose in wild shouting and there was a fresh eruption of musket fire. Several men who were able enough moved toward the window and crowded around it. Everett couldn't leave the marine whose wound he was dressing, so he called out "What's doin' out there, lads?" There was a disbelieving silence, then somebody cried "It's the Commodore, he's leadin' a charge!" A clamour of curses and assorted sharp remarks broke out. Everett was privately glad that the loyalists were fighting back. He couldn't say anything to show his feeling, though - not if he wanted to keep the wounded men from jumping him. The sounds of fighting outside got close and suddenly there were loyalist marines tumbling into the working-room. "Blimey," one of the newly-arrived marines breathed, looking over the number of wounded crammed into the room. "I'll send some lads to 'elp," a blood-covered James Bell said, swiping away a trickle of scarlet from his cheek. "Ya two, turn over yer kit an' roll yer sleeves up. There's been 'nough dyin' today." The other loyalists tramped out. Everett could have hugged Bell for leaving two men behind. The extra hands were sorely needed. "C'mon you two, get on with it," the marine snapped, tying off the bandage on the man with the sword slash across his ribs. Bell was right, there had been enough dying today. |
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| Deleted User | 2 May 2008, 11:19 PM Post #14 |
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Deleted User
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Connor didn’t have great hand eye coordination so when the marine threw him the forceps he juggled it for a bit like it was a hot potato before he grabbed it. At least he didn’t let it fall on the floor. It was bloody but Connor was pretty used to blood by now, but he took a little piece of a rag and started cleaning it off with vinegar. But the marine assistant answered his other comment with “There’s loads of boys who’re shot up,” which really wasn’t what Connor wanted to hear but it was true. There were loads of them. Way too many. Connor wiped his forehead with the back of his shirt which left a long bloody smear on both of his shirt and his forehead. The marine that he was working on looked pretty pissed off about waiting for the forceps but Connor ignored what he was saying since he was still cursing. He carefully poked with the forceps until he found the musket ball and then he just threw it over his shoulder onto the floor. That was when the doctor appeared next to him and took over, Connor was very happy to let him do it. But soon after that there was a new clatter of gunshots and roaring outside of the hospital, he could hear it through the windows. It sounded close and getting closer, Connor worked with stiff hands wondering if it was going to break into the hospital. One of the marines shouted “It’s the Commodore, he’s leadin’ a charge!” That was contradicting what they said before when the Commodore was captured, Connor could remember that now. He was not too sure about the news source. He hoped it was true and that the Commodore would put an end to the fighting quickly though. But the marines in the hospital cursed, obviously they were mostly mutineers. The doors were flung open and armed men charged into the hospital, Connor looked up and he was about to shout at them to stop, they were going to trample the wounded that were laid about, but they slowed down on their own. He wondered if they were mutineers or loyalists, he didn’t know how to tell and he wondered if that really mattered to him by now. He didn’t know whether the man under his hands right now whose shoulder he was bandaging up was on the right side or the wrong side. All he wanted to do was the right thing and not get shot. Whatever side these marines were on though, they were on the right side by Connor’s judgement. The man who seemed to be leading them assigned two of his men to help with the wounded. They went right to work under the doctor’s direction. But after that charge there were even more men brought in, it was an overwhelming number of men even with two more hands to help. It stretched on for time that Connor couldn’t keep track of. Connor was not trained for this and the smell of the blood and the mess and the groaning was starting to make him feel sick, but he kept it controlled and he kept on working however he could. He saw a whole lot more gunshot wounds and by the end of the day when it was starting to get dark out he was getting pretty experienced at treating them. He felt tired after being on his feet for so long, they all did, he could see the doctor swaying with exhaustion sometimes. But all five of them kept on working even after the fort was safe and the fighting was over. Connor could have gone home after the mutiny was ended but he found there was always something to keep him there. There were men who needed surgeries to remove the musket balls that were in them. There were men that were found lying wounded by search parties that were overlooked before. And there were men to watch for changes in their condition, there were a hundred million bandages to change for fresh ones. It never seemed like it slowed at all. (The End) |
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