Max Can't Get No Respect

"Max Can't Get No Respect"

by

JJLee

 

Chapter one

"What?"

I grunted as my irritating seat mate nudged his elbow into my ribs. This hyper kid from Kansas awakened me after his drivel about farm life, and the boring drone of the plane's engines, had gratefully put me to sleep. My body leaned toward the port side to snatch a look at the vast sea below.

"Look Max, there's Midway!" From the air it looked like a green spearmint Lifesaver surrounded by soap suds floating on the infinite palette of  Pacific Ocean  stretching to the horizon. After flying so many hours  from Hawaii, I couldn't  imagine how the pilot of the Super Constellation found this island, much less planned to land on it.

Clyde from Kansas began his prattle again. "Max, did you know about t he famous sea battle the United States fought with Japan fought over Midway fifteen years ago? Did you know it turned the tide of the war? Yes indeedy, both Japan and the United States thought this was a pretty valuable speck of sand during WWII. Midway Island is right smack dab in the middle of the  Pacific Ocean between North America and  Japan. Like the real estate guys say-- ' location, location, location."' 

He thought that was funny, and maybe he laughed, or maybe he choked sucking wind back through his nose and mouth simultaneously, " Snort, snort, snort."

He must have learned how to laugh from listening to his hogs.

Yeah right. Gimme a break! I knew that. The rube must think I'm a real dummy.  Let him think what he wants.

The plane descended in wide circles. We could see the atoll as two islands, gems set in a broken ring.

"Wow Max, look how the waves are crashing over the top of the reef." 

He was right. The circle of white foam from the breakers surrounded a  turquoise lagoon within the Corral reefs,  a much softer color  than the deep greenish-black of the ocean. How beautiful! What a neat design, My fascination grew as we approached closer. The pale blue lagoon was bordered by glaring white sand beaches.

"Look, Max." Amid the swash of emerald green tangled brush, colorless gray concrete runways in the shape of a capital "A" reflected the sun. The groan of flaps lowering and a soft  jolt followed a change in the pitch of the engine sounds. A roar as the engines reversed punctuated the landing. Like it or not, we were on Midway Island.

Months previously I looked forward to spending some of my remaining Navy enlistment on a ship, the grandest, in the fleet. I requested sea duty on the aircraft carrier, USS Midway.  A proud ship of the line, with a magical history. She maintained port visits to Japan.  CVB-41, launched in 1945, would be a great ship to enhance my reputation as an outstanding Hospital Corpsman.

I assumed they'd grant my request.  Why not? I deserved it. I was great at everything the Navy asked me to do. After all, I graduated in the top two percent of my class in Hospital Corps School, and my proficiency ratings were always 4.0's. Failing is for losers, right? That's why the navy promoted me to  Petty Officer Second Class. Maxmillian Fuerza HM2/USN, it had a nice ring to it.

Then along came this "F.U.B.A.R." as military vets might call it, Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition. Some dumbo, maybe some clown in Navy Personnel who thought he was being funny, screwed up my orders. So, there I was on Midway Island, U.S.N.S.#3080.  But darned if I was not going to make the best of it. Under any and all circumstances, Max is a winner, always will be. I was darned proud of my recent promotion, and I planned to impress the medical staff on Midway Island.

I’d show them I was the kind of “Go to” guy who knew what’s what, a guy who has been around the block. Maximilian Fuerza is from Hell's Kitchen in the Big Apple folks, and knows his business. I'm a good looking guy  too, if I do say so, and I stay in shape. Guys have a way of knowing, and they don't mess with me. You will never see me unshaven,  in a rumpled uniform or wearing un-shined shoes.  I'm a squared away sailor and proud of it.

* * * * * *

I squinted rebellion against the blazing afternoon that met me and fell in line with other swabbies in dress whites descending the boarding stairs. At once I my nostrils tingled a bit sensing the gentle breeze.  I tasted the salty sea air. It was faintly fish-scented  and I loved it.  What now? I thought.  Then I spied the faded gray Jeep. On the flat hood was a red cross emblazoned on a white background.  The driver, a tall Chief Petty Officer in a starched summer khaki uniform strode toward me. I recognized the brass  caduceus on his collar.

"Are you Fuerza?" he asked.

"I sure am, Chief. Call me Max if you want."

"Fuerza, I'm Chief  Murray, Senior Petty Officer on the medical staff.  Doctor Brown asked me to meet you."

"That's real nice of you, Chief."

"Let me have your orders, and throw your sea bag in the back of the Jeep."

What a grump, I thought. No welcome to Midway, or how was your flight. This is either some hard ass chief or something is bothering him today. His  attitude had the unmistakable warning of a flashing red light. Max will be  watching his step around him for sure.

* * * * * *

We drove away from the plane and entered a shaded avenue flanked on both sides by by row of trees. They were not Palm trees like I would have expected, but some kind of tree that had overhanging branches which formed a dim tunnel. A convoy of Gooney birds sailed through  floating on the slight breeze

For them it was the shortest  glide path across the island, and they were always present.  The main buildings faced this avenue. It was much cooler in there  and pleasant to be out of the Sun. Several sailors dressed in blue dungarees and white T-shirts cruised by on bicycles.  Seeing them reminded me how anxious I was to get out of my dress uniform.

"A couple things you need to know Fuerza." The chief spared few words. "You can go anywhere you want on this island except where the civilian Construction Crew from Hawaii has their quarters. You are not to fraternize with them. Second, you are not to leave the island."

I thought he must have some weird sense of humor.  He was joking of course. Where could I go? I laughed.

"That's not funny. Everything on Eastern Island, the small island with the tall antennae, is classified.  We are not permitted access to that other island."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Did you not hear me?  Whatever is going on over there is classified. People serving over there don't come over here to Sand Island.  We don't go over there.  Got it?"

"Okay Chief." He spoke with a degree of menace. I knew better than to prod him. I never did find out what was going on over there. Scuttlebutt- that's Navy speak for the rumor mill- said it was some kind of secret listening post.

"Most of where you might need to go is near the hospital."  He pointed an index finger and  jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "That's the Post Office. The Enlisted Men's club is behind that. There's the PX next to the Chow Hall and Enlisted Mens' Barracks. The Marine Barracks is there next to the Brig."

To me, the buildings all looked the same, ugly and boring. All had corrugated tin roofs over dull, gray-painted, wooden-paneled walls rising from the sand.

The inestimable number of Gooney Birds constantly taking flight or landing had my attention. Thousands of them nested along the runways and the beach. Their ramshackle nests littered every space not overgrown by encroaching, matted, impenetrable brush.

Watching them was a welcome remedy for boredom. Their activity on the ground was as awkward and clumsy as their effortless  flight was magical.

I pointed and grinned as we watched a bird run, and run, and run some more swooping  her wings slowly trying to get into the air. When she caught the wind, no creature was ever more graceful. I laughed out loud while we watched another  Gooney land. With a wingspan five feet wide, he used the slight breeze to descend slowly and gracefully. Just before landing, like you may have seen ducks landing on a pond, he angled his feet forward and tucked his wings down and back. If he had been landing on water, his plan would have been perfect-- gear down, full flaps, settle in. But his webbed feet hit with a jolt. After a flurry of head over heels somersaults, he rose, sounded a mournful , "heeonnk,"and gave us his most embarrassed look.

I was still laughing, but the chief wasn't impressed. I guessed he'd seen that act lots of times.

"Okay Fuerza, here's the hospital."

The chief seemed relieved and fired up a cigarette. The grump didn't bother to offer me one. I didn't smoke anyway, but he didn't know that.

"If  you keep going across the island on this avenue and turn right you will come to the ASR boat. Occasionally you will have air-sea rescue duty."

"What do we do here Chief? It seems like there is not much going on."

"Not much now. Midway used to  serve as a stop-over for Medevac flights from Korea and Japan on the way to Tripler Army Hospital on Oahu. We off-loaded patients that needed care occasionally for an overnight stay. While the plane was serviced, or perhaps because of bad flying weather conditions, we made them comfortable at the Station Hospital. Now what few Medevac flights there are usually fly nonstop to Hawaii. Other than daily sick call, we are just here in case something bad happens."

I didn't believe it.  He actually cracked a little smile before he continued. I finally got him talking.

"There's a lot that can't be seen packed on this two mile long island, Fuerza. Mostly you see runways covering everything, but out there in the boonies, left over from WWII, are quite a few disguised fuel bunkers, even an equipped  underground hospital you can't see from the air. This used to be a very busy base. Before WWII, this was once a stopover for international travel. Midway was a scheduled stop for the  Pan American flying boats of the 1930's and 1940's. If you scrounge around down by the beach, you might still find what's left of their terminal rotting away in the brush."

* * * * * *

The chief slid the Jeep into a slot at the loading dock next to the a boxy-looking, Navy-gray, WWII International ambulance. The sign in front of the Jeep read:

Reserved: Medical Officer.

"Come on Fuerza. Let's get you squared away. "

He led me through an empty spotless treatment room.  A crisp pristine white sheet covered the examining table and shining stainless steel containers on  gleaming carts held various supplies. A white enameled medicine cabinet and refrigerator stood near the exit.  We stepped  into a tiled companionway. There was no dust anywhere,  the floor was swabbed to a shine. I strained to hear any sound other than our footsteps.

What sort of hospital is this? I thought.  It's so quiet. It doesn't even smell like a hospital. Where is everyone?

A few yards down the companionway the chief knocked on an unmarked door.

"This was Skinner's quarters. He'll be leaving on the same weekly logistics flight  that brought you."

He opened the door on a small  room with unadorned pale green walls, a single bunk, a desk and a locker. I was glad it had a window. The Navy's version of a dorm room, I guessed.

"These are your quarters now.  You'll be replacing Skinner on the Duty Roster. Drop your gear and come with me." The Chief was all business, certainly not anxious to be friendly..

As we passed the Duty Desk, Chief Murray spoke to the corpsman sitting there reading something.  He looked up unconcerned.

"Maoli, this is Fuerza.  He'll be replacing Skinner. We're going to  Doctor Brown's office."

Maoli had dark tightly curled hair, a wide face, and the same even  bronze skin color I'd noticed on natives of Hawaii. I learned later that he was from Guam.  Maoli nodded.

The sign above the desk read "Don't Worry, Be Happy!" So maybe this place is not all business. I thought

"Maoli," I said, and grinned at him.  "Just call me Max"  He nodded again.

The Chief said nothing but his cold glare delivered the message. What's with this jerk? I'm sure he'd like me if he tried even a little.

Chapter Two

"Okay Fuerza, let's go meet the Medical Officer." the Chief ordered.  We headed down the companionway.

We stopped outside the Medical Officer's open door, a voice from inside the office called,

"Come on in, Chief."

HMC Murray stepped in and placed the manila folder on the uncluttered wooden desk next to the nameplate:

Lt. Thomas R. Brown, M.D./ M.C. /U.S.N.

"Doctor, this is Hospitalman Second Class Maximilian Fuerza. He just arrived on the log flight and will be replacing Skinner on the Duty Roster-- if that's okay with you."

From the way Murray was acting, he gave me the notion that this doctor was going to be a formidable, authoritarian, a stern, no-nonsense, all military, spit-and-polish kind of guy.  He wasn't.

Although  his light brown, sun-streaked hair was cut a too long to meet regulations, he was no slob either. His summer khaki shirt was sharply creased, and the neck of his  T-shirt was fresh and bright , like mine. I figured he must be a squared away sailor, but much too young to be a competent doctor.  He didn't seem to be old enough to buy a legal beer back in the states. The young man behind the desk had smooth, rosy cheeks. He was handsome, fresh, vibrant  and athletic looking, much like a recent college graduate, a jock, a runner maybe, He probably has very little experience. Possibly, I got that idea from his pink freckled face. He must be Irish, maybe he'll tell us a joke. There I go, pigeonholing people again, but that's my way, and it works for me. I was already laughing to myself, but stood at  attention waiting for him to speak as he flipped through my file.

"That will be fine, chief."

"Right Doctor Brown, I'll see to it."

The doctor placed the file back on the desk, leaned his swivel chair back, looked up and addressed me.

" Fuerza, I'm pleased to see you have worked in a variety of  departments; x-ray, pharmacy, treatment room, probably more, but since there are not many of us on the staff, nobody specializes here. The corpsman you are replacing was an asset . We depended on  HM2 Skinner. He had a great deal of experience, and he was a leader. We'll miss him. I'm just a bit concerned about you taking over his duties because  your promotion to HM2 is rather recent. I assume you are prepared for more responsibility?"

Maybe I should tell him there wasn't much Old Max could not do, and do darned well.  But, he'd find that out soon enough.  "Yes sir, I'm anxious to prove how competent I am."

He grinned. No need for the sir, Fuerza.  We are rather informal here at the station hospital.  Please address me as doctor. "

I wondered what the kid was grinning about.

"Yes sir. . . er. . okay doctor. "  it might be too forward to tell him he could call me ‘Max Force,’ maybe later.

“Fuerza, can you drive a truck?"

Was the Irishman setting me up for a joke? What's the punch line? In high school I  drove Uncle Lou's pickup to deliver groceries from the market.

"Yes sir, what do you need?" He was still grinning, maybe wider.

Well, our autoclave is failing-- do you think you can take a couple of men to the underground hospital and bring back the sterilizer stored there?”

“You bet, Doctor!”

He chuckled. "Good. See if you can take care of that today. The chief will help you to get squared away and fill you in. Welcome to Midway, Fuerza."

"Thanks doctor. If you'd like to, just call me Max."

Chapter Three

Our t-shirts were drenched with sweat in the mid-afternoon heat.  It's too hot to be doing this now, but  Doctor Brown wants it today. Old Max is gonna make sure he gets it today, I thought. Three of us struggled to load the heavy, awkward machine up the brush-littered ramp and onto the truck. The sterilizer was  a shining stainless steel barrel about the size of a fifty-five gallon oil drum. It was elevated  about five feet high, on a tubular  legs, and top heavy.

Pharos complained. "Max, maybe we should get this monster crated up first." 

Belding agreed, "You can see that it wasn't meant to be hauled around like this!"

"What's the matter with you guys?" I asked. "Are you too spoiled to do a little work?"  If  Doctor Brown wanted to wait until it got crated, he wouldn't have asked us to get it today. There’s no need  to drag this job out.  Let’s just  wrestle this beast  onto the truck and get it back to the hospital."  I knew the sterilizer was not designed to be transported without first  packing it in a crate, but I was determined to please the Irish kid. I'd show him he needn't worry about Skinner's replacement. I didn't need to know Skinner to be sure I could do anything that he could do.

By rocking it from side to side, then humping it forward while it was precariously balanced on two legs, we gained a few inches each time. All three of us were breathing hard when we finally got the darned thing on the truck.  Belding wrapped his handkerchief around his hand. His knuckles bled a little from where he scuffed them on the wooden side racks.

"Let's find some rope and tie it on, Max," Pharos said.

"Yeah, maybe theres something back in the hospital there." Belding agreed.

Rookies! I thought, but I said,  "Nah! The hospital doors are secured now, and I was sure to shut off the lights."

Max isn’t stupid, I thought, those two feather merchants just wanted to con me into wasting time. I am not going to let them make me look bad, especially today, my first day on the island.  Why should we spend a lot of time looking for rope when we did not have far to go?

Pharos cautioned, "Max, you know there's a sharp left turn into the jungle just before the powerhouse, right?"

Didn't we come here that way a few hours ago? How stupid does he think I am?

“Don't worry about it Pharos, I know what I am doing. We can just take it easy.” I said. “You two keep it balanced.  It will ride OK.” 

The truck rocked a little as we rumbled  along between the lagoon and the impenetrable brush on the left. Foam-capped waves crashed over the reef. Deep refreshing breaths of moist salt air reminded me how great it was to be alive. Gooney Birds sailed on the wind. They hovered on widespread, wobbling wings, then gently stepped out of the air onto the sugar sand beach.  Enthralled, I concentrated on the row of  pockmarks blown from the flat concrete wall of the powerhouse just ahead. I imagined the Japanese planes attacking during WWII slamming machine gun bullets into the building while sailors scurried for cover.

"TURN!”  They shouted.

Startled from my reverie, without thinking about the top-heavy load nor without a thought about Belding and Pharos,  I jammed on the brakes, turned sharply and wheeled the truck into the narrow track on the left. Loudly, with gutter language, they cursed as angry sailors can.  They were able to hold on to the stake rack behind the cab as the sterilizer toppled and crashed  through the racks on the right side of the truck. There it lay beside the road, crushed and broken, gages and metal pieces scattered in the brush.

“Damned jerks! You were supposed to balance that!” 

Idiots! I thought.

* * * * * *

Dr. Brown was so angry about the incident that he threatened to court martial me for destroying government property. But, old Max got the last laugh.  When they checked the inventory records, they found that, according to the Navy, that sterilizer never existed. I suppose I got a break because the dummy who kept inventory records during World War Two didn’t know his business.

Doc was such a wimp! He never confronted me face to face about trashing the autoclave. But, he did find ways to let me know he was still angry and doubted my competence.  Instead of giving me another detail, he always gave the order to somebody else. Often they were of lower rank than me. I felt demeaned--embarrassed.

"Bailey, why don’t you take Max’s duty on the Air Sea Rescue boat today?”

"Dickens, take Max along and show him the ropes.”

“Belding, take Max.”

“Moore, work with Max today.”

What did I care?  Why should I care if the Doctor would give me no responsibility? That was HIS problem. Any day, any way, every time, I could have outperformed all of those Corpsmen. What does he know? I thought.

Chapter Four

  What could be the matter with these guys. Why did they think it was my fault?  To hell with them! 
Raucous laughter erupted in the coffee mess. Maoli walked out and passed me in the companionway. He didn't look at me.  He  didn't even nod.  Later I learned he might sometimes nod and grunt.  Nobody got much more than that out of him. But at the time, I thought he was shunning me like everyone else. I heard Bailey and Deskins still laughing, so I walked in.
"What's up guys?"
The laughter stopped. Deskins nodded and said, "Max."
Bailey looked at the floor. They both left without saying another word.
Conversations stopped when I came around, and eyes turned away. Nobody welcomed me.  Nobody even talked to me, not even the chief except when his job made it impossible not to treat me like a leper.  I was the new man and in their eyes, a pariah.  Max had already screwed up. The guys who had been on the island for awhile were all buddies.  They all sided with Belding and Pharos. None of them them said anything to my face about the sterilizer mishap, but I know they blamed me. 
It was always that way. I was always getting the blame for things that were not my fault--like the autoclave accident-- that could have happened to anybody.
Finally my turn came to be assigned night duty. In the event of an extremely rare emergency I had sole responsibility to move the station hospital into normal operation until relieved by the Medial Officer.  Not much happened on Midway at night. Even the Enlisted Men’s Club closed at midnight. The Marine Patrol assured the drunks were under control. There were no problems. But, if there was a problem, I was positive Old Max Force could handle it! I'd show them all.
At 0200 hours, the dimmed night lights cast a milky haze on the tiled floors. Dead silence added to the isolation I felt as I stood my first night watch at the Emergency Desk.  Fully alert, I stepped from behind the desk when the screen door at the end of the corridor creaked, then clicked shut.

“What’s wrong, mister?"  I asked the big man shuffling toward me. Bent over, stooped awkwardly, and grimacing, he was obviously in pain.  What is with this slob? I thought. He was out of uniform, wearing only a t -shirt and dungarees.

“My butt hurts real bad, Doc. I can’t sleep; I can hardly walk.”

“Did you have an accident?” I asked.

“No, the problem has been coming on for a long time.  I just didn’t want to tell nobody about It,” he said.

“It feels like my guts are hanging out.  It hurts awful bad when I crap.”  he said so softly I barely heard him speak

“Come on in to the Treatment Room and lie on the table.  We’ll take a look,” I said.

As he lay on the surgical table, the bright lights above revealed angry bluish red veins the size of fingers protruding from his anus. I thought, Sure, they look somewhat like intestines, probably feel like intestines to him. I could understand why he might think his guts were hanging out, but obviously, they were hemorrhoids.

“You have a bad case of hemorrhoids, Buddy. Didn’t you know that?  Why didn’t you come in during sick call? You could have come in during the day when the doctor was here.”

“I didn’t want nobody to know,” the jerk said.  “But, it hurts so bad I can’t get no sleep,” he added.

Yeah right! I felt like playing the violin for him. I was sure not going to awaken Doctor Brown about hemorrhoids. This was no emergency. Orders are orders. The jerk should have come in for sick call before his piles got so bad.

“Here’s a couple of APCs, Sailor.” I handed him our remedy for everything.

“Come in for sick call in the morning to see the doctor.”
.
“It hurts real bad, Doc. Can’t you give me something strong to kill the pain?” The poor slob thought I was going to get in trouble for his stupidity.

“Not really, You are just going to have to wait to see the doctor.”

Dr. Brown made a point of finding me the next morning. Rudely he glared at me from within my personal space. “Max, why didn’t you call me about the man who came in last night?”

“I didn’t want to wake you about hemorrhoids. I knew it could wait until today.” {/}Yeah right I thought. Like he needs another excuse to be angry with me

“Max, the man was suffering!”

“Sir, it is not my fault he never came to see you during normal hours. It was his own fault he was in pain,”

“You could have put him in a ‘Sitz’ bath of warm water. That might have given him some comfort until I could see him this morning.” He spun on his heel and hurried away.

I thought, Oh sure, there it is again. I am always being blamed for something. The idiot put off coming for treatment. That was not my fault, period!

Chapter Five

Chief Murray found me sitting in the coffee mess having a cup of Joe by myself. I was thinking about the storm that was blowing in. He stubbed out his Camel in the tuna can ashtray.

"Hello Chief, the coffee is fresh, want a cup?" He sure had a serious look on his face.

"No, but I wanted to talk with you. You have the Duty tomorrow. I've been thinking about replacing you, maybe to assign Deskins or Bailey the watch, but something tells me you can handle this. Maybe I shouldn't, but I'm gonna count on you to come through. You've probably heard the scuttlebutt about an injured old lady on a Greek freighter headed this way?"

I know some things about it. I understand she fell and broke her leg, maybe her hip. The freighter's skipper thinks old girl has Pneumonia and is failing fast. Dr. Brown is all over  the situation and he seems worried. I was hoping he'd talk with me about it. I  heard Dr. Brown asking Deskins if our portable x ray machine is ready to go, so,  I thought that Doc would ask for Deskins.

"That's about right. Doc says that skipper is damned near in a panic. There's no way he can help her.  We are the last hope for her. I guess that freighter steaming full bore this way is an old rust bucket, but that lady is a feisty old broad who rented a cabin and planned to see the world on the cheap."

"Chief, What about the nasty weather I've been hearing about? How bad's it gonna be?"

"Hard to say. Sometimes these tropical depressions just blow themselves out, and sometimes they are a nightmare. Tomorrow will tell, but we are  right in the path if that storm cranks up."

"So Doctor Brown doesn't know I'll be with him?"

No.I think you will give it all you have. Do what you know is right. I know you will do your best, and I think this is the best way for you to to redeem yourself in his eyes.

You'll be meeting Doctor Brown on the yard tug out to meet the Greeks, and bringing that lady back here.  I want you to make sure the Doctor's Bug Out bag is fully supplied. Take some leg splints too.  Make sure the respirator is fully charged, and take a couple units of saline. If the doctor wants anything not in the bag inventory he will pick it up"

"You mean maybe some antibiotics other than penicillin?"

"He'll know what he wants. Just make sure you have the inventory he expects to find in that bag."
"Okay Chief, you can count on me. Thanks for letting me off the hook." The look he gave me let me know that wasn't the case.

I was nervous about going out in the storm in the first place, I did not like the idea of putting myself in danger to retrieve an old lady who should have known better, but if anybody could handle it, Max Force could. It complicated matters that the doctor didn’t like me. I was certain he would rather have anyone else go with him.
As Hurricane Della was blowing in, the Yard Tug Boat prepared to put to sea. The intensity of the wind-blown rain continued to increase as we boarded and put on life vests. The YTB was snug to the dock and surged against her spring lines until the crew heaved them back onto the pier. When they cast off the mooring lines, the tug charged away from the wharf to respond to the call for help from the freighter.

Exposed on deck, the pelting rain stung our faces.  Dr. Brown and I climbed to the wheelhouse and crowded in with the Bosun’s Mate and several crew members.  As we left the protection of the lagoon, mountainous rolling waves became  ferocious. The crew abandoned the weather deck and dogged the hatches.  Continuous walls of green water crashed down over the tug. The wind roared. We were thrown about so much it was impossible to stand without a firm grip on something solid.

We heaved and rolled so much, I wondered if we might capsize. Doctor Brown struggled to stand beside me, but never looked my way nor said a word.  That unnerved me as much as the storm. The least he could have done was give me the evil eye.  Max could have handled that.

The heaving, gut wrenching motion seemed to last forever. We came close by the freighter and tried to lie along the lee side, farthest away from the wind. However, there was little protection there. The tug rode up a wave for about twenty or thirty  feet before slamming into the side of the larger ship. Our Bosun attempted to maneuver so that the wheelhouse deck of the tug became almost level with the weather deck of the freighter where the Greek seamen waited to receive us
.
My admiration for the Irish doctor increased as I watched him.  With a white knuckle grip he stood in the lacerating rain and shrieking wind on the bumper of the tug.  Doc  waited for just the right instant to make the unlikely jump across. He was ready when the tug slammed into the freighter. The impact helped him fly across, clear the freighter's rail and stumble into the hands of a half dozen waiting Greek sailors.
I watched  our guys tie a messenger line to the Portable Respirator and send it across. The doctor's "Bug Out" bag, swathed in a  life preserver, went over next.

I would never admit it, but If I thought I was nervous on the way out to the ship, it was nothing compared to the way I felt waiting my turn. Why doesn't the Bosun bring the tug closer to the freighter like he’d done for Doctor Brown and our gear?  Then he did.

Standing outboard of the rail, I was rooted by fear. Spouts of water shot up between the tug and the ship each time the tug closed the gap.  Cascading water threatened to wash me into the churning void. Falling into the chasm between the tug and the freighter was a promise of a watery death.  If I did, there was no way to save me.
I feared losing my reputation if I did not jump soon. I feared failing perhaps as much as taking the chance on dying. Yet, failing meant  dying a horrible death.  I had to jump, I had to! I stood frozen on the slippery hemp bumper and gripped the rail. Come on Max! You can do it all. I tried to build my courage and wait for the perfect  instant to make the leap to the deck of the freighter. The tug pounded into the side of the ship several times more nearly jolting loose my paralyzed grip. Now? No! Not yet. Still I waited. The Bosun looked alarmed, maybe angry, I couldn't tell. He kept shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him over the roaring wind and slashing rain.  Indecision and fear made me misjudge the best time. The tug nudged the freighter once more, then quickly began to slide  away.

I jumped too late!

Not even close to the deck, my body slammed into the side of the freighter. My feet became entangled in the soaked cargo net hanging over the side below the railing. I scrambled for a grip to keep heading up. Slapped by a gigantic open hand of water I lurched sideways as my arm went through the net and an elbow hooked on. Intuition took control. Up Max! Pull. Hands found the web, gripped  and pulled. Fighting panic, I clambered up. Near the top the Greek crew members who hung over the side snatched me on board.  The tug careened back, booming into the ship just below my legs.

Gasping, knuckling stinging salt from my eyes I staggered across the deck to where  the doctor knelt under a whipping tarp beside a metal basket stretcher.  He  had already applied the mask from the respirator firmly to the face of the weakened old woman. She struggled to move the mask from her face. Doc didn't realize he was  keeping her from breathing. The resuscitator was set to apply continuous positive pressure.  She tried to exhale but could not! Idiot! I thought. I yanked the mask from his hands and, saying nothing, changed the setting and reapplied the mask.  Doc immediately realized what I’d done and resettled the mask on her face as he shouted over the wind,

“Max, load a 5cc syringe.”

From his bag, I quickly loaded the drugs as he named them.  Moments after he injected those meds into a vein in her frail arm, the frightening Cheyne-Stokes respiration, the rales of death, ceased .  She began to breathe normally. I still remember the drugs he called for because her recovery seemed miraculous.
Like the Lord saved Shadrak, Meshak and Abednigo from the Pharaoh's fiery furnace, Epinephrine, Mercuhydrine and Aminophylin, by the will of God, saved this emaciated old woman in her dying moment. In the middle of the unrelenting wind and rain, the Greek sailors used a deck crane to move her stretcher, and us, over to the tug.
The dummies should have thought of the crane before we had to make the Evel Knievel leap of death, I thought.

The return to the island was maddening and slow. Through the thrashing sea the tug crabbed sideways as we approached the channel. The Bosun struggled to find the tangent, the course that would lead us to safety into the lagoon. We arrived at the pier just as the resuscitator’s oxygen supply ran out, but the ambulance with a new supply waited on the dock.
   
Dr. Brown left Midway several weeks after Della. As his plane was preparing to leave the island, the doctor turned from the group of well-wishers at the base of the boarding stairs and came over to where I stood alone. I knew he was going to commend me for the fine job I'd done on the freighter.

He said, “Max, I lacked faith in your ability when you came to Midway. Frankly, I think you are a jerk. No doubt you are a judgmental, selfish, arrogant person and no fun to be around. In fact, you have really pissed me off,  but while we were out there in that storm, you showed me what you can do. I want to thank you for that.  But, I am sure glad I don’t have to work with you anymore.”

He climbed the stairs to the plane and was gone.  As the plane disappeared, Max Force stood there for a moment laughing to himself.

--30--

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