Jorgenson woke to the darkness of his eyelids.
There was a stench of alcohol, chlorine and blood and people screaming in his ears.
There was a lot of it, and it was surrounding him.
Opening his eyes he caught sight of a tent ceiling above him.
The base hospital – he thought.
Then, with exasperating slowness he turned his head ever so slightly.
Next to the operating table where he was lying, two very filthy, un-gloved hands struggled, (albeit in vain) to block a pair of legs which were amputated at the knee. The stumps were spinning and thrashing about like the level of pain was unbearable. Only then did Jorgenson finally understand where the screaming was coming from even if it didn’t explain why there was so much of it.
It just wouldn’t stop.
“GIVE ME A FUCKING HAND!” someone yelled from behind him.
There was blood pouring from the stumps and squirting everywhere, so much that to almost hit Jorgenson right in the eyes. The sight of those dirty, gloveless hands touching an open and bleeding wound made it even worse to watch than it already was.
“YOU THERE! GIVE ME A FUCKING HAND, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!”
Jorgenson shut his eyes tight straightaway, and despite looking away, all that screaming made it impossible to get that horrible picture out of his head.
Only then did he realize he couldn't move.
Paralysis – he thought.
I’m paralyzed from the whip down.
His eyes shot wide open at the thought and he’d probably never close them ever again.
A plain olive coloured cloth was all that separated him from an ongoing operation, and in fact blood was streaming out from under it. Jesus Christ, it was like the cloth-screen hid some kind of blood-filled drainpipe.
When he looked up he noticed it wasn’t actually a single cloth but two, one on top of the other with a small opening between them.
The patient’s jungle boots on the next table were as plain as day.
He noticed they were shaking a bit, like they were having convulsions.
Jorgenson looked back up at the ceiling because no matter where his eyes wandered off to, he couldn’t find peace.
Then unintentionally, he glanced back at the stream of blood still flowing on the hospital tent-floor.
It wasn’t just blood though, but some innards as well which could easily have been leaves drifting down a river.
It looked like trash tossed onto the floor.
A pair of hands – gloveless yet again – reached down to pick those intestines up and take them away.
“What are we supposed to do with this shit?”
“'Stick it up your ass”
It was then that the voices around him became distant, almost surreal and Jorgenson's heart started beating faster.
He was dying, and he knew it.
As he turned away from the horror he felt a presence. Shifting his stare back down to the floor and straining to focus, he realized it was a rat.
There was a big, black, disgusting full-fledged city rat observing him, and despite all the rats he’d eaten during the Special Forces training program, seeing it not only made him nauseous but horrified too.
Oh God, please.
Oh God.
When the oversized creature’s shiny eyes finally met Jorgenson's, and their stares crossed fleetingly, to Jorgenson everything seemed to last much longer.
The rat sniffed the air uncertain about what to do next.
Jorgenson had a very clear idea about what a rat like that would be looking for in a place like this.
Something to eat.
Jorgenson swallowed and suddenly lost his breath.
He would much rather have died than stay there even a minute longer.
The sewer rat glanced at Jorgenson one last time without much care, then completely lost all interest in him and vanished.
“This one won't last more than half an hour. Let’s not bother”
No, no, no...
Please, don't.
I don't want to die.
Jorgenson didn’t know where to look anymore, but was even afraid to shut his eyes because if he did, he would probably never open them again.
So, despite wanting to resist, Jorgenson closed his eyes anyway, and everything turned black and slowed down, as if that very darkness had become a river, and he was floating down it.
Shortly after, it darkened even more and there was silence.
***
When Jorgensen opened his eyes again, a military chaplain was muttering something above him but this time, his eyes were shut.
He was reading him his last rites.
So this isreally the end – he thought.
The chaplain continued muttering quietly, head down, eyes shut with one hand on his heart and the other on Jorgenson's chest.
As soon as he was done with his last blessing the man pulled his hand away and left without turning back.
Once he was alone, Jorgenson suddenly got a whiff of piss.
He’d just pissed himself like a Goddamn kid.
Seriously? Carl 'grizzly' Jorgenson, member of the non-existent Secret Services’ Special Forces unit A.M. Baker team, had just pissed himself for real? Was this really happening?
Did death really drag you down that low?
He tried yelling for help but nothing but a feeble voice came out.
“What do you think?” somebody said
“I think this one's got his brain bashed in. Even if he made it through the night, he would be a mess for the rest of his life anyway”
“Not necessarily”
“Oh, really? Look at his head. He’ll be a fucking vegetable trust me. This one would be better off dead for his sake”
“Hang on, listen...I had a hell of a time getting the internal bleeding in this asshole’s head under control. Now that the emergencies are done with, I can finally open him up”
“And I’m telling you it’s nothing but a waste of time. We’ve been operating for the past twenty hours, man. Let's go have a beer”
“Come on man just one last try”
“Look at this!”
“What the…”
“Alright then”
Something moved around Jorgenson.
“You know what? I’m going to operate again and if you’re up to it you can give me a hand, if you’re not, then you can go fuck yourself. I can sort it out myself. I don't need your help, really”
“Jesus Christ, okay. I'll help you”
The acidic smell of diarrhoea overwhelmed Jorgenson.
Not this too – he thought.
Not this.
Then a needle pricked his arm, and that was a good sign because pain meant he must still be alive.
Before he knew it however, he felt weaker and lightheaded.
He fought to stay awake but it was futile, and in no time at all, everything was dark again.