Combat Medic

Dedicated to the Currahees who wore the Combat Medical Badge. Special dedication to Dr. Andrew Lovy, Battalion Surgeon 506th Airborne Infantry Battalion, 101st Airborne Division. Thanks to my daughter, Stephanie Thompson Smith, for ordering an old soldier’s medals.

There are only two major questions on the mind of the combat infantryman, concerning the new medic. Can he handle a bullet wound? Does he make house calls? The first question is handled by proper training. The second question is often answered in the first firefight.

My personal award came with the First Shots Fired. I never gave it a thought. Arriving at the medical tent, Sp/5 Martin asked me a direct question, “Were you fired upon  at the perimeter?” I replied, “Yes Sergeant.” (I ignored the specialist designation out of personal respect.) He said, “You are being put in for your CMB.” In reaction I blurted, “Sarge, I don’t deserve the Combat Medical Badge.” Sergeant Martin knew my personal integrity. Sarge looked intently at me for a while. Then he made a statement that I will never forget. “Wear it proudly Thompson, you will earn it many times over this year.” That man was a prophet!

Assignment to a line platoon finally came. It wasn’t long before a trooper was hit. I heard the word you never forget. It starts out, “medic,” and then escalates to, “MEDIC!!!” A soldier was hit in mid-field. In a quick sprint, I was beside him. The first squad was engaged ahead; the middle squad passed by me, to form the reinforced firing line. An infantryman was sent to help me.

With the bleeding stopped, I looked around for cover. There wasn’t anything near that we could hide behind, in this open area. The radio operator shouted, “Medevac is on the way!” I had to get the intravenous started right away. It is very difficult to start an IV in a vibrating chopper.

I cleaned the area, tied off the arm to raise the vein, gently running my left thumb down the vein below the insertion point (for a nice straight track), I inserted the needle. Thanking God for a healthy vein, I had the life saving fluid started. While raising my left arm to elevate the saline solution bottle, I realized the firefight was still in progress. The rounds intended for our line were hitting the dirt around us. I understood why medics have a short tour (six months on line). I knew that combat medics were reenacting these emergency measures, on a daily basis, all over Vietnam.

With the sound of the chopper growing louder, I gave the bottle to my new assistant. (I don’t think he liked raising his hand in a firefight. It’s like saying, ‘shoot me.’) A morphine injection prepared our Currahee for a comfortable ride to safety. We carried him to the medevac. (I think things had finally quieted by now.)

The onboard medic was relieved that I had his patient in order. I asked him, “Do you have a spare bottle of saline, for the one I just used?” He looked at me like I was a new shit. He replied, “Nope, we got to go!”

Turning around and feeling stupid, I asked, “Has anybody seen my M-16?” Returning to my medical bag, I reorganized it, to insure that nothing was misplaced in the confusion. The war wasn’t over yet. This firefight started so suddenly. They all did. An 11B (infantryman) returned with my dusty weapon saying, “Here you go, Doc!”  The ‘doc’ comes from the infantrymen, as a sign of acceptance.

The best words came the next day. Our Lieutenant came up to me. With a rare smile he shared, “Doc, he made it. Good job.” There are no sweeter words on the planet. The platoon leaders knew how to pump up their men and I was one of them.

Medics went out to ‘save’ the infantrymen. I realized that they, in fact, saved me. Our 506th Currahees could put up good fight. It was often far safer with a sharp infantry platoon, than milling around in a so called secure area.

The infantry and their medics comprise a mutual admiration society. The mutual admiration lasts a lifetime.

Currahee…all you Docs!