GWOT 1 "To Sort" NI

GWOT 1 "To Sort" NI

Now we had three overlapping problems, all in real time and all of the utmost priority.

Perimeter defense. We didn't have any. The attackers had knocked it down for us. We had to prop it back up.

Mop up. We had broken the enemy attack and killed their leaders. We faced no organized resistance. But just one evil person could give us a very bad day, and both bad guys and their weapons were all over the place.

Triage. Just as the grounds were littered with wounded and dead enemy personnel, the grounds were now littered with wounded and dead FRIENDLY personnel. The faster we got organized and got them some help, the more of them would be wounded and the fewer of them would be dead.

I had two leaders I knew I could count on. Arturo and Sharon. I knew their resumes. Phillipine Marine Corps sergeant and housewife turned security supervisor respectively. Arturo, with my permission, had started wearing his sergeant collar tabs on his security uniform.

That made things horribly simple.

"Echo 18 to Arturo, do you copy?"

"Go," he said briefly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't caught a round.

"Go to A-B Breezeway and take command of perimeter defenses. Use the second-in team to retake the South Gate. Along the way, mop up the enemy vehicles. Put them into use if safe to do so. Do whatever you have to do to secure the perimeter and establish a reserve."

"Copy."

"Echo 18 to Sharon?"

"Go ahead," she said.

"Go to A-B Breezeway and take control of mop up. Start by doing a hostile building search of A building. We have confirmed enemy personnel, wounded and dead. Take their survivors into custody and secure their weapons. Once A building is secured, report the fact and request further instructions."

"Say again?"

Keep it simple, Echo 18. Everyone is overwhelmed.

"A building is yours. Take control of it. Deadly force authorized. Arrest any surviving intruders. Search until totally secured."

"Understood, will do."

That left the third task up to me.

"Echo 18 to infirmary guard." Pause. "Echo 18 to infirmary guard."

"Yeah?"

Deep breath. Important.

"Infirmary guard, tell the doctor that we will bring the injured to her. We have many people hurt and she needs to prepare to receive mass casualties. Read back."

It took two repeats for him to get it. I had to take the time. The time saved now would save lives later.

But people were bleeding out during our radio traffic.

The infirmary was on the 1st floor of D building by the loading dock. I had sent everyone first aid trained to B lobby. That was on purpose. I needed them nearby but safe and out of the way.

Now I needed to assemble them into teams with supplies.

I stepped past Mr. Murphy's lifeless body. Then I went back briefly and grabbed the handful of dressings and one bandage he had not used from his personal first aid kit. He would not be needing them, and someone else would.

I checked each of the three guard's pulses briefly, no gloves, with my bloody index and middle finger pressed to each carotid. Nope. I stole the least damaged jacket and made an impromptu bag of it, adding their first aid supplies into the jacket to carry.

I made it to the A lobby. Several Employees and contractors were sitting on the ground and on chairs. Some were in shock. Some were hurt.

One was bleeding profusely from a wound to her lower arm. I could see the bone sticking out from the wound. A bullet had shattered it. She had held direct pressure, imperfectly, with a wadded pile of paper napkins. But blood trickled and pooled at her feet and she was starting to glaze over.

Then she would collapse, stop holding pressure, and die.

"YOU!" I boomed out towards several people hoping one would hear me. Then I tore open a gauze roll and started briskly wrapping the wound over the napkins. Nice and tight, back and forth, X shape, sorry, going to hurt. No time to wet a dressing to protect the bone end.

Then I put two 4 inch by 4 inch pads, what we call "four by fours", over the wound, and wrapped the gauze tightly over that.

An employee had obediently come over. I instructed him briefly to hold pressure firmly over the wound, and not to let go for a while. If it kept bleeding, he was to put more cloth over it and press harder. He was NOT to take it off and keep checking it.

I made sure he understood that her life was now in his hands, and then put my hands to my mouth to make an impromptu bullhorn.

"I NEED YOUR HELP. IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, GO OVER TO THE WALL. DO THIS NOW."

Everyone who obeyed had just triaged themselves as "minor" or "walking wounded."

This let me quickly move to the four who did not.

Training pays off. I had been trained more than once in how to sort injured people. This is called 'triage.' There is a quick sort method. Some places call it START, other places call it RPM. I always remember it as RPM.

Respirations. Are they breathing? Too fast or too slow?

One was not breathing. I reached down and put one hand on her chin and another hand on her forehead and tilted.

Her head came off.

I quickly put the nearest small piece of furniture - a endcap table -upside down over her body. Dead. I did not cover the head. The neck was missing where the bullet had struck the spine.

Perfusion. Are they bleeding externally? Can you get a pulse ("radial") at the wrist? Can you push down on a fingernail and the skin underneath turns white, but comes back with color within 2 seconds?

The next employee failed the "capillary refill" test. IMMEDIATE. So I used a marker pen to write a huge I on her forehead.

Then I left her moaning to check on the next employee.

His eyes were glazed and he was staring around him. He had no visible signs of injury except the massive bruise on one side of his face.

But he hadn't moved when I'd told him to. That was a danger sign.

Mental status.

"Sir, what's your name?"

He looked at me and blinked a couple times. I read it off his badge.

"Brian, my name is Echo 18 and I'm a medic. What happened?"

He blinked a couple more times.

IMMEDIATE. Huge marker pen, write I on forehead, move on.

Something is keeping his brain from interacting with me. Probably a life threatening head injury.

The fourth employee passed all three checks. Respirations, perfusion, mental status. She hadn't moved because of something wrong with her leg.

But whatever was, even though it was so painful she was rocking back and forth and mewling in agony, probably wasn't going to kill her in the next ten minutes.

Normally, she'd be the focus of attention as we stabilized the limb, checked pulse and motion and sensation, applied ice packs, called EMS for transport...

Not today. We were racing the Angel of Death and he was way ahead.

I looked around A lobby just as the entry team led by Sharon came in.

"Are we secure?" she asked me.

"Now we are, this room only."

"Now what?"

"The building is yours, Sharon. Take and secure it. Let me know when you get big chunks secured. You've just taken the lobby."

She nodded and led her team to the main entrance past the reception desk.

The entire time I had been watching that entrance waiting for something horrible to follow me out. It hadn't.

Then and only then did I use my radio to ask for first aid providers to come to the A lobby.

I drafted arriving and present employees into teams of four, each led by someone who looked less confused than the others.

"You four, lift and carry Brian to B lobby. Right now. He's an immediate. He needs help right now."

They did.

"OK, you and you and you. Ma'am, take charge. See her? She's badly hurt. Carry her gently but quickly to B lobby. Do it now. She's an immediate."

That got two of them on the way. A third team self-assembled near the crying woman.

"Leave her alone!" I snapped. "Follow me!" I demanded.

We followed in the trail of the entry team. They were the security for the building. I was the security for the first aid effort.

But I was also the triage officer. As we reached each downed person, I checked them over.

I marked their foreheads with an I if they were an immediate. I then drafted three or four people, sometimes with the help of an office chair, to take them to the lobby - and from there, trusted that someone would take them to B lobby.

I made the first aid teams leave them behind us if they were not. This was not something that was going to win me any popularity points.

Eventually they would make their way through the two lobbies to the infirmary - but not now, and not ahead of people who actually needed life and death care right this very moment.

If they were dead, and all too often they were, I put something on their bodies. A piece of clothing if it was not suitable for use as a bandage. A small piece of furniture. A big three ring binder. A visual cue that this person had been checked, and was beyond our help.

I finished triaging A.

By this time I had a crowd of about ten employees following me.

One approached me and introduced himself. He had been a combat lifesaver in the Army.

"Sir, I need you to RUN to B lobby and make sure the Immediates AND ONLY THE IMMEDIATES are being taken to the infirmary. Then go to the infirmary yourself and report to the vet tech. Go. Now. RUN!"

He saw the look on my face and started running.

I passed through A lobby on the way back. It was now empty of injured persons. Good.

I keyed up my radio.

"Attention. I need a PA announcement. Anyone needing first aid only, stay where you are. Infirmary is busy with several critical cases, do not send minor injuries to the infirmary. Repeat that twice."

The PA announcement went out as I made it to the B lobby and discovered barely organized chaos. The combat lifesaver had been and gone, as I'd ordered. But for lack of anything better to do, people were starting to take only slightly injured persons to the infirmary.

If I let this happen, it would overwhelm what was really a couple rooms full of broken people and a handful of trained people trying to help them.

I scooped my hands again.

"ATTENTION! ONLY PEOPLE IN DANGER OF LIFE AND DEATH WILL BE TAKEN TO THE INFIRMARY. OTHER INJURED PEOPLE NEED TO STAY RIGHT HERE."

That's when Murphy - not my dead client, but the evil Murphy of Murphy's Law - decided to take a turn.

"Who put you in charge?" demanded a manager. "You're just a fucking guard."

I immediately decked him with a punch. It didn't hurt anything but my knuckles.

This caught the attention of the entire room.

I spoke into the silence.

"My name is Echo 18. I'm in CHARGE of the security here and I'm an Emergency Medical Technician. I am leading the triage effort. If we overwhelm the infirmary with injured people, they won't be able to sort out the ones they need to help most, and more people will DIE. If you're not about to die, be grateful and STAY HERE."

Two of the guards had reported to the call for first aid providers and at a gesture from me, moved to the doors and gently encouraged a team of employees to put a slightly injured person back down.

The manager started to sit up.

I lowered my voice and stood close so only he and I would hear.

"Stay down, sir, and shut the fuck up, or I will shoot you dead. Sit the fuck down. If you open your mouth I will put a bullet in it."

His jaw dropped and he looked at me wide eyed. He did not get up.

One life versus potentially dozens?

No contest, and not even the first time this week.

I organized the first aid providers. One who seemed sharper than the others told me she was a nurse.

"Great. I need you to take charge of this Treatment Area. I'm going to have a guard with a radio follow you around and keep order. If you need anything, call us. Do you know how to triage people?"

"Yes."

"If someone gets worse and they need to be transported as Immediates, call us and we'll do it. Otherwise keep people here and we'll let you know when Infirmary has calmed down."

I paused.

"It may be a couple hours."

She nodded briskly, once. Someone else who got it.

With that I headed to the Infirmary.

I knew something else I didn't want to share with all these people.

The truth was, the people in this room would mostly live, and that whether we helped them or not.

The people who had been carried first to the Infirmary would mostly die, no matter what we tried to do to help them.

But we had to focus our efforts on saving those we could, and the broken legs and bruises and cuts from glass would - if we let them - kill the ones with compound fractures, gunshot wounds and embedded glass fragments.

When I got to D loading dock, the place was a madhouse. But it was a much more organized madhouse.

Employees with clipboards were going from person to person, checking on them. The badly hurt were being carried right past into the infirmary. I could see that people who an hour ago had been in infirmary beds were sitting on the loading dock wrapped in blankets. Their beds were needed, you see.

I went right to the emergency locker, reached past the empty shelves where bandages and dressings had been kept, and pulled out the bullhorn.

I didn't really need it anymore, but it would have been quite useful.

Dead. I popped the battery cover and it had batteries, but they were old, and leaking. I put it down gently, maybe to fix later.

I moved past into the treatment room. The vet tech was circling the room like one shark in a field of bloody chum, chewing her way through the casualties as the only surgical help any of them would get today.

I joined the small procession. Another clipboard-wielding employee had a count.

Nineteen immediates. At least thirty walking wounded.

We had yet to count the dead, current and yet to come.

But we would be alive to count them, which is good work by Apocalypse standards.