Post by BG Anne McKenna on Mar 6, 2017 14:04:50 GMT -5
(Sgt. Waghorn) As the small convoy headed back to the center of West Point and the garrison's medical center at Reed Hall, Sergeant Wagnorn - who was standing on the vehcile's riders alongside the door - could see the building up ahead, one of the numerous granite stone buildings that marked the center of the campus; leaning back in towards the window, he said, "There's Reed Hall up ahead," pausing as the big lumbering engineering vehicle slowed to round the last few corners and pulled up to a stop almost right next to the admitting entrance.
Jumping off the riders, Sergeant Waghorn saw several members of the garrison's medical staff heading towards the vehicle and walked over to one of the senior staff. "Colonel Geisbert," he said, nodding at him as they turned and walked back towards the back of the vehicle. As West Point's Chief Medical Officer, Colonel. Thomas W. Geisbert, M.D., MPh. was, in strict military terms, the garrison's deputy commander - only General McArthur could override any orders of his' except for medical orders; not even she could override those. Built like a brick masonry factory, the former ring-knocker (West Point class of 83') led a medical staff of doctors, nurses and technicians whose sole job was keeping everyone else - and themselves - alive and it was a job he took very seriously.
"I got the call, Sergeant; let's see what we've got," Geisbert replied, pausing as a roll-out stretcher that was brought out passed them before rounded the corner and looked inside the back of the vehicle. Pointing towards Tanya, he said in a command voice that brooked no comeback from anyone, American or Russian, "Alright, let's get her on the stretcher; make sure not to injure her anymore than she already is." It sounded dumb to tell military trained personnel something like that but it also never hurt either; he'd seen enough examples of minor injuries turning bad because of a patient's mishandling to know that he'd rather tell them to be careful and sound like a jerkass than not tell them and have to explain to McArthur what happened later...
Jumping off the riders, Sergeant Waghorn saw several members of the garrison's medical staff heading towards the vehicle and walked over to one of the senior staff. "Colonel Geisbert," he said, nodding at him as they turned and walked back towards the back of the vehicle. As West Point's Chief Medical Officer, Colonel. Thomas W. Geisbert, M.D., MPh. was, in strict military terms, the garrison's deputy commander - only General McArthur could override any orders of his' except for medical orders; not even she could override those. Built like a brick masonry factory, the former ring-knocker (West Point class of 83') led a medical staff of doctors, nurses and technicians whose sole job was keeping everyone else - and themselves - alive and it was a job he took very seriously.
"I got the call, Sergeant; let's see what we've got," Geisbert replied, pausing as a roll-out stretcher that was brought out passed them before rounded the corner and looked inside the back of the vehicle. Pointing towards Tanya, he said in a command voice that brooked no comeback from anyone, American or Russian, "Alright, let's get her on the stretcher; make sure not to injure her anymore than she already is." It sounded dumb to tell military trained personnel something like that but it also never hurt either; he'd seen enough examples of minor injuries turning bad because of a patient's mishandling to know that he'd rather tell them to be careful and sound like a jerkass than not tell them and have to explain to McArthur what happened later...