Chapter 9

Monday, June 12 – Friday, December 1, 1944

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“When can I get back to my men?”

I was still drifting in and out of consciousness, but that was the most important question on my mind. I didn’t ask about the extent of my injuries, and being discharged and going back home never crossed my mind. I needed to get back to my band of brothers. I was their leader, and I was not about to shirk my duty.

“That’s between you and your doctor,” Nurse Dodd replied, after I had asked her for the third time.

“What day is it anyway?” I asked now that I knew she could answer me.

“It’s Sunday, June 18,” she answered. “Your surgery took place a week ago. And from what I’ve been told, you are pretty lucky to still be alive, captain.”

“June 18!?” I shouted. “That means I’ve been away from my men for almost two weeks! You need to get me out of here!”

“Captain, you’re not even able to get out of bed right now,” the nurse replied. “You underwent extensive surgery to repair your liver, spleen, and kidneys. Your body needs time to recover! What good do you think you would be to your men right now?”

I guess she had me there. As I stared up at her from my bed, I realized she was an attractive young woman—not the matronly disciplinarian I had pictured. She looked to be about my age, with blue eyes, and blonde curls protruding from the edges of her nurse’s Flossie. She was what the boys in my platoon would call a “real dish.” However, I knew despite her delicate appearance, she was more than capable of putting me in my place. I decided I admired that about her.

“Do you have any news on how our boys are doing down on Omaha Beach?” I asked, a little less demanding as I changed the subject.

“I overheard a couple of officers talking this morning,” Nurse Dodd replied, “and they were saying the tide was turning in our favor. The beachhead has been secured, and our troops are pushing inland. They thought we had certainly taken the first crucial step toward victory.”

“That’s certainly good news!” I declared. “We have to keep the Germans on the run, all the way back to Berlin! Is there any way I can find out how my men are doing?”

“I can’t help you with that information, captain. But I will make sure the briefing officer knows of your request.”

“Thank you, nurse. You sound like you’re a Southern gal. What’s your name, and where are you from?”

“My name is Elizabeth, and I’m from Richmond, Virginia!” she replied with obvious pride. “Have you ever been there?”

“I passed by there on my way to basic training a couple of years ago,” I told her. “But we didn’t really go through Richmond. Actually, before joining the Army, I had never been south of Pennsylvania.”

“Well, when the war is over, you’ll have to come visit our fair city,” Nurse Dodd remarked. “In fact, you should really visit in the spring. There isn’t any place prettier than Richmond in the spring!”

“I’ll make a point to do that one day!” I replied with a smile. “Perhaps you could give me a tour.”

She smiled at my comment, then went about her duties. As my days of convalescing turned into weeks, Nurse Dodd and I enjoyed  frequent conversations. When my strength returned, I took many leisurely strolls with her through the hospital’s garden. Initially she walked with me to keep me steady on my feet, but it soon became more than that. The garden became “our” place—the one patch of ground untouched by the war.  

The more Nurse Dodd and I talked, the deeper our conversations became—what our lives would be like in a world free of war’s death and oppression. We even dared to talk about our respective future plans after the war.

The doctors were pleased with my recovery but insisted I needed to heal completely before they would release me for active duty. I had now been in the hospital more than four months—with no end in sight.

***

Lizzie, as I now called her, was on duty when a kerfuffle broke out about how to treat a new patient. She had just met with the head nurse to discuss a matter of protocol. Afterward, she stepped outside to clear her head and saw me sitting in what had become my chair in the garden.

“You will not believe what’s happening,” she said as she walked over. “An officer has just entered into the surgical theater with severe injuries. But, apparently, no one at the hospital seemed to know that the lieutenant was colored until he arrived. Though the surgical team doesn’t seem to have an issue with it, the administrative staff is beside itself as to what to do with a colored patient. Though our staff has been vaguely aware of the Army’s initiatives to integrate the races, it hasn’t been anything we have been prepared to participate in.”

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“No one is sure,” Lizzie replied. “The most pressing need is blood. The surgeons told the administrators to get it—and they weren’t about to take no for an answer. The hospitals providing integrated care have established separate blood banks. We neither have the time nor the people to do that.”

“Well, I can help,” I replied. “I’ll donate some blood.”

“But you don’t know if you’re even a match!”

“You forget, nurse, I’m O negative—a universal donor,” I replied with a grin. “Get me hooked up. I’m probably good for at least two pints!”

“That might not be enough.”

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“Well, aren’t there others in this hospital who can give blood?” I asked. “I thought you all operated under a Hippocratic oath or something! Isn’t anyone else a universal donor?”

“I am,” she said weakly.

“Well, there you go! Now there are two of us, and we haven’t even begun to ask around. Let’s get moving, nurse!”

I got up from my chair and started to walk inside. Lizzie hesitated a moment before a smile settled on her face. “Yes, let’s get going, captain!”

The head nurse didn’t quite know what to think of us when Lizzie told her we were willing to donate blood. Nevertheless, after a few minutes of hesitation she had us set up. Soon I noticed a few other hospital workers volunteering to donate.

“We solved that problem,” I said to Lizzie with a grin as we sat there with needles stuck in our arms. “What other problem needs to be tackled?”

“There is still the issue of a place in the ward for him to recover.”

“You mean they’re having trouble finding a bed?” I declared in disbelief. “It’s a big ward! Surely no one has a problem with him stretching out on a bed in the ward. And if they’re running short, he can have my bed!”

“It’s not a bed we need,” Lizzie said sadly, “it’s a separate ward.”

“Lizzie, that’s wrong!” I said indignantly. “This guy was injured while fighting for his country—and for freedom—and now this hospital doesn’t want to give him a bed because he has to be placed in a separate ward? That’s crazy! What’s more, it’s immoral!”

Lizzie didn’t know how to respond. We both stared at one another for a moment. Then an idea came to me.

“Then let’s make a separate ward,” I said with determination. “You move two beds—one for him and one for me—into a corner and put some curtains around them. And he and I will have our own private ward!”

Believe it or not, that is exactly what the hospital did! There were other obstacles that Lizzie and I helped them overcome, including who would provide nursing care for the lieutenant. Lizzie and I volunteered to be the attendants in our private ward. She would be the professional, and I would be her lackey.

The colored officer was in surgery for many hours, and his face and right side were heavily bandaged when they finally wheeled him into our makeshift ward. He was still out of it from the anesthesia.

“By the way, what’s this soldier’s name?” I asked Lizzie. 

 She looked down at his paperwork and replied, “Lt. Larnell Williams.”

I could not believe my ears or eyes. I just stood there looking at Larnell lying in that bed, and for the first time since hearing of his arrival, I did something I should have done much earlier: I lifted up a prayer for my injured comrade. And I asked God to forgive us for being unwilling to help this poor man—my friend—when he needed us most!

I later learned that on October 5, a battalion from the Ninety-Second Infantry Division entered into actual combat for the first time in the war. They joined the attack on the Axis forces along the coast of the Ligurian Sea near the town of Massa. Despite the battalion being under-supported, the Alpha Platoon, under the command of First Lieutenant Larnell Williams, rallied the others in making great gains during the initial stages of battle.

Seven days later, still without artillery or air support, those gains were turned back by enemy counterattacks. All the men of Alpha Platoon were either severely wounded or killed. Lieutenant Williams was transported to the 186th General Hospital for treatment due to the severity of his dental and facial injuries.

Major Schwartz and Captain Felt, Larnell’s primary surgeons, came by our makeshift ward to check on their patient a couple hours following surgery. I introduced myself and told them Larnell and I were friends from the same hometown and had gone through OCS together. “How is he, docs?” I asked. “Is he going to make it?”

Major Schwartz answered, “Captain Fearsithe, do you believe in God?”

“I most definitely do,” I responded. “I know for certain I wouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for Him.”

“Well, Captain Fearsithe,” the major replied, “I don’t think your friend would still be with us if God had not placed you in this hospital. We heard what you and Nurse Dodd did. If you had not volunteered your blood when you did, Lieutenant Williams would not have survived surgery. So, I will tell you that he has a better chance of making it now than I would have given him a few hours ago.

“But I won’t lie to you, his injuries were severe. The reconstruction that Captain Felt did on his face and jaw was extensive. He has a long, steep road ahead, and many more surgeries in his future.”

The Major instructed Lizzie what she should be watching for as the lieutenant’s anesthesia wore off. The doctor encouraged her to be generous with the morphine to manage his pain during the first few days.

It quickly became obvious that Larnell was going to require more care than I could provide, both from a physical and knowledge standpoint. Gratefully, one of the other nurses agreed to assist Lizzie.

Several days into his recovery, Larnell made a subtle movement that indicated he could hear me speaking to Lizzie. I wondered if he had recognized my voice, so I walked over to the side of his bed.

Leaning down close to his face, I said, “Larnell, it’s me, Bobby. I am right here with you, man! And I’ve got your back. I’m in the bed right next to you, and I’m not going anywhere. And you need to know your nurses are the best in this place. You’re going to get better, my friend!”

I saw a teardrop in the small space under his left eye that wasn’t covered with bandages—and I knew he had heard me. I grasped his left hand and felt a weak squeeze in return. A tear trickled down my cheek as I offered up a silent prayer.

Larnell’s discomfort diminished as the days passed. He became more aware of his extensive injuries—including the inability to move his jaw to speak, which made communication challenging. With much effort, he eventually was able to use his left hand to write out short messages on a clipboard. This made day-to-day functions somewhat easier for him and the nurses.

I sat by his bed and talked to him every day. I shared any gossip I heard from the hospital staff. I recounted news about the war. I talked about our times together at Fort Benning. And on the days we received mail, I read the news from home—written by my mother or his. He asked that I start writing letters from him to his mother. He would write out a few words on his clipboard, and I would fill in the details.

Though I thought I knew Larnell pretty well from our time at OCS, I really got to know him through his letters from his mother. She wrote about memories of good times at home and about his dreams for the future. She caught him up on all the news about his younger sister, as well as their extended family.

She described different happenings in Williamsport. But the more I read, the more I realized the city Larnell grew up in was totally different from my experience. And while some of that was to be expected, much of it was just wrong. He and I had worked together in a lumberyard, but I hadn’t really known him. It was as if we lived in two different places and I had never cared enough to ask why or to really get to know him. And I think in some respects, Larnell might have said the same thing … but maybe not.

All I knew was, I was getting to know this mother’s oldest child through her eyes—a young man she was extremely proud of and whom she loved more than life.

By the end of November, I received splendid news.

“Well, Captain Fearsithe, looks like you’ll be leaving us in a few days,” my doctor told me. “You can return to active duty once we discharge you.”

 “That’s great news, doc! I can’t wait to be back with my men!”

However, my zeal was tempered by my thoughts of saying goodbye to Lizzie and Larnell. I was more determined than ever to see this war ended soon so I could make my way back to Lizzie, either here or in Richmond.

Our relationship had blossomed during our many long walks and numerous conversations. She was now one of the main people in my life for whom I would be fighting. And I would be the soldier she constantly worried about.

I wanted to ask Lizzie to marry me before I left the hospital; however, I hesitated to ask knowing I was going back to the front line. I didn’t want her to feel obligated in case something happened to me. So, whether it was right or wrong, I stopped short of saying those words the day I left.

I had no doubts that God had brought me to the 186th General Hospital so I would meet and fall in love with Lizzie. Now I was going to have to trust Him to  bring us back together.

Similarly, the same was true with Larnell. I wouldn’t be here to help him during his recovery. But Lizzie and others would, so I knew he would be in good hands. In the last letter I read to Larnell from his mother, she said she would be praying for me. I knew I could use all the prayers I could get!

On Friday, December 1, I was discharged and tried not to look back. I was headed to Belgium to join back up with my men.

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