Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

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allegrita
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Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This story was written in response to Champagne Challenge, #147, “In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb.” Rated PG-13. I've always wondered what happened to Mick's best friend Ray Fordham after he was wounded in Italy. How did he get lost, and how did he finally get found again? This tells part of his story.

My thanks to choccyterri and PNWgal for their encouragement and helpful suggestions.


Private Lamb


“Ma-aa-aa-aaaah!”

Sam Rogers slammed a fist down on the table, rattling the beer bottles. “Goddammit, the Goat’s awake again. Where’s Lyons?”

“She’s off duty tonight.”

“Great.” Rogers looked annoyed. “Well, somebody needs to shut him up.” He looked around the table. “Hey, Jones. Go stuff a sock in his face or something.”

Art Jones rolled his eyes. “Me?! Why can’t you baby-sit him?”

“Because I’m a Lieutenant, that’s why, and you’re a Corporal. And an orderly.”

Captain Nelson, physician on duty and senior man at the poker table, gave Lt. Rogers a look. “Well, hell, Samuel, if you’re gonna go by the book, you and I shouldn’t even be fraternizing with this here lowlife trash.” His wink was aimed at Jones and the other enlisted men, who examined their cards carefully, trying not to snicker. Rogers was a little weasel, always pushing the grunts around. It was good to see him get a little of his own back for a change.

Rogers sneered, “Better here than that sorry excuse for an Officers’ Club. I don’t see you hanging around there, Captain.”

“I’m just keeping a close eye on my patients, son. Had no idea there’d be a card game.”

Jones swallowed a snort of laughter. There was always a poker game when Capt. Nelson was on call.

“Oh, sure,” grumbled Rogers. “What a coincidence.”

The Captain shook his head, his serious expression belied by the twinkle in his eye. “Just lucky, I guess.” He glanced around the table. “But you know as well as I do, these guys know how to play real cards. I mean, hell. Did you know the CO’s tryin’ to get a bridge game going now?”

Jones lost the fight with his sense of humor and busted out laughing.

“Bridge, sir?! That’s an old ladies’ game!”

A wry smile creased the Captain’s cheeks. “Why do you think ol’ Samuel and me like to spend our time here in the hospital, with orderlies and nurses? Honest people playing an honest game of poker. Well...” and he gave Lt. Rogers a sharp look, “Mostly honest, anyway.”

Rogers threw his cards down. “You calling me a cheat, sir?”

Nelson laughed. “Nah, just playin’ with ya, son. Come on, pick up your hand. I still need to make back those six bits.”

“Meh-ehh-ehh-ehhhhh—”

Rogers picked up his cards and angrily sorted them. “I swear to Christ, Jones. If you don’t calm him down I’m gonna go in there and shut him up once and for all.”

Jones tossed his hand onto the table and tipped the last drops of his beer down his throat. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got a dud hand anyhow.”

He was pushing his chair back when quick footsteps approached down the hall outside. Nurse Gail Lyons stuck her head around the edge of the door. “It’s okay, Art. I’ll go to him. I wanted to take a look at his dressings anyway.”

“Hey there, doll,” said the Captain, “I thought you were off duty tonight.”

The nurse made a comical face. “Well, sir, I had these plans to get all gussied up and go out on the town. And then I remembered there’s no town.” She rolled her eyes. “And nobody to get gussied up for.”

Rogers gave her a once-over. “I bet you’d clean up real nice. I could show you a good time, honey.”

A chorus of wolf whistles erupted, and the nurse blushed.

“In your dreams,” she said, and her nose went up just a bit. Rogers’s face darkened, and he opened his mouth to speak again, but the tension was broken by another of the bleating cries.

“Mehhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Oops, that’s my cue to let you guys get back to your game,” said the nurse.

Jones smiled gratefully at her. “Gail, you’re a lifesaver. I owe you.”

She smiled back. “Oh, I’ll be asking you for a favor any day now. You boys have fun.” She gave a little wave, then turned and walked out of the room. Soon her voice could be heard from the ward down the hall. “It’s all right, hon. Everything’s fine. You’re safe.” The strange cries died away, and the men went back to their poker game. As the night went on, Jones heard her voice from time to time, talking softly to the wounded man. She could soothe him like nobody else, and she’d kind of adopted the guy as her own pet project.

The soldier had been brought in to the field hospital by Italian peasants a few weeks previously, wearing only dirty bandages, tattered olive drab pants, and combat boots. No dog tags or ID of any kind. And with a concussion and a busted jaw, the guy wasn’t going to be telling anybody his name or anything else for awhile—assuming he lived. He’d obviously suffered a near-direct hit from a mortar. He had facial burns, a fractured pelvis, and a gut full of shrapnel, which had given him a raging case of peritonitis. By the time he’d been carried in, he was pretty far gone. They’d done their best to figure out who he was, but there was very little to go on. No one in the hospital spoke the peasants’ odd dialect of Italian, so they had no idea where or when the attack had taken place. And in the chaos of the campaign, far too many soldiers, living and dead, were anonymous. They assumed he was American because of the pants and boots he’d been wearing, but even that wasn’t a sure thing. The Italians might have been trying to save one of their own men by dressing him in a US uniform. And with his dark hair, he could be Italian. So there he lay, their own personal Unknown Soldier.

Field hospitals weren’t set up for long-term care. Soldiers usually came and went within a few days at the most. If they could be patched up, they were sent back to their units. Of those who remained, the ones who didn’t die of their injuries got transported to the 33rd General Hospital at Leghorn (Livorno) for surgery or treatment, and then shipped home. But the doctors had said this guy couldn’t be transported till they got him over the infection—especially since they weren’t even sure he was American. So they’d pumped him full of penicillin and immobilized his injuries as best they could, and he’d stayed there in the ward, bleating and stinking and getting on Lt. Rogers’s nerves a little more each day. Lately, Rogers had taken to calling him the Goat, and the moniker had stuck.

**********

When the game broke up around midnight, Cpl. Jones stopped by the ward on his way to bed. The big room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on a table a few beds down. Nurse Lyons was standing next to the bed, stroking the bandaged head of their problem patient.

“Hi Gail. How’s the Goat doing?”

Gail Lyons looked up, a furrow between her brows. “Don’t call him that.”

He blushed. “Sorry. The guys just… you know… named him, because of the noises he makes. And nobody knows his real name, anyhow.”

Her hands never stopped their slow caress along the bandaged head. “He’s not a goat. He’s sweet. More like a lamb than a goat.”

He chuckled. “Private Lamb. That’s a good one.”

She shook her head. “How do you know he’s a Private? Maybe he’s an officer.”

He settled his shoulder more comfortably against the door frame. “Naw, he’s a grunt, trust me. I’ve seen thousands of ‘em pass through this place.”

She looked thoughtful. “Well, whatever he is, he’s not a goat, poor guy. He can’t help the sounds he makes. You know, I think he’s crying? That’s why it sounds so funny. Maybe he’s calling for his wife. He’s got a wedding ring.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just scared. Must be pretty awful for him to be tied down the way he is, and not even able to open his mouth. No wonder he yells every time he wakes up. Maybe he thinks he’s in Hell.”

She looked sad. “Maybe. Poor Lamb.”

“Want me to ask the Doc to give him some more morphine? Maybe he’ll stay quiet all night.”

She shook her head. “He’s sleeping okay without it. And to be honest, I think he does better when he’s not so doped up.”

“You think he’s aware of that much? I mean, does he know where he is? Or even who he is?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He responds to touch, and he turns his face toward me when I talk to him. But with the bandages on his face, it’s hard to tell much.”

Jones walked to the bed and looked closely at the soldier. It was hard to tell anything about his state of consciousness, other than that fact that he wasn’t bleating and his breathing was deep and regular. He was lying on his back, his head and the top half of his face bandaged. In fact, he was pretty thoroughly swathed in bandages from his head to his hips. His pelvis had been immobilized simply, but effectively, by tying him down with a sheet. The lower part of his face was red and scabby where the burns were healing, and he had a patchy beard.

“How long till they can uncover his eyes?” he asked.

The nurse shook her head. “I’m not sure. The doctor’s going to check his head wounds tomorrow. The abdominal wound is healing well. Infection seems to be gone.”

“That’s good, at least. Whoever he is, he’s getting better.”

She frowned. “The doctor is worried about his pelvis, though. There’s not much we can do for him here.”

Jones gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Well, I think we need to worry about his head more than his pelvis at this point. No sense in worrying about whether a guy can walk when he could be a vegetable.”

She put up her hand, palm out. “Stop it! He’s not a vegetable!”

Jones backed away a couple of steps. “Sorry, sorry! Didn’t mean to insult your favorite patient.” He laughed. “You’re like a mother lion with her cub.”

Gail rolled her eyes. “Don’t pull out that old cliche. The name’s Lyons. L-Y-O-N-S. And this guy’s not a cub, he’s a lamb.” She stuck out her tongue.

“Fine,” he said. “Nurse Tiger it is.”He laughed and ducked out of the way as she threw a wad of gauze at him.

“Meh-eh-ehhh!” The soldier began thrashing on the bed, turning his head from side to side and inhaling in ragged gasps between those muffled, bleating cries. “Laaaaaah! Laaaaaah!”

“Oh, no! Now see what you did!” The nurse gave one glare at Jones and turned to her patient, doing her best to stop him from pulling out his IV line. She was half on the bed, her hands on the man’s shoulders, but he was nearly throwing her off with the violence of his movements.

“Help me!” she called, and Jones shook off his shocked immobility and approached the bed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stop him from kicking, and I think I can hold him.” She put her arms around the soldier, pinning his arms, while Jones held his legs down on the mattress. The man was still thrashing and crying out, his bandaged head flopping back and forth.

“Honey, hold still! Everything’s okay, you’re safe! I’ve got you,” the nurse said, holding the soldier tightly in her arms.

At last he stopped thrashing. “Laahhhh? Lah lah?” He buried his face in the softness of Gail’s bosom, sobbing as if his heart would break. “Oh, lalah, oh lalah,” he sobbed over and over as Gail held him close.

“Shhh, it’s all right, honey. I’m here and you’re safe.” She began to stroke his head softly, murmuring into his ear.

After a few minutes, she whispered to Jones, “I can’t stay like this for long. Help me up on the bed.”

Jones saw that she was bent over awkwardly, one foot on the floor and one knee up on the bed. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want to let go of him yet. Move his IV out of the way and then boost me up so I can lie down next to him.. I’ll stay with him till he falls asleep again.”

“Okay.” Jones let go of the soldier’s legs and cleared the IV stand and tube out of the way, then lifted the nurse up and held her steady on the narrow mattress while she settled on her side next to the soldier, still holding him. The man lay quietly, sniffling a little, and she shifted her arm higher on his chest, careful to avoid the healing wounds on his belly.

Gail lifted her head and looked at the soldier’s face. He looked terrible: the bandages over his eyes were sodden with tears, and snot was running out of his nose. She looked up at Jones. “Can you help him? Clean up his face a little?”

“Of course.” Jones took a cloth and carefully wiped the soldier’s face, then sponged it clean with a damp gauze pad. “What should I do with the bandages over his eyes?”

The nurse sighed. “We can’t leave him like that, he must be so uncomfortable. Let’s just cut away the wet gauze and tape some new bandages over his eyes. The doctor will be examining him tomorrow anyway.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jones said, and he took a pair of bandage scissors and cut the strips of gauze over the soldier’s temples. Gail watched as he peeled away the sodden mess of bandages.

The man’s eyes blinked open as soon as the gauze was removed. Gail gasped a little; he had never opened his eyes before, even when the doctors had changed his bandages. She smiled at him and thought she saw an answering crinkle in the corners of the man’s eyes.

“Well hi there,” she said. “I’m Nurse Lyons, and this is Corporal Jones. You’re in an Army field hospital. Do you understand?”

The man looked from the nurse to the Corporal and nodded, then closed his eyes again. “Uh,” he said.

“You’ve got a broken jaw, and a bunch of other injuries,” said Gail. “Don’t try to move too much. Does your head hurt?”

The man lay with his eyes closed. “Dezzeh.”

“You’re dizzy? No, don’t nod, just pat my hand once for yes and twice for no.” She slipped her hand under his, and his fingers rose and fell once.

“Well, that’s not much of a surprise. You got a bad knock on the head. You just take it easy.”

The hand tightened around hers. “Meh?”

Gail glanced at Jones. “What do you think he’s asking for?”

He shook his head. “I dunno. Is he thirsty?”

The soldier shook his head, then groaned. “Ow. No. Meh. Mehhhkhhh.” He sighed in frustration. “Mehhk. Mah buddeh.”

“Your buddy? Oh honey, I’m so sorry, I don’t know. You were brought in here almost a month ago, and nobody was with you.”

“Oh.” The soldier let out a long breath.

Gail got up on her elbow and looked into his face. The man opened his eyes and held her gaze for a few seconds before closing them again.

Gail stroked his temple, where the burns weren’t so bad. “Honey, we’ll try to find out where he is,” she said.

“Keh.”

“But tonight you need to rest, and in the morning the doctor will come see you, okay?”

“Keh.” A tear slid from the corner of his eye and disappeared into the bandages over his ear.

“I promise.” She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

“Mm-hmm.”

Gail laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ll stay here till you fall asleep, would you like that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Jones touched her shoulder and whispered, “I’m gonna hit the hay. You doing all right?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to lie here a little while, to make sure he falls asleep.”

Jones stifled a laugh. “Next Sunday’s sermon: And the Lyons shall lie down with the Lamb,” he whispered.

“Shush, you,” she whispered back.

He snickered again. “Yes, Nurse Tiger.” Then he got serious. “Hey, shouldn’t we rebandage his eyes?”

“Oh darn it, I completely forgot! Yes, we’d better. Can you do it? I don’t want to jostle him.”

“Sure.” Jones gathered gauze, tape, and scissors, and walked around the bed to the other side. But when he tried to apply the bandages over the wounded man’s eyes, the soldier started to shake his head.

“Uh-uh. Uh-uh!”

“Wait a second, Art,” said Gail. “What’s wrong, honey? He’s not gonna hurt you.”

The soldier kept shaking his head. “Nuh, nuh, nuh.”

Jones put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Aww. You don’t want to go back into the dark, do you, fella?”

Gail lifted her head and stared at Jones, then at the soldier. “Ohhhh. Of course you don’t, you poor thing. Tell you what, let’s just lay the bandages across your eyes to protect your skin, but we won’t tape them on, okay? And tomorrow, maybe the doctor will let you take them off for good.”

The soldier relaxed. “Keh.”

Jones laid a couple of strips of gauze loosely over the man’s eyes. “There, is that okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He patted the man on the shoulder once more and said, “Then I’ll see you two in the morning. If you need anything, Gail, just shout.”

Gail smiled at him. “Thanks, Art. You’re all right for a big oaf.”

He winked at her. “That’s what all the girls tell me. Night.” He walked around the bed and out the door.

The nurse laid her head down again, trying to get comfortable on the hard mattress. The soldier lay quietly next to her, his chest moving up and down with his breathing. A few minutes passed, and she began to think he was asleep, but then he gave a start.

“Lalah?” The soldier clutched her hand as it lay on his chest, and she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“It’s me, honey. Nurse Lyons. You can call me Gail if you like.”

“Geh.” He patted her hand.

“And what’s your name?”

“Reh.”

“Ray?”

“Mmm.”

“Goodnight, Ray.”

“Uh-nah Geh.”
<>
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by librarian_7 »

This is lovely. I can picture the scene so clearly, and your characters are so well drawn. (As usual in your fic, my dear.)

A fine addition, not just to the challenge, but to the main body of ML fic.
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by MickLifeCrisis »

This was very touching. :comfort2: And ITA with Lucky - very easy to picture.

Great answer to the challenge! :twothumbs:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by jen »

Alle

This is wonderful.

Also, this is something I have never seen explored in fan fiction before. Poor Ray. He had been badly hurt and he was terrified. The medics he encountered had no way of identifying him for some time and that was extended even further by his inability to communicate well at all.

Thank you!

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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by cassysj »

Poor Ray. Such a vivid picture. It must be hard for medics not to be able to ID people and very often John Doe sounds colder in the mind
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

Thanks everyone! I think Ray's story is so fascinating. Anybody who was Mick's best friend had to be a great guy. :hearts: I imagine that he really went through hell after he was wounded, poor thing. I like to think that a sympathetic nurse would have taken him under her wing... :comfort2:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by librarian_7 »

I hope I can express this how I want, but I have this vision of the body of ML fic, especially the stuff that deals with the history of the characters, all fitting together like some sort of giant novel. Part of it is staying with canon, and working to flesh out what might have only been hinted at in the series. And stories like this, that build on what we were told, and expand it in a way that totally fits in with canon, are just delightful to find.

I think we could probably put together a list of Mick fics (from multiple writers) that would really constitute a pretty nifty biography of Mick St. John.
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

That is such a cool concept, Lucky! :hearts: I truly believe that between a whole lot of us, we Moonlight fanfic writers have done a good job of fleshing out the world that was created by the show. Expanding on what we saw onscreen, exploring the pasts of various characters, creating new stories that take place in that world. It's a very nice feeling, being someone who helps keep that world alive. :cloud9:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by choccyterri »

:hug: Babes, when I first read this, I loved the characters. The strength of Nurse Lyons. The flippancy of the army guys getting their way. And I felt the compassion you felt for Ray's character. His loss and bewilderment at the situation he found himself in.

It's a wonderful piece of writing babes. Your storytelling shines when you tell someone's history. And I love it. :heart:

Thank you for sharing it with us. :hearts:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

Thank you so much, Terri. :hearts: And thank you for your wise advice. You truly helped me make this into a better story. :hug:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by francis »

Poor Ray, I can see this so clearly. Love how the nurse protects him and doesn't like him being called names. He cried for Layla and Mick all the time and no-one listened. So sad.
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by Marigold »

Awwww. :bmoon: Poor Ray, to be injured, confused, unable to communicate, and not know what happened to his buddy. :Mickangel: At least he was in the care of a kind nurse.

Great contribution to the challenge, Alle! :rose:
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by Lucy »

Allegrita-

Your words carved his frustration against his comrades' own day to day aches..... what a great read for any day of the year....made special by the reverence of Memorial Day.

Thank-you!
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by Shadow »

Thank you Lucy for bringing this back up where I could find it! And it belongs up now anyway, for Memorial Day. I'm sorry to have missed this before, but it feels so fitting to be reading this now.

Alle, I can't tell you how glad I am that you wrote this long-missing piece of the Moonlight story! I have always wondered what happened to Ray during the time he was missing, and you have brought it to life with such vividness. It had to have been a terrible, terrible time for Ray ...and I see that it was . As he called out for Lilah, for Mick, and was not understood, I could not help but flash on the fact that both of them were deep in mourning for Ray and believing him dead...and I thought sadly of how terribly alone Ray was without them. From his point of view, it is horrifying to know that no one was searching for him. And from what Ray knows now, he must think that Mick is dead ....oh, what a nightmare.

I am glad he had a compassionate nurse to look after him.... Really, it is hard to imagine that he could have survived without someone like Gail. And perhaps perversely, I also really liked the fact that you put in such unsympathetic characters as Rogers as well. So realistic. Makes one wonder how much of their cruelty in calling the patient Goat was meanness, and how much was fear. The soldiers all knew well enough that they could end up the same way, and that could be a form of coping.....(though I suspect Rogers himself might just be a jerk!)

Thank you so much for this!
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Re: Private Lamb (Champagne Challenge #147, PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

francis and Marigold, I'm so sorry for taking so long to thank you for your wonderful comments! And Lucy and Shadow, thank you very much for reading and commenting. Tonight I've been watching the Ken Burns documentary on WWII, and it made me feel so much sympathy and sadness for everything that people endured during that terrible time. Ray is a made-up character, but he represents so many soldiers who were wounded and frightened and alone, far away from home and everything that they held dear. I like to think that those soldiers ran into people as kind as Gail and Art. And not too many like Sam Rogers! Shadow, I fear he was just a jerk... but then again, sometimes readers find things in my stories that I didn't know were there, so maybe he really was afraid, and his meanness was the way he coped. But somehow I think he was basically a weasel. :snicker:
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