Johnny Got His Gun

your own pulse, you're deaf.

You're deaf, Joe.

Deaf.

Maybe not.

Maybe I'm just dreaming.

Maybe-- oh, Jesus

Christ, I hurt!

I can feel the sweat

pouring out of my skin.

Hot, wet skin that's

all covered up with--

with bandages.

Even my head.

I sure must've

caught a big one.

No.

Telephones in the middle

of the night

are bad luck.

Don't let anybody

answer it, Father.

What's this? Footsteps.

I can feel

their vibrations.

What are they doing?

Any evidence of

hypostasis

while aspirating?

None thus far.

They're looking

at something.

Trachea tube clear.

A hand on my chest.

He's breathing well.

No more oxygen unless

an emergency develops.

I don't understand that.

Can you lift for

intravenous feeling?

Good.

My face.

Is something wrong

with my face?

Skin grafts will

be necessary here.

Colostomy good.

Cystotomy functioning?

Uh-huh.

Very good.

What next?

Is the ambulance

ready? Yes, sir.

Very well.

Bring him along.

Where are you

taking him, sir?

Occupation forces

base hospital

number 3 at

Jeanville St. Clears.

All right.

Let's move it.

David's Perfection Bakery.

Rudy McKenna speaking.

It's Rudy.

Telephone, Joe.

Okay, coming.

Hello.

Yes, Mother.

I'll be right home.

Thank you.

I'll let you know

when everything's

finished, okay? Okay, Joe.

I'll be back to work

in a couple days.

That's all right.

Rest up. Good night.

I'm sorry, Father.

I'm sorry I lost

your fishing pole, too.

I loved you.

Well, the bandages

are off my arm.

It itches.

I wish they'd

scratch it.

What happens now?

Yes, we can remove

the sutures.

Let's disinfect.

I wish they'd get

this stuff off my face

so I could see

what they're doing.

Sorry, sir.

Another.

Ouch!

They're pinching me.

No, it's more like a--

a little stab of heat.

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