"Think I'll take your advice, Edwards said, closing his clipboard. He wrote a Demerol order for David and then went to his room. As tired as he was, though, he couldn't sleep. Every time he drifted off, he'd see Grant's tag: "Remains, non-viewable." And all that time in the States, he thought he could handle it. . . .

He woke up in the morning exhausted, put on his wrinkled uniform and went to the ward.

Johnson was already in the office. "Hi," he said, turning around from his desk. "You know you didn't have to work today-or yesterday, for that matter."

"I know? Edwards hung up his jacket.

"There's really not much else to do."

Both he and Johnson had shared the same office for almost a year now. Johnson had been the plastic surgeon working with the burn unit at Duke University. He had been drafted and assigned to Kishine.

"You want to go on rounds?" Edwards asked.

Johnson pressed the button on the intercom. "Julian, we're gonna start rounds." He pushed himself away from the desk. "Let's go."

"How's the fellow on the respirator?"

"He died this morning." Johnson said, picking up his notes. "I told the corpsman to leave you alone."

After rounds, Edwards went down to the bacteriology lab and then to his office. Johnson had gone to X-ray to check on a few films. He sat down at his desk and looked at the two weeks of correspondence that had been piled nearly at the corner of his desk. He was reaching for the first letter when the intercom buzzed. "Major, Jensen's in the whirlpool."

"OK, be right there, thanks."

David was already in the tub, being debribed Edwards knelt down by the side of the tub and checked the burns. At some places, on the highs and chest, he could see down to the muscle fibers criss-crossing under the burnt fat. "David, I'm going to stop your IV," he said, straightening up. "You're going to have to start eating. The ward master told me you didn't touch your breakfast Hurt?"

Chewing on what remained of his lips, David winced.

"Jessie, why don't you give him 25 of Demerol."