Johnny's eyes cracked open, only to be met by a blinding light. He lifted his arm up to cover his face and he groaned as a stabbing pain shot through his spine.

"Don't move!" A woman said from above him. A soft hand gently pulled his arm away and set it back down at his side.

Johnny peered up at the woman, a blonde nurse with a pretty face and kind eyes. "Why am I here?"

"You're receiving care," she responded easily.

"For what?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I really can't answer any questions right now. I need to fetch the doctor for you."

"Wait! What's going-"

The woman ignored him and hurried down the narrow path between the cots. Johnny sighed and tried to look around from where he was laying. All he could see were rows of men suffering from various injuries. Some of them were up and talking, but several weren't moving at all. Johnny watched as one cot was rolled out of the room and his heart dropped into his stomach.

"Private Simpson, I'm Doctor Harding."

With instinct telling him it was polite to shake the man's hand, Johnny forgot the nurse's orders and attempted to sit up. He immediately regretted it and gasped as a bolt of pain moved up his spine and through the back of his neck.

Johnny gagged as a wave of nausea, brought on by the pain, washed over him. Red and black spots danced before his eyes. He could feel the nurse slowly push his shoulders back to the bed again, and relief hit him almost immediately.

"You shouldn't be moving," the doctor said. "Your back needs to heal."

"Heal?" Johnny asked. "From what? What happened?"

"Can you tell me what happened on your mission?" Dr. Harding asked gently.

"What mission?" Johnny tried to think back, but nothing came up.

"Sir, do you know what month it is?"

Johnny immediately took offense. Who did this guy think he was? Obviously Johnny knew what month it was! He knew it was the end of February.... or was it March? But at the same time Johnny was sure it was at least mid-April, because he vaguely remembered spending his birthday hunkered down in a trench... but maybe that was last year....

Dr. Harding seemed to recognize the confusion and fear on Johnny's face and tried to calm him. "Don't be worried, that's perfectly normal after an accident like yours."

"What happened to me?" Johnny whispered, voice hoarse.

"You were in an accident. Your jeep flipped and you experienced blunt trauma to your head. You also have some damage to the vertebrae in your neck, but I don't think it's serious. A bit of time, and you should heal up quite nicely. You're very lucky; most people don't survive things like this."

"Why can't I remember what happened?" Johnny didn't bother trying to hide the panic in his voice.

"When you experience an accident like you did, it's very common to lose some of your short term memory. Most likely, if given time, you'll regain most of it."

Johnny's head was spinning. This man was trying to tell him that it was normal that he didn't know where he was? That it was normal to not remember an accident that nearly killed him?

"Mr. Simpson, we know that you are very confused right now and Betsy here would love to answer any questions you have. I'm needed with some of my other patients. Have a good day."

Johnny reached out to shake the doctor's hand, though the man hadn't been of much use. Then Dr. Harding left and Johnny was left with the nurse. Betsy, he repeated in his mind, Betsy the nurse.

"Is there anything I can get you Private?"

"Do you know what happened to me?"

Betsy refused to meet his eyes. "You got in an accident. You were driving, being chased really, and your jeep flipped over a couple of times."

Johnny closed his eyes and he could feel it, the disorienting feeling as he flew through the air. One, two... "Three," he said.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Three times. The jeep flipped three times."

"Oh, yes, that sounds about right." Betsy looked uncomfortable with the conversation, but Johnny wanted answers and he continued his questioning.

"What happened next?"

"You were brought here, and you were brought into surgery."

"Surgery? Why didn't the doctor say anything about that? What went wrong?"

"Nothing!" Betsy exclaimed. "It went well, the doctor was just distracted. It was to help with your back."

Johnny nodded silently.

"Now, the doctors said you might not have feeling in your feet yet, but don't worry. It will come back."

Johnny hadn't even noticed, but now as he looked down and tried to wiggle his toes he realized that they weren't moving. "This is normal?" He hissed. "I can't move my legs!"

"And you shouldn't be trying! It could do more damage! Sir, you need to stay still!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Johnny exclaimed. "I'm laying here in a bed where I can barely move, I can't remember anything, and no one will give me a straight answer! If you're not here to help, I don't want to hear it!" Johnny blinked furiously when he felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He already looked like a fool; he didn't need to cry and make it worse.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down. There are other patients here trying to sleep," Betsy said calmly, though she too was holding back tears.

"I don't care!" Johnny sobbed. "You should try having all your memories taken from you and then have no one willing to explain things to you! Go ahead! Let's see how much better you can do!"

Johnny's chest heaved as the hot tears ran down his face. He didn't know how long he'd been crying, nor did he notice Betsy leave. All he knew was that he'd been crying, and suddenly felt exhausted and his tears faded into a dreamless sleep.

***

Johnny hadn't talked to any of the men in the hospital. It wasn't worth it. He couldn't remember faces very well, and names didn't stick with him either. He'd been there for a whole week and still couldn't remember Betsy's name, though she was his primary nurse.

A few men from his division had stopped by to talk to him and see how he was doing, but Johnny couldn't remember them either. Sometimes a face would be familiar or they'd tell him their name and he'd get a fraction of a memory, just a snippet, but that was it.

They tried to bring back some of his memories by telling him stories of things that had happened and he'd even been told about his jeep (apparently he'd named it Alice, but Johnny didn't understand that because he didn't even like the name--it must have been an inside joke), and how it'd been sent to the vehicle graveyard.

It didn't help, and he could tell that some of them were getting frustrated.

A few continued visiting, out of guilt or genuine concern he didn't know, but some had stopped after realizing that the rumors weren't just rumors--he truly didn't remember anything.

It didn't matter anymore, though. Not according to his doctor at least.

"What do you mean?" Johnny asked.

"I mean that there is nothing more that we can do for you. We don't have the equipment needed to help you any more and even when you're fully recovered you won't be able to serve, so they're sending you back home."

Johnny supposed he should be happy. So many others were when they got sent home. He'd seen men fall to the floor and weep with joy when told the news. He knew he was lucky when other men listened in with jealousy written across their faces.

But he didn't feel lucky.

The people here were the only ones that could tell him what happened. Once he was sent home he'd lose his only chance of knowing what had really gone on the day of his accident. But now he'd never know. Dr. Harding had told him he'd be flying out the next evening and Johnny couldn't ignore the empty feeling eating away at him.

Then morning came and he only had a few hours left and the feeling intensified. This was it. What happened would forever remain a mystery to him and he'd always be stuck wondering if it was his fault, if he'd hurt anyone...

"Private Simpson?"

Johnny sat up a bit, as much as he could, to face the nurse. He'd barely said two words to her since he'd snapped at her, mostly out of embarrassment. That wasn't how his mother had raised him to treat people... especially not those who were trying to help him.

"Can I do something for you?"

"I was actually planning to ask the same thing," Betsy admitted.

"According to the doctor there's nothing else you guys can do for me, so I guess not," Johnny shrugged bitterly.

"I meant that I'd answer some of your questions if you really wanted me to," she said quietly.

"Really?" For the first time since his accident, Johnny felt a bit of hope.

Betsy nodded. "If it will help. You have a right to know before you leave."

"Yeah! Yeah, it will."

Betsy waited for a minute, but Johnny remained quiet. "What do you want to know?"

But Johnny didn't know. He'd been asking himself all of these questions ever since he'd woken up, but now he couldn't seem to think of anything to ask. There was so much that he wanted--needed--to know.

"I don't know where to start," he said with a nervous laugh. "I guess I want to know if anyone else was hurt."

"There were five other men on the mission with you," Betsy clasped her hands together as though the discussion was already making her uncomfortable.

"Why haven't any of them come to visit me?"

Betsy looked away. "You were the only one who survived."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He'd expected it of course (why else would people dance around the subject?), but it still left him breathless.

"I was driving."

"Yes, you were."

Johnny could feel a fresh wave of tears coming on. He'd been driving and he'd gotten them all killed. "Who was with me?"

Betsy listed the first few names and they held no meaning to Johnny. He couldn't decide whether or not he should be happy about that.

"George Macomb-"

This one did seem familiar, but only because some of the other men in his division had mentioned him a few times.

"Peter Pierce, and Henry Fields. Do those names mean anything to you?"

"Should they?" Johnny asked. He supposed they too seemed familiar, but he didn't know from where. "Did I know them?"

Betsy watched him sadly. "I've been told that you were friends."

Johnny didn't know whether he should be sick or throw something; maybe both. Those men were supposedly his friends and he couldn't even remember what they looked like.

"What happened to them?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Johnny swallowed and gave a sharp nod. "Positive."

"Private Fields was shot and Private Pierce... well, he was-"

"Just tell me!" Johnny said, bracing himself for the possibly horrific answer.

"He was crushed by your car."

He'd been right. It was horrific.

"He was what?"

"The jeep landed on top of him during the explosion," Betsy herself looked sick at the thought.

In the back of his mind, Johnny could hear a bloodcurdling scream and he regretted asking. "I don't want to hear anymore."

"Then we won't talk anymore. You're already all packed up, so you just have to wait for the truck and you'll be taken to the airfield. Someone will help you out when it arrives." Betsy moved away from the bed, obviously shaken up and relieved to be done with the discussion.

"Thanks," Johnny mumbled.

"For what?"

"You're the only person who's told me anything the whole time I've been here."

"I broke protocol."

"Thank you, Beth," Johnny said again.

The woman didn't bother correcting him. "Take care of yourself, Private."

***

Johnny was being lifted into the truck, still unable to walk very well on his own.

"That's the last of 'em," one of the men said. "We're ready to head out."

The other man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and shoved it into Johnny's hand. "I know you don't recognize me, John, but when this war's over I want you to write me, okay?"

"Did we know each other?" Johnny asked cautiously.

"Yeah, we did," the man gave him a sorrowful smile. "We bunked right next to each other. I'm Private Jack Thelen."

Johnny shook his hand and squinted as he took a closer look at the man. He definitely recognized him--Johnny was pretty sure he'd been one of the visitors he'd had in the hospital. "You came by to see me, didn't you?"

Private Thelen nodded. "Whenever I could."

"This your address?" He asked, looking down at the paper again.

"Sure is. If you write, I can try to fill you in on some of the things you don't... well, you know."

"Could you tell me about Peter and Henry?" Of all the names he'd been told during his 'recovery ', these two were the ones that he'd worked the hardest to remember.

Private Thelen nodded. "I'll start you off right now; everyone called them Pete and Harry."

That sounded a bit better to Johnny, but still nothing came up.

"Thelen! They need to leave! Get out of the truck!"

And then Johnny's only chance at memories was hopping out of the truck and heading back to the camp. He really hoped that the man made it back home--to Rhode Island according to the paper.

"Why are you going back?"

The men on the truck had been silent for the first ten minutes of the ride, but the man next to Johnny had finally spoken up. Johnny turned to face him, immediately noticing the white gauze wrapped around his head and covering his left eye.

"Do I know you?" Johnny asked. With all these strangers walking up to him claiming to be his old friends, it wouldn't surprise him.

The man didn't seem to see it this way and almost looked offended. "If you don't want to answer you could've just said so," he muttered.

"I'm sorry!" Johnny exclaimed. "I just thought you might know me. I, uh, I can't remember things too well right now."

"Oh, head injury. I see," the man said, then he chuckled. "I see. Get it? 'Cause my eye!"

"What--what happened?"

"Lost the left one here; one of those German bastards shot it out. Barely survived, but I did!" The man said proudly. "What happened to you?"

"My jeep, it flipped. Three times."

"Man, that must have been hell! Was anyone with you?"

Johnny's heart clenched; he didn't want to talk about that right now. Maybe not ever. "I don't remember any of it."

"Don't I wish I had that problem," the man snorted.

"Yeah, its great,"  Johnny mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

"So you don't remember anything?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The stranger, thankfully, respected his wishes and leaned back against the wall of the truck.

Johnny didn't say anything else for the entire ride, and neither did any of the other men. No one spoke as they were helped out of the truck and onto the plane.

Johnny took one last look around the airfield--his last glimpse of France--before slowly taking the steps up into the plane.

He was leaving, but with the knowledge that things would only be worse once he got home.

***
That's part 2! I'm not quite pleased with this at all, but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever written, so whatever. I'll try to do better in the next part!

I just really wish I could watch the show again and get a better feel for the character! Like I said, I've only seen it once.