On Distant Shores

by Sarah Sundin

  Sergeant Jacoby sat on the floor behind the litters.

  “It’s Private Hawkins,” she said. “He—he’s going into shock.”

  “Oh wow. Lousy timing.”

  “What are we going to do?” Her voice edged high.

  He got to his feet and gave her a strange look. “Treat him.”

  “But we—we’re landing. How can we—”

  Jacoby took her by the shoulders. “Pull yourself together, Lieutenant. The patient comes first.”

  “I know. I know.” She flipped open the medical chest and grabbed a plasma administration set, gauze, and iodine.

  “I’ll get the oxygen equipment and some more blankets.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to draw a deep breath, but it snagged on her rough throat. Lord, help me calm down and take care of the patient.

  Georgie hurried back to Private Hawkins’s litter, in the midlevel bracket at hip height. The plane’s nose tipped down. How long until landing? She and Jacoby would be bounced around like pinballs.

  She knelt, ripped the tape off the cardboard box, and pulled the string to lift out two tin cans. Although her hands shook, she pried the key off the first can and opened it. Fluffy white plasma flakes filled the glass bottle like snow in a snow globe.

  “Water?” Hawkins groped for Georgie’s arm.

  “Oxygen.” Jacoby wedged a portable tank between Hawkins’s hip and the fuselage, and he fitted the rubber oxygen mask over the patient’s face.

  The second tin can yielded a bottle of sterile water and the IV administration set. After she wiped the rubber stoppers of both bottles with iodine, she inserted a double-ended needle into the water bottle. With lips tucked between her teeth, she stilled the needle long enough to thrust it into the plasma bottle’s rubber stopper. Thank goodness the vacuum didn’t break, and water streamed over the plasma flakes.

  “I’ll dissolve it.” Jacoby eased the bottle out of her hand and looked her firm in the eye. “You’re the only one who can start the IV.”

  The IV. What would happen if the plane landed while she was inserting the needle? She had to hurry. She had to relax.

  Daddy would tell her to roll her shoulders. Mama would tell her to pray. Georgie did both.

  Patient care—she was good at that. She smiled at Hawkins while she swabbed the inside of his elbow with iodine. “We believe in only the finest service on this flight. The highest-quality fluids, delivered by IV, so you don’t even have to swallow. What do you think of that?”

  Bushy eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t make a noise behind the oxygen mask. Lethargy was common in shock.

  So were collapsed veins. Georgie palpated the antecubital area. “There. I found a vein.”

  Jacoby set the end of the tubing, with needle already attached, in Georgie’s hand. “You can do it.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  Georgie’s shoulders stiffened. She wasn’t sure she could do it either. The plane’s vibrations blurred the pale blue line of the vein, and the needle wiggled in her shaking grasp. She pulled his skin taut, rested the needle on the surface, and slipped it in. She missed. “Oh no.”

  “Come on, Lieutenant.” Jacoby’s voice strained.

  “Okay. Okay.” She switched hands, stretched out her fingers to relax them, and massaged the patient’s vein. Before the shaking could resume, she plunged in the needle. “Got it.”

  “Good.” The word poured from Jacoby’s mouth as the life-giving fluids poured into Hawkins’s body.

  The plane leveled off. A mild floating sensation.

  “The flare before landing.” Jacoby looped his arm around a litter support while holding the plasma bottle high. “Hold on. Watch out for that tank.”

  Facing the back of the plane, Georgie grabbed a stirrup-shaped foot under the litter and leaned across his body to secure the oxygen tank. Lord, keep us safe.

  The landing crumpled her knees, pitched her forward, wrenched her fingers around the stirrup. Pain shot through her fingers. “Ow!”

  “You all right?” Jacoby hadn’t even budged.

  She got her feet back under her and stretched her sore hand. “I’m all right.”

  “Here. Hold this.” He thrust the plasma bottle at her. “I’ll open the door.”

  Georgie grimaced from the pain and transferred the bottle to her good hand.

  Fresh hot air and African sunshine flowed through the open door. Jacoby returned with a ground crewman and showed him how to unclamp the litter from the brackets. They rushed Private Hawkins off the plane, and Georgie followed alongside with the plasma elevated.

  A physician stood outside the receiving tent, hand lifted to shield his eyes from the late morning sun.

  Georgie flagged him over. “Doctor! We have a patient in shock.”

  While she reported the private’s condition, Sergeant Jacoby recruited other men to unload the plane. Medics whisked Hawkins to the shock ward to prep him for surgery, and Georgie discussed the remaining cases with the physician.

  Half an hour later, the patients had been sent to the appropriate wards.

  Georgie’s hand throbbed but hadn’t swollen. Good. She’d almost finished sewing a sundress for Mellie, and she needed to hurry. If her plan didn’t succeed, Mellie Blake would go home soon.

  In front of the next tent, Vera Viviani and Alice Olson stood talking. The two nurses formed a vital part of Georgie’s plan, but she could barely stomach speaking to them after how they’d treated Mellie. Nevertheless, she set a warm smile on her face.

  Daddy said privilege came with responsibility. The Taylors were blessed financially, and they had a responsibility to give financially. Georgie was blessed socially, and she had the responsibility to embrace outsiders. Vera and Alice were blessed with fine minds and gorgeous faces, but they used their privilege for power over others.

  That rubbed Georgie the wrong way.

  “Hi, ladies,” she said with a sweet smile. “How were your flights?”

  Alice’s perfectly plucked blonde eyebrows sprang high. Vera glanced at Georgie, then down and away. Probably surprised at Georgie’s friendliness and ashamed of their own behavior, as they should be. “Fine,” Vera mumbled.

  “I’m not surprised, since you two are such talented nurses.” Georgie ladled out Southern charm as thick as syrup. “That’s why Mellie wanted you to stay in the 802nd, because you’re so gifted.”

  Color rose in Alice’s cheeks, and Vera stared at the tarmac. After the dirty trick they’d played on Mellie, they deserved to be uncomfortable. When Lieutenant Lambert had discovered the truth, she decided to send Vera and Alice home, but Mellie pleaded for Lambert to give them a second chance—and to send her home instead. Mellie’s sacrifice sang of mercy, but insecurity fueled the decision.

  Georgie planned to rectify it.

  She pulled a sheet of paper from her trouser pocket. “Speaking of Mellie, I knew you two would want to be involved in this.”

  “With—with what?” Vera’s gaze darted to Georgie.

  “A petition.” She handed Vera the paper with a flourish. “To keep Mellie in the squadron. You know what a good nurse she is—so brave and caring and smart. And you know how she helps us with her knowledge of living in the field. She’s such an asset, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” Alice didn’t raise her head. No one whined about Mellie’s survival tips more than Alice.

  Georgie pressed her hand over her heart. “She’s kind and giving, which is even more special since she was so shy when she joined us. She’s changed so much, don’t you think?”

  “She has.” Vera chewed on her full lips as she read the petition.

  “As you can see, you two are the only ones in the entire squadron who haven’t signed it yet. I wanted your signatures to be last, big and bold like John Hancock himself. Only fitting after all Mellie’s done for you.” She tipped her head to the side and raised her sweetest smile.

  Vera blinked in a flurry of long black lashes. “I—I still don’t understand why she did
that.”

  Georgie’s heart softened, and she rested a hand on Vera’s stiff forearm. “Because she loves the Lord, and she shows her love by being merciful to others.”

  Alice crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “There’s another reason. She honestly thinks she doesn’t belong in the squadron, that everyone wants her to leave. I can’t imagine why she’d think that.” Georgie gave them an exaggerated puzzled look. Vera and Alice had done everything possible to make Mellie feel unwelcome from the first hello.

  In tandem, the two beauties glanced at Georgie, at each other, then down at the ground.

  Georgie wrestled down a triumphant smirk. A little guilt would do them a lot of good.

  She waited a moment to let the guilt sink in, then tapped the petition in Vera’s hand. “See? I left a big space at the bottom for you. Feel free to add a personal note. Most everyone did.” Was it wrong to enjoy this so much?

  Vera and Alice signed the petition and handed it back.

  Georgie tucked it in her pocket. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me, and how much this will mean to Mellie. She deserves to know she’s loved.” A bit much, but it was fun to watch Vera and Alice writhe.

  She headed for the mess tent to grab lunch before the planes headed back to Sicily, loaded with supplies.

  “One question,” Alice called out.

  “Yes?”

  Alice frowned. “There can only be twenty-four nurses in the squadron, twenty-five if you count the chief. Two replacements have already arrived. So . . .”

  So one nurse would have to leave. The selfish little twerp, still only concerned with her own job.

  Regardless, she smiled. “We’ll leave that to Lieutenant Lambert.”

  A single lightbulb dangled over Lieutenant Lambert’s field desk and illuminated the faintest lines around the corners of her eyes.

  Georgie clasped sweaty hands before her stomach and waited.

  “No one told me a chief nurse needed juggling skills.” She flipped through papers. “Mellie volunteers to go home, Sylvia needs to go home to recuperate from her malaria, you bring me a petition demanding Mellie stay, Wilma—oh, for heaven’s sake. Now this complaint from Sergeant Jacoby.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The words stumbled over Georgie’s thickened tongue. “I failed today. I’ll take Mellie’s place. Please let her stay. She’s an excellent nurse.”

  A harried expression crossed the chief’s face. “Now you’re volunteering to leave?”

  Georgie nodded, but a heavy sensation pressed on her heart. Why? Wasn’t her deepest longing to go home?

  Lambert gathered her papers into a pile. “It’s not that simple. Wilma came in earlier. She and her husband are expecting a baby. She’ll take Mellie’s place. You’ll have to stay.”

  “Oh.” The pressure on her heart eased, then bore down again. What would happen the next time she faced a crisis?

  “I don’t know what to do with you.” The chief rubbed her forehead. “You’re such a good nurse, but you’re jittery. I can’t have you endangering patient lives.”

  Shame drifted down on her, dark and suffocating. “I understand, ma’am.”

  “I’ll ground you for a while, give you other duties, maybe some easy flights, see if you adjust.”

  Georgie straightened her shoulders. Something deep inside her wanted to find the strength to adjust.

  8

  93rd Evacuation Hospital, San Stefano, Sicily

  August 10, 1943

  Hutch could compound terpin hydrate with codeine cough syrup in his sleep, but for Dominic Bruno’s benefit, he’d work from the book.

  “Elixirs . . .” Hutch flipped through the War Department’s Technical Manual TM 8-233: Methods for Pharmacy Technicians. “Elixir Terpini Hydratis et Codeinae.”

  Dom leaned against the counter and huffed. “Figures. All I got out of high school Latin was ‘veni, vidi, vici.’”

  “Appropriate. You came to work, you saw the recipe, and you’ll conquer it.”

  “I expect the Medal of Honor for this.”

  “Kaz will nominate you.”

  “Not if he hears us call him Kaz.”

  Hutch laughed and pulled out the 1,000-cc Erlenmeyer flask. Good thing Lieutenant Kazokov wasn’t around today to hear his nickname. Poor man had been sick with dysentery since the 93rd left Petralia for San Stefano three days earlier. “Okay, Dom. Study the recipe. Gather your ingredients.”

  “What are you baking today?” A feminine voice skipped into Hutch’s ear.

  He turned and smiled. “Lieutenant Taylor. What are you doing here?”

  She wagged her finger at him, a cute scolding look on her face. “Call me Georgie, or I’ll write you up for insubordination.”

  “Yes, sir. Ma’am.” He snapped a sharp salute, a bit too glad to see her. A little sister. She was like a little sister to him. “What are you doing in San Stefano?”

  “We’re based in Termini now.” She adjusted the dark blue garrison cap pinned over her brown curls. “My chief nurse told me the 93rd had moved to the north coast not far from us and asked me to toddle over and see if y’all had any candidates for air evac. I jumped at the chance.”

  Hutch sorted through her pile of words and gave Georgie half a smile. “Sorry, but we don’t have any candidates for air evac, do we, Dom?”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ll volunteer. Where do I sign up, baby?”

  Hutch tapped the bottle of terpin hydrate. “Weigh out seventeen grams.”

  Georgie leaned her forearms on the wall of crates that kept people out of the main pharmacy area. “I have another reason for coming, and this one’s a good one.”

  “Yeah?” Hutch tore his gaze from her pretty smile, poured 425 cc of ethanol into his largest graduated cylinder, and bent to inspect the fluid level. A few more drops.

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  “I figured you’d get around to telling me.” His mouth twitched.

  “If you’re going to tease me, I won’t—” A dramatic sigh. “Oh yes, I will. I have the best plan. You’re going to love it. You know victory in Sicily is just around the corner.”

  “Any day now.” He glanced at the scales. “Seventeen grams?”

  “Yeah.” Dom poured the terpin hydrate into the Erlenmeyer.

  “Twenty cc tincture of sweet orange peel.”

  “I’m throwing a party.” Georgie’s shoulders lifted. “On the beach by the airfield at Termini on the day after the island’s secure. We’ll have barbecue, and music, and swimming, and games, and all sorts of fun.”

  “Sounds great.” Hutch poured the ethanol into the Erlenmeyer and swirled the flask to dissolve the terpin hydrate.

  “I figured out a way to get you there, Hutch.”

  “Me?” He set down the Erlenmeyer so he wouldn’t drop it.

  “Yes, you.” Her big blue eyes sparkled with excitement and a hint of mischief. “You can bring your telescope and show everyone the constellations and tell their stories. Won’t that be fun? Because you’re officially an entertainer, you can come even though it’s a party for officers, and you’d be free to enjoy a whole day at the beach.”

  Hutch groped for the bottle of glycerin. How long had it been since he’d gone to a party? Since he’d had time to relax?

  He steeled his jaw and poured 400 cc of glycerin into the large graduate. “I can’t take a day off. This is the Army.”

  “That’s why I got permission from your CO, Colonel Currier.” Her smile might break through to her ears if she weren’t careful.

  “You . . . you got me a day off?”

  “Two.” She chewed on one side of her lower lip, making the other side pooch out. “Are you angry with me?”

  “Angry?” He shook off his shock so his smile could rise. “Are you kidding me? A day on the beach? Barbecue?”

  Her face brightened again. “Oh, good. This is going to be fun. I have so much to celebrate
now that I found out Mellie can stay in the squadron, and I can too. Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet my friends.”

  Could she possibly get any cuter? Excitement animated her entire face.

  Dom nudged him. “I added the orange stuff. Five cc spirit of bitter almond?”

  “Yes.” Hutch spun away and studied the recipe as if he didn’t have it memorized. His heart thudded. What was he doing? An entire day with this girl?

  “I’m glad you can come. The colonel will send you with an ambulance load of patients, then you’ll catch an empty ambulance back the next day. Bring your telescope and swim trunks and a towel.”

  And a book. He’d lie on the beach and read. Georgie would get bored and go chat with her friends because she couldn’t stay quiet for five minutes straight. Then he wouldn’t be tempted. Even if he were, he wouldn’t do anything. He loved Phyllis. He was committed to her.

  “Mail call.” A corporal stepped into the tent. “Got a letter and a magazine for Hutchinson. Two letters for O’Shea.”

  “Thanks. O’Shea’s in the sack. He’s working the night shift.” Hutch scanned the cover of The Journal of the American Pharmaceutical Association. Good, more about the research on that wonder drug, penicillin. It promised to save a lot of lives. He set the journal on the counter, as well as an envelope addressed in his father’s neat handwriting.

  “Don’t mind me.” Georgie waved her hand at him. “Read the letter.”

  “Didn’t want to be rude.” He gave her a smile of gratitude and opened it.

  Dear John, July 12, 1943

  I’m afraid this will be a short note. My mind is too consumed with good news to write much, but I wanted to inform you immediately.

  The legislation for the Pharmacy Corps passed both the Senate and the House unanimously, and today President Roosevelt signed it into law. Resolutions from the American Legion and twenty state legislatures in favor of the bill definitely helped us. We’re still waiting on the details, but the deal is done. As soon as I know what you need to do next, I’ll inform you.