Page 33 of The Girls of Pearl Harbor
‘Are they coming for us too?’ Grace whispered.
April shuddered. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. But we’re semiprepared now. Our boys will look after us; they won’t be surprised again.’ Or at least she hoped so.
Her sister looked frozen, the expression on her face never changing.
‘You just handle the morphine, okay?’ April said. ‘Everyone will be grateful if you take care of that, but don’t forget to mark them.’
Grace was still standing there, and April gave her a tiny nudge forward.
‘Come on.’
She watched her sister walk to a bed, reaching out a hand to steady herself, and then she hurried off to find Dr. Grey again. He’d said to come find him when she was ready to assist him again, and she was. If he needed her, then traumatic or not, she was going to do whatever was asked of her. Too many people had died today already, and she wasn’t going to stand by and let her own fear and pain get in the way of saving lives.
The smell of food made her stomach growl as she passed by the cafeteria, but she did her best to ignore it and kept up her brisk pace until she was forced to slow by a backlog of patients waiting for surgery. She went down the line, checking they’d all had some sort of pain relief and had needed blankets, but most men were quietly suffering now, some likely close to death as they were forced to wait.
‘Dr. Grey?’ she called, before entering the room and finding him bent low, a flashlight balanced nearby for extra light as he operated.
‘Dr. Grey, it’s April,’ she said as she moved closer, exchanging smiles with a nurse positioned to his left. ‘Can I help at all?’
‘Prepare my next patient,’ he said without looking up. ‘Oh, and April, thanks for coming back.’
She clenched her hands tight, trying to stop them from shaking as she stood. ‘Is it first come, first served, or do you want me to assess those waiting to gauge who’s most critical?’
‘Just bring in the one closest to the door. Hopefully we’ll have another surgeon join us here soon.’
Dr. Grey was working from one of the converted rooms, away from the bulk of the surgeons, who were in the dedicated operating theaters. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than not operating at all.
April turned to leave, but he called to her again.
‘April, we’re short an anesthetist; would you please run and check what to give our next patient and then administer it when I’m ready?’
Her heart started to thud almost as rapidly as it had when the bombs had fallen. ‘You want me to administer the anesthetic?’ she asked. ‘Just to be clear, sir.’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘If you’re not up to the task, then I can ask—’
‘No!’ she interrupted. ‘Of course, I was only making certain I’d heard you correctly.’
April hurried back to the hallway and checked the closest patient. His burns were horrific, although they’d no doubt been cleaned as best they could, but it was his arm that was a mess, one of the goriest sights she’d ever seen.
‘We’ll be with you soon,’ she said, checking his temperature and forcing herself to study his limb. She had a sinking feeling that it would be a straight amputation, and she couldn’t stand thinking how many men would wake up after surgery to find they’d lost a body part before nightfall.
She went to find an anesthetist then, confident she could give the man’s approximate height and weight. Part of her was thrilled that Dr. Grey had so much confidence in her, but the other part knew that in any other situation, someone like her would never be allowed to administer lethal drugs. She gulped. What if she didn’t give enough drugs and had a patient in excruciating pain wake up during surgery to see or feel his arm being sawed off!
She remembered Poppy as she walked, remembered the way her body had contorted, remembered the pallor of her face when they’d brought her body in. April shuddered, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other instead, concentrating on the patient she was about to assist with, recalling his basic facts.
But all she could think of was what had happened.Why?What was the point of gunning down so many of their men, of taking out their buildings and their ships? Did this mean they’d been plunged into war with the rest of the world?
She didn’t need to ask the question to know the answer. America was most definitely at war now; the only uncertainty was what step they’d be forced to take next to keep their country safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GRACE
Grace couldn’t stop trembling. Her mind was racing faster than her heart—a swirl of thoughts and flashes, images that she wished she could forget. Especially Poppy.Poppy.Why had her friend been outside so early? Why had she not come running in when she’d heard the noise? Maybe if she’d moved, if she’d called out to her earlier, if Teddy had let go of her ... tears welled in her eyes again, emotion choking her throat.
It didn’t matter what she thought. Poppy was gone, and no amount of wishing was going to change that.
When she arrived in their mess room, it was already half-full. But instead of the usual chatter—the space always so lively and full of teasing and laughter—there was silence. Except for the odd muffled cry. Grace stood against the wall, leaning hard into it, certain her legs would buckle if she didn’t brace herself. How could she keep standing? How could she keep her eyes open?
