Page 2 of Sands of Sirocco
Would she remember her training well enough?
A soft grumble from the patient steeled her resolve.Her fingertips grazed over the smooth glass bottles stored on shelves until she found the ether.
She checked over her shoulder.If she hurried while she was alone, she could administer the ether before anyone could stop her.There wouldn’t be time for a combination of ether and chloroform—the safer method.She found a clean towel in a supply cabinet, then folded it over the mask.
Nervous energy tingled up her spine as she hurried back to the patient.“This should help with the pain.”She placed the mask over his mouth.He stilled as she opened the ether.
A few drops and he’d be ready for surgery in minutes.
Ginger used her most soothing tone.“Breathe deeply with me and count.One … two … three …” As the patient’s breath steadied, Ginger surveyed the operating theater.The car was sparse in its outfitting.Two sturdy metal operating tables.Then, smaller tables holding basins and towels.Shelves of surgical equipment.
The car was peaceful as the patient drifted to sleep.Thank goodness.She needed a moment to think clearly.Her fingers felt dry and stiff, the skin on her hands rough with unending days of exposure to the solutions before her: iodide, alcohol, antiseptic, carbolic lotion.
Despite the heavy workload, the days after the third battle of Gaza had been thrilling—the British Army had pushed through the line at last, forcing the Ottoman Turks and Germans back to Jerusalem.The stalemate broken, the spirits of the troops and the medical staff had been high.
And during that time, Noah had found her, giving her the Claddagh ring she now wore on her left hand with the promise they’d be together soon.Learning Noah was still alive and loved her had been a singular bright spot in the most heartbreaking year of her life.
She pushed thoughts of him away.There would be time enough later for warm memories.Right now, she had a patient to tend to.
She’d assisted in surgeries on the trains before but never imagined she’d direct one.Back in Alexandria, her inquiry to the London School of Medicine for Women remained unsent.She’d resolved to move forward with it so many times, but something had always held her back.
To think if she’d had the gumption to do it ages ago.How differently she’d approach this situation.With confidence, certainty.
Now, the only thing she was certain of was the soldier would bleed out if she didn’t hurry.His leg was practically detached above the kneecap, and the hastily applied tourniquets were only doing so much.
The door to the room clicked open, and a medical orderly strode in.“Sister Wilson said you’d need me in here.”He eyed Ginger warily.He probably hadn’t expected her to be so young.
Sister Wilson.That must be the nurse who had fetched her.
Think clearly, Ginger.She ground her teeth.This was too important for her to be sluggish.“We need to amputate immediately.If you’ll wash up—”
Footsteps sounded, followed by the bold shove of the door.A stench came from the three men who entered: sweat and body odor of days spent in the hot, merciless sun, and stale cigarettes.
The men hauled a soldier between them who bled from a wound below his collarbone.The injured man’s head lolled—he was unconscious—a large dark bruise shadowed his face.His hands were bound in front of him.
Without ceremony, the three men dumped the patient on the empty operating table.One of them, a lieutenant, scanned the theater.His eyes settled on the orderly.“Who’s the surgeon here?”
“For the moment, I am.”Ginger frowned.“You can’t come bursting into thi—”
“I didn’t know they had lady doctors on the train.”The lieutenant wrinkled his nose.“But I guess you’ll have to do.”He laid a thick hand on the injured man.“Patch him up.Now.”
As though he’s not interrupting another surgery.
Without waiting for a response, he gestured to the other two men that they should follow him out of the operating theater.
She was used to men dismissing her but she rarely let it bother her as much as it should, used to orders.
But the lieutenant’s behavior was so appallingly brash that her jaw dropped.She exchanged a glance with the orderly, and his sheepish expression only furthered her determination to challenge the lieutenant.“Just a moment.”Ginger set her hands on her hips.“I’m treating a patient whose injuries can’t wait.I’ve already prepared him for surgery.”
The lieutenant scowled and raked dirty fingernails against his temple.“Well—this private here can’t wait either.”
The operating theater felt crowded, the air thick.Ginger scrutinized the injured man.His uniform shirt was open at the collar, and he was missing a shoe.As she stepped closer, the pungent stink of urine rose from his clothes.They had covered a wound on his neck with a rag.“What happened to him?”From the bruising on his face, she imagined he’d been in a fight.
“He tried to shoot himself.Get out of what was coming to him.”His lips held a twist of contempt as they focused on the injured man’s face.“We had to wrestle the pistol away from him.”
The nature of this unfortunate injured man’s situation became clearer.“A deserter?”
“Aye.Now, patch him up.We’ll want him back to health so he can get the punishment he deserves.”
