He gave me a wink and I tried not to laugh. He was eighteen but looked younger, with freckles smattered across his face and a mop of red hair.
“Well, I hope you find some,” I said as I helped him into his bunk and strapped him in.
Once all the patients were onboard and in their bunks, I went about double-checking that they were secure, tightening straps as needed, checking IVs, and placing a gentle hand on arms, fevered heads, and an exposed shin or foot to comfort—and to check temperatures. Several of the men were slick with sweat, shaking from cold despite the heat.
I tucked blankets, adjusted pillows, and peeked beneath bandages, all the while murmuring words of reassurance.
“You about ready?” Gus asked, poking his head in.
“Give me two minutes,” I said, glancing toward the man with the brain injury and the guy with the stomach wound in the bunk across from him.
“You got it,” he said and shut the door, taking what breeze there was with him and leaving me in suffocating warmth and the overwhelming smell of sweat and urine.
“How are you doing, Benjamin?” I asked the man with the bandaged head. His chart listed him as Benjamin Wells. I kneeled beside him, my eyes on his, but his gaze didn’t meet mine, instead moving all around my face, landing here and there but never lingering in any one spot.
“He goes by Benny,” the man in the bed above him said.
“Benny, huh?” I asked, watching his big brown eyes glance off my nose, my chin, and my hair. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Benny. I’ll come check on you again later.”
He mumbled something and I leaned in.
“He said Lila,” the man below him said.
I looked down at a face held together on one side by dozens of stitches.
“Who’s Lila?” I asked.
He shrugged. “No idea, but it’s the only word he ever says.”
I stared at Benny and then reached out and gave his arm a squeeze.
“Lila,” I said. “We’ll try to get you home to her soon.”
I moved on to the soldier with the stomach wound then, glancing at my list of names and injuries to identify the soldier and his reason for being on my plane. He was unconscious, having been given a large dose of pain medicine for the ride, but his face showed that regardless of what he’d been given and the deep sleep he was in, he knew he didn’t feel good.
I undid the belts securing him, lifted his blankets, and then his bandage. The stitches were fresh, the skin beneath red and angry and swollen. I sighed. Out of all the injuries onboard, this one worried me the most.
“We’re off in one!” Gus shouted from the front of the plane. He was standing behind the pilot’s seat, giving his passengers a quick once-over.
“Warn me if we have to climb fast,” I said, leaving the injury exposed so I could keep watch on it from my seat.
“You got it.”
And with that, he slid into his seat and began throwing switches.
“Buckle up!” he shouted as the engines kicked in.
I hurried to my seat, buckled myself in, and stared across the belly of the plane at the stomach wound. Crossing my fingers, I prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening that we all made it through this flight with no problems.
“Here we go!” Gus yelled.
With a lurch, we pulled out of our parking spot and turned onto the runway. I winced as we bumped over rocks and dipped hard into the divots sprinkled across the crude pavement, watching the patients that were awake squeeze their eyes shut and grip their beds. There was a slight pause, the motor loud and echoing through the fuselage, and then the plane started rolling, lumbering at first as it hit yet more holes in the tarmac, causing the beds to shake and rattle, the noise almost suffocating in its intensity, and then the road smoothed and we were in the air.
While we ascended, I breathed. Deep, slow breaths, filling my lungs with the stagnant air, holding it, and then blowing out. I wasn’t afraid of flying, or even being shot down. What did push that extra rush of nervous energy through my veins was knowing it was only me to tend to the twenty-one injured on board. Should more than one start to bleed out, I was almost guaranteed to lose a man.
I turned my attention to Miles and his stomach wound. He was still out like a light. He’d be fine so long as we didn’t have to go too high. But just as I thought it, the plane tipped sharply, pushing me back in my seat.
“Hang on!” Gus yelled.
