Paulette and Tilly squeezed in then, trying not to get in the way as soldiers were loaded onto the plane.
“Take care of yourself,” Paulette said.
“Don’t forget about us,” Tilly said. “Write often. I want to hear what it’s like back home. What kind of news they’re getting.”
“I will,” I said. “Promise.”
I’d said goodbye to the rest of the women in our barracks that morning, but most came by anyways. As did Gus and Mac.
“One of the toughest I’ve worked with,” Gus said. “Get better soon and then get your ass back to work. We need you.”
“Will do, Gus.”
He ruffled my hair, gave me one of his gruff goodbyes, and then moved out of the way so Mac could step in.
“Take care, kid,” he said. “Won’t be the same here without you.”
“Thanks, Mac. Keep an eye on Char for me, will you?”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said, a blush reddening his cheeks.
“And stay safe.”
“You too, kid. Hope we cross paths again soon.”
With last looks, one by one they all took their leave until it was just me and a dozen injured men the medical staff on base had taken care of until it became clear they would not be returning to war. These were the men who would pray to lead a somewhat normal life again without the limbs, and eyes, and mental capacity they were now missing.
The blue sky was as clear as ever, a breeze rustling across the tarmac and through the open door of the plane. It felt like an omen. A sweet send-off from the island where’d I’d made friends, learned a thing or two about my own resilience, and saved more than one life. As much as I wanted the war to end, I crossed my fingers I’d soon be back. That my time serving wouldn’t end like this.
The nurse, a young woman who looked to be around my age, gave me an empathetic smile as she checked my bandages and made sure I was as comfortable as I could be. Behind her, a young man I’d been told was called a medical technician, reviewed the charts of some of the other patients.
“How long were you here?” the nurse asked me.
“Nearly a year. Where did you fly in from?”
“Australia.” She gave me a nervous smile. “This is only my fourth trip.”
“It gets easier,” I said.
“Really?”
“Well, you’ll learn to handle it better as time goes by.”
She leaned toward me, lowering her voice.
“Did you ever throw up?”
“From nerves or an injury?”
“Both?”
I grinned and patted her hand.
“You’re going to be fine.”
The engines started then and she hurried to her seat, fumbling a little as she buckled herself in and then double-and triple-checking she was secure.
I smiled, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep as we sped down the runway and then lifted off.
