Saving Grace

Chapter VIII

Italy, October 14, 1942

Over the last two months, Grace's unit traveled to England, then across the channel to France, fought their way across Europe till they reached Italy. It had been a relatively quiet morning as Julie, Nancy, and Grace did their rounds among the wounded. Grace quickly earned a reputation among the soldiers as one of the most skilled, caring, but no-nonsense nurses. Flattery rolled right off her. Unfortunately, she and her trio were also known for their looks, so nearly every new, young soldier Grace came in contact with tried his luck with her.

"You look an angel this morning, Doll."

Grace rolled her eyes as she huffed a loose strand of hair away from her face. "Now, that was a line* if I ever heard one," she answered, turning to the speaker, a young lieutenant with a hopeful face. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it was wrong to lie?" she asked, hands on hips. A slight smile graced her lips to let him he had not really made her mad. He answered with a shrug and sheepish smile. Shaking her head, Grace turned back to the soldier whose bandages she was preparing to change.

"Told ya it was pointless," he said to the lieutenant. "Nurse Rogers is one tough cookie."

"You bet she is," Julie grinned as she moved to check the dressing on the lieutenant's bandaged leg.

"Well, I certainly didn't get chosen for this position by being a marshmallow," Grace added to the banter.

Suddenly, shouts and yelling shattered the peace of the morning. From the tree line came a line of soldiers bearing wounded on stretchers. Grace quickly finished tying off the bandage she was changing, and dashed to the first stretcher.

"Condition?"

"Bullet lodged in his arm and leg," one of the bearers snapped off.

"Let's get him inside." For the next several hours, the nurses and doctors of the 85th Field Hospital triaged the wounded operated to remove bullets and shrapnel from bodies, and stitched up wounds as best they could. They worked all morning and into afternoon, many nurses foregoing lunch. Grace lost count of the number of stitches, and bullet/shrapnel removals she did.

"How is it going over there, Rogers?" the head doctor, Dr. Holloway asked as he checked on Grace's progress with her last patient. He had a long gash in his side from flying grenade shrapnel.

"Just a few more stitches, Doctor, and Private Hughes here will be done," she answered. The injured man's twin brother, who had only received a shallow graze to the arm, stood opposite of Grace as he held his brother's hand.

"Hear that, Pete? She said it's almost over," he told him.

"Yeah, Paul, I heard," his brother groaned back. "I just didn't think it'd take this long to put a few stitches in. No offence, Miss,"

"None taken, Private," Grace answered, never taking her eyes off her task. "However, quick, sloppy stitches won't really help you heal like slow, careful ones will. Sloppy ones have a tendency to break, then we have to redo them."

"A stitch in time saves nine, huh?"

Grace sent him a sympathetic smile. "Something like that. So your names are Peter and Paul?"

"Yep, Mama likes Bible names."

"Bible names are good ones; my older brother's name is Steven, though he goes by Steve." She carefully tied off the last stitch. "Alright, stitches are done. Now, we just need to bandage you up to keep out infections," She said, "Private, please pass me that box of gauze," Paul passed her the gauze and helped her wrap up his brother's torso. "Thanks for the help, Private Hughes," she said as she wiped sweat from her brow.