They’d better hurry

…The OIC who was writing on her clipboard near bed five looked up and bit her lower lip.  She inhaled to compose herself before she put her clipboard down and walked over to Newborne.

She looked down at him with her gentle smile.  She held his hand.

“Don,” said the army nurse.  “Don…” she coaxed gently testing his responsiveness.

Although it hurt him to do so, Colonel Newborne tried to focus his eyes and pay attention.  The room was spinning.  He felt her soft and firm hands on his hand.  Though out of focus, he saw her beautiful wide, moist eyes and the smooth brown skin of her face.

He shuddered.  She widened her smile.

The colonel tried to speak, “Where am I?”  But his voice was barely audible, raspy and incomprehensible.

The nurse checked her watch and noted the time.  His responsiveness was a good sign of healthy brain activity.  That was all she needed, he needed more rest.

“Shhhh, no need to speak now Don,” she cooed.  “You are very lucky, but you are also badly wounded.  Don’t worry; we will be here for you.  We’ll take care of you.”

She squeezed his hand and patted his forearm.  The colonel’s head sank back and his shoulders relaxed.  She could not understand what he tried to say as he drifted back into his drug-induced sleep.

She watched him as he fell asleep.  Rubbing his arm and holding his hand she quietly shook her head.

The colonel was lucky.  As she understood it, the metal frame supporting the Suburban’s door split the bullet in two and deflected its trajectory.  Because of the deflection, the portion that hit Newborne skimmed the left and forward side of his head instead of violently smashing into and through his brain.  The other half of the bullet tore up the car seat an inch behind him.

After taking his pulse, she gently placed the colonel’s arm at his side.  She checked his IV drips then she turned to help the medic attending the Private First Class in the bed adjacent to his.  The colonel would be fine, but the same was not true for Jorge.  The twenty-year-old in the bed next to him also had a gunshot wound to the head but his skull had taken the full force of the round.  He was not going to make it.  They were trying to keep him alive long enough for his unit’s chaplain and his combat buddy to get to the hospital.  They’d better hurry.

She patted the young medic on the back.  Then she turned her attention to the man who had shot Jorge.  The Iraqi man in the bed against the wall had received two gunshot wounds in his leg and one in his chest right after he pulled the trigger on the dying soldier.  He, too, was in pain and he, too, was frightened.  The nurse walked over and held his hand.  She felt her patient squeeze back lightly.  Soon he would be well enough to transfer to the ward.  Looking at the five patients in her unit, she held back her tears.  She would have plenty of time to cry as she tried to sleep once her seemingly endless shift was over.