93rd Evacuation Hospital, San Stefano, Sicily
August 10, 1943
Hutch could compound terpin hydrate with codeine cough syrup in his sleep, but for Dominic Bruno’s benefit, he’d work from the book.
“Elixirs . . .” Hutch flipped through the War Department’s Technical Manual TM 8-233: Methods for Pharmacy Technicians. “Elixir Terpini Hydratis et Codeinae.”
Dom leaned against the counter and huffed. “Figures. All I got out of high school Latin was ‘veni, vidi, vici.’”
“Appropriate. You came to work, you saw the recipe, and you’ll conquer it.”
“I expect the Medal of Honor for this.”
“Kaz will nominate you.”
“Not if he hears us call him Kaz.”
Hutch laughed and pulled out the 1,000-cc Erlenmeyer flask. Good thing Lieutenant Kazokov wasn’t around today to hear his nickname. Poor man had been sick with dysentery since the 93rd left Petralia for San Stefano three days earlier. “Okay, Dom. Study the recipe. Gather your ingredients.”
“What are you baking today?” A feminine voice skipped into Hutch’s ear.
He turned and smiled. “Lieutenant Taylor. What are you doing here?”
She wagged her finger at him, a cute scolding look on her face. “Call me Georgie, or I’ll write you up for insubordination.”
“Yes, sir. Ma’am.” He snapped a sharp salute, a bit too glad to see her. A little sister. She was like a little sister to him. “What are you doing in San Stefano?”
“We’re based in Termini now.” She adjusted the dark blue garrison cap pinned over her brown curls. “My chief nurse told me the 93rd had moved to the north coast not far from us and asked me to toddle over and see if y’all had any candidates for air evac. I jumped at the chance.”
Hutch sorted through her pile of words and gave Georgie half a smile. “Sorry, but we don’t have any candidates for air evac, do we, Dom?”
“Speak for yourself. I’ll volunteer. Where do I sign up, baby?”
Hutch tapped the bottle of terpin hydrate. “Weigh out seventeen grams.”
Georgie leaned her forearms on the wall of crates that kept people out of the main pharmacy area. “I have another reason for coming, and this one’s a good one.”
“Yeah?” Hutch tore his gaze from her pretty smile, poured 425 cc of ethanol into his largest graduated cylinder, and bent to inspect the fluid level. A few more drops.
“Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“I figured you’d get around to telling me.” His mouth twitched.
“If you’re going to tease me, I won’t—” A dramatic sigh. “Oh yes, I will. I have the best plan. You’re going to love it. You know victory in Sicily is just around the corner.”
“Any day now.” He glanced at the scales. “Seventeen grams?”
“Yeah.” Dom poured the terpin hydrate into the Erlenmeyer.
“Twenty cc tincture of sweet orange peel.”
“I’m throwing a party.” Georgie’s shoulders lifted. “On the beach by the airfield at Termini on the day after the island’s secure. We’ll have barbecue, and music, and swimming, and games, and all sorts of fun.”
“Sounds great.” Hutch poured the ethanol into the Erlenmeyer and swirled the flask to dissolve the terpin hydrate.
“I figured out a way to get you there, Hutch.”
“Me?” He set down the Erlenmeyer so he wouldn’t drop it.
“Yes, you.” Her big blue eyes sparkled with excitement and a hint of mischief. “You can bring your telescope and show everyone the constellations and tell their stories. Won’t that be fun? Because you’re officially an entertainer, you can come even though it’s a party for officers, and you’d be free to enjoy a whole day at the beach.”
Hutch groped for the bottle of glycerin. How long had it been since he’d gone to a party? Since he’d had time to relax?
He steeled his jaw and poured 400 cc of glycerin into the large graduate. “I can’t take a day off. This is the Army.”
“That’s why I got permission from your CO, Colonel Currier.” Her smile might break through to her ears if she weren’t careful.
“You . . . you got me a day off?”
“Two.” She chewed on one side of her lower lip, making the other side pooch out. “Are you angry with me?”
“Angry?” He shook off his shock so his smile could rise. “Are you kidding me? A day on the beach? Barbecue?”
Her face brightened again. “Oh, good. This is going to be fun. I have so much to celebrate now that I found out Mellie can stay in the squadron, and I can too. Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet my friends.”
Could she possibly get any cuter? Excitement animated her entire face.
Dom nudged him. “I added the orange stuff. Five cc spirit of bitter almond?”
“Yes.” Hutch spun away and studied the recipe as if he didn’t have it memorized. His heart thudded. What was he doing? An entire day with this girl?
“I’m glad you can come. The colonel will send you with an ambulance load of patients, then you’ll catch an empty ambulance back the next day. Bring your telescope and swim trunks and a towel.”
And a book. He’d lie on the beach and read. Georgie would get bored and go chat with her friends because she couldn’t stay quiet for five minutes straight. Then he wouldn’t be tempted. Even if he were, he wouldn’t do anything. He loved Phyllis. He was committed to her.
“Mail call.” A corporal stepped into the tent. “Got a letter and a magazine for Hutchinson. Two letters for O’Shea.”
“Thanks. O’Shea’s in the sack. He’s working the night shift.” Hutch scanned the cover of The Journal of the American Pharmaceutical Association. Good, more about the research on that wonder drug, penicillin. It promised to save a lot of lives. He set the journal on the counter, as well as an envelope addressed in his father’s neat handwriting.
“Don’t mind me.” Georgie waved her hand at him. “Read the letter.”
“Didn’t want to be rude.” He gave her a smile of gratitude and opened it.
Dear John, July 12, 1943
I’m afraid this will be a short note. My mind is too consumed with good news to write much, but I wanted to inform you immediately.
The legislation for the Pharmacy Corps passed both the Senate and the House unanimously, and today President Roosevelt signed it into law. Resolutions from the American Legion and twenty state legislatures in favor of the bill definitely helped us. We’re still waiting on the details, but the deal is done. As soon as I know what you need to do next, I’ll inform you.
Your hard work has paid off, son, and now you’ll reap your reward. Soon I’ll address a letter to Lt. John Hutchinson.
Hutch stared at the letter. It was real. It was done. It would finally happen. Something built inside him until it exploded. He let out a whoop.
Georgie stared at him, jaw hanging open.
He laughed and whooped again. If he could, he’d grab her and spin her in a circle. This occasion called for spinning. “Roosevelt signed it. The Pharmacy Corps. It’s happening.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s what you’ve been working for all these years. I’m so happy for you.”
He held the letter high like a victory torch. Finally he’d get an officer’s commission. Finally his profession would be taken seriously. Finally the soldier on the front would get the same quality care he did at home.
“I’ve got to tell Bergie.”
“And Phyllis,” Georgie said. “She’ll be happy for you.”
“Yes, she will.” His grin escaped fully. He’d return stateside for Officer Candidate School and marry her immediately. No. He wouldn’t. He’d wait until he could marry her in his officer’s uniform.
“Bitter almond?” Dom said.
Bitter? Nothing bitter about this day.
Dom raised one thick dark eyebrow at him.
Oh yeah, the elixir. “Yes, then add the glycerin. I’ve got to tell Bergie.”
Dom gave him a paternal smile. “You’ll need a hall pass in case you run into an officer. Let’s finish up this terpinius Brutus maximus, and you can deliver it.”
“Yeah. Great idea.”
“I’m leaving.” Georgie waved. “The ambulance is probably loaded. I’ll see you at the party. Now you have something to celebrate too.”
“I certainly do.” He waved good-bye, then whirled to the elixir. “Glycerin?”
“Added.” Dom pointed to the scales. “While you chatted with Shirley Temple, I weighed out two grams codeine.”
“Great.” Hutch measured 100 cc simple syrup in the graduated cylinder. “Wonder if she tap-dances.”
“Ask her at the party. But you’ll want to tango instead.” Dom marched an imaginary partner down the length of the tent and threw her into a deep dip.
Hutch rolled his eyes. “I won’t dance with her. She’s like a little sister. And I’m a happily engaged man.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have your fun.”
“Yes, it does.” Hutch poured the simple syrup into the Erlenmeyer. “Line a funnel with filter paper.”
“Ah, she wouldn’t tango with you anyway. You’re the most boring man in the world.”
Hutch added the white codeine powder to the flask. “Thank you.”
After they filtered the elixir, they poured it into 250-cc bottles for the wards, and Hutch affixed the labels he’d typed earlier.
“Hold down the fort.” Hutch loaded the bottles into a cardboard box and left the tent. The midday sun blazed in his eyes, and he squinted. The wards that needed terpin hydrate lay ahead of him, but he detoured to his right toward the receiving tent where Bergie worked today.
Hutch strolled past Dressing and Dental, and past Bath. Someone shouted ahead of him. More yelling. Nurses and medics stopped outside Receiving and stared at the ruckus inside.
A loud cry. A helmet rolled out of the tent, and everyone gasped.
Bergie was in there. What was going on? Hutch strode forward.
“I ought to shoot you myself, you whimpering coward,” a man shouted.
They needed help in there. Hutch made for the doorway.
An officer stomped out, holstered a pistol, and turned back to the tent. “I meant what I said about getting that coward out of here. I won’t have these cowards hanging around our hospitals.”
Hutch tried to step back, but the man bumped into him. A steely gaze pierced him through. The man stood as tall as Hutch. He wore three stars on his helmet. He could only be one man. General George S. Patton, commander of the US Seventh Army.
“Sir,” Hutch stammered. He saluted. “General Patton, sir.”
Patton’s gaze swept Hutch up and down, then he stormed past, grumbling about how psychoneurotics didn’t belong in hospitals with brave wounded men.
Hutch fingered his necktie. Thank goodness he was wearing it. Patton levied heavy fines for men caught with an open collar.
But what on earth had just happened? He ducked inside the tent.
Col. Donald Currier stood next to Major Etter, the receiving officer. He shook a finger toward the tent entrance. “I don’t care who he is. No one treats one of our patients like that. I’ll write him up.”
A dozen patients lay on cots. Everyone focused on a soldier who lay curled in a ball, sobbing.
Bergie knelt next to him and smoothed his hair. “Private? Are you all right? Don’t worry. He left.”
“My nerves. My nerves,” the patient cried.
A nurse standing next to Hutch clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the general slapped a patient.”
Hutch sucked in a breath. Everyone knew what Patton thought of cowardice, but a hospital should be a safe place.
“The private’s shell-shocked, poor thing,” another nurse said.
Fire flashed in the first nurse’s eyes. “I have half a mind to go slap the general myself.”
Hutch didn’t blame her. Combat fatigue had nothing to do with courage or lack thereof.
“You. Medic.” Captain Chadwick flung a hand in Hutch’s direction. “Go get the psychiatrist.”
Hutch suddenly felt out of place. “I—I’m not a—”
Chadwick scowled. He grabbed Hutch’s elbow and marched him out of the tent. “Hutchinson? What on earth were you doing in there? You’re in the way. Go back to your drugstore and count your pills.”
Hutch had a couple of inches on the doctor, and he pulled himself to his full height. “I’m delivering medications. And with all due respect, sir, there’s more to pharmacy practice than counting pills.”
“Is that so?” Chadwick crossed his arms and narrowed his gray eyes. “My uncle says otherwise.”
“Your uncle?” Hutch said. “Sir.”
“He’s with the surgeon general’s office. He says Army pharmacy is simple, and any intelligent boy who can read a label can do it.”
Hutch’s hand tightened around the box of elixir. He’d heard those words before, quoted in a furious letter from his father. They’d been spoken in November in congressional hearings on the Pharmacy Corps bill.
“Recognize that statement, don’t you?” Chadwick’s thin upper lip crept up. “Thought you might. Your father’s that druggist rabble-rouser, isn’t he? My uncle told me about him.”
“My father—” Hutch pressed his lips together. He refused to forfeit his future by snapping up this man’s putrid bait. “Sir, my father advocates patient safety. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to get back to my drugstore and count pills.”
“Go ahead, boy.” He waved him off. “For the record, three comes after two.”
Hutch spun away and headed for the wards that needed his expertly compounded elixir. A spasm of pain ripped through his stomach, and he pressed his hand over it.
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. He had Dad’s letter as proof.
The spasm subsided, and a bounce entered his step. After he got his commission, he’d watch Chadwick eat his words. Hutch would count the words as they went down.