How can I sleep knowing today will become a yesterday I will want to forget—a yesterday that holds a goodbye I will need to hold on to forever?
I know why Dad ran off without offering a response about Everett. He mustn’t think I’ve forgotten his logic for dealing with a situation such as this.
August 1933
I was twelve, hardly old enough to understand the catastrophes that can unfold during a naval deployment. It wasn’t the first time Dad had to leave us for some time to uphold his civic duties, but it was the first time his eyes revealed a deep, weary thought. I must have asked him if everything was all right at least a dozen times in the days prior to his departure.
The night before he was to report for duty on the ship, he knocked on my bedroom door and strolled in with his hands tucked into his pockets and a fake smile etched into his rigid jaw.
“Do you have a moment for your old man?” Dad asked.
If I remember correctly, I was in the middle of counting the brush strokes through a section of my golden hair. “I always have time for you, Daddy.”
He nudged his head, silently hinting for me to scoot over in my bed. It had been a while since he had sat with me until I fell asleep or read me a story. I was teetering on the timeline of becoming a teenager, a daughter who no longer needed her daddy to tuck her in every night. He sat on top of the folded sheet, resting his legs down on the royal blue quilt. “I need to ask you a big favor, sweetheart.”
“Do you need me to pick up your mail or deliver any important letters to anyone while you’re gone?” I always wanted an assignment or a role to feel like I was taking part in the important work Dad did.
“No, no, nothing like that, Elizabeth. I need to ask that you mind your mother and help her around the house. Your brothers are getting older now and they’re both going to continue working throughout the school year in addition to playing on the football team. Things might be a little chaotic here while I’m not home.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be just fine, Daddy. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Dad twists his head, giving me a look paired with a raised brow. “My youngest child who searches for adventure on cliffs and in shark-ridden waters, rebels against housework, and referred to as ‘too-wild-to-tame’ by many of our neighbors, is telling me I have nothing to worry about,” he said with a chuckle.
I sat up taller against my pillow. “You can’t blame me for being a curious girl who wants to see every inch of the world. Did you know that there are more inches from one side of the globe to the other than there are minutes in a person’s lifetime?”
“Well, now that all depends on what path you take and how long you live, young lady.”
“Only with shortcuts,” I argued.
“Elizabeth, I’m going to be on a warship heading to Guantanamo Bay per orders of the president. Without getting into too much detail, I need to leave here with peace of mind, knowing you are going to be safe and helping your mother rather than making her chase you like a loose goose. When I worry about what is happening at home, I can’t focus on my tasks as clearly as I need to be. You, your brothers, and your mother are always on my mind, but I need a sense of contentment to fill those thoughts. If a man is worried about the life he left at home, he will be the first to fall during a battle. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”
“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, daddy. You know I’ll do everything I can to help mom and do what she says—I promise.”
“That’s all I can ask, sweetheart. Thank you for understanding.” With a sigh of relief, Dad placed a kiss on my cheek and tucked me into bed. “I’ll wake you up to say goodbye before I leave in the morning.”
When the lights went out and the door closed, his words replayed in my head: “If a man is worried about the life he left at home, he will be the first to fall during a battle. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.” I couldn’t understand how anyone could block out their life during a deployment.
Now I see … if a woman is worried about a man she loves, she will be the first to fail at saving another’s life.
I set up a chair between the draped blocks filled to the brim with critically injured men. Most are asleep or in a daze from the drugs, and I have an hour before I need to make my rounds unless someone calls for me before then. It might be my only opportunity to get a little shut eye. The discomfort of a straight l-shaped wooden chair can’t compete with the heaviness of my eyelids. I rest my head against the wall and try to focus on anything but what I’ve witnessed in the last fourteen hours.
“Pardon me, Miss.”
I’m startled as my eyes flash open, finding a tattered man with sad eyes standing before me. Once my vision clears, the memories jog back to this morning or yesterday. I’m not sure if it’s after midnight yet, but I surely should have woken by now. I glance at my wristwatch, noting the time to be five minutes before midnight.
“It’s me, Billy Albert. I picked you up on the rescue vessel this morning.”
I place my hand against the side of my face, wondering why I didn’t recognize him right away. The number of faces, or lack thereof, I have seen today are blending.
“Billy, goodness … are you all right?” I ask, standing up while rubbing away the exhaustion from beneath my eyes.
“Yes, Miss. I will be okay, physically. How are you?”
“Do you know where Everett is?” If Billy is alive and they were together after leaving me at the Solace, surely their vessel wasn’t the one that took the hit.
“He isn’t here?”
My eyebrows furrow in response to his question. “Why would he be here?”
Billy shakes his head. “I’m not sure where he went. He was yelling about something when he took off at a pier. I figured he’d gone looking for you since we couldn’t get back over to the Solace easily after the second round of attacks.”
My gaze drops to the blood-stained floor. “I don’t know where he would be.”
Billy presses his soot covered fingers beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Don’t give up hope, Miss Salzberg.”
Multiple groans and moans grow from the ICU block. “The morphine is wearing off,” I explain.
“We’re grateful for you. I need to go update the list of casualties. Take care of yourself, Miss Salzberg. I promise to keep my sights out for Lieutenant Anderson.”
I wrap my arms around his neck for a quick embrace, feeling him wince beneath my grip. “Please get yourself checked out, Billy.”
“I’m just sore. Don’t worry about me.”
“Thank you for the wake-up call,” I say, offering a small smile.
He tips his head and pivots on his heels to leave in the opposite direction.
I gather a cart of supplies for the rounds, preparing several doses of morphine to administer first. Some dressings need checking, and any blood loss from the amputees. Other than the most severely injured, most of the others are stable at the moment, aside from pain, but infection can set in rapidly if we don’t monitor their wounds closely. Once we make it past the point of infection, morale will be what counts more than the pain killers.
“Miss, could you do me a favor when you have a moment?” a gentleman from a bed across the block asks.
“Yes, Sir. What can I do for you?”
“Could you check the list for a name?”
After noting how long the list was earlier, I have been avoiding the idea of looking at it again. “Of course, Sir. What’s the name?”
“Danny Paige. He’s my brother.”
“I’m happy to go look just as soon as I finish checking on the rest of the men here.”
I haven’t had to inform anyone of a death. I pray his brother’s name isn’t on there, but as I know well, it doesn’t quite matter if his name is or isn’t on the list. There are so many men still unaccounted for.
“He was on The Arizona.” I glance at the man’s file in search of his name. Trevor Paige. He also was on The Arizona, but one of the least injured of what I’ve seen today.
I find myself in a fog as I move to the next bed, realizing I’m allowing my emotions to slip ahead of my focus. I squeeze my eyes tightly, swallow hard and take in a deep breath. This man is most important now. There is no one else.
Gunnery Sergeant Peters is one of the few soldiers I’ve had in this block. Most of the injured have been sailors. He’s awake but lost in his mind, staring at the white speckled ceiling.
“How are you feeling, Gunnery Sergeant?” I ask, placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch or blink. His cheeks are pale and dewy, and when I check his pulse, I find a rapid heartbeat along with short, quick breaths. “Can you hear me, Gunnery Sergeant?”
Still no response. He’s in shock, but there could be a dozen different reasons for his trance-like expression. The dressing around the capped amputation of his right arm is burgundy and nowhere near as tight as it should be, or as I left it earlier. Blood is oozing from the wound. It wasn’t before. I increase the flow of IV fluids and tend to the dressing on the wound, finding the pale pallor of his skin morphing into a gray hue toward his elbow.
“Gunnery Sergeant, could you blink if you hear me talking?”
Nothing. I should have been watching him more closely. This is my fault.
“He loosened the tourniquet, nurse. I watched him do it,” the patient in the next bed over states. I look back and forth between the man speaking and the patient I’m treating, wondering why he would do such a thing. “We’ve seen too much. I can’t say I blame him for wanting to give up.”
Give up. The words sear through my stomach.
I grab a belt tourniquet from my cart and place it above the stump, pulling the soft leather with all the strength I have. The sling hanging from the metal bar above needs to be higher to assist the blood flow to the proper direction.
“I need a medic in Unit 2, Block A, Bed 5,” I shout. “Hemorrhage.” The color isn’t returning to his skin and his pulse is still racing. The medic who has been making his rounds through this unit for most of the day brushes by the draped curtains. “He may need a transfusion.”
“Yes, go ahead,” the medic instructs before leaving as swiftly as he arrived.
This man’s life is in my hands, and if I’m wrong, he could die. He could end up being another name on the list.