DUN DAH! Here's my first BoB story, and I hope you'll enjoy it. I'd really appreciate it if I could get a beta on this, just because I'm sooo unsure lol. Any help and criticism is appreciated. Obviously, I don't own anything in this story, except Kathryn who is modeled after my Great Grandma, who wasn't a nurse, but her name is Kathryn, and her age and looks fit my Kathryn's I thought. :P Do read on!
It was still snowing the last time I saw Bastogne. I wondered for the first time in the past two months if it would ever actually stop. I must say, the white stuff kind of surprised me when I first saw it. Living in the Bayou, you just don't grow up seeing it. By Christmas, I had had enough snow to last me a lifetime. It was nearly New Year's now. I don't even know why these thoughts were coming to me now all of times, when I had to scrounge what I could for supplies. I realized that I was standing in the middle of the archway that led into the church-turned-aid-station, and I was getting some annoyed looks from soldiers who were milling around or trying to get in or out. Not wanting to take up space, I hurried in.
"Nurse!" I called softly, when I saw one pass. The silence of the wounded was so easy to break, and I didn't want to be the first to do it. The nurse whose attention I held, turned around and put up her index finger, telling me to wait. I gave a nod and stepped aside, so everyone could pass. I watched the nurse as she continued her way to a trooper who had a nasty chest wound. She deftly removed the blood-soaked bandages, and replaced them with new ones. Her hands moved around the wounds with the gentlest touch I've seen on this side of the Atlantic. Once we left home, gentle was a word that wasn't used here. It just wasn't needed. Not even when the medics were training was it used often. 'Quick' and 'Efficient' were more commonly used to describe our grisly work. She put a hand on the soldiers' for a brief moment, knowing that even a little bit of compassion could save the man's life. She turned and walked my way.
"What can I help you with?" I was surprised to hear a strong Scottish accent come from the nurses' lips. It's been so long since I've heard anything other than an American, accent, a French variant, or German, since Aldbourne. I also noticed she was wearing an old pair of OD's with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a white apron, streaked with the blood of soldiers which she seemed to take no mind to. I had no idea how she did it. The frost was nipping at my joints even though my fatigue shirt and jacket, but the nurse seemed perfectly comfortable. Her short, dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She reminded me of Pamela, the girl that had worked at the corner store back home. Who had the same boyish look, but still managed to be one of the prettiest girls I knew. I shook the memory out of my head.
"Uh, I was just wondering if you had any extra supplies, you see, we're real short on the line." She gave a small smile which showed more condolence than mirth. She walked into one of the smaller side chapels of the church that was being used for storage. Even though her smile lacked true happiness, her deep brown eyes lit up.
"Here you go." She handed me a ration box, with some bandages, gauze that looked like it was just cut-up sheets, plasma, a few much needed morphine syrettes, and sulfa packets. The box was a treasure trove to me, and I'm sure Spina would be happy to see some new supplies too. But there was something that I needed a lot more than bandages or plasma at the moment which I still didn't have.
"You wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of scissors around anywhere, would you?" The nurse looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Not that I can think of, sorry. I'll let you know if I do though." I put my arms around the box, and headed for the stairs, but stopped short.
"Oh, nurse. What's your name? Just in case I need to come back, so I can ask for you." This time, the smile was genuine.
"Kathryn." Kathryn. The way it rolled off of her tongue stuck in the back of my mind. It seemed to fit her for some reason.
"Roe, Eugene Roe."
"Well, Gene. It seems like things may get busy up your way, but come back when you can. I'll set what I can aside. Good luck, ou there." I nodded in thanks, and walked up the stone stairs that led back to the frigid cold. I was almost reluctant to go, but it was obvious I was needed. I grabbed a pair of boots off of a still soldier on the side of the road for Toye, and put them in the box, along with the rest of my newfound supplies.
It was only as I sat in the back of the Jeep, did I realize that Kathryn had called me Gene. I belong to a very superstitious family, and while some people, like my aunts, and cousins were very wary of the supernatural, while I didn't dabble too much in that, I took certain curiosity to names. They hold too much meaning just to be thrown around like any other word. I've heard some of the guys talking about my habit of calling everyone by their first names. It's not just a habit; I make a point not to use nicknames, just because it's far too personal. When you call someone by anything other than their given name, it's a certain level of familiarity that I just can't afford to have, being a medic.
I wish I could get as close to the men of Easy and share the camaraderie they have between each other, but I show my compassion when I come to save their asses when the time comes, and I'm sure they appreciate it. Maybe when this War is over, I'll get to know some of the guys more, but who knows who will be left by the time we boarded those planes back home. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be on that plane. Suddenly, I remembered how my name sounded when Kathryn had said it. It was warm, and personal, and I didn't mind one bit. When Kathryn said my name, somehow I knew I would be safe. And, even if for the moment, I was going to be okay.