Free Battle Hymns by Cara Langston Page A

right?”
    “No. This isn’t just any patient. He fought in the
war! A real soldier!”
    “They’re all real soldiers.”
    Rachel rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
    “When did he arrive?”
    “Thursday. He’s in bad shape. I’m surprised he
survived.”
    “Have you talked to him?”
    Rachel shook her head. “He’s not talking to anyone,
not even his doctors. Dr. Robinson tried asking him about his
medical history and what happened to him, but he remained silent.
We only know who he is because of his dog tags.”
    Charlotte thought of her dream. Now that time had
passed, she was able to recognize the battlefield scene as one she
had seen in a film earlier in the week. She’d stay away from war
films from now on. “He probably saw a lot of terrible things.”
    Rachel returned her attention to the mirror. “Oh
well. I’m not going to worry about it. There are nineteen other
guys more than willing to talk to me.” She adjusted her cap and
puckered her pink lips. “All right. Let’s go.”
    Charlotte and Rachel left the nurses’ lounge and
entered the ward. Rachel dashed toward a patient’s bedside. Before
Charlotte could follow suit, Nurse Parker waved her forward and
gave her a short list of duties. Two of the patients were due to
have their casts removed, and most of the patients needed their
vital signs checked again.
    Charlotte began her rounds, taking measurements,
discarding plaster, making conversation, or otherwise helping each
patient. Several patients had been admitted since Wednesday. But
when she finally came across a heavily bandaged man, it was obvious
he was the one Rachel had mentioned.
    The soldier lay in the bed nearest to the window at
the end of the ward. His right leg, toes to thigh, was set in
plaster. His left leg was partially covered with the blanket, but
still looked to be covered in dressings. Both arms were in casts
and lay in awkward positions at his side. He wore a neck brace, and
his forehead was bandaged and colored brown near his left temple.
His dark brown hair was in disarray, and stubble grew on his jaw.
Both eyes were bruised, and his lip was healing from a cut. And
those were only the injuries that were visible.
    His eyes were closed. In case he was sleeping, she
wouldn’t disturb him now. Instead, she picked up his chart and
flipped to the patient information section.
     
    Name: Kendrick, William A.
    Date of Birth: 16 June 1918
    Occupation: Lieutenant, U.S. Army Air Force
     
    She turned to the next page. In addition to the
visible limb fractures, the twenty-four-year-old lieutenant
suffered from a broken clavicle, cracked ribs, internal bleeding,
and a concussion when he arrived at the Army Medical Center. He
endured various surgeries in the field hospital, the medical ship,
and the AMC. He must’ve been recuperating well, though, as the
staff moved him from post-operative observation into convalescent
care.
    Charlotte returned Lieutenant Kendrick’s chart to the
hook and studied him, looking for some sign of life: a twitch of
the toe on his uncovered foot, a blink of his eye, or the lolling
of his head on the pillow. He didn’t move.
    A bedpan slipped from the hands of their newest
nurses’ aide and crashed onto the linoleum floor. The soldier’s
eyes popped open. His body quaked for about two seconds and finally
calmed to a barely visible tremble. He stared at the ceiling, and
after a few more moments, closed his eyes again.
    She neared his bedside. “Good morning, Lieutenant
Kendrick.”
    Without moving his head, the soldier reopened his
eyes and locked them with hers. Then he focused his green eyes on
the ceiling.
    “My name is Charlotte. I’m one of the nurses’ aides
here. I’d like to check your pulse and take your temperature. Is
that all right?”
    With bated breath, she awaited a response. After
several seconds, she perceived the smallest of nods. She pulled out
the freshly washed, glass thermometer from her pocket and shook it
until the