The Land Beneath Us (Sunrise at Normandy #3) - Sarah Sundin Page 0,1
swore at him, insulting his heritage, his paternity, and his intelligence.
“Lie still, or you’ll make it worse.” Clay unsheathed his knife and sliced the trouser leg open from knee to ankle. “Y’all back up and give him some air. Ruby, Holman, open your first aid kits, get out the field dressings.”
“How bad is it?” Bertie said between gritted teeth.
The blood and the angle of the leg made the diagnosis simple. “Complicated compound fracture of both the tibia and fibula—the bones in your shin.” The man would need surgery, and he’d be out of the Rangers.
Clay took a field dressing from Ruby and opened it, careful to touch it as little as possible with his filthy hands. Right now stopping the bleeding was more important than sterility, so he pressed the dressing to the bloodiest part of the wound.
“Medics are here!” The circle of men opened.
Two fellows ran up with a litter and medical kits. “What happened?”
Lieutenant Bill Taylor stood behind the medics.
Clay’s heart hammered harder than it had running the course. Time to play dumb again. “King here fell off the wall. Reckon he broke his leg.”
“What? You should have heard Paxton a minute ago,” Holman said. “Talking about fibulas and all. He ought to be a doctor.”
He winced and let the medics take his place. “Nah, I ain’t smart enough. I just paid attention in first aid class. Y’all should have done the same.”
“A medic then.” Rubenstein pointed to the men splinting the remnants of Bertie King’s leg. “Say, Lieutenant, didn’t you say you need more medics in this unit?”
“Very much.” Keen eyes fixed on Clay, and Lieutenant Taylor beckoned to him.
No, no, no. Clay trudged over. Medics didn’t heave hand grenades into pillboxes like in his dream.
Taylor crossed muscular arms. “We need medics who can handle the physical training. You’re doing well here, Paxton. You’re the ideal candidate.”
If the brass dug into Clay’s records, they might learn he’d been top of his high school class, admitted to the University of Texas as a premedical student.
Clay sharpened his gaze. “Sir, I didn’t volunteer for the Rangers to patch people up. Doesn’t the Good Book say there’s a time to every purpose? A time to kill, and a time to heal?”
“It certainly does.”
“Well, sir, this ain’t my healing time.”
The lieutenant grinned. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I like your fighting spirit. You’re dismissed.”
Clay released a long breath. He had to be more careful.
He couldn’t allow the shards of his old dream to shred his new dream.
TULLAHOMA, TENNESSEE
SUNDAY, JUNE 13, 1943
Leah Jones studied the poem in her composition book as the bus jostled down the road.
Between these lines
Begins a tale
Of hope, of chivalry beheld.
Beguiles my soul,
Becalms my heart,
And here I find where I belong.
“Is begins too mundane?” she asked her new roommate, Darlene Bishop. “Beget perhaps? Bespoke? No, neither is right.”
“Sugar, you need to get your head out of the clouds.” Darlene’s Southern accent rocked in unison with the bus.
Leah listed more “be” words in the margin. “Librarians are supposed to have their heads in the clouds.”
Darlene’s bright red lips twisted. “You’re working at an Army camp, sugar. These soldiers are wolves, every one of them. If you don’t keep your eyes open, they’ll eat you alive.”
Leah laughed and smoothed the threadbare gray charity-barrel dress that hung on her like a gunnysack. “They won’t give me a second glance.”
“Nonsense.” Darlene’s blue eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “When you get your first paycheck, I’ll take you to the beauty shop and the dress shop. You won’t need much makeup with your dark coloring. Why, we’ll smarten you right up.”
Leah fingered the curl at the end of her waist-length braid, and a thrill ran through her. Oh, to have things of her own. She couldn’t believe the boardinghouse placed only two girls in a room, and she had a bed all to herself.
“That’s Gate 1.” Darlene pointed out the window.
Cars and trucks and buses lined up at a booth with a sign that read “Camp Forrest.” Although the camp had been named for Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest, the pine trees framing the entrance still seemed appropriate.
Darlene fluffed her blonde curls. “Remember to stay away from the POW camp. I can’t believe they brought over a thousand Germans here last week. Gives me the willies.”
Leah shrugged. Since the Allies had captured hundreds of thousands of Germans and Italians after the victory in North Africa, the prisoners had to go somewhere. “I’m sure the enclosure is secure.”