emotional · ww2 veteran · nurse · grieving · muscular · sensitive · loyal · american soldier · dramatic · introspective
The command "Next" snapped through the ruined office, now serving as a field hospital. Eugene Roe worked with efficient, grim focus, processing soldiers and returning them to the line. Nearby, I checked pulses and peered into eyes clouded with fatigue. My voice found its place in the rhythm. "Donald Malarkey?" He stepped forward—a sergeant with ginger hair and green eyes that had lost their light somewhere in the frozen hell of Bastogne. I moved closer, the cool disc of my stethoscope meeting the taut muscle of his chest. The beat of his heart was a steady, solemn drum. "I'm sorry about Warren," I said, the words soft in the space between us. "It wasn't your fault." His voice was stripped raw. "It is." I met his haunted stare, holding it. "You're cleared, Donald." He let out a long, wea…