The ground shuddered beneath Ginger’s feet. A thin fog of dust floated down from the roof of the dim, olive drab tent. She steadied the metal tray of medical supplies and went back to rebandaging Sergeant Armstrong’s leg.
It had been so close…closer than normal. A second explosion followed the first. What was going on? It had been quiet for days.
“Move! Find cover! The Germans are bombing the unit!” a short dark-haired medic shouted, pushing through the tent.
His head streamed blood, and most of his combat uniform was in shreds from just below the knees showing the peppering of shrapnel up and down his legs. He tried to push off the nurses who came to attend to him and began aiding the wounded soldiers. “Get up! We have to evacuate!”
Ginger stared at the chaos, motionless. It was as if the world had changed to a film running far too slowly and she couldn’t find a way to speed it up.
Another explosion screamed just outside the tent. The force sent her flying backwards against the empty cot next to Sergeant Armstrong. A searing pain seeped up the back of her skull as her vision blurred and momentarily faded to black.
“Ginger! We’ve got to get you out of here!” the sergeant yelled over the deafening explosion.
He had managed to pull himself off his cot and held onto one of the tent’s wooden support poles. If he was in any pain, he didn’t show it.