presence, this soldier took interest in her work. In fact, the sight of her diminutive frame and soft, almost girlish face intrigued him greatly. To him, her features and movements resembled those of a young deer—a gentle forest creature that was more intent on its immediate surroundings than the world around it. Her wide eyes, unblemished skin, and full lips seemed ill suited for the harsh, artificial light of the cramped room.
Annie started to tenderly clean the soldier’s wound, surprised that a passing bullet could tear out so much flesh. This man may always limp, she thought, redressing the wound. Of course, a limp was a much better outcome than could be expected for most of the men she saw.
“When is Joshua off duty?” Annie asked, finishing up with her patient. She thought the foreigner might have nodded in appreciation but wasn’t sure, as Benevolence incessantly swayed.
“Is he ever off duty?” Isabelle replied, methodically scanning a series of charts before her.
“I’d say that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“You would?”
“How many patients, Izzy, have you seen today? Forty? Fifty?”
“Oh, not that many. I should have seen more.”
“Really? Did you eat lunch?”
“No, but I—”
“Will you eat dinner? Or faint like you did last week?”
“Enough,” Isabelle replied. “You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like Mother.”
Annie paused from tidying the patient’s bedding. “Don’t say that,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
“Well, it’s true.”
“Well, maybe she’s right.”
The patient heard the noise first. Annie saw him cock his head toward the hatch. He squinted, as if improved eyesight could somehow help his ears. Annie soon recognized the hum as the distant drone of an airplane. She was used to such noises and didn’t think anything of it. “You never answered my question,” she said.
“About what?”
“About Joshua.”
“I don’t know when he’s off duty,” Isabelle replied, making rapid notations on the charts. “For all we see each other, we might as well be on different continents.”
“I’m not sure about that. At least you know where to find him.”
Isabelle started to respond, but stopped herself and nodded. She understood that Annie was thinking of her fiancé—who fought Germans somewhere in Europe—and she put her hand on Annie’s slender shoulder. “He’ll make it through this,” she said. “We all will.”
Annie shifted on her aching feet, wondering where Ted was, why she didn’t miss him more, why she hadn’t called his name when the delirium of malaria had recently gripped her. Shouldn’t she be writing him love letters and gazing longingly at his photo each night? Weren’t such things what lovers did? What was wrong with her?
As the silence between the sisters lingered, the drone of the airplane strengthened. It soon grew from the hum of a motorboat to a metallic, violent roar that assaulted their ears. Annie was about to speak again when the Japanese soldier abruptly sat up, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Nakajima . . . Nakajima bomber,” he said, his English surprising both nurses.
Isabelle was the first to comprehend his words. “It’s . . . a Japanese bomber?”
The plane must have passed very low over the ship, for the deafening wail of its engine seemed to penetrate their skulls. For a heartbeat or two, the wail diminished. Then an incomprehensibly loud and powerful explosion knocked Annie and Isabelle off their feet. Both nurses were hurled so high that they struck the ceiling. Along with charts and instruments and patients, Annie and Isabelle fell to the floor. Landing awkwardly on bedding and steel, they were too stunned to cry out. They simply grunted with the impact and tried to draw breath into their throbbing lungs. Somehow time froze and rushed forward all at once.
Annie thought she saw Izzy’s mouth move, but the younger sister couldn’t hear anything. Her ears hummed as if they housed scores of mosquitoes. Her mind didn’t work properly. She felt as if she’d drunk a bottle of wine, and found it impossible to comprehend what had happened. The world spun and tilted and swayed. It groaned and boomed. The lights had gone out. Water covered the floor. Where was she? Why did fires rage and why were so many bodies unmoving about her?
Annie spat through her bloodied lips as Isabelle reached for her hand. The strength of Isabelle’s grip slowly shook such questions from her mind. She smelled smoke, heard distant screams, and saw that the room was slanting and filling with water. She still didn’t fully understand the scene before her, but Isabelle seemed unhurt, and Annie could make enough sense of