Page 19 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)

Meg Dorset hit the floor with a thud. A terrible roaring filled her ears and her army-issue cot lay on its side across her lower legs. Heat beat at her face. Not the usual summer heat of Darwin; this heat was dry and fierce and—loud. Like the droning of a thousand giant mosquitoes circling her.

Disorientated, she pushed herself to her knees and kicked free from the bed sheet and tangle of mosquito netting. The door to the tiny rear room in the nurses’ accommodation—the room she shared with Vera Grantham—hung askew on its hinges.

Explosions filled the air, banging one after another, and the floor trembled beneath her palms. Or was she trembling?

A woman’s scream rose from the floor below and Meg clambered to her feet.

She grabbed her tin helmet and slung her first aid kit over her shoulder.

Matron had emphasised that they must keep their kit and helmet within reach at all times.

‘Although war has not directly touched our shores, it is not far away. Be prepared at all times, Sisters.’

It looked like Matron had been right about the kit and wrong about the war. Aircraft rumbled high overhead. More explosions shook the hotel and dust rained down. Was the roof coming down?

Shoving her feet into her boots, Meg didn’t stop to tie the laces. She had to get out of the building.

Heated air scorched her skin as she staggered through the doorway into the smoky hallway. At the far end of the hall where a wall had once been, the port was visible, and Meg gasped.

Flames engulfed a naval ship.

Black smoke columned and thickened like a pyre around the smokestack, consuming the ship.

Grey smoke filled the gaping hole in the hotel, hiding the death throes of the ship.

Coughing, Meg scrunched her watering eyes and covered her mouth and nose with one arm.

The other hand flailed for the handrail.

Her hand found the wood, smooth and warm.

Blindly feeling for each step, Meg lunged forward and down the stairs.

Down and down she staggered, trying not to breathe until she fell through the doors onto the covered veranda.

She bent over, hands on her knees and sucked in a deep breath of smoky air.

Her body was wracked by coughing and she fell onto a nearby chair.

When the fit passed, she sat up, her chest heavy and heaving with the effort of breathing and looked around. Christ save us, it’s Dante’s Inferno.

Soldiers, some bare-chested, formed a bucket line that branched like a snake’s forked tongue where two of them attempted to douse flames rising from the facade of a nearby building.

She bent down and tied her bootlaces, knowing there must be wounded men all over the place.

People who needed her help. Where should she go?

Thank God the last non-essential civilians had flown out yesterday.

As a nursing sister, Meg was one of fewer than a hundred women allowed to remain in Darwin.

She pushed her hair back with shaking hands and turned in a slow half-circle. Thick black smoke poured from a stricken ship. Suddenly a blinding explosion spewed in a gold and black mushroom next to the smokestack.

Dodging debris and soldiers manning the untidy bucket line, she ran towards the carnage, even as common sense screamed at her to run the other way.

Meg reached the bank overlooking a stretch of beach at the waterfront and swallowed, sucking in air and trying to quell the panic rising from her gut and threatening to burst from her throat in a piercing, useless scream.

A skinny private with pimples motioned her over and took her arm and helped her over the steep side.

‘Thanks. Any casualties here?’

‘Over there, Sister.’ He directed her to his right and she hurried across the sand towards a small group of soldiers.

Minor cuts and a possible broken arm by the way one young soldier cradled his elbow against his chest. She headed to him first and kneeled beside him. ‘How did it happen?’ she asked as she examined his arm.

‘Oh my God, look.’ Her roommate, Vera whom she’d last seen when her shift changed over this morning, appeared at her side and pointed. ‘They’ve hit the hospital ship.’

Meg’s fingers dug into the rolled bandage she had just taken out of her kit. ‘It’s clearly marked as a hospital ship. What sort of enemy bombs wounded men and doctors and nurses?’ Her gut clenched and she stood watching, anger and disbelief churning through her.

A soldier with a bandage around his head glanced at her, his expression harsh and dark. ‘That means nothing to the little yellow bastards. I heard they rounded up some nurses and shot them in the islands.’

They shot nurses?

Despite the heat, her skin turned clammy.

When she signed up no one had ever mentioned she’d face an enemy that shot nurses.

Civilians had no idea such horrific acts happened in war.

Surely, Dad would have refused to let her go if he’d had any idea she’d be on the front line?

He’d been unhappy about her joining up, but he hadn’t stopped her.

The front line. Where they shoot nurses.

Bile rose in her throat, burning. Frantically, she swallowed it down. She had a job to do, and do it she would. Turning back to the private she bandaged his arm then improvised a sling with another bandage.

As she was tying a knot beside his neck, a ragged cheer rose around her. ‘The Peary is firing on the bastards. Go, Peary!’

A single gun on the small American ship continued to fire at the dive-bombers even as other ships around were taking hits. As they watched, the Peary took a hit, but she kept bravely firing until the end.

‘It’s no use. The Japs are too high for our piddling little guns to reach them. The shells are exploding way below the planes.’ The soldier with the head wound slumped to the ground, his head bowed.

‘Sister? Up here. You’re needed.’ A man’s voice broke through the nightmarish scene and recalled Meg to her duty.

‘Coming.’ Thankful she’d fallen asleep in her uniform after a twenty-hour shift, Meg stumbled back up the bank and across the rubble-strewn street and dropped to her knees beside a young soldier. He writhed in pain, moaning words that were all unintelligible, except for ‘Mum’.

‘I’m here to help you. Try to stay still and let me see what you’ve done.’

One hand gripped her wrist so hard she thought her bone might break. ‘Mum—hurts.’

‘He copped a bit of guttering when it fell. His shoulder’s a mess, Sister.’ The soldier who had called for her help rose with not another word. Picking up three empty buckets, he raced off to refill them.

‘Can you let go of my arm so I can help you?’ Meg looked into the young man’s eyes and forced her clenched teeth to part into a smile—her professional, reassuring smile, the one she pinned in place every day at work at the top end of Australia.

‘I’ll look after you, Private—’ She glanced at the dog tag lying on the private’s chest. ‘Jackson. Look at me. I’m going to check your wound and get you to the hospital, okay? ’

He let go of her wrist and gently, she eased him into a sitting position and shuffled around in the dirt until she could see his wound more clearly.

The hot jagged metal had cut and burned through his shirt and skin, exposing a sliver of white bone beneath the red mess that had been his shoulder.

Her guts heaved, but resolutely, she swallowed and focused only on him.

‘I need to cut away your shirt. Do you have a knife, private?’

‘Yeah.’ His reply was a forced grunt, an exhalation of pain. He pointed with his uninjured arm towards his calf. ‘Dad give it me.’

Meg reached for the calf sheath and withdrew a short but sharp knife and set to work removing the remnant of shirtsleeve.

Slicing it, she made a pad of it then dressed the wound with a bandage from her kit.

That would hold him until she could get him to the hospital and clean the wound properly.

Then she tucked his arm inside the remains of his shirt.

No matter how careful she was, each movement elicited a moan.

‘Stay with me, private. We’ll get you some morphine very soon. ’

Looking around for someone to help her, Meg began to grasp the extent of the situation. Everyone was battling fires or searching through rubble.

Where the Post Office had once been, smoke rose from a pile of rubble.

Wires dangled from telegraph poles. One leaned crazily against the shell of the remains.

The front wall was gone, and most of the building lay in untidy piles, but a solitary desk lay on its side surrounded by two walls.

As she watched, they gave way and crashed, sending up a cloud of dust. With communication lines down, no one would know what was happening in Darwin.

No one would be coming to help them. Panic welled in her gut but giving in to the churning emotion was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Not with a wounded soldier depending on her.

‘Looks like it’s just you and me.’ She squatted beside the young private and slung his good arm across her shoulders. ‘Come on, soldier. We need to move out of here and get you to the hospital.’

She exerted gentle pressure to get him on his feet, and he groaned, but she urged him into a shuffling walk, one arm around his waist and the other bracing his injured arm across his chest. Heat surrounded them, flames consumed the ships behind them, and smoke choked them no matter which way they turned.

Ash floated in the air like black rain and a sharp pain burned her arm.

She shook the ash off, biting back a less than ladylike exclamation. Not that Private Jackson would notice.

His head hung low, but he kept moving beside her. ‘Sister? If I don’t make it—’

‘You’ll make it, private.’

‘Will you see Dad gets my knife—please?’

‘I will, but don’t you go wasting my effort to fix you up.’