The first thing the medical staff did when the wounded arrived was decide who might live and who likely would not. Sometimes it was easy. Young men who’d lost several limbs and much of their blood would likely die, like the man without a face. They were made as comfortable as possible and injected with morphine to ease their passing.
The wounded who might survive also needed that narcotic, and Sarah went around and administered it. Unlike a couple of other nurses she saw, she always washed off the needle before using it on another patient. It was her father’s policy. He had read the works of Lister and Pasteur and strongly felt that cleanliness would prevent infection and gangrene. She was pleased to see that Doctor Desmond, their chief surgeon, also concurred. Some of the army doctors dismissed such notions as foolish and time consuming. Perhaps, she thought, that was why so many of the wounded were lining up to be helped by Clara Barton and the Red Cross and not by army doctors.
Caring for the wounded only took a few hours. She did not have to assist in any amputations, although she did see one poor young man having his leg sawed off just above the knee. The foot and knee had been mangled to a pulp, with pieces of white bone sticking out through the flesh. She shuddered. What the devil had she gotten herself into? She checked on the man without a face and his cot was empty. She was informed that he had died, peacefully she hoped.
“Ah, there you are,” Sergeant Haney said cheerfully, ignoring the carnage around him. “I was sent down here on a fool’s errand to assist one of our men who broke his leg tripping over a log. Somehow, I think the good colonel had me come here to check on you instead.”
Sarah’s spirits lifted. Martin was clearly safe. “Tell the good colonel that despite what you see, everything is under control.”
“Truth be told, Mrs. Damon, I’ve seen very much worse. Compared with what I took part in as the Civil War was ending, this is a church picnic. Sadly it’ll likely be much worse before this war is over.”
“Then it’s good we’ve had a chance to practice, sergeant, and when we’re just talking like old friends and there’s none of this damned rank to get in the way, do you think you could manage to call me Sarah?”
Haney grinned. “I might manage it, Sarah, but only if you tell me where I might find that statuesque paragon of Polish beauty, Ruth Holden?”
Sarah laughed and gave him directions. Haney found Ruth scrubbing the blood off her arms. Unlike Sarah, Ruth had indeed participated in a couple of amputations and stitched up some wounds herself.
“You look wonderful, Ruth.”
“Go to hell, Haney. I look like a bloody monster and you know it.”
She took his hand and they went outside and behind the tent. She kissed him fiercely. “Surprised?” she asked.
“Delighted, is more the word,” he said and kissed her back. As his hand slid down and grasped her bottom, she pushed him away.
“This is neither the time nor the place, although I admit that helping save lives is exhilarating.”
“If I find you a place, will you make the time?”
“Of course,” she smiled and patted him on the cheek. “We international refugees have to stick together, don’t we?”
* * *
George Armstrong Custer read the reports with dismay. “Where the hell was our navy?” he shouted. “Several hundreds dead and wounded and a warship sunk. And let’s not forget the ammunition that was blown to hell and back.”
Secretary of the Navy William Hunt was sweating and not from any heat. The United States Navy had just failed its first test in this new war. “We had knowledge that the Spanish ships were sailing, but we didn’t know their destination. Attacking Matanzas certainly was one thought, but it was also deemed likely that they would strike at our second transport fleet gathering at St. Augustine. I also thought it wise that we not split our major forces, which might have resulted in their two capital ships attacking and sinking one of ours. We thought the more likely target would be Florida and we were clearly wrong. I take full responsibility for this disaster. If you want my resignation you shall have it within the hour.”
Custer thought for only a second. Libbie had told him not to fire him or accept Hunt’s resignation lest their political enemies claim that there was chaos in the Custer administration. Besides, there was agreement that Hunt was by far the best man to run the growing navy. Custer concurred. Hunt was too valuable. We learn from our mistakes, he thought. The navy needed more ships.
“Sir, I do not want your resignation. What I truly want is for you to take control of your part of this war. We have three superior warships to Spain’s two. We have to maneuver so that we outnumber them. Where are the Spanish ships now?”
“We don’t know. They don’t carry much coal, so we believe they are still in Cuban waters, but exactly where, nobody knows. Sadly, there are literally scores of places where they could hide that are close to both Havana and Matanzas and receive that coal.”
Custer took a swallow of the Jim Beam bourbon he’d been favoring lately. He’d found it smoother than the recently established Jack Daniels brand of whisky. “And that is why every nervous Nellie along the Atlantic coast is demanding navy warships to protect their front lawns, and that is why Congress has forced me to send scores of our newly commissioned auxiliary ships to protect every little town that has a fishing boat from a Spanish fleet that exists only in nightmares. Jesus, what a way to run a war! When the hell are we ever going to move out and take Havana?”
Hunt wiped his brow with a large white handkerchief. “That cannot happen until we have sufficient forces and sufficient supplies. The army doesn’t want to send reinforcements until the Spanish battleships have been either sunk or blockaded or otherwise neutralized. Of immediate importance, the recent Spanish assault caused an explosion that destroyed much of our reserve ammunition. There is a real fear that an attack by the Spanish army would leave our men defenseless. That means that the army’s first priority is ammunition, and not reinforcements. Any move to Havana will have to be delayed those problems are solved.”
“Shit and double shit!” Custer raged. He paced around his office a few times, took a deep breath and seemed to regain control. “If this situation doesn’t improve, Hunt, both of us are going to look like laughing-stock jackasses. And it doesn’t help that this Kendrick asshole is down in Cuba filing stories about the army’s bravery under adverse circumstances that he implies are all my fault. And once again, he’s promoted his old buddy Ryder as a hero. What the hell, all he did was beat off an ineffective probe by a small bunch of Spanish skirmishers. It’s not like he’s winning the war by himself.”
Secretary of State Blaine entered unbidden and took a seat. “At least it’s a small victory in a night of disasters. The public needs a hero, so let them have one. And don’t forget that the first photos of the expedition will be arriving soon and many of them will be grim. The newspapers have chartered small, fast ships to take the plates from Cuba as quickly as possible so they can be developed before they rot in the heat.”
Custer looked stunned by the idea of such negative publicity. “Is there any way we can stop them? We all know that a battlefield is a dismal and ugly place. If the American people see what is happening in Cuba, they may turn against the war.”