Mumei donned her smock and took a deep breath. Another shift was about to begin, and after months of being here she still never felt ready for the things she saw. The sterile smell of antiseptic stung her nostrils as she prepared for another day in hell.

When she was a fresh-faced young army nurse, she figured she'd patch up handsome soldiers fighting in the Great War, saving lives and gaining experience for work in a hospital back home. How naïve she'd been. The bitter taste of regret lingered on her tongue as she remembered those innocent expectations.

Instead of handsome soldiers, she patched up boys younger than her, holding them down as the doctor or surgeon sawed off a limb, pulled some teeth or kept innards from falling out. Every day that passed brought a new horror she was unprepared to see, and as she got used to it, Mumei needed more and more time to decompress after a shift. Father Lizárraga and the nuns always helped, bless their hearts.

Approaching the church-turned-field hospital, Mumei checked her clipboard. She was to spend some time with a soldier recovering from a nasty shrapnel wound to the chest who needed attentive care. The poor guy had six broken ribs, but he was responsive, thank goodness.

Crossing herself, Mumei made her way to the soldier's hospital bed, passing other wounded soldiers as she did. He was awake, and looked at her as she approached.

"Good morning, soldier," she said, plastering a smile on her face. "How are you feeling today?"