Saving the Front

By M.E. Gustafson

When Lieutenant Dorothea Oliver signed up to serve her country during WWII, she had no clue of the terror she would face while providing frontline medical care as a member of the Army Nurse Corps.

Ollie and her fellow nurses, who called the

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Print
• Release date: Apr 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637301104

Book preview

Contents

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Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgements

Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few

Winston Churchill

Author’s Note

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When I was in school, I did not learn about the experiences of women serving during WWII. I remember learning about women’s contributions to the wartime efforts on the home front, but very little was ever mentioned about women’s military service. An avid fan of WWII historical fiction, it wasn’t ever a prominent feature in the books and movies I consumed. Compared to books and movies detailing the experiences of soldiers, the participation of nurses has received significantly less attention. A few books such as And If I Perish and No Time For Fear: Voices of American Military Nurses in World War II give first person accounts of the experiences of WWII nurses. But the number of books available pales in comparison to the overwhelming volume of WWII books. Nurses worked tirelessly to save the lives of those who fought so bravely, often working in unfathomable conditions. World War II was the first time in US history that women served in such close proximity to combat. Air raids, bombings, and the risk of enemy advance all became part of their daily lives. Those serving in the Pacific Theater had the added worry of their hospitals being bombed and the threat of being taken hostage.

While the book is based on many true events and experiences, there is an element of fiction woven in. So, WWII buffs and historical fiction aficionados, please judge lightly. Significant research went into building those experiences, but nothing in this book is meant to be completely accurate. Except for the main and several supporting characters, they are not based on real people. The main character is based on my paternal grandmother. The story follows her foreign service with the experiences of many others added. One of five daughters, my grandmother felt the call to serve. That dedication to service continued for the rest of her life.

With very similar personalities, we were forever at odds. Maybe it was driven by the standards of decorum from a bygone era. She deemed me far too independent and incorrigible for her liking, and often referred to me as The Little Hellion.

When my dad was deployed during Desert Storm, my grandmother immediately dropped everything to help out. She arrived the next morning, spending several months with us while my dad was deployed. It is this selflessness and the selflessness of all World War II nurses that inspired this book.

Saving the Front is for those who enjoy historical fiction and adventure. It is for those who want to learn more about the early experiences of military nurses. For those who have family members who served as military nurses and are interested in learning more about what they went through. If you enjoy strong female characters with spunk and some sass, you will enjoy this book.

To honor all those who served, both past and present, twenty-five percent of net proceeds from Saving the Front sales will be donated to charities supporting military personnel, veterans, and their families.

Prologue

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Rain swallowed the half-finished buildings and dirt fields when I arrived at Fort Riley, Kansas, in April of 1943. Wartime activity drove rapid expansion that slowly crawled to completion. Until the new hospital was complete, we operated out of an unused warehouse next to the artillery training range. With barely any equipment, we could only perform one operation at a time until more equipment arrived. As the unit’s chief surgical nurse, I was charged with miscellaneous supervision responsibilities, including linens and ordering and maintaining all surgical unit equipment. The most trying responsibility as chief surgical nurse was teaching young, inexperienced men to function as medical technicians in the field.

My oh my, did they give me attitude. They believed we nurses would be utterly useless in the field. And they definitely did not like being taught by women. Whenever they got too mouthy, I assigned them to practice their dressing preparation and surgical instrument cleaning skills for a day.

Nearly a year after arriving at Fort Riley, I stood in a sterile operating room preparing a unit of blood for transfusion. February brought with it subzero temperatures. My fingers were so cold and stiff that it took three tries to get it hooked up properly. The cheerful, sing-song voice of the hospital secretary blasted out over the loudspeaker. My immediate presence was required in the Chief Nurse’s office. Assuming I was being asked to cover a second shift for the day, I told the surgeon I would be back shortly. Walking down the dimly lit basement hallway, I saw Lieutenant McCarthy standing in the doorway of her office waiting for me. The florescent light above her flickered slightly; reflecting off her glasses, it gave her eyes a hallow look.

With a stern smile, she handed me a large manila envelope. Here are your foreign service orders. Get your departmental paperwork signed and back in by 1700 hours. She was talking very fast. Train tickets and travel stipend are in a small envelope clipped to your orders. The OR has been informed you will not be returning. With a wave of her hand, she sent me on my way.

Uh…thank, thank you, Chief, I said, trying to wrap my head around it all. I didn’t expect to receive foreign service orders so soon.

When I started up the hall, she called after me. Lieutenant Oliver… I turned around to face her. It has been a pleasure working with you, Lieut…Dorothea.

Her voice cracked a bit when she said my name. I was surprised. I never got the impression that she liked any of the nurses under her command.

Likewise, Lieutenant McCarthy, I said as I waved goodbye.

***

Sixteen short hours later, I boarded the first of four trains that would take me to New York along with Lieutenants Clara Carlson, Evelyn Walters, Virginia Matthews, and Elizabeth Richter. They proved to be tolerably amusing travel companions. Much of the two-day journey was spent playing cards and visiting with the nursing groups who joined us along the way from other bases. We all tried to guess our final destination and what lay ahead of us.

Clara nicknamed us the Fort Riley Five. I knew her and Evelyn very well before we departed. We had arrived at Fort Riley together. Clara and I freshly enlisted, Evelyn had just been transferred from Camp Wheeler.

Clara was beautiful and vivacious with a cosmopolitan personality. Her curly blond hair and bright features gave her an ever-present glow. She had a reputation for throwing herself into relationships like a lovestruck teenager. I admired the way she fully embraced Army life. Her flighty air outside of the operating room was a complete contradiction to her skill as a surgical nurse. Focused and detail-oriented, she had a knack for anticipating exactly what the surgeons needed before they knew they needed it.

Evelyn arrived at Fort Riley the day after Clara and I did. We met her as she moved into the room across the hall from mine. The three of us became good friends almost immediately. A mom of four, she spoke with a calm and tender voice, carefully pronouncing every syllable as if she were teaching her children. Photographs of them and drawings they sent her covered the walls of her dormitory room and the inside of her footlocker.

The fourth member of the Fort Riley Five was Virginia Ginny Matthews. A languid woman with a slim frame and long dark hair, her vanity surpassed anything I had ever seen. She acted like she was Vivien Leigh. The youngest of nine, her family had been one of the wealthiest in Mississippi until the Great Depression. The overwhelming change in circumstances still devastated her.

We were amazed she had volunteered for foreign service. Or, for that matter, entered the Army to begin with. Never willing to put in more effort than was absolutely required, she hated being in uniform and absolutely despised following orders. She was more interested in clutching on to her past as a southern belle than in being an effective nurse. Thankfully, she at least did a passable job. Her disinterest hadn’t killed anyone yet.

Elizabeth Richter was the fifth and final member of the Fort Riley Five. Twenty years old and painfully shy, she spent the entire journey looking out the window, her expression was part sadness, part terror. She didn’t speak except to introduce herself and ask that we call her Eliza. By the time we reached New York City, I still knew nothing about her. Before we left Fort Riley, Chief Nurse McCarthy had stopped by the dormitory to personally ask Evelyn and me to look after her. Only four months into the Army, she hadn’t volunteered for foreign service. One nurse short, Lieutenant McCarthy had been forced to select a girl at random to fill the final spot.

As we arrived in New York City, I wondered how we would handle the unknowns that awaited us across the ocean.

Chapter 1

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January 14, 1944

Anticipation exploded inside me as I walked down the stairs to the hotel lobby. Anxious that our footlockers would be forgotten, we waited until the hotel porters had loaded them on the truck. Starting off on the mile-long walk to Fort Hamilton’s main gate, we looked like a transient tailgate. Weighed down by all our field equipment and suitcases, many of the girls had to stop for a breather every hundred yards.

Irritated, Clara said, You can’t even see the streetlamps with all this damn fog. Hope I don’t trip. Last thing I need is a broken bone with all this equipment to carry.

As if on cue, a shout came from twenty yards ahead. One of the girls’ heels had gone through a slot in the sewer grate. Struggling to maintain her balance, she’d overcorrected and fallen on top of her suitcase. The girl walking behind her was looking the other way and did not stop in time. She stumbled over her. Somersaulting, she landed on her back. Ginny snorted. We all glared at her.

Mary! Mary! Are you alright? I am so sorry I wasn’t paying attention, the girl said in a high-pitched, terrified voice.

I am fine, Shirley. It was an accident, Mary replied as she brushed herself off. Her voice was calm and understanding, but her face betrayed her annoyance. Darn it. These were new, she said as she examined her ripped stockings. No chance to get new ones now.

The girl named Shirley looked like she was going to cry when we walked past them. Reaching Fort Hamilton, we found a large crowd waiting to go through the gate. Two Military Police officers stood on either side of the large iron gate. They stood completely immobile except for their eyes, which darted over the group.

Single file line. Identification cards and foreign orders out, barked a fifth guard who was standing next to the pedestrian door.

They look so imposing, almost mean, Clara whispered as she dug through her bag for her documents. Can you imagine having to stand there all day like that?

Documents out. It’s not my job to wait for you, the guard shouted as we moved up the line.

When I arrived at the front of the line, the guard checked my documents against his list. Head to the Medical Corps Building and wait there. The harshness in his voice was enough make anyone flinch.

A sign in front of the Medical Corps Building instructed us to proceed to the large recreational room. By the time everyone arrived at the room, we were packed in like a can of sardines. All I could do while we waited was shift from one foot to the other.

I can’t believe we have been standing here for over half an hour, Ginny complained. We could have slept longer.

You will live without your beauty sleep, Ginny, I responded as I failed to stifle a yawn.

Walking briskly into the room, Chief Nurse Lieutenant Witmer whistled for our attention. You will proceed downstairs to the courtyard. Line up in formation with the rest of your originating group. Five to a row.

She walked out of the room with the Assistant Chief Nurse at her heels. The girls closest to the door all looked at each other. None of them wanted to be the first out the door.

Get a move on, someone shouted from the back of the room.

Once we were in formation, the Chief Nurse proceeded with her instructions. We will march to the dock. There we will board the ferry for the Port of Embarkation. Once at the Port, line up in a single file line so we can walk to the transport. The Port is used for both civilian and military operations. There’s a lot of activity, so pay close attention to your surroundings. None of the workers will stop for you. It is your job to get out of their way. Move out.

Loaded down with equipment and suitcases, we started the two mile march to the ferry. Soon, I heard the sound of laughter coming from overhead.

Very nice, ladies. You may not be good soldiers, but at least you are good looking, one of the men said as he hung out a dormitory window.

Pigs, Evelyn said in disgust. Her voice had lost its motherly tone. They act like we’re just along to serve as decoration.

Just ignore them. If we don’t react, they will lose interest…eventually, I said to her.

Let’s hope so, Clara responded. I don’t care to spend our entire tour dealing with it.

Above us, every dormitory window was full of men pointing at us and laughing. Every now and then, one of them would whistle. I am sure we looked an odd sight as we marched out of sync, each of us struggling under the weight of our equipment and luggage. By the time we reached the ferry, my back had started to spasm from the unequal weight distribution. Despite the freezing temperature, I could feel the sweat dripping down the small of my back.

Evelyn was limping as she walked up the boarding ramp. I feel like my feet are stuffed inside spike-lined shoes. It’s going to be painful until they stretch out.

Why do they need to stretch out? Clara asked her.

Only sizes available at supply on such short notice were a half-size too small or two sizes too large, she said miserably.

They should stretch soon enough. Let’s hurry and grab seats on the open deck. I want to see the skyline, Clara said as she rushed towards the open deck at the front of the ferry. She almost knocked over one of the workers as he stood next to the boarding gate to hold it open for us.

I’m sorry, she yelled at him over her shoulder as she continued to speed toward the front of the boat.

It was chilly on the open deck. The wind was icy. It felt like shards of glass when it hit my face. Despite that, we had no intention of moving indoors. During the hour-long ride, we constantly twisted and turned, eagerly looking for recognizable landmarks. Passing the Statue of Liberty, we were in awe. I saw a few of the girls staring up at her with their mouths open.

She was larger and more awe-inspiring than could be imagined. Pictures did not do her justice. The sight of her filled me with a sense of calm. A sense of purpose. With the early morning sun rising behind her, she looked like a shining beacon magisterially presiding over New York City as a symbol of diversity. A far cry from what we were going over to fight.

She looks like she can see right through you, doesn’t she? As if she is judging your intentions, Clara said to me as she leaned across Ginny. Her voice was raspy from the cold. Anyone else feel slightly exposed?

I laughed at her.

Calm down, Clara. You sound like a crazy person, Ginny said derisively.

Clara looked daggers at her. I wasn’t speaking to you.

The port smelled unpleasant, like rotting fish and heavy machinery. I could smell it before we even disembarked the ferry. I could see the transport at the far end. It was the largest ship in the port. Lieutenant Witmer hadn’t exaggerated—the port was swarming with groups of men loading and unloading the ships. Cranes and carts moved pallet after pallet. The wheeled carts moving pallets from the warehouses would occasionally get stuck on a broken board. It required at least six men to lift it off.

The transport was a large gray ship with multiple decks. Dark smoke billowed out each smokestack. Large lifeboats lined the top deck. Half past nine in the morning, preparations for our departure were well underway. Enlisted men were running around on each deck. Others were loading equipment into the cargo hold.

Before we were allowed to board, Lieutenant Witmer went down the line giving her final instructions. She and the Assistant Chief Nurse would be returning to Fort Hamilton. Ladies, it was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope we meet again in the future. From here on out, your Chief Nurse is Lieutenant Kirkwood. She will meet you later this morning to explain the rules of the boat as well as any relevant procedures before departure. Have your foreign service orders and identification cards out for verification. Best of luck to you all. May God bless you.

She didn’t wait for responses, questions, or goodbyes. She just turned on her heel and left. An officer sat at a small table at the foot of the gangway. He looked miserably bored. One by one he cross-checked our identification against his list. The process was slow. If you did not have your documentation ready to hand over to him, he sent you to the back of the line. Ginny learned that the hard way. Stepping up to the table, she started fishing around for her documentation.

Back of the line, Lieutenant. You were instructed to have your paperwork ready to hand over, the officer snarled at her.

I’ve got it here, she responded, still not producing her documents.

You’re out of luck. Next in line. He looked around her and held his hand out for Eliza’s documents.

Scowling, Ginny walked away muttering under her breath. Clara turned around and gave us a mischievous smile. She was always giddy when Ginny received a knock down. Always a mother, Evelyn gave her a light swat on the arm and motioned for her to face forward.

First Lieutenant Dorothea Margaret Oliver. Serial number 70021915, I said as I handed over my documentation.

He checked my identification and orders against his list before handing it back with a small card. Stateroom seventy-seven, A-Deck. Your commanding officer will greet you in the Officers’ Lounge at 1100 hours.

Halfway up the gangway, I decided I needed to have a conversation with God before I left American soil. Lord, while it would be an honor to die for my country and for my family, I’m in no hurry. Make sure you keep that in mind. Please keep all of us safe so we can return home to our loved ones. In that moment, I had a pretty good feeling that God and I had come to an understanding. He would do his best to return me home safely. If not, I would be having some choice words with him.

I continued up the gangway. At the top, I had to manage an eighteen-inch step down onto the deck. Not an easy feat to pull off gracefully when you are loaded down with equipment—let alone to do when you are just four feet ten inches! Stepping down, I overcorrected as I attempted to regain my balance and stumbled forward. Clara and Evelyn laughed as they helped me to my feet.

Are you both in stateroom seventy-seven as well? I asked them. They both nodded. You too, Eliza?