X-Men: The Gifted Ones

1. 45TH SURGICAL HOSPITAL, TAY NINH, SOUTH VIETNAM

It was a long way from home.

Captain Jane Tropp of the US Army Nurse Corps was far away from everyone and everything she had ever known. She was a nurse in the 45th Surgical Hospital in Tay Ninh, Vietnam, the first Medical Unit, Self-Contained, Transportable hospital, or MUST, of the war. She could hardly believe she was here. It was very different from her days as a nurse at the St. Louis Children's Hospital where she worked with cancer patients. She didn't know what was worse: Sick children or injured soldiers. She knew the children were innocent victims of a disease. This was worse, she concluded. Human beings caused these wounds to other human beings with the goal to kill. Jane had to mitigate the effects of mortar attacks, bullet wounds, and burns.

She almost missed her days at the hospital where even in emergencies, it seemed quiet. At least she wasn't dodging bullets.

The early evening sun started to set, causing beams of light to enter in through the windows of the inflatable building that served as a hospital. She couldn't believe she had traded the sterile, bright walls of the Children's Hospital for the drab vinyl walls of this building. She had wanted to make a difference. She figured it was easier to find a nurse for a sick child than a dying soldier in a land far from home. The Army had asked for nurses and she answered the call.

Besides, Jane wanted a change, wanted adventure, wanted a departure from her predictable life in St. Louis. She was tired of the ordinary, tired of being one of many. She needed something new.

She got it.

It was a humid day. Everyone around her was sweating and no one cared. Jane was only in her mid-twenties, and while she had seen the agonies of a child as cancer finished its horrid work, she had never seen such trauma before and she felt completely inexperienced. She reminded herself that caring was caring, and it didn't matter to her if she was caring for a deadly disease or a deadly wound. She was made for this job.

She stood at the cot of a wounded soldier. Her olive-drab uniform was covered in the blood of the dozen soldiers carried into the MUST that day. She had had no time to wash any of it off, no time to change. The men needed her more than she had needed new clothing. She had never experienced anything like this, even when she had worked in the emergency room at the hospital. The line of patients was never-ending with wounds she never thought she would see, with bodies that only vaguely resembled that they were still living humans, corpses that were mangled to the point of being unrecognizable.

The MUST was filled with wounded soldiers and there were not enough nurses, doctors, or even equipment and everyone was passing the same tools back and forth in order to save lives. The sound of shells and mortars were heard in the distance, reminding Jane that there would be no end to her work for a while. She was used to it. She knew she would likely be expected to work for 36 hours straight. The 20 minute naps they were allowed would be a luxury. Even the toilet was a luxury on a day like this. She wasn't too proud to shove a towel in her pants for an extreme emergency if she had to; the patients' needs came first. She was sure she sweat out any fluids she'd take in anyhow.

The man she was attending had been attacked by a sniper during the patrol in the jungle. His legs were blown off and he suffered a grievous head wound. Jane gently touched his hand as she moved to his wrist and checked his pulse. She knew his wounds were fatal. She held his hand and tried not to show that she was visibly shaken by the gore and blood and the sounds of war nearby. She took a deep breath and tried to choke back sobs. She had seen worse, she would see worse. She knew her face looked very white. She knew her hair was sweat-damp and was falling loose from its knot and was clinging to her face. She was startled when the man's eyes opened. She crouched down and took a damp cloth to his brow.

"Will I die?" he croaked, his voice shallow, and Jane knew he was clearly in a great deal of pain and this question took a great deal of what strength he had left.

Jane took a deep breath, tried not to cry. She didn't expect him to be able to speak, and she knew now she had to be strong, but she had to be honest. She knew from before it was easier for someone to go peacefully if they knew it was inevitable. She nodded faintly. "Yes, Private. I am afraid so. You lost a lot of blood before you arrived."

A mortar fell very close to the MUST. The explosion was extremely loud and it made the ground shake. Everything on the tables shook. Glass jars were heard shaking, falling, crashing. Soldiers cried out. Doctors and nurses alike screamed all around. Jane felt screaming and ducking were a privilege she couldn't enjoy right now, her duty was to this man who was just informed his life was about to expire. Jane knew she was becoming more visibly shaken by the sounds of war around her. She tried to focus on the young man, tried to do what she could to make his last minutes as calm as possible. She had to reassure him she wasn't going to run from him to save herself. She took a syringe of morphine and administered it to him.

"Stay with me?" he pleaded. "I don't want to be alone."

Jane knew it wouldn't be long. She knelt down by him, eye level, and continued to sponge his brow as she held his hand. "I will stay with you, Private."

"Does the war scare you?"

She tried to manage a smile, but it was weak, she knew her eyes were clearly scared. She began to feel her head and legs throb with pain. She felt that the stress of the long shift was starting to be felt in these few moments that she allowed herself a moment to even slightly relax. "Being unable to help scares me more."

He smiled faintly as pain contorted his face, "You're helping now." He squeezed her hand.

Jane began to notice that the longer she held his hand, the more pain she was experiencing. She wondered if the stress of it all was catching up to her. He stopped squeezing her hand and she noticed he looked more in peace with each passing moment.

"That morphine..."

She wiped his cheek, "I am glad it is helping you."

The pain she was feeling was becoming almost unbearable. She realized that somehow, her body was absorbing the wounded soldier's pain and he was about to slip away. What is happening, she asked herself. I'm just stressed, that's all! This is crazy, there is no way my body is absorbing anyone's pain! I've been up over 30 hours, of course I'm imagining things!

"Angel of Mercy...," he whispered. "Thank you."

The soldier died with a small smile on his face. She noticed her body ceased to wrack with pain. She stood up, closed his eyes, and covered his face with a sheet. She stepped back and saluted. "Thank you, Private."