“You're doing just what you need to,” Lieutenant Clarke said firmly. “Don't stop unless you feel ill, and if you do, tell me.”
“I won't,” Cassie said, willing herself not to be sick as she helped the injured men, and a number of women. Civilians began coming into the hospital too. There were casualties everywhere, and after a while there was nowhere to put them. The second bombing lasted till just after ten o'clock, and then they were gone, leaving not only the island in shock, but the entire nation.
Cassie worked feverishly all afternoon, doing what she could, and she felt weak in the knees when she finally sat down at four o'clock. She hadn't stopped, and she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Lieutenant Clarke brought her a cup of tea, and together they checked the lobby for more injured. The last ones had been transferred to the
There was nothing left for her to do for the moment, except offer comfort where she could, and as she was doing that, Desmond arrived with a lone photographer beside him. All the others had gone to the harbor to see the damage there, but he had promised the young reporter a picture of Cassie O'Malley if he came with him. He strode across the lobby to her, as Lieutenant Clarke settled a young pregnant woman in a chair. She had come to inquire about her husband, and Lieutenant Clarke had just promised to find him.
‘There she is”— Desmond pointed to her dramatically—” darling, are you all right?” he asked, looking at her tenderly, as the photographer snapped a picture of her in her skirt and blouse that were covered with other people's blood, and all she could do was look at Desmond in disgust, and the photographer along with him.
“Oh, for chrissake, Desmond,” she railed at him in contempt, “stuff it. Why don't you go do something useful instead of showing off for the press all the time? And you,” she wagged a finger at the camera, and the man behind it was too startled to say anything, “why don't you go help someone, instead of standing around taking pictures of me? We've been bombed, you idiot. Get off your lazy ass, and drop your camera.” And with that she wheeled out of the lobby with Lieutenant Clarke, and she left the two men with their mouths open behind her. She had won Rebecca Clarke's heart forever that day. She knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget the tireless redhead, helping wounded men, treating bums. She had given up her private room to four of them, and had wheeled the cots in herself and made them with whatever sheets she could find, or steal, from other beds if she had to.
The director of the hospital thanked her himself that afternoon. And they found her a folding cot that she set up in a closet to get some sleep. They had sicker people to take care of now, people who needed them more, and she felt guilty taking any of their attention. She stayed on to help the next day, and they were told, not surprisingly, that the President had declared war on Japan on Monday. There was a cheer in the hospital when it was announced. And on Tuesday, she checked into the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and called her parents. She had already called them once before to tell them she was all right, but now she wanted to let them know she was going to try and get home as soon as possible.
The hotel promised to try and get a cabin for her on the
She had no sympathy for him at all, she thought he had behaved abominably. The only thing he was interested in was milking her story one more time. It was disgusting.
He came to see her that afternoon, and told her that the Pentagon had promised him a seat on a military flight to San Francisco in a few days, and he could arrange one for her too, since she was practically a national hero now, but she was adamant that she didn't want to go anywhere with him.
“What difference does it make?” He looked annoyed at how difficult she was being. It would look a lot better to the press if they went home together, although he could still explain it if she didn't. He could even claim that she was suddenly nervous about flying, or blame it on her health. But she was not amenable to any of his excuses.
“I've got real bad news for you, Desmond. The whole world is not watching you, or me, they're thinking about the war we just got ourselves into, though you might not have noticed.”
‘Think of what you could do now for the war effort,” he said hopefully, thinking of the publicity opportunities for him, and for his airplanes. But as far as she was concerned, she had just done it, for three days at the naval hospital, not that he understood that, although Admiral Kimmel had personally thanked her.
