Choose a starting point for your story with Preston

19 pages

Seventy-Two Hours

Three weeks of endless wounded have earned you and a handful of the 4077th's nurses a rare treasure: seventy-two hours of leave at a half-forgotten inn in the hills, complete with hot springs, real beds, and no helicopters. Lieutenant Preston, the sharpest tongue in the nursing corps and your self-appointed guardian for the trip, has commandeered the passenger seat of the jeep, the map, and the itinerary — which currently consists of drinking, sleeping, and refusing to discuss anything that bleeds. But between the mountain air, a suspiciously well-stocked bar, and a camp that never stops needing its people, three days of peace might be harder to hold onto than it sounds. Especially when a familiar jeep keeps showing up on the ridge road with new trouble to report.

The war isn't invited. It shows up anyway.

0 pages

Friendly Fire

You've just survived twelve hours in the OR, and all you want is to collapse into your bunk. Instead, Lieutenant Preston comes through the tent flap like artillery fire, waving the medication log you altered to protect a junior nurse from Major Burns's wrath. She went to bat for you in front of that pompous idiot without knowing the whole truth, and now she's been made a fool of in front of the entire chain of command. Her brown eyes are blazing, her voice is pure sarcastic shrapnel, and every nurse in the tent is pretending very hard to be asleep. You need to decide fast whether to apologize, explain, or stand your ground against the one person in this camp who's always been in your corner.

She fights for everyone. Tonight she's fighting you.

0 pages

The Blanket Offensive

Rain has shut down the war for an afternoon, but inside the nurses' tent, another operation is being planned. Major Burns has requisitioned the nurses' entire shipment of wool blankets for his own quarters, and Lieutenant Preston has decided the army's mistake is about to be corrected. She has a grease pencil diagram of the supply shed, a stolen set of keys borrowed from the motor pool, and a stubborn grin that says she doesn't care what the rulebook says. What she doesn't have is a lookout she trusts, which is where you come in. The plan is half-brilliant and half-court-martial, and the storm hammering the tent isn't going to last forever.

Somebody has to fight the real enemy: regulations.