The Whittaker Saga

Contrary to Anna's hopes, the new year does not start with news of peace, but with news of another death. Harrison, Frank and Emily's son, husband of Bernadette and father of Pearl, who just turned three and has never known her father, died in the final push to secure Tomarang. Hearing the news, Anna rushes to the base where Harold and Harrison served, comforting Harold on the loss of his brother. "Could you bring him home?" Harold asks her. "I don't just want him to be sent." Yet, Anna hesitates, because going home means giving up on Thomas and making sure he's not left behind. "I'll take care of Thomas." Harold promises. "Do you know where he is?" Anna asks. This time it is Harold who hesitates, but in the end, he tells her where to find him. Anna doesn't waste a second to go and see Thomas, giving him a huge hug when she sees him, she almost doesn't want to let go. He shows her arround, even lets her take a few pi...

While the world, and the Whittaker-clan, are following the war, wondering which young solder will be the next to die, and hoping that it will not be one of their sons, the world moves on, and demonstrates that not even those who are at home are safe from the Grim Reaper. On a summer morning the news that Ida's husband, Nathaniel Preston, passed away after a short illness, breaks on the ranch. In and of itself, the news is not all that surprising. Nathaniel was substantially older than Ida when they married, and has been an elder for some time, but for Ida, it is a hard blow none-the-less. After all, what does age matter when it's a lifetime of companionship that is lost? Of course, the family rushes to Willow Creek to comfort Ida, and to attend the funeral. Soon the house is crowded with people, all except the boys overseas. Ida especially miss her boy, and wishes Austen could be there to say goodbye to his father, but that is not how war works, and Austen will have to honor hi...

As the dust from the attack settles, many who are not dead are still in need of care. The hospital, unprepared for such massive influx of patients with serious wounds, hold on best they can, until the worst cases are treated, the less serious cases put to bed, and the dead transported elsewhere. Left are the nurses, too tired to think or even stand in some cases. Some find their rest on a couch in the staff room while the patients are sleeping, others get off their shifts and rush across the yard to the nurses quarters for a well needed shower. Upstairs the wounded soldiers are sleeping, or are unconscious. As of yet, no one has had time to look at their dog-tags, but tomorrow the job of identification - of living and dead - will begin. But also the job of comfort, of helping the soldiers deal with the losses and trauma. The emotional and physical alike. To tell them of friends who are no longer there, of letting them cry about scars that will never go away or limbs that might have bee...