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Every morning, Grace Lilleg Moore applied mascara. Then she walked into hell. Vietnam. 1968. At just 23 years old, Grace served as head nurse of the orthopedic and amputee ward at the 12th Evacuation Hospital in Cu Chi. The temperature often climbed above 120 degrees. The wounds were worse. Helicopters arrived carrying young soldiers torn apart by war. Some had lost legs. Others had suffered devastating burns. Shrapnel, dirt, jungle debris, and pieces of uniform were embedded deep in their injuries. The work never stopped. Dressings had to be changed. Pain medication administered. Bandages replaced. Comfort offered. Again. And again. And again. Many of the patients were barely old enough to vote. Far from home. Terrified. Broken. Grace and the other nurses became something more than medical staff. They became mothers. Sisters. Friends. A reminder that kindness still existed. For months, she carried on. Then one patient arrived. A young soldier she had known from a hospital back in the United States. Seeing him burned and bloodied shattered something inside her. Grace walked behind a Quonset hut. Vomited. And cried for the first time in Vietnam. Later, she described developing "psychic numbing," an emotional shutdown that helped her function while surrounded by suffering she could not stop. She lost her faith during those seven months. But she never lost her compassion. Thousands of wounded soldiers passed through her ward. Most never forgot the nurse who greeted them with kindness when their world had fallen apart. Some heroes carry rifles. Others carry bandages. Story based on historical records,,,