The War Nurse

by Tracey Enerson Wood

  “Have you something sharp? ” He ran his finger down the middle of the soldier’s neck. Then he pulled a pen from his pocket and dismantled it.

  I handed him the scissors, and he quickly made an incision with them and placed the outer pen housing in place just below the thyroid cartilage. Then he blew breath through it into the now unconscious soldier.

  After a minute that seemed like forever, the soldier blinked his eyes open. His hand went to his neck in a reflex action, but I caught it in time.

  “You’re going to be fine. We’ll secure this for you and get you to the hospital straightaway,” I said.

  By then, the medic had arrived, and he and the doctor were getting the pen taped in place. After that, we gave morphine as needed and moved all the injured soldiers onto the ambulances headed straight to hospitals.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next night, we had dinner with the farmer. I felt bad eating his meager rations, but he wouldn’t hear otherwise. We did bring gifts of apples and carrots and, much to Fred’s pride, the bottle of wine. The food was simple but delicious. Potatoes in browned butter, pork belly, some brown bread. Fred helped himself to two plates full, but despite my growling stomach, I took just a few bites of each.

  After suffering through our attempts to pronounce his Flemish name, the farmer asked us to call him Tony. His village had been caught in an exchange of artillery, just before a British advance. “Mostly friendly fire. But what is the difference? The fields are ruined. And to think, I came here from Flanders to escape the destruction.”

  He told us a bit about the village he left near Passchendaele, Belgium. He grew more somber as the bottle of wine grew empty, talking about the loss of his family and his farm.

  “What do you grow?” I asked, hoping to raise his spirits.

  “Sugar beets and potatoes, mostly. Still one pile of beets out there, but I can’t get to it.”

  “Why not?” Fred had been unusually quiet, one leg constantly jiggling.

  I made a mental note to ask him what was bothering him.

  Tony picked up our plates. “Too dangerous. How do you say it? Underexploded ordnance? It’s everywhere. Just last week, a little girl of five years…”

  “I’m afraid we’ve had a long day. Permission to hit the hay?” Fred wiped his mouth on the coarse napkin and pushed back his chair.

  “Why, of course.” Tony stood. “I’m sorry to have kept you, filling you with my sorrows. And I regret to only have the barn for you. You see, the roof has collapsed over the better part of the house.”

  Fred had seemed rather rude, but I went along. “Don’t be sorry, Tony. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. But the doctor has a point.”

  As we headed out to the barn, the lantern cast eerie shadows on the wasted turf. Knowing there could be bombs hidden just below the surface kept us on the narrow path.

  “Is there something you want to talk about, Fred?”

  There was no answer for several paces. Then a great sigh.

  “We, or rather I, have a tough decision to make.”

  “If I can help…?” I offered.

  “You know we’re to work the morning shift tomorrow. Our relief should arrive around lunchtime.”

  We entered the barn. He lit the second lantern and peeled off his coat and boots.

  I took off my wool cape, then put it right back on again. No way I’d be warm enough without it.

  “And then we head back to base.”

  “Has there been a change? I can stay a little later if necessary.” I was enjoying the work at the clearing station, and staying in the barn was growing on me. There was something about being so far from anyone else, yet under Fred’s watchful protection, that I found both exciting and comforting.

  “Here, take my blanket.”

  “No, I couldn’t. Silly of me not to bring one, but my cape will do just fine. So what is the tough decision?”

  “I insist.” He arranged a pillow and blanket for me. “Before we left the station, a messenger brought a report from London. A bad storm is running down the coast. First fierce winds and rain, then temperatures will drop, followed by sleet and snow. If we leave first thing in the morning, we can probably make it back. We could avoid it by going inland, but that puts us too close to the front.”

  “But what about the clearing station? Our replacements won’t come until—”

  “I know. Chances are, they won’t risk the travel. If we stay, we could be stuck here for days.”

  “And the Base Hospital can ill afford to lose us for that much time. Especially you.”

  “We’d both be missed.” He leaned against the wood post of the stall, patted his shirt pocket for his pipe tobacco.

  The barn door, which we had apparently not secured, blew open in a gust of wind. It rattled and bits of hay and straw blew about until Fred pulled it shut again. When he came back into the light of the lantern, I could see his shirt was speckled with raindrops.

  “So it’s already started. Does Colonel Fife know? Surely he’ll advise one way or the other.” Tomorrow morning might be too late, I thought.

  “He said to take shelter tonight and reassess in the morning. But of course, we have no communications here, and we’ll have to make the decision on our own.”

  “I wonder if we need to go back, if it would be wiser to leave now.” The thought of heading into that bleak landscape in the dead of night wasn’t at all appealing, but I wanted to consider all the options.

  “And if it all blows over, we will have left our duty station and disobeyed orders. Go on. Get ready for bed. I won’t look.” He winked. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He produced a small package from his pants pocket. “It isn’t much, some sort of pumpkin bread. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  * * *

  I slept fitfully. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. I could see my breath, even in the weak light of the lantern. The tip of my nose was like ice, and my feet were getting numb. I decided to get up and walk a bit to get my circulation going. I checked on Fred, worried because he had given me the only blanket. But he was softly snoring under a pile of straw. The lantern was dimming, and I pumped air into the fuel tanks to raise the pressure.

  I was about to curl back into my little nest of straw when the walls started to shake. I climbed the ladder into the loft, where there was a small window. It was too dark to see much, but the light from the farmhouse revealed trees bent into the wind, and a mixture of snow and rain and possibly hail pelted the window. Nothing to do but wait until morning. I did some calisthenics and unwrapped the little loaf of pumpkin bread. My stomach was growling after the meager dinner. I had intended to share it with Fred but greedily ate every last bit. It was fresh and spicy and tasted sublime. Thanksgiving indeed.

  My body warmed and my stomach sated, I returned to my stall and soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.

  * * *

  “Julia, wake up. We need to go.”

  I fought off the sound of the impatient voice and snuggled deeper under the blanket. But Fred found my shoulder and gave it a healthy shake.

  I groaned. “Is it snowing?”

  “Yes. About four inches on the ground. The truck started up, no problem.”

  I raised myself up on my elbows and blinked the fog from my brain. “Which way are we going? Clearing station or base?”

  He offered a canteen of water. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the station. I think we need to head out there, see what’s going on. Hopefully, the storm will start clearing, our replacements will arrive, and we can head home. The internationals got a good lesson yesterday and won’t be back.

  “Does that sound like a good plan? After we have some breakfast, of course. Tony dropped this off.” He held up a small basket of bread and cheeses.

  * * *

  The snow soon changed to rain, but the fifteen-minute
drive turned into an hour, as we had to stop frequently to push the truck out of ruts. I was getting thoroughly soaked, but at least the physical activity kept me warm.

  We arrived at the station to find a lone medic. He had no casualties to care for. “Seems even the Jerries don’t like to fight in this weather.”

  Indeed, there was no booming of artillery fire. The world was cold, quiet, and desolate. I could see why Dorothy had compared it to the moon.

  Our replacements sent a message by wireless; they were still four hours away. After a couple of hours of idle hands and stomping our feet to keep warm, Fred had had enough. “Seems our work here is done. It’s going to take us longer to get home. I suggest we head back.”

  We gathered some rations from the first aid tent and headed back out onto the half-frozen, rutted mud road. Just as we did, artillery commenced its familiar booming in the distance.

  “And the war carries on. No peace, no rest,” Fred said. “The best we can hope for is to be back at base by dinner.”

  We had to stop frequently to clear the windshield from the driving rain and snow, and it was hard to tell the road from the surrounding fields. I continually wiped the mist from the windows, but even so, Fred had to pop his head out the window just to make sure we were still on track. Luckily, we came upon no opposing traffic, but we were not far down the main road when Fred swerved to avoid a pig. The truck went into the ditch, full of water two feet deep. I was jarred against the door, which flew open. Only Fred’s quick action to grab my arm saved me from falling into the ditch myself.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, but I don’t think the truck is.”

  He tried to reverse out of the ditch, but it was no use. We would have to push it out, a very unpleasant thought in the mud and pouring rain.

  “You stay in here and steer. No use both of us getting soaked.” Fred was being magnanimous but not too realistic.

  “It took both of us to push it out of smaller ruts.” I was already changing into my wellies.

  After ten or so shoves with all our might, Fred came up with a new idea. “We’ll rock her out.”

  “Come again?” I pictured cradling the truck between us and alternately pushing from either end.

  He walked back to the front of the truck and opened the door. “You get in the driver’s seat, and when I yell, open the throttle while I push. Then let off and on, and she’ll rock right out of there.”

  I looked at the three pedals on the floor and various sticks protruding from the steering column and center floorboard. The pedals were helpfully labeled, each with a capital letter. I assumed B was for brake. But how do you see that from the driving position?

  Luckily, I had been watching Fred’s elegant dance with all the pedals and knobs and sticks, and I had some idea of what to do. I climbed into the driver’s seat, and he went over it all with me.

  “You only need one gear—low—and the steering wheel and the throttle.” He reached over me and wiggled the rod nearest my right hand.

  We tried and tried, with me spinning the wheels and him pushing, until Fred finally yelled “Stop.” He came around to my window, and I had to stifle a laugh. He was covered in muck from head to toe; his glasses had more speckles than clear spaces. I had the urge to put him in a warm bath.

  After he used a rag to clean up as best he could, we sat in the truck cab, steaming up the windows with our breath. I was soaked to the bone, and my legs were starting to tingle—not a good sign.

  “It’s no wonder that soldiers die in this mud.” He shook his head. “I hate to bother Tony again, but he’s our only hope. Or we can wait here for help.”

  “How far would you say we are from the farm?”

  The rain beat harder, pattering the roof like a bucket of marbles.

  “Three miles, maybe. We should make it in an hour, hour and a half.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ve got another four hours or so of light.” Fred wiped off his window. “But it’s probably wiser to stay put, lacking proper rain gear.”

  “But not a soul is out in this miserable weather. We haven’t passed a single one. We’ll freeze just sitting here in wet clothes. I think it’s better to keep moving.” If given a choice, I always preferred to keep moving, even if it was in the wrong direction.

  “We did pass a pig.”

  “I can’t feel my toes.”

  He turned from the window, apparently no pig owner coming out of hiding. “That settles it then. We walk. I think there’s an umbrella in here somewhere.”

  After the first mile, we gave up on the umbrella, or rather the wind forced us to, making it all but useless and slowing us down. We trudged on, arm in arm for support when our boots got stuck in mud.

  “Remind me not to book a vacation in the Somme.” I tried to keep up some light conversation to keep my mind off my frozen feet and empty belly. The early morning bread and cheese hadn’t filled me up, and now, aside from a few scones we grabbed at the first aid tent, we had missed two more meals. I was about the same height as Fred, and even though he was a muscular former football player, I estimated I weighed just as much with my large frame. And yet I gave him the bigger portions.

  I was usually hot-bodied, with energy to spare. But without enough fuel, my muscles were cramping and my mind was getting sluggish. Another mile to go, one step in front of the other. The tingle in my legs had been replaced with shooting pain, followed by numbness. I needed to get them cleaned up and medicated soon, or the dreaded ulcers and infections would return.

  * * *

  “I think I see the farmhouse!” Fred shielded his eyes from the rain, which was once again mixed with snow. The mud on his clothes was washing off like watercolors off a paintbrush. How I would have liked to paint him if I had the talent: a strong figure, bent forward into the elements, heading toward a place of warmth and safety in the distance.

  I had fallen back a few steps behind him and given up on conversation, so I had difficulty getting my lips to form a response. “L-lead the way.”

  He waited as I caught up, then looked at me with concern, took my hand, and held the back of my hand against his cheek. “Not a moment too soon. We’ve got to warm you up.” He looped his arm through mine, and we trudged the last fifty yards to the farmhouse, a faint wisp of smoke coming from the chimney.

  There was no answer at our knock, but since the door was ajar, we went in out of concern and desperate need for warmth and rest. Tony was nowhere to be found. The last of the firewood, a charred remnant of a log, smoked in the fireplace in the keeping room next to the kitchen. Snow had drifted in from the door and through a broken window.

  “I hope he’s safe.” I picked up the scattered glass shards.

  “Me too. He probably got too cold and abandoned the place. Probably no fuel to heat water either.” He checked, but there was no oil or kerosene anywhere. “Without firewood, it’s going to be hard for us to warm up.”

  I collapsed on a kitchen chair. Fred busied himself, finding scraps of food, removing a dead mouse, while I sat, overcome by shivers. I missed being back at base. As hard as the work was, it beat this slow descent into a shivering heap of worthlessness. Darkness came, and we ate the last bits of cheese and some stale bread. Thankfully, there was a lantern with fuel, as we had left ours in the truck.

  “I think we’re better off staying in the barn for the night. It’s warmer with all the straw and no windows. Besides, it’s practically home.”

  His attempt at humor failed to raise my spirits. I nodded and started to layer back on the clothes I had placed by the pitiful fire. They smelled deeply of smoke but were barely any drier.

  The barn did seem a bit more homelike. At least it was somewhat less drafty. I tried to get moving. To force some blood into my muscles, I helped Fred gather straw and hay and made a deeper nest in my usual stall. My brain increasingly foggy, I just wanted to li
e down and sleep. He helped me remove the wettest of my clothes, my fingers too stiff to work the buttons. I was too numb and sleepy to be embarrassed, and he was a doctor after all.

  “Oh Jesus, you’re shaking.” He spread a sheepskin he had found in the house upon the straw, then helped me down into the bed and covered me with my cape, the blanket, and another layer of straw. But it was no use. I continued to shake violently. At the same time, I felt as if I was burning. I started pushing away the straw, throwing off the blankets. I could no longer put a sentence together, but knew I was in trouble, and the world turned white despite the darkness.

  I felt the weight of straw come off, then my boots. There was a strange pressure against my numb legs. My long hair was released from its bun and swirled around my face and neck. Then my clothes seemed to rise and fly in the wind, replaced with sunshine. I closed my eyes and let the warm sunshine wrap me in its loving grasp.

  * * *

  Early morning light streamed through the cracks of the barn. The sweet smell of wet hay hit me. Then, the gnawing hunger in my belly. Next, I was aware of warmth across my back and bottom. I was lying on my side under a heavy pile, and for a moment, I had no recollection of how I got there. I ran my fingers down my chest and stomach. From what I could tell, I was naked. Panic and confusion rose in me until I heard a soft breath behind me.

  Then I remembered. It was Fred. He was curled up behind me, no doubt naked, or nearly so, himself.

  His arm pulled away from its position around my shoulders, and I rolled toward him.

  “You’re back among the living. You had me worried.” He pulled away. “I’m sorry for this, but you were hypothermic.”

  “I understand.” My body felt warm again, even the tip of my nose. But with the loss of numbness, my lower legs were on fire. I wanted Fred to huddle up next to me once more, liking it more than I wanted to admit. Silly of me, but my most pressing thought was how I would get up without Fred seeing my hideous legs.