by Holly Green
They turned away, reluctantly, but training and discipline enforced her orders and within minutes the fire was alight, water was put on to boil and the nurses were bending over their patients. Watching them, Leo felt the confidence she had assumed ebbing away. It was true that the Bulgarian officers she had met had behaved impeccably, but that had been when Bulgaria and Serbia were allies. Now they were on opposite sides and there were old scores to settle. Besides which, it was likely that the first Bulgars they would encounter would be common soldiers, not high-ranking officers, and she had heard terrible stories of the way they had treated helpless civilians in the villages they had overrun.
She called two orderlies to carry Milan over to the mayor’s house and found Stella Patterson already there, boiling up water over the fire and scrubbing the wooden table in the centre of the main room. Milan was laid on the mayor’s bed and Leo went back to see off the rest of the convoy. The tents had been struck and the patients loaded into the ox-carts and the nurses gathered round Leo, some of them in tears. She hugged them all in turn.
‘Be brave! It’s going to be a long, hard journey but we will get through – all of us. You are with the army, so you’ll be safe enough. There will be plenty of men to help if you need it. Just keep going, that’s all you have to do.’
The drivers and orderlies kissed her hands as she wished them God speed. ‘Sbogom! Good bye! We’ll meet again soon.’
The wagons creaked into motion but the road was so congested with men and vehicles that it was almost impossible to join it. It was not until an officer in charge of an artillery company saw their difficulty and halted his men that they were able to filter in. Leo watched them moving away until they disappeared into the curtain of rain that veiled the mountains. Then she turned and hurried back to the mayor’s house.
Dr Patterson looked up from arranging her instruments. ‘Good, you’re here. I’m ready to start. Help me to lift him onto the table.’
He was not a big man, fortunately, and short rations had reduced them all to skin and bone. Even so, Leo found it took all her strength to help the doctor heave him from the bed onto the table, which she had covered with a sheet from the small store of clean linen. Her head was pounding and her throat so sore that she had been unable to swallow the day-old bread which was all that was available for breakfast. Milan was semi-conscious, but when he saw the doctor advancing with the mask and the bottle of chloroform he began to struggle and tried to get up.
‘No, no! Not that, not that!’
Leo took him by the shoulders and pressed him back onto the table. Then she took hold of his hands and held them tightly. ‘Milan, listen to me! You are quite safe. The chloroform will send you to sleep for a while, that’s all. The doctor has explained to you, she has to remove your foot or you will die. But if you are asleep you will feel no pain. I promise you! And when you wake up it will be all over.’
He looked up into her eyes. ‘Maika, you will stay with me?’
Maika – it meant mother. Leo swallowed. ‘Yes, Milan, I will be here all the time. There’s nothing to worry about.’
His eyes swivelled from her to Patterson, standing ready with the anaesthetic, and he nodded. She put the mask over his nose and mouth and dripped on the chloroform. For a moment he struggled against it, then Leo felt the grip on her hands relax.
‘Now, we must be as quick as we can,’ Patterson said.
Leo had assisted at operations before, but never at an amputation and the sight, combined with the rotten/sweet smell of the gangrene, turned her stomach. Once or twice she was afraid that she was going to faint or vomit, but she managed to keep control and hand the necessary instruments when requested. Even her inexpert eyes could see that Patterson was good at her job and in a remarkably short time the wound was sutured and dressed and the gangrenous foot disposed of in the midden in the back yard. Leo leaned over Milan as he began to come round, stroking his face and murmuring reassuring words, ready with a bowl for the inevitable attack of vomiting.
‘Maika, when will it be over?’ he whispered, when he could speak.
‘It is over, Milan,’ she answered. ‘It is all done and now you will get well.’
When he had been put back to bed and the instruments cleaned and packed away Stella drew the big cauldron off the fire and poured water into two mugs.
‘You look as if you need a coffee,’ she commented. ‘It’s a pity there’s no milk or sugar but at least it’s hot.’
Leo became aware again of the endless tramp of feet past the door of the house. ‘When will he be able to travel?’
‘In an ideal world, not for several days. But as this is not an ideal world – tomorrow, at the earliest.’
There was nothing to do, then, but wait. Leo sat by the fire, lulled into a kind of stupor until another sound roused her. At first she thought it was a child crying. Then she realised it was the bleating of a goat. In the back yard she found a nanny goat tethered. It was a poor, thin creature but its udder was swollen with milk. Leo hurried back to the house and found a large bowl. She had never milked a goat, or a cow for that matter, and it took some time to master the technique but she was eventually rewarded with half a pint of milk. She had kept back a small amount of the dwindling supply of food that the convoy possessed, including a little bag of oats, and from those and the milk she concocted a thin gruel. They fed most of it to Milan when he woke, but she and Stella shared what was left and agreed that it was the best meal they had had in days.
By dawn the next morning, the endless procession of soldiers and civilians had begun again. Leo stopped an officer and asked him how close the Bulgarian army was.
‘Not more than a day behind,’ he said. ‘If I were you I should get on the road as fast as you can.’
Leo reported the conversation to Stella Patterson and they agreed that Milan would have to travel, weak as he was. While Stella attended to her patient, Leo stood by the road watching for some form of transport. She stopped several wagons but the answer was always the same. They were full, either with wounded men or with essential supplies. Eventually, about midday, she waved down a wagon marked with red crosses and pleaded with the driver to find room for them.
‘We are a doctor and a nurse. Surely we could be useful on the road, if you have other injured men on board.’
The sergeant in charge scowled at her. ‘Where’s the doctor, then?’
‘There!’ Leo indicated Stella, who had come to the door of the house.
‘A woman!’ he snorted with derision.
‘Yes, a woman!’ Leo retorted. ‘And a fine doctor, who has just saved the life of one of your soldiers.’
He looked from her to Stella and grunted. ‘I’ll take the doctor. No room for anyone else.’
Stella came forward. ‘You’ll have to take all of us, or I don’t come.’
‘I’ve told you, no room. Now, I’m blocking the road. I’ve got to move on.’
‘Look!’ Leo said desperately. ‘Take the doctor and the patient. I’ll find someone else to take me.’
Stella was inclined to argue but Leo was insistent. ‘It will be easy for me to hitch a lift on my own. You go, with Milan. Don’t worry about me.’
Milan was carried out and lifted into the wagon and Stella climbed up onto the tail board. The driver cracked his whip and called to the animals and the wagon forced its way back into the stream of traffic.
‘Look after yourself! See you in Durrazzo!’ Stella called.
‘Yes, see you there!’ Leo shouted back.
She waited a while longer, trying unsuccessfully to hitch a ride. Then one of the drivers shouted at her, ‘What’s wrong with your legs, boy? Walk, like the rest!’ and she realised that her appearance was against her. Her skirt had gone with the convoy so, short of standing by the roadside shouting, ‘I’m a woman, help me!’, there was nothing she could do. She reminded herself that the whole purpose behind the FANY and Mabel Stobart’s Sick and Wounded Convoy was to prove that women could be as br
ave and as resilient as men. Now was the time to prove it. She gathered up the few scraps of bread and a little twist of coffee, all that remained of her supplies, and joined the throng of people plodding along the road.
Very soon the road began to climb, following the course of a river, and the air grew colder. The rain turned to sleet and then to snow. Leo had bought a sheepskin coat from an old shepherd when the retreat began. It stank of badly cured leather but at least it was warm and reasonably weather proof and she was thankful for her good English boots. Even so, it was not long before the wet soaked into her breeches and crept up to her waist, while the snow managed to filter down inside her collar and dampened her tunic. Her head burned and throbbed, she shivered convulsively and her legs felt like lead.
The passing of so many heavy wagons had churned the unsurfaced road to mud and she passed several that had stuck axel-deep while the drivers yelled and cursed at their beasts. Apart from that and the occasional thin wail of a child she was struck by the absence of human voices. None of the soldiers sang or joked. The whole vast army trudged on in silence. The mountains closed in around them as they climbed, so that the river ran in a narrow valley and the road, such as it was, clung to the side, sometimes a hundred or more feet above the river, at others dropping down to cross it on shaky bridges. At one of these Leo saw that a gun limber had overturned, throwing the gun into the water and dragging the whole equipage with it. The men in charge of it were struggling to cut the traces to free the horses, which were plunging and struggling in the rapid current.
As the early winter dusk drew in the various units began to pull off into the pine forest beside the road. Here, at least, there was wood for fires and soon the whole hillside was starred with twinkling lights. Seeing one company gathering around their fire Leo hesitated. She knew that, if she was to survive the night, she must find some warmth but she was afraid to ask if she could join them. As a boy, which they would take her to be, they might feel she should be able to fend for herself. But at the same time, there was a certain security in her disguise. Instinct told her that this was no time to present herself as a helpless female. In the end, she plucked up enough courage to creep to within a few yards of the group round the fire and huddled down on the pine needles that covered the ground. A cauldron had been set to boil over the flames and her nostrils caught a faint savoury smell that brought the saliva welling up in her mouth. She took out her scraps of bread and gnawed at them and became aware that one of the men from the other side of the fire was looking at her. When the cook came round to fill his tin mug, he said something to him and when all the men had been served the cook came over and held out a mug half full of steaming liquid.
‘Make the most of it,’ he said. ‘It’s the last any of us will get this side of the mountains.’
The savoury smell had been deceptive. The liquid in the mug was mainly hot water with a few scraps of vegetable floating in it, but at least it was warm. Leo swallowed it thankfully and one of the men moved over and beckoned her closer to the fire. They did not ask her any questions. She got the impression that they, like her, were too tired to talk. Before long, they curled themselves up, three of four together for warmth, and fell asleep. Leo slept too, but intermittently, disturbed by vivid dreams and repeated fits of shivering.
Next morning she was given a cup of bitter black coffee, which was all any of them had for breakfast, and then there was nothing for it but to drag herself to her feet and set off again. The men she had shared with that night, exhausted as they were, could still walk faster than she could and soon pulled ahead. She put her head down and plodded on, aware that from time to time she was overtaken by other groups or by carts or wagons. She paid no heed to them. She had almost passed beyond the capability of conscious thought, her brain instead filled with strange imaginings. If she looked up, the trees and the mountain crags seemed to whirl around her so that she almost fell. Only by keeping her eyes on the ground was she able to stay on her feet. As the hours passed, the snow grew deeper and the road narrower, so that often it became so congested that the whole procession came to a halt. It only needed one wagon to stick in a rut, or one donkey to lie down and refuse to get up to keep them standing in the cold for what seemed like an hour.
As the day wore on Leo began to hear voices. She heard her grandmother scolding her for going out in such inclement weather; once she was certain that Victoria was shouting to her, needing help, but she could not find her in the crowd. Again and again she fancied she heard Sasha’s voice, urging her on, telling her that she must keep walking. As the light began to fade again she heard him calling to her, as he had called that day at Chataldzha. ‘You, boy! Come here!’
‘You, boy! Wait!’ It was a real voice, though it was hard to distinguish it from the clamour in her head. A horse was urged alongside her, a grey horse, and she looked up.
Sasha stared down at her. ‘My God! It is you! I thought I was dreaming. What in the name of Christ are you doing here?’
She gazed back at him. Her head was swimming but she felt herself smiling from pure joy. ‘Trying to escape, like you,’ she croaked and grasped at his stirrup leather for support.
He was beside her, although she had not seen him dismount, his arm round her waist. Above her head she heard his voice raised to give an order.
‘Bring Shadow up, Michaelo. Quickly now.’
There was movement round her and she was lifted bodily into the black horse’s saddle. ‘Oh, Shadow!’ she murmured ecstatically. ‘Dear old Shadow!’ She slumped forward onto the horse’s neck and tangled her icy fingers in his mane. There was a jolt as he started forward and then the steady rocking movement of his walk. Leo closed her eyes and let herself drift.
She came to as they turned off the road again and saw that they were preparing to make camp. Sasha lifted her down and wrapped her in his cloak, then settled her between the roots of a great pine tree with her back against the trunk. Crouching in front of her he brushed the hair off her forehead with his fingertips.
‘I don’t understand. How did you get here?’
She struggled to make coherent sentences and gave up the effort. ‘Nursing … Kragujevic … Stobart … got separated.’
‘Where are the others?’
She made a vague movement indicating the road ahead. ‘Up there, somewhere.’
He stared at her in silence for a moment longer, as if he wanted to question her further, then nodded and got to his feet. ‘Stay still. We have very little food left. I’ll bring you what I can.’
He came back after a while with a mug of tea and a small piece of bread. There was sugar in the tea and Leo felt as if every nerve in her body responded to the intense sweetness. He watched her eat and as her head cleared she saw that his face was drawn with fatigue and he was frowning.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to add to your burdens.’
He reached out and touched her face. ‘Oh, my dear,’ he murmured, and left it at that.
She was dimly aware after that that he was going among his men, encouraging, reassuring. Once she even heard him laugh. Then he came back to her.
‘Time to sleep.’
He moved her so that she lay down, then curled himself against her back and wrapped the cloak around them both. Leo closed her eyes. Death was very close, but it no longer mattered. She was lying in the arms of the man she loved above all others. Slowly, his comforting warmth seeped into her body and she gave herself up to the darkness.
*
Luke opened his eyes and closed them again. Somewhere above him a voice was saying, ‘It’s all right, you’re going to be fine. Lie still.’ Something about the words puzzled him, then he realised that they were in Macedonian Serb. He opened his eyes again. Sophie was leaning over him.
‘So, you are awake. Do you want some water? Just a sip now. You can have more later.’
She lifted his head and held a cup to his lips. He swallowed and fought back nausea.
‘Where am I?’
‘On the hospital ship. You’ve had an operation.’
He remembered then; the explosion, the pain, the endless jolting as the stretcher was manoeuvred down the hillside; and the fear that had been uppermost in his mind.
‘Is it still there?’
‘Is what still there?’
‘My leg. Have they taken it off?’
She smiled and stroked his cheek. ‘No, no, your leg is still there. The doctor has set it. It will take time but one day it will be as good as new.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Not me. Thank the doctor when you see him. Now I must go. I have other patients to attend to. I will come back and see you in a little while.’
She moved away and for a while he drifted back into unconsciousness. When he woke again it was a new sensation that roused him. He was being tipped to one side, and then to the other. For a moment he thought he was still on the stretcher and the interlude with Sophie had been a hallucination. He had experienced plenty of those on the journey down. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a mattress on the floor. Close beside him was another mattress on which a man was lying. Beyond that was a bed. He turned his head and saw the same pattern repeated on his other side and above him was a ceiling of polished planks. The tipping sensation repeated itself and he became aware of a steady throbbing that transmitted itself from the floor on which he lay. Little by little these isolated perceptions coalesced into a comprehensible pattern. He was on board a ship, and the ship was under way.
He raised his head cautiously, and had to fight back nausea again. When it subsided he saw that the opposite side of the deck was as crowded with beds and mattresses as his own. Nurses were busy with dressings and medicines, but there was hardly enough room for them to walk between them. Luke lay back. In the confined space the heat was stifling and the whole place stank of sweat and urine and shit; but he was used to that. He had lived with it in the trenches for months.
