Bombs exploding. Screams. I have to fly the plane. I'm a Captain. I can do this.

What?! Oh God! We're getting shot at! No, no, no, no! Too loud! Ear's ringing; the bus has been hit! Oh God! I'm going to die! Where's the rest of my squadron?!

Oh God! They're in the ocean! The planes are sinking! I can't see the survivors! Are there survivors?! I don't ruddy know! I have to ditch! Can I bale?! I don't know! I'm just a dumb kid! My dad was right!

Prepare to ditch. Strap on my 'chute. Prepare to bale. I can't! I can't do it! I'm an anchor! Help me!

…

Martin heaved over the side of the hospital bed. He could feel himself burning.

"Everything Tiggerty-boo, Crieff?" Douglas drawled.

"No, it bloody well isn't," Martin gasped between heavy breaths.

"Such profanity coming from a Captain," the older man tutted.

"I can do much better than that…" Martin rasped as the tremors made themselves known. Martin groaned, "Richardson, have a coffin nail?

"Wouldn't a nice cup of char be better? You know what Dr Knapp-Shappey's like…"

"Fuck you."

"Now, if you're going to go back to Civvy Street you need to start saying 'no thanks' instead of 'fuck you'…" Douglas raised an eyebrow.

"And you need to give me a cigarette, or I'll clobber you."

"What? Shaking like that? I don't think so, Crieff."

"How much longer do I have to put up with you?"

"One month and I'll be going back to Blighty with my gorgeous wife, who still thinks I'm brilliant despite being shot in Operation Overlord."

"Lucky you."

"Any news on when you'll be going back home?"

"Still nothing. Now give me that coffin nail…" Martin ordered. Douglas sighed and reluctantly gave him a cigarette and lighter.

Martin put the pre-rolled cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter on, hands still shaking. "Do you need me to light it for you?" Douglas drawled.

"I'm perfectly capable, Richardson," Martin stiffly replied. The cigarette, after a few tries, lit and Martin took a long, shaky, drag.

"And the prissy Captain with something resembling a stick up his arse is back."

"Captain Crieff!" The harsh voice of Dr Carolyn Knapp-Shappey yelled, "Just because you're a war hero doesn't permit you to smoke in my ward!" She snatched the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out on the worn wooden bedframe.

"S-sorry, m-ma'am," Martin stuttered. Damn anxiety.

Douglas sighed, "Go easy on him. He had a nightmare and was sick over the side of the bed and couldn't stop shaking. Not that impressive for a war hero –"

"I'm not a bloody war hero!"

"Your Victoria Cross begs to differ. They don't give them to anyone, you know," Douglas stated.

"They bally well do because they gave one to me."

"Captain –"

"Humility must always be the portion of any man who receives acclaim earned in blood of his followers and sacrifices of his friends…" Martin's eyes glazed over, deep in thought or flash back. Sometimes he just withdrew.

Carolyn sighed, "I'll get Arthur to clean it up now."

"The boy's seen a lot…"

"Too much, if you ask me. I sometimes think Arthur's seen too much and he's just a nurse."

"True, though. He has to deal with the injuries you deal with too."

"I remember one morning he went on duty, treating some Americans, and was getting the change of shift report at the nursing station. One of the patients from his wing came to him and said another patient wanted to see him… The patient who wanted to see him was a great big strapping Marine who had his right arm amputated and both legs amputated. He had had a brain injury too and, as a result, hadn't been able to speak although he was alert... When Arthur walked down, he looked at him and said, "Hi, Arthur." The patients were just so excited about it because it was the first thing he had said – "Hi, Arthur." Arthur almost cried. He was so ecstatic, but when that wore of, he realised he had been excited over someone saying two words, and he didn't think that was right. I didn't know what to tell him…"

Douglas mutely nodded.

Talk of the devil and he'll appear, Arthur leapt into the room. "Hello, chaps! How are you this –" Arthur stopped dead (probably not the best phrase in a hospital) seeing Martin's withdrawn look. "Poor Skip…" He sighed.

"You need to mop up Arthur, another nightmare," Carolyn instructed.

"I'll do that now. I was hoping Skip was getting better…"

"Unfortunately, Crieff is only getting worse from what I've seen. Oh well, press on, stiff upper lips and all that; that's the advice, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately… But it's bad advice. If only everything weren't so… secret. Talking might help… Maybe after this dreadful war is over…"

"Won't help."

"Worth a try…"

"They'll think he's a nancy-boy if he tries."

"Would you?"

"No, but I don't like Crieff and won't be keeping in contact."

"If you don't like him, why are you so concerned?"

"I'm not concerned!"

"Then how do you know he's getting worse?"

"Because I'm in a bed right next to him with nothing to do!"

"Fine. I'm going to continue my rounds. Arthur, clean up."

"Yes, mum."

...

"Humility must always be the portion of any man who receives acclaim earned in blood of his followers and sacrifices of his friends." was a quote from General Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Arthur's nursing experience was a real experience of Retired Brigadier General Lillian Dunlap.

Please review. I'm doing this for memorial day on the 11th of November. Hoping to put up the final chapter at 11:11 on that day, but don't hold your breath. I'll be using quotes from real politicians and soldiers, so keep an eye out.