I'm publishing my first ever fanfiction and to be honest, I'm terrified! It's mainly based on all the books/stories that I have read about the First World War and obviously Doctor Who as it's one of my favourite shows (I can never pick). As it's the centenary of the First World War I thought I would write about it – the nurses and doctors treating the men on the front line at Casualty Clearing Stations saved thousands of lives and I think that needs to be recognised. Anyway, I'm stalling, please enjoy!
Ellen burst out of the Medical Hut, gulping cool, fresh air. She fell back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. The soldier's warm, fresh blood was starting to congeal on her hands; she could hear his screams, cries of agony, calling for death, and then the silence as his breathing stopped. Ellen slid down against the freezing concrete wall of the bunker and buried her head in her hands, trying to stop the tears that were collecting in her eyes. 'Yorkshire Light Infantry' – that was the division, she was certain of that. Could he be there, in the hut? Or was he dead or dying in No Man's Land? She took another shaky breath. After the first battle in Liege, she could remember the agonised shriek of the Mother of the post-boy as she read the letter telling her, her son had been killed in action. Almost all the men in the village were dead now. They were gone, and there wasn't even a grave in the village cemetery to show that they had passed on. Ellen would not have been surprised if he had been taken by the Grim Reaper too.
She looked up towards the battle field and the British trenches. She could see bursts of light from the artillery guns and could hear the deafening noise of the shells hitting the ground and blasting open in No Man's Land. Bodies were not coming anymore but the British still seemed to be adamant that they wanted to give the Germans hell. Ellen took another breath.
"Nurse Stoker?"
Ellen looked up. She could see a man silhouetted in the light coming from the Medical Hut. Tall, lean and gangling with dark brown hair that fell over one size of his face in an exaggerated quiff.
"Dr Smith," she replied.
"Are you alright? Dr Miller said you looked frightfully upset," he said, with a touch of concern in his voice.
"Just about, sir. My shift finished and I felt overwhelmed, I needed some air," Ellen muttered, fiddling the watch pinned onto her uniform.
Dr Smith nodded, he turned to go back into hut but hesitated, turned back again and walked over to Ellen and offered her his hand.
"Can I help you up?"
Ellen took it and he pulled her up. "Thanks."
"Why were you upset?" asked Dr Smith, letting go of her hand.
"It was just the pressure of the day. Seeing all those young men dead, it reminded me of all the men that have died in my village."
"It upsets us all, but you're usually so calm under pressure!"
"I know-,"
"So what's wrong? I'm only asking because we need everyone to be focused – we need to be a team if we're going to save lives," he explained, a compelling look in his eyes. Ellen hesitated.
"The Yorkshire Light Infantry is my brother's regiment," whispered Ellen.
"Oh I see," he muttered. "Get some rest. What's his name?"
"Why?"
"That's an interesting name! Why Stoker I presume?"
"No," giggled Ellen. "His name is Jonas. Private Jonas Stoker."
"Private Jonas Stoker," Dr Smith confirmed. There was a pause. "Well, I'd better get back now – break's over! Remember, get some rest."
He spun around with the intention of going back onto the ward.
"Wait!" called Ellen. "Why do you need my bothers name?"
He looked at her. "How else would I find out if he's here or not?"
He turned and strode purposefully back into the Medical Hut. Ellen still stood in the chilly winter light, looking after him. Her breathing was still shaky but she felt a sense of relief knowing that someone was looking out for her brother, finally she was starting to make friends here. Ellen usually kept herself to herself when she went somewhere new, but she knew ultimately that was not an option here. She needed the doctors and other nurses to trust her, so that meant opening up, no matter how hard that was. Ellen did not usually see Dr Smith – he scared her with his brisk and clumsy manner, how he became a doctor she had no idea – one tea break in the Staff Room with Clara had shown her that he could break anything with his gangling limbs.
BOOM! Another shell from an artillery gun exploded in No Man's Land, Ellen could just about see the flash of light from over the hill. Like the snap of a twig startling a deer, Ellen scurried away to the Nurse's Quarters.
Dr John Smith wiped his brow as his last patient was taken away from the operating table. This had been the worst battle by far – ten had died on the table, as well as many more outside that were waiting to be seen. At least he was not one of the butcher Generals, ordering the troops to their deaths by the awful tactics they set out. Climb over the top of the parapet and run into a hailstorm of bullets and artillery shells were essentially the orders that had been given. I'm a doctor, thought John solemnly, so why do I feel as if I'm making things worse? Being a pacifist, he had not signed up when the Army had come to his village to recruit soldiers, unlike all the other men his age. His qualifications as a doctor had allowed him to serve as a medic, without the dishonour of being branded a coward.
The conditions in the Casualty Clearing Stations were almost as bad as the trenches. Bodies littered the courtyard and he could hear the wounded moaning and calling out in agony. Carbolic acid stung the back of his eyes and his throat, but at least it killed the germs that sent most soldiers to their graves. John pulled off his bloody operating gown and then the rubber gloves that were stained red by his patient's blood.
"Are we all done?" John wearily asked the nurse, who was refilling the chloroform inhaler.
"Yes Dr, we haven't had any more in, in the last half an hour," she replied, putting the inhaler back on the shelf.
"Good, I didn't think I'd be able to cope if we had any more. It's gut-wrenching seeing all these dead and dying men – some of them are practically boys!"
The nurse nodded sadly. "I know Dr, it's a mercy I don't have any brothers myself. I'd spend too much of my time worrying about them if I did."
The mention of brothers flicked a switch in John's brain. "That reminds me! Was there a Private Jonas Stoker on our list?"
"No, I don't think so," she said, picking up the clipboard and checking it. "No. Why, is he important?"
John huffed, smiling. "Everyone is important, Clara! That's why I hate this God-forsaken war! One of the nurse's brothers was in one of the regiments that came in tonight. The Yorkshire Light Infantry."
"Oh poor thing! She must be worried sick!"
"I know," sighed John. "I just hope he made it. Remind me to check on her tomorrow – she's only been here a couple of months."
"I know who you mean! Little Ellen Stoker – from Yorkshire."
John nodded. "Yes, anyway I think we'd better get some rest. See you tomorrow Clara."
John stopped by the Staff Room to grab a biscuit which he hid in his pocket as he stepped onto the Ward. It was dimly lit with flickering electric lights that hung from the ceiling and buzzed as vibrations from the artillery shells shook the foundations of the Clearing Station. The whole bunker was a long concrete rectangle with beds that lined the walls as far as the eye could see. It always seemed to be in a state of half-darkness as the groans of the injured bounced off of the walls, resonating with the most venerable part of John's brain. Just stop this war, he thought, eradicate the idiotic politicians that have caused all of this! Slowly and quietly he went along the beds, checking the labels that were tied to the men's uniforms that told the nurses and doctors who they were, what their regiment was and what kind of wound they had. Usually it was obvious to see who had what injuries and if they would survive to see their families again.
"Dr Smith," came a whispered voice.
He looked up from one of the men he was checking to see Dr Song who was also moving along the line of beds.
"Dr Song?" he enquired as she came closer.
"Yes, looking for someone?"
"Yes, what about you?"
"Just checking everyone is a comfortable as possible," Dr Song replied, surveying the lines of iron framed beds.
John looked over Dr Song. A woman doctor. It was not a first – Elizabeth Garret-Anderson had proved that but still, having women this close to the battle field had raised many questions in Parliament and from the public but since he had been serving in the Clearing Station he could see that women were just as strong as men. They had a touch that seemed to sooth the men when they came in covered in blood, mud and bits of shrapnel, they must be reminded of their mothers and sisters, mused John, I certainly am reminded of David's daughter – where is he now? John looked at Dr Song again – her tightly wound, dark blonde, corkscrew hair was contained underneath a head-scarf, her bright intelligent brown eyes watched the men in their beds yet her operating apron was still on and covered in dark brown stains of dried blood.
"You never told me who you were looking for," Dr Song said, airily.
"What? Oh yes," stammered John. "I'm looking for a brother of one of the nurses – his regiment came in tonight."
"Ah, I see. She must be special if you're running errands for her… Or are you going to tell me everyone is special?"
"In their own ways yes everyone is special! But she's also new."
"The little Yorkshire girl I presume?"
"Yes… Why does everyone know about her?"
"She keeps herself to herself, doesn't talk to anyone unless she needs to – she's like a mouse but seems to be so calm under pressure. A bit like you to be honest. You keep yourself away from the nurses," shrugged River.
"That's because they remind me of Jenny."
"Who?"
"My niece. She's loud and boisterous like Clara and the others, and I don't like to think about my brother David that much – he could be dead on the battle field for all I know!"
"Family problems? You would be up all night listening to my list of them!"
John gave a weary sigh. "Listen Dr Song, I'd love to hear the list but I'm very tired and need to go to sleep now. Good night."
"Alright but please start calling me River when you're off duty – you can make friends with me."
"Fine. Good night River," he muttered, turning and walking away.
"Good night, John," she called, softly after him.
Tah da! First chapter EVER! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please follow, review or favourite and read the next few because that would make me very happy! Plus, I will virtually hug and high-five you! Constructive criticism is very welcome but hate is not.
