AN: hello lovely peoples! I'm back, isn't that exciting? In truth, it's really hot in Guildford and I'm supposed to be study and while the structure of the kidney appears to not be able to hold my attention, fanfiction does, so you lovely lot are getting an update from Lily aren't you lucky? (is that too many L words?) what can I say? Heat turns me into a little bit of a ditz. Anyway this story is about John's accident that gave him his infamous shoulder wound and I have to admit that not only the title but at least 20% of the literary workings belong to one Mr Roald Dahl. I really do love his story 'A Piece of Cake' and have therefore decided to honour that by shamelessly ripping it off in fanfiction. Although the original story does make me a little concerned for my own future (I have decided to join the RAF after med school) I think we can all feel safe when we remember that we are no longer in a war where thousands of young men have to defend our skies in planes essentially made out of balsawood and canvas, don't you all feel better? I apologise profusely for the horrendously long and tortuous AN. If you don't understand any of the phrases used Pm me, if you don't understand the whole thing I'm not surprised.

I had just finished patching up one of the Blenheim boys when the call came. He was a curious patient, I remember that much. A piece of shrapnel had embedded itself in his leg, and it took me nearly an hour to dig it out, but through all that time, he never cried out once. Not one time did a sound pass that boys lips, even though silent tears dripped from his chin and nose throughout the operation. I remember before I started I had said to him 'don't worry I do this all the time, it's a piece of cake!' I suppose that was a lie because it was a lot deeper than I thought but by the time I'd worked that out it was too late to go back and sedate him.

Anyway, when I was finished I remember Jenny coming up behind me, pink from the blistering sun.

'Bomber boys upset?' She asked me, grinning.

'Not upset exactly.' I shot back

'Well, browned off.'

'No, just tired.' They were having to go up too often and not enough replacements were coming through to replenish their diminishing numbers.

Jenny flashed her teeth at me. 'Doesn't bother me mate, I'm army. Let the Raffer sort themselves out.'

I was called out then to go on a search and rescue mission. After that I can remember changing into my PPE gear and I can remember signing a form that someone shoved under my nose. Then there's a little gap of not-remembering before some little bit of my brain informs me that we'd gone up in a Chinook, with me, a st John ambulance nurse, the pilot and a sniper leaning haphazardly out of the cabin door. For some reason Jenny had gone up behind us in a harrier Jump-jet and then the picture returns in my memory and I remember an RAF flight-sergeant handing me into the cabin and telling me to be careful and me, perhaps a little arrogantly, replying

'I've done this thousands of times, Piece of cake!'

I then remember him smiling like he knew and repeating his warning.

I can remember flying over a few bombed out villages, I can remember the pilot shouting meaningless coordinates into his mouthpiece, I remember watching with my heart in my mouth as the sniper pivoted nearly out of the fuselage and the nurse grabbing his harness and then I remember an almighty bang. After that everything is confused, I remember pain and shouting and screaming and something crackling unpleasantly through my headset. After that, there seems to be quite a long gap of not remembering anything at all.

I seem to have woken up, because I recall hearing a bang and a whoosh and realising that it must be the starboard petrol tank going up. Fortunately it didn't seem like it was going to bother me very much, because all I wanted to do was go quietly off to sleep. Unfortunately, there was a horrible smell hanging around, burnt rubber and cordite and something else.

Obviously I now realise what 'something else' was, but I try not to think about it because out of the three people in that Chinook I only ever saw the sniper again, and he was in a pretty bad state when I did.

Anyway, at that point my brain seems to have had another little black out before waking up to a stuttered order from itself to my body;

'The – plane – is – on –fire. Get - out. Repeat. Get - out.' And I, feeling this to be entirely reasonable, apparently began wriggling around and trying to get out before something seems to have made sent a message back up

'We can't get out. What's stopping us?' it took quite a long time for my brain to do anything about that, so I sat there quite happily and waited, before the thought arrived in my brain

'Down here, there is a great hotness. What should we do about this? Signed, feet.'

Finally the message from the brain seemed to get through and I remember feeling quite excited as it really was getting hot around my feet, and besides which my shoulder had started to hurt.

'Your – straps – you – fucking - wanker. Un – do – your - straps. Do – you – want – to – get - burnt?' apparently deciding I didn't, I fumbled around a bit and then remembered that I needed to press a clip to release the straps. I did so and pitched head first into the sand. Something still wanted me to go to sleep but it was still hot all around and besides, that horrible smell was still lingering, so I flailed about a bit before managing to get to my hands and knees and crawl a short distance from the burning helicopter.

It was around then that I suddenly realised something hot and sticky was running down my arm and if I stayed still for any length of time the sand underneath that hand started to get wet quite quickly, whilst pondering what that meant I realised that both my shoulder and face really, really hurt and apparently the way my body wanted me to respond to this was by opening my mouth and screaming as long and as loud as I could. Luckily, after I had finished screaming (mainly due to a lack of oxygen) I heard the most wonderful sound I have ever heard ever.

'John?' that was Jenny's voice coming towards me! 'Christ John! I saw the flames and landed quick as I could, are you alright?'

'Jenny, my face hurts; can you see anything wrong with it?'

'What do you mean it hurts?'

'I can't feel my nose when I touch my face. And I can't move my arm, that's why I was screaming see.'

'John don't touch your face! You're a doctor for chrissake!' she cried evasively

'Jenny, what's wrong with my nose?'

I heard her striking a match and a sharp hiss as she drew in a breath.

'Um, well, It doesn't actually seem to be there very much.' She said sounding faintly interested.

'Oh?'

She hummed in agreement; sounding slightly strangled 'Neither does your shoulder actually.' I heard her ripping something and felt a pressure on my shoulder. I was just pleasantly starting to drift off when something rather important occurred to me.

'Jenny?'

'Hmm? What?'

'Am I going to die?'

'I don't know John, how do you feel?'

I thought about this for a few moments, in my condition this posed a genuine brainteaser.

'Hot.'

I heard her scuffling around and fumbling under my chin before the pressure of my helmet disappeared.

'That better?'

'Yes. Thank you.'

Then she said she was going back to the harrier because she carried a phial of morphia in the first aid kit. About fifteen minutes later she returned saying she couldn't find the harrier in the dark and we'd have to sit tight til morning. I remember her sitting down next to me and pulling off her flight jacket to cover me before again, something quite important occurred to me.

'Jenny, I can't see.' I remember thinking it was odd that my words were so slurred, I hadn't had a drink in ages.

'Neither can I John. It's dark.' She sounded pretty ratty but I think she was just worried about getting help.

'No, I mean I really can't see. I think something's wrong.'

I heard her strike a match and felt the heat as she put it close to my face.

'Can you see that?' she asked.

'See what?'

Then there was silence and I heard her get closer before she went 'Ah.' Very quietly.

'Just lie down John, you'll feel better in the morning.' She squeezed my hand and rolled me on my good side. I was spewing a lot of blood and because of the pain in my shoulder I remember starting to cry which didn't help, but every time I did it, Jenny would light a match and rub my back, once she gave me a cigarette, but it got wet and it tasted salty and I didn't want it anyway. Every so often she would giggle slightly hysterically and say

'I've never seen a man without a nose before.' Sounding a bit dazed.

I don't know how long I lay there for, but I do remember feeling the sand around me getting wetter and wetter and my uniform getting heavier and Jenny replacing what she was pressing on my shoulder with every couple of minutes while praying quietly. I also remember thinking 'I could die here' and telling Jenny that she had to make sure my sister got my tin of cough sweets because she always got a sore throat when she was drunk. I remember hearing someone approach and asking Jenny if we were going to be shot but she ignored me. I heard a bit of murmuring and then a posh voice asking if we were the Taliban before Jenny told the owner of the voice that he was a fucking idiot, did we look like the Taliban? And I shouted my address in Lewisham at him to help him understand before Jenny told me quite nicely that she knew I was trying to help but would I shut up please? Then there's a little bit of not remember, before the feeling of being lifted onto a stretcher and the sharp prick of a needle, and all the while the lovely feeling that Jenny was around doing helpful things and generally being wonderful, before a female voice said

'Alright then, don't fight it. Just go nicely off to sleep.' Then the roar of an engine, and blackness.

AN: I suppose that's it. I can do another chapter on John's delirium and concussion and stuff but if you guys al review and go 'NOOOOOOOO, never darken our doorstep with this rubbish again' then I won't post it but read and review because it stops me doing so much coursework I forget to sleep (I did that once) so, good, bad, dreadful, cat just died and you wanna talk, REVIEW PEOPLE! Loveses,

Lily x