FLEETING LOVE

Tuesday, that was the day I saw her. A blazing Tuesday in dusty Afghanistan, at around three in the afternoon. They talk about love at first sight, but what if first sight is all you get?

It was the sort of heat that seeped into you, trickling into all the tents and leaving you uncomfortably sweaty. As it was a relatively calm afternoon (rare, in this country ravaged by war), the majority of soldiers had retired to their tents in search of shade – except the person sharing my tent, who was something of an obsessive worker - though it was soon found it made little difference.

Such was my case. I was lying flat on my back in the tent, willing a breeze to come my way, in vain. Closing my eyes, I savoured the unusual peace and tried to ignore the fact that my shirt was sticking to me as if it were a new skin.

I wondered if I dared to try and read a book. The last three times I had tried to settle down I had been ordered to attend to some man's sunburn. This made me wish I wasn't a doctor at all – the others had been left alone to their own devices, but I had to be stirred repeatedly. Jolly unfair.

This insufferable swelter was putting me in a fairly undesirable mood. Over the last thirty minutes, I had been called out of my tent three more times, found out that my book was nowhere to be seen, and covered my shirt sleeve with ink after my faulty pen decided to explode.

All this considered, one could imagine my temperament when I was called out yet again (where there no other doctors?) and was redirected to another tent.

I flopped into the tent with a rather tragic groan and a somewhat aggravated cry of "How can I help? I am a doctor", and found myself staring at one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

She had long black hair that was tied up neatly in a bun, and deep blue eyes framed with dark lashes that stared at me solemnly for a second. She was around my age and had an look of delicacy about her. I was so busy gaping like a fish at this angel who had appeared out the blue, I almost missed her saying, looking down quickly "Are you Sergeant Watson? This man has a serious fever. Sunstroke."

Slowly, I followed her gaze and for the first time noticed the soldier struggling weakly on the ground, who was none other than the man who shared my tent, Daniel Gladstone . His face was red and he was muttering agitatedly about his daughter.

"Alice, my child, don't go, don't go, not now, Alice, Alice…"

I stared at the man blankly, feeling strangely confused and at a loss as to what to do. I was also very aware of the nurse looking my way.

"Sergeant, what do you suggest we do?"

I forced my sluggish mind to concentrate and snapped into action rather suddenly. "What have you done so far?"

"Oh, um…" began the nurse nervously, "I've removed the outer layer of his clothes and I'm trying to fan him now." She wrung her hands and then added "That was the right thing to do, wasn't it?'

"Oh, yes, don't worry," I said, avoiding looking at her now I was focused, "But we need water, and a cloth – a clean cloth. I know we're trying to save water, but this is urgent. Err, could you do that?' I was suddenly and irrationally worried that I had spoken too harshly, though I had just asked for a cloth and water. She stared at me like I'd asked if she'd go to the moon, then hurried off.

Turning to the feverish man, I elevated his feet slightly and ripped off his shirt, perhaps slightly more energetically than was necessary. I took his pulse, which thankfully was slowing down gradually. As I was doing this the striking nurse came back with a small bucket of water and a piece of fabric.

"Ah, thank you, thank you," I exclaimed emphatically, "Good. Now wet the cloth and wipe this man's forehead. We need to stimulate the sweating."

She did as I said with remarkable speed, looking at me with something of the air with which one would look upon discovering Her Majesty in their linen cupboard. I felt myself turning a dark shade of scarlet.

My hands slipped from sweat as I picked up a cup and took some of the water, attempting to pour it into the man's mouth as he moved in a state of confusion, endeavouring to get up with some comment of "I need to check the bank…"

"Shh… lie down, it's been sorted out," I said gently, emptying the cup in his parched mouth. As I lifted it, my hand brushed the one of the nurse, who was dabbing the fabric on his face.

We both stopped very abruptly, looking in quite different directions. We must have seemed like we were playing statues. There was a peculiar, inexplicable sensation in the tent. As if the air were too heavy to breathe. For some seconds I almost believed time had stopped, if it were not for the fact our patient was still moaning as his fever came down to a juddering, lingering end.

When he stopped, like his silence was a wake-up call I said, rather brusquely, "Well, he's… he's fine now. Just… just keep him cool."

We turned round and faced each other at the same time. She regarded me for a long, enchanting moment and then said quietly, "Yes, yes. I'll, um, I'll do that. Thank you, Sergeant."

"Well, I'd… better go now."

"Yes."

"You'll be fine from here?"

"Yes, I'll be fine."

I reached the exit of the tent and then stopped, saying almost without thinking "What was your name?"

She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a cry from outside.

"Sergeant! Another sunburn. Sergeant Watson! Ah, there you are. Come along now, stop dawdling."

I never saw her again, but I never forgot her either.

-I know, no Holmes in this one. Thanks for the reviews, without which I'd probably have given up on this story long ago. Summer holidays now, so I can concentrate. I was clearing out stuff today, and I now have a new carpet for my room made of random bits of paper that I had no idea I had.

I'm not sure how this chapter went because I've never written romance before, and I was finding it hard to concentrate. I had developed the habit of writing 'you' instead of 'she' or 'her.' When I had done this 5 times I decided to stop playing rock music.