Thank you very much for the reviews! I really do appreciate them. I'm sorry this has taken so long. I'll try to do better with the next update, honest!

Susanne

CHAPTER FOUR

They were billeted in an inn just on the other side of the fortress wall. The captain had a private room while the others were bunked four to a room. The billeting officer was put out that no one had told him that there were seven chosen men and not six, as his records showed.

Once Sharpe was secreted in his room, Sandra took over, asking for clean water and bandages, needle and threat, two straight sticks and a second bowl with some flour and as many newspapers as they could lay their hands on. The riflemen scattered, some of the items would take some doing to get. Sandra was left alone with the captain. Taking a deep calming breath, she picked up a candle guttering in the corner and sat on the bed near the captain's head.

Gently, Sandra opened first the right eyelid and then the left. Relief flooded through her. His pupils were equal and responsible. Bleeding in the skull would have been just a little out of her league. Satisfied, Sandra placed the candle on the nightstand and tenderly examined the captain's arm.

A gasp startled her. Jumping, Sandra looked up to find the captain staring at her. "Harper and the others have gone to get supplies to fix you up," she reassured him. She didn't want Sharpe to think she'd secreted him away.

"Surgeon?" the word came out choked.

"He wanted to cut your arm off. I wouldn't let him."

"Thank you." Sandra could see the fear flash over his blue eyes.

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get it to heal properly. Your sword is in the corner." It was a lame thing to say but Sandra didn't want him to worry about it. Her canteen, long forgotten, was on the floor beside the bed. She picked it up, pulled the stopper out and helped the captain take a couple of mouthfuls before she took one herself. The captain must have been in terrible pain and unfortunately, she'd forgotten her Tylenol at home. Despite Sharpe's best efforts, grimaces passed over his face.

"Is the battle won?" he asked, struggling to remain conscious.

"Yes." Sandra didn't want to think about the fight, the men she'd killed. A shiver ran up her spine. Sharpe looked at her questioningly. "I killed four men today.' Tears were threatening to come. She swallowed hard.

The hardened soldier had no idea what to say. He hadn't intended that she should have to fire a rifle, much less kill anyone. The girl was staring at her hands. She had a lop-sided grin on her face, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Are you all right?" It was the only thing he could think to ask.

"I burned my hands," Sandra held them up to show him the red welts running across her fingers. "when I used the rifle as a club."

"Your shoulder?" Sharpe remembered the pain of his first battle.

"Sore." She didn't want to look at it, not yet. Sharpe paled and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his face. "Are you all right?"

His eyes closed against the pain, the captain shook his head. A moan escaped from his lips. Feeling helpless, Sandra took his left hand and held it in her own. Unaware, Sharpe squeezed it.

"I'm sorry." There wasn't anything else she could say. The spasm of pain washed over his face. Then he relaxed as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The door opened behind Sandra. Wary, she turned to find Sergeant Harper standing in the doorway, bandages and a basin of water in his hands. She could see the fear on the Irishman's broad face. "It's okay, he's unconscious, that's all," she told him finally.

The broad shoulders visibly relaxed and a smile broke out across Harper's face. "Thank the maker for that," he said, moving further into the little room.

"He's not out of the woods yet, Sergeant." Accepting the supplies, Sandra moved the candle further along the night stand and placed the basin on it. One of the bandages was sacrificed and dipped in the water. "Do you have soap around here?" she asked as she wrung the excess water out of the cloth.

"Do you need it?" Sandra could tell that the Irishman was beginning to doubt her sanity.

"Yes, this wound is filthy." Sandra was inspecting the arm. Luckily the gash had stopped bleeding on its own. She was being careful not to start it again, if she could help it.

"I could get maggots," Harper suggested. He nearly laughed at the look of revulsion that she gave him.

"Soap will be fine. Thank you, sir." The bayonet had left a ragged gash but, other than breaking the bones, had missed anything major, veins, arteries and even nerves as far as she could tell. Sandra was barely aware that Harper had left. She was concentrating so hard. The single window allowed the last rays of the sun to illuminate the room. The west facing window would soon be dark and the candles did little to help her see inside the wound.

The captain groaned softly and shifted on the bed. The pain must be incredible but she'd rather deal with it while he was unconscious. The water in the basin was all ready a dark red from the blood she'd cleaned out. Suddenly, she really missed electricity and running water. Sandra paused to run her sleeve over her face. She was sweating like a stuck pig, partly from the shock of battle wearing off and partly from nerves. The idea that she was in way over her head just wouldn't go away.

The door creaked open and Harris and Daniel slipped inside. They laid the things they'd brought on the soul chair in the room.

"Do you need anything else, lass?" Harris could not bring himself to think of the girl as anything else, even though she looked more male than female at the moment.

Finished with the arm, Sandra laid it down gently. She hated the feel of the bones rubbing together. Then she turned to inspect the materials. Her mind raced, trying to consider all the possibilities. "I need lots more water, preferably boiled for fifteen minutes at least once. Do you have any alcohol?"

"We might be able to find some," Harris replied, a wicked grin on his face. It disappeared when Sharpe moaned from behind Sandra.

"I'm sorry, I'm having a little trouble thinking straight," Sandra said, staring down at her burned hands, now covered in the captain's blood. "I need help. Could one of you stay?"

"Certainly, lass," Daniel said, stepping to the bedside. Harris slipped back out the door.

"I need more light while I sew this up." She'd scrounged around the supplies until she'd found the needle and threat. It was long, too long, and thick, much thicker than she would have liked. But it would have to do. Daniel handed her his canteen. Cautiously, she unstoppered it and sniffed at the contents. The scent wasn't something she was familiar with but it definitely wasn't water.

"Whiskey," Daniel explained.

"Thank you." Holding the need over the basin, Sandra poured some of the whiskey over it.

Harper arrived with more water and a lump of something in his hand. Sandra supposed it must be soap. Gratefully, she accepted both and recleaned the arm.

It took longer than she'd expected, working with the archaic tools. The straight sticks gave the splint some support but it didn't entirely satisfy her. There was a nervous few moments when she wasn't sure if the newspaper strips were going to hold and then harden around the broken arm. But eventually it did. She wasn't terribly thrilled with the results but it would do so long as they kept it dry.

The riflemen came and went, fetching supplies as needed but mostly they stood around, holding candles to improve Sandra's lighting and watched what she did with curiosity and trepidation. Her right shoulder throbbed by the time she finished cleaning, sewing and bandaging Sharpe's should. With Harper's help and being mindful of the hardening cast, Sandra got Captain Sharpe rolled onto his good side so she could until the crude bandage and check his head wound.

A thorough inspection convinced Sandra that it wasn't as bad as it might have been. The bones didn't feel as if they grated together when she pressed on the spot. Thankful, she cleaned the wound, put a couple of stitches in it and wrapped it again in a clean, white bandage.

She'd taken every precaution she could think of from her training as a vet assistant but it'd been a long time since she'd practiced and the conditions were less than sterile. She was convinced she'd been bitten by at least one flea. All she could do now was wait. Exhausted, Sandra slumped to the floor and laid her head on the edge of the bed.

"How are you?" Harper asked as he knelt down beside her.

"Tired, hungry and my hands and shoulder hurt. But I'm fine otherwise," Sandra replied, flashing the big man a brilliant smile at the end. Then she rested her head back on the bed again.

Gently, Sergeant Harper took her nearest hand and held it up to the light of Harris's candle. "God save Ireland," he swore seeing the weeping blisters and burnt skin. "How did you do this?"

"I forgot the rifle barrel would be hot when I used it as a club." Sleep was threatening to overtake her, her voice muffled by the bed.

"How many shots did you fire, lass?" Daniel asked.

"Three." She'd had to stop and think for a moment.

"Did they all hit the target?" Daniel was curious. He'd figured she'd shot once, possibly twice simply because of the pain. When they'd finally pried the rifle and the captain's swore from her fingers, he'd been shocked to find that Baker loaded and ready to fire.

"Yes." Sandra had to fight to stay awake. The panic, terror and fear of the day were combining to zap what little strength she had left. Not to mention the unaccustomed exercise, late-night walked with her Mom hadn't prepared her for this! Despite it, she heard the sounds of disbelief go around the room.

"How many did you kill?" Harper was proud. She'd done unbelievably well.

"Again she had to pause to o through her memory. "Four, including the one I clubbed."

"You did well, lass." Harper touched the back of her head.

"Apparently, I'm a fast learner." Sandra slipped into sleep listening to quiet laughter ripple through her fellow riflemen.