Nine
Private Gilbert had a nasty gash along his left forearm. Nurse McDonald soon had him sat down while she did her best to clean the wound with water from her canteen. Once satisfied, she applied a field dressing to the wound and bound it tightly.
"The wound will burn and itch," she told the private. "That means it is getting better. Let me know if the bleeding hasn't stopped within half an hour, or if you feel feverish or faint."
"Yes, ma'am, I will," Gilbert replied. "Ma'am?"
She looked up at the young private. Gilbert's eyes cast a quick, furtive glance in his direction before returning to Nurse McDonald.
"What is it private?" she asked.
"Well, ma'am," Gilbert blurted out. "I was wondering if you would give me a chit. You know, so I'd be exempt from everything apart from light duties. Like on account of me being wounded in action an' all."
"Gilbert," he interrupted, "we're behind enemy lines, about to enter the lair of something we're not even sure we can destroy. Light duty is the least likely thing that you will receive."
"Ah know that sir," Gilbert responded. "But, you know, when we get back to our lines, sir. Well, I'd need to be on light duties then, wouldn't I? Jenkins said I needed to get a chit, sir."
"I like your optimism, Gilbert," he replied, "but this is a medical matter."
Gilbert looked once more to Nurse McDonald. "Ma'am?"
"Ah, I'm not sure I can help you," she added. "I'm a nurse, you need a sick chit from a medical officer, a doctor."
"In that case, maybe I can help," the Doctor's voice sounded from behind her.
"Sir?" Gilbert looked at him.
"Why not," he replied, "he's not a doctor, Gilbert. He's the Doctor. There's only one of him."
"How true," the Doctor said under his breath. "Now do you have a piece of paper?"
The Doctor soon had the paper and pencil and was busy scribbling a note which he then signed with a flourish.
"There you go my boy," the Doctor said as he handed Gilbert the piece of paper. "If anyone doubts the validity of it, they can take it up with the president."
"President?" he asked. "Don't you mean the king?"
"President, queen, king, all the same to me," the Doctor replied nonplussed by it.
Gilbert put the valuable piece of paper into his top left breast pocket and gave the Doctor a parade ground salute. The Doctor's nod he received in return was more in line with their current location.
"Okay Gilbert," he said. "Best stick with McGiven and Jenkins for now."
As Gilbert sauntered off to find McGiven or Jenkins, the Doctor turned to them all and rubbed his hands together.
"Now, let's decide how to finish this."
There were six of them, including the Doctor, crouched in the mud discussing the next steps to take. He looked at each of them.
At his side was Nurse Evelyn Grace McDonald, their very own Florence Nightingale. He still didn't understand why the Doctor had insisted she come along with them, yet he was intensely glad she was here, despite the dangers of the situation. Had the Doctor known what would happen in advance or was it a lucky decision?
Next to her crouched Sergeant James Oliver Stanley, a veteran of the Boer Wars with a lifetime of experience behind him. Stanley was another Old Contemptible, one of an ever-dwindling band. A man of few words who could be relied upon to get the job done, whatever it took.
Standing next to Stanley was Unteroffizer Willem Augustus Schloss, the large NCO from the German unit. Schloss looked to be younger than Stanley, but not by much. They were both cut from the same cloth. It made him smile to have met the German equivalent of Stanley.
On the other side of Schloss stood Leutnant Michael Biermann, who had already proven himself a capable officer. Although two years younger than his own 26 years, the lieutenant was someone he felt confident about.
Finally, standing between Biermann and himself was the oldest, and oddest, member of their group. The Doctor seemed to be once more full of life and energy, his confidence having returned within the last few minutes. His once immaculate dark suit now rumpled and covered in mud and his shoes appeared a good three sizes bigger due to the mud sticking to them. The Doctor's wet hair lay plastered to his head, and mud splatters liberally covered his face.
"Now I have everyone's attention," the Doctor began. "I'd like to outline the plan."
"Just as a matter of curiosity," he asked. "Who put you in charge?"
The Doctor avoided answering the question by the easy expedient of ignoring him.
"As I was saying, the plan. All of us heading into the dell over there would be a big mistake. I need to go in there with you, captain. And I'll also need Evelyn. Lieutenant Biermann, will take charge of the others and secure this pathway as our exit."
Almost at once, everyone started talking at the same time. He couldn't hear what others were saying as he was too busy arguing about the need for Nurse McDonald to go with them.
"Five humans together," the Doctor stated. "Five humans together and none of them can agree on anything."
The babble died down as the words registered on each person present.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.
"Why am I never surprised?" the Doctor replied. "Somebody makes a sensible decision, and you humans will always argue about it. Shout and posture until you eventually come around to the fact the first decision was correct. For once I wish you'd see that at the beginning and use the time we'd save for more important purposes."
"Okay professor," he said. "What are we to do if we encounter any more of those men while we're in that place?"
"I doubt we'll come across any more," the Doctor replied. "One property of the gas seems to be that those infected will attack the nearest thing, quite possibly even one of their own kind. I don't see how any could survive long enough further in to be a threat."
"And are you willing to bet your life, and more to the point, the life of everyone else, on that assumption, Doctor?"
"I know what I'm doing," the Doctor said. "There will be little to no threat from the infected further in. That is why you're coming along, captain."
"And what if we come across any of the non-infected?"
"What do you mean?"
He pointed at the nine bodies lying not far from their position. "Not too long ago," he said. "Those nine corpses were ordinary men going about their duty. Need I remind you we are behind the German lines, Doctor? It's not only the victims of this gas we need to worry about."
"But don't you see it? Those men attacked us because they became infected," the Doctor responded, exasperation evident in the tone of his voice. "As I've said, the chances of coming across anyone infected is remote in the extreme. Don't be blind as well as stupid."
"Doctor," he snarled. "Before those men became infected, they were nine ordinary German soldiers. Moving around in this wasteland, behind their front-line trenches during a war. Can you guarantee me that we won't come across another German patrol, or, God forbid, that they stumble across us first? Because my worry isn't for these crazies, it's the for the regular soldiers going about their daily business of dealing death. Are you going to protect us from them? And should something happen to me in there, who will protect Nurse McDonald and yourself?"
He had to give the Doctor credit. At least the man paused and thought for a moment over what he'd just said.
"Okay," the Doctor announced. "We'll take one more." The Doctor looked at him and continued. "I still don't like soldiers."
Leutnant Biermann spoke up. "May I suggest, captain, Doctor, that you take Unteroffizier Schloss? He is very experienced and will not let you down."
That started the arguments once again as Stanley piped up. "What about me then? I'm experienced too, plus I've got experience of working with the captain. Isn't that right, sir?"
"That is correct, Stanley," he replied. "Though, to be honest, Unteroffizier Schloss has one thing you do not."
"Sir?" Stanley asked.
"Sergeant," Biermann answered for him. "Schloss is a native German speaker. Should you come across a German patrol, he could talk for you and hopefully prevent bloodshed."
"The lieutenant is correct, sergeant," he added. "Besides, he will need your help with the rest of the men. You may also come across another patrol, I doubt if anyone from our side would be found back here though. We're all in this together. It seems the only way any of us will be safe is to work together."
"If the captain says so, sir," Sergeant Stanley replied. He was too good an NCO to argue further.
"I'll be glad of your help, sergeant," Biermann added. "We need to make sure that when they return, there is a safe passage for them to use."
"Right you are, lieutenant," Stanley said and settled back down.
The Doctor continued then to outline his plan. Although to be honest, he thought that plan was a very loose description of what the Doctor proposed. The plan amounted to going in, find whatever is responsible for the gas, stop it and then coming out again. Used to the meticulous planning of trench raids, night-time patrols and not to mention the big shows, this scarcity of detail left him more than a little concerned.
Biermann looked up at him on realising this was as far as the Doctor's plan went. He gave a half-hearted smile in response. At least Biermann's look showed that he too expected more thorough planning.
"Lieutenant," he said. "Jenkins is a good man, despite a tendency to take things a little too literally."
"I'll bear that in mind," Biermann replied. "Good luck, captain. Also to you too, Doctor, Miss McDonald."
"Sergeant," he asked. "Can you arrange for several Mills bombs? They may come in useful. Make sure to leave yourselves with enough."
"I'll see to it myself straight away, sir," Stanley replied and headed off towards Bentwood and Sharpe.
A few minutes later and the sergeant handed him a small canvas bag. On opening it, he found six Mills bombs inside.
"They're all primed with a 5-second fuse, sir," Stanley informed him. "And there's also another five magazines for your rifle in there too, sir. Just in case. Good luck, sir. Don't do anything rash."
"Thank you, sergeant," he replied. "And I'll try not to. Listen to the lieutenant. Biermann seems to be a good officer, and he knows what needs to be done."
Stanley saluted and went back to the men.
Biermann was making sure that Schloss had everything he may need. A long canvas bag was slung over the front of Schloss' tunic. He guessed that too contained several stick grenades. Schloss had his Mauser rifle slung over one shoulder and a Mauser pistol in his waist belt. As he watched, Schloss slipped a trench knife down the inside of his right boot until only the handle was visible.
He turned to Nurse McDonald and walked around her slowly, his eyes moving up and down her body, taking note of what she was carrying and where it was. He tightened the belt around her waist, and the chin strap on the helmet she'd borrowed back at the casualty clearing station.
"Do you still have my service revolver?" he murmured.
Her hand fumbled about in the large pocket of her greatcoat.
"No," she replied. "You took it back after the big fight."
"Oh god yes," he said. "That's right."
He pulled the revolver from its holster and handed it over to her once again. Her hand quivered slightly with the weight of the gun.
"I'm still not sure about using it," she said.
"While you have it," he replied, "you have a choice. When you don't have it, and the other side won't listen to reason, that's the time to worry. I've always found its .455 calibre business end to be a convincing argument when needed."
She answered his smile with one of her own.
"I sincerely hope you don't need to use it," he said. "But I could not live with myself if we encountered more of these crazed creatures, and they got to you when you were unable to defend yourself. So please think on that as you struggle to decide whether to use it or not."
He turned to face the Doctor.
"What about you, Doctor?" he asked. "Still refusing to accept something to defend yourself with?"
"I have my intelligence," the Doctor retorted. "I see no reason to go around killing things."
"Yes," he replied. "Of course, I suppose you could always hit them with your shoe or a spoon if they get too close."
The Doctor smiled at his little dig.
"At least nobody ever died from being hit by a shoe."
"That may depend on what was in it at the time," he responded. "Also, where the person was. In fact, a whole collection of circumstances could lead to somebody in fact being killed due to being hit by a shoe."
"Captain," the Doctor said. "Please don't try to stretch your imagination. As a soldier, you're not supposed to have one."
"Fine," he replied. "Then I suggest we make a move otherwise Christmas will have gone, and we'll still be stuck out here."
"Okay," the Doctor replied. "But before we go, I need to give the rest of the men some instructions. Would you call them over here for me, please?"
Once the men gathered around him, he explained that the Doctor had some last-minute instructions to give to them. Everyone looked at the Doctor in anticipation.
"It's quite simple really," the Doctor told them. "This appears to be a sentient gas. That means it's alive. It has a purpose, a behaviour pattern. Should anyone notice the gas, on the ground, in the air, I suppose it could even be at tree height, you must alert the others. The next thing is to make sure the gas doesn't come into contact with any part of you. The gas seems to infect on contact. As we've seen, gas masks are no protection against it, since it doesn't choke or poison its victims. My suggestion is you leave the gas masks off so you can see and communicate better.
"Now, it's not fast moving, especially if it's going against the wind. So that means you should be able to outrun it. But remember, it is alive. It can think, and it will try and trap you, cut you off from escape routes, just like it did to those men back there.
"We will stop whatever is giving the gas direction. Once we break that link, the gas should then behave just like a gas. It may still be deadly, but it shouldn't be able to hunt you down anymore.
"So, gentlemen, please stay out of the gas and stay alive."
"Thank you, Doctor," Leutnant Biermann replied. "Good luck and we'll keep this path open for your return."
Biermann saluted them, and all the rest followed suit. He returned their salute.
"Oh stop it," the Doctor said while shaking his head.