December 1917
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"Chris, get away from there… Run! Sid, behind you!"
Neal screamed but no voice was out. He reached out to his pistol and shot but no bullet came out.
"Chris! Sid! Run!"
Germans suddenly appeared. Shells broke. His friends fell.
"No!"
.
Breathing fast, Neal opened his eyes. He was drenching in sweat, his heart raced quickly.
He saw sun light...
Sun, thought Neal. It was just a dream... just a dream…, Neal kept repeating to himself, forcing himself to calm down.
Neal turned his head to his left where Chris' bunk used to be to share his awful nightmare with his friend.
"Ch-" Neal wanted to call Chris, but his throat felt so dry and burning. He coughed and a stinging pain shot up from his right arm and leg... so painful that he moaned.
Almost immediately, a face appeared... an unknown face that he had never seen before.
"Lieutenant Leagan, you're awake!" the man said. He had a book in his hand which he quickly put down. "Very good! We have been so worried about you!" Leaning on his crutches, the man slowly sat next to Neal's bed.
Neal looked around trying to think where he was. He's in a room with, maybe, ten beds. On his left was a clean window facing outside. The walls were white. His sheet was soft. Everything looked clean, smelt clean, much too nice to be anything closed to the Front. Neal then understood everything. Sid and Chris were dead, killed in the battlefield.
The man took a towel and wiped sweat from Neal's drenched forehead. "You had a nightmare?" he asked, feeling Neal was all shaking. "Don't worry... You're up now."
Neal coughed and unbearable pain shot again through his arm and leg. He closed his eyes. He felt the man bent down, put his arm against his back, and gently pushed him up, giving a glass of water in his lips. Neal sipped some water.
"Good... more...," the man said encouragingly. Neal took more sips. The man lowered him back to the bed. "You're hurting?"
Neal faintly nodded.
"I'll call the nurse." The man reached out to the crutches next to Neal's bed and slowly got up. "My name is Jim. Call me if you need anything." Dragging his leg that had a thick cast around it, Jim slowly limped away with his crutches.
Soon a nurse came. She quickly pulled a screen around Neal's bed. She smiled but didn't talk. She took Neal's wrist, counted his pulse and gave other checkups. She washed him, dried him, and changed his clothes. His arm and leg were so painful that Neal closed his eyes throughout it all. When all done, she left and came back with a doctor with her.
"Lieutenant Leagan," the doctor greeted Neal. He read the nurse report then turned to fully face Neal. The doctor looked like someone who had not been sleeping properly for days. Inundated with war patients, no doubt, yet he remained calm and took his time.
"Can you understand what I'm saying?" he asked in fluent English with some German accent.
With his arm and leg throbbed painfully, Neal only responded with a slight nod.
"Very good." The doctor smiled. "I'm Dr. Hubert. Lieutenant, you are in the military hospital for officers in Germany. We're quite far from the Front in France. It took you around a week to arrive here from the Clearing Station in Bonavis^."
The doctor talked to the nurse in German. She promptly opened the bandage around Neal's arm while the doctor continued talking to Neal.
"Let's start with your arm," said the doctor. "By the time you arrived here, your right arm was badly infected. Unfortunately, the infection had spread that - I'm sorry to tell you this - we had to amputate the part under the elbow."
The doctor paused. Neal said nothing so the doctor continued.
"Now your leg. There were some bullets imbedded inside your right knee and thigh which we successfully removed with surgery. Your leg is safe now. You might need to use a stick but we're optimistic that you'll be able to walk again."
The doctor bent examining Neal's wounds carefully as well as giving instructions to the nurse. Neal looked down at the bed sheet, avoiding looking at his own stump#, still trying to grasp the reality.
"Your wounds are healing well. You're very fortunate to go this far, lieutenant," the doctor said. His face serious.
Neal didn't respond, not sure what fortunate really meant anymore.
"They're still life-threatening especially since you lost so much blood. You need to have total bed rest. As for how long, it depends on..."
Neal wasn't paying attention anymore but he managed to mumble some thank you words to the doctor before he left. The nurse stayed to put new bandages around Neal's wounds.
"Welkome." The nurse tried to make Neal felt welcomed by attempting to speak in English. She fixed Neal's pillow and blanket and smiled kindly.
"Thanks," Neal muttered.
She removed the screen around Neal's bed and left.
Almost immediately, a new face came hovered over Neal.
"Hello, Leagan," the man said. His face was friendly. He had thick bandages around his eye and head. "I'm Evan your neighbor!" He pointed to the bed on Neal's right.
Several unknown faces soon appeared surrounding Neal's bed.
"I'm Rex." Another man came with a stick and a thick bandage around his shoulder.
"Where were you injured?" Another one appeared.
"Who's winning?" yet asked another.
"I'm Dwight!" One cheerful voice followed. With a friendly smile, Dwight sat on the corner of Neal's bed, ready to chat. "It's good to see you awake. You were unconscious for a week! The chap lying in that bed is Richard. Except you and Richard, we've been here for around a month. Richard came a few days after you. The gentleman who's with Richard is…"
Neal had long stopped paying attention. Everyone was injured, Neal noticed that much. They all had bandages around some part of their body. There's no Sid. No Chris. That's all that mattered. He couldn't care less about Jim, Evan, Rex, Dwight, or whoever they were. His head span realizing the chilling reality. Neal turned his head and looked outside the window. Ignoring everyone, he closed his eyes.
Stunt at the reception, Dwight stopped talking abruptly. Silently, they stared at one another.
"Let him rest. It's his first day," Jim's deep voice spoke. "Dwight get over here will you? Talk to Richard see if he responds. I get the nurse for him."
"Right away, sir," said Dwight.
A few voices chorused saying "Yes, sir." "Sure, sir." "Of course, sir." Everyone mumbled encouraging polite words to Neal before they dispersed and left him alone.
Not long after, Neal heard a loud sound of dining cart being pushed and a nurse put a bowl on the table next to his bed.
Neal heard someone clear his throat and looked up. It's Evan.
"Let me help you eat, Leagan," offered Evan.
Neal shook his head.
Evan picked up the bowl and brought a spoonful of soup to Neal's mouth. "This is much better than the maconochie*," persuaded Evans. "Try it."
"I'm not hungry." Neal turned his head, looking out of the window.
Hesitantly, Evan put the bowl back.
"Well, then... Tomorrow, okay?" Evan gently put his hand on Neal's shoulder and left.
Half an hour later the nurse came again collecting Neal's untouched bowl of dinner.
Then, someone came again. Neal didn't lift his head. It's the first nurse. She bent to look at Neal's face and showed him things in her hand. Moving her hands around she gestured asking if the items were his.
Neal's heart stopped beating recognizing those items. It's Sid's diary and his unfinished letter to… Candy. Someone must have found it in his pocket and kept them for him.
Neal nodded, reached out his only arm. The nurse smiled and gently put them in his hand.
"Thank you," Neal whispered.
The nurse nodded and left.
Neal stared at his unsent letter to Candy~. Feeling his hurting stump, he felt lucky that he hadn't sent it. What could he do now that he only had one arm and a broken leg? He couldn't hug her like before, he couldn't dance with her, he couldn't carry her… He hated how he became! Good he already told her to forget him should she heard nothing from him. She should never see him like this. Never! Bitterly, Neal crumpled the letter and threw it into the garbage bin.
Numb, Neal lay awake in the dark, gripping Sid's diary. All memories about Sid came back. His laughter, his optimism, his kindness..., his readiness to give his life for him. Always... since the first time they met.
That night when the light had been turned off, Neal held Sid's diary in his one hand and quietly cried and cried and cried…
His grieving was interrupted by a moan. Someone was having a nightmare! The sound grew louder followed by a heavy thud on the floor. Then… a loud scream.
The light was switched on. Neal saw Richard lay on the floor crying painfully. While Neal was wondering if anyone would come to help the poor man, he saw Jim come limping attending Richard. Leaning on his crutches, Jim lifted Richard back to his bed. Jim murmured something and limped outside. He came back with a nurse who quickly closed a screen around Richard's bed.
The nurse left. Jim stayed accompanying Richard until he calmed down. Then, Jim hobbled off to turn the light back off.
Neal lay awake in the dark, sleepless, hurting, until the sun broke. In the morning, a nurse came again to put a bowl of hot liquid breakfast on his table.
Again, Neal ignored it. He glanced at Richard to see how he's doing. Dwight was helping him sit and eat. Good someone was helping that poor fellow, Neal thought.
Then, Evan came again. He picked up Neal's breakfast bowl, persuaded Neal to eat. Neal shook his head and closed his eyes. Reluctantly, Evan put the bowl back down and left.
Not long later Neal felt someone stand next to his bed.
"Morning Leagan." That's not Evan's voice.
Neal tilted his head up to see who's coming. It was Jim, leaning on his crutches. "Breakfast?" He looked at Neal's untouched bowl.
Neal shook his head and looked out of the window.
"You should try to eat," persuaded Jim. He put his crutches next to Neal's bed and sat on a nearby chair.
"Don't want to."
"I heard you didn't eat last night. This is good. Our favorite. Let's try it."
Jim supported Neal's back and put the bowl of warm porridge in his mouth. Warm food. Sid would have loved it. Neal felt the content of his stomach flip at the thought and retched+ before he could hold it. Seemingly had expected that, Jim had a plate ready and put it quickly in front of Neal's mouth.
"Sorry," mumbled Neal.
"That's alright," said Jim, wiping Neal's mouth. "We try again later." He cleaned up for Neal, set the plates away.
"Is there anything else that you need?" Jim asked.
Neal shook his head, looked out of the window.
"Very well, I'll see you later at lunch, then." Jim got up and limped away with his crutches.
Neal was thinking about the slimy yellow liquid he vomited just now. He couldn't believe that Jim still offered to come. Nevertheless, Jim did come back. Also for dinner and the following day… A few days later, after countless of retches and encouragements, Neal finally could eat well without a glitch.
"It's much easier now, isn't it?" said Jim, smiling.
"Thanks."
"It's nothing," said Jim, clearing up Neal's plates.
Jim limped away with his crutches and came back with a pencil and paper tucked in his pocket.
"Today is Tuesday," said Jim. He pulled the pencil and paper from his pocket and put them on Neal's lap. "We can send letters today. You need help with these?"
Neal shook his head. "I can write equally well with either hands."
"Wonderful. Evan will collect the letters at three this afternoon. Be sure to have them ready by then."
Neal nodded.
Jim left. Neal stared at the empty paper in front of him. He picked up the pencil, thinking. How to tell his parents and sister that he's a war prisoner in Germany? And that he's injured, lost half of his right arm, in total bed rest, and later had to walk with a stick!
Could they even begin to understand that? Neal's head span. He collapsed onto his pillow and let his pencil and paper rolled, dropped to the floor.
In the afternoon, Neal heard someone come to his bed.
"Hi Leagan," greeted Evan. "Is your letter ready?"
"No."
"Let me help you write," said Evan, gesturing at Neal's right arm. He bent to pick up Neal's paper and pencil from the floor.
Neal shook his head. "I can write with my left hand." Neal closed his eyes.
Evan gently put the pencil and paper on Neal's lap. "Okay then, your pencil and paper are here. Let me know if you need help."
Evan left to give Jim the letters he had collected from others. Jim was helping Richard with his letter.
"Everyone's letters are here, sir," said Evan. "Except Leagan's. I asked if he needed help. He said no, sir."
Before long Jim stood next to Neal's bedside. Leaning on his crutches, he sat on Neal's bed.
"How's your letter, Leagan? Ready?"
"No."
Jim picked up the pencil and paper from Neal's lap. "Let me help you write. Whom do you want to write to?"
"I don't want to write any letter. Please go."
"You have a family?" asked Jim.
"Yes. Could you leave now?"
"Then you'd bloody better write to your family, lieutenant," Jim persisted. "They must be notified that you're missing, presumed dead, and worried-strict about you."
Neal didn't reply. He looked out of the window again. But unlike Evan, Jim stayed; longer than his nerve was willing to stand him.
"My parents and sister, Eliza," said Neal after a long pause just for the sake of sending Jim away quicker.
Jim bent his head and wrote that.
"What do you want to say?" asked Jim.
"Anything just don't mention that I'm injured."
"But they would know that this is not your handwriting, wouldn't they?"
"I don't ask you to write, do I?" snorted Neal.
"I say that you're recuperating. Sounds good, Lieutenant?"
Neal didn't reply. Jim took it as a yes. He bent his head and wrote that.
"Anything else?"
Neal was quiet for a moment. He turned away and said faintly, "Yes."
"I beg your pardon? I didn't hear you," said Jim.
"Yes," Neal said louder. He looked at Jim. "Tell them I don't want them to write me back!"
Jim stared at Neal. Neal turned away again. Jim silently wrote as requested.
"Done. Anything else?" asked Jim.
Neal shook his head.
"Let me read it for you."
"No need." Neal frowned, exaggerating his impatience. "Can't you tell that I don't care?"
Jim folded the paper into crisp thirds and put it in the envelope. "Address?"
Neal told Jim and Jim wrote it, too.
"Good. Anyone else?" asked Jim.
Candy... The image of blonde hair, green eyes came across Neal's mind. His heart felt so painful that he closed his eyes.
That day, he told her, "Don't worry, Candy, love. None of the bullets has my name in it!% I will not be hit." She believed him. She smiled… a beautiful smile. He opened his arms - two arms - and she jumped into them. He hugged her... carried her. Her eyes wide, emerald and green…
"Lieutenant... Lieutenant..." Jim gently tapped Neal's shoulder jolted him back to reality. His eyes opened, meeting Jim's gray eyes - the greens were gone. He then remembered he's not in one piece anymore. It's all over.
"Anyone else?" Jim asked softly. "I can write more... anything you want me to write."
"No," Neal whispered, shaking his head. "There's no one else. Thank you."
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-To be continued-
Thank you for reading.
oOo
Notes:
#Stump: many meanings. Here: part of a limb (an arm, say) or a tree branch that has been cut/amputated
^Bonavis: One place in France where the battle of Cambrai took place (November - December 1917)
*maconochie: A kind of canned food. Stew in a can, widely used by British WW1 soldiers.
~ letter to Candy: chapter 23
$forget me if you don't hear anything from me: Neal to Candy, chapter 21
+retch: throw up/vomit
%I will not be hit: see chapter 22
oOo
NEW Characters:
Jim
Evan
Dwight
Rex
oOo
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