September 1918
"Move it ladies! This is not a drill!"
Marie shot up out of her cot and pulled on her apron.
"C'mon, get a move on Marie! One of them tunnels 'ave fallen!"
That was Head Nurse Agatha, and she always had one out for Marie for some reason.
Marie cursed under her breath and rushed out of the tent, pulling her hair back with a ribbon. Soldiers brushed past her, carrying wounded men on stretchers. Whimpers filled the air, with smoke making her eyes water as she ran towards the infirmary.
"Which squad is in this tent?" Marie asked randomly, as she gathered her supplies at the front.
"Finnegan, Rothschild, Badescu, Shelby, and Romano. There are others." Her fellow nurse, Ava Stamos, had replied with a solemn face. Marie stilled. Romano. It was such a common last name for Italians, surely she didn't know this person. It couldn't be Gianni.
She pulled herself together and marched into the tent. It was pure chaos. Men were crying, covering their sobs as nurses poured whiskey over their wounds. Blood seeped into stretchers, mixing with the dirt on the floor.
"THERESE, get over here." It was the matron again. Marie hurried over to the cot, barely recognizing the man. "Vitals? What do I need to prepare him for?"
Agatha pulled her aside. "Nothing. He's a lost cause and we can't give 'im any morphine to ease the pain since we barely 'ave 'nuff as it is. He's also requested somebody who know Italian."
"...What? So we just let him lie there and die?"
The matron's voice softened. "Marie, if I could save every man, I would. But we can't. All we can do is ease his passing. Now go, and do your job."
She left Marie standing in the corner of the tent, willing herself not to cry. Letting soldiers die was the hardest part of her job. She never knew when to let go. A hoarse voice came from the cot. "Mafa, is that you?"
Marie gasped. She knew that voice anywhere. She approached the bed and looked down at the face of her childhood friend.
"Gianni!" She gasped and sobbed out, legs giving out and kneeling by his bed.
"Shhh Mafa. Va bene. Tutto andra bene." She grasped his bloody hand and shook her head.
"No! Perche sei qui!" She whispered brokenly.
Gianni smiled and grimaced. "It was my duty as an Italian. To fight for honor and la famiglia."
"O la vittoria, o tutti accoppati." Marie spat. Either victory or everyone dies. Fucking masculine pride, Marie cursed in her head.
Gianni looked at her sadly. "Si bella." He took a shuddering breath. "Principessa don't miss me too much, eh? After all, I was just a servant." He breathed in and out slowly, his lungs giving out a whistling noise.
"No, no, no, Gianni. You were my best friend. Il mio confidente." Tears slipped out of her eyes as she looked at her oldest friend.
"Promettimi una cosa." Gianni gasped out. Promises were a dangerous thing to guarantee for Marie. After all, it's not like her actual name was even Marie-Therese.
"Anything."
"One day, you will stop hiding who you are. Stop denying your heritage, Mafalda."
"Lo prometto." Gianni squeezed her hand. "Bene. I'm tired now." He closed his eyes. It was almost as though he were falling asleep. Minutes ticked by and Mafalda listened to his wheezing breaths.
Not many people know this, but it takes an awful long time for a human to actually die from injuries. Hours had passed by as she held onto his hand and sung softly to him in their mother tongue, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.
Slowly, his hand slackened in her grip and fell limply by the side of the cot. Mafalda gulped and hastily wiped her tears away. She logged his death into the book and slowly took off his dog tag. Gripping it, she walked dazedly to the opening of the tent. The sun was beginning to set, and if one could ignore all the carnage, it was almost bitterly beautiful.
Ava nudged her. "Matron wants you inside for last shift. She's blaming you for spending all your time with only one patient." Mafalda looked over at her, Ava's eyes full of understanding.
She nodded silently and walked back, making rounds on the remaining soldiers and double checking that all of them had been taken care of. Rounding on the last patient, she dragged a stool over and logged all of her duties.
"Shelby, right?"
"Hmm."
Mafalda finally put her board down and looked at him, only to find cold blue eyes trained on her.
"And why are you in this shit hole?" His voice was gravelly, as though thick with sleep. She redressed his sling and dabbed a cotton swab near his brow.
"King and country, is the typical answer, no?"
"Fook the King and 'is country. No, I think you're here for a more personal reason. A girl like you wouldn't come 'ere if she could help it"
Mafalda looked down from what she was doing and stared into his eyes.
She replied softly, her words brushing against his ears. "And what kind of girl am I, Mr. Shelby?"
"Someone who hasn't got burned before. You're too gentle for this hell."
Mafalda leaned back and put the swab down on a tray. "I came to look for somebody. It doesn't matter anymore though."
She rose from the stool and took her tray. "Good night Mr. Shelby."
A hand grabbed her wrist just as she turned away. She found his steely eyes and looked questioningly.
"Tommy."
A few moments went by.
"Marie." The name tasted like ashes on her tongue.