A/n: the first time jump. Hope, you don't get lost and enjoy it!;)
This is the year when everything has changed. My mother after father's death dreams of making me a lawyer. She sends me to study in a prestigious college, does everything she possibly can to support my perfect future, sometimes even forgetting about the twins. But Fred and Mike are not offended, they love their little sister so much.
Though, I can't stay long in college. On my first year, when I just turn eighteen, the war starts. My brothers are among the first ones to sign up for the troops of fourty first. The war turns out to be a disasterous punch in the world's face, but college stays exactly the same. I can not stay long in that fake place and after two years leave without saying anything to my mother. I pack quickly and sign up for a random nurse volunteering at Italian fronts and in spring am sent there.
That how, luckily or unfortunately, I turn out to be in this forgotten by everyone place, in the middle of two worlds, where there is no place for Homo sapiens. The second I jump off the rover, where we, nurses, are carried, the sense of blood, sweat and fear hit me in the nose. The long mourns of wounded soldiers can be heard, women in bloody dresses dart through built wooden paths not to drown in mud after the rain.
For the first time in my life I feel bewildered. Firstly, I'm here all alone. Nobody is around to help me. Secondly, I've never done medecine before. Everything, that is connected to it, is unfamiliar to me. I'm not afraid of blood, like all rich girls, but the sight of chopped off limbs is not exactly a pleasant view for me.
"Stop freezing out here!" the stout woman from the crowd shouts to me. She quickly darts to me holding a basin with bloody water in one hand and wiping the other hand with her dress and catching my label (it was attached to my shoulder in New York with the directions if I forget). I instantly notice her deep wrinkles and tired eyes in the occupation of a grey haired mutch.
"Brittain, right?" the woman said.
"Yes, ma'am," I bow my head.
"You're under my command," she sighs tired and turns her back on me suspecting that I'm following her. "Cover this nest of hair on your head, and I'll show you everything.
I almost squeak my teeth predicting their attitude towards me already. Quickly making a ponytail of my dark hair, I hurry after the woman. She enters one of the houses that, I guess, is for wounded.
And again, I have to fight the feeling of throwing up. The scent of rotting flesh, alcohol and blood is floating in the air, and stuffy air only strengthens it.
"My name is Greta, but you'll address me as Mrs Napkine. You work sixteen hours a day, the rest of it you sleep with other nurses. Any call, and you're here. Never break my order," with these words she turns to me and watches me carefully. "Here are too many lives on a con to risk it, not your future career."
I am taken aback.
"What is that supposed to..."
"I've seen a lot like you, girl!" Mrs Napkine interrupts me going further in the room. "You think this is romantic, to cure soldiers in hospitals. This is not a hospital. We do not cure soldiers, we bury them. So, if you're not ready to deal with it, you better walk away while you still can."
I frown listening to her. Coming here I was suspecting they will reproach me with my mother's status. But I came anyway. And I can't give up now.
"I'll deal with anything," I say firmly.
Mrs Napkine squints looking at me and then, shakes her head.
"Let's live and see what happens," she showed me metal instruments and bandages. "We're short on everything. Including surgeons. Sometimes we have to saw off the limbs ourselves. No limits to bandages, but painkillers are only from my permission. They send only three boxes a month. And that's for fourty two men!
Now I think that in truth, this Napkine is all the same person. She worries too, hurts too. She just doesn't show it often. There is no place for feelings at war. I knew this while coming here. And still, can't get over the feeling that something haunts me. Fear, maybe. Or hope.
I quickly get the uniform — a blue dress with a white apron as if specially identificating red spots. It still has someone's blood on it. In our house a few nurses are darting from place to place; I count four at last. They are young and quite pretty for such a place. I don't know what made them exchange their peaceful life in America for their life here. While thinking, I don't know why I did it.
Quickly getting used to the environment, I start to help with plate and forceps, bandages and warm water. But I want more. And finally, I get the chance. Napkine, opening the doors for coming soldiers, shouts:
"Brittain! Take this one!"
I immediately get up from another one and see the body that is carried inside. Soldiers put him on a free berth and hurry to get back for fresh air.
I go closer and look at the wounded. His whole body is covered with dirt, he faintly mumbles choking with his own blood. The stream of red liquid is running from his neck. I quickly sit near him and try to close the wound with a clean piece of bandage. But this doesn't help. In a second my hands get covered in blood, he continues mumbling, shaking his head around, with his furious eyes looking at everything. Then, his glance stops at me and he barely whispers:
"Lost, we lost..."
I try to hear more, but can't take apart anything else. Suddenly, he freezes, still staring at me with glass eyes. I feel sick, like it's hard to breath, with back side of palm I smear his blood all over my face without knowing. My hands are shaking. It is the first time I see a man die. The tears stand in my eyes. I try to get myself handled, deeply breath in and loudly breath out. My first patient is dead — not a bad start.
Napkine sits near the soldier and touches his dirty hand.
"His soul is in a better place now," she says quietly. "Don't worry about him, Brittain. Better get up. You have plenty of work."
That's how I get why she told me, we only bury men. This is the truth. For this day I get six soldiers. None of them last an hour.
To the end of the day, when the darkness is descended on the ground, I am walking tired between the beds, trying to find any face that can recognize a human being.
Little by little, nurses are leaving the house. It is their time to sleep. In half an hour a new shift will come. Even Mrs Napkine heads to the exit.
"You better get off now, Brittain," she screams to me. "You'll have your time to work. Can't say the same for sleeping."
I only shake my head, continuing to stand in the dusk of a bad-lighted room. My appetite is lost after all these scents, I guess, I had one glass of water during the day. The legs are breaking from tiredness. But most of all, I pity myself. I really believed I can help, can save someone. But turns out, I'm really only a keeper of a graveyard.
I hopelessly sit on the edge of a bed hiding my face in my bloody hands. I don't care anymore how I look. The war doesn't see any difference: whether you're pretty or ugly, it'll hit you anyway. For a moment it even seems like the room is absolutely silent, without any sounds or screams.
Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. I dart there without even thinking. New nurses are not here yet, I have to help the upcoming wounded. Without any hope, I open the door.
Two soldiers stand in front of me. On their shoulders I see their comrade, he is, probably, unconscious.
I quickly step aside letting them enter and showing them a free bed. They let him down carefully and stand in the entrance while I start to look at him.
"Save him, nurse," one soldier says loudly. I turn around and look him in the eye. "He's a good man."
"I'll try."
They exit, closing the door. I bring the gauze and, after putting it in alcohol, try to find a wound. His whole uniform is splashed with clots of dirt, I can't really identify the face, though I can say he's still young. Dark hair is wet from sweat. Under the eyelids I see his pupils moving. On his left shoulder a huge spot is forming.
As quickly as possible I cut the cloth getting closer to the wound. A little experience shows itself, my hands are shaking, I barely avoid touching his injury with scissors.
Abruptly, the tears show in my eyes, and I can't even understand why. Something tweaks in my nose, I start to sob. He is alive. Wounded and suffering from pain, but alive. My first patient that I can actually save. The feelings are overwhelming, I don't notice dropping tears from my cheeks.
I strongly enclose the gauze to the wound. The soldier twitches and blinks, coughing.
"I haven't died just yet, why are you crying?" he is surprised, suddenly looking at me. Under the dusty eyelashes I see eyes of the sky color. "Don't cry. You'll see, I'll recover."
He smiles. And I stop sobbing. His smile is practically magical, or maybe, I just miss the real human smile.
"But, if you don't mind, I'd like some help with the bullet," he reminds me softly. "I can't get it out by myself."
I laugh quietly and head to the instruments. This guy is bleeding, but smiles to make me laugh, not to let me cry.
The bullet is stuck inside, just near the bone. But, before I can reach the skin, he strangely grabs my hand with strength.
"Let's make a deal," he says. "You won't cry over soldiers anymore, and I'll lie quietly while you do the operation."
"You'll have to, anyway," I smile coldly. "And you know it."
"I also know you promised to protect soldiers at any cost..." he makes a pause. "At any cost, except your tears. I can't handle women crying.
This man is honest. I can see it in his eyes. He really doesn't like to see them crying.
"Well, soldier, you better get used to it," I clap my tongue. "You're at war."
"Ok, but also, tell me your name," he squeezes his teeth from pain when my forceps touch the skin.
"Why do you care?"
"I care because I don't really trust strangers to delve into my body," a smirk crosses his face.
I smile warmly. Some feeling make me feel him, as if he knows what to say exactly.
"Isabelle Brittain."
"Ok, Izzy. Thank you. I'm James Barnes. But people call me Bucky..." he hesitates from pain for a second, but than in one breath says. "If I make it, remind me to get you for a drink."
In this moment I start an operation, and he grabs the mattress hard not to scream.