Hello, everyone! I'm finally back!
I also have to apologise for being absent since November. It was terribly unfair of me to let the story sit for almost a year, especially with a cliffhanger such as that one. But, many things had happened to me during these months, giving me little choice but to put my writing on hold. I hope you will forgive me, dear readers.
Speaking of which, I wish to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story, especially Velanburg (Thank you so much! :) ), Janette (Welcome to the story! And thank you for your kind words. :) As for the emotional moments, there will be a lot of them in this chapter. I hope, on the whole, it won't be disappointing.), Cayendoenelolvido (Hola! It's wonderful to hear from you again. I know that I'm really late, but I wish you a happy and fun-filled birthday. May all your wishes come true!), Eugene's Scizzuhs (Welcome to the story! :) Finding out that someone new is reading this always makes my day. And thank you for the review! Hopefully, this chapter won't disappoint. :) ) and last but not least S. D. Warrior (Thank you! I'm so happy to hear that you like this story. Enjoy the chapter!). Your support means the world to me, and I will always appreciate it. :)
In addition, thank you, sammyboyaldaway, DayDreamer2319, Jordyn Amelia, Soffi-record, Lina1998, ele11ven, shortstackpenguinfan, blueteddybears and S. D. Warrior for the favourites and/or follows!
Disclaimer: I do not own Band of Brothers. This piece of writing is purely of entertainment. It is based on the HBO miniseries, and no disrespect is meant towards the real men of Easy Company.
Chapter Forty-Four – On A Pillar Of Sand
Having a smoke seemed as a good idea at the time. Despite my promise not to look at another cigarette again, I caught myself thumbing my pocket, where I used to keep a few. My search grew more desperate while I tried not to look at the dead men in front of me. I turned my head away, but I still heard the handful of troopers walking among the bodies, kneeling down on the pavement only to strip someone off his weapons and ammunition.
On my right, Lewis Nixon fiddled with his flask. He had been the first to arrive – through the gunfire had already ceased by then – and he was currently observing the blokes, leaning against a rusty fence close by. The fact that he was taking the fourth sip of his beverage in the last couple of minutes didn't take me aback much.
Since our attackers had turned out to be a scouting party, nothing felt surprising anymore.
"They must've found some unguarded path in the woods. Christ knows we have plenty of 'em, since we're spread so thin." He tipped over the flask in his hand again, getting lost in his thoughts. Yet, it wasn't long before he looked at me, and his brow creased. "I'm sorry about –"
"It's fine."
I stopped him right there, not wishing to hear the rest. To be honest, I wasn't ready to face it, no matter how cowardly that made me sound. Wrapping my arms around myself, in hopes of fending away the cold, I blankly stared at the footprints scattered around my boots.
"The fog was thick enough to hide then, that's a given", Nixon added, a wry smile flickering across his face, "The big wigs are gonna love this one."
"You think they'll try sneaking in again?"
"Who? The big wigs?" Having noticed that I wasn't in the mood for joking, he quickly turned serious. Soon after, he gave a resigned shrug. "I don't doubt it. But, their pals still think they're alive, so they won't be in a hurry to send someone new. That gives us some time to prepare."
While he paused to squint at his watch, a low, scraping sound reached my ears, compelling me to look up. A few steps away, a trooper was searching one of the bodies before he took a lighter for himself. My stomach heaved as I recognised the dead scout as the man I had shot.
"There's nothing left for you here", Nixon said all of a sudden, stealing my attention, "Why don't you go back to the church, get yourself something to eat?"
I can think of a few reasons. "I'm not hungry."
"You'd rather stay with the corpses than go somewhere warm?"
I didn't fail to miss his bewildered tone. Sadly, he went silent soon after, keeping his eyes fixed on me while he waited for an answer, and I had no choice but to cave in. Fishing for intelligence was his job, anyway. As I forced myself to meet his gaze, my hand absentmindedly went up to my ear, the one still ringing a bit from the blast.
"The nurses, the others working there – they'll want to know what happened." I paused, hesitating. "I'll have to tell them. But, I don't have a bloody clue how."
His nod was small, almost understanding. "Prichard, the sooner you break the bad news, the sooner it'll be behind you. And I'm speaking this from experience."
"Are you sure?"
"Trust me on this." He cast a brief glance to the blokes nearby. "Besides, you're the one who was here. It's better for them to find it out from you, than some stranger."
I shifted in my spot, trying to mull over this suggestion. Although I wasn't too thrilled with the thought of returning to the church, he was right about one thing. There was no way I could avoid Renée and Anna throughout the siege. I might as well walk over to them and spill all of it.
You can do this. You've certainly done worse. Mustering the little courage I had managed to find, I blew into my hands, rubbing them together to warm them up. At the same time, I started to move backwards, slowly walking towards the edge of the garden we were in, when Nixon abruptly decided to turn in my direction.
"If you hadn't run into the Krauts, nobody would know they were here", he said, tucking his flack somewhere underneath his coat, "They would've told their pals how we're low on – well, pretty much everything. After that, nothing would stop them from attacking us."
"That's not really comforting."
"Just chalk this up to a good day. At least some of us are alive."
Oddly enough, that didn't cheer me up in the slightest. I was mostly aware of the stinging sensation in my eye, which was most likely beginning to swell.
"Take care, Nixon. Send a postcard when you can, yeah?"
I walked away after that, picking up my pace through an alleyway leading out of here, until I reached a familiar street on the other side, with the church visible on its far end. By then, I became worried that I would lose my nerve before I reached the building, so I turned left – and almost ran over a figure sitting on the side of the asphalt.
"Jesus Christ!"
"Fucking hell!" Having grabbed a lamp post next to me, I lurched to a halt, my feet stopping inches away from him. "Gene, you almost gave me a heart-attack."
I was still holding on to the pole when I saw it. With his sleeve rolled up close to his shoulder, he was occupied with bandaging himself, even though his hand was clearly shaking. I carefully sat down beside him.
"Why didn't you ask someone to help?", I asked.
"No need", he replied, "I can get by."
The long gash on his arm didn't concern me as much as his eyes. They were glassy and barely blinking, dangerously close to the thousand-yard-stare. Whatever had happened to him prior to the blast, he didn't share it with me. Yet, I didn't push him. I carefully sat beside him, instead, wincing as that pulled on my latest stitches.
"I know you can. But, let me. It'll be faster."
He didn't say a word, his head remaining low. I thought that was a sign for me not to interfere, to leave him be, until he let go of the bandage and silently allowed me to take over. With a faint smile, I scooted closer to him, picking up where he had left off. However, while I attempted to cover his gash, his trembling hand reached out, brushing my hair out of my face the best he could.
I knew that he was checking how my eye was. Although he was the one in need of patching up, the medic in him never rested. He tucked a strand behind my hear, after which his fingers abruptly pulled back.
"Here. This'll help."
A rustling sound told me he had picked up his satchel. I managed to throw a look as I worked, just in time to see him pull out a tiny glass bottle. He tilted it towards the light, scrutinising the lid. That was when I noticed the pills on the bottom, including the label that said 'aspirin'.
Once he pried it open, he gave it a shake, and I extended my free hand before a pill landed into it. His canteen was the next thing he handed to me. Having swallowed the aspirin, I took a few sips of water to wash it down.
"Thanks." I passed the canteen to him, returning to my task. But, then I stopped in an instant, my gaze sticking to the dust that covered his jacket. The seconds between the blast and running to see if he was alive flashed through my mind, and I shut my eyes to make them go away.
There was a chance of someone seeing us. A trooper, perhaps even more of them, could come across this street at any moment. I felt too worn out to care about it, though. While I still held on to the bandage, my eyes still closed to keep the thoughts at bay, I let my head slowly tip forward, eventually settling in the crook of his neck.
Just in case, I counted to five and let go. I couldn't risk waiting longer than that. Hastily regaining my composure, I kept my hands busy again, tying the dressing off.
"I thought you were running low on supplies."
It took him some time to answer. "Still am. But, after Mourmelon, I thought of keepin' a stash."
"Call me crazy, but I'm starting to miss that place."
"Ya ain't the only one", a nasal voice stated.
I whirled around, suddenly face to face with another bloke. "Bill? How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long as I'd like." Paler than the two of us, yet almost equally disheveled, he raised his hand in a mock salute as he shuffled around us. "Jeez. Youse look like hell."
"It's better than you on a good day", I countered.
Thankfully, he cracked a grin. That meant he hadn't caught the two of us. However, once he coughed violently and let out a loud, congested sniff, I wondered how on earth we had managed to fight off a scouting party alone.
Unaware of what I was thinking about, Gene frowned. "Why aren't you at the aid station, sarge?"
"Didn't get the chance. Regiment got hold of me, askin' for reports. Anyway, I feel like a million bucks." He contradicted that by coughing a few more times, but he didn't seem too concerned. "I heard 'bout the Belgian doc. An' the other guy. Christ, what a way to buy it."
"Could've easily been us", I said quietly.
"That was when Bill leaned back a little, in order to see me more clearly. "Speakin' of Regiment, I caught some fellas talkin' there. Is it true he was the only doc in town?"
Neither Gene nor I needed to tell him. He figured it out on his own, perhaps after seeing our expressions.
"Holy Christ. Can't some poor bastard take his place?"
That's an interesting question. My thoughts turned to the church and everyone posted in it. Apart from the priest and a few orderlies, the only ones I had seen so far were Renée, Anna and a medic borrowed from the line. Yet, there was no chance any of them could fit the bill. They didn't have the old doctor's experience, which was undoubtedly longer than all of theirs put together.
The doctor's duties were another problem, and it was only now that I realised it. The number of wounded was already too much for the staff to handle. Given those who would come sooner or later, nobody would have the chance to take on the doctor's workload. They were going to need every help they could get, preferably at once – even if that assistance came from someone such as me.
"Shit", I muttered, pushing myself up, "Shit. I gotta go."
Not giving them a chance to ask anything, I limped down the street, towards the church. In a matter of minutes, I skidded to a halt at the front yard, only to find a battered Jeep perched at the edge of it, and a small group of people milling around near the front door. One of them had their back turned on me as she collected firewood, yet the blue bandana she was wearing told me who that might be.
Okay. Let's get this over and done with. Clenching my fists at my sides, I forced myself to move closer to her. But, then she turned around, looking straight at me, and I abruptly forgot everything I had planned to say.
"Ça alors! (Good grief!) What – what happened?"
"A few German scouts found a way through the line", I said at last, and her eyes went wide. "Hey, don't give me the stare. I was surprised just as much as you."
"Someone said they were caught. But, I didn't expect that they – that you –" Renée trailed off soon after, shaking her head in disbelief. "Don't you know how to run away?"
"Believe me, I tried a few times. It didn't work."
Her look grew blank while she adjusted the firewood in her hold. "Not long ago, a man stopped by. A colonel. He was asking for le pilote, so I guess that's you."
This is getting better and better. "What did he say?"
"Just that it's urgent. I asked him to come inside, but he said no." She pointed to her left, at the low wall that surrounded the church yard. "He's over there, where the old furniture is. When you're done, find me in the chapel."
She ran off afterwards, oblivious to the dread filling me up. Hoping that it wasn't more awful news on the way, I ambled where she had shown me, swiftly ending up at a bunch of scattered, abandoned chairs. And, exactly as she had told me, Denham was there on his own, keeping his hands tucked underneath his armpits for warmth.
"Sir?" I moved closer. "Did something happen?"
He hunched his shoulders against a gust of wind. "I don't have much time, so listen up. The HQ is sending someone over. He's in bad shape and he'll need someone to give him a look. It'll be your job to keep this under wraps."
That didn't sound good. "Under wraps, sir?"
"It's a delicate matter. And by 'delicate', I mean 'classified', so find a nurse who can –" A muffled crackling cut him off, and he jerked his head towards the noise. I did the same, suppressing a gasp once I saw three men appear in the street. "At ease, Prichard. We won't be finding these guys."
It was difficult not to gawp at them, since they were now walking towards us at a leisurely pace. The third man had to be the injured one, leaning heavily against the other two, all but dragging his feet across the snow. Trying to appear calm, I was about to step out of their way, before I caught something that left me frozen on the spot.
Denham cleared his throat in the meantime. "I think this explains the secrecy."
.
.
The 'delicate matter' was a German scout, inexplicably alive.
Hidden in the first secluded place we could think of – which was the sacristy – he was lying on a low cupboard in the middle of the room. And he truly was worse for wear. His dressing was soaking through, haphazardly taped under his collarbone, whereas his trembling and pale, blotchy skin revealed that nobody had given him anything for the pain.
"Did you do this, anglais? Did you shoot him?"
"What? No!" Having realised that I was shouting, I lapsed into silence. Yet, in a much lower voice, I had to add: "But, he tried to shoot Gene, so I think he had it coming."
Renée shot a withering glare at me. I had told her the news about the doctor and his friend, and her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, making me regret dragging her into this. Unfortunately, since Gene had returned to the line, there was nobody else I could have asked for help.
"Please, tell me that's not a gun", Renée said abruptly.
I followed her gaze down to my holster, and the pistol I had lifted from one of the scouts. After everything that had gone down, I won't take my chances this time.
"Can you at least take it outside?", she said, motioning towards the door, "I don't want a gunfight in here."
"You'll thank me when we're have to defend ourselves." Having hobbled to the side of the cupboard, I threw a glance at our patient. That was when I jumped backwards, because his eyes had flown open, becoming dilated as recognition swiftly kicked in. "Oh, crap."
"Was –" His hand groped for his side. Once he found out that he had no weapon, he recoiled, attempting to push himself upright by some means. Yet, he was so weak that he could barely prop himself against one elbow. "Was zum Teufel w–willst du? (What the hell do you want?)"
"Shhh. Shhh. N'aie pas peur. (Don't be afraid.)"
By the time I raised my head, Renée had already rushed to the opposite side of the cupboard. She placed a hand on the man's arm, urging him to focus on her instead of me.
"N'aie pas peur", she repeated in a softer voice, "Tu es dans un hôpital. Tue s en sécurité ici. C'est compris? (You're in a hospital. You're safe here. Do you understand?)"
I didn't have the foggiest whether he spoke French. Perhaps it wasn't the words he understood, but her tone. Whatever worked, it relaxed him to a point and he finally let her ease him on his back. But, his mildly absent gaze wandered off, fixing on me as if I posed a threat to him.
"Jess, help me turn him." Renée spoke up, hauling me back into the present. I hurried to take my place next to her and, with combined strength, we rolled him onto his unscathed side, only to flinch when he abruptly yelped in pain. "Check his back. Do you see an exit wound?"
"Umm – no." I craned my neck. Not counting a mole on his shoulder, there wasn't a scratch on him. That left just one possibility. "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"
I dug my foot into the carpet, bracing myself for shifting him on his back. Only then did it occur to me that Renée hadn't moved. Keeping her hand on his arm, she looked vacantly at the stained dressing, her eyes growing more misty by the second. Damn it. I knew this would happen.
"You don't have to stay."
She turned towards me, her brow creased. "Quoi? (What?)"
"I shouldn't have asked this of you. If you don't want to do this, that's okay. I won't mind. I mean, he –" Putting my back into it, I moved the scout into his previous position. "He could be the one who killed Thys."
"He could. But, we can't be sure, can we?"
No sooner did she say it than she yanked the dressing off. Pushing the man's groan out of my head, I watched her grab a bundle of gauze, pressing down on the wound while blood oozed from it. Even though I felt guilty for even thinking about this, I was glad that I wouldn't be alone here. I wasn't sure if I could handle this otherwise.
"Donne-moi ce. (Give me that.)" She pointed at a torch, known among the lads as a flashlight, collecting dust on a shelf. "I need more light. I can barely see."
I went for it when I heard steps coming from outside, and I looked at the open door by our side. I instantly regretted it, straightening up as Denham marched through them.
"Prichard. Nurse Lemaire." He halted soon after, acknowledging us with a brick nod. "Can I talk to him?"
He didn't get his answer. The scout stirred in the meantime, his breath hitching at another presence in the room. Renée held on to the gauze with both hands as he grew restless. Luckily, she managed to calm him down fast, talking to him in the most soothing voice she could find.
"You'll have to put off the questioning, sir." I grabbed the torch and turned it on, aiming the light at the bullet wound. "We have to stop this bleeding and – Renée? What is it?"
"I frowned, at a loss to why she was peering at me. While the torch flickered in my grasp, she pressed her lips in a line, as one would when something was going wrong.
"Jette un œil. (Take a look.)" She nodded at the man's arm that was closer to the wound. "When he tried to get up, he didn't move it at all. Maybe it's because he can't."
"You're talking about nerve damage?", Denham questioned.
"It's not impossible." Renée gingerly poked the arm with her finger. The scout hardly even flinched, this time blinking dazedly at her. "In any case, he's going to need surgery."
"But, you don't have your doctor."
"His assistant – Emile –he's alive. But, he has an emergency. I don't know when he'll be back."
I snatched another pack of gauze for Renée to take, waiting for Denham's response. By the looks of it, he might blow his top start giving out orders to us. To my surprise, however, he turned around and rushed out of the sacristy, disappearing before I could do a thing to stop him.
"What just happened?", I muttered to myself. Regrettably, the sole reply I had was a groan from our patient. Wedging the torch between my neck and shoulder, I took his wrist to check his pulse when he began to stir once more.
"Tout va bien. (It's all right.) Tout va bien." Having given a low sigh, Renée took some gauze from me and added it to the top of her pile. However, as she hung her head, I caught her whisper something. I wasn't completely sure, yet those words sounded a lot like: "We do no harm."
"Is that the doctor's oath?"
She winced, as if she hadn't thought I would hear her.
"Le docteur used to say it. He believed that we have to help a wounded man, no matter which side he fights on." She made a pause. "I think he'd say the same if he was here."
Given how he popped his clogs, I wouldn't be so sure. I was on the verge of saying that, but I held back at the last second. Getting into another argument wasn't what I needed today. Sadly, the silence didn't last too long, because a new voice decided to cut through it.
Hushed at first, it was swiftly growing louder, since its owner was clearly walking to this place. However, that wasn't the reason why a chill moved up my spine. Glancing at Renée and her face turning grey in fear, I knew that those steps were too light to be Denham's.
"Hold this." I tossed the torch to her and, as soon as she caught it, I hightailed across the room. If we were lucky enough, I might step in front of the stranger before he got to the door, and keep him from sneaking a peek inside. Don't come in. Don't come in. Don't come –
Barely did I reach the doorstep than we met. He was a civilian, a bloke with light, curly hair, perhaps in his twenties. He was also distraught, clutching some long item to his chest. Despite that, I spread my hands like a goalkeeper to block his way, in case he kept moving.
"Problems, Prichard?"
While Denham turned up behind him, eyebrows arched in wonder, I a made gesture towards the Belgian. Now that he was here, he could tell this bloke to make himself scarce. Yet, instead of doing so, Denham stood beside him.
Not knowing why he seemed so impatient, I took note of the stranger once more. The thing he was holding turned out to be a cloth, wrapped around various medical instruments. They rattled every time he fidgeted, and it dawned on me that he was the doctor's assistant, Emile.
But, if he was over here, who was operating out there?
"Il est ici? Is he – is he here?", Emile stuttered, peering back at Denham. The second he received confirmation, he nervously scratched his chin, brushing past me into the sacristy. I spun on my heel to dash after him, yet I didn't anticipate Denham to be faster. I certainly didn't think he would reach for the door and shut it before me.
"Mister Emile said he'd need one nurse", he pointed out.
It then hit me why the assistant was acting that way, and I stiffened. Denham must have wrenched him out of some intervention to get here, certainly not by asking him nicely.
"There are men in need of surgery." My voice faltered. "That can't happen without him, sir."
"Without him, the Kraut won't make for long." Denham turned his back on the door, in case someone wanted to walk around him and into the sacristy. "We can't lose him. He might know something we can use to our advantage."
"Might? You'll sacrifice people because of a guess?"
"I think you're forgetting your place, Prichard."
"Sir." Hardly believing where this was heading, I cast a look on our left and right. Fortunately, none of the wounded was near enough to hear us. "What if he knows nothing?"
"Leave the 'what if's to me. Go and help your colleague."
Before I could even blink, Anna popped up between us, talking to me in French at an extraordinary pace. She nodded at the front door and I turned around to find it wide open, while a stretcher was being carried inside by orderlies. The truck that waited on the other side of the door told me that more casualties were on the way.
I was too stunned to move my feet. I glanced at Denham before looking back at the stretcher, having no idea what to do, let alone where to go. Eventually, Anna made that choice for me by tugging me after her, and the next thing I recalled was limping through the nave with her.
As she rushed to the orderlies, I hobbled around them, struggling not to think about what had happened. And then I stumbled upon the next man entering the church, a walking wounded. I went to ask him how he was when, unexpectedly, he tottered to the side, and I leapt after him, grabbing him by the jacket to keep him steady.
It also dawned on me that I was holding Ralph.
"Hey, Prich. It's been a while."
He was smeared from head to toe in dirt as if someone had shoved into it and, for some reason, he was keeping a a hand pressed against his lower back. Briefly letting him go, I angled my head to the left to see whatever damage was over there, until I froze right down to my bone marrow.
I was prepared to see blood. After all, we were inside an aid station. Yet, not even in the deepest recesses of my imagination had I expected a branch sticking out between his fingers. It was lodged in the side of his back, a little above his left hip, it was three inches long – or maybe it was four – clearly snapped off by someone near the tip.
"We got shelled", Ralph gritted out, "One of 'em went off. Threw me into a tree."
All of a sudden, I felt oddly lightheaded. Nobody would be in a hurry to patch him up by the looks of things, not for a long time. However, I kept that bit for myself. He was having enough on his plate.
"Let's g–get out of the cold", I offered, ducking underneath his arm, "Come on. Let's go."
Once I was sure he wouldn't keel over on me, I steered him away from the draught, frantically searching for a place where he could lie down on. I was certain things couldn't get any worse until a new, more disturbing thought twisted my insides.
"Ralph, who else is hit?"
"A replacement. Don't worry, Gene's –" He grinded to a halt, letting out a painful hiss through clenched teeth. "Jesus, that didn't feel good."
He leaned against me with more weight, and my knees trembled, fighting to keep us upright. Perhaps I should sit down with him quickly, before we both stumbled. Having readjusted my footing, I helped him settle on the floor beside the stoup, racking my brains for a way to patch him up.
I soon caught sight of Anna. She was next to her patient, following the orderlies who were carrying him to the transept. Holding on to a bottle of plasma, she looked over her shoulder and peered at me. I held my breath, hoping he would pass on some useful tip. However, she merely shook her head, turning around to keep up with the men.
After helping her on a few occasions in triage, I knew what that meant. Unfortunately, so did Ralph.
"Gosh." That was all he said for a moment. To my surprise, he didn't seem horrified in the slightest. His face was blank, as if he had anticipated the news, yet not quite believing he would get them. "Denise'll kill me. I promised her dinner."
A spike of adrenaline shot through me, leaving me more jittery than I already was. There had to be something I could do, despite what Anna had said. It simply hadn't occurred to me yet. Right?
"So much for Christmas plans, eh?", Ralph asked, only to wince as he lay on his side.
"Shut your gob." I raked my fingers through my hair, praying he would oblige. I had to find a solution for this, I had to. However, the fact remained that I wasn't a nurse. I was unfit to help him. And everyone with even a smidge of medical knowledge was occupied elsewhere.
That is, everyone except the medic next to me.
"Jess, why are you looking at me like that?"
I stalled for some time, fumbling for the right words. "If you were on the line, and if–if someone got impaled on a tree branch..." His brows knitted together at the first half of the sentence, and I stopped, already feeling awkward. But, I pushed on. "Would you know how to fix him?"
"Dunno. If I had my stuff, maybe."
"Can you imagine that and explain the steps?
He squinted up at me from the floor. "How hard did you hit your noggin'?"
"Ralph. Ralph, just listen." I raised a hand in mock-surrender. "Alright? I'm not leaving. But, I don't know where to start. Guide me through this, and I promise I'll do everything I can."
Although he was as still as a statue, I saw the cogs in his head beginning to turn.
"Fuck", he uttered, in enough pain to turn his complexion ashen, "No harm in tryin', huh?"
He cracked a faint grin, while I wondered if I was really off my trolley. Yet, there was no backing away now. I pushed myself back to my feet, wrenching my sleeves up before hurrying to a washbasin nearby. Steeling myself for what was to come, I started larding my hands like mad.
I hope I know what I'm doing. As I pried the mud under my fingernails, I managed a glance at Ralph. Meanwhile, he had shifted onto his stomach, with a cheek pressed against the floor. However, since he couldn't see the wound, he had settled for blindly reaching for his back. He warily prodded the area around the branch, flinching with a grunt every time he came across a painful spot.
"I doubt it hit somethin' important. It's too far to the side." Stopping for breath, he added: "Anyhow, you'll need scizzors. And gauze – whatever you do, don't forget the gauze."
The second I was done, I went to fetch the things. A makeshift supply cart caught my eye from across the nave, and I scrambled towards it, wheeling it back to our side. I only stopped to borrow an uncorked bottle of spirits from close by, since I had a feeling that we would need a lot of it.
"Got any instruments?", Ralph enquired. I took hold of the tray they were on, perched on the top of the cart, lowering it enough for him to see. "Grab the tweezers. Take that jawn, too."
"The what?"
He gestured towards an instrument at my hand. Pushing the things he had chosen a tad away from the others, I reached for the old kerosene lantern not far off. Luckily, it was still burning, so I left it to hang from the side of the cart, as well as shed some of the light across Ralph's back.
The next step included scissors. Having grasped them firmly, I cut through his jacket and shirt. Although the wound hadn't come fully into sight yet, my hands shook plenty of times, giving me no choice but to wait for them to calm. But, ultimately, I sliced the fabric open, pushing the pieces out of the way to expose the branch to the light.
"Can you see the whole thing?", Ralph asked, after which I hummed a response. He tensed up soon after. "Good. I'll need you to – GODDAMN IT!"
"Sorry!" I recoiled, having spilt some of the booze over his back as a disinfectant. I clenched the bottle in my grip, standing by while he regained his composure. "Christ. What now?"
He heaved a sigh, settling himself down. "Okay. Grab the branch." I did as he instructed. "Now, pull it out. I'd appreciate if you did it in one go."
I clenched and unclenched my hand, gulping as I tested my grip. Shifting a little so as not to topple over, I gulped before making a move when –
"Wait!", he shouted all of a sudden, and I instantly froze, "Wait. I forgot to tell ya. When it got in – the branch – I think it pulled a piece of my shirt with it. So, do me a favour. Check the wound when you're done, make sure nothing's stuck inside."
"What about after that?"
"I'll let ya know when we get there."
I hoped I didn't look as scared as I felt. Yet, that wasn't my biggest concern. While busy with the branch, there was no way for me to keep him from moving. I looked behind me in search for help, until my gaze landed on someone who had just hobbled through the front door. He was almost within reach using a thin stick as a makeshift crutch.
"Sisk! Sisk, get over here!"
He halted, his gaze switching between Ralph and me. "What the –"
"Hold him down."
Hardly did I say it than he squirmed. Sisk swore, frantically limping over to us with his stick. He slid to his knees with a yelp and pinned Ralph against the floor as I counted to three, fingers curled around the branch. And then I yanked it out.
Ralph screamed. My head throbbed, but I brushed it aside, chucking the branch away before applying pressure on the hole in his back. Whilst I struggled to stem the bleeding, retching a little as I did so, I let my gaze move just for a second to the branch, to make sure that I had it hadn't broken off.
To my surprise, it wasn't there, but in Sisk's hand. Staring at it open-mouthed, he held it in front of him at arm's length, as if the thing would leap up at any moment and bite him.
"Sisk. Hey, Sisk." He didn't appear to have heard me. Since I held the gauze with my hands, I nudged his foot with mine. "Wayne. Hey. Look at the tip. Is something stuck to it? A cloth, maybe?"
After he snapped out of it, he peered at the end of the branch. And then his brows quickly drew together. I wondered what was going on when he pinched it between his fingers, slowly peeling off something dark and thin. Small enough to cover the nail on his thumb, it appeared to be a piece of tree bark. However, I knew that wasn't the case, because bark wasn't that flimsy.
It was that piece of cloth Ralph had warned me about, its previous colour obscured by blood. Staring at it, hardly daring to blink, I watched Sisk carefully unfolding it with the help of his fingernail. Although it took him a few tries, we eventually found out that it was intact.
"Holy shit." I heaved loudly, cracking a grin in relief. I turned to the medic, about to tell him we had caught the bugger, just to realise that he wasn't moving at all. "Uh – Ralph?"
I jerked my head towards Sisk, whose eyes bulged in horror. He dropped everything before leaning above Ralph, tugging down the collar of his jacket in search of a pulse. Meanwhile, I didn't move an inch, paralysed by the thought that I might have made a mistake along the way.
That was when Ralph hiccupped, making Sisk and I jump out of our skin.
"Fuck", he hoarsed, "I'm gonna need a drink."
"I need some air", Sisk stammered, his face rapidly turning green.
Having waved at him to grab his attention, I pointed at the nearest bucket. I let my head hang low then, slowly becoming aware that I had broken out in a cold sweat. Wiping some of it off my face with my hands wasn't an option, so I angled my head to brush it against my jumpsuit.
Hopefully, Renée's faring better than me. I knew I should be focused on Ralph – and I was – but the second I had made a break, I briefly wondered what the nurse was doing. Maintaining a grip on the gauze, and trying not to listen to Skinny's dry heaves, I turned the other way.
I hadn't missed much, by the looks of things. The door to the sacristy remained shut, with Denham still standing in front of it, pulling on a cigarette while he guarded the place from any unwanted visitors. I let out a huff, yet I clung to the hope that this would be over soon.
"Ma'am, you in charge here?"
I flinched, having realised that someone else was next to me. A private had suddenly popped up, peppered with snow and clearly winded from running. He leaned forward to prop his hands against his knees, while two orderlies with a stretcher darted after him into the building.
"We're under heavy fire", he said between breaths, "Three of our guys are hit and it doesn't look good, so I brought them here first. The others are on their way, the last time I checked."
My toes started curling up in alarm. "How many 'others'?"
"Not counting those three?" The private tiredly sighed. "Twelve."
.
.
"Quand je marche dans la vallée de l'ombre de la mort, Je ne crains aucun mal, car tu es avec moi…"
The priest's voice kept drifting from behind me. Although it wasn't his first time reciting those words today, he sounded as calm as always. But, it didn't feel that way at the moment. His prayer was barely audible do to a private screaming next to me, along with the sickening, grating noise made by Anna while she was busy sawing his leg off.
It was beyond saving, she had concluded. Listening to his swears and sobbing, I could merely hold his hand and try not to yelp, since he had trapped mine in a vice-like grip. I was supposed to tell him something comforting, but none of that sprang to my mind. And so I stayed on my knees until, without a warning, the sound of the saw grinding through the bone stopped. About a second later, a dull thud reached my ears, sending a shudder down to my boots.
"C'est fini. (It's done.)"
Completely unfazed by what had happened, Anna lowered the saw next to me, and I wordlessly stared at the thing. I wanted to scuttle away from it more than anything, but my legs refused to listen as if they were welded to the floor.
I didn't know she was calling after me until she waved a hand in front of my eyes. She then grasped me by the shoulders, kneeling in front of me to peer at my face. I scarcely noticed that her scarf was stained with blood.
"English?" No sooner did she say it than she shook me, sending me into full awareness. "Es-tu là? (Are you here?)"
"Yes." I blinked a few times. "Yes, I hear you."
"Take away these bandages", she said in a louder voice, briefly drowning out the private's cries, "Bring clean ones."
After a stiff nod, it hit me that my hand was still clenched by the private's, and I pried it free. Not daring to look where his leg was – or had been – I briskly picked up the drenched bandages, scattered on the floor beside the stretcher. And then I got up, making a run for it.
Stopped only once I reached a small, closed-off spot near the chancel. Pushing a frayed tarp out of my way, I stepped forward to discover two large vats, each of them bubbling on a camp stove. Apparently, a batch of used dressings was already being boiled. The air felt warm and humid as steam was floating through the room in thick, white trails, snaking out through a broken window that was high up on the wall.
Surprisingly, the place wasn't vacant. Renée stood there as well, stirring the contents of one vat with a broomstick.
"He'll live." She took off her bandana and wiped her forehead. "We couldn't do much to fix his arm, though."
It was pretty clear who 'he' was. Having limped to the other vat, I unceremoniously dumped the bandages into it. I backed away then to rummage through my pocket. Renée's eyebrows went up as I pulled out a handful of dog-tags, bearing names of those who hadn't made it.
"Six lads bought it. By the looks of it, another one might join them by tonight." Shuffling to the table beside the vats, I dropped the items on it with a clank. "Whatever that German knows, I hope it's fucking worth this."
The nurse stirred her vat once more. "I don't like this."
I huffed at her comment. My resolve was standing on a pillar of sand, ready to collapse at any time.
"Neither do I", I said after a while, "But, our hands are pretty much tied, aren't they?"
"We can't watch that room forever. One day, one of us will be too busy to keep people from coming in, and someone will get there by mistake. When that happens, anglais, this siège – it will be the least of our problems."
For some reason, I imagined Bill walking around in search of supplies, making a wrong turn and stumbling upon the sacristy. If seeing the scout wouldn't make him go off the deep end, finding out that somebody was hiding him certainly wound. Especially if that was someone he trusted. Shoving that thought out of my head, I hurried to the corner to wash my hands for the umpteenth time.
"Jess can you go and check on him? See if his dressings need to be changed?" Renée's expression became guarded as I didn't answer. "I did it last time. It's your turn."
"Alright, alright. For Christ's sake." That was when she loudly cleared her throat. Unsure where she was driving at, I noticed the crucifix above her, on the wall. "Sorry."
Worried that I might say worse, I quickly wiped my hands, grabbed an armful of clean dressings and doubled out of there at once, hobbling straight to Anna. I heard the private's sobbing even before I reached her, which made me look away at once. Despite that, I saw Anna give me a faint smile while I passed the dressings to her.
"How is your friend?", she asked, leaving her patient with a medic and steering me towards the next row of stretchers, "The one I thought was finie. Done for."
"The last time I saw him, he was asleep."
It felt insane, standing there and talking to her while that man was shouting in pain right there. Snapping out of the reverie I got in, I tried hard to focus on the conversation.
"Um, I think Ralph will pull through." I fumbled with the dressings I had taken for myself, in case our secret patient needed it. "I'll go and pay him a visit later."
"You know you were lucky, n'est-ce pas (don't you)?"
I halted mid-step, blindsided by the question. And then nodded in reply, knowing exactly what she meant. I grasped that next time, if a friend in need reached the doorstep, his wounds might be too severe for me to do something. But, I had no time to think about it now. Clutching the dressings tightly, I parted ways with her, ambling back to the last place I wanted to be in.
Wait a minute. Bill is in this row. I vaguely recalled him lying down somewhere around here. Moving past the litters, I searched for his prone figure, only to find a complete stranger in his spot, a sergeant with a tourniquet around his arm. Swearing under my breath, looked further down the row. Where did he wander off to now?
"You're looking for the South Philly guy, right?", the sergeant asked out of the blue, "Italian, bit of a wisecrack?"
"How do you know that?"
"He said a red-head would be looking for him. He also told me to tell you not to get mad. He left for the line."
When I get my hands on him –I hastily brushed the thought aside. I might have thought about walking to the line myself and dragging him back by his ear, but Denham would have my head if something happened to the scout on my watch. I could only force myself to keep moving.
My only comfort was that he was absent this time, having ordered a sentry to guard the sacristy. But, it seemed that he had been informed about everything, since he stood up and opened the door for me. Biting my lip in trepidation, I limped past him, making my way into the small room.
The door shut behind my back. It cut off the light from the nave, leaving the sacristy enveloped in an almost complete darkness. The only thing that kept it at bay was a lamp, which cast a feeble, yellowing glow on the surrounding furniture, including the cupboard the man was lying on.
I moved a bit forward, squinting in the weak light. Save for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he was utterly still, covered with a thin blanket. Nevertheless, I was reluctant to approach him. Even though I had told Renée I would do this, I stayed where I was, wondering if I should ask the sentry from outside to accompany me, just in case.
"It's impolite to stare like that."
My heart thudded. In spite of the voice being low and weak, its accent was unmistakable. There was no way that it belonged to someone else, although I badly wished for it.
"You speak English?", I asked, "How?"
"I'm a translator. I've been one before the war."
The man slowly raised his head from the cupboard, so as to look me in the eye. His face was squared, close to ashen in the light of the lamp, with dark circles beneath his eyes.
"You know, I was planning to tell you", he said, "But, then your Belgian friend came in, and that man was demanding answers... I guess I didn't get the chance."
My fingers clenched around the dressings. That meant he had understood everything Renee and I had said while assessing his wound. What was worse, he could have easily heard something he shouldn't have known during his time here. I could merely guess what that might be.
"Would you mind if I asked for a glass of water?"
Still on my guard, I carefully ambled to the table placed against the wall. I took a pitcher that was on it, pouring some water for him in a glass while keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. He might have appeared weak, but I wouldn't bet that he was actually feeling that way.
The glass got half-full when I lowered myself on a chair at his bedside. Holding the glass for him, I helped him take a few sips, before he raised his hand to tell me he was done.
"My name is Lukas", he said in a low voice. I kept my name to myself. "I didn't shot your doctor, by the way."
"Someone still died. While that bloke was dealing with you, he had no time to help those who really needed him."
"It's a siege. Not everyone gets a happy ending."
I twiddled the glass in my lap, feeling awfully conflicted. He had almost killed Gene, an unarmed medic. Come to think of it, he could have shot Bill, if he had been a bit faster with the trigger. But, Renée's words 'we do no harm' replayed in my head, keeping me from getting off the chair. Though the fighting still raged, it stopped right at the church doors.
"I came to change your dressings", I said at last, "May I?"
He nodded and I pulled off his blanket to see his bandaged wound and his arm in a sling. Peeling off his old gauze, I narrowed my eye at the line of stitches below. Frankly, it looked awful, jagged and thick, but nothing was really wrong with it. There was no redness, no smell that told me otherwise. That was my queue to proceed, covering it with a new gauze and holding it in place with some tape.
"You probably want me to start talking", he said, watching me fixing his sling, "To tell your colonel where the rest of my friends are. And what they'll do next."
By then, I couldn't stay silent. "Will you?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much."
"Why not?"
"I haven't been here that long. I only knew where my friends' foxholes were. But, you don't have to worry about them. You and those two guys made sure of it."
"Do you really think I'd believe that?"
Lukas shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't care. I'm just relieved I'm not in that forest, freezing half to death."
Although it happened merely for a second, his gaze flickered to the glass I was holding. He soon looked at me once more, his face partially concealed by the darkness, and I felt my fingers inch towards the gun in my holster. If he had decided to attack, I wasn't giving up without a fight.
However, he didn't throw the first punch. He didn't take anything as a weapon, though there was a few chalices nearby that he could grab with ease. In fact, he simply shifted into a more comfortable position, turning on his side with a faint sigh as he kept his eyes fixed on me.
"I killed your friends, Lukas", I said, my other hand lingering on the pistol, "Don't you want to do me in?"
"I'm... I'm tired."
He went quiet after that, and I felt as if somebody had chucked me out of a plane without a parachute. Unsure what to say to him, I returned the glass on the table, picking up the discarded dressings before making my way to the door. I opened it barely enough to pass through, and I slipped into the crowded nave without a word.
I said nothing, because I was tired as well.
To be continued.