Frohe Weihnachten

III.

Night had fallen upon the Trenches in France. She shivered from the cold. Sitting her station, she was thankful that there were no wounds to treat for the boys. It was quiet for the first time since the war in her station. No stupid injuries, no one but her and George, who was sleeping soundly on a pile of gifts that no one had taken. The only warmth she had was the firelight from her candle, but even that was draining. She was now mending several of the soldier's coats since several of their buttons had come undone. She'd managed to swipe a tin of them from when she went to the backlines. She was also able to get medical supplies when she was there. She knew the soldiers were thankful for her stealing. Times were tough in the trenches. She continued to sew one of the soldier's button. Thinking about what her parents would be doing this night. She hoped they were with the McGonagalls. The four of them praying to the Christian and Hebrew God for their children's safe return.

A boy, no older than eighteen walked into the dugout. He had forlorn look on his face but was dressed in a kilt in a red and blue pattern. In her teenage years, she would've shouted (drunkenly) "ARE YOU A TRUE SCOTSMAN!" He had blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. His skin was free from freckles that she'd seen on the other people in their line. "I just wanted to let you know that we're all gathering," he told her. "Father McLeod managed to get pipes."

She nodded and got up. George followed suit. Purring contently, his back arched and going in between Naomi and the boy. "How old are you, soldier?" She asked.

"Eighteen," he told her.

"First time away from home?" She asked.

He nodded. She didn't need to be the smartest person on the planet to know that he was sad. "It's normal to be homesick," she told him. "And if you just need to talk. I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Nurse."

"Naomi," she corrected him. "Please. Please call me Naomi. I'm just another one of you."

"Alastair," he said. Smiling at the bit of kindness he had been shown.

"Well, if you even need me, Alastair, you know where to find me," she laughed as the two of them joined the group. They were sitting around a small fire, Father McLeod and a few other older men in the line had their bagpipes ready to go. For the first time in weeks, it wasn't raining. The ground was finally solid enough to act as a floor. Footrot wasn't something she was treating anymore. That relieved her.

"Ah, Naomi's here," MacGowan said. "Now we can start."

"Wait," Naomi said. "Do you hear that?"

Over the trenches, she heard singing. It wasn't coming from the French, it was coming from the Germans. The Germans of all people.

Stille nacht, helige nacht

Alles schläft; einsam wacht

Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!

Silent Night. Naomi thought. They're singing Silent Night. I know this song. She laughed in pure shock. Naomi knew of the Austrian Caroll. The McGonagalls sang it every Christmas. She'd learnt the words in German and in English. "We can't let them beat us," another person laughed. The group cheered in agreement. A challenge had been issued and the Scottish Highlanders would rise to the challenge just as their ancestors had done before them.