Love and War in Northern France

Part 8, Anna

"Do you want to give him some special care?" Phil observed, noticing my concern. "I can keep an eye on the others for now."

"The old man was already ill before this..." I hesitated, searching for the proper words. "He's suffering from tuberculosis."

I glanced at Phil, anticipating his response.

"We're not miracle workers," he said, pressing his lips together. "In a hospital overrun with soldiers, no one cares about a man with tuberculosis."

I remained silent, weighed down by my inner turmoil. Anna... her face surfaced in my mind again, and that familiar feeling hit me. The old man's granddaughter, whom no one seems to notice now. She must never find out.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Phil glanced at me, as if reading my thoughts.

I didn't answer immediately, but finally exhaled.

"Yes, I can't stop thinking about her. She's no different from anyone else," I tried to say with confidence, though inside, everything was in turmoil.

Phil nodded, but his eyes showed doubt in my words.

"If you truly care about her, you should do something," he said. "We can't just ignore this."

"I understand, but..."

I didn't get to finish, as a muffled sound interrupted us. We both turned towards the door, where one of the medics stood, looking alarmed.

"We need assistance, urgently!" he shouted. "Several severely wounded have just arrived, and everyone is needed."

My heart pounded. The war had reared its head once more. I looked at Phil, and in his eyes, I saw understanding.

"We'll do what we can," he said. "Even if it means we can't save everyone."

I nodded, feeling that the time to dwell on my thoughts about Anna was slipping away. We ran into the hallway, preparing for what lay ahead. But thoughts of her lingered in my mind. Every injured person I saw reminded me that life could change in an instant.

After hours of chaos as we worked to assist the wounded, I finally found a moment to catch my breath. I sat in a corner, exhausted and worn out. Distant voices echoed around me.

"Florian!" Phil called, walking towards me. "We need to discuss our next steps."

I lifted my head, but thoughts of Anna and her grandfather still consumed me. I didn't know how she was coping, and the question gnawed at me again.

"We need to find Anna," I said, deciding that this would be my next step.

Phil nodded. "We can send someone to her village, but..."

"I'll go," I interrupted, not waiting for him to finish. "I have to do it."

"Are you sure? We don't even know where she is right now. The village is under shelling," Phil tried to be rational, but my mind was already made up.

I left the hospital, and although anxiety gripped me, I knew this was necessary. Anna could be anywhere in the village, and I needed to find her before it was too late.

Upon arriving in Saint-Anne, the scene that greeted me was horrific. The houses stood shattered, roofs caved in, and walls buckled under the weight of the wreckage. Debris from bricks, wood, and glass littered the streets, and the bodies of those who hadn't reached shelter were scattered all around. Craters from shell explosions marked the ground, filled with mud and blood. In the distance, explosions continued, the earth trembling with every strike, as though nature itself recoiled from the horror.

The cries of the wounded filled the air. A woman with a bloodied leg, crawling towards shelter, moaned softly, but no one paid her any attention — everyone was too focused on their own survival. An old man sat on the doorstep of his destroyed home, clutching the lifeless body of a child, silently weeping. There was no help; all were consumed by one thought — to survive this hell.

Smoke rose above the village ruins, mingling with the stench of gunpowder and ash. Flames devoured the remnants of wooden structures, casting a sinister red glow over the streets, as though time had frozen in this nightmare.

I made my way through the devastation, forcing myself not to dwell on the pain and suffering surrounding me. Anna could be anywhere, and every step forward brought me closer to finding her, though with each passing moment, the fear that I might be too late grew stronger.

I pressed on through the wreckage, fearing the worst, but clinging to hope that I would find her. Those hiding in cellars and basements didn't dare emerge — every sound could bring another attack. No one was willing to take the risk.

Climbing a small hill, I spotted a ruined building that had once clearly been a local school. Inside, the remains of desks, scattered books, and a blackboard still faintly marked with chalk were all that was left. I couldn't help but think that not long ago, Anna might have been here — young, full of life — but now, all that surrounded us was destruction.

Looking around, I noticed a half-collapsed barn on the far side of the school's grounds. I thought I saw movement inside, and squinting, I recognised a familiar silhouette. My heart raced.

"Anna!" I called softly, fearful of attracting unwanted attention.

She stood in the doorway of the barn, hugging herself as if trying to protect herself from the cold and the fear. Her face was smeared with dust, her hair tangled, but it was her — the same Anna I had feared I might never see again.

I hurried towards her, feeling my fears and anxieties fade with each step. She looked at me, but her gaze was full of despair and pain. As I reached her, she whispered hoarsely:

"Florian, you came..."

I nodded, trying to hold back my emotions, but inside, everything was tightening. Her voice was weak and raspy, as if she barely had the strength to speak.

"I was looking for you," I breathed, searching her face for any trace of the Anna I remembered.

She nodded, still clutching her arms across her chest, as if they were her only shield against the terror surrounding us. In that moment, I realised I had found her not just physically, but emotionally too — the fragile bond I had carefully hidden was now fully exposed. But I could also see the fear in her actions.

She was afraid of me. And I dreaded the thought that she feared me.