The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Eighteen - Swept Away

Alice

8 March 1944. Dear Mum, Papa and Emmy, I've thought of you every day since I left home. Everything that has happened over the course of the war makes me miss you more than ever. I have been transferred again, although I'm not allowed to say where. All I know is that I feel further from you every day, and I can sense even now that we are losing. Not our world war, perhaps, but our own war, and with no news of Wittenberg lately I worry he may strike when we least expect it...

     A distant boom and the flickering of the candle flame interrupted me, and the draft that swept through the room nearly blew it out. I shielded it with my hand, blinking the blurriness from my vision. I had had little sleep in the time since my transfer, between the injured soldiers arriving at all hours and my nightmares, which had seemed to worsen at the same time. Not to mention I was longing for home, for my family, even for Marcel. So far, I had received nothing from him. I had never felt so alone in my life. 

     'Sister Bishop?' A voice from the doorway disturbed my thoughts. It was nearly full dark inside the abandoned cathedral we were stationed in, ideally situated so that we could see the village, nestled among the hills, but not nearly so close that the enemy would think to target us.

     I rubbed one eye and dropped my pen on the writing-desk. 'Yes?'

     'Another soldier's complaining of phantom pains, Sister.'

     I could only bite my lip and nod. I'd seen it plenty of times. Pain in a limb that was gone, an itch in a hand or a foot that wasn't there. I hadn't become an expert on keeping them calm quite yet, but they seemed to feel better around someone who knew what they were doing–something I would welcome right about now. Nearly all the girls here were barely out of training.

     'And you told him what?' I said after a few tense seconds. I was unused to commanding authority. It was a heavy responsibility, one I was still learning to bear. 

     'That I would come find you. I didn't know what else to do, Sister.' She shuffled her feet nervously. 

     'Go find the morphine,' I said, pushing myself to my feet. 'I'll see to him until then.'

     'Yes, Sister.' She bobbed briefly, and then saluted, seeming unsure of which one was more appropriate. Before she had a chance to ask I waved her off. It didn't matter, not here.

     After a few moments, I lit the lantern nearby and proceeded to the nave, filled with rows of cots occupied by injured soldiers. Some grumbled at the disturbance happening at the far end, but most were too deeply under the influence of painkillers to even notice. 

     As I approached, I could hear his voice, ragged with pain, pleading. 'My leg! Oh God, my leg! Spare a man and cut it off already!'

     I quietly nudged my way in between the two frightened-looking nurses in their nightcaps and dressing gowns. They let me through with no resistance, probably sensing that help was on its way now that I was here. I knelt down next to the soldier, his blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks flushed from exertion. He looked no older than my sister, twenty at the most. His leg was missing above the knee, terminating in a mess of bloody bandages. It must have come off only days ago.

     After sending a second nurse off to fetch some clean bandages and some rubbing alcohol, I set the lantern down where I could see his face more clearly. 'Sergeant, it's all right now.'

     'It hurts! Oh, God, it hurts!' He clutched at himself convulsively, fresh sweat breaking out on his forehead. His breathing came harsh and ragged, cheeks blowing like a bellows. Then he scrabbled at the bedclothes, fingers opening and closing.