A Rose in No-Man's Land (10 page)

“Oh, Mark, angel indeed. What a lot of rot.”

“It’s true. That’s what they called you. I swear it.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

It warmed him, gave him hope amidst the carnage, to remember the other things they’d said. How her compassion reached out to envelope everyone. No matter how busy or tired, she always had a word of encouragement or time to soothe a fevered brow. She had been caught writing letters for patients late into the night, when she should have been resting. When water became short, she shared her own ration.

Dear God, if only he could take her away from all this suffering before it sapped her strength and drained her golden youth. She wouldn’t go—instinctively he knew this—not when the wounded needed her.

“I’m feeling better already.” She sat up so suddenly it caught him by surprise. “How long are you staying?”

“Until it gets dark. I’m going back with some supplies. The firing has been so intense some of the wounded have been shot again on the beach as they waited for evacuation. They’re being taken off at night and supplies landed at the same time.”

“So, we can spend a little while together.” Happiness gave a lilt to her voice, and he watched warmth returning to her cheeks because of his presence. It empowered him, gave him hope that, one day, things might turn out for them.

“You’ve been very ill.”

“I’m all right now you’re here. I’ll get Jane to bring my clothes. After I get dressed, we can go for a walk along the beach.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you overdoing things and getting sick again.”

“I’m well and strong now. Captain Adams promised…”

“The young, skinny doctor?”

“Yes, he’s rather sweet.”

“What did he promise?” Mark felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Another man interested in Amy? It didn’t bear thinking about.

She slipped her hand into his. “I love you, Mark. There won’t ever be anyone else for me.”

He felt the color drain out of his face. For a moment he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. “I’m a selfish swine. I should set you free, because we have no real future together, only I can’t.”

“We’ve got now. Some people don’t even have that.”

He would have to let her go sooner or later. The decent side of him said sooner, rather than later, but he needed her now. She kept him sane amidst the never-ending carnage. If he survived Gallipoli, he would let her go, he promised himself. He couldn’t let her waste her time on a man who had no future to offer. His love ran too deep.

****

Amy met him outside the hospital perimeter just as the sun dropped like a huge fireball into the Aegean Sea. She dashed into his arms, and his heart soared.

“I thought you might have forgotten to come,” she said.

“And leave my best girl to Captain Adams? Not likely.”

Although she was back in uniform, she had left off her veil, and he rested his chin on her soft hair. His fingers itched to pull out all the pins and loosen her hair, so when it flowed about her shoulders he could bury his face in its soft silkiness and inhale its perfume.

They ambled along without speaking, passing several other strolling couples. The purple shadows lengthening along the ragged coastline finally hid them from view. He took her in his arms to assuage the craving to taste her sweet lips, intoxicate himself with the scent of her skin, and feel her warmth spreading throughout his body, melting the bleakness in his heart. Her kisses could obliterate the carnage and horror of Gallipoli.

“I’ve dreamed of this for weeks, my darling girl.”

He trailed a line of fiery kisses across her eyelids and down her cheeks until he buried his mouth in the perfumed hollow of her throat. A master musician, he played upon her emotions so they would turn into a tumultuous symphony in tune with his.

Her eyes became slumberous and he kissed each lid in turn, then gently trailed his tongue across her cheekbones.

The darkness guarded them from prying eyes. Desire raced to his groin, his manhood stiffened, but he couldn’t act on it no matter how much he craved it. He should be flogged for even allowing himself the luxury of caressing her breasts through her clothes.

“It’s all right, darling, I won’t ask anything more, but I’d give up twenty years of my life to be able to make mad, passionate love to you right here and now. I should be getting you back to the hospital.”

Amy reached up and scrunched her fingers through his close-cropped hair.

“Just a little while longer, Mark. Please.” She caressed the nape of his neck before undoing the buttons on his shirt so she could touch his taut, hard flesh with her fingertips.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she whispered.

“It really is time for us to go, my lovely girl.”

Amy’s hands trembled as she tidied her clothes and patted her hair back into place. If he hadn’t put a stop to their kissing, their passion would have escalated until it flared out of control. She should be thankful he cared enough to stop. So why did she feel somehow cheated?

Mark moved a short distance away and stood motionless, a dark shadow staring out to sea. As she came up to him, her throat constricted because he looked so alone. He carried an aura of remoteness now, an intransient quality that cloaked her heart with dread.

It would always be like this. A few snatched moments of bittersweet passion followed by utter and complete loneliness when he left. They had no future. Only now. If the Turkish guns did not take Mark away from her, the dark secrets in his past would.

Her eyes filled with hopeless tears, but she dared not let them fall.

Chapter 6

The fighting continued unabated on Gallipoli.

Millie paced up and down, wringing her hands. “Dick says because the casualties have been so high the Light Horse men have volunteered to leave their mounts in Egypt and fill the void as infantry soldiers. He volunteered to go. I begged him not to, but you know what men are like. Can’t let their mates down.”

“You should be proud of him, Mill.”

“What if he gets killed?” Millie wailed.

Amy had no answer for that. All she could do was hug her friend and pray that Dick, Mark, and Guy would be safe. She felt weighted down with dread. Fear constantly ate her, sometimes insidiously, other times with such vicious intensity she wanted to scream out her agony.

On the sixth of August 1915, the Australians attacked the heavily fortified trenches at Lone Pine. By the ninth of August, two thousand of them lay dead.

Perspiration poured off Amy and pooled under her breasts as she worked below decks, helping nurse some of the twenty-two thousand casualties they had been told to expect.

An orderly hurried up to her. “Sister Amy.”

“Yes, Frank.” She gave him a weary smile.

“Someone’s asking for you up on deck.”

“For me, Frank? Who?” Her heart turned to stone. “Is it Captain Tremayne?”

“No, it’s your cousin, Captain Webster.”

“Guy?” Momentarily everything went fuzzy. Shaking her head, she tried to clear it of a sudden murderous pounding. She took a deep gulp of air. “I…is he bad?”

Her hands trembled as she continued bandaging a young soldier’s leg, and though tears sprang to her eyes, she forced them not to fall.

“Go to him, Sister,” he said kindly. “I’ll finish up here for you.”

On deck, the stretchers lay so close together there was hardly room to move between them, but she found a white-faced Millie. “Guy’s over there, Amy. I’m so sorry.”

He had obviously only just arrived on board. Parchment white, except for streaks of grime, his skin looked as if every vestige of color had leached out.

“Guy!” She knelt down beside him and instinctively checked the field dressing on his left lower arm.

“Oh, Smithy, thank God you’re here. Tell me it isn’t true.” Tears filled his eyes. “They told me at the dressing station I could lose my arm.”

“Of course you won’t.” She tried not to stare at the jagged pieces of bone and pulped flesh that had once been his hand.

“I couldn’t go back to Sophie maimed.” His eyes glazed over with pain.

“You won’t. We’ll patch you up good as new.” She forced a note of confidence into her tone as she tried to reassure him. “How’s Mark?”

“All right, last I heard, a few days ago. He’s been recommended for the Military Cross.”

Her feeling of pride was tempered by the worry of what he did to win it.

“There should be dozens of medals given out for Lone Pine. It was sheer, bloody murder.” His body convulsed with remembered horror. “The Turkish trenches were roofed over with logs. We couldn’t get in, so they cut us to pieces.”

She stroked the damp hair back from his forehead. “Shh, don’t talk any more.”

“Smithy, those Light Horse blokes are being wiped out at the Nek. Oh, hell.” He muttered something she could not catch, before slipping into unconsciousness.

Her tears fell onto his face. Always laughing and happy.
God,
how could you let this terrible thing happen to him?
Sophie would welcome him home even if he lost all his limbs, but a lot of the boys would be rejected by their wives and sweethearts because of their disfigurement.

She forced herself to leave him because, badly injured as he was, others needed help more desperately.

The hospital staff worked from seven in the morning until eleven at night with hardly a break. As they dealt with one boatload, another arrived, followed by another and another. A heartbreaking, bloody, never-ending flow of suffering. Amy’s head spun, her stomach churned, and she felt as if someone had dipped her body in boiling water.
I’ll never complain about being cold again.
Below decks it felt like the ovens of Hades had opened wide to spew out all their heat.

****

For days the hospital ships ran a continuous shuttle service from Gallipoli to hospitals in Imbros, Mudros, Malta, and Alexandria, then back again.

One of the orderlies told Amy that Guy’s arm had been amputated below the elbow, as she’d feared it would be, but he was making steady progress in hospital on Lemnos. This relieved her mind, although she would not be completely satisfied until she saw him for herself.

Even worse news soon followed. Elements of the Eighth Victorian and the Tenth Western Australian Light Horse regiments were virtually wiped out in futile charges over the parapets at the Nek on the seventh of August 1915. This attack had been instigated as a diversionary action to cover the landing of British troops at Suvla.

In the battle Dick had been killed. As soon as she heard the news, Amy raced up on deck to find Millie. She would be distraught. Oh, God. Where was Mark? Lying dead somewhere? Maybe he was with Dick?

She found Millie marching up and down the deck, beating her forehead with her open hands, tears coursing down her cheeks.

“Oh, Millie, I’m so sorry.” Amy tried to put her arms around her friend in comfort, but Millie pushed her away and continued her angry marching.

“Our boys are being slaughtered,” she ranted. “While English soldiers sip tea on the beaches, waiting for orders to advance.”

On and on a distraught, bitter Millie went on. “Those bloody generals. Their incompetence killed Dick. They should be held accountable. He was butchered, and for what?”

Amy had no words of comfort to offer her. Many of the nurses had lost someone dear to them over the last few terrible days. Jules, another young friend from Kilmore, had been one of those killed in the mad, brave charge at the Nek. No word on Mark. She didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. He might be lying out in no-man’s land, calling for her, his lifeblood pouring into the ground. It was sheer torture not knowing, but she tried to push aside her own worry and fear to comfort Millie.

“You can’t go on like this, Millie.” For thirty-six hours Millie had worked non-stop, and Amy didn’t know what to do.

“Dick wouldn’t want you making yourself ill. Please, Millie.”

She tried to get through to her friend, but Millie’s mind had frozen over with grief and she would not listen. Chalk white, her face was rigid with a frightening determination.

****

After three hot and exhausting weeks, they returned to Lemnos. As soon as she could, Amy raced in to see Guy, who sat propped up in bed with his arm swathed in bandages.

“Hello, Smithy,” he greeted her with a half grin.

“How do you feel?” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Not bad. I’ve had a letter from Sophie. Guess what?”

She sat down on his bed. “Tell me.”

“I’m a father.”

“Congratulations.” She hugged him, making sure not to hurt his bandaged arm. “A boy?”

“Nah, a girl, but Smithy, look at this.” From beneath his pillow he pulled out a letter crumpled from much reading. He shook it until some baby hair fell out onto the bedclothes.

“She’s blonde like us, seven pounds in weight, and nineteen inches long,” he boasted. “Here, read it all.” He thrust the letter into her hands, and Amy skimmed through the neatly penned lines.

“I’m glad everything turned out so well, and I like Elizabeth for a name.”

She sat on the bed and picked up his hand. “Are you managing all right?” She glanced at his bandaged stump.

“Yes. Lucky it’s my left arm. I felt terribly bitter for the first few days, but after seeing some of these other poor devils, I count myself as being fortunate. I’m being transferred to Alexandria, and then it’s home.” He sighed. “I only wish you were coming with me.”

“There’s too much work to be done here. Besides, I couldn’t leave Mark.”

He squeezed her hand. “There’s no future for you with him.”

“I know.” The burden of this knowledge weighed heavily on her heart.

“It would be no good, I suppose, my telling you to try and forget him.”

“No. I’m surprised at you, Guy. He’s your friend.”

“Of course he is. But Smithy, except for Sophie, no one in the world means as much to me as you do. Mark knows how I feel, because I told him. He’s being unfair to both of you. I know there’s something terrible in his past that stops him from marrying you, but he should set you free so you can find yourself a man who can do the right thing.”