A Rose in No-Man's Land (17 page)

“Call into the Orderly Room. They’ll give you your movement details. Your behavior has brought disgrace not only on yourself but on the entire nursing service.”

Amy walked out on Ella’s ravings. The time of reckoning had arrived. Now she would have to pay the price for her folly. Find Millie first. Then she would go to Mark. He would help her get out of this terrible mess.

Chapter 9

For once, the poppies waving their scarlet heads did not have her stopping to admire their bright beauty. The artillery barrage, much closer than yesterday, hardly penetrated her tormented thoughts.

The old churchyard was a favorite spot of Millie’s, as she liked wandering amongst the gravestones. Amy hurried toward it. Soldiers marched past, their pounding feet lifting the chalky dust. Horse-drawn gun carriages lumbered by, lorries laden with supplies heading for another Somme battle. Nothing mattered for now, only Millie.

It took a while for Amy to find the little churchyard because it had virtually been obliterated by artillery during the night. As she picked her way through German and English bodies, strewn just where they fell, she tried not to step on anyone. Bile surged up in her throat and spilled out of her mouth at the sickening stench, and she wiped it away with trembling fingers.
Oh God, Millie, where are you?
If she had been caught out here… Amy forced herself to keep on searching even though her legs felt as if they were made of cotton wool, and her stomach lurched in protest against the obscenity of blood and human entrails littering the ground, like the killing room of some giant abattoir.

Amy tripped over Millie’s corpse.

She fell to her knees, shaking from head to foot. Through tear-filled eyes she recognized the body only by the ward frock. Nothing remained of Millie’s face except a bloodied pulp.

She screamed and screamed, desperate to get away from this horror before she lost her mind. Stumbling over bodies, some already blackened in the sun, she dashed directionless. Her lungs were suffocating from her headlong flight, her legs trembled, and the blood pounded in her head, but she kept going.

She heard shouts, noises so loud her ears began to ring. Pain sliced through her forehead. A black cloud came down on her. She felt herself falling into a black, bottomless pit.

“Christus!”

Amy tried to glance around, but a mist covered her eyes and painful stars shot through her head.

“
Fräulein, Fräulein
, you wake up now,” a male voice said. Someone took hold of her shoulders.

A face swam before her. When she put her hand up, she felt the cloth of a bandage around her head.
Fräulein
was German, but she was in France. How strange. Her eyes closed again.

When Amy woke up next, she realized by the swaying motion that she travelled in a cart. Carefully she focused her vision. Fear pebbled her skin with moisture. Her companions wore field-gray uniforms.

“You’re Germans?” She turned her head to speak to a young fair boy whose chest and stomach were wrapped in bloodied bandages. His face looked white and sick with pain as he stared straight ahead without comprehension.

“He speaks no English,” a man said from the back of the cart, but Amy’s head hurt too much for her to turn to see who spoke.

“Where am I?” she asked fearfully.

“In an ambulance.”

“What!”

“Stretcher bearers found you while they were picking up wounded.” Though heavily accented, his English was understandable.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Hospital,
Fräulein
.”

“A German hospital? But I’m Australian.”

“
Australisch
. Not
Britisch
?”

“No. I’m an Australian Army nurse.” Could that be why they picked her up? If she had been a soldier, they would have killed her on the spot, or left her to die. Her head ached, yet she must think about escaping before they got too far behind the German lines. But how? She might have been unconscious for hours. They could be miles away from the British trenches.

“Anna, Anna,” the fair boy cried out.

As Amy started to recover her senses, she realized he was badly wounded. “Shh, lie still.” She knelt beside him and picked up his hand. How cold it felt. “He needs a doctor.”

“All of us need a doctor.” The voice from the back came again, and her gaze focused on a soldier whose arm was wrapped in bandages.

“Shh,” she soothed the fair boy, pushing back the damp lock of wheat-colored hair that kept tumbling across his forehead.

Twenty or more of them were crammed into the wagon. The sickly smell of unclean dressings and sweaty bodies assaulted her nostrils. Several of the wounded groaned in pain as they hit a bump, the wagon swaying dangerously before lurching forward once more.

Late in the afternoon, they pulled into what must have once been a large manor house. Gaping holes festooned the roof, and many of the windows had shattered. Surely they did not intend putting wounded in this shell of a place?

Those who could walk did so, either alone or with the help of others, including her. The rest waited to be carried inside on stretchers. The hospital was in a cellar, the walls whitewashed, the flagged stone floors clean. Beds set close together stretched along either side of a long hallway, with a dozen or so mattresses spread out on the floor.

“I am Doctor Heinrich.” A thin, untidy young man walked up to her. He spoke almost perfect English with just the barest of accents. “They told me to expect an English nurse.” He peered out from behind thick glasses.

“I’m Australian.” She winced when he took the bandage off her head.

“Just a flesh wound. Lucky for you,
Fräulein
. Another fraction of an inch would have proved fatal.”

“You look after all these wounded on your own?”

“No, with the help of orderlies, when I can get them. This is an aid station, next stop is a military hospital, if they’re lucky. You are well enough to help?” he asked eagerly. “After I dress your wound, of course, Sister.”

“Well, I suppose so. I’m still a little weak, but…”
German or British, what does it matter? They’re all wounded and need help. It’s not as if I’m a soldier
.

Ernst Kruger, the blond boy from the wagon, was seriously wounded, with a chest full of shrapnel. Franz, the middle-aged orderly assigned to her, had chubby cheeks and a shiny bald head. His command of English was poor, her German non-existent, but somehow they managed to understand each other with the aid of Dr. Heinrich and extensive use of sign language.

The doctor himself attended her wound, a laceration where a bullet had grazed the side of her forehead. She was issued a large white apron and commenced work straight away, assisting in the evacuation of debris from Private Kruger’s chest.

As always, there were too many wounded and not enough help, but as darkness came upon them, all the patients had been attended to.

“Another rush like this, Sister,” the doctor scowled, “and my patients will have to lie on the bare floor. The military spend millions on killing machines, yet begrudge me a few marks to make life more bearable for our wounded.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” She tidied up the supply cupboard. “That’s how things are with us, too. I served at Gallipoli.”

“Ah, the Dardanelles.”

“Yes. Soldiers died from lack of medical supplies and speedy evacuation, yet yachts were moored in Mudros harbor for a privileged few, with everything on board we needed so desperately.”

“Time for some tea, I think, Sister, a habit I picked up during my time in England.”

They drank from tin mugs in the doctor’s office. The tea was strong and hot, and she sipped it gratefully. A surly young soldier dumped a plate of congealed stew in front of her, causing Dr. Heinrich to leap out of his chair.

She didn’t understand the angry exchange of German, but the soldier snarled one word,
Gefangene,
with extra venom. Cold hatred darkened his eyes. Inwardly quaking, she threw her head back and stared straight into his face until he swung around and stalked off.

“This food isn’t fit for pigs,” the doctor growled. “I’m sorry you witnessed such an awful display, Sister.”

“Call me Amy. Thank you for sticking up for me. Did you spend much time in England?”

“Half my life. My parents died just before my tenth birthday, so I went to England to live with relatives. I was working in Austria when war broke out. Before I realized the ramifications, the authorities arrested me. Gave me two choices. Be interned or volunteer as an army doctor, so here I am.”

“You must be torn between both sides.”

“Yes, in some ways.” His shortsighted eyes were pale blue and slightly vague. His sparse blond hair stood on end because he kept dragging his fingers through it.

“I don’t worry about the nationality of my patients; medicine has no sides, as far as I’m concerned.”

“What did that word the soldier spat at me mean?”

“Prisoner.”

“Is that what I am?”

“I suppose so. The Commandant will wish to speak with you later on. His English is poor, so I’ll translate. More tea?”

“No, thank you. How do you say it in German?”

“
Danke
.”

“Doctor, where are we?”

“Thiepval. Didn’t you notice the village?”

“No.” Thiepval was supposed to be a fortress. How many thousands of men had been slaughtered trying to take it from the Germans? Her stomach plunged. If the Germans did not kill her, the English artillery would.

“I must check on young Ernst Kruger again.” The doctor stood up.

“Do you think he’ll recover?” She pushed her mug away.

“Hard to say. He’s young and strong, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and I can’t be sure how bad his internal injuries are.”

As Amy followed him back into the ward, she wondered where she would sleep. Would they lock her up? Ship her off to Germany? Shoot her?

Ernst’s breathing sounded shallow, and a film of perspiration covered his bleached skin. “Anna, Anna.” He cried out so piteously she dropped to her knees beside his bed and picked up his hand.

“Shh, it’s all right, Ernst. Morphine, Doctor?”

“There’s none left.”

“Anna.” There was a note of pleading in his voice now, as he gabbled out words she could not understand.

“Shh.” She stroked his cheek. He had reached a crisis point. “What’s he saying?”

“He wants Anna, must be his girlfriend, wife perhaps. Who knows? Stay with him, Sister, while I check on the others.” The doctor strode off muttering.

If only she could give Ernst something to dull his pain so he would rest. If he got over tonight he might survive, if he did not…

“Ernst, don’t die. I know you’re a German, but you’re only a boy. It isn’t fair.” His body started convulsing, and she held him down by lying almost on top of him.

She started humming the hymn “Rock of Ages,” and after a few bars, his frantic struggles subsided. As she sang the words softly, he started to relax. He couldn’t understand the words but obviously knew the tune.

After singing all the hymns she could remember, she hummed the tune “Roses of Picardy,” until her voice became scratchy. When Dr. Heinrich came back with an officer, Amy stayed where she was, lest her movement should waken Ernst, who had slipped into a peaceful sleep.

“Sister, let me introduce Major Schwartz.”

“
Fräulein
.” The major clicked his heels together and inclined his head.

“Good evening, sir. Doctor, our patient seems to be sleeping much easier now.”

“Yes, thanks to your singing.”

“I should like to…to speak with you,
Fräulein
.” The major spoke slowly, struggling with his English.

“Would it be all right if we waited a while? Poor Ernst has settled down now. If I move away too soon, he might wake up again.”

The major thrust his chin out arrogantly, his ice-blue eyes narrowing to slits. “I be Commandant of this unit. Now,
Fräulein
.”

Dr. Heinrich interjected, and a heated discussion broke out between the two men. “
Fick dich
,” the major snarled as he turned on his heel and stalked off.

“
Arschloch
,” the doctor muttered.

“
Arschloch
? Is that a swear word?”

“Yes, it means ‘asshole.’”

“Such language, Doctor,” Amy admonished with a smile. She didn’t dare ask him what
fick dich
meant. She already had a fair idea it was the worst kind of swear word, having heard some of the young German soldiers using it.

“Arrogant bloody Prussian. He’s only in charge because our colonel is away. The authority must have gone to his head. Come along. You must rest. One of the orderlies will watch over Ernst. I’ve arranged rough accommodation for you here in the cellar. It’s safer. You’d better eat your meals with me, too, so I can make sure you aren’t fed slops like before.”

****

The next few weeks were the strangest Amy ever spent. She was a prisoner and yet she wasn’t, not around the hospital, anyway. The orderlies came to regard her as the doctor’s assistant, and after a preliminary inspection by a number of curious young soldiers from nearby trenches, they left her alone.

Major Schwartz, though—she shivered thinking about him. The pebble-hard blueness of his eyes held hatred when they surveyed her. He watched her all the time, and when he walked he slithered along like a snake. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as she burrowed herself deeper into the coarse army blankets.
Don’t let your
imagination run riot. You’re quite safe
.

The cellar shook with the vibration of the English bombardment. Fear shredded her nerves when the sounds of falling bricks and masonry penetrated the pit-like blackness. They would all be entombed; she would never see Mark again. Never have the opportunity of telling him she now fully understood what had happened in his billet that night, when he cried out Ella’s name.