The Poppy Field: A gripping and emotional historical romance. Deborah Carr

coming in? Soon there would be none left to fight at this rate.

      “Nurse Le Breton, Nurse Fielding, you take the second ambulance over by Sister Brown.”

      They hurried over to it, arriving as the driver opened the door. Several orderlies appeared to help carry the injured men. Alice took Sister Brown’s lantern, lifting it so she could inspect the soldier’s tag attached to his uniform jacket.

      “Take him to Ward Two,” Sister instructed the orderlies. Lowering her voice so the semi-conscious soldier couldn’t hear, she added to Alice, “He needs to be away from the door, in one of the quieter beds. I’m not sure he’s going to make it.”

      She nodded, handed Sister Brown’s lantern to Mary and followed the stretcher to the ward.

      The following two soldiers weren’t as close to death as the first one, but both had bloody bandages around stumps on their legs.

      “These men are to be taken to the Theatre Ward, as soon as possible. “The surgeon can check them and decide what he wants to do.”

      The final stretcher was pulled from the back of the dusty ambulance. Alice forced a calm smile on her face when she gazed into his dirty, panic-stricken face. The bandage covering half his face was thick with layers of dressing, but still the blood was oozing through. She read his tag, but his face was the only injured part of him mentioned.

      “Ward Seven?”

      Sister Brown looked at her and nodded.

      Of all the wards, Ward Seven was the one that Alice found the most difficult to deal with. She wasn’t sure why. After all, the men who had lost limbs were going to find it difficult to integrate into the outside world, too. Somehow though, the men with damaged faces, found it harder to cope than those who’d lost limbs. Alice supposed it was because people found it hard to look in the mirror and not recognise the person staring back.

      She couldn’t help hoping their loved ones would put aside any misgivings about these men’s new physical situation to support them. It upset all the nursing staff when they heard of a fiancée calling off an engagement after seeing the result hot shrapnel had done to their loved one’s face.

      The night was long and filled with the usual cries of pain, panic and horror, but Alice didn’t mind being on night duty, especially after a new influx of injured came to the station. The time flew by as she moved from bed to bed, assisting the sisters, or Matron.

      Just after two in the morning, Alice was finishing redressing a leg wound. She enjoyed having established recognition from Matron Bleasdale and being allowed to carry out tasks usually only permitted to be done by qualified nurses.

      “Nurse Le Breton,” one of the younger volunteers shouted, breathless from running to find her. “Doctor Sullivan needs you to assist in Theatre Two immediately.”

      Alice stood up. Ordinarily she would never pass on work to a probationer, but this was an emergency. “This is nearly done,” she said handing over the bandage carefully. “You’ll need to finish it for me.”

      Excitement coursed through Alice. Ever since joining the VADs she had dreamt of assisting during a surgery. This, though, was the first time she had been called to do so. She arrived at the theatre tent moments later, trying not to show her nervousness.

      “Wash your hands in there,” Matron Bleasdale instructed, removing a blood-stained apron. “Hurry, now. The surgeon needs you to relieve the current nurse, she’s unwell.” She left Alice to prepare.

      Alice quickly scrubbed and dried her hands. Pulling her apron straps over each shoulder she crossed them, fumbling with the material as she tied them in a bow at her back, before rushing in to the theatre.

      “What kept you,” the surgeon barked, his black eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “I called for you long ago.”

      She didn’t care to argue. “Sorry, Sir,” she said.

      Alice had noticed how strained the surgeons seemed recently. The continuing arrival of patients increased the relentless surgeries each man had to perform. Alice was exhausted, with every muscle aching, but she could only imagine how they must be feeling. If only more tents and beds could be brought to the station, as well as more surgeons and nursing staff, she thought. Surely, they would be falling ill soon themselves, if they didn’t get some relief from the endless work.

      “Hand me that clamp,” he said indicating the instrument he wanted. He then looked down on the operating table at the soldier, his chest opened on one side. “Blast. Another, now.”

      Trying not to panic, Alice did as he asked. “Call another nurse to assist. We’re going to need more hands here.”

      Alice went to leave and do as instructed.

      “Bloody shout from the door. We don’t have time for you to fetch people. They’ll come to you.”

      Alice nodded and went to the opening. Pulling back the canvas flap she called for someone to help.

      Matron spun on her heels, glaring at her. “Nurse Le Breton, what is the meaning of this?”

      Alice hadn’t seen her. “Doctor Sullivan’s, instructions,” she explained. “We need assistance here, now.”

      Matron pointed to another nurse and waved her over. Alice didn’t wait to hear what was being said, but dropping the canvas returned to the operating table. She knew Matron might be a bit of a tyrant, but she was brilliant in an emergency. Seconds later, another nurse ran into the side room.

      “I’m washing my hands, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called.

      “Wadding,” the surgeon bellowed, ignoring her. “Lots of it.”

      Alice grabbed a handful of the wadding, handing it to him.

      “Hold it there.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the boy’s open wound.

      She did as she was told, wondering if there was any chance the bleeding in the boy’s side could be stemmed. “It’s not stopping, Doctor,” she said, without thinking what she was doing.

      “I can see that for myself, Nurse.” He continued working on the boy, concentration etched on his perspiring brow.

      The patient began to convulse on the operating table and Alice held her breath. She wasn’t sure what to do and almost sighed with relief when they were joined by the other nurse.

      “Where the hell have you been?” the doctor growled. “Here,” he said pointing for them to place their hands over the side of the open wound. “Hold him there. I need to think.”

      They did as he said, not daring to look at him or each other. Alice wondered if the other nurse was shaking as much as she was right now. The soldier convulsed, once again and Alice’s bloodied hands slipped away from his side.

      “I said hold it,” the surgeon roared, grabbing Alice’s wrists and pushing her hands against the torn bloody side. “Damn, this isn’t doing anything.”

      He took her hands away and reaching inside the man’s wound, groaned. “Quick, the smallest clamp.”

      Scrambling around on the metal tray to find the correct implement, Alice grabbed it, handing it to him. The two nurses watched in awe as the surgeon took a deep breath, visibly calmed down and closed his eyes, his two hands lost inside the bloody mess of the soldier’s side as he worked.

      Finally, he withdrew his hands. “Yes, that’s it. We’ve managed to stem the bleeding.”

      She wasn’t sure she had managed to do anything of the sort but was delighted to be included in his congratulatory delight.

      “Can he be left like this?” she asked, relieved enough to forget herself.

      “What? No, of course not,” the surgeon, looked shocked at her ridiculous question. “I’ve just bought the boy time, that’s all. We must clean up this mess inside him. I need to see the