Angel of the Somme: The Great War, Book 1

by Terri Meeker

  “I can hardly wait to find out,” Sam said with a grin.

  “Treads! Enormous treads going down the length of both sides. Clever bit of engineering there.”

  “That does seem quite ingenious,” Sam had to admit.

  “It’s not fast, mind you. Only goes about three miles an hour. But by my reckoning, that hardly matters at all. The bloody thing can cross trenches with no trouble at all. We’ll have Fritz packing his bags for Berlin in no time.”

  Gordy continued to gush about the mechanical marvel of the tank while the VAD crew began to disperse supper. Since Sam was still in restraints, he was given dinner last, when Lily was free to feed him.

  Sam had no opportunity to converse with Lily, however, due to Gordy’s seemingly boundless admiration for the tank. He filled Lily in on every mechanical detail. While she fed Sam, she nodded along, adding appropriate words of admiration for the new invention whenever Gordy paused to take a breath.

  As sweet as Gordy was, Sam felt a bit cheated. He only had one or two more evenings with Lily. He was frustrated that he was unable to talk to her alone due to Gordy being in the throes of mechanical ecstasy. When Rose stopped by, Gordy settled down a bit. He was always a little quieter when his Rosebud was about.

  “I’m here to deliver cocoa and collect your supper tray,” Rose announced.

  “And what did you think of the demonstration?” Gordy tilted his head toward her.

  “Oh, the machine was most impressive. I can’t imagine how the German lines could possibly stand against it.” She picked up Gordy’s tray, then looked over at Lily, gesturing at Sam’s nearly empty plate. “Is he finished?”

  “I am,” Sam replied.

  “Here, let me help you with those.” Lily stood and placed Sam’s tray on the cart.

  “Actually, I think you will need to stay and feed cocoa to Sam.”

  Sam shook his head, embarrassed. “It’s all right. I don’t need any. Thank you all the same.”

  “Nonsense,” Gordy blurted. “You were just saying the other night how you loved cocoa more than whiskey.”

  Sam felt his cheeks warm. “I’d really rather not tonight. Go ahead, Lily.”

  Lily tilted a look down at Sam. “How about I get on with these trays and you can drink your cocoa by yourself.” She bent over and unbuckled the restraint on Sam’s right hand. “You’ve promised me, after all.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, rubbing his wrist where the restraint had been.

  Lily moved down the aisle, collecting trays, while Rose continued delivering cocoa to the men.

  Matron Marshall opened the front door and walked down the row toward them, clipboard in hand. “We’ve just received word of an unexpected ambulance train. This one is a heavy. I’ll need Sister Newell, Sister Cudahee and as many VADs as we can spare.”

  Lily nodded. “Certainly, ma’am.”

  “Not you.” The matron frowned thoughtfully. “You were on solo duty all day. You’ll be too tired to be of any use.”

  “I could go,” a voice said.

  Matron’s Marshall’s eyes widened a little in surprise as Rose stepped forward.

  “I spent the afternoon at the demonstration. I’m quite well rested.” Sweet Rose looked downright confident as she met the matron’s critical eye.

  “And you’re certain you’re up to this, Miss Lewis?” the matron asked.

  “I am, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Follow Sister Newell to the ambulances then.” Matron Marshall turned around and strode back through the ward, scribbling furiously on her clipboard as she went.

  Rose turned around and gave Lily a nervous smile. “I am up to this, aren’t I?”

  Lily put an arm about Rose’s waist and squeezed. “You’ll do fine, Rose. More than fine.”

  Rose pushed her cocoa cart toward Lily. “See you later then.” After hurriedly stacking their trays on the cart, she wheeled it toward the end of the aisle, then rushed out the door to join the others.

  With only a few VADs remaining, Lily spent the next hour delivering cocoa, then retrieving the cups. By nine o’clock, the ward was quietly winding down for the day and Lily wasn’t to be seen. She was back in the kitchen, no doubt, or finally catching some much needed sleep.

  Sam felt oddly restless, however and was immensely relieved when Gordy suggested they pass the time by playing a game of gin. His right arm was still free of restraints, thanks to Lily, and he had the luxury to indulge in holding a hand of cards.

  Gordy shuffled the cards and dealt a hand. The Canadian played cards in much the same way as he lived life—enthusiastically and without a hint of guile. Unfortunately for him, this made him terrible at bluffing and Sam was winning handily.

  They’d played cards for an hour and were about to pack it in for the night when they heard a very loud boom. It was close enough to dislodge a few chunks of plaster from the dilapidated ceiling and the windows rattled terribly.

  “That was close.” Gordy’s face took on a rare serious expression. “What do you reckon it was?”

  “No idea,” was all Sam replied, but very bad feeling squirmed around inside his stomach and icy fingers of fear danced down his spine.

  The rest of the ward shared his mood. The normal buzz of chatter ceased in an instant and a sense of anticipation hung over the room like a cloud. The air of dread reminded Sam of a trench while the men waited to go over the top.

  It wasn’t long until he heard a huge commotion toward the front of the building. There was a bit of shouting, which was impossible to make out through the closed door, then someone burst in through the main entrance. Sam recognized him instantly as one of the regular ambulance drivers.

  He was covered in blood.

  Several of the patients jumped up and ran toward him, asking what had happened.

  “Zeppelin raid at the train station. Direct hit. Got to get the doctors.” The driver pushed them aside and rushed straight to the back of the room.

  Oh dear God. Sam felt as if he’d been punched, hard, in the stomach. He couldn’t breathe.

  As the driver ran to the back of the room, the ward erupted. Those men who were fit enough gathered together, milling about the front door. They didn’t bother to dress properly, but threw coats over hospital tops and stuffed bare feet into shoes.

  While the rest of the ward grew louder, Gordy became mute. His face turned the color of ash and his head wobble returned with a vengeance.

  In a matter of moments, the Dr. Raye crashed through the rear door, buttoning his shirt on his way. “Everyone, and I mean everyone, meet at the front. A convoy to the station right now. Any stragglers can join us later.”

  He cast a quick glance to the officers who’d already gathered by the door. “Danvers, Challen, Brown and Davis—you’re fit enough for this. The rest of you, I thank you, but you’ll be needed here. We’ll be very short staffed. Help the sister in charge as best you can until our return.”

  Behind him, the remainder of the staff began to spill through the door. Doctors Blume and MacGuire were among them. Sam felt a strange twisting sensation in his chest when he saw Lily’s shock of auburn hair just in the back of the bunch.

  “Time is critical,” Dr. Raye shouted. “We’ll start transporting you to the site now. At least they didn’t hit the ambulances.”

  As the brigade streamed past his bed, Sam caught Lily’s eye, busily tying her scarf around her head as she ran toward the door.

  His arms ached to hold her. His lips longed to whisper encouraging words to her. All they could do was exchange a glance. Then she was swept out the door with the tide of staff.

  “Goddamn the Jerries. A night raid.” Gordy had at last found his voice, but he was pale as a ghost and his head shook violently. “I feel so fucking useless sitting here. Goddamn my cast. What can we do, Sam?”

  “Nothing,�
�� Sam said, but he was lying. Though there was nothing Gordy could do, there was a very big something that Sam could do. And he didn’t have a lot of time to consider the right or wrong of it.

  He reached over to release his other restraint, then pulled himself up and swung his legs to the floor. The tile was cold beneath his trembling feet. When he’d been in the garden with Lily, he’d only walked a few steps. He hoped his legs were up for a little more now that he truly needed them.

  “Oi, Sam?” Gordy asked as Sam stood and walked toward the rear of the room. “What’re you doing?”

  “Doing what I can, Gordy.”

  As he pushed open the rear door his headache sparked to life, tapping pain on the back of his skull. If he hadn’t been certain of what he had to do, his newly born headache telegraphed it to him.

  Since he’d only been wheeled through the kitchen twice, his knowledge of the floor plan of the rear of New Bedlam was nonexistent. He’d have to rely on a little luck. As his weakened left leg began to seize up in a muscle cramp, he leaned against the wall for support. All right then, a lot of luck, he amended.

  After making his way past the kitchen and a hallway that seemed more suited to bedrooms, he came to a dead end with three doorways in a row, clearly labeled as surgery rooms. His headache kicked up a notch, reminding him to hurry.

  He pointed his shaking legs to the Surgery Room #2, as it was closest. He stumbled through the door, supporting himself by gripping onto the surgical table. He tore open cabinet doors, frantic to find something—anything—that might induce a seizure. The first cabinet held only bandages, gauze, suturing supplies. He rushed to the second to find a selection of knives, drills and saws. Useless.

  Gripping the table with one hand, he opened a lower cupboard door. Eureka. A tidy row of several devices including a portable electric light—the sort used for eye examinations. Just what he needed.

  He plugged the light in with trembling hands. He was just about to position himself on the floor, but suddenly an image of Lily flashed through his mind. Her green eyes looking earnestly into his only a few hours ago.

  “Do you promise, Sam?”

  “I give you my word of honor.”

  “Forgive me, love. You may hate me for doing this, but I’ll hate myself if I do nothing.” His voice echoed in the empty room. For Lily, he reached over to the cabinet of linens and pulled several sheets to the floor. He threw them on the floor in a heap, then lay on top of them, his head cushioned by a wad of linen.

  He reached over to the lamp and held it directly in front of his eyes.

  If he ever needed to perform this particular trick, the time was never more urgent. He only hoped he ended up at the train station and not in the middle of No Man’s Land.

  He flicked the switch; light and agony flooded into his head. The former tapping of his headache turned into a loud thudding. His jaw snapped shut involuntarily and he tasted blood—bright and coppery.

  Come on!

  He flicked the switch to off, then on again. A wall of pain slammed into him, driving his head against the floor. On, off, on, off. Each time the light hit him, his headache mushroomed inside his head.

  On, off, on…until a bright red hue seeped around the edges of his vision, rapidly flooding it.

  And Sam left Surgery #2 far behind.

  The red faded, not to black this time, but to orange, which seemed to flicker and dance. Sam’s nose and throat were immediately filled with smoke and he choked. As he squinted past his headache his vision wavered. A blast of heat burned his cheeks and it was then he realized he was seeing flames. A wall of flames. And beyond that, the ruined wall of a train station.

  He’d done it. He was in the train station, or rather, the remains of it. The roof had collapsed and the ground was littered with burning beams. A supporting wall had fallen in as well, leaving a large pile of rubble.

  He turned and his headache tore into him with vicious claws. Any hint of an exit was lost in the smoke.

  “Let this be quick.”

  As if in answer to his request, he heard a low moan. He moved toward it, his legs seizing on each step. He knew they wouldn’t hold him for much longer.

  He listened for the moan to return, but it was difficult to hear above the crackling fire and the more distant shouts from the rescuers.

  “Please,” a voice came from a just around the corner of the tile of rubble. He took a step toward the sound, but his left leg buckled, dropping him to the ground.

  Damnation.

  With no other option, he crawled over the pile of rubble, his legs screaming in protest. It was so difficult to see through the thick smoke that he nearly crawled right across a body lying in his path—a private by the uniform, but mangled beyond identifying.

  Struggling against panic, he pressed on, pulling his body through bits of brick and shattered wood. As he came around the corner, he saw it. A delicate hand, pale as the moon, lay on the ground.

  He looked over to see her face and his heart stopped beating.

  It was Rose. Darling, sweet Rose. A large red stain bloomed from her stomach where a large spear of metal had been driven completely through her midsection. It was clearly a mortal wound, yet she was somehow still alive. She was whiter than snow and looked at Sam with agony filled-eyes.

  What unholy horror was this? Not Rose.

  “I’ve got you, Rose,” he said. Rose didn’t move.

  Sam crawled toward her, distantly aware that he was cutting open his hands and legs as he dragged his useless legs through the rubble. Rose opened her mouth to speak and a thin trickle of blood dripped down her chin.

  “Please, Sam.” She stretched her trembling hand toward him.

  “Hang on. One more minute.” He slid over a burning beam. His skin blistered and his head felt as if someone was sawing into his brain.

  Only a few more feet and he could clasp her hand, save her.

  Voices shouted in the distance behind him. New Bedlam’s staff had arrived for the rescue at last. But it would be too late for Rose. All the medical intervention in the world couldn’t help her now.

  “Take my hand!” With one final shove, he pushed his body forward and stretched his hand out as far as he could.

  “It’s all right,” she said, her voice growing weaker. “I know what you really are.”

  Rose moved her hand, just an inch, but that was all it took.

  “Thank you,” she said as her cold fingers brushed against his.

  The white light where their fingers touched slammed into him. Then all turned to white light and buzzing electricity.

  And he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lily gripped the dashboard to avoid smashing against the door as they careened around a corner. The smoke was thicker here, wrapping tightly around the ambulance. The headlamps barely penetrated the thick wall of white.

  The driver jerked the wheel to the right and Lily looked out the window to see a large, twisted sheet of metal lying in the middle of the cobbled street. After a few more yards, they skidded to a halt. The smoke was too thick to go on. She jumped from the ambulance while it was still rolling forward.

  Though she couldn’t see the train station clearly, the eerie orange glow of flames illuminated its direction. The fire was burning brightest on the far side of the building—next to the railroad tracks. Now that she was out of the ambulance, she could make out a line of villagers a few dozen feet in front of her. They’d formed a bucket brigade consisting of mostly women and children.

  The other ambulances poured into the square and the hospital staff scrambled out. Lily gripped her to-go bag tightly and pushed through the gathering crowd, searching for Dr. Raye’s salt-and-pepper head.

  “The station’s too unstable,” Raye shouted, only an outline in the smoke. “We’ll set up triage here in the road, where the ambulances can
transport the wounded. Blume, if you’ll take a party south. MacGuire, you can go north of the station. Matron Marshall and I will ascertain what’s to be done at the site of impact.” The doctor’s cool efficiency under pressure had always impressed Lily, but never more so than now.

  “Corporal Stanley.” The matron looked at the senior ambulance driver. “As the others arrive, split them evenly between the groups and keep the street clear for traffic.”

  Without waiting for a response, the matron fell in behind Dr. Raye. Lily and a few others followed them while the rest of the group split into two groups.

  They skirted the southern side of the station where the flames weren’t as high. When they came around the corner of the building, Lily saw the full, horrible scope of the damage.

  One of the railcars had been utterly demolished. Its only remnant was a still-burning frame, tossed to the side as though it was a piece from a toy trainset. The station itself was missing most of its roof and a western support wall leaned in at a precarious angle. A smoldering pile of rubble took up most of the lobby.

  And scattered across the scene were bodies of the dead and wounded. Though Lily had witnessed many horrors of war, this was the first time she’d experienced the raw, immediate aftermath of a bomb.

  Dr. Raye wasted no time processing the scene. “Stretcher bearers, pull out those you can reach and bring them out to the road. Stay on the periphery of the blast until the fires are out. We can’t have you risking your lives.”

  He immediately rushed to the remains of the platform where a man laid unconscious, most of his right arm torn away. “He’s alive,” Raye said, his voice carrying over the chorus of groans and cries that Lily had only just begun to register. As he tore open his bag, Lily stooped to assist.

  “I’ll apply the tourniquet,” Raye said, not taking the time to glance toward Lily. “Find others. Time is critical.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lily gripped her bag and rushed further inside the shell of a station. The smoke was much thicker here, and the air burned her throat and nose each time she inhaled. She whipped her scarf from her head and tied it around her face in a kind of mask. When Lily looked to her left, she saw the matron, a shadowy figure working her way through the smoke and flames.