“Here you go,” the Lieutenant said. “I’m not sure he’ll drink.”

“Having a tough time?” Marc asked.

“We are administering sulpha,” the nursing sister said. “He’s not responding.”

That was no surprise because this was not an infection. Ghouls in his mind were not of nature and as a result nor was his ailment.

He filled the glass halfway while leveraging his blood bond to rouse the soldier awake. Even that had little effect, but the soldier managed to open his eyes momentarily.

Unlike Lieutenant Stone this one had a glow in her eyes and a mischievous grin. Marc instinctively knew that she would have been a handful as a soldier, something that would drive any seasoned sergeant up the wall.

Instead, she reminded him of the bubbly side of Evelyn. A woman with a thirst of life that would never be extinguished. Hopefully that remains true throughout this war.

As she approached, he sliced open his index finger using a talon on his thumb and smeared a drop of his blood into the bottom of the glass. It was all sleight of hand enhanced by vampiric speed.

At his bedside there was an empty glass of water. That gave him an idea, but needed to be first and foremost discrete.

“Nurse,” Marc called out quietly to the back row.

On his second call, a younger nurse turned to acknowledge him. He held the glass in his hand and motioned to Mackenzie.

She understood his request and went to the back and grabbed a stainless-steel pitcher. The first thing he noticed about her was how those eyes matched the pitcher she carried.

“Thank you, Captain?” Marc asked since none of the nursing sisters wore nametapes.

“Stone,” the nurse replied. It certainly suits her demeanour.

He nodded politely and Murphy fell to his side once more as he made his way towards the men. The first they came across was Mackenzie who was not aware they were even here.

The man was covered in a sheen of sweat, mumbling to himself. While bandaged, Marc imagined that the veins above the stump of what used to be his leg were turning black. Over time the infection would creep up until it reached his heart. Not even God can intervene by that point.

He replied in kind, “I’m here to see Private Mackenzie and Lavoie.”

Both names were pronounced properly in their mother tongues, whereas he had no identifying accent. When he wanted to, Marc could sound more British, but was amongst his countrymen here.

The nurse raised an eyebrow and she pursed her lips. He wondered how many other commanders made their rounds to check on their men. I’m not sure I’d like the answer.

She pointed to the right, near a small group of men. Several of the cots were empty, which in hindsight made his question rather moot. Still, he suspected she would have made a scene had he simply walked in.

At his side there was a small desk with a nurse seated behind it. While he considered all the men to be young, including Murphy, the sight of this nurse made him think of his Evelyn.

This one had brown hair and eyes, but the twinkle was gone. This woman had seen far too much death in her life and none of it was recent. It took an older soldier like him to recognize the trauma hiding behind that smile.

“Can I help you?” The nurse asked at a near whisper.

The customary ‘Sir’ had been dropped, and he was thankful for it. That meant the men could focus on rest and recuperation.

When the door opened, Marc walked in as though nothing happened. The men were located along the edges, the beds packed in so tight that they were no more than two feet apart.

The middle was empty, but Marc imagined that during a major offensive the middle would fill with stretchers. The men would pile up anywhere there was room, waiting until someone could attend to them. I’d rather face Death on the battlefield then have him creep up while waiting to recover.

The back wall had two large flags, one for the unit and the other for the King they fought for. A few nurses were there, filling in entries in the logs, or sorting through the medications.

At his side there was a small desk with a nurse seated behind it. While he considered all the men to be young, including Murphy, the sight of this nurse made him think of his Evelyn.

They went on until they found the appropriate ward. Murphy raced on ahead without a word and ducked inside. Marc realized that an overzealous soldier or nurse might react to his presence. The last thing anyone wants is someone calling the room to attention.

When the door opened, Marc walked in as though nothing happened. The men were located along the edges, the beds packed in so tight that they were no more than two feet apart.

The middle was empty, but Marc imagined that during a major offensive the middle would fill with stretchers. The men would pile up anywhere there was room, waiting until someone could attend to them. I’d rather face Death on the battlefield then have him creep up while waiting to recover.

“Am I dreaming, Warrant?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir,” Murphy replied. “I was told by the nurse that they even have a dedicated staff.”

“What a bloody waste of resources.”

“No argument from me,” Murphy said while leaving out that they also had train cars reserved for them as well. “You didn’t know?”

He shrugged his shoulders while taking a moment to formulate his words. Out here his nature was not a manner to be discussed.

“I’ve never been sick a day in my life,” Marc boasted.

“That explains it.”

He paused halfway to their destination and turned his head to the side in a slow and deliberate manner. They were standing by a ward where the sign clearly showed that it was for officers only.

There was significantly less activity here than the other wards. The idea of separating officers from the men made sense for the messes as it gave them a way to vent about their commanders in relative safety. That doesn’t apply here.

“Am I dreaming, Warrant?” Marc asked.

“No, Sir,” Murphy replied. “I was told by the nurse that they even have a dedicated staff.”