“We should check on Lavoie,” Murphy said, after a lull in the banter.

“Excellent idea, Warrant,” Marc replied.

The man of war walked right past the nursing sister. The instinctual urge to move out of the way increased noticeably with proximity. I’ll need to be on my best behaviour.

When they arrived at the bunk, they found that Private Lavoie was asleep. The man was heavily bandaged with a few spots of red peeking through the bandages at certain areas.

Based on a vial by his bedside they were keeping the private sedated. Being jittery and seeing things would not heal those wounds.

“I’d love to see it,” the Second Lieutenant countered.

“Alas,” Marc said. “Duty calls. Still, if you bring one next Thursday around two in the afternoon you might get your wish. We’re putting on a talent show assuming the front stays quiet.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Marc said. “Murphy here has the voice of an angel. We could even do a song and dance.”

Murphy was so confused by this exchange that he simply nodded. Smart man.

Earlier was a relative term in his mind. Still, as he had been a Private himself. At least it explained his skill, even if the rank implied otherwise.

“You should have been a nurse,” the Lieutenant said with a grin.

“Perhaps,” Marc began. “I doubt that uniform works on me.”

Murphy coughed, clearly caught off guard by Marc channelling Le Marquis. Still this playful banter between them was not flirtatious. She’s testing me.

“I’d love to see it,” the Lieutenant countered.

Marc propped up the soldier and brought the glass to Mackenzie’s lips. The first bit of water wet his lips, cooling the feverish man. As though by instinct, Mackenzie reacted as though he were a man who walked out of the desert after forty days.

He drank it greedily, and Marc helped him back down. With any luck his own blood would be able to fend off the infection. With sufficient distance and time my control will wane entirely, but the blood will not allow other influences.

“You’ve,” the Lieutenant began. “You’ve done this before?”

“…an earlier conflict. I was part of a garrison that took casualties. There was no one else, so we took turns looking after the men.”

“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.