“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.”

From an operational standpoint planting trees and flowers was wasteful. From a humanitarian point of view these were everything to the wounded. Soldiers would see a flower blooming and instantly know they were no longer in combat.

Marc suspected it was also a way for the staff to avoid seeing the horrors of the war at every turn. Anything that made this conflict tolerable for those entrusted with saving the lives of the men was worth the investment

Marc chuckled but did not say anything. Murphy had already given him a general layout, so he walked along the wood planked boardwalk towards the ward.

“We can’t be more than ten miles from the front lines,” Marc said. “This feels like we’re thousands of miles away.”

“I know what you mean, Sir,” Murphy said. “Had this been summer there would have been flowers growing along the sides.”

From an operational standpoint planting trees and flowers was wasteful. From a humanitarian point of view these were everything to the wounded. Soldiers would see a flower blooming and instantly know they were no longer in combat.

After twenty-three minutes of being jostled around inside the cab of the truck they arrived at a complex composed of white canvas tents, and wooden huts with curved roofs. Among the gypsy army settlement there were also repurposed buildings.

While it was relatively quiet along the Western Front, soldiers were lined up waiting to be triaged. A few nurses walked up and down the line searching for those who could not afford to wait.

Their blue and white uniforms were in stark contrast to those his men wore. For someone wounded, the soothing voice of a woman, and that nun-like head dress and white apron might easily conjure the image of an angel. Sounds a lot more appropriate than ‘Bluebirds.’