Read For King and Country for Free Online Page B

him none.
She’d seen the task, and had been oblivious to the man and his distress. At the memory of that distress, that awful panting and moaning, and the eye that in its agony kept darting into hers,
Sally’s heart contracted. A DCM and Bar might be proof of a man’s courage, but courage didn’t make anyone immune to torture.
    That Dunkley, though. The only man she’d been aware of was Dr Campbell, and the patient might as well have been a block of wood for all the notice she took. Still, she’d got the job
done, and that was what mattered, after all.
    But was it
all
that mattered? High moral standards were all well and good, but judging other people like she judged the girl with the breast abscess wasn’t right, and neither was
taking it out on her. Sally went through Florence Nightingale’s demands in her mind. A nurse must be sober, honest, truthful, trustworthy, punctual, quiet and orderly, clean and neat. That
was all. But surely, something was lacking from the list. Nurses should be kind. And it would be so much the better, she thought, with a wry smile, if they had no sense of smell.
    The image of that soldier’s wound was the last thing in her mind before her thoughts became disjointed, her eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep, with the festering stench of that
putrefying face pervading her dreams.
    The night nurse disappeared into the office to give Sister Davies the report, leaving Lieutenant Maxfield’s washing bowl on his table. There was a flush on his cheek, and
he seemed to be asleep. Sally put a gentle hand on his good shoulder to awaken him. In an instant he roused, wide-eyed, like someone surfacing from a nightmare.
    Still voiceless, he mouthed: ‘Who am I?’ and his uncovered eye held all the fear she’d seen the day before.
    ‘Why, you’re Lieutenant Maxfield.’
    He looked unconvinced, so she took down his chart, to check the name and make certain she had it right. He nodded slightly when she showed it him, and winced as he relaxed against the pillows.
Sally pulled open his locker drawer, found soap and flannel, retrieved his hospital towel from the back of the locker, placed it across the bed, then wet and soaped the flannel. ‘I just have
to help you to get washed. Did you sleep all right?’
    He replied with a little one-sided shrug, then pointed to his throat and mouthed the word ‘Gone.’
    ‘Gone? Do you mean your voice? Do you mean you’ve lost your voice?’
    He nodded. Sally wiped the uninjured side of his face with the flannel, and towelled it dry. ‘You’ve got a bit of bristle. Shall I ask the barber to come and shave you?’
    He put a protective hand to his moustache, and gave a little shake of his head. She washed and dried his good hand, and put his things away in his locker. ‘I suppose you remember
you’re going to theatre this morning? It means you won’t get any breakfast. Still, you won’t have to starve for long. You’re first on the list.’
    He answered with another shrug. Afraid that the horror she’d shown yesterday at the sight of his wound had upset him, Sally hesitated for a moment before lifting the bowl, wondering
whether she should say a few words to try to make amends, but his eye was closed again, shutting her off.
    Who knew what these men had lived through, she wondered as she carried the dirty water to the sluice. Her brothers said the papers didn’t tell a tenth of it. Most of the men coming back
from the Front were a bit peculiar, and some of them out of their minds altogether, fit for nothing but mental asylums. It was best to take no notice and just carry on as normal.
    Night nurse was leaving the ward, looking dead tired, and Sister Davies was standing at the office door, beckoning impatiently to her. Sally sped up the ward and was last to sidle into the
office, to stand beside another, more junior probationer.
    ‘Nurse Wilde’s here, finally, so with her permission, I can give the report.’ Sister looked sternly round