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him a disapproving glance. “Oh, I’ve been well apprised of his feelings towards them on several occasions. He may not care for them, but someone has to.”
    Lippett was dismissive of the shell-shock victims. It was all down to low morale, as far as he was concerned. Even the urmen gave them a wide berth, believing them possessed by malign spirits. She didn’t agree. She’d been through her own traumas; the thought of Jeffries still made her shudder. She bore the mental scars and empathised with those whose minds crumpled under the weight of their experiences.
    “Go,” Nellie said, with a brief smile and a nod. “We can cope for the moment, but be quick. If you’re not here when the wounded start coming in you’ll be for the high jump. If Lippett asks I’ll tell him you’ve gone to an Aid Post.” She turned to the hovering orderly. “Stanton, get in here and help me, then.”
    Edith put down her tray and stepped smartly out of the tent.
    The rhythmic noise of the Khungarrii chittering gave her chills and she kept her head down, not daring to look as she walked briskly across to the barbed wire compound. Nicknamed the Bird Cage, it had been constructed as a temporary solution along the same specifications as a large POW compound, but was still in use months later, much to Edith’s chagrin. There always seemed to be more important things to do. Still, at least now there was a crude wooden hut at one end, rather than tents to provide shelter, and some little comfort to those that would use it. Others preferred the familiarity of the dugout at the other end.
    In here, thirty-odd men had been abandoned by the meagre medical staff at the moment they needed help most, unable to cope. Some were trying to hide under blankets. Others flung themselves at the barbed wire in an attempt to escape. Others just sat weeping and howling, covering their ears, or jerking and twitching uncontrollably. Some had arrived on the planet like this, the bombardments of the Somme proving too much. Others had joined them here since, the shock of their predicament proving too much for their already fragile minds.
    Lieutenant Everson had often asked her to stop them howling and wailing as it was distracting the men. It made them uncomfortable; the Bird Cage was a visible reminder of their frailties and fears, failure as men under horrific conditions. But it was not failure, not as she saw it, and it certainly wasn’t cowardice.
    A number of new cases had been referred to her, unable to cope with the strangeness and violence of the new world around them. One of the triggers for shell-shock had been the unrelenting artillery barrages, the sustained bombardment and the inability to do anything about it. Here, there were no minniewerfers or five-nines, but when the very landscape around you proffered a sustained barrage of unpleasant and painful experiences, when any plant or creature might try to kill you and, more often than not, succeed, to some it was much the same. Those that weathered the Hun artillery with chirpy good humour or dogged willpower could crumble here, the sight of the alien sky above them sending them into the most fearful funks.
    Entrance was gained though a single gate set into the barbed wire fence. Everson had allowed the posting of a single sentry. “You!” Edith called him as she approached. “Help me get them into the hut. And be gentle.”
    A few allowed themselves to be herded towards the hut. Others were too physically incapable of moving by themselves, too paralysed by fear.
    She dropped on her haunches by Private Miller. He was trying to claw a hole in the ground to hide, his fingers now raw and bloody as he scraped away at the hard earth, heedless of the pain and driven by a desperate desire to flee. She grasped his wrists gently.
    “Shhh. It’s all right. You’re safe. Safe. Come with me.”
    He looked up at her with a vague recognition. Her window of opportunity was slim, before he slipped back into