If they didn’t get the hospital set up, more soldiers would die. There was no time for her to have a weak stomach. If she failed now, gave in to her fears, then she was only proving her father right, and there was no way she was doing that. Not for a second.
‘We are the 50 Mobile field hospital with the RAF,’ the same deep male voice called out. Or maybe it was someone different; Lucy’s ears were ringing and her head was spinning. ‘We need to be operational within hours, not days. There will be ambulances arriving from the front before nightfall, if not sooner. Our boys are relying on you, and we’re their only hope for getting out of this godforsaken place alive.’
Lucy dug her nails into her palms, her fists tight. She looked back at where they’d come from, saw ships pounding the shore, heard the noise level rising. Men were shouting, running, screaming. Women in battledress were moving in all directions, not even looking like nurses other than the fact they wore the Red Cross armband. But they’d been trained for this; they were working under the RAF. If they couldn’t do it, no one could, and she was more determined than any of the other nurses to prove herself.
She followed orders and moved immediately to where the orderlies had already started to set up. Working under canvas meant they could be operational fast, only they’d never actually witnessed combat, never seen soldiers with the kinds of horrific wounds she was certain they were about to be presented with. But she’d always had a strong stomach, and knew she could push past the terror of what she would see in order to do her job. It was what she’d wanted to do all her life – be a doctor and deal with wounds and surgeries, but right now she was prepared to start with being the best combat nurse she could be.
A huge booming noise rang out, making every hair on Lucy’s body stand on end as she froze. It was followed by shots – noises that she didn’t recognise. Was it a bomb? Was it—
‘Take cover!’
Lucy ran fast, blindly escaping from a danger that could just as easily have been in front of her without her realising. When she looked back, the clouds of smoke were even thicker and she could see that the red was becoming more intense, that her eyes hadn’t been deceiving her.
And then she moved straight into work mode, pushed the fear and terror aside and made herself do what she’d been trained to do. This was what she’d wanted, and she wasn’t going to let anyone down. Orderlies were frantically erecting the canvas tents, setting up their hospital and making it useable. It was an army of movement, things happening everywhere, and they simply had to do whatever they could. They’d only just arrived, just come in to shore on a boat that had brought them from England, and already they were in the middle of war.
Dear God, if you can hear me, please spare the nurses. Keep us safe from harm. Without us, our boys will never make it home. Amen. Her lips moved but the prayer was silent. Unlike her heart, which was beating so loud she was certain it could be heard even over the shelling happening so close to where she was standing.
‘Incoming!’
Lucy’s instant reaction was to drop, until she heard the next words that were yelled from somewhere nearby.
‘First ambulance is here!’
This was it.
Lucy was so tired she could hardly drag her feet to keep walking, but she gritted her teeth and made herself keep going. She glanced at her watch, saw that it had been almost twelve hours since they’d arrived in Normandy, and she hadn’t stopped, not for a moment. There was no time; her sitting down to catch her breath or look for something to eat could mean a soldier died. Someone’s son, brother, husband . . . Tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. She was overtired, that was all. The day had been overwhelming and terrifying and she hadn’t had a quiet minute to digest where she was and what they were facing. She pushed it all down, refusing to give in to her feelings. The only way to go was forward, that was what she needed to tell herself.
‘Are you feeling all right?’
She looked up, bewildered for a moment, the weight of the other nurse’s hand on her arm calming her.
‘Of course. Just tired,’ she admitted, pushing her slumped shoulders back. ‘And you? How are you?’ she asked, wanting to repay the kindness of someone taking a moment to ask after her. ‘Can I assist you?’
The older nurse smiled kindly and they started to walk together. ‘We’ve taken six hundred patients already. Keep up the good work.’
She nodded and took the bandages she was carrying to a doctor. The soldier he was treating started to scream, and when Lucy looked down at him more closely her body froze. His face was badly burnt, the skin red raw, like a piece of bloodied meat across one side, and yet his other cheek was clean-shaven. Perfect still, aside from a blur of dirt.
‘Cut his trouser off and dress his leg wound,’ the doctor ordered.
Lucy did as she was told, refusing to panic when this young man needed her so badly. She reached behind for scissors and swiftly cut off what was left of his trouser leg, taking away the bandage that had hastily been put there. His bone was exposed, the leg as gruesome as his face.
‘Doctor, should we . . . ?’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Patch him up as best you can. Air evacuation.’
The doctor disappeared, leaving her to do what she could. Lucy reached for more bandages, but as she turned back a hand closed around her wrist. It was only for a moment. She glanced down. The touch had been so soft she wondered for a second if she’d imagined it. And then she saw something on the ground, a photo of a young woman.
‘Is this yours?’ she asked, bending to retrieve it, looking down at the soldier and refusing to turn away from his monster-like face, to give him the respect he deserved. ‘She’s beautiful. I’ll get you out of here and back to her just as soon as I can.’
The noise under the canvas tent was indescribable: shelling outside, trucks pulling up, ambulances, the volume of people in one tiny space. Soldiers were moaning and screaming in pain, doctors were yelling and nurses were running madly in all directions. But Lucy pushed the noise away, focused on doing the best she could for the man on the bed in front of her.
‘Sir,’ she said, not sure if he was quiet because of the morphine or trying hard to be brave.
She’d finished the bandaging and touched her hand to his chest where she’d placed his photo.
‘Sir?’
‘Nurse! Here!’
She hesitated, didn’t respond immediately to the call. Instead she bent, listened for his breath, hand still flat to his chest.
He was gone.