When I woke up, we weren't in the medical camp anymore. I was sitting down in a half-track. Everything was... wavy. Dark. A lot of yelling again. Why wasn't I in an ambulance? None left? I looked out the back. A long line of vehicles stretching back for miles. Somebody was beside me. I recognized him. It was Jennings. Brown hair, not too long, glasses. Part of his face was torn off. I could see his teeth through his cheek. “It was a close shot.” he said, half-slurping as he did. “Monty's dead.” his head kind of ticked. Something in my stomach dropped when I heard that. I'd just lost one of the best generals I've served under. Always with the boys. Not like one of those bastards from the first world war up high. My dad died because of one of those. The Somme. My uncle went with him. Told the story. He got wounded, too. Right with him and twenty of his friends. 'Pals battalions' they called them. Stormed a machine gun nest. Said only he and one other guy came back from all that. Uncle lost an arm and a leg. The other guy carried him. That man was Bernard Montgomery.
I ask Jennings what happened to the rest of the squad. Says some have been hit. Pyre went out the back for a smoke when the attack hit. That smoke saved his life. He's on the gun now. Temporary assignment. Petersen was just behind me when the attack hit – he went to man one of the bofors 40mm guns. Unlucky bastard came out with a hit to the shoulder. He's across from Jennings and myself, lying down. Navittas was with Jennings when it went down. They were on their way to the mess hall when the Stukas hit it. A few minutes later and they might have been dead. They did what I did, in the end. But their bunker didn't get hit. Navittas is the one driving the half-track. Jennings thought it better not to split us up. Good man. “Shame Petersen couldn't join us for this little heart to heart.” I say. Nope, couldn't keep a straight face. “'ow did you get that beauty treatment?”
“Shrapnel did this.” Jennings says, pointing to his butchered face. “One of those 30 mils hit right near us while we were running to the bunker. Right now, we're on our way to the back o' the line. They'll get us patched up. Field hospital is better than nothing.”
“Sir! Spotted something!” I hear from the gunner. I look up to the platform. Pyre is on the gun. “Looks like an 'eavy weapons team, setting up. 'ard to be sure though.” I tell him to do what he's trained been for. He unloads the belt on his M2 browning. Puts his hands over them, focuses his mind on the bullets. A few seconds later, they're glowing. “Spotting shots first. Know where they are.” I command him. “We the only ones with a machine gun?” I ask rhetorically as I look over the half track . Some private's using the radio. I tell him to have the column concentrate their guns in the direction of Pyre's shots.
“Anti-tank rifle team. Pair of them.” Pyre reports.
I give him the go ahead. Moments later, I hear the shots of about five machine guns. Deafening roar. Petersen's awake. Can tell by his screams. Nurse tells him to calm down, take it easy. We'll be at the hospital soon.
When we get to the hospital, the medics finally put a bandage on Jennings' face. Wonder what they gave him for the pain. Did they give him anything for the pain? Man's got more stones than anybody I've known if they didn't.
Navittas helped me in. Visiting hours were almost over. But I had to know a few things first.
“How bad is the damage, Navittas?” I ask.
“Damage was significant. Got half the Armour. Got lots of the defensive positions. Worse, they have an aircraft carrier. Graf Zeppelin.” He looks at his bandaged hand. I look at his eyes. Blonde hair, brown eyed. Almost Aryan. He's a bit sunburned. Not surprisingly. “My magic won't be working its wonders now. At least, not from this hand. Academy always said don't fuck up your hands. Cornerstone to any application of magic to technology. Feel... useless, sir.”
“Don't sweat it. You're more useful than me today. You'll be fine in a little while. It takes a real man to do the job while injured. You drove us here. That says something. Even without the magic.” I give him a pat on the back, and he goes to another section of the medical camp.
My nurse's name is Laura. Nice redhead. Long, nice legs. Blue eyes. Rare that I've seen a redhead with blue eyes. Freckles, but not too many. Definitely a nice nurse to have. Started putting boric acid ointment on my legs. Disinfectant. Hard to “ignore,” to say the least. She keeps looking me in the eyes. I can't tell if it's pity or if it's love. Those hands are soft. Delicate. Every time she looks into my eyes I can tell there's something there. That is, every time I look into her eyes. So at one point, I ask her the question. When I'm better... say, a week or two... she says yes before I'm even finished. I'd like to say I know her. But I don't. All in good time though. All in good time.
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