Read Online Passions of War by Hilary Green - Free Book Online Page B

bandage had been applied, which was already dark with blood. Ralph put his hand on the boy’s other shoulder and pressed it gently. ‘Hang on, old chap. The medics will be with you soon.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about me, sir,’ the boy whispered. ‘I’ll be OK. There’s others worse off than me.’
    Ralph straightened up and looked about him with the same blank, lost look and Tom said quietly, ‘Is there anything I can do?’
    â€˜I need to get back,’ Ralph said. ‘We’re withdrawing to the second line of defence. Stay here, will you, and help out?’
    â€˜Of course,’ Tom agreed. ‘If there’s anything useful I can do.’
    Ralph started to move towards the door, then he stopped and looked round the room. ‘There are so many,’ he murmured, as if to himself, ‘so many . . .’ Tom wondered if he meant the Germans or the casualties, but before he could frame the question Ralph shook himself like a dog and left the room.
    Tom located one of the doctors, who was bending over a man who was clutching his belly and sobbing. ‘Is there anything I can do, Doctor? I’ve no medical or first aid training but I’m willing to help in any way I can.’
    The doctor looked up. ‘Are you familiar with the concept of triage?’
    â€˜Yes, I think so,’ Tom responded, recalling what he had learned from Leo outside Adrianople.
    â€˜Casualties are divided into three categories. The first – those that need immediate treatment if they are to survive; the second – those whose wounds are less serious and can wait for a while; and the third – those whose condition is beyond our help. In that room out there are the men who fall into the third category. If you really want to help you can go round them and note down names and numbers, so we can inform next of kin.’
    He turned back to his work and Tom moved away towards the door. He felt sick, but he knew that to protest would be to brand himself as worse than useless. In the outer room two army chaplains were now at work. Tom’s offer of help was accepted with relief and for the next hour he went from stretcher to stretcher. Soon the pages of his sketch pad were covered, not with drawings, but with names and numbers and units. Many of the men were beyond speech and he had to grope for dog tags to get the necessary information. Some of them asked when the doctors would attend to them, others knew that they were beyond help and begged Tom to write down farewell messages to loved ones. Many begged for water and Tom refilled his canteen again and again, raising their heads and holding it to their parched lips. Some asked him to pray with them. Tom had lost his faith many years earlier, but the familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer came easily and the dying men seemed to find comfort in them. Others simply wanted him to hold their hands and more than once he felt the grip go suddenly slack and saw the eyes glaze over. When one of the chaplains laid a hand on his shoulder and said gently, ‘There’s nothing more you can do here. Thank you for your help,’ he staggered out into the sunshine and sank down on a pile of bricks, oblivious to the noise of the battle going on behind him.
    When he dragged himself to his feet he saw that the day was almost over and a bank of clouds had built up in the western sky: black clouds in strange, irregular formations, tinged luridly red at the edges by the setting sun. To Tom’s overwrought imagination they looked like winged creatures. Angels of death , he thought. I hope they are coming for the Boche!
    He found Ralph with his company. They had taken up a position behind a broken wall and were preparing for another German attack.
    â€˜For God’s sake, Ralph,’ he begged, ‘give me a rifle. I can’t stand by and watch without doing anything.’
    Ralph looked at him and Tom was relieved to see that