Read Online The Ironclad Prophecy by Pat Kelleher - Free Book Online Page A

batman.
    In the days that followed, she often wished Sister Fenton had kept her back.
     
     
    S ERGEANT H OBSON ENTERED the command post. Everson looked up from his desk.
    “The chatts are still just sat there, sir. They don’t seem to be doing anything.”
    “They’re waiting for a ‘sign,’ Sergeant, and I bloody well wish we had one to give them.”
    “The tank, sir?”
    “As you so rightly say, Hobson, the tank.” He tapped his pencil on the desk and came to a decision. “I want to see Lance Corporal Atkins. I’ve got a job for him and his black hand gang.”
    “Very good, sir. I’ll send him along directly.” The sergeant turned sharply and left.
    Everson was about to take another look at Jeffries’ journal when there was a polite knock on the doorjamb.
    “Come.”
    Nellie Abbott stepped inside, saluted and stood to attention. Unlike the Nurses, the FANYs were run along military lines.
    “Yes, Miss Abbott, what can I do for you?”
    “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, it’s about Half Pint – I mean Private Nicholls, sir.”
    “Well, if you’re looking for him, I don’t know where the devil he is,” said Everson, vaguely frustrated.
    “Sir, he’s in the aid post.”
    Everson was a little shocked. “He’s not injured, is he?”
    “It’s his leg, sir.
    “Oh, Christ, the poor bloke. Not both now?”
    “Oh. Oh, no, sir. No, the other one, the peg leg, sir. It tried to eat him.”
    Everson wasn’t sure he heard right. “I beg your pardon?”
    “It tried to eat him, it did, sir, but he’s all right now. He’s resting. But he won’t be stomping around like Long John Silver for a while, sir. Said to tell you that dinner would be a little late and could I fetch him his lucky harmonica? Said he left it on his desk, sir.”
    Everson slumped back in his chair with a sigh and waved her in the direction of the small clerk’s office. She gave a little curtsey and went through.
    Everson ran a hand through his hair. There was another knock.
    “Come.”
    Sergeant Hopkins and Lance Corporal Atkins entered.
    “You wanted to see me, sir?” said Atkins.
    “Yes, Atkins. Got a job for you. I wouldn’t ask, but our backs are against the wall on this one.”
    “Aren’t they always, sir?”
    “Hmm. The fact is, Atkins, the tank is overdue. The Ivanhoe should have been back several days ago. And frankly if it had, we might not be in this mess with those bloody chatts camped on our doorstep. The Ivanhoe has a limited speed and a limited range and, by all accounts, it should have returned yesterday. Now, either it’s in trouble or it’s broken down or the crew are injured or dead...”
    There was an audible gasp from the back of the room. Nellie Abbott stood in the small doorframe to the next room, a harmonica in her hand. She leant against the doorframe.
    “Miss Abbott, I’m sorry,” said Everson. “I didn’t realise you were still there.”
    “Injured?” she said. “Then let me go, too, sir. I can help.”
    “You, Abbott? No, sorry. Out of the question. If nothing else, Sister Fenton would certainly have something to say about it.”
    “But you said yourself they might be injured, sir,” she said in earnest. “I’ve got first aid training. And I can drive, sir. I ain’t afraid of what’s out there. Sister can spare me. There’s the orderlies and the vets, sir. I won’t hardly be missed.”
    Damn the girl, but she had a point. The tank crew were the only ones who could drive the blasted thing. If they were injured... And she could drive ambulances, so she might be able to help if the crew were down. Damn it. Why did they have to be so bloody logical? “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But only if Sister Fenton agrees.”
    “Thank you, sir! You won’t regret it.”
    “But, sir –” protested Atkins. “I don’t want to be responsible for a woman, sir.”
    “Do as the Lieutenant, says, son,” said Hobson, leaning in with a stage whisper.
    “‘Only’ Atkins, how dare