FicWad

The next day around midday, most of the men are milling around camp. Some are writing letters to their families; others repairing socks, shirts, and trousers; a few polishing their boots because they expect a uniform inspection; several laying in the grass near the center of camp smoking; and a very select few, including Conan Callahan, standing guard over all of them. Kian is preparing his dress uniform for a date, since it typically impresses the country girls or, at the very least, merits a discount at the brothels. Major Fitzmaurice is sleeping soundly with his shorthaired cat, John, curled in a ball and also sleeping soundly, on his chest. Given the fact that liberty days are few, far between, and usually interrupted, as opposed to hardship days, which are quite frequent and miserable, Major Fitzmaurice is determined to compensate for as much missed sleep as he possibly can in an afternoon. Liam is having a meager lunch of bread and cheese. He wishes there were something more substantial, but he lacks the inclination or the funds to go to town, as he sends the majority of his pay to Highton for Mary. She insists that he need not do so, as Jack and Lynn pay her generously as a maid and give her a place to live and food to eat, but Liam is not accustomed to such handsome pay and fears squandering his newfound wealth, as he has seen many of his fellow officers do so.

Colonel Callahan is in his tent filing paperwork when the messenger arrives. There is a fire in Colonel Hagan’s camp. He runs into camp and rouses his men. Colonel Hagan’s camp does not border the stream, so bucket lines are forming from the units that do border it. The immediate concern is to get injured men to safety and remove the horses before they become spooked and therefore unable to handle. The fire must also be prevented from spreading. Fires are a serious threat, especially on a dry, windy day. Every man, from the privates to the colonel, to General Callahan, who just arrived for a visit with his sons moments before the messenger arrived in camp, takes his place in the bucket brigades. The man closest to the river fills the bucket, and it is handed from one man to the next up to the edge of the burning camp, where it is received by one of the men from that unit, a wet handkerchief tied around his nose and mouth, and thrown on the flames before being handed back down the line empty so that it can be refilled. Colonel Callahan shouts for Lieutenant Barrett and Doctor Sparrow. He tells Doctor Sparrow to look for wounded men in the burning camp. He then tells Lieutenant Barrett to find Sergeants Tracey and Lydon and to begin cutting spare bed sheets from the supply tent for use as bandages.

When he arrives, Doctor Sparrow sees Thomas Hayes and shouts over the roaring flames, “I told ye not to use that hand too much jus’ now.”

“I ain’t haulin’ water, but I had to do somethin’. I can lead men to safety, at least.”

“Lead ‘em back to the Thirteenth. Put ‘em in the mess. I’ll run back an’ triage ‘em wi’ yourself an’ Kiersey once I find him an’ they’re all out. Ye may not be up to surgery yet, but I’m sure ye can handle triage.”

“Aye. Glad to help.”

“Jus’ don’t try for surgery, an’ don’t lift no one unless ye’ve got to, an’ do it from your arms if ye do.”

“Ye talk more Bridgeton Irish than Bridgeton Anglo-Norman when ye’re mad.”

“Not mad. Concerned. Can’t see a thing in this smoke.”

“Well, we’ll have to save who we can an’ get ourselves out ‘afore somethin’ explodes.”

“They’re heavy infantry. Hammers, axes, an’ spears, mostly. They’ve got very few guns an’ nigh on no black powder. They’re short on supply. They’ve got nothin’ big enough to destroy a camp. They’re not approved for more guns ‘til the new batch comes from Bridgeton sometime next year. What’s there to explode here ‘sides Hagan’s private liquor stash an’ a few small barrels o’ powder?”

“Over here!”

“Where?”

“Here!”

“Where’s here?”

“Follow me voice. I’m five or six steps away. Tread careful, though. Soft mud’s hot enough to burn ye.”

“Where are ye?”

“Here. Take me hand.”

“Thankee. What’ve ye got?”

“Kiersey. He’s in a bad way, too. Head injury from what I can tell.”

“Can ye wake him?”

“Out cold.”

“He got any chance?”

“Jaysus, I hope so. We need him.”

“How good can ye use your hand, or can ye not move it a’ ‘tall?”

“Good as ye tell me.”

“Shake mine.”

“Why?”

“Jus’ do it. I need to test your grip. Hmmm…not the best. Slide a hand under his legs an’ the other under his back. I’ll take his head. Kiersey don’t weigh much. On me count. One…two…three.”

“The two doctors lift their friend and run him to the Thirteenth Bridgeton. They are careful not to let the other wounded men from his unit see him, lest they lose hope. They put him in Doctor Sparrow’s tent temporarily. Before Doctor Sparrow can return to find more victims, Lieutenant Barrett stops him.

“Billy’s nowhere to be found,” she says frantically.

“Emmy, I can’t help ye jus’ now. Billy can take care o’ hisself. He’s got to be in one o’ the lines.”

“He’s not.”

“Is he sleepin’ through it?”

“He’s not in his tent. Jus’ the cats.”

“Feck!”

“What? What is it?”

“He’s gone after me. I’ll get it back, but we’ve got to pull the ones what can’t walk out.”

“I’m goin’ wi’ ye.”

“No.”

“I have to find him.”

“Ye’re needed here. Ye’ve got to stay an’ make bandages like ye were tole. We’ll need ‘em soon.”

“He saved me.”

“An’ he don’t need savin’.”

“Let me help ye.”

“No. Anythin’ happens to ye, he’ll blame me.”

“I have to help him.”

“Not in a skirt ye don’t. ‘Tis bad in there. Ye’ll catch fire straight away.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember Crosspoint?”

“I’d rather not. Ye may not survive it, an’ I ain’t willin’ to take that risk. ‘Sides…not even blood’ll fix that pretty hair o’ yours should ye catch fire, which it will if ye go in there. Ye’re far to fine a thing to be riskin’ your life in a fire. Keep them cats calm an’ see to it I’ve got bandages. If ye run out o’ sheets to cut, put alcohol on me surgical equipment an’ set it out on the table to dry. If ye’ve done that, join a bucket brigade ‘til I get back or keep the men in the mess calm. I’ll need your help as soon as the fire’s under control.”

“Find him, Brendan. Please.”

Doctors Sparrow and Hayes head back into the fire. By now, most of the trapped men are dead from either smoke or flames, but they still call out for the living and check every body they stumble upon that has any remote chance of still being alive for any signs of life. Eventually, they find Major Fitzmaurice trapped in a tent with a terrified young lieutenant. There is an explosion nearby that knocks the doctors off of their feet. Doctor Hayes is the first to rise.

“Brendan! Brendan! Are ye well?”

“Fine. Didn’t even shatter me glasses.”

“We need to leave. Now!”

“Not…without…Billy.”

“There’ll be more explosions an’ worse ones…an’ soon.”

“If he were your brother, would ye save him?”

“’Course, but-”

“But nothin’. Me da’ raised us like brothers, so if we die today, we die as brothers.”

“Ye’re crazy!”

“What’ve ye got on ye?”

“Canteen, coat, knife, an’ a bit o’ rope. Why?”

“Keep the canteen an’ coat ready. I’m soaked to the skin already, but I don’t know ‘bout Billy, an’ the boy he’s got there sure ain’t. Give me the rope an’ knife.” Doctor Sparrow ties the rope around his waist and says, “On me word, pull hard. An’ mind ye use your good hand. I can’t fix the bad one again today, o’ all the days ye could mess wi’ such a thing.”

“Ye’re mad! Daft!”

“I know, but I’ve got to try. Billy, can ye hear me!?”

“Aye!”

“Stand toward the far side o’ the tent or get under somethin’. The tent might collapse.”

“Ye’re safe. Take Hayes’ advice. Leave me here an’ save yourself.”

“I’d feel guilty ‘til the day I die!” Doctor Sparrow slashes a hole in the canvas and dives through it as quickly as possible. He grabs a shadow from the ground and shouts, “Pull!”

Lieutenant Hayes pulls with all his might, but the man is not Billy. Doctor Sparrow dives in again, and again, the man he finds is not Billy. He dives in a third time, and the supporting beams collapse. The conscious lieutenant who was pulled from the flames is frozen in place, but Doctor Hayes, who recalls his oaths and his brotherhood to his fellow physician, pulls with all his might. It does not budge. There is dead weight on the other end. Worse yet, it is dead weight with a burning tent collapsed on top of it. He is no longer a guide; he is now a lifeline. He ties the end of the drenched rope around his own waist as tightly as he can with limited dexterity, ignoring the stiffness and searing pain, turns, and walks forward with the quiet determination of purpose and strength of an ox. After ten paces with the rope taught he turns toward the tent and sees Doctor Sparrow, the rope tied around his own waist, and Major Fitzmaurice, both clinging to one another so they might be found together if they die. Doctor Hayes empties his canteen on them and smothers their burning clothing with his coat. Seeing little damage to the men themselves, he turns to the frozen lieutenant.

“Grab your friend there. Drag him if ye must. Jus’ get yourselves away from the fire. ‘Tis a neat trick, but I can’t carry four o’ ye, dragged behind or not.”

Lieutenant Hayes lifts Doctor Sparrow and Major Fitzmaurice, whom he cannot separate, in his arms as if he were carrying firewood. As soon as he reaches safe ground, he sees farmers and their wives helping to extinguish the fire. Before returning to camp, he asks if the women might help make salves and tie bandages for them once the fire is extinguished, as most of the country women have experience nursing their own families. Behind him, he hears a series of explosions and the sound of collapsing timbers, but he does not dare to glance back into the inferno. He breathes a sigh of relief and exhaustion when he reaches the camp of the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry again. Because Doctor Sparrow’s tent is occupied by Doctor Kiersey, Doctor Hayes puts the two men on Major Fitzmaurice’s bunk. He goes to find Lieutenant Barrett, who, he is certain, must be terribly worried.

On the way, he is stopped by a red-haired sergeant wearing a leather eye patch who salutes and asks, “Lieutenant, sor, permission to ask a question?”

“Granted.”

“The Doctor an’ the Major, sor, are- are- are they…”

“No, Sergeant. They’re not dead yet. I’m an old friend o’ the Doctor an’ a doctor meself. Could ye do me a favor?”

“Aye, sor?”

“Stop callin’ me ‘sor’ for a start. I’m Doctor Thomas Hayes.”

“Sorry to interrupt, sor, but your wife cooks good, sor.”

“Ah! Ye’re a friend o’ Brendan’s then! A friend o’ his is a friend o’ mine. Doctor Thomas Hayes. Ye can call me Tom.”

“Sergeant Conan Éirimúil Callahan. Conan, rather.”

“We really must meet properly at a less dire time, Conan.”

“Ye needed a favor?”

“Have ye got a strong stomach?”

“After seein’ what they done in Crosspoint, I can take anythin’.”

“A true Callahan. Go to the majors’ tent. Sit wi’ Sparrow an’ Fitzmaurice. Give ‘em water - on’y water, mind - if they wake. Tea’s too hot, an’ whiskey won’t help none. I need to find Emily Barrett. Any idea where she might be?”

“She’s in the mess, sor…Doctor…sor.”

“Thankee.”

Doctor Hayes is immediately greeted by Lieutenant Barrett upon walking into the mess tent. Nervously, she asks, “Doctor Hayes! Where’s Doctor Sparrow? Is Billy-?”

“He’ll be fine, Miss. He’s unconscious now, but he’ll wake soon. Ye’d best come wi’ me.”

“What happened?” she asks, following Doctor Hayes obediently.

“He was off bein’ a hero, o’ ‘course. There’s a soldier who might not make it jus’ there. See the Lieutenant standin’ by him?”

“Aye?”

“They’d both be dead now if not for your Major, but he an’ Brendan got trapped an’ nearly got killed in the process.”

“Are they-?”

“It looks worse’n ‘tis. They’ve got minor burns an’ some bruises an’ scratches, maybe a cracked rib or two. Nothin’ a little blood won’t have fixed ‘afore we get there.”

“Ye sent Conan to watch after ‘em then?”

“Aye, how’d ye know?”

“On’y five people’d ask if they saw ye wi’ the Doctor an’ Major. One’s meself; Liam’s jus’ there; Hackett’s down by the river; Colonel’s shoutin’ orders an’d on’y ask if he thought there mightn’t be a doctor after battle; an’ that leaves Conan.”

“We’re lucky we got out when we did. They’re on’y jus’ containin’ that fire now, after ‘tis destroyed the whole bloody camp. ‘Tis a total loss, save for the Colonel’s safe, which should survive.”

“Has anyone seen Colonel Hagan?”

“He could be at another unit. The doctors were told to come here, so he’ll get wind an’ show up here eventually.”

“I think he might’ve…”

“Donald Hagan is not the type of leader to go down meekly. He’ll go down fightin’ or he won’t go down a’ ‘tall. He ain’t in that fire.” They pause outside of the majors’ tent, and Doctor Hayes sighs, “When I left ‘em, they looked pretty rough. The smoke an’ heat got to ‘em ‘afore I could get ‘em out. Trust me when I say they’ll pull through. ‘Twill still look bad now, but ‘tis all superficial.”

Doctor Hayes opens the tent and reveals a grim and surprising scene. The kittens are licking the unconscious men’s faces, which are covered in Conan Callahan’s blood. Conan is collapsed on the ground from blood loss, and Major Fitzmaurice and Doctor Sparrow have not yet woken. Doctor Hayes, not thinking of his own injured hand, clumsily bandages Conan’s arm.

“He’s blind, Doctor,” says a voice from the tent flap, “in his right eye, at least. While ‘tis true he’s gladly give his life for is country, his family, or men as good as these, this was an accident, an accident caused by panic and desperation, but an accident nonetheless.”

“I don’t know ye, sor.”

“Lieutenant Kian Dóighiuil Callahan, his older brother. I’d offer ye me hand, but I seem to have done it in somethin’ awful.”

“Lieutenant Thomas Hayes, a doctor, I assure you, at your service.”

“Ye’re the one whose wife we all envy.”

“Does everyone in this unit know me for me wife’s cookin’?”

“After the winter we had, ‘tis a dream come true. I can’t name a soul, save our colonel, me eldest brother, who made it through the winter well-fed.”

“Your arm, Mister Callahan…may I take a look?”

“’Tis nothin’. I fell is all.”

“’Tis broken.”

“I fell on it. Stupid accident. Really, I’ll be fine. I’ll take some blood later, an’ I’ll be fine.”

“It hurts, don’t it?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Ye’ve got nothin’ to prove to me, nor to your unconscious brother, nor Brendan an’ Billy, who couldn’t hear ye anyhow, an’ Emmy’s spoken for. Who’re ye tryin’ to impress? The cats? I want ye to tell me it hurts.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I had me hand all shot up. ‘Tis barely recovered o’er two months on. I know worse. Jus’ admit ye’re hurt an’ go to the mess tent.”

“But Conan-”

“He’s resilient. I’ll put him to bed, an’ he’ll wake in a few hours.”

“Alright, it really does hurt. I have had worse, but I’m afraid o’ the time I’ll have to wait, an’ I’m afraid ‘twill get worse ‘afore then. I don’t know how Conan was calm after he lost sight in that eye. I’m terrified to lose a hand. Jus’ please let’s jus’ keep that to ourselves. I wouldn’t want the rest o’ the unit, nor my family to find out.”

“Ye’ll have to wait behind the worst burns to have it set. Theirs could kill ‘em. Yours won’t kill ye anytime soon. ‘Twill be a few hours probably, an’ if ye’d like somethin’ for the pain, ye’re welcome to it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Go wait in the mess, Kian,” says Lieutenant Barrett. “Sergeant Tracey’ll take care o’ ye. Her first name’s Molly, by the way.”

“Tell her to give ye the ether cloth or one o’ Sparrow’s pre-filled opium syringes if ye need something‘ stronger’n a few aspirin. He keeps ‘em in a box, an’ they’re labeled by weight,” says Doctor Sparrow. “Ye’re what? One fifty? One sixty?”

“One seventy-five.”

“Stronger than ye look, then. Tell her that one’s yours.”

“Whiskey’ll do,” Kian says calmly.

“Truly, I do envy ye.”

“We were taught from the start: duty first; family, country, honor; pain is immaterial; to die in battle is glory. There’s far more. Was me da’ wrong or right? I know not, but he’s a competent general.”

“He’s a good man, an’ he raised good sons, but I must turn my attention to those wi’ more immediate concerns. Go. See the Sergeant. I mayn’t be able to use a needle or scalpel, but I can set bones an’ bandage heads. Soon as I’m done wi’ these two an’ Kiersey, I’ll leave the burns to Sparrow an’ Kiersey an’ come fix your arm. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thankee.”

A few tense minutes after Kian leaves, Major Fitzmaurice moans gently and quietly. Lieutenant Barrett immediately rushes to his side, and he begins to stir, as does Doctor Sparrow. Doctor Sparrow has a pained expression on his face, but he says nothing and does not move his limbs. Major Fitzmaurice, coughs, sputters, and chokes awake. He cannot breathe, and it terrifies him. He looks at Doctor Sparrow, whose eyes are still closed, and, believing his friend to be dead, looks around frantically for help, gasping for air all the while. He begins to shake with chills. Emily looks desperately at Doctor Hayes for advice, but Doctor Hayes, though concerned by the gravity of the situation, cannot resist the urge to mock Doctor Sparrow, his close friend.

“The two o’ ye…ye’re so sweet all curled up together.”

“Fuck…up…fatarse,” chokes Major Fitzmaurice defensively.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I know right well ‘twas to see to it ye’d both be found, but ye ain’t dead yet.”

“Can’t…breathe…”

“Do somethin’, Doctor,” pleads Emily, squeezing Major Fitzmaurice’s shoulder in hopes of comforting him.

“There ain’t much I can do, Miss. He’s got a fever; ‘twill come down wi’ time. He’s dehydrated; he needs to drink water - no whiskey, Fitzmaurice. ‘Tisn’t safe.”

“Tea...then?”

“I’d have ye make tea, but, well, how do I put this? Ye jus’ came out o’ a bloody great fire. The last thing ye need is hot tea…well…the second-last thing after whiskey. These streams ain’t the rivers o’ Bridgeton. They feed the rivers, sure, but the water on’y flows one way. They’re clean enough themselves.”

“Ne’er…drank…water…”

“Now might be a good time to start. Ye’ve not got any major cuts or bruises. Your clothes are half burned, but ye’ve got plenty spare. Take your shirt off for me. Rather, Emmy, take his shirt off.”

“What…for?” asks Major Fitzmaurice, allowing Emily to help him sit but not to undress him. He begins to cough violently again.

“To make sure ye haven’t got any major burns an’ to see how many ribs ye’ve cracked.”

“Can’t…breathe. Help!”

“Unfortunately, I can’t do a thing about it. I can give ye somethin’ for the pain, but we’ve a very limited supply.”

“Chest…on…fire.”

“I’m not surprised. Ye ended up in a burnin’ tent for God knows how long… See what heroics get ye? ‘Tis worse’n that blasted pipe o’ yours. Ye’ve gone feckin’ native, fer Christsakes! Next thing we’ll be callin’ ye ‘Callahan.’”

“Have…not…an’…no…ye…bloody…well…won’t!”

“At least ye’ve still got your fight. Come, now, let’s see.”

“Fine…fine…bastard…”

At long last, Major Fitzmaurice allows Emily to remove his shirt. Doctor Hayes checks for burns but finds nothing more severe than a few small, minor burns caused by heat exposure. He is certain that Major Fitzmaurice has cracked at least two ribs, but his concern passes to Doctor Sparrow, whose breathing, by contrast, is labored and shallow. There is blood turning his blond hair scarlet on one side of his head, and his eyes remain closed. His arms remain stiffly extended, as if he were still clinging to his close friend. Doctor Sparrow makes a faint moaning noise, and Luke, the longhaired cat, licks the dirt, ash, sweat, blood, and tears off of his face. When Doctor Hayes sees the wound for himself, he is horrified. He turns to Emily, who is helping the still-breathless Major Fitzmaurice to button a clean shirt.

“Miss Barrett, can ye sew a’ ‘tall?”

“Aye, fair enough.”

“Fetch his needle an’ thread.”

“What!?”

“Me hand’s not up to it, an’ the on’y other surgeon is out cold as well.”

“No…need. Bandage…” says Doctor Sparrow, moving slowly toward a sitting position. “Bandage, Tom. Ye can do that. Tie ‘er nice an’ tight.”

“Your head’s bleedin’.”

“Bandage it. Worry ‘bout me later. Take care o’ Kiersey. I’ll be fine, jus tie ‘er tight.”

“Ye’ve hit your head, Sparrow.”

“Tisn’t serious. A headache an’ a scratch, nothin’ worse.”

“The two o’ ye’ve gone completely native in this unit…”

A gentle breeze stirs and threatens to spread the fire. Frantic efforts to extinguish it are redoubled. Kian Callahan desperately wants to help, but Sergeant Treacey, oblivious to the other wounded men, keeps her watchful eye over him and prevents him from leaving. She is shy, but she does not leave Kian’s side. He begins to pace restlessly, but she will not quietly sit by and let him leave only to injure himself further. In Doctor Sparrow’s tent, Doctor Kiersey wakes, sweating profusely. He does not realize where he is. He cautiously ventures out of his tent, his uniform hanging off of his thin frame in charred tatters. His surroundings look vaguely familiar, but he does not know why. He looks around and sees well-worn paths, muskets resting against crates in a neat row with names he does not recognize etched into their stocks, faces he does not recognize, and a banner he does. He reads the unit’s heraldry with an expert eye, and he realizes that he must be in the camp of a light infantry unit, more specifically, the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry. He has been here before, though it has been quite some time. All of his visits have been after nightfall, and he is unfamiliar with the camp’s layout, as the location of the tents differs significantly from unit to unit and is based solely upon the Colonel’s discretion. He knows he has a friend here, but he does not know why he is here. It is daylight, and Colonel Hagan would be very angry if he knew a member of his unit were away from camp or battle. He searches frantically for Doctor Sparrow until someone finally points him to the majors’ tent.

“Tom, what’re ye after doin’ here?” asks Doctor Kiersey.

“Helpin’ Brendan, Bram, same as ye’ll be doin’.”

“What happened?”

“Your unit caught fire.”

“Why’s Brendan got a bandage on his head, so?”

“We went in to find ye an’ save who we could. He hit his head.”

“Where’s Colonel Hagan?”

“Don’t know yet, but we’d best get to work. I’ll take triage an’ whatever the farmers’ wives can bandage. Me hand’s not up to much yet, but ‘twill do for broken bones an’ simple burns. The two o’ ye’ll have to crowd into the surgical tent back to back.”

“Brendan, ‘tis your surgery. I’ll take the cot. Take the table for yourself.”

“We’ll move the cot out,” says Doctor Sparrow. “I don’t want it all bloodied up, an’ we can fit a second table from the mess that way. ‘Twill be tight, but we’ll make do,” says Doctor Sparrow.

“Sure, I hardly take up any space a’ ‘tall. The patients, though…”

“Well, we ought to get to work. Have Conan fetch-”

“Can’t,” interrupts Doctor Hayes. “Passed out from blood loss. I’ll need to bring him to his tent ‘afore I go to the mess, if ye wouldn’t mind showin’ me where that is.”

“He can stay in mine for now. Better not let the other enlisted mess wi’ him. Kian?”

“Nope. Broken arm.”

“Boland, then?”

“Dunno him. Name’s not familiar.”

“Then ask the first poor tosser or pair o’ tossers ye see to take the cot out an’ put a table in We can go back-to-back in the center. Tell ‘em that.” Doctor Sparrow mumbles, “They didn’t teach this at medical school…”

“An’…ye…think…they…taught…me…to command…a bunch o’…layabouts…in the winter…in a field…wi’ no food…nor medicine…nor shelter…in military school?” Major Fitzmaurice chokes and sputters.

“No, I suppose not.”

“I need me pipe…”

“No!” shout Doctors Sparrow, Kiersey, and Hayes and Lieutenant Barrett in unison.

“Can I…borrow yours then?” asks Major Fitzmaurice turning to Doctor Sparrow.

“Certainly not. Ye’re nearly dead from the smoke in that fire, an’ ye want a smoke?”

“Aye. ‘Course I do.”

“I don’t believe ye sometimes.”

“Tell me…ye don’t…want one…yourself.”

“I don’t. Ask again in an hour or so when I’m up to me elbows in heavy infantry guts. Now, a spot o’ tea wouldn’t go amiss jus’ now, but I suppose I’ll have to wait. Duty calls.”

“Wi’ a cracked skull?”

“‘Tain’t broke. I’ll be fine. Emmy, mind him. See to it he don’t touch anythin’.”

“Aye, doctor.”

“An’ wish me luck.”

Doctor Sparrow has never treated so many patients at a single time. He is overwhelmed by the amount of men affected by the fire, from simple burns on the hands of those who tried to help to men for whom there is no hope of survival. The local housewives bandage the simpler cuts and burns, freeing Doctors Hayes, Kiersey, and Sparrow to treat the more severe cases. Doctor Hayes, who is glad to be of assistance, if just in the duty of triage and setting a few broken bones, conducts a major operation of his own in the mess tent, rationing bandages and assigning patients. As he promised, the first patient to whom he devotes his attention, before he even considers sending men to Doctors Kiersey and Sparrow, as he knows that they will still be preparing for surgery and donning aprons, is Kian Callahan.

Under the influence of opium, Kian is a different man. He is far less energetic, and he is not inclined to pace or shout. He lies for nearly an hour with his head in Sergeant Tracey’s lap while she strokes his hair. He has never had anyone other than his mother care for him so deeply. He still does not realize that she has fallen in love with him, but he does think it odd that a woman who is so shy around men is allowing him to rest his head on her lap and actually encouraged it. The opium and Sergeant Tracey’s gentle coaxing eventually put him to sleep, which is a good outcome, in her opinion, as his arm is not in a good condition.

When Doctor Hayes arrives, he shakes Kian by the left arm, carefully holding his right arm above the break so that it does not move or tap into anything by mistake. Kian’s eyes flutter open, and he realizes where he is. He attempts to sit, but Doctor Hayes instructs him not to sit or to look. He asks Sergeant Tracey to hold him tightly by the shoulders. He is glad that Kian admitted his weakness and asked Sergeant Tracey for the opium, as he dreaded having to set such a fracture on a patient with no analgesic. Sergeant Tracey cannot hold Kian perfectly still against Doctor Hayes’ pull, so he holds Kian’s elbow in place with his damaged right hand, grips his wrist with his left hand, and pulls Kian's forearm into place. Fortunately, once the bones are aligned, the pressure of one bone fragment against another holds the arm precariously in place while Doctor Hayes wraps it first with a soft cloth, then with heavier cloth, then with sheets of plaster. Doctor Hayes instructs him not to move for the time being, and he promises to return in a short amount of time. He returns when the plaster has hardened, inspects it, and helps Kian to his feet. Despite his sedation, Kian is able to walk with assistance, so Doctor Hayes suggests a place where Sergeant Tracey, who would be too worried about him to be of any help in the mess tent, can take Kian so that his family does not realize that he accepted opium.

“Major Fitzmaurice’s private tent in the woods. He’ll be safe there,” says Doctor Hayes.

“Major Fitzmaurice’s tent? Where he takes Lieutenant Barrett?” asks Sergeant Tracey.

“Aye. Ye can comfort him there.”

“Lieutenant! I am most certainly not-”

“I meant ye can stay wi’ him. Billy, er, Major Fitzmaurice, won’t need it tonight. He can scarce breathe, an’ the two o’ them keep it nigh spotless. Kian needs someone right now, an’ ye’re doin’ as fine a job as any doctor at keepin’ him calm. Don’t question that.”

“But the others-”

“Will do jus’ fine.”

“I’ll not lay a finger on ye. I swear,” says Kian, raising his good hand to affirm his oath.

“Surprisingly, he’s a man o’ his word,” assures Doctor Hayes. “Stay out there wi’ him for the night. Us doctors, an’ the major, an’ Miss Barrett, an’ Fitzmaurice’s cats will be in Sparrow’s tent if ye need us. There won’t be an open bunk tonight.”

Doctor Hayes sends Doctors Kiersey and Sparrow only the patients whose injuries are severe who could still be saved. Those beyond hope are left where they lie. Most of them have burns so severe that their nerve endings are damaged to the point that they feel nothing, but Doctor Hayes realizes that opium can still be used to help them. A few men with significant burns and smoke inhalation might survive, including the man pulled from the fire, revealed to be a private and the younger brother of the shocked lieutenant. When Doctor Lawless arrives, he immediately treats the young man, who has a badly burned arm and back. He cleans his injuries, wraps them in gauze, and gives him opium for the pain and his cough. Most men are not so lucky. The sound of men dying surrounds those in the mess tent. There will be no dinner tonight. Everybody is too busy trying to help the wounded.

There is general shock when a large man in tattered clothes, his face burned beyond recognition, arrives in camp carrying a large leather-bound book. What remains of his hair is a shock of dark reddish brown against skin that is so covered in ash, soot, and burns that it is as black as coal. He struggles to support his own weight on a piece of wood salvaged from a cart, one ankle badly twisted and mangled, dragging awkwardly behind him. A fine golden stallion with large white patches follows him without his hand on its lead, as faithfully as a devoted pet dog. This stallion, inaptly named Buttercup, is the only way of identifying the charred stranger as Colonel Donald Hagan. Colonel Callahan is the first to greet him. He loops his fellow colonel's arm around his shoulder and helps him to the cot Doctor Sparrow requested removed from the surgical tent many hours earlier. It would be dangerous to move him to one of the tables, and he is close to the category of those beyond hope, but Colonel Callahan asks Doctor Kiersey, who, in Colonel Callahan’s opinion, may as well see the truth about what happened to his colonel, to exit the surgical tent for a brief moment.

“Save him, Kiersey. Take him next. He won’t last much longer,” pleads Colonel Callahan.

“With all due respect, Colonel, ye’re no doctor,” says Doctor Kiersey, bowing his head out of respect.

“I want him and that cot moved to me tent for the night once ye’ve finished. He’s your colonel. All I expect is that ye at least try to save him, as I’d expect Doctor Sparrow to do for me, and as he has done.”

“I’ll need Hayes, Lawless, Sparrow, an’ any other doctor ye can find’s help. I can’t save him alone.”

“Ye can, an’ ye’ll have to. They can help when they’ve got a moment, but he’s yours.”

“Aye, sir, duty calls.”

“Good man.”

Doctor Kiersey removes Colonel Hagan’s charred clothing, layer by layer. Colonel Hagan is a large man, and he is not an easy man for the delicate Doctor Kiersey to lift. Doctor Hayes, who has finished sorting patients, realizes this and rushes to his aid. He is not able to stitch or cut, but he can lift a body, and he can wrap gauze. Between the two doctors and Colonel Callahan, Colonel Hagan’s clothes are slowly removed, his burns cleaned and dressed, and his broken ankle stitched. Major Fitzmaurice, who feels that he ought to show Colonel Hagan some respect, also offers a hand. The most difficult part of the process, even for an experienced battlefield surgeon like Doctor Kiersey, is wrapping Colonel Hagan’s face. The men have no good solution, but a local housewife, a woman whom nobody thought would arrive to help, comes with a solution to keep his wounds clean. Missus Mackey, the Werewolvish wife of the apple farmer who gave Major Fitzmaurice his cats, is there in her baking apron, her hair tied back in a bun, willing and able to help soldiers of a different race than her own, her husband’s race, and she is determined to prove, once and for all, that she is loyal to her adopted homeland. She helps them paint his burns with a homemade salve, which she tells them was her mother’s recipe and contains witch hazel, tea tree, lavender, peppermint, and mandrake. It is supposed to ward off infection, cause a cooling sensation, and numb pain. The doctors are astounded, especially when Colonel Hagan begins to wake.

“Much...better,” he mumbles before he returns to resting. “Thankee.”

Before they can thank her, Missus Mackey disappears, but she leaves behind a pot of salve with Colonel Hagan’s name on it and instructions on where to find her when the pot is empty or if they should need more. The large team brings Colonel Hagan’s cot into Colonel Callahan’s tent as instructed, and they then return to their other duties.

The doctors know that it will be well past midnight before the last patient is seen, but they do not let this deter them. They cannot afford to tarry. Their duty is to save as many men as can be saved, though they also silently slip through the rows of men who cannot be saved. Some have passed on their own. All are badly burned and unconscious. Most of them were dragged out of the fire. The few who left on their own were on fire when they ran out and collapsed. None of them have any chance at surviving the next week, and some will be extremely difficult to identify, as they are unconscious, will not wake, and will die within hours. Only two or three of them have any chance of surviving the night, but none of them will heal, even with blood, as their bodies are too damaged to sustain any growth. The doctors slip between them administering lethal doses of opium so that the living dead, the burned corpses that cling onto life long past when they ought to have died, may slip into the quiet sleep of comforting death.

When the doctors retire to Doctor Sparrow’s tent, they literally collapse. It is consensus that Emily Barrett, the only woman among them, should get the bed, which she shares with Major Fitzmaurice in the middle and Doctor Sparrow on the outside. Doctors Hayes, Kiersey, and Lawless remain with them and will do so for a few more days until the fate of the injured can be decided. For now, though, a sigh of relief and a somewhat troubled sleep is the best anybody can wish for.

True to his word, Kian Callahan does not lay a finger on Sergeant Tracey. She lies by his side and holds him, and she permits him to wrap his good arm around her waist. It is the first night he has ever spent with a woman with his nightshirt and her nightgown intact. It is a strange feeling to him, but he looks at her and knows that he will not remain the rake he was for long. He knows that she will not consent to anything further than a comforting cuddle until he can remain faithful, and he wants her more than anything. He vows to become the man his father could not and to find a way to court this woman. Innocence is foreign to him, and that makes her all the more appealing.

Molly Tracey doubts that Lieutenant Callahan will ever become any closer to her than he is now. She loves him dearly, but, although she is an orphan who lied to the Army and joined at fourteen, she has never before spent a night with a man. She is certain that she will be the gossip of the unit come morning, and she sincerely hopes that Kian will not slander her, as he is well-known for describing his sexual exploits in detail. Finally being close enough to touch him, she can feel how powerful he is, despite the fact that he is of a much lighter build than his older brothers. He holds her so tight that she could not escape if she wished, but she does not fight. She is glad to see the man she has been watching from afar for so long rest peacefully, knowing that he will be well again and knowing that she was able to help him.