Dead Man's Land Read Online Free PDF

to.
    ‘Some foolish what?’
    ‘It’s nothing, Major.’ Jennings swiftly moved on, pursing her lips at her impetuousness. ‘They’ll be putting electric lights in here within a few days. About time.’
    She looked down at the packing case and lifted out The Icehouse, a wooden and zinc box some twenty-four inches on each side. It had cost him sixty shillings of his own money at Army & Navy. ‘What do you intend to keep in here?’ she asked as she laid it on the floor of the tent.
    ‘Once the cavity is filled with iced water, it will be used to store citrated blood.’
    Jennings looked puzzled. Her grey cape, edged with scarlet, told him she was, like most nurses servicing this collection of tented wards in the grounds of a former monastery, a member of the Territorial Force Nursing Service. It was very likely that these staff didn’t keep up with the latest developments, such as the ability to store unclotted blood outside the human body for days at a stretch. From what he understood, few this far forward – be they territorial, reservists, Queen Alexandras or doctors – had much time to read current issues of the
British Medical Journal
. His task, gained only after much inveigling of the RAMC – and that damned balloon ride – was to spread the gospel of the new methodology in hospitals and CCSs.
    The RAMC’s hesitation in allowing him out here had been ridiculous. Apart from one knee that sometimes crackled and creaked and a
tendo Achillis
that ached after long walks, he was almost as fit as the young doctor who had been wounded at the Battle of Maiwand in Afghanistan. Although, he had to admit, he no longer had that man’s waistline.
    ‘Careful with the solution bottles, Staff Nurse,’ he warned, as she unwrapped a glass cylinder from its cocoon of corrugated cardboard and newspaper. ‘That’s our secret ingredient. Hand it here, please.’
    There came a deeper rumble and for the first time, he felt the impact vibrate through the wooden floor and the soles of his feet. The canvas stirred and tugged against its ropes on one side of the tent and the roof rippled uneasily.
    ‘That was closer,’ said Jennings with a frown, just as the flap of the tent snapped back with a crack like a whiplash. Standing in the opening was the sister-in-charge, her face almost as crimson as the red cape that proclaimed her a full member of Queen Alexandra’s Royal Army Nursing Corps. The two red stripes on her sleeve told of her rank within her service. The sound of the German guns was momentarily lost beneath her impressive bellow. ‘Major Watson!’
    Watson carefully laid down the precious jar of sodium citrate solution on the tabletop before he turned to face her. ‘Sister? How may I be of assistance?’
    ‘What is the meaning of this?’ She pulled back the canvas further to reveal his two VADs, each holding an Empire medical kit. Standing behind them, and towering over the pair by almost a foot, was Brindle, his designated driver, batman and orderly. Brindle’s long, sorrowful face was even glummer than usual as he secured the entrance flap open with two press studs.
    ‘Experience dictates that travelling with one medical kit in a war situation is somewhat risky, Sister,’ Watson explained patiently. ‘I always pack a spare.’
    Now the colour on her cheeks was a perfect match for the cape. She waved a rolled piece of flimsy pinkish paper at the two women, who were still holding the heavy medicine chests, stabbing at them with it, as if it were a short sword. ‘I am not referring to your
travelling
preferences, Major,’ she almost snarled. ‘You have brought VADs into my Casualty Clearing Station.
VADs!
’
    She made it sound as if Voluntary Aid Detachment nurses were some kind of vermin. And besides, it wasn’t strictly speaking her CCS; it was Major Torrance’s. But he was at Hazebrouck for a meeting with one of the army’s specialists in gas warfare. ‘When I was at Bailleul hospital,’ Watson said