Excerpt
from Chapter 3
Because of plot-spoilers in Chapter 1 for the first
book in the series, The Summer Before The Storm, this excerpt is taken
from Chapter 3. Twenty-year-old Ria Wyndham, the heroine, has just joined the
WATS (Women's Ambulance and Transport Service) in France. The other "girls", as
they called themselves, have nicknamed her "Windy". Twenty-two-year-old Carly
is already a seasoned ambulance driver. Nessie is her ambulance and Boots, her
dog. ComRad and Boss are commanding officers. The WATS are heavily based on the
FANY (First Aid Nursing Yeomanry) which is still in existence. The vehicles had
the windshields removed for safety reasons, the WATS are living in army tents,
and their camp is set among the sand dunes west of Calais. This section has
been shortened slightly, the missing paragraphs indicated by the dots.
Ria woke with a start, realizing that someone was shaking
her. She was chilled, and could feel the dampness of rain.
"Sorry, Windy, but a train's coming in," Carly told her.
"You'll want your coat. And don't forget your tin hat. In case there's an air
raid." This was the steel helmet that they and the soldiers now wore when in
action.
They doused the lights before going out into the stinging,
gusting rain. With the wind whipping off the Channel, it felt colder than
England, and it was only late September.
Ria cranked Nessie's engine, which was strenuous work, and
then hopped in beside Boots, who sat in the middle as if to attention,
obviously used to the routine. "Does he always travel with you?" Ria asked with
amusement.
"Can't leave him behind, although it's really against the
rules. Clever little blighter makes himself scarce when he senses someone who's
likely to disapprove of his presence. But he's so small that he doesn't
interfere - we often have sitting cases in the front if the back is filled.
Then Boots crawls under the seat. He's good company when I'm returning alone
late at night."
The phalanx of ambulances crept into the road.
"What about your headlights?" Ria asked. They had only
small sidelights burning.
"Oh no. We can't have lights on. Can't let the Boche know
where we are. And they couldn't see the red crosses on our roofs in the
dark."
"But you said they wouldn't be flying in the rain."
"Regulations."
"Bloody hell!"
Carly laughed and said, "Absolutely. But don't let ComRad
or Boss hear you talking like that, or you'll end up cleaning the latrines for
a month. Always remember that we are ladies, if unconventional and feisty
ones," Carly quoted in a pretty good imitation of Boss.
Once they were on the main road to Calais, Ria was amazed
at how quickly they drove through the thick darkness.
"ComRad always leads. We think she's a bat, because she
seems to be able to see in the dark. Some of the girls call her ComBat."
Ria felt somewhat panicked as they pushed relentlessly
through the molasses of the night, the rain blowing at them across the bonnet
and dashboard….
"Sometimes it takes hours for the trains to actually roll
in," Carly informed her when they arrived at the station. "They always have to
give way to troop trains going toward the war. That's the first priority
you see, not the sick and wounded who are now useless as far as the army's
concerned," she added snidely. "Fortunately the canteen's open tonight, so we
can at least warm ourselves with a cup of tea."
Although they weren't supposed to smoke in public, Ria
noticed that most of the girls, including ComRad, puffed on a cigarette. Ria
mentioned it to Carly. "We don't smoke when there are officers visiting or when
we're trying to make an impression. But at other times, no one really notices
or cares. We WATS already have a rather brazen reputation anyway."
They had several cigarettes with their tea as Carly filled
Ria in on some of the details of life as a WATS.
"Gird your loins. Here they come," Carly said, as a train
pulled into the station. Ria could see her drawing herself up to face whatever
horrors were about to erupt from it. "I'm never quite prepared for all the
misery."
They returned to the ambulance and awaited their turn to
accept cases. When Carly had backed up to the train, orderlies slid four
stretchers into the racks and said, "35 General."
"You'll soon get to know the locations of all the
hospitals," Carly told Ria. "I'll show you tomorrow. At least we're not
transporting Blighties. I hate going to the pier, but it's worst of all on a
rainy night. You'll see why when you have to do it."
But Ria thought that driving through the liquid darkness
wasn't easy either. It was like swimming underwater at night.
"Hello, lads. We'll be as gentle as we can," Carly told
her occupants. Their heads were just behind the front seats, so it was easy to
talk to them through the canvas curtain.
"Bless you, Sister," one of the boys said.
"Friggin' 'eck, can you hurry?" another asked. "Sorry, but
the morphine's wearing off."
Another groaned. The fourth one muttered softly to
himself. Some of them cried out occasionally.
Ria noticed the stench almost at once. It was an intense,
nauseating, rotting smell. She swallowed hard to keep from retching, and of
course she couldn't say anything.
She hoped she didn't actually have to look at whatever was
causing that putrefying stink. But when they arrived at a nearby hospital, she
and Carly helped unload the stretchers. One boy had his head and most of his
face bandaged, as well as a foot. Another had a bloated leg covered in a
suppurating bandage, which seemed to ooze the gut-wrenching stink. One chap had
two stumps for legs. They all had grateful smiles. A boy with bandages around
his chest gasped, "Luvely ride, ladies. Ta very much."
"It's gas gangrene, before you ask," Carly said to Ria
when they were once more underway. "You do get somewhat used to the smell. You
did very well not to throw up."
"Gangrene means he'll have his leg amputated?"
"Yes. He may survive if it hasn't spread. Gas gangrene is
caused by the dirt that gets into wounds. It comes from old farm fields with
lots of manure. The lads sometimes lie wounded in no man's land for days, so
even a minor wound can get badly infected if it's not treated quickly. We get a
lot of these. Some, of course, have already had a limb or two removed, as you
saw. Poor souls!"
"Why did that fellow call you Sister?" Ria asked.
"The boys think we are VADs. Nurses are the only women who
are supposed to be on this side of the Channel, don't you know."
With all the ambulances running but over four hundred
injured to unload from the train, Carly and Ria did three more trips to various
hospitals. The last was the longest. "Canadian #3 General. Mind how you go."
"Which means we have to drive extra carefully because of
the nature of the injuries. And we'll be most of the way to Boulogne," Carly
said, but with no hint of annoyance in her voice. This was all part of the job.
"The hard part is trying to miss all the shell holes and bumps in the road. You
get to know where the worst ones are." Louder she said, "Boys, you'll be happy
to know that I have a bona fide Canadian girl here with me. From Toronto. She's
come all the way to help you."
"I'm from Guelph, Miss. I expect you know it," a strained
voice mumbled slowly into the darkness.
"Indeed I do! Some of my best friends live there. Do you
know the Carringtons?"
"Know of them. My sister's working in their factory.
Making uniforms. We have a farm…" His voice caught on a sharp intake of
breath.
Ria could feel his pain, a physical reality like the wind
and rain that drove sharply at them.
"I'm from Winnipeg," another voice said.
"I'm afraid I've never been there," Ria said.
"You probably don't know Launston Mills," another voice
said. "Just a small town in Ontario."
"The Carringtons' grandparents live there, and I see them
every summer," Ria told him. "Keir and Megan Shaughnessy."
"Well I'll be buggered! Sorry, ladies. But everybody knows
them! He was mayor once, and owns the newspaper. Didn't I hear that one of his
granddaughters was on the Lusitania and drowned?"
"She was with me. We were good friends."
"Holy smoke! That must have been terrible for you."
"Yes."
Winnipeg said, "It's not right that you girls should be
risking your lives like this. I wouldn't want my sisters or sweetheart here."
"I'm glad to hear a Canadian girl's voice," Guelph managed
to say haltingly. "Will you keep talking?"
Ria was at a loss. He sounded so needy, so she said, "Have
any of you ever been to Muskoka? It's a lake district about a hundred miles
north of Toronto. We have a summer home there."
"Camped once," Guelph said. "Beautiful."
"I love the granite, how it sparkles in the sunlight and
absorbs the warmth of the sun. Islands of all shapes and sizes, some merely a
giant rock or big enough for a golf course. Some with sandy beaches or sheer
cliffs rising a hundred feet above the water. Some with funny names like Old
Baldy and One-Tree-Island and Ouhu. That belongs to Professor Carlyle. His son
is a doctor and he's here, at one of the Canadian hospitals." In fact, at the
one they were going to. But she wasn't ready to see Blake yet. "My favourite
place on our island I named The Shimmering Sands."
She told them about the Regatta, the Stepping Stone
Marathon, the tennis tournament. About blueberry picking, excursions to
waterfalls, canoeing up the mystical Shadow River, and moonlight cruises. About
the costume balls and parties and picnics, fascinating Carly as well as the
men, who occasionally exclaimed or chuckled.
"I like canoeing too," Guelph said, his voice tight,
barely above a whisper now. "Go on."
She painted a vivid picture of the Northern Lights, and a
moonless night shimmering with an immense canopy of stars, some of them falling
to earth. She described storms whipping across the lake, and early morning
swims with the mist dancing across the water. Whenever she stopped, someone
urged her to go on. So she was hoarse and tired by the time they finally
arrived at the hospital, an hour and a half later.
When they unloaded the stretchers, they discovered that
Guelph was dead. Most of his body was heavily bandaged, his face obscured.
"Burns," the Medical Officer said, reading his tag. "RFC.
Poor chap."
Ria burst into tears.
"First day on the job?" the doctor asked wryly. "You'll
get used to it, more's the pity."…
Find
retailers here or order your copy
online
