Tending to the Enemy (closed)

[Ambrosia_64]

"We've got a group coming in!" The warning shout blasted from the front of the tent, sending the miniature white army into action. Even the new recruits had orders barked at them-and Millie was no different. "Get this guy to surgery now." The head nurse commanded, shoving a gurney into her soft stomach before turning to handle another case-a whirlwind of chaos as injured men were routed to various beds and locations within the large, semi permanent burlap tent.

They were losing the war. Everyone knew it. And yet Millie had still enlisted against her father's wishes, had still come out here to help the growing number of injured soldiers. She looked down at the injured man before her, unsure if the crimson caked onto his skin was due to his injuries-or someone elses. Pushing him across the shoddy, hastily laid wooden flooring, she rested a hand on his shoulder as a form of comfort, even if she wasn't sure he could even process where he was and what was happening to him.

All he'd see were the shaking lamps hanging from the canopy ceiling, halo-ing the dark haired woman above him. Her nurse's smock was pristine and pressed, the pill box hat slightly askew but no less lovely-a young and concerned face offering him the simplest of comforts through simple phrases and assuring words.

As she pushed him behind a divider to take his pulse and clean him up for the doctor, he might start to realize her uniform was not the double breasted coat of his country...but the medics white smock of the enemy.

Just as he might be realizing as such her hands were flying down the buttons of his ruined, crimson stained coat, expertly but carefully slipping him out of it-and pausing when she uncovered an metallic symbol that wasn't...quite...

"Oh my God." Her breathless, shocked tone and face betrayed her surprise and dismay. Somehow, they had brought one of the others into the tent! She hurried to the edge of the divider, peered out-but hesitated to call attention to it. Would they still help him if they knew? Glancing back, Millie bit her lip. He was hurt, he needed help.

It didn't really matter which side he was on, not...not right now. Lifting a pair of scissors from the wall, she returned and quickly cut his jacket entirely free from him, balling it up and shoving it deep into a nearly empty laundry bag before she knotted the top. She would get rid of it. No one would have to know, he'd get his help-and then she could work out what to do afterwards.

Was he...was he looking at her?

The doctor rushed in, blood spattered but with freshly washed hands-a harried looking man that had been here from the start. Millie backed off as two more experienced nurses sailed in behind him. Greenish blue eyes on her smuggled patient, she pressed her index finger to her plush lips and mimed for silence.

With one last, nervous smile-however unsure she was-Millie slipped from the space to dispose of his uniform jacket.

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He was in and out of consciousness the next few days, feberish and on the verge of death-but on the final day his fever broke, and Millie was there with soup, a cool cloth carefully dabbed across his forehead.

"Hello there." She said softly to the soldier, a warm smile. "Welcome to back to the land of the living, sir."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

“Shh, I know, I’m sorry.” Millie left the cool cloth on his forehead and set the soup aside a moment, pouring just a small amount of water into a little cup and handing it to him, careful to help if he needed it. “I...I got rid of it. You were very hurt and...and I wanted the doctor to help you.” Her brow furrowed, a troubled glance over her shoulder-but no one was passing by. There were so many sick and dying men in the makeshift hospital, and less and less nurses everyday-no one had time to eavesdrop.

“My name is Millie.” She whispered back, her greenish blue eyes returning to him. She was a kind looking young woman, soft, pretty facial features and an athletic, though feminine build. She wasn't unusually tall, nor was she short-standing perhaps five foot five. “You’ve been very sick the last few days. But the doctor thinks you’ll make it, now that the fever’s broken.”

What he would do once he was well enough-Millie wasn’t sure. She had secreted an enemy soldier’s regalia away to spare his life-but now that she had, she wasn’t sure where to go from there. She couldn’t in good conscience reveal him now-but at the same time, did she intend to help him escape back to his side? They were already losing the war, would that make her a traitor to her own countrymen, her people?

Could she claim clean hands on both accounts if she just...left him to his own devices?

Questions she would worry over later. For now, the poor man probably needed to eat something, if he thought he could manage. He was a patient and he had been on the verge of death for several days-she must take care of him, he was in need. “Soup, sir?”

 

[Ambrosia_64]

A mortor hit in the distance, but Millie didn't even wince. She'd all but gotten used to the noise of war. She wondered how long it would be before they would be forced to evacuate, move the makeshift hospital further inland.

He was able to drink the water unassisted. It was a small thing, but heartening, after days of watching him sweat and struggle to stay alive. He'd been so weak. Was probably still rather weak.

Millie blinked, then smiled softly at the name Clem. She didn't press, merely poured him a bit more water. It was best for him to drink slowly.

She nodded somberly, her pretty eyes widening in remembering. "Yes. Yes, you were shot. There was...a lot of blood." She gestured towards his shoulder, then his side. "And shrapnel in your side. Something must have landed and exploded near you. You must have been brought here by mistake-I only noticed your uniform preparing you for the doctor."

An anxious expression on her normally serene, pretty face as she went on. "And then there was talk of infection. You were very feverish for the past several days-I was so afraid you would die." Millie was not yet hardened by death, the war. She had only just volunteered to serve, and was having a hard time adjusting-but she pressed on. The soldiers needed help, the injured tending-she tried to work so hard she didn't have time to think about it.

"Do you think you might be able to eat?" She inquired, gently taking the cup once he was finished with it, lifting the bowl of soup from the side table. "Food will give you strength, and strength will help you recover." She smiled encouragingly at him.

There wasn't a scrap of hatred or anger to this girl, at all. She seemed very kind-it was no wonder she had secreted him.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Millie shook her head softly at his question. "Not yet. You're still too sick, Clem." And when he was better? What then?

She would have to think long and hard about that. But secretly...secretly Millie already knew she would help him escape back across enemy lines. At least as far as obtaining him a disguise and giving him food for the trip. What else could she do? "We can talk more about that once you are stronger."

Millie's hands twisted the white, pressed smock she wore over her plain, long sleeved grey dress as he asked her why.

"I...I don't know, sir. I volunteered to help. I still work to help my countrymen. I...I'm supposed to be off duty right now, resting." She realized she was wrinkling the smock and stopped, smoothing it while she avoided eye contact with the soldier. "No one really notices what I do...so that is how I am tending to you now."

She swallowed. "As for understanding...a man needed help, and it...it didn't matter which side he was on, just then." Millie's cheeks colored slightly, a pretty rose pink. "Perhaps that makes me a bad Pole. But...I would like to think it makes me a good nurse."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Millie didn't mind questions. It was good to hear him speak after so many days and nights of worrying whether he would live or not.

"In our field hospital. We were 20 miles from the front lines, but..." Millie's eyes shifted away. "Well, that distance has been cut in half, maybe more, I am not sure."

Her people were losing the war. Did he know it? Maybe, or maybe he was just a soldier, didn't know how good or bad his side was doing. Millie didn't want to think about the number of injured men coming in every day, the rate of death all around them.

She rose to stand, offering a weak smile. "You rest and regain your strength, Mr. Clem. I'll check in on you again later this evening. No one should...should stop in before then, but if they do-feign sleep or amnesia, perhaps?"

She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, gave a small bow of her head-and then turned to leave him be for now.

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She was back as promised, later. Her eyes were widened and she seemed a little shell shocked, her previously pristine, starched smock rumpled and stained. She stepped in, saw he was awake-then disappeared with a swing of her skirts and returned with a tray bearing more soup and a weak tea in a metal cup.

The sound of distant gunfire and mortars provided stressful background noise.

"Here you are-" She set the tray down on the side table.