I boarded the plane and said hello to the copilot and radio operator who were putting their gear away, but neither met my eyes, keeping them averted as they gave half-hearted greetings in response. Frowning, I stashed my helmet and gas mask. As I placed a bottle of morphine in my pocket, I watched Theodore climb aboard and glance toward the ceiling, then at me, his eyebrows raised.
“What?” I asked, and then looked up. “Oh.”
I pursed my lips, my face warming, but amused nonetheless. Sometimes it was hard to keep the wounded who were awake for longer flights entertained. They got bored and restless. For those able to hold them, we’d hand out decks of cards or books we kept tucked in a small box near the radio operator. But at some point, whoever had been on this plane previously had decided the men might like something a little different to keep their minds off their injuries, which was why the ceiling had been plastered with nude pictures of women from the pages of magazines. What was more amusing was that clearly one of the other nurses had tried to make the scene a little less obnoxious by applying Band-Aids to some of the women’s naked bits.
“Well,” I said, moving around the crates that had been loaded. “At least I won’t have to worry about them staring at me.”
The men laughed, slightly relieved by my response, but still looking embarrassed, and then the door was shut and we were off.
Summer in the English countryside during a war was strange. It was peaceful, the green sloping hills giving way to sprawling valleys sprinkled with quaint towns we often visited on our days off.
Food was scarce once we were away from base, but sometimes it was worth it to forgo the mess hall for a small meal in a pub, listening to the locals chat. It almost felt like one was on vacation. At least until you heard the sound of planes rumbling overhead.
As August approached, William was able to get up and about more, leading us to finally go for a bicycle ride together on one of my days off.
I dressed in a light blue dress and my oxfords, packed sandwiches and apples, filled my canteen, and met him inside the hospital where he was getting stern instruction from his doctor.
“Take it easy,” Doctor Haddan warned. “The infection may be gone, but if you rip those stitches, I’m not going to let you leave your bed for two weeks.”
“Yessir,” William said, and then limped out the door beside me.
“You sure you’re up to this?” I asked. “We could just walk for a while.”
“I promise. I want nothing more than to see a bit of the countryside that lights up your face whenever you talk about it.”
“Then let’s go.”
We rode side by side, keeping our speed low and sometimes dismounting to walk our bikes when a hill was too much for William. His strength was returning with the daily exercises he did, but not enough that he could ride uphill easily, and we had to be careful he didn’t disturb the stitches on the newly re-sewn wound.
After thirty minutes or so we pulled off to the side of the road, slipped through a section of stone wall, and sat on the blanket I’d brought and placed over the grass.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, staring out at the view.
It was early in the day still and a cloud hung low over the valley before us, sheep grazing here and there, the sun just beginning to warm the earth.
“Did you explore much when you arrived? Before the invasion in France?” I asked, pulling out the food I’d brought and handing him my canteen.
He took a long sip and then shook his head.
“Not really. I was stationed near London and went a few times to pass the time while I waited to ship out, but mostly I stayed in. Kept myself amused on base. Read books, played cards with the fellas, stuff like that.” He handed the canteen back and our fingers brushed, sending a shot of electricity up my arm.
“Do you get scared?”
He looked back out at the view, his chest rising and falling as if in slow motion before he turned to me again.
“Absolutely.”
We were quiet then, each of us with our own thoughts as we stared out over the countryside.
“What about you?” he asked as I unwrapped the sandwiches. “Do you get scared flying into war zones?”
“Of course,” I said. “But I’m more scared of someone losing their life because I’m not paying attention. My focus is on my patients. My job. I imagine it’s the same for you in a way?”
He nodded. “It is. My focus is on my men. Strategizing the best I can to keep them alive. Those are my friends. They’re someone’s son or brother or husband. It’s a lot of pressure and it doesn’t matter how many you lose, each one hurts. Each one is a terrible notch on a terrible belt I will wear for the rest of my life.”
His eyes welled and he looked away. I reached my hand out and slid it into his, inhaling as his fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around my own. We sat in silence once more while he gathered himself, his thumb gently rubbing against my fingers, the sensation bringing me the first real comfort I’d felt since returning to duty.
“How stupid do you reckon it is for a soldier to fall for a flight nurse during a war?” he asked softly.
