Shoulder the Sky_ A Novel - Anne Perry [4]
Charlie Gee gave a shout and a young doctor appeared, saw Corliss and immediately went to him. “Come on, we’ll get that fixed up,” he said calmly. His eyes flickered to Joseph and then back again. It was easy enough to see in his haggard face, hollow-eyed, the fear that a hand wound was self-inflicted.
Joseph moved forward quickly. “We did what we could to help the bleeding, Doctor, but I don’t know exactly what happened. He’s a sapper, so I imagine something collapsed underground. Maybe one of the props gave way.”
The doctor’s face eased a little. “Right.” He turned back to Corliss and took him inside.
Joseph thanked Charlie Gee and watched him amble back up the connecting trench toward the front line again.
An ambulance pulled up, a square-bodied Ford model T, a bit like a delivery van. It was open at the front, with a closed part at the back that could carry up to five men, laid out in stretchers, more if they were sitting up. The driver jumped out. He was a broad-shouldered young man with short hair that sat up on the crown of his head. He saluted Joseph then looked at the more seriously injured of the two men waiting, whose right leg was heavily splinted.
“Don’t need ter carry yer,” he said cheerfully. “Reckon an arm round yer and yer’ll be fine. ’Ave yer in ’ospital in an hour, or mebbe less, if Jerry don’t make too much of a mess o’ them roads. Cut ’em up terrible around Wipers, they ’ave. An’ ’Ellfire Corner’s a right shootin’ gallery. Still, we’ll cut up a few o’ them, an’ all. Looks broke all right.” He regarded the splinted leg cheerfully. “Reckon that’s a Blighty one, at least for a while, eh?”
“Oi’ll be back!” the soldier said quietly. “Oi’ve seen a lot worse than broken legs.”
“So’ve I, mate, so’ve I.” The ambulance driver pursed his lips. “But this’ll do for now. Now let’s be ’avin’ yer.”
Joseph moved forward. “Can I help?” he offered.
“Blimey! ’E don’ need the last rites yet, Padre. It’s only ’is leg! The rest of ’im’s right as rain,” the ambulance driver said with a grin. “Still—I s’pose yer could take the other side of ’im, stop ’im fallin’ that way, like?”
Quarter of an hour later Joseph was refreshed by really quite drinkable tea. Unlike in the front trenches, there was plenty of it, almost too hot to drink, and strong enough to disguise the other tastes in the water.
He had almost finished it when a car drove up. It was a long, low-slung Aston Martin, and out of it stepped a slim, upright young man with fair hair and a fresh complexion. He wore a uniform, but with no rank. He ignored Joseph and went straight into the tent, leaving the flap open. He spoke to the surgeon, who was now tidying up his instruments. He stopped in front of him, almost at attention. “Eldon Prentice, war correspondent,” he announced.
Joseph followed him in. “Bit dangerous up here, Mr. Prentice,” he said, carefully not looking toward Corliss, who was lying on one of the palliasses, his bandaged hand already stained with blood again. “I’d go a bit further back, if I were you,” he added.
Prentice stared at him, his chin lifted a little, his blunt face smooth and perfectly certain of himself. “And who are you, sir?”
“Captain Reavley, chaplain,” Joseph replied.
“Good. You can probably give me some accurate firsthand information,” Prentice said. “Or at least secondhand.”
Joseph heard the challenge in his voice. “It’s cold, wet, and dirty,” he replied, looking at Prentice’s clean trousers and only faintly dusty boots. “And of course you’ll have to walk! And carry your rations. You do have rations, don’t you?”
Prentice looked at him curiously. “A chaplain is just the sort of man I’d like to talk to. You’d be able to give me a unique view of how the men feel, what their thoughts and their fears are.”
Joseph instinctively disliked the man. There was an arrogance in his manner that offended him. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, Mr. Prentice, but priests don’t repeat what people tell them, if it’s of any importance.”
Prentice smiled. “Yes, I imagine you have heard a great many