The morning sunlight shone brightly into the tent, illuminating the small area with the colors of a new day. Eloise blankly stared upward, recalling the events the previous night held. The eventful day before seemed all like a dream to her. She ran her hand on the opposite side of the bed which was cold to the touch. Without a word spoken, Albert was gone. She knew that the flying squadron wasted no time in fulfilling their air strikes—no matter what activities their previous night had held.

She lay in his bed, looking around the empty tent. It was untouched and neat. Her eyes looked around at the relics that had come from his aerial combats. She wondered who they were and what their story was. They were heroes for their country, but to the German they were just another valuable souvenir. She hated that the men of both sides were forgotten all for the sake of glory, but her main question posed asked if any glory could come from war?

She quickly brushed her thoughts away, knowing she had to prepare her mind for what was to come. She could not imagine the world near the western front, but based on the stories she had heard she had no interest in knowing.

She rolled onto her side and let out a long sigh. Nearby she could see the outline of her dress hanging neatly upon a hook. Beneath it sat her boots gently placed. She forced herself upright and stretched her arms upward, letting out a groan. She rose from the bed and adjusted the thin linen shift that she wore. Swiftly, she gathered her remaining garments and pulled them over her head. Her eyes scanned the tent one last time, painting the picture of it in her mind, then she left.

The outside world was clear. The morning sun was warm as she began to walk down the beaten path, humming the same simple tune beneath her breath as she had done every morning. She looked across the distant field but could not see any of the planes. Assuming they were all still on the "hunt," she kept walking.

"There you are!" Bartram's distinctive voice startled Eloise, forcing her to halt.

She glanced over and saw the figure of the general leaned against a bench conversing with another man. He dismissed the other man and began approaching Eloise. She quickly poised herself and hid the fear she felt.

"I thought you were never going to come out." She detected a playful lilt to his voice. A twinkle glistened in the blue orbs that shone from his rugged face. "Your patient seems to be doing very well. I did not expect to see him flying, but I trust that your judgement was correct."

Eloise took an unsteady breath and held it for a moment. "He went up against my wishes, sir."

"He is the least of my concerns now, Eloise." Bartram admitted coldly, brushing off her remark. "I have been informed that one medic has already fallen within the past twenty-four hours on the front and they are in desperate need of medical reinforcements. I hope that you are prepared to go because we are leaving today."

Eloise shook her head. He spoke so quickly she could not process the words. "Where exactly are we going, sir?" She asked dazed. "I was never informed of the location."

"We are going to a field hospital located beside the front of Guillemont. That is where the fighting has made it." His answer was simple as he took Eloise by the arm. The two began to walk steadily in the direction of her tent. "Gather your things, Eloise. We must leave as soon as possible."

She forcibly stopped in front of her tent. "What if I don't wish to go?"

Bartram whirled around, staring at her coldly. "You do not have a choice. The other nurses will not go with me." He stated, taking Eloise by the shoulders. "Anyway, you are the only nurse that I trust to do this job."

Eloise closed her eyes as she thought to herself. She began to recall the name of the place they were going and she knew that it was not good.

Bartram released her shoulders and took her by the hands. "I can understand why you have your concerns about going, Eloise; I, too, have my own concerns. It is a very dangerous job we are about to do, but it is a very honorable job as well."

She glanced up at him with uncertain eyes and nodded. "I understand, General. I understand that we are needed." She paused with a sigh. "Let me gather my possessions and I will be ready to go."

Bartram nodded and started toward his motor car. She slowly entered into the tiny living area that she had grown familiar with. She could feel her heart pounding violently in her chest, fearing the worst was about to come. She did not want to leave. As she retrieved her few possessions, she began to cry. The pressures she had felt for months had finally began to release.

"What are you doing, Eloise?" Moritz's voice startled her in the stillness.

She wiped the moisture from her face and turned to see her friend. She could tell he had just returned from his mission.

"I am leaving. General Beck has come back for me. We are going to Guillemont today." She looked down at the ground, fighting back her feelings. "Thank you, Moritz, for everything you have done for me. If you would, please tell Albert that I sent him my farewells and do thank him for his kindness."

Moritz brought her into a warm embrace, pulling her closely to him. She could feel some pressures being released, however many were just beginning. She returned the hug and held it for as long as she could.

"Do say a prayer for me, Moritz." She requested, gently touching the silver pendant of the star of David hanging around his neck.

He nodded meekly at her. "I will." He forced a smile onto his face. "I will also tell Albert of your departure."

"Thank you." She replied, turning away from her friend. Without another work spoken she quickly fled from the tent. She knew if she did not leave then, she would never force herself to leave.

♠

The small stone house was visible in the distance. A white cloth marked with a red cross was draped over the doorway. Eloise wiped her sweaty palms down the front of her dress, hoping to hide her true fears. The car halted and they were helped from the vehicle. A general greeted them upon arrival, informing them of their location and the stance of the battle. He glanced over at Eloise, staring daggers into her.

"I thought higher of you, General Beck." The stiff man remarked. "I never expected that you would bring a woman to do a man's job."

"Sir, Miss Keller is a very skilled nurse. I feel that she is a great aspect to this hospital."

Eloise felt her cheeks growing increasingly warm as the man continued to stare at her.

"Whatever you say, General Beck. I hope that you have not made a mistake in bringing a lady."

General Beck did not respond to the departing General. He turned his full attention onto Eloise who stood still beside him. She looked at him with wide, terror-filled eyes. The fear she had in her heart was unlike any emotion she had felt.

"You are going to be alright, Eloise." Bartram calmly stated, firmly taking her by the shoulders. A kind smile inched onto his face as he stared at her, "I know that you feel everything so very deeply, and your emotions take you over but I need you to be strong now, more than ever. I know that there is a strong woman inside of you who can conquer the horrors here in this godforsaken land."

"But I am truly scared, sir." She muttered, glancing around the foreign place. "What if I fail, just as the General said?"

"If I did not believe that you could handle this job, I would have left you behind. You are an intelligent woman who can help these men." He waved around at the injured men hunkered around outside. "Look around you, Eloise. These men are in need of what you can give them. Some of them are dying and need a tender face to help them to the end. You are that person. You can carry the heavy burden yet still have compassion and that is what I admire in you."

Her eyes began to roam. She could see the terrors in the eyes of the men who were yet to be treated. She could only image what they had saw before landing themselves at the field hospital.

"Let go of your fears. Live as if nothing can happen to you and you will be fine, Eloise." He reassured her calmly. "These men don't need to see fear, they need to see courage. That is what you must show them."

She nodded gently. Before she could get another word out the other surgeon approached them. She studied him closely as he conversed silently with Bartram. His white linen apron was soaked with the mud and blood from the patients he had tended. In a matter of minutes, they were being led from the building into a group of white tents.

As she stepped into the make-shift hospital, the horrors that had been but a muttered imagination became a nightmare. Although she had seen wartime injuries and had learned to cope with the gore, this was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was filled with soldiers whose wounds were far beyond the imagination of Eloise.

With every turn she made, war blared in her face. The smell of death invaded her senses, numbing her sensitive heart with a bitter reality. She could hear the chilling music that the wartime guns sang in the distance. She could feel the earth shaking beneath her feet every time the loud cannons sounded. The echoes of shelling soon became accompanied by the atrocious wailing of the wounded beside her. Together the song of war drained the life out of Eloise.

Eloise surveyed the area around her. Blood spilled freely into the thick, sticky mud that caked beyond the perimeter of the tents. The wood-lined floors were stained with the crimson liquid. Her eyes locked on a row of silver buckets that were coated in blood. Hesitantly, she looked into them and to her horrors she saw amputated limbs.

Beyond the flaps of the tent led into another area. There, beds were lined up. The number of medical beds were limited and the few were filled with grievous patients. Many of them were amputees who were losing large amounts of their blood and were not expected to live long. The soldiers who could not have a bed sat huddled around on stretchers lined along the wooden paneled ground.

She looked onto the blank faces of the men, all who were in a state of shock. The whites in their eyes told her a story that she did not want to hear. What they had saw on the front had followed them there, haunting what sane mind they had left. She could hear their violent shrieks across the room. The terrible sound sent chills down her spine.

"Eloise!" Bartram called out loudly, getting her attention.

She looked over her shoulder and found him standing outside the tent. He was suited in his white operating uniform, awaiting to enter back into the house. When she neared him, he slipped a white apron over her head. She could only stare at him, knowing that it was time for them to begin their art of medicine. With gentle fingers he tied the white strings around her waist. His eyes never left hers in the several passing seconds. He offered her a smile, which she returned, and they entered the operating room.

Two men hoisted the makeshift stretcher onto the table. Eloise looked upon the mangled face of the man below her. Eloise gently covered his face with a light towel, hiding his gaze from the horrors around him. It took little examination to see the ghastly injuries that the man experienced. His legs were mangled violently from the knee down with leg bones protruding from beneath the flesh. As they inspected his thigh, the veins were budging red, which was a sign of blood poisoning.

Bartram glanced up at Eloise and shook his head. The man was inevitably going to lose his legs, and possibly his life. Eloise retrieved a leather belt from the nearby table and tied the man's leg at his thigh. A loud moan escaped his parched lips. With a gentle hand, Eloise began to stroke his head. Bartram pulled out a vile of morphine, exposing the shiny needle.

"Give this to him. If the pain of this procedure doesn't' kill him, the shock of it will."

Eloise reluctantly stared at the needle. It was a shock to see the medicine in use since it was very scarce near the front. She took it into her hand then focused her caring attention back onto the groaning man.

"This will only hurt for a moment." She whispered softly to the patient. "Your pains will soon vanish."

She exposed part of his arm and inserted the needle. The man winced for only a moment before becoming silent. She could not tell if the medicine caused his departure or the high levels of pain, but she was thankful that he was not conscious enough to feel what was coming. Bartram had taken the jagged saw into his hands. With a single look, Eloise knew it was time for the butchery to begin. They began cutting through the flesh of the man's leg, reaching the shattered bones below. Due to the state of his shot legs, the removal process was eerily easy in comparison to other amputation procedures. It had ended in a matter of minutes and they moved the man into a tent outside.

Eloise let out a long sigh as she looked down at her apron. The once fresh linen was already soaked with the blood of her patients. Her hands were coated in the same warm liquid. She dropped them into the porcelain bowl of water. The crystal-clear pool soon was a vibrant shade of red.

"Good work, Eloise." Bartram announced, copying the same actions of her. She looked up at him as she patted her shriveled hands dry. "You kept your composure through such a tedious operation."

"I can only imagine what shall come through those doors next."

Bartram only shrugged and turned to face the door. It suddenly swung open. A group of men entered, each donning a different kind of injury. The man who stood in the middle caught the full attention of Eloise. His ragged appearance matched with the painful mustard-colored wounds on his exposed skin made her pity him greater. His eyes were swelled shut and stuck completely together.

"Won't you please help us?" one of the men managed to speak, inching their way toward the operating table.

Eloise helped to ease the critical patient onto the hard board and studied him carefully. The sign of mustard gas was obvious. She could sense the suffering of the man, knowing that it had burnt him internally. There was nothing to save him. Depending on the amount of gas he had breathed in, would determine the amount of time he had left. Eloise predicted that within three weeks the man would be dead. Since the weapon of gas was relatively new, she had only seen a few horrific incidents caused by it and cures for such injuries was unknown.

Just as she began to start her general duties, Bartram wrapped his hand around her wrist. She looked at him in confusion and watched in disbelief as he shook his head. She knew what his gesture meant. Her eyes studied the suffering man once again.

"We need to get these men fixed first so they can return to the trenches." Bartram whispered, onlooking the minor patients. "This man will not live long with his injuries, you know that as well as I do."

Bartram waved for the nearby men to take the gassed man away. Eloise sadly watched as the groaning man vanished from the house. She quickly followed behind them, while Bartram called her name. She ignored him and continued her mission. As they placed him down, she sat beside him and offered him a drink of water. A painful cry escaped his blistered lips as he supped the metal tin. She dipped a cloth into the water and began to wipe the sticky substance from his eyes. Although he could not fully open them, he could see through a small slit. She kept her eyes on him at all times. He forced a smile to appear on his swollen, blistery face. The sincere smile he offered gave her the hope she needed to succeed at where she was. He leaned up for another sip, continuing the painful cycle. She gently stroked the top of his head, which too was covered in tiny blisters. Before she could do anything more for him, he quickly jolted up. Vomit spewed from his mouth, coating her in a yellow substance. She could feel the sickness churning in her own stomach, but she forced herself to keep calm.

"Don't you worry, sir." She softly spoke to the man, rising from his side. "We will have you well in no time."

She turned sharply, rushing back into the operating room. There she stood before Bartram drenched in vomit. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, guessing how she must look in front of the room of men. Bartram walked to her and pulled her into an embrace. She could see beyond his arms the shell-shocked faces of the waiting men. She felt selfish, knowing that what they had been through was far worse than anything she could imagine. She did not wish to be seen by the men as weak, but she was. She always was. Her strengths did not come by not feeling, her strength was to feel deeply.

Bartram paused and looked down at her, "Breathe, Eloise, breathe. Whatever happened to you, we will fix. You can't worry about the man, he is dying. Death is the outcome of war. The curse of a woman is to care and there is nothing wrong with that, but you must get a grip on yourself. There are men to fix. I can't have my only helper to fall apart."

Eloise swallowed hard and nodded. The words he spoke was true. She was overwhelmed with the entire setting. Death made her uncomfortable, yet it was her job to aid men who were dying.

"We can't have you wearing that." Bartram pointed to her soiled uniform.

"What else am I to wear?"

Bartram glanced over at the men who were watching them carefully. "If you don't mind waiting for a moment longer, gentlemen," he addressed the men respectfully.

He went to the corner of the room and retrieved a gray soldier's uniform, just as he and the other men wore. In an instant he returned it to Eloise. Where he had acquired the garments from, she did not wish to know. The eyes in the room burned holes into Eloise as she inspected the blood-stained garments with a disgusted expression.

"Could you please turn away?" She felt her cheeks growing flushed.

Bartram found a nearby sheet, draping it around her body so the other men could not see her. Her fingers began to fumble with the ties of her bloodied apron and lifted it over her head. She let out a long sigh while running her hands down the front of her light blue dress before pulling it over her body. She left the remaining garments on in hopes to protect her small body from the harshness of thick woolen clothes. With a hasty movement she had replaced her womanly clothing with those of the masculine German uniform.

"You may turn now." She informed meekly as she stared down at the baggy articles of clothing. Her hands tugged at the excess material and shrugged, "I never imagined that I would wear a gentleman's clothing."

"Now that we have you cleaned up," he spoke with a grin. "let us get back to work."

The two of them worked diligently at tending the injured men, until each one had found slight comfort in the tent outside. As Bartram and Eloise began at rest themselves. Two more uniformed men entered into the house. The men stood before them, addressing them respectfully. They shared with them their names and positions, informing them of the business in which they served.

"The medic who served on the front has been killed."