Sister Fenton seemed to find that acceptable. “I know Captain Lippett’s attitude to these men is a little harsh—”
“A little harsh?” retorted Edith.
Sister Fenton did little more than arch her eyebrow. Edith knew she’d just stepped over a line and lowered her eyes. “Sorry, sister.”
“As I said,” Sister Fenton reiterated for emphasis, her features softening. “I know Captain Lippett’s attitude is a little harsh, but he does have a greater responsibility here. If you had concerns, you should have brought them to me. I appreciate that you have managed to care for these men in your own time and now that the fighting seems to be over, at least for the moment, I came to see if there was anything you needed for them.”
Sister Fenton’s show of concern caught Edith off guard. She was so used to seeing her as some dried-up old dragon, even though she could scarcely be more than ten years older than herself. Sister rarely, if ever, let that mask slip, but Edith realised that the woman was in an unenviable position. She was alone. At least Edith had got Nellie to befriend, to talk to and confide in, but Sister Fenton’s station as a senior nurse, and a spinster at that, left her somewhat out on a social limb. They didn’t often spare any thought for her or her plight at all. Lord knows it was hard enough for them on this world, amongst all these men, but for her? Was this her reaching out for female companionship?
“Oh. Well, I was just about to examine them. It seems they’ve been out all night and an extra pair of hands would be welcome, Sister.”
Fenton smiled. It was a disconcerting sight. “Right, well, let’s get on, shall we?” she said, rolling her sleeves up and stepping past Edith into the compound, her businesslike mask hardening into place once again.
The soldiers were meandering around aimlessly, some were whimpering quietly, some fidgeting, but it was a restless movement, not the involuntary spasms and jerks of shell-shock.
“I thought you told us that their hysterical symptoms had abated. Do they seem agitated to you?” said Sister Fenton as they walked slowly through the Bird Cage, running appraising gazes over their charges.
“Yes,” Edith agreed, a frown creasing her forehead. “Yes, they do.”
She found Townsend.
“Townsend. What happened? How did you get out there?”
He looked at her blankly at first, recognition only coming a few seconds later. “Nurse?”
“You were found wandering out there,” she indicated the veldt.
“I don’t remember,” he said. “I remember wandering around out there, but I don’t remember how I got there…” he looked at her in entreaty.
She didn’t know how either. Avoiding his eyes, she began checking his hands and arms. There were lacerations, but from what? Barbed wire? Wire weed? She couldn’t tell.
She opened his shirt. The swellings on his body had grown in number over the course of no more than a day. The growth at the back of his head had enlarged. She would have asked one of the urmen who helped out in the hospital tents if the swelling was anything they had come across, but they wouldn’t come near the compound, claiming it was full of ‘bad magic.’
She was distracted for a moment as a breeze picked up and blew stray stands of hair across her face. She pursed her lips to blow it away before impatiently sweeping and tucking the offending locks away behind her ear.
“Bell!” called Fenton with a note of urgency. “Bell, look!”
She looked up. The men were all turning in unison, as if performing some parade ground manoeuvre. They turned into the wind. Was it her imagination, or was there an almost audible sigh of relief, when they felt the wind on their faces as it blew in across the veldt, ruffling hair and billowing shirts?
Fenton strode from one to another. “They’ve all responded in the same manner. Must be some sort of mass hysteria.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen the like. It appears they’re responding to some atmospheric change,” she observed. “What might it be? Air pressure? Temperature? Humidity?” She looked at Bell, who was just as perplexed by their behaviour. “Maybe your concerns were valid after all, Bell. I think Captain Lippett should see this.”
Edith stepped in front of Townsend, who now faced the oncoming wind, and waved her hand in front of his unseeing eyes. “Townsend?” There was no reaction.
She shook another man. “Miller? Miller, what are you doing?”
Miller said nothing. She tried tugging on his arm, but he stood immobile, transfixed by the wind. They seemed oddly at peace. “Miller!” She turned and faced Sister Fenton, a look of consternation on her face. “I don’t understand, Sister. What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, Bell, but the wind seems to calm them.”
Edith looked in the same direction as the men, following their gaze, out across the trenches and the wire weed, out across the veldt with its flattened tube grass, where the last shreds of mist were dispersing; where, among walls of dirt and pyramids of earthen balls, the abandoned Khungarrii also turned to face the oncoming wind.
She looked up into the blue sky, where carrion creatures shrieked and wheeled, awaiting the first warm updrafts of the day, before dropping her gaze to the horizon, towards the great grey line of clouds that hunkered there. They were moving fast, rolling across the sky towards them. Another few hours and it would be upon them.
She shivered. “The weather is turning. Looks like there’s a storm on the way.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ATKINS CURLED UP against the bole of a tree, his pack by his side and his rifle clasped to his chest. He was weary to the bone, aching and stiff, but too tired to sleep.
He was acutely aware of Mathers. It was hard not to be. He sat cross-legged atop the tank on the driver’s cabin, surrounded by lighted candle stubs, still wearing his rain cape, splash mask and turtle helmet, which he never seemed to take off at all these days. He muttered to himself while the rest of his men slept fitfully below.
It was disconcerting, because he couldn’t make any sense of what Mathers was saying. Sat there in the candle glow, with the small night creatures buzzing and whining around him and crawling all over him, he just looked damn unnerving.
MATHERS IGNORED THE pain. The unsettled feeling in his stomach was getting worse. The fumes from the engine seemed to be a balm for it, but the engine was off. He had already taken several slugs of distilled petrol fruit from his flask and that seemed to calm it. The problem was he was having to drink more and more of the stuff. Just inhaling the fumes was no longer enough. Now, as he sat here, small creatures of the night attracted to the flame swarmed around him. He let them crawl on him. Any one of them might have a bite that would kill him, but this was a test of faith. He could hear the voice of his god, Skarra, in their incessant buzzing. His god would protect him. All he had to do was give himself over to Skarra completely, without fear. He felt none. Even though he felt a myriad of scuttling legs, fluttering wings, stings and bites, he didn’t even flinch.
AMONG THE MEN, the fragile truce between the two groups of Tommies was barely holding, each group giving the other distrustful looks, as if just waiting for an excuse.
Atkins hated being stuck on a wild goose chase with an officer whose orders he couldn’t countermand. They should have been heading back to the encampment. God alone knew if it was still even there. He sat there, imagining a bloody slaughter as the chatts overran the trenches, and all because he hadn’t returned with the tank in time.
He glanced over at the tank crew, bivouacked beneath a tarpaulin strung out from the starboard sponson. Alfie Perkins was in the middle of them. He was lying down, his head propped on his hand, looking across the clearing to where Nellie Abbott slept, near Napoo. After a while, one of his crewmates poked him roughly and reluctantly he lowered his head.