We had just cleared out a contingent of our own wounded when the Front moved forward three hundred yards in that salient, and suddenly the men I was working with wore the field gray of German uniforms.
I'd heard several nurses state flatly that they wouldn't touch German wounded, Edith Cavill fresh in their minds. She had been shot by firing squad for staying with her duties to her own wounded when the Germans had overrun that part of Belgium. They had called her a spy, and rid themselves of her.
But as I looked at these men, some of them so young and frightened, others stoic in their pain, I could hardly turn them away.
I spent endless hours working over them, sorting the more serious cases from those we couldn't move until they were stabilized, listening to the ragged breath of the dying, holding the hands of those facing surgery, trying to discover the names of those who couldn't speak.
I soon forgot that this was the enemy. But for their uniforms and their language, they could have been any soldier from our own armies. I gave them all the care at my command, and cried when one of them died in my arms.
Their officer, his foot badly lacerated by shell fragments, hobbled around the tent speaking to each one of his men, comforting and reassuring them, taking down their names in a little leather book along with a description of their wounds, so that there would be a record of where they were and why.
Twice I asked Hauptmann Ritter to sit down and let me examine his foot, but he shook his head, continuing his rounds. Finally I stood in front of him, forcing him to stop and face me.
'You are risking infection that will cost you your foot and possibly your leg as well. It might even kill you. Is that what you want? If so, it's a poor example for these men who are letting us care for them.'
I wasn't certain he understood me until I saw a flash of anger in his blue eyes, and he said in passable English, 'I am responsible.'
The Colonel Sahib would have liked him in other circumstances. They saw eye to eye on the duties of command.
'Yes, well, you can be just as responsible once I've cleaned and disinfected that wound, then bandaged it.'
He gave me a look that was withering, and then as he turned he saw that the men on cots around him were listening with open interest to hear what he would say.
It must have taken enormous effort to quell his pride and let me lead him to one side where his foot could be examined properly. He refused to let his men out of his sight, but I found a bench where he could sit and rest his foot on a wooden crate.
And it was a nasty wound. I summoned one of the doctors and he came to have a look as well.
'You could lose this, you know,' he told Herr Hauptmann. 'And with it your career in the Army.' He fetched what he needed and began to clean the foot and remove any fragments still buried there.
I watched as the muscles in our patient's jaw tightened, and I knew what sort of pain he was enduring, refusing to show weakness.
I realized that not only the German soldiers but Dr. Newcomb himself was watching Captain Ritter with interest.
Dr. Newcomb did what he could with the wound, then said, 'This will require surgery. We must get him and those five men over there back to where they can be taken care of.'
Ritter wanted no part of being separated from his men, the walking wounded already being lined up to be taken under guard to a processing center for prisoners, the others to remain here until they were fit to move.
It took some argument and persuasion before Captain Ritter accepted the fact that he had no choice in the matter. He finished the entries in his small notebook, then reluctantly allowed us to put him in the ambulance waiting outside.
I was the transport nurse, and after making certain the other critical cases were as stable and comfortable as possible, I climbed into the seat next to the driver. Captain Ritter called from the back, 'Claus is bleeding again.'
I got out and stepped into the rear of the ambulance. And Claus had indeed pulled at his bandaging, blood already welling in the wound in his chest. I worked to stop the bleeding, and finally succeeded.
Captain Ritter said bitterly, 'The war is over for him. I don't know whether to mourn for him or congratulate him.'
I stayed with Claus, sending Captain Ritter to take my place next to the driver, who gave me a long look. I knew what he was asking-if this German officer was to be trusted next to the driver, where he could try a mischief.
I said, 'Captain Ritter understands I am exchanging places in order to keep this soldier alive. He will give me his word to respect this decision.'
Captain Ritter smiled at me, and I knew he'd been weighing his chances. But he nodded, and closed the ambulance door on me before hobbling painfully to the front of the vehicle.
We set off along the rutted road, lurching and swaying like some mad creature in the throes of despair. It was always a wonder to me when a severely wounded man survived this ride. I felt bruised and battered as we pulled in at the hospital and I could turn my patients over to the staff waiting there.
Captain Ritter thanked me for my care of his men, and then said, 'I have learned one thing in life at least. When I have given up all hope, there is still something to live for. I swore I would never be taken prisoner. And here I am, a prisoner. But I shall write to my wife now and tell her that very likely I shall survive the war after all. She will have a little peace, knowing that. It will be my good deed.'
'There's no shame in being taken prisoner,' I told him. 'You are no use to your country dead.'
He smiled. 'I shall remember that. Good-bye, Fraulein.' And he was gone, supported by two orderlies, followed by an armed guard.
I was to think about Captain Ritter when my mail at last caught up with me.
When I have given up all hope, there is still something to live for.
Michael Hart was speaking almost those same words to Simon Brandon that same afternoon. Only I wouldn't hear about it for another two weeks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Simon's letter arrived, the envelope was worn and splattered with mud. At least I hoped it was mud. I opened it gingerly, and drew out the sheets inside.
Unfolding them, I looked at the heavy, angular strokes of his pen, and I had a premonition of bad news.
Bess, it began, I am writing in haste, as there is a chance I shall be able to send this letter tonight. As you asked, I attended the trial. It was brought forward because Mrs. Calder regained some memory of events the night she was stabbed. Only a partial memory as it turned out, but she was able to tell the police that she'd received a message from Lieutenant Hart asking her to meet him. This was verified by her maid, who had brought the letter to her from the post. She replied that she had a dinner engagement that night-would it be possible for him to come another evening. He answered that he would meet her at nine thirty, if her dinner party ended in good time. She agreed, and was surprised that he wasn't waiting in her house. Instead he came toward her from the shadows at the corner of her house, and she called to him to join her. That was the last thing she remembered. Because the doctors had ordered a long and careful period of convalescence, it was decided to move the trial date to accommodate the medical needs of the chief witness. I spoke to the barrister who had taken Hart's case, and he felt that judgment could go either way-conviction or acquittal depending on the view of the jury when the evidence was presented. He believed your evidence regarding events at the railway station would be crucial, as it indicated that Hart was not Mrs. Evanson's lover, and therefore had no reason to kill her to protect himself from charges that he was the child's father. As she was already married, Hart could hardly be considered a jilted lover or cuckolded husband. This removed one motive for murder, and such circumstantial evidence as there was required a suitable motive. And Mrs. Calder could be shown to be recovering still, and perhaps not perfectly certain about what she thinks she remembers.
He had told Hart how he expected to conduct the trial, and had every expectation that his principal agreed
