Collection of One-Shots

》a small kindness

They were all so young, many looked to be boys, no older than nineteen, going off to fight a war to prove their worth, make a name for themselves. Annabelle wiped her blood covered hands on her smock before rushing to the next wounded soldier they brought into the medical tent. The supplies were drained and most that had been used were a lost cause as the majority did not make it through the night. She was one of the only female nurses that had been called to the battle front, their camp and station naught even ten miles from some of the heaviest fighting, the men admired her, even as they lay dying.

The nurse moved to another medical cot, the stench of antiseptic and blood hung in the air, so did the screams of those who had to undergo amputations if they stood any chance at surviving only the anesthesia supplies had been deleted three days prior. The man that lay with blood coming from his neck looked up at Annabelle with wide eyes pleading with her not to let him die, fear clouded his gaze, and cautiously she turned his head and saw the wound. Undoubtedly his carotid artery had been severed and within minutes he would bleed out.

Gathering her nerve she plugged the wound with her fingers. "Morphine! I need morphine and blood." The soldier's eyes drooped close, tears coming from his eyes as he still pleaded for his life through choked sobs. A low ranking man presented her the nearly empty vial and needle, quickly she took it from him, drawing an appropriate dosage and lining the tip of the needle up to his arm where she injected the drug. The head doctor approached, his hands and clothing covered with the substance that this man was losing.

"Annabelle, were out of blood for transfusions; just do your best to comfort him, keep him calm." Sadly she nodded, and reduced the pressure from his neck, his eyes frantically searched the canvas tent.

"Please, I... don't let me die." His voice was soft but when he coughed the blood loss only increased. Annabelle looked at her patient, her fiery hair fraying from its braid, her face bare and for the most part clean of dirt and blood unlike her clothing. She reached for his hand and held it tightly.

"You're going to be alright soldier, we'll get you through this." She had to force herself to smile, if only a little to make her words seem like the truth. "We'll patch you up good as new and send you back home. Do you have a special lady waiting for you?" The man swallowed the lump in his throat, she glanced down at his uniform, and the ranking of a Corporal, the name on the uniform was Attis.

"I ain't got no one special, but I'd like to take you for," he was coughing again, Annabelle could see his pupil's begin to dilate.

"Attis, listen to me," he turned his head, resigned to his fate. She felt the pulse point on his wrist begin to fade and when it stopped and lifeless green eyes looked at her she dropped his hand and stepped back and into a firm body. Her heart nearly burst from her chest until firm hands clasped her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, sir." She calmed her breathing and turned to face the man that she carelessly walked into. His uniform was still crisp, his eyes much too soft to have seen the horrors of war and his sandy blond hair was parted to one side, only disheveled the slightest amount.

"Please, just call me James, sir makes me feel so old." He offered a smile that could brighten her day and it did, but he looked to the bed where the fallen soldier lay, his eyes speaking a world of emotions. "Attis was a good man, a good soldier." His voice was soft. Annabelle stood back, there were no more men coming in for the day, those that could be saved had been and now rested, the others that had not been so lucky were carried out of the tent, the linens drenched with alcohol.

"There's so many that I can't help though. All I can do is hold their hand and lie, telling them that they'll live when I know damn well that they won't." At that she took her leave of the soldier and moved to a wash bin to scrub her hands clean, James followed her and when he spoke she jumped, startled that he had not left.

"That may be the best thing for the hopeless chaps though, a pretty young nurse speaking kindly to them before they slip away." He paused and looked down at the water, diluted with the pale red shade of blood. "It is a much kinder passing than what they would have had on the battlefield." She lifted her head, the past days finally getting to her as the tears gathered in her eyes. "May I know your name?" She wiped the tears away, pushing her hair back as well before straightening.

"Annabelle," she replied quietly, her shift had now ended, unless a dire emergency occurred, the night nurse waved her off and she nodded, returning her attention to James. "Most people call me Ann though," she supplemented.

"Then may I escort you to your tent, Miss Annabelle?" She blushed and took his proffered arm, guiding the two of them to her tent, when they reached the canvas housing she withdrew her arm and faced the man, noticing the rank sewn onto his jacket, he was a Captain, but he reached for her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, his eyes piercing her own in the low light of the evening. "You will remember to keep a stiff upper lip in front of the men, won't you?" She nodded.

"I will." Before he turned she smiled gently at him, even when she had not genuinely smiled in days, Captain Nicholls's small act of kindness would leave a lingering impression. "Thank you Captain, and good luck." His rather thin lips curved up into a smile as he turned but not before wishing the lady a goodnight.

︽︽︽

Not even two full weeks later she was called abruptly to the medical tent, she bustled about, tending to the wounded men. When she inquired which regiment this was her heart stalled for a moment, it was the survivors of Captain Nicholls's regiment. The first man she tended to would live, the second and third were not so lucky, so she kept a stiff upper lip, not allowing her emotions to when over as she comforted the dying men, holding their hand until their heart completely stopped.

The fourth man suffered a gunshot to the shoulder possibly lodged in his subclavian artery, removing the slug would kill him as they still lacked a blood supply for transfusions and another one near his ribcage, barely missing any vital organs, his skin had massive bruising, deep and furious shades of purple and blue, but beneath the blood and soil and past the tattered and torn uniform his features were familiar.

Pushing that aside for a moment she examined the wounds closely, and begin to prep him for surgery, but an infection had begun and without an antibiotic any treatment would be futile. His eyes opened, darting around in panic at his surroundings and her heart dropped as he moaned in pain.

It was him, it was James, she was sure of it now.

"Captain Nicholls, James," his eyes found her and softened as she took his hand, holding it close to her chest. "It's alright, you're safe now." He nodded at her words and she had to fight to keep her eyes dry and lip stiff.

"Annabelle," a quake of pain shot through his body, he gasped and squeezed her hand tighter. "I don't want to die." His previous calm demeanor was gone, and now he sounded like all the others, young, afraid, and vulnerable as every other man who knew they were close to death, to the end.

Her throat constricted as she searched for the words to say. "That's rubbish James, we'll get you fixed up, and right as rain I'm telling you. You're going to be fine." A sudden look of recognition crossed his face and a smile appeared on his lips, his face relaxing and fingers curled further around her, squeezing feebly. She leaned down, brushing her lips over his cheek, a light shade of color rushing to his colorless cheeks at the contact.

"Thank you." He whispered breathing in a deep breath and closing his eyes, his hand relaxed in hers.