Angel of the Somme: The Great War, Book 1 Read Online Free

might as well push on. “He’s lost so much blood already. Sister Newell will only give him plasma. I really feel—”
    “Not now!” The matron’s face reddened. “We do not have the luxury of time for your transfusion nonsense. Assist Sister Newell.”
    Lily swallowed her protests and turned to Sister Newell, schooling her face into a neutral expression. Lily bent her head in the direction of their waiting patient. Her voice, when she spoke—“If you’d please follow me”—even sounded properly subservient. Sometimes a brave face wore a strange disguise.

Chapter Three
    Sam swam up from inky depths to the sound of a female voice. Not British, but not German either. He tried to place it, but thoughts came so slowly and it was such a strain to concentrate upon the meaning her words formed.
    “…moving around more. Your legs have changed position several times. I’m sure of it.”
    He heard some male mumbling that he couldn’t quite make out, followed by light-hearted laughter.
    “You get more than your share of attention, I’m sure, Lieutenant.” Her voice was farther away for that bit. Wood groaned on tile. The sound of something— chair? table? —being pulled up. “And if he is aware of what’s going on, better to have a reason to wake up, don’t you think?”
    The same male voice grumbled a few words, then Sam heard paper being torn. The noise echoed through his mind, making it difficult to think. A thin blade of pain slipped in and felt as if it was slicing cruel but precise incisions into his brain. He tried to move his arms, to feel why his head was in such agony, but they refused to budge.
    The pleasant voice continued, and brought with it a sense of calm. He relaxed and listened. “You’ve another letter from West Sussex, Captain.”
    When he tried to open his eyes, he saw only darkness.
    “‘Darling Sam,’” the woman began. “‘Yesterday we got another letter from someone in the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Please thank her for writing, will you? The VAD says you’re well, but goes into no more detail than that. I like to suppose you don’t write to us yourself because you’re too busy getting better—but I’ve a worry that it only means you’re still sleeping.’”
    Pain crashed inside his skull in waves. It radiated down his body in angry torrents. The harder he tried to stay awake, the more his head ached—as if his struggles were feeding a beast inside his mind.
    “‘Mum and Father are getting on as well as you’d expect. Mum worries, but Father tells her that your being in the hospital is good news. It means you’re safe and no longer a target for Jerry’s bullets. I must admit that I’d feel a lot better if I could read a letter in your illegible scrawl with your tendency to over punctuate.’”
    Another sharp pain sliced through the top of Sam’s skull. He tried to groan in response, but remained mute. He focused his mind and held onto the woman’s soothing voice and her words from— sister? Evie? —the letter writer.
    “‘We received a rare letter from Bad two days ago. He’s been informed about your injury but is too far away to…’”
    Sam held to the sound of her voice as hard as he was able, but a roar of agony screamed inside his mind, drowning out the sound of the woman as if she were a songbird on the battlefield. Her words grew so faint that he could no longer make them out. As he slipped back into darkness, she faded to a comforting murmur until sleep claimed him.
    He woke again with no idea if it had been days or hours since he’d last been conscious. His head felt clearer, at any rate. The ice pick of pain had been replaced by a dull throbbing, which was a sweet mercy.
    Concentrating as hard as he was able, he opened his eyes only to see the same blackness as before. He knew he had to be awake for there was a steady sense of a busy world going on all around his bed. A conversation burbled up near him and he could distinguish the sound of