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

head and bumped into a shaved area just above his right ear. He felt a small, rectangular bandage, no more than two inches long.
    He dropped his hand and looked up at the ornate plaster ceiling high above him. He turned his head. Though the room was dimly lit, he could see rows of beds covered with khaki blankets. A hospital ward, then. And from the silence and the condition of the building, it was a good long way from the front.
    The silhouette of the man in the bed beside him shifted slightly and faced him. The fellow’s head wobbled from side to side in a very peculiar way. It made Sam feel uneasy, so he looked at the ceiling instead.
    “So you’re properly awake then?” the man asked.
    Sam took a moment to form a response in his mind. “Yes.” His voice cracked and sounded nothing like his own.
    “You all right, Captain? I can fetch a nurse,” the voice whispered. From the corner of his eye, Sam could still see the lad’s head continuing to tremble in that unnatural way which reminded him vaguely of a chicken.
    “No, please. Fine,” Sam replied.
    “I’m Gordy. Well, Second Lieutenant Gordon Robbins but here at New Bedlam, we keep things on a first name basis. I’m with the Eighty-eighth of Newfoundland.”
    “Sam.”
    Gordy sat up in bed and reached for something on Sam’s bedside table. When Sam tried to follow his movement, the world seemed to pitch to one side and a wave of nausea hit him. He closed his eyes.
    “Have some water, Sam. You sound a bit parched.”
    Gordy lifted a tin cup to Sam’s mouth. The lad’s head might wobble, but his hand was steady. Sam took a welcome drink.
    “You sure you don’t want me to call a sister?” Gordy asked.
    “Yes,” Sam replied, great guttural beast that he was.
    Sam lay back on his pillow. It felt cool and soothing against his neck. After gathering his thoughts for a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked at Gordy, who was watching him with a wary expression.
    “Where now?” Sam asked. “England?”
    “France. You’re in New Bedlam. Well, officially it’s Base Hospital Seventeen.” Gordy paused for a moment. “It was an asylum before the war. One of those rich Frenchy places with a too-fancy-for- vous name. It’s not a madhouse anymore. Well, no less a madhouse than the rest of the Western Front. We only named it New Bedlam in hopes that it would be good luck for bringing the Yanks into the war. They’re so fond of renaming things by sticking a ‘new’ title in front of it. New York, New Jersey, New England.”
    Sam nodded and felt the world sway a little.
    “I’m talking too much,” Gordy said, not entirely untruthfully.
    “Meet you,” Sam said.
    It was a moment before Gordy responded. “Pleasure to meet you as well, Sam. You go ahead and get some rest, now. And try not to worry. They’re a good lot here. You should have seen me before they took me in.” Gordy lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “My head used to wobble from side-to-side and look at me now.” He chuckled, seeming pleased with himself.
    “Thank you,” Sam said.
    The pain in his head roared like a cyclone. Sam closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him.
    Eventually, it did.

Chapter Four
    Rrrring, rrrring.
    The morning bell pulled Lily from sleep. She groaned and rubbed her hand over her eyes. Five o’clock in the morning was an unholy hour to wake, but especially so since she’d been on the ward floor until well after midnight.
    She stretched and looked over to her roommate, Rose, who’d slept right through the bell. Poor lamb. She was aptly named, with golden hair and healthy pink skin that almost glowed—a hothouse English Rose. Unlike Lily herself, who was nothing like her namesake with auburn hair and green eyes and skin that had clearly seen the summer sun. If Lily were a flower, she reckoned she’d be something wild. Maybe an Indian paintbrush, from back home in British Columbia. Or perhaps, she considered, a weed.
    Lily slipped out of bed and