‘Rawden, are you with me? Look at me, my friend.’
He blinked to get Hardy’s face into focus.
‘We must press on. There is no time,’ he shouted over the low, relentless boom. The French had been pounding the small town for hours, slowly reducing it to rubble.
Rawden gazed around in a daze. The farmhouse windows had long since been shattered, but no breeze was coming in. The birds had stopped singing, save for a single starling chirping in the hedgerows. Shots echoed, and men inside ducked for cover. The starling fell silent.
‘It is the horses. They are shooting the injured horses,’ shouted Hardy to the room. ‘No need to scatter like chickens, you fools.’ His eyes met Rawden’s. Hardy’s face was deathly pale, blood and mud all over his uniform, dulling the sheen on his breastplate. ‘Come on, Rawden. Move!’
They found Will at the end of the hall. He was one of the lucky ones, for he was lying on the table, not on the floor. But his luck ended there, for he was in a pool of blood, and half his calf and foot were shredded. A belt tourniquet was doing little to stop his life from ebbing away.
Rawden grabbed his hand. He tried to call his brother’s name, but his throat had closed, and it came out as a whisper. Somehow, Will heard him over the hellish din of war.
‘Rawden,’ he cried, raising his head. ‘I tried…I tried to fight, but….’
‘Hush. Save your strength. I am here now. All will be well.’
‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’ he gasped.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Rawden with a forced smile.
Will sank back down onto the table. ‘You are lying. I have always known when you do that.’ His eyelids fluttered.
‘What is happening. Is he bleeding out?’ cried Rawden.
‘No, but he is in terrible pain,’ said Hardy. ‘It is sapping his strength. We must act, Rawden, and quickly.’
Will’s raised his head, face chalk-white, his whole body shaking uncontrollably, eyes not really focussing. ‘No, I am done for. Look at me, will you.’ The veins stood out in his neck, a clammy sweat dewing his brow. ‘I am a mess, a broken scrap of a man. There is nothing left worth saving. Better I die here than live as a cripple.’
Their eyes met, and Rawden had to stifle a sob. A hand squeezed his arm. It was Hardy, but he barely saw him.
‘The surgeon is coming, Rawden,’ he said.
‘Hurry,’ he cried.
‘Here!’ bellowed Hardy, and a man in a blood-spattered apron came over.
‘Make haste and see to my brother before he bleeds out,’ cried Rawden.
The man took a hasty look at Will’s leg. His hands were sticky with carnage and death, and his face wretched with exhaustion. ‘What a mess,’ he tutted. ‘Cannon fire?’
He directed his question at Rawden, but Hardy answered. ‘Yes. Twelve-pounders hit the left flank hard. Shot his horse out from under him.’
A cannon blast shook the house again, but the surgeon barely flinched. He shook his head. ‘The lower leg is mangled beyond repair. If he is to survive the day, I must take it off and save what I can.’
‘Amputate? No,’ said Rawden. He had seen a field amputation once. It had been little better than butchery. He could still hear the high-pitched screams of the man whose leg had to be sawn off above the knee. To this day, he did not know if the poor fellow survived.
The surgeon shrugged. ‘The leg has to come off, or else he will bleed to death or die of gangrene, and you will have to hold him down when I start sawing. Make your mind up. There are many more who need my care.’ The man’s face was cold and merciless, as are men who have seen too much horror for one lifetime to have any softness left in them.
‘No, no, don’t let them take my leg, Rawden,’ cried Will. His eyes were stricken with fear, hand clutching Rawden’s with astonishing strength.
Rawden turned back to the surgeon. ‘Do it. Fetch what you need, and I will help you.’ He stroked Will’s hair off his forehead. ‘You must be brave now, Will. It is the only way.’
‘No. No. How can I go back to her but half a man?’
‘What?’
Will raised his head to Rawden’s ear. He shook with the effort. ‘Her name is Grace Howden, and she is beautiful, with the face of an angel and a generous heart. I love her, Rawden. I love her, and I have promised to marry her.’
