In a war, bearing stretchers was as vital as firing rifles. Aubrey knew that, but he’d had enough. Not enough of carrying the poor soldier who could bleed to death if George and he couldn’t get him to the field hospital in time, but enough of the appallingness that put young men on stretchers to bleed to death.
The sun, still low in the sky, flashed in Aubrey’s eyes as George and he jogged as smoothly as they could. He couldn’t spare a hand to shade himself, but this was a minor discomfort compared to the patient on the stretcher. On either side, Caroline and Sophie steadied the lad – and that’s all he was – while the red stain spread on his chest. He’d lost consciousness as soon as they set out, which was a blessing, but Aubrey had an idea that jolting was the last thing he needed.
This isn’t good, he thought. The breath laboured in his lungs. His muscles burned and his hands were aching from gripping the handles of the stretcher. This isn’t the way to solve anything.
Seeing the battlefield and observing its furtive, haunted inhabitants, Aubrey had realised that the war had sprung a life of its own. It was a sprawling, greedy monster that was devouring soldiers and machinery and leaving wrecks behind. The allies were doing what they could, but battles couldn’t be won on promises. Any time now, reinforcements were coming. Any time now, the specialised magical help would arrive.
Dr Tremaine didn’t work on an ‘any time now’ schedule. He moved heaven and earth to suit his ends, and he did it when he needed to.
A squad of wide-eyed youngsters hurried past headed for the front, rifles slung on their backs. Each of them had a pack so heavy that it made them run almost doubled over.
Once they delivered the wounded soldier to the field hospital, Aubrey and his friends could continue, making their way back to Divodorum and then across Gallia back home to Albion. They’d be able to give first-hand reports of the front, the deficiencies and snags and where best to help. If nothing happened quickly enough, he was sure that they could use Sophie’s friends in the newspapers to create the sort of scandal that would have politicians scurrying to do something about it – or, at least, to be seen to do something about it. It was a reasonable, clever plan.
He glanced at the almost bloodless face of the boy they were rescuing. His freckles were now standing out starkly against his pallor.
It jabbed at him. While they were safe in Albion, boys like this would be dying. Aubrey would be fleeing danger, but leaving others to take his place.
As fond as he was of his own skin, there was something indecent about such a prospect.
They reached the chaos that was the field hospital just as the Holmland artillery opened up on the trenches they’d left behind. The Holmland Supreme Army Command wasn’t giving the Allies any rest.
‘This is what they must call softening up,’ George said after they’d handed over their burden to real doctors, bloodied and harassed, but with knowledge that none of them had.
‘It would seem so,’ Aubrey said. They found some shade, an obstinate laurel tree next to one of the smaller medical tents. The smell of disinfectant was strong and Aubrey shuddered. ‘They’ll aim to make us exhausted, frightened, on edge, and then launch a major attack. It’s from the manual.’
‘I’m sure the magical feints are not,’ Sophie said. ‘Generals are suspicious of magic, I hear.’
‘They used to be,’ Caroline said. She was stretching, pushing her hands up over her head in a display that drew glances from those hurrying past, officers and troops alike. ‘Now they’re happy to entertain any possibility that could help them win. Isn’t that right, Aubrey?’
‘Certainly. That’s why Dr Tremaine has had no trouble convincing the Holmland Supreme Army Command about his tactics. They love success.’
George snorted. ‘Supreme Army Command. They wouldn’t be so chuffed if they could swap with some of their front-line infantry.’
Aubrey sometimes imagined his mind as a long line of dominos, with bits and pieces of information – observations, readings, overheard conversations – as tiles, standing independently until one is given a tiny shove.
This time, George Doyle was that shove.
Aubrey jumped to his feet. ‘Does anyone know where Colonel Stanley is?’
‘Before we left, he said he was going to check the other neutralisers,’ Sophie said. ‘Then he was coming back to headquarters.’
‘What is it, Aubrey?’ Caroline said. ‘You have that look again.’
‘What? This look?’
‘Not that one. Another one. The one that says you have a hare-brained, dangerous idea that could save the day.’
‘Day-saving is one of his specialities,’ George pointed out to Sophie. ‘And if ever I saw a day that needed saving, it was this one.’
They found Colonel Stanley halfway from the front. He was making hard work of it, pushing against a mass of troops heading to bolster numbers against the expected attack. He cheered up remarkably when they greeted him.
‘Transference Magic?’ he shouted over the tramp of marching feet and boom of artillery, the allies beginning to return fire. ‘It’s been a while, to tell the truth. The last few years I’ve been in admin, mostly. Not much chance for practical magic.’
‘You’re the best we have,’ Aubrey shouted back. ‘If you can help, I might be able to buy us some time.’
‘For our reinforcements to arrive?’
‘That’s it,’ Aubrey shouted, loudly enough to attract stares. He lowered his voice. ‘But I need to know if I’m attempting something incredibly stupid or not.’