Charlie was fast asleep on Floyd's bare chest when an insistent knocking startled her awake. She heard words, muffled through the locked door, but couldn't make out what they were. She didn't recognise the voice.
The room was pitch dark. There was no light peeking through the gaps above and below the curtains as there usually was when she woke. It was still night time and Charlie certainly felt groggy enough that she hadn't slept for very long. By her reckoning it had only been a couple of hours since she and Floyd had finally settled down to sleep, speaking in quiet murmurs, completely wrapped up in each other, until they had drifted off mid-conversation.
"First Sergeant Talbert!" called the voice through the door. Male but still unfamiliar, even as the foggy haze of sleep began to clear from Charlie's mind. A replacement, maybe? An officer she didn't know very well?
The knocking came again, louder, harsher, more insistent. A second pair of hands must have joined in, for the knocks came so fast consecutively that one pair of hands couldn't have moved so fast or created so many beats. And then a second voice, slightly lower than the first, shouted, "First Sergeant Talbert!"
"Floyd," Charlie whispered, sitting up.
Floyd groaned, still asleep, and reached for her, likely feeling the loss of her warmth.
Charlie took a gentle hold of his shoulders and shook him lightly. "Floyd, there's someone at the door," she said quietly.
"Freckles," he mumbled, starting to awaken.
"Floyd, someone's at the door," Charlie told him louder. She couldn't open it in case it was a pair of unfamiliar officers; she wasn't allowed to be in here, and fraternisation between officers and enlisted was forbidden. But, even if both of those things weren't true, there was the issue of her still being naked. There was no way she'd be able to get dressed fast enough to open the door and not rouse suspicion.
"First Sergeant Talbert!" the two voices shouted as one.
Distantly, Charlie wondered whether they'd planned that or whether they were simply both so desperate that it had happened that way naturally.
Floyd finally sat up. "What's going on?"
"Someone's at the door," Charlie explained redundantly.
"Who?"
"I don't know." Charlie gestured down at herself where she was holding the comforter up over her chest, as though worried whoever was behind the door could see through it. "But I can't answer it."
With a low, sleepy groan, Floyd dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and pushed himself up. He pulled on his boxers and his OD pants but left his chest bare as he went to open the door.
"Hello?" he asked as he pulled it open, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light of the hallway.
Charlie pushed herself against the headboard, holding the comforter up to her neck, and hoped whoever was at the door wouldn't try to peer into the room any further than the corner where the bathroom wall ended.
"First Sergeant Talbert," said one of the voices in a hurry, breathless and relieved and worried all at once. "It's Sergeant Grant. He's - well, it was this drunk guy, I don't know who, and we were driving across town and -"
"What happened?" Floyd demanded. All traces of grogginess had disappeared from his voice as he cut across the replacement - and Charlie was now certain it was a replacement and not an officer; the officers always had an air of indifference about them, as she knew all too well, and would never speak to a member of the enlisted in such a vulnerable state.
"He was shot," the same replacement confessed upon a huge exhale of breath.
Heedless of being discovered in a state of extreme undress in Floyd's room, Charlie slipped from the bed, the comforter still wrapped around her, and started to look for her clothes. Floyd, noticing her movement, flicked the light on to make it easier for her.
"Where was he shot?" Floyd asked, stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.
Charlie dropped the comforter, which was only slowing her down, and hurried to get dressed. Her clothes were strewn all over the place - she found her brassiere hanging on the end of the second bed in the room, her slip in a pool by the wall - but she made quick work of locating them and pulling them on. When Floyd reopened the door - just a little at first, making sure she was dressed, and then wider when he discovered that she was - Charlie was sitting on the end of the bed and pulling her boots on. She no longer cared about the replacements finding her here and Floyd clearly didn't either. This was a life or death situation. Such silly things as prohibited interpersonal relationships didn't have a place for caution here.
"He's in the field hospital in the basement," Floyd informed her, rushing back into the room and pulling his shirt on. "Doc's with him right now but they couldn't find any nurses."
"I'm going," Charlie said, finishing tying her boots and hopping to her feet. She left the room without a glance back at Floyd, knowing he'd follow her just as soon as he was ready, and rushed past the replacements and down the hall.
Gene filled Charlie in on the situation the instant he saw her hurry into the dark main room of the basement. Chuck was laid out on one of the field hospital beds before him and Gene was holding a bottle of blood attached to Chuck's neck.
"Shot in the head by a drunk replacement about ten minutes ago," Gene informed her.
Chuck's head was already bandaged when she skidded to a stop at his side and looked down at him. She grabbed a lamp from one of the nearby desks and lit it, then held it up to Chuck's face so she could get a better idea of what the wound looked like.
The bandage had a big patch of red seeping through it, even though it had been wrapped several times around, and Chuck's face was paler than she'd ever seen it. The skin beneath his eyes was purple, his eyelids completely still as his eyes rested motionless beneath them, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was small, unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it. But at least it was there.
Carefully, Charlie lifted the edge of the bandage and peeked beneath it, using the lamp in her other hand to help her see. She hissed as she saw the bullet hole in all its untreated gore. Gene had clearly been too wary about the placement of the wound to use more than just a tiny bit of sulfa and as such it was still weeping blood. The bullet inside was so deep that Charlie could only just see the slightest hint of metal reflecting the light of the lamp back to her.
"We need a surgeon," Charlie said, aware that Gene already knew this.
"Already called for him," Gene assured her.
Abruptly, Speirs entered the room. His presence charged the air like thunder. "How is he?"
Mabs hurried in behind him. "Charlie?" she asked.
"We need a surgeon right now," Charlie said. "Gene called for one but he's not here yet."
Speirs turned back to a replacement who'd followed Mabs in and ordered him to go and chase up the regimental surgeon. Once the replacement was gone, Speirs stormed further into the basement, his jaw set, and Mabs kept pace behind him.
Floyd came barrelling in after them. "How is he?" he asked, exactly as Speirs had.
Speirs came to stand beside Charlie and took Chuck's hand, weaving their fingers together. He patted the back of Chuck's hand in a reassuring gesture, his eyes soft and concerned as he looked down at him, and Charlie went cold for a moment as she recalled the difference in him when he'd looked down on Janovec's dead body.
She shoved the thought away so violently she flinched.
Charlie met Floyd's gaze with eyebrows low over her eyes, her mouth pinched in a frown. "Alive," she answered, and left it at that. He was also unconscious, barely breathing, and so pale it looked like the life was slowly being sucked out of him, but Floyd could see all of that for himself. All that mattered right now was that Chuck was alive. She could work with alive.
Mabs came to stand beside Gene, on the opposite side of the bed to Charlie, Speirs, and Floyd. Her eyes were downcast, watching Chuck's shallow breathing.
The replacement Speirs had sent returned with a surgeon Charlie didn't recognise in tow. He was dishevelled, but so was she after being woken in the dead of night, but what bothered her was his demeanour. He had a cigarette in his mouth and he yawned as he trudged after the replacement, who, for his part, was running. The surgeon had the air of a man who couldn't have been more disinterested in the duty he'd been called to attend to.
"Couldn't find the regimental surgeon, sir," the replacement hurried to explain to Speirs, breathless just as he had been at Floyd's door. She wondered just how much running he'd already done tonight in an effort to save his platoon sergeant.
Speirs stared past him at the surgeon. "You a surgeon?" he barked.
The surgeon nodded lazily, still yawning.
Speirs nodded at the replacement, who promptly retreated to the doorway, looking out into the hall as he awaited further instruction.
"Shot in the head about fifteen minutes ago," Charlie informed the surgeon as she lit up the side of Chuck's face for him. The bullet wound was in Chuck's temple and was starting to leak blood down his cheek, but she refrained from wiping it away while the surgeon was looking down at him.
The surgeon gingerly lifted the bandage and bent over Chuck to look beneath it. Immediately, he hissed, "Jesus," and scrunched up his face as he continued looking.
"What?" Speirs asked. The hand which had been patting Chuck's and rubbing it up and down reassuringly stilled.
The surgeon stood up straight from where he'd been leaning across Chuck, covering the wound once more. He glanced at Speirs and then turned his attention on Gene. He removed his cigarette only to say, "He's not gonna make it," and then put it right back in his mouth.
Charlie's eyes shot to Floyd, but his eyes were set firmly on Chuck, so she sought out Mabs' gaze. Mabs met her eyes in an instant and they simply stared at each other, dumbfounded for what to say or how, even, to react.
"You can't operate on him?" Gene asked quietly.
Charlie's eyes returned to Chuck as she wondered whether this might be the last time she ever saw him alive.
"Not me," the surgeon replied flippantly. "You'd need a brain surgeon, and even if you had one, I don't think there's any hope." With that, he rubbed at his eye and walked away from the bed, washing his hands of the incident which had pulled him from his bed in the middle of the night. He continued smoking a little ways away from the bed.
Charlie felt a rush of angry heat fill her from head to toe. "You're not even going to try?!" she demanded.
Mabs skirted around the bed to place a hand on her shoulder.
Speirs spoke before Charlie could continue what was sure to become a furious rant. "You find the shooter, I want him alive," he ordered Floyd. "Come on, help me," he directed the others.
"What're you doin'?" Gene asked as Floyd picked up the end of the stretcher and helped Speirs rush Chuck out of the room. Gene jogged to keep up, still holding the blood as he was, and Charlie and Mabs were hot on his heels.
"We're gonna go find a brain surgeon!" Speirs shouted back.
Speirs and Floyd loaded Chuck onto the back of a jeep and Charlie hopped into the backseat beside Gene. "I'll go," she said to Mabs, but the offer was redundant; she was the ranking nurse and the most experienced of the two of them. Regardless of how Charlie knew Mabs wanted to carry the burden to relieve Charlie of it, they both knew it had to be Charlie who went.
Speirs gave Floyd his orders for finding the soldier who was guilty of shooting Chuck. Not a second later the jeep's engine roared to life and Speirs sped away. Charlie shot a glance back at the entrance to the hotel, where Mabs and Floyd were already disappearing back into it to get the men up and searching for the criminal.
"There's a kraut hospital not that far from here," Speirs explained. He was pitching his voice loud enough to be heard above the engine and inclining his head to direct his words to Charlie and Gene in the back. He never took his eyes off of the road, driving too fast to look away even for an instant.
The information was already known to both Charlie and Gene, as they were currently using some supplies from that same hospital, but it filled an otherwise tense silence.
"They'll have a brain surgeon there," Charlie replied, more to reassure herself than anyone else.
The instant the jeep stopped outside the hospital, Speirs ran inside, his hand on his pistol and ready to threaten whoever he needed to to do his bidding. Charlie and Gene kept their attention focused on Chuck, ensuring he remained stable.
When Speirs emerged from the hospital with no one in tow, and subsequently jumped back into the jeep, started the engine, and pulled away, Charlie was confused and more than a little worried, but she said nothing. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"Kraut surgeon lives down here," Speirs explained after a drive which lasted roughly five minutes. "Number thirty-five," he went on, slowing as they drove down the street and kept their eyes on the house numbers. Eventually, they came to a stop outside a quaint house labelled with the number thirty-five and Speirs leaped wordlessly out of the jeep again, this time with his pistol in his hand.
He knocked twice, violently, before a light was switched on inside the house and the curtain behind the front window was pulled aside. Somewhere, a dog was barking.
"Open up," Speirs demanded, tapping the glass with his gun.
The curtain fell closed before the man on the other side unlocked the door and pulled it open.
"Come with me," Speirs ordered before the door was even fully open, inclining his head toward the jeep with its engine still running.
"Why?" the man asked.
"Get in the jeep," Speirs said coolly.
The man grabbed a coat from beside the door and pulled it on over his striped pyjamas. "Where are we going?" he asked with a thick Austrian accent, shutting the door behind him and heading for the jeep.
Charlie forced herself to give him a reassuring, if strained, smile.
"To the hospital," Speirs answered his question shortly. "Get in." He followed the brain surgeon to the jeep, keeping his gun pointed at the man's back.
When he came to a halt in front of the jeep's front seat, the surgeon turned back to Speirs. "If you're going to shoot me, shoot me. If you're not, put the gun away." He held out his hands before him, as though to keep Speirs at bay.
Speirs rolled his eyes and gestured at him with the gun. "Get in the jeep now," he said, exasperated.
The surgeon turned to Charlie and Gene. "What happened to him?" he asked after Chuck.
"Shot in the head," explained Gene.
The surgeon took a look.
"Half hour ago," Speirs added.
"Can you help?" Charlie wondered, perhaps prematurely but she couldn't help but ask.
Suddenly, Speirs tapped the surgeon with his gun and tried to push him towards the jeep.
The surgeon glanced at him levelly over his shoulder. "If you want him to live you'll help me. First, by putting that away."
Speirs hesitated and the surgeon went back to looking at Chuck.
Though she didn't know why, something about the surgeon made Charlie trust him. Perhaps it was simply desperation that he could save her friend when no one else could or perhaps it was intuition. Regardless, Charlie levelled Speirs with a steely, expectant glare. "Your pride or Chuck's life," she said coldly. "You choose."
He stared back at her long and hard. Finally, he placed his pistol back in its holder on his hip, never taking his stony eyes off of her. He may have outranked her normally, but in a medical situation she could pull rank and he knew it.
After a long moment Speirs drew his eyes away from Charlie and made to climb into the driver's seat of the jeep, but the surgeon stopped him. "Let me drive," he said. "We'll get there faster."
Charlie exchanged a wary glance with Gene. She trusted this man's expertise, yes, but did she trust him to drive a jeep in a foreign country he knew better than they did? He could have driven them straight into a lake if he wanted to.
Speirs considered the offer before he relented. He made his way around the back of the jeep to the passenger's side, and the surgeon climbed into the driver's seat. The surgeon put the jeep into gear and they set off back out into the night, speeding as they worked against the clock to try to save Chuck's life.