Chapter Nineteen

  The Hospital Ship

  Will woke to the rolling and bumping of a wagon. His eyes cracked open, and he took a deep breath. He tried to orient himself. The world seemed foreign as his brain tried to identify where he was and what was happening. He remembered only bits and pieces of what had happened to him. The last he remembered was going up on the bridge to fight. Then something had happened, a great pain had flooded him, and then there had been only dark dreams broken by fits of wakefulness in the infirmary. Flashes of someone trying to feed him with gruel and drips of liquid. He tried to sit up. Around him in the cart were other wounded men, all laid on stretchers. One of them was sitting up watching him.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living.” The soldier said in a gravelly voice.

  Will tried to rub his eyes. Only one of his arms responded. He looked down at his left arm, which, though he could feel it, refused to respond. He was filled with shock at the sight of a stump that ended halfway down his upper arm. He wanted to vomit. He could still feel the arm and hand. He tried to flex it, to stretch it, but could not. Of course, he could not; there was no hand there.

  “Happens to the best of us,” The man said holding up his own half-missing arm.

  Will pushed down the building panic, “Where are we?” He asked.

  “On the road back to Ayodh, I suppose. They tell us shit all.”

  “Did we win?” He asked numbly.

  The man laughed, “No, but we lived. That’s a kind of victory, I ‘spose.”

  “How…” Will started to ask but trailed off.

  “They made a trade. Prisoners for the safe return of the wounded. We reached Haddock’s lines yesterday. You’ve been sleepin’, boy. They’re sending us to the coast, far as I can tell. More n’likely we’ll board a boat and go up to Kanmak to recover. Then home, I suppose, at least for those of us who ain’t whole enough to fight.”

  “I’m Will.” He pushed himself sitting to lean against the wooden side of the wagon bed.

  “Jake. I’d shake, but, y’know.” He nodded to his missing right arm, “Where you from, Will?”

  “Marrowick. You?”

  “Little village in Sommerhall. Delbury. Doubt you’ve heard of it.”

  “I’ve a cousin lives near there. He’s a cooper up in Blyhavn.”

  Recognition bloomed on the man’s face, “Maybe I know him. What’s his name?”

  “Quincy.”

  “I do know him, but not well. Small world, ain’t it?” Jake said.

  Will’s stomach growled, and he realized that he was terribly hungry, “Food?”

  “They’ll come around to feed us eventually.” He reached for a flask of water and tossed it to Will, “Drink up.”

  Will took it, opened it, and took a large chug. He sputtered as he realized that it was not water but arrack. He coughed and sprayed the fiery liquid all over himself.

  Jake burst out laughing.

  “You could have warned me.”

  “You don’t want the water, believe me. You’ll shit yourself to death inside two days. Half the army is laid up with the bloody flux.”

  Will took another swig of arrack. It still burned, especially as he had not drunk much. Knowing what it was made it easier to swallow. Still, it made his stomach tie up in knots. The cart continued to roll and sway for another few hours before, blessedly, it stopped. The canvas covering the back was lifted, and a face peered in. “You lot still alive back here?”

  “Aye, no thanks to your driving. Did you have to hit every rock on the way down to the coast?” Jake barked.

  “You’re welcome.” The voice replied humourlessly, “We’re unloading here.”

  More men, most of them native porters, came to do the heavy lifting. Some wounded could walk on their own. The porters carried the men on stretchers down to where a makeshift floating pier had been constructed that led to a shallow-drafted steamship which waited to take them to Bankut, and then upriver to Kanmak, which was the army’s primary headquarters. Will wondered why they would not just let them recuperate in Bankut, or send them home to Vastrum. He looked around at other stretchers and other injured men being hauled down the pier to the ship, looking for friendly faces aside from Jake. There were many men, far more than just those of the 13th. There were very few faces he recognized. He was laid in a holding area at the end of the dock. He found that he had been put directly beside Lieutenant Albans, who was lying on a stretcher of his own. The officer was staring off into the distance at nothing.

  “Sir.” He said, greeting the officer.

  Albans stared blankly and only grunted in reply. He was missing most of a leg.

  Will looked back towards the carts. Dozens upon dozens of carts were being driven up and unloaded behind them. He quickly thought through the numbers. There had to be at least a couple hundred wounded here. “So many, " he said softly.

  “Oi?” Said a sailor sitting around smoking a pipe on the dock, “What you on about?” He was a short, swarthy man covered with tattoos.

  “There’s so many casualties.”

  “Aye, that’s a fact, son, and those are just for today’s sailing. There’ll be another ship in two days and another after that, on and on until the whole bloody war is done. We offloaded reinforcements and supplies this morning. Now we’re taking you lot back. We’ll be back in a few weeks with more supplies and soldiers for the grinder. Fact is, boy, I’m a bit jealous of you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The nurses in Kanmak, sonny.” The old sailor laughed. Then he looked up, someone was calling him, “Oi, I’ll see you on the boat, lad. Or not.”

  Will nodded, “See you.” He said in reply, but the man had already darted away. He doubted he would see the man again.

  There was a great deal of waiting as men were unloaded from carts and slowly loaded onto the paddle-wheeled steamship. Waiting, it seemed, was the majority of a soldier’s life. The sun was just going down when someone finally came and lifted his stretcher and bore him towards the gangway onto the ship. He was carried down the deck and placed out in the open. A cloth covering had been erected to provide shade, but otherwise, he was just out on deck. He had expected a room, or cabin, perhaps just a cargo hold with bunks, but the boat was so full that there was no room for such luxuries. He was placed just between Jake and Lieutenant Albans. Men were crowded all down the deck of the ship with all kinds of wounds and in all manner of states. Many men were missing parts of limbs—the surgeon’s work. Better to lose an arm to the surgeon than to die to gangrene. Some men were lost in trances, others spoke softly with neighbors. Albans was one of the former, staring at the horizon. Will sat up against the outer wall of the ship’s main cabin and looked out through the railing at the sunset over the bay. A brilliant orange sky lit up the coast and cast a glow over the whole ship. Soon, the ship’s great engines began to thrum, the gangways were pulled onto the ship, the great paddlewheel churned the calm, shallow waters, and the ship pulled away.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Soon, native attendants began to serve the men, passing out bowls of porridge and cups of water. Will took his bowl and scarfed it down as best he could with only one hand. It was simple and near flavorless, but it was the first meal he had eaten in a long time, having been in and out of consciousness since his injury. Albans was handed a bowl of the gruel, but he did not eat. He only set it aside and lay back down.

  “May I?” Jake gestured at the uneaten food.

  “Take it,” Albans replied. It was the first thing he had said to anyone since Will had awoken.

  Will watched the water go by. He was on the port side, facing the open sea as they traveled south. Eventually, the last light faded, and he put his head down to sleep. The soft rolling of the ship made a few men seasick, but the rocking was comforting to him, and he was soon fast asleep.

  He woke while it was still dark to a sound like thunder. He sat up and looked. More thunder rolled on the horizon, along with a faint glow. He quickly realized that it was not thunder but flashes of cannon fire in the distance, just beyond the horizon. He also realized that a man was standing next to him, smoking a cigarette. He looked up and saw the face of the sailor from before, illuminated by a nearby ship’s lamp. He was standing and watching the guns roll in the distance.

  “What’s happening?” Will asked softly, trying not to wake anyone.

  “Best guess is the Fyrins are making a run at the fleet guarding Bankut. Fleet went out to meet them, rather than get trapped in the harbor. They’re duking it out away from the bay.” More cannon fire rolled.

  “What does that mean for us?”

  “Depends who wins.” The man took a long drag from his cigarette.

  Something exploded enormously on the horizon, and fire lit up the night. The sound cracked like a musket, as if someone had shot one close by. Men sat up, awakened by the blast. Men who could still walk stood and went to the railing to see. Smoke billowed far away, blocking the moon and stars and darkening the sky to the southeast. Fire illuminated it and gave it an eerie orange glow.

  “What was that?” Someone asked.

  “Powder magazine,” The sailor answered grimly, “Poor bastards.”

  More cannon fire rolled in the distance. The battle, it seemed, was far from done. The battle continued. Eventually, the men went back to their cots to sleep. Will found he could not. He was transfixed by the battle on the horizon. The ships dueling through the night.

  “My brother is on one of those ships out there,” Albans said out of the blue.

  “Oh?” Will replied, not sure what to say.

  “He’s a boatswain's mate on the R.V.S. Blackerton. Third rate ship of the line. 60 guns. Hanish built.”

  “How do you know she’s out there?”

  “They were in Bankut. I had planned to go on leave for a few weeks, sail down the river to visit him. Then the war began. If the fleet from Bankut are in the fighting, he’ll be there in the middle of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Will replied. Then, to clarify, he added, “That you did not get a chance to see him before the war started.”

  “Indeed, but that is life. Have you thought of what you will do, Private?” Albans asked.

  Another volley of cannon sounded in the distance.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “After you are recovered and the army discharges you?”

  He had not thought of it, “No, sir. I do not know. What of you?”

  Albans was quiet for a moment, “I was a cavalryman for so long, I know no other life. I will stay in the service if I am able. I will surely be put behind a desk. Still, better that than to live on the King’s pension.”

  Will had no reply to give. They sat in relative silence, only the thrum of the steamship’s engines, the gentle lapping of waves, and the occasional distant thunder of naval guns could be heard. They sat like that, watching the lights of the battle like a storm on the horizon, neither saying a word. No sleep found Will again that night, nor Albans. Eventually, dawn found them. The guns had thundered throughout the night, and dark smoke billowed across the horizon when the sun rose. The steamship slowly churned away, its great wheel steadily moving the ship along the coast. It was noon when a ship’s mast broke the horizon.

  “Ship sighted to port!” A lookout cried.

  Will stared out at it. It was coming from the direction of the battle, to the east. It was not long before it became clear the ship was listing to the side. It had sails out and was slowly hauling towards the coast. Presumably, it was taking on water, and the captain wanted to get as close to the shore as possible before it went down, giving his sailors the best chance of survival, or perhaps, he even wanted to beach her on the shallow sandy shore. The men watched as the ship slowly lumbered westward with the breeze. Soon, it was close enough to see sailors milling about the deck. The flag they flew was clear as day, the checkered red and white of a Vastrum naval ship. A man on deck was waving flags to signal them. He did not know the meaning of the colorful signal flags, but he could feel the ship's engines slowing, and the boat slid to a stop. The sails of the Vastrum warship were reefed in, and the great ship of the line stopped nearby.

  “Do you know the ship?” He asked Albans as they watched quietly from the deck.

  “No. Looks like a fourth rate frigate. I count maybe forty some-odd guns. Can you read the name?” He asked.

  Will squinted, “R.V.S. Black Drake,” He replied.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know it. Looks Gantish built.”

  “You can tell?” He asked.

  “It’s the way the poopdeck rises higher. It’s old-fashioned. We build our ships sleeker. Gant is famous for the style. You can tell it’s not an old ship. It has a good modern shape to the hull. More likely, it was taken as a prize in the Black Isles.” He referred to a war fought a decade ago between Gant and Vastrum over a small chain of northern islands. The war had been small and isolated to several naval engagements before the competing claims were settled.

  While they talked, a rowboat from the Black Drake was lowered into the water. Men climbed into it, including a man dressed in the blue and white uniform of a Vastrum naval officer. The boat was then rowed over to the paddlewheel steamship. A rope ladder was dropped over the side, and the officer mounted it nimbly. The man had the stripes and pauldrons of a first mate. His bicorn hat was worn front to back in the more modern style. The man was middle-aged, with a handsome, clean-shaven face. He looked precisely as Will thought a naval officer should look, like he had jumped out of a story book. The captain of the steamship, who Will had not seen before, was a short, pugnacious man with a frown. The two men met on the deck near where Will was lying.

  “What do you want?” The captain practically snarled.

  “We require aid.”

  The captain scoffed and gestured to the numerous injured men on deck. “We’re a hospital ship. I’m full to bursting, sir, as you can see. I am already rendering all the aid that I am able.”

  “There has been a battle.” The man said haughtily.

  “Aye, we heard the guns all night, but, sir, there have been many battles on land and at sea. We are bringing wounded soldiers to Bankut. The wounded are bound upriver for Kanmak.”

  “Good luck to you, sir, getting into Bankut now.”

  “Did we not win the battle?” The captain demanded.

  The naval officer’s face darkened, but he answered, “It was a draw, at best. We could not oust them, nor could they fully dislodge us. Both sides lost ships. I think the harbor will be held, but getting into and out of Bankut will be challenging until the third fleet arrives from Durzan. The second fleet could not turn back as they were already engaged at Dagon. We hold the mouth of the Yuna, but barely.”

  “What is it you ask of us?” The captain asked.

  “Take our wounded. Our hull is taking on water. We must make for shore so that we do not sink. We needs must patch the hull.”

  “I have no room.”

  “You are riding high in the water, sir. You have room about the deck for more.”

  “We have no food for more men, little enough good water. You ask much of me.”

  “Yet, for the sake of my men, I must ask it. We cannot care for them. We must repair the hull and go back to the fight. We’ve no time to argue over it. I will send my wounded over.”

  “Damn you. Men will die if we cannot feed them.”

  “Men will die whither you accept them or no. I would only give my wounded some kind of a chance. I ask only this, though you know full well by the King’s law that I could ask much more of you. I could dump your men ashore and take your ship if I wanted. I ask only passage for those who can no longer fight.”

  The captain nodded. “We will find a way.” He growled, “But ask no more of me, eh? I would see these men safe.”

  The two men shook on it. Then, the first mate turned to go.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Albans sat up, “I must ask after my brother.”

  The first mate turned, eyebrow raised.

  “I am Lieutenant Albans of the 13th Dragoons. My brother serves on the Blackerton.”

  The man’s face softened, and a wry smile played at his lips, “Albans, did you say? I know not your brother, but the Blackerton still fights. She is a stout ship with good officers. She is the greater part of why the day was not wholly lost and why the harbor of Bankut has not fallen.”

  Albans smiled at him and nodded, “Thank you, sir.”

  Then the first mate of the Black Drake turned, climbed back down to his rowboat and was gone. It was another two hours before the injured sailors had been transferred to the deck of the hospital ship. If the deck had been crowded before, it felt doubly so now. There was hardly room for any sailors to walk. Then they departed once more, sailing for Bankut. When food and water were distributed later in the day, their rations were thinner. Even Albans ate his food then. In the distance, the thunder of war rolled on. Then the darkness of night retook them. Flame and cannon fire on the horizon rumbled. It took another day for the fighting to cease. They knew not who had won, if any had. Before them yawned a great unknown as they sailed for the port at Bankut. Few of them spoke, all waiting in silence for the end of the journey to come, one way or another. They could only wait in quiet resignation as the great paddlewheel churned ever southward through the dark eastern sea.