Page 2 of Winds of Death
The volunteers set Fieran’s stretcher down in the row they were creating along the platform before they left to retrieve the next man.
To one side, the brick wall of the station showed a large clock with its hands pointing at the late afternoon hour. On the other side, military police guarded a temporary barrier that divided this part of the station from the rest of it, even from the front part of the train where the few civilians and able-bodied military personnel on leave were disembarking.
A woman dressed in a white shirt and the tan bicycle bloomers that were all the rage in Escarland, her long red hair in a braid down her back, moved between the various men and women on stretchers. She paused by each wounded man, crouching in a lady-like fashion as she spoke to them, smiling as she did. The men lit up, their injuries temporarily forgotten in the warmth of meeting their princess.
Mama. Fieran released a breath. Perhaps it was silly—childish—to feel better knowing his mama was there, but he did.
As she stood, she turned, and her gaze landed on Fieran. For one heartbeat, her smile vanished into a look of utter devastation as she swayed backward.
Then she blinked, and the smile returned to her face, so bright and natural even Fieran couldn’t tell how much was genuine and how much was her mask.
In that moment, he understood his mama’s strength. She might not fight on the front lines like Dacha, despite having the ability to wield his magic. But she had a core of iron to face the consequences of war with a smile.
She took the time to speak to a few more of the wounded before she reached Fieran. As she lowered herself into that graceful, princess crouch, her smile widened, her tone light. “Iknew one of you would return home to me on a stretcher. I just expected it would be your dacha.”
Fieran smiled in return, his voice as light as hers, despite the pain aching in his limbs and the choking lump filling his throat. “You know how accident-prone I am.”
“Makes me wonder why you chose such an accident-prone part of the army.” Mama shook her head, her smile never wavering. Her gaze dropped to the swords beside him, a twist almost like bemusement curving her smile, before she flagged down a pair of the volunteers. “Take this one to my truck, please. The front seat.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The volunteers bowed before they bent to pick up his stretcher.
Mama stood as he was picked up, giving his shoulder one last pat before she moved on to the next injured man.
Fieran was carried out of a pair of wooden double doors guarded by more MPs, the noise of the train station changing to the noise of the bustling city of Aldon.
Outside along the back alley, various trucks waited in a line. Some were the green, army-style vehicles. Others were farm trucks with open beds that had temporary canvas coverings rigged over them. Still more were delivery trucks like the familiar AMPC truck, which waited third in line. Perhaps these vehicles had been pressed into service, or their drivers had volunteered their use for transporting the wounded.
At the truck with the AMPC logo emblazoned on the side, the volunteer at Fieran’s head opened the double doors and set Fieran down on the floor of the cargo bed. The other volunteer shoved at Fieran’s feet, and he and his stretcher slid over the wooden floor.
Where the stretcher normally would have hit the end of the cargo compartment, he instead was shoved through a hatch now connecting the rear cargo space with the front cab.
Usually, this cab had a passenger seat as well as a small bench seat in the back where Fieran and his siblings had often crammed.
Now, the passenger seat and the bench seat had been removed, and the stretcher rested on a board that had been bolted to the seat brackets to keep the stretcher flat.
Fieran found himself lying on his back with his head near the dashboard. His feet were sticking somewhere into the cargo area at the rear. Others would likely be loaded into the back with the stretchers set on brackets bolted to the wall, much like the train.
He was left alone for a while, and he closed his eyes to somewhat rest while he listened to the sounds of bustle and the occasional louder noises as someone was loaded into the back by his feet. The truck’s windows were open, letting in the occasional breath of a breeze along with a few buzzing flies. At least this alley was shaded by the surrounding buildings so that it wasn’t as hot as it could have been.
The driver’s door opened, and Fieran opened his eyes as Mama climbed into the truck and settled into the seat. She sent a smile at him as she flipped the switches, then depressed a lever, cranking the engine on. “Comfortable?”
Not really. The bruises on his back and shoulders ached against the board beneath him, and his bones throbbed with each vibration the engine sent through the vehicle. His pain would only get worse once the truck set off across the cobbled roads that wound through the city.
But he matched Mama’s smile and gave a shrug. “Comfortable enough.”
“I’ll have you at the hospital soon. They have the route cleared for us so we won’t have to fight traffic.” Mama pressed the clutch and worked the gear shift as she eased the truck forward.
Since he couldn’t see what was happening outside the truck, Fieran could only guess that the line of vehicles had begun moving, setting off on the route to the main hospital in Aldon.
Mama worked the pedals, the gear shift, and the steering wheel smoothly as she guided the large vehicle out of the small alley and into what must have been another narrow, cobbled road that hadn’t been designed for a truck like this.
“Do you volunteer to drive the wounded to the hospital often?” Fieran gestured at the cab. These weren’t the modifications one would make for a single trip.
“It’s a way to help out, and the AMPC had a vehicle we could volunteer.” Mama shrugged as she peered at the mirrors and spun the large wheel to turn the truck down another road. “It’s something I can do to help the war effort.”
War effort. Fieran had been on military bases since the war began. Despite the letters he’d received, he still hadn’t anticipated the changes that the war would make at home.
“Where are Ellie and Tryndar?” As much as he missed his younger siblings, he wasn’t sure he was ready to see them just yet. He’d rather be a little more healed—and in a little less pain—when he saw them.
