Chapter: 8 Irene Red

A sergeant, dressed in the olive green drab uniform, stormed into the tent, her frisbee-like doughboy helmet casting a sharp shadow across her face. The brown-haired woman took no notice of Helen and Rita,

"Alright, you slackers! Move it!"

She made way for a group of four infantrymen, carrying a stretcher between them. They hurriedly maneuvered it into the tent, their faces drawn and fatigued. Upon the stretcher lay a fellow soldier, her uniform torn and stained with blood a deeper shade of scarlet than her hair, her breath shallow and labored.

Just behind them were a pair of doctor's attendants, the armband giving away their identity, carrying a cot between them. They set it up and ran out again just as the redhead was unloaded from the stretcher and the four men vacated the tent once more.

Helen spotted the burns on the redhead's uniform and heard her gasp and groan as her Sergeant shouted encouragement to her face.

Mere seconds later, a doctor and a second pair of attendants entered the tent before swiftly attending to the injured woman.

The doctor was not an American, too pale, British probably... 

'You're damn right.'

Said Ghost inside her head.

It was only then that Helen noticed the white gown of the doctor, stained with blood and chunks of meat sticking to it, probably from some bloke they failed to save mere moments ago.

The redhead's surgery lasted a little over two hours while Helen stared at the process with an open mouth,

'They really do whatever the fuck they want, don't they?'

They stuffed and sewed whatever spilled out and kept her from bleeding out...

Helen tried to ignore the medical procedure and observed the injured redhead. She was quite tall, or at least a little taller than Rita, quite fit, and with an abundance of scars. She was quite strong too, thrashing around until she punched the doctor hard and was given a dose of morphine for the pain. Afterwards, the surgery proceeded smoothly and they finished patching her up and left the tent.

Helen, now alone with the redhead since Rita dragged off the Sergeant, stared at the wounded woman, momentarily forgetting that the interface's observation feature was still active, 

| NAME | IRENE RED |

| AGE | 24 |

| GENDER | FEMALE |

| Military Designations | Private, 19th Platoon, 7th Company, 25th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Division |

| STATUS | HUMAN |

| STRENGTH: 6.5/10 |

| DEXTERITY: 6/10 |

| VITALITY: 7.5/10 |

| INTELLIGENCE: 5/10 |

| SKILLS |

| Melee: B | | Marksmanship: C | | Driving: C |

| Field Survival: C | | Air-Combat: D | | Water-Combat: D | 

| First Aid: C | | Navigation: C | | Trench-Warfare: D |

| Description: Irene Red, orphan, younger adopted sister of Sergeant Eggler Brown, and a muscle head. |

Helen stared at the screen and before she could excuse herself, the Interface's voice sounded in her head,

{Who was it that was against peeping at other people's privacy?}

'It was a mistake. Still...'

Ghost's voice cut in before she could finish,

'She's a muscle head.'

*Sigh*

'A pain in the ass.'

"Hey,"

Helen called out softly, once she was sure that the redhead was still up despite the surgery. Her voice drew Irene's attention as the redhead stirred on the cot. Irene's gaze met Helen's,

"You alright?"

Helen asked. Irene grunted in response, her jaw clenched tightly as she shifted on the cot, testing her newly bandaged wounds. 

"Been through worse,"

Irene muttered, her voice hoarse and strained from the ordeal of surgery. Well, if she could act though, then she could very well survive the whole ordeal. It was late already and Helen believed both she and her new companion could do very well with a bit of sleep and bothered the redhead no more.

As Helen settled back into her own cot, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Lying on her back, Helen stared up at the canvas ceiling, her mind swirling with thoughts and questions. 

Hours passed in a haze of restless tossing and turning until finally, exhaustion overcame her, and Helen slipped into a fitful slumber.

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The following morning dawned with the rumbling of truck engines and tank tracks, waking up from their slumber. Helen was roused from her sleep by the sound of a particularly loud Mark IV passing by the tent. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked away the remnants of sleep and pushed herself upright, her muscles protesting the sudden movement.

Her fellow patient, the redhead, remained asleep, unaffected by the rumbling.

Moments later, Rita came to help her pack up and move out, not as though there was much to pack. An olive green haversack filled with ration cans, a mess kit, a gas mask, and a brownish poncho, other stuff like the metal canteen, shovel, and blanket was hung from the straps of the sack, and the nurse hung the bag to the other side of her own.

Shortly after, Rita arrived to assist her in gathering her belongings and preparing to depart. There wasn't much to pack. An olive green haversack packed full of ration cans, a mess kit, a gas mask, and a weathered brown poncho. Other essentials like the metal canteen, shovel, and blanket were fastened to the straps of the sack. The nurse secured the bag to the other side of her own.

Once they were ready, Rita helped Helen limp out of the tent and she felt the sun on her face for the first time in over two years. She squinted against the bright sunlight, her eyes adjusting to the sudden change in brightness. The camp was a hive of activity, with soldiers moving about purposefully, trucks rumbling past, and the occasional roar of an engine or two.

Rita walked beside her, providing a steady hand as Helen adjusted to being on her feet once more,

"Take it slow, Miss Helen,"

Rita advised, her voice tinged with concern and amusement,

"Don't want you overexerting yourself now."

Helen nodded, taking careful steps as they made their way through the camp. As they walked, Helen couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the operation surrounding them. Tents stretched out as far as the eyes could see, makeshift buildings and supply depots dotting the landscape. 

Eventually, they reached their destination, a waiting transport truck with the insignia of the 167th Field Hospital emblazoned on its side. Rita helped Helen climb abroad, settling her into a seat near the front of the truck before taking a seat beside her.

Soon, they were joined by a squad of soldiers with Sergeant Brown at the lead. They boarded the truck, courteous enough to let Helen and Rita occupy the windier backside of the truck. The Redhead was also there, still asleep, and was carried on board by a pair of her comrades.

The engine roared to life, and the truck lurched forward, joining the procession of vehicles heading out of the camp. Helen watched as the camp faded into the distance,

"What's our destination?"

She asked Rita, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Rita glanced up from her nails that she had been chipping away at with a bayonet, her brows furrowing in concentration,

"We're heading to one of the forward field hospitals,"

she replied,

"Word is there's been an advancement in the front line and there's been a surge in casualties up near the front line. Looks like we will be setting up one of those dressing stations."

Sergeant Brown took advantage of Rita's announcement, which the rest of her subordinates overheard, and announced in a whipcrack-like voice,

"You heard that. This ain't no cushy hospital gig. We'll be settin' up under fire, treatin' the worst the Kaiser can throw at us. Keep your heads down, your wits sharp, and those medical kits stocked. We're goin' in to pull some Yanks back from the brink."

" " "MA'AM!" " "

Rita chuckled at the overenthusiastic acknowledgment of the soldiers and settled back in her seat. 

The convoy encountered no new difficulty along the way, occasionally stopping when a wheel of two got stuck in potholes or ditches. The winter that year was particularly cold and the only saving grace was the lack of snow which was, of course, supplemented by the icy rain.

Reaching the mid-point of their journey well before the estimated time, the convoy stopped in the ruins of what might have been a village once. 

As the convoy came to a halt, soldiers poured out of the trucks, stretching and exercising to recover from the stiffness of the long journey, before spreading out, setting up perimeters and cooking posts.

Sergeant Brown quickly organized the troops, assigning tasks and setting up a makeshift camp in one of the more intact buildings.

Rita helped Helen out of the truck, guiding her towards a relatively sheltered spot where they could wait while the soldiers worked. Once settled, Helen surveyed their surroundings, her eyes tracing the outlines of the ruined buildings and the barren landscape beyond.

It was a desolate scene, but before Helen could fully take in the destruction of the countryside, something slumped down beside her and Helen looked up to see Sergeant Brown dump the, somehow still asleep, redhead next to her,

"You won't mind looking after her would you, Lieutenant."

And before Helen could protest, the Sergeant was gone.

She glanced at the sleeping figure of Irene Red, then back at Rita who offered an apologetic shrug.

"Well, looks like you've got company,"

Rita remarked, patting Helen gently on the shoulder before bustling off to assist with the camp setup.

Helen sighed inwardly, watching Irene for a moment, noting the rise and fall of her chest as she slept peacefully despite the chaos around them.

With a resigned sigh, Helen settled back against the wall of the ruined building, keeping a watchful eye on Irene as the sounds of soldiers working and the clatter of equipment filled the air.

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