9 Chapter: 9 Dressing Station

Helen regretted agreeing to look after the redhead, very, very much. 

Not even a full minute had passed when a second Sergeant placed a second wounded soldier in her care... and then a third, fourth, fifth, and so forth.

As the injured soldiers piled up, Helen found herself overwhelmed by the piling responsibilities thrust upon her. Time blurred as she worked, or limped around, tirelessly making space for more injured men and women.

When the steady stream of patients finally ended, it was already late noon and Helen was panting like a dog. She took a moment to catch her breath, leaning against the wall of the building for support. Her limbs ached, and the wound in her abdomen throbbed with each movement. 

'This is embarrassing.'

Ghost's voice sounded in her ears,

'No, this is disappointing.'

Helen took a moment to collect herself, pushing aside the fatigue and frustration that threatened to overwhelm her. With one last sigh, she sat down and prepared to take a short nap to recover her strength.

It had hardly been five minutes when she found herself glaring at a steady parade of trucks peeled off from the resting convoy, making their way in the opposite direction to what she believed to be her own destination... and moments later, Rita came to inform her that they were ready to move again.

"What in tarnation...?"

Helen asked, incredulously. 

Rita shrugged already slinging both their haversacks over her shoulder.

"Seems there's been a change of plans. This ain't our stop. Ours is further up, closer to the front line." 

She gestured towards the ruins, now bustling with a flurry of activity. 

"This here is gonna be the new field hospital. We're just setting up a dressing station further up."

She glanced over at Irene, who was still asleep beside them, and then back at Helen,

"Well, looks like you haven't got a wink of rest,"

She chuckled.

"But you can catch some shut-eye in the truck. Our convoy's about to move out in a couple of minutes. It should take a few hours to reach the dressing station."

Helen nodded gratefully and spotted, from the corner of her eyes, Sergeant Brown standing above the redhead.

"Alright, Lieutenant, time to move out. The next convoy is here."

Helen nodded before glancing over at Irene, who was still sleeping peacefully beside her,

"What about her?"

Sergeant Brown shrugged,

"She'll have to come with us, or she will throw a tantrum if she wakes up and sees none of us with her... and we really don't have time to wait around for her to wake up."

Helen sighed, realizing that she had little choice in the matter. She nodded in agreement with Sergeant Brown's assessment,

"Alright, let's get moving then."

With Rita's help, Helen struggled to her feet, feeling the stiffness in her muscles protesting the movement. She cast a final glance at Irene, sleeping soundly, before turning her attention to the waiting transport truck.

Soon, they once again continued their journey through the war-torn landscapes of Europe, pushing forward towards the front lines. Helen settled into the back of the truck, the rumbling of the engine and the jostling of the vehicle lulled her into a drowsy state, and before long, she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

When she awoke, the truck had come to a halt, and Helen blinked away the remnants of sleep, disoriented by the sudden change in movement. Blearily, she looked out to see soldiers bustling about, attending to the wounded who lay on stretchers and cots, and groans and cries filled the air.

Rita was already helping her down from the truck. Helen winched once more as pain flared up in her abdomen,

"Easy now, Miss Helen,"

Rita warned as Helen lowered herself onto a cot with a grateful sigh. She watched as Rita bustled about, organizing the medical supplies and bandages already present in the tent,

"You're looking a bit worse for wear, Miss."

Rita remarked, her head turned away while she rummaged through a first-aid kit.

Helen, despite the occasional burst of pain, managed a cocky smile,

"I'll be fine,"

Helen replied, her voice strained.

"Just need a bit of rest, that's all."

Rita nodded, though the worry didn't quite leave her expression.

"Well, you just let me know if you need anything, alright? I'll be right here."

With that, Rita continued her preparations for the stay, leaving Helen to rest on the cot. Closing her eyes, Helen allowed herself to fall asleep, hoping that when she awoke, she would feel a bit more like herself again.

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The next day, Helen woke up with a rather stiff shoulder and stiffer neck, these particular cots were of even poorer quality. She struggled upright and observed, to no small surprise, that the pain had subdued to a mere sting.

With a relieved sigh, Helen swung her legs over the edge of the cot and pushed herself upright. With long strides, she broke past the flap acting as the tent's gate and saw that the camp was in a surprisingly cheerful mood. 

Finally! After weeks of stagnation and prolonged trench warfare, any development, doesn't matter if good or bad, had quite a positive effect on the troop's morale.

As Helen stepped out of the tent, she was greeted by the sight of soldiers bustling about, some engaged in conversation, others attending to their duties with a sense of purpose. The atmosphere was alive with activity. 

Taking a long draft of the rancid and smoky morning air, Helen felt that she should not have done that and that she should probably go and get her gas mask if she wished to survey the camp.

In the end, she decided against it and made her way through the camp, weaving through the various tents and makeshift structures that dotted the cratered landscape. The smell of smoke and something far worse filled the air, there were still plenty of burning debris nearby... awfully hazardous considering this was to be a patch-up station.

As she walked, she kept an eye out for a supply depot, where she knew she could probably find replacements for her standard-issue rifle and sidearm. Eventually, she spotted the familiar olive-green tent, a hastily constructed structure made from wooden planks and canvas, with crates and barrels stacked haphazardly outside.

Soldiers were coming and going, carrying ammunition, and new weapons... or at least as new as the war would allow for. 

Approaching the depot, Helen spotted a young sergeant barking orders at a group of soldiers as they unloaded crates from a nearby truck. As she neared, the young soldier noticed her and despite his tired expression, his eyes brightened as she approached, 

"Bonjour. 'Ow may I be of service to ya?"

'Great! A Frenchman.'

Helen groaned internally. Language was not her strong forte and dealing with the French depended entirely on understanding their language.

"Bonjour,"

She greeted the approaching French soldier, her American accent thick.

"Replacement...arme principale...arme de poing?"

Her hand gestured to her empty holster and the belt where her rifle would normally hang. Though her French was halting, the combination of hopeful expression and the clear absence of weapons should get the point across.

The French soldier nodded in understanding,

"Oui, mademoiselle, I understand 

He replied in heavily accented English.

"You need replacement weapons. Follow me, please."

With that, he gestured for Helen to follow him into the depot. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and oil. A couple of soldiers were moving about, sorting through crates and inspecting their charges.

"Just 'ead on in, one of ze quartermasters will assist you."

With a grateful nod, Helen ducked into one of the quartermaster's station separated from the stockpile, 

"Ma'am,"

The quartermaster greeted her, his tone businesslike but polite. 

"I need to requisition replacements for my rifle and sidearm,"

Helen explained, slightly embarrassed at the lack of her previous issues which were lying in mud some twenty miles behind them.

The man nodded, taking a quick glance at her face before disappearing behind a makeshift wall of crates. Moments later, he returned with a clipboard and a pen,

"Of course, ma'am. Just fill out this requisition form and I'll get you what you need."

He handed her the clipboard with a form attached to it,

WAR DEPARTMENT

OFFICE OF THE CHIEF OF ORDNANCE

Requisition for Arms and Equipment

Station: [XXX]

Date: [XXX]

Requisition No.: [XXX]

Unit:

* Regiment: _________

* Battalion: _________

* Company: _________

Requisitioned By: (XXX)

To Be Shipped To: (XXX)

Items: | Rifle: M1903 Springfield(1) | | Sidearm: M1911(1) | | Ammunition: .30-06(2P) & .45(1P) |

Justification: Briefly explain the reason for this requisition (e.g., replacing lost equipment, outfitting new recruits, preparing for deployment)

_ _

Approved By: (XXX)

Date: (XXX)

Helen quickly filled it out with her name, rank, and other details required for the requisition. Once she was done, she handed the clipboard back to the quartermaster, who scanned it briefly before nodding in approval,

"Alright. I'll go get your stuff, just a moment."

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