CAUTION! THIS IS A LEGACY VERSION WHICH HAS NOT BEEN REVISED OR UPDATED SINCE May 2018.
THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF JERICHO TIBBS!
SERIES: 1 EPISODE: 4
Concept date: 15th May, 2017
First published: 6th August, 2017
Status: COMPLETED.
Version: EXTENDED.
Age recommendation: 12+
Average Reading Time: Approximately 30 minutes.
Age recommendation: 12+
Average Reading Time: Approximately 30 minutes.
Revisions: 3. [Last Edit: May 2018]
Angel-in-charge: Margret Team Assigned: Team 74
Human Time: 1916AD-1334AH
Human Time: 1916AD-1334AH
Mission: 112345 - 5 - 0897
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| "DOCTOR ALEXANDER HARRIS AND HIS BATTLES WITH GOD." |
MISSION SUMMARY: "A Medical Officer on the Western Front receives a visit from Mr. Tibbs - Someone is saving lives of the dead and the Human Time-Line could be seriously threatened. It's the eve of the Battle of the Somme [July 1st 1916] and Jericho, with his team, are in the trenches on the day before the bloodiest battle in British Military History. Now Posing as foreign diplomats and reporters, the team investigate Casualty Clearing Station No.21 and the strange Doctor Alexander Harris."
NOTES: This episode contains strong language and horror.
1. JERICHO GETS A NEW CASE.
Jericho and Wilson walked slowly down the bright corridor towards the Angel’s office; both a little troubled about the summons from James, the Angel in charge of Collections, he didn’t often call for Temporal Detectives directly. They were stopped by Rufus who slapped hands with Wilson and nodded a greeting to Mr. Tibbs.
“You’re gonna love this weird shit brother!” Rufus exclaimed, pushing the dreadlocks from his grinning face; “Man, some dude is messing with the dying and its fucking up Records; they are coming up short – big time!”
Rufus was the Senior Collector for one entire Century of human existence and one of the busiest; the 20th. He held a bunch of brown paper folders under his arm and shook his head, still grinning; “Three of my Collectors have reported that souls they were suppose to pick up, were still in their damn flesh suits!”
Jericho and Wilson exchanged a puzzled look and Wilson asked; “How can that be man? Old man Death is always on top form when it comes to Dispatches!” Jericho nodded his agreement with Wilson’s comments and smiled – Arch-Angel Abraham who was in command of the Dispatch Department [responsible for scheduling human deaths] wouldn’t appreciate being called ‘Old Man Death’.
He had worked hard over the Millennia to give his department a new image; Even the old logo of the skeleton and scythe had been replaced with a bright white star and the names of his operatives had also been changed to ‘Dispatchers’ from the old title of ‘Death Stalkers’.
The Arch-Angel believed that the changes would give his Department a far friendlier appearance - Jericho chuckled to himself; I bet the living would disagree with that!
“It’s happening in one place at the start of the century; slam bang in the middle of a fucking big war!” Rufus tapped gently on the door and added; “We’re collecting loads every day and so far, nine souls have stayed firmly embedded in their fucking flesh suits and won’t come out.” He laughed loudly, flashing wonderful white teeth and threw back his head, the dreadlocks falling about his shoulders, adding; “Some dude is taking the piss and messing up our records and that isn’t right.”
Wilson grunted; "Which fucking big war is that - they had lot's in the century you cover Rufus." Jericho accepted a couple of files from Rufus, but turned to Wilson; "The First World war or the Great War, as it was originally called before the Second World war dropped by. Basically mass slaughter; it was the first real war of the Industrial Age and killing was now mechanised. The result was mass deaths - on a scale never seen before in human history."
"What's great about a war of mass killing and destruction?" Wilson asked and Jericho had to agree with him. Rufus tapped one of the brown paper files and said quietly; "We have nine souls still in their flesh suits and they were all soldiers who should have died. They were wounded in battle and should have passed over - it was scheduled. They were taken to...." He pulled open the file and then looked back up; "To Casualty Clearing Station No.21 - whatever that means - and every single one of them came into contact with one living human. Bit of a coincidence, eh?"
Jericho smiled; "I don't really believe in coincidence, what year are we talking about and who was it?"
Rufus pulled open the file again and pointed to the page; "Same dude each time; a Doctor Alexander Harris and the same year: 1916."
"Well, I think we have enough already, to get authority for a little mission to that bloody piece of madness and check out this Doctor Harris character. But we'll need a Doctor from that time period for advice on medical procedures and such. I think I know just the man." Jericho rubbed his chin and grinned, adding; "And it will make the girls happy."
Wilson gave Jericho a puzzled look, then shrugged his shoulders; "I don't expect I'll fit in back there." Jericho slapped him on the back; "You'll fit in like a glove - well, compared to our temporary new boy." Jericho chuckled; "I'll borrow him from Doc Underhill's team." Wilson caught on to what Jericho was saying and smiled; "Jesus Jericho, there won't be many of him around decent white folks
back in 1916!" The sarcasm in his voice was obvious.
The door slid open in invitation for them to enter and the threesome walked quietly in and the door slowly closed behind them.
“And messing up the Time-Line by doing that my baby girl!” Wilson commented and stirred more sugar into his thick dark coffee. He turned to the new member of the team and added; “Our lady Alex has a soft spot for the living!” Then smiled and sipped his coffee with relish, while everyone chuckled at his comment – including Alex.
The ‘new’ team member he referred to was a Temporal Detective on loan from another team: ‘Skyrise Young Mountain’ was a strapping Apache Indian with dark hair and eyes; he resembled a Greek statue fitted out with a Savile Row suit and expensive shoes. In any age populated by female humans he would be considered a handsome man; a very handsome man.
“He’s so bloody handsome, he’s gorgeous!” Whispered young Ruth Hall who was peeking into the study with the Housekeeper Mrs. Harris; who chuckled and pointed out to young Ruth that men are not referred to as ‘gorgeous’; but just ‘handsome’. Ruth voiced her disagreement; “No, this one’s gorgeous.” Mrs. Harris gripped her arm and returned to the kitchen – taking the reluctant House Maid with her.
Alex studied the young man over her tea cup and had to admit to herself that young Skyrise was quite a magnificent specimen of manhood. She watched him walk over to the table and place his coffee cup down; he moved like a big cat – with grace and poise that didn’t match his size.
Had Alex heard young Ruth’s comments, she would agree with her – totally.
Jericho called the meeting to order and explained the forthcoming mission; "In late June of 1916 there is a war happening in Europe and the Collectors are out in force. But some have reported failures to collect certain souls because their lives have been saved and as Wilson pointed out, this is interfering with the Time-Line and messing up Records. The Angel is not happy and we’ve been tasked to investigate and bring this strange phenomenon to a close. I’ve borrowed Skyrise from Doc Underhill’s team because he has special knowledge of this particular time period – especially this war.”
Everyone glanced at Skyrise with the same thought; how the hell is an Apache Indian an expert on some European war?
Jericho Tibbs must have read their minds or their faces and chuckled loudly, slapping Skyrise on the shoulder; "People, Mr. Skyrise was one of some twenty thousand Native Americans who volunteered to serve their country in that war. He was in France, not at the time of this incident, but the following year after the United States joined the conflict in 1917. He volunteered as a Military Surgeon, so you see; he is superbly qualified to assist us.”
Everyone sat in silence, a little ashamed at their ignorance of the person that stood smiling before them. “May I ask a personal question Doctor Skyrise and please be assured that I mean no offense by it.” Alex rolled her tea cup around in her hands and smiled at him. He nodded his agreement with no comment.
“How on earth did you end up a Military Surgeon in that racist time period, when other American’s treated your people like bloody aliens in their own land?” Alex spoke softly, her voice betraying a little anger and amazement at the man’s incredible achievement; why had she never heard of his exploits?
Skyrise smiled; “Genetics Lady Alex, simple genetics.” He clasped his hands together and explained to a very receptive audience how an Apache Indian was posted to France as a Military Surgeon;
“My father had an aptitude for medicine and the Christian brothers who visited his reservation saw his talent and arranged for him to receive Medical Training. But he proved such a good student they enrolled him in Medical School, paying for a scholarship and giving him a small allowance to survive on. He became one of the first Native American Doctors and a fine surgeon – but he was only allowed to treat other Native Americans, Mexicans, the Chinese and African Americans. He had no white patients. But he met my white mother, who was a Doctor in her own right, and despite the opposition from both families they married. So you see I was destined to be a Doctor – whatever colour I was.”
He laughed and continued; “I practiced medicine on various reservations and quickly became proficient at gunshot wounds. My people had taken to alcohol and rifles; I was always busy. There were several mines staffed by the Mexican and Chinese settlers that used explosives; I became a regular visitor there too and finally when the war came I found I was uniquely qualified to be a battlefield Surgeon. After some opposition I was accepted into the Army Medical Corp and went to France in late 1917.”
He accepted another coffee from Mr. Harris and stood quietly by the fireplace, pulling a brown paper folder from his jacket pocket and glancing at the contents. Jericho addressed the meeting again; “Skyrise has a suspect in mind; it appears the nine souls that couldn’t be collected all passed through this person’s hands just before the Collectors arrived.”
Skyrise nodded his agreement with Jericho’s statement; “They all passed through a surgical unit located behind the Front-Line; No. 21 Casualty Clearing Station at Corbie, in the Somme Region and a Doctor called Captain Alexander Harris.”
3. THE BIG PUSH.
“There’s going to be a big push there and we should be able to spot what’s happening, with so many casualties passing through it.” Skyrise collected his papers and sipped his coffee. “What is a ‘big push’?” queried Owen.
“It’s a colloquialism for a big attack, you know; to push the Germans from Northern France.” Skyrise did not smile and added; “There will be over a million casualties on both sides, by the time the insanity ends in the November of that year and they’ll do it all again the following year, at another part of the line, with basically the same result.”
“Were they fucking nuts?” Owen said with some amazement; "Maybe some were, but most were very brave men who believed they were saving their Country from enslavement.” Skyrise replied and Jericho ordered everyone to the Light-Room. "The local human agent has made all the arrangements for our party to attend the Clearing Station as hosted diplomats." Jericho spoke, checking his mirror, then turned to Alex and Skyrise in particular; "Remember, my medical friends, this is a 'hands off' mission - don't get involved with the injured. Understand?"
They both nodded - reluctantly. Alex muttered something under her breath which made Skyrise smile - but passed unheard by Jericho.
The Team headed for the light-room in silence, watched by Mr. Parker who jumped upon Jericho's armchair and settled down for a nap. Ruth who was cleaning up glasses and cups, gave the big cat a stroke. Then looked up to see John in the doorway; "I'm afraid you just missed Mr. Tibbs; they have left already." Ruth told him, filling her tray with dirty glasses and cups.
"What year has he jumped too?" John asked quietly, running a hand through his dark beard and staring at the floor. "1916." She said and headed for the kitchen, watching the reclusive John shuffle from the room and disappear.
"There's something about John. You can feel it." She told Mrs. Harris, as she washed glasses and cups in the deep sink. Cleo Harris just smiled; "He's a good man, a very good man." Ruth noticed the odd smile on Cleo's face - she always spoke highly of the strange man.
"I wonder how the team are getting on?" Ruth said to herself, wiping down the draining board and peering through the kitchen window; watching John walking along the sea wall, head down and in silence - always on his own, she thought. He had few conversations with the people he resided with - except Jericho and Lady Alexandra. She watched him disappear from view, clutching a book from Jericho's collection. A very odd fellow, she mused and set about cleaning the kitchen table and chairs.
At first, the little group passed the soldiers practically unnoticed despite having an Apache Indian, an African-American and even a woman – there were very few women here; in the support trenches that ran behind the Front line – and finally, a young boy trailing behind the group struggling with a wood and canvas stretcher. They were only challenged once; by a big Irish sergeant and his two men who were carrying the rum ration back to their unit in the Front line.
He saluted Captain Tibbs and asked directly about the Indian and the woman; Jericho explained that he was escorting an American Journalist; Mr. Mountain to Casualty Clearing station Number 21 – he was doing a piece on the care of the wounded for the New York Times. The sergeant nodded and shook hands with Skyrise and mentioned that he was the first ‘Yank’ he had ever met. “Are they all that bloody big Sir?” He asked Jericho with a smile.
The big Sergeant clearly liked the look of Alex and voiced his disapproval of such a fine young woman being risked in the support trenches until Captain Tibbs pointed out that Lady Alex was a representative of the Italian Government [Allies of the British & French] and had to be afforded access to all areas for her report on medical care back to the Italian parliament. Jericho also spoke quietly into the Sergeants ear; “Apart from being a trained Nurse, she’s the daughter of an Italian Count and Senior Government Minister – she takes bloody tea with Queen Mary!”
The sergeant whistled through his teeth and nodded, then pointed to Owen; "Is he underage Sir?” Jericho agreed and explained that Private Owen had enlisted whilst underage, so had been transferred to the Medical Corp as a Stretcher Bearer, to shield him from the horrors of war – the Sergeant laughed out loud at that and pointed the way to Casualty Clearing Station No. 21.
One of the younger Irish soldiers shook Wilson by the hand and admired the heavy camera that he carried effortlessly on his shoulder; “My brother George was a great portrait photographer in Wexford, he would love to see that bit of kit!” The young soldier wiped his face and stared down at his feet; "He caught one at Loo's last year with the Irish Brigade. Pity really, he was waiting for a transfer to the Army Photographic Unit, the letter turned up the day they buried him." Private O'Halloran wiped his face and smiled.
Wilson nodded; “It’s a ‘Speed Graphic’, only made four years ago, she's manufactured by Graflex, in Rochester, New York. Certainly a good bit of kit as you say.” He replied and all three soldiers commented on his American accent.
“When the hell are you Yanks coming in?” The Sergeant asked Wilson directly and Wilson smiled; "Soon as our bloody President grows a backbone!”
That made the three Irish soldiers laugh loudly as they continued down the trench, waving and shouting ‘bye’ to the strange visitors who were passing through their world of constant death.
Alex pushed her mirror back into her pocket after reading about the three young men they had just encountered. Owen caught the look upon her face and said quietly; “Do they make it?” Alex shook her head: negative. “They won’t see tomorrow’s sunset.” She said simply and glanced back at the threesome disappearing into the growing darkness of night – still laughing and talking.
The little group passed on down the trench – Lady Alex received many ‘wolf-whistles’ and several shouts of: “WOW!” She smiled and gave the men a little wave, which they cheered. “Just doing my bit for morale.” She whispered to Jericho who smiled broadly.
“We’re looking for a trench called ‘Oxford Street’ that runs to the Dressing Station where we can grab an ambulance to the Casualty Clearing Station.” Jericho called out as he led the group, in single file, through the damp trench, passing continuous lines of troops heading for the Front. Alex commented on how they joked and played about; “You would think they were trying to get into a football match and not a killing ground.” She muttered to Jericho who suddenly pointed ahead; “There’s the trench!”
The group stumbled across the broken floor of the trench and into ‘Oxford Street’. They all could hear the continuous sound of the British barrage falling upon the German trenches; “It’s been bombing the German lines for days and when it stops tomorrow; the poor bloody Brits will walk into hell because the wire won’t be cut in many places and the German soldiers have survived in deep dugouts – thousands will be killed or wounded in just minutes, after the battle starts: a disaster, a bloody disaster.” Skyrise shook his head with real sadness and the group continued down the trench in relative silence.
The following morning was clear and warm. After a light breakfast of porridge, bacon, egg and funny tasting tea, Lt. Kenning organised for two staff cars to carry the visitors to Casualty Clearing Station Number 21.
Owen asked Skyrise why the tea tasted so strange and was told that chlorine was used to keep the water fresh and that tainted the flavour, Owen seemed quite anxious; “Christ!, don’t they use that stuff in poisonous gas?” Everyone chuckled and gathered by the two cars in the warm morning sunshine, where Jericho gave a final briefing to his group.
The two Vauxhall D-Type’s had their engines cranked by their drivers and the party split between the vehicles; Jericho, Alex and Lt. Kenning pulled away in the first car to leave – driven by a fat private with bad teeth who grinned constantly at Alex.
The second car had the thin Sergeant, Skyrise, Wilson and Owen aboard; their driver was a tall man who appeared to be quite old for a soldier, but he certainly could drive. He admitted to Wilson that he was 61 years old and had been a Chauffeur to some Lord and Lady in Yorkshire, but decided to do ‘his bit’, so he lied about his age and joined up – only to be a bloody ‘chauffeur’ to officers now!
As the little convoy pulled away from the front, Jericho and Alex looked behind them and realized that the British barrage had stopped, for some moments there was a strange quietness and then an odd sound could be faintly heard.
“Tac, Tac, Tac.” Skyrise whispered and Wilson asked him what that means, Skyrise sighed and wiped his brow; “German machine guns killing thousands of young men.” He sat hands clasped in his lap; head bowed and said nothing more until they reached Casualty Clearing Station No.21.
As the visitor’s convoy arrived at the clearing station, which was placed in the abandoned school at La Neauville, they saw that behind them came a long stream of ambulances, Lorries and carts.
They could hear a bell tolling and the station seemed to burst into activity as nurses and orderly’s started to gather by the large iron gates of the School complex. A very tall officer strode to the head of the crowd and shouted orders as he pulled his jacket off and handed it to a young nurse – he was organizing the station to take casualties – many casualties.
“That’s him – Captain Harris.” Skyrise said, jumping from the car with Wilson and Owen. “Can we help?” Skyrise shouted and helped Alex from the other car.
Harris stared at Skyrise and shouted; “Yes, stay out the bloody way!”
6. THE MAN AND THE HOUR.
Col. Howes greeted the little group of visitors briefly; they, of course, understood the urgency of the situation, with mass numbers of wounded and dying men to attend. He was particularly surprised when both Alex and Skyrise offered their help and even more so when he discovered that Alex was a Nurse and Skyrise was a Native-American Surgeon – So it was explained; that was the reason why the Newspaper sent him and the Italian Government had dispatched Lady Alex.
But Captain Harris displayed real reluctance to accept the assistance of either of them. That was noted by everyone in the group. Wilson spoke softly to Jericho; “I see he doesn’t want us around. I wonder why that is?” Jericho just nodded in reply and the group was shown their quarters by a young Trainee Nurse; Rachel Goldman, who seemed fascinated by Alex and Skyrise – who admitted that she had never encountered an Apache Indian, apart from those in her young brother’s novels about the American Wild West – and she definitely liked what she saw!
The young nurse seemed in awe of Alex and kept calling her; ‘My lady.’ Alex told her on several occasions to call her just ‘Alex’. But there really was no time for long introductions as the wounded started to arrive in large numbers. Col. Howes announced that a hospital train would arrive that evening to collect the most seriously wounded [but could be moved], for transfer to both civilian and military hospitals in the cities.
A tall, dark haired Staff Nurse stopped the group as they walked and stared at Alex; "Don't I know you?" She asked with great hesitation in her voice and then half smiled; "Its Alex, Doctor Alex Featherstone isn't it?" Alex glanced at her team mates and shook her head; "No, I think your mistaken Staff. Right first name but wrong about everything else." Deliberately making her Italian accent clear - Alex smiled and the group moved on.
But everyone could hear the Staff Nurse speaking to a couple of her friends [other nurses] in the quiet corridor; "You could knock me down with a feather, I would swear on my mother's grave that is Alex Featherstone. She and I served together at Whitechapel Hospital at the turn of the century. Her father was a senior surgeon there, I thought she would be at least; a qualified Doctor by now, but if its her, she doesn't appear to have aged a single day since I last saw her and...."
The woman's voice faded as they reached the Doctors rest room and were served tea and sandwiches - Wilson stood close to Alex and whispered; "How does some lady in 1916 know you, when you died in 1801, in Italy?" He smiled a little, when Alex answered; "Well, because she doesn't and is wrong. Merely has me mistaken for someone else."
Wilson shrugged his shoulders and said; "O.K. that's fine by me - mistaken identity eh?" He grinned; "Anything you say baby girl!"
Alex directly asked Colonel Howes how she and Skyrise can be of assistance.
But Jericho reluctantly pulled both Alex and Skyrise to one side and reminded them of their mission here; and if both assisted in saving lives of men who would probably die from lack of immediate medical care, they would have some explaining to the Angel - like he already had to do so.
Skyrise accepted the reprimand with good grace, but Alex just folded her arms and said nothing. Wilson smiled and gripped Skyrise by the arm and the pair set about helping the Stretcher-bearers carry the casualties in. Young Owen was already busy doing the same and Alex volunteered to make endless cups of tea, whilst Jericho kept a close eye on Captain Harris.
7. MADE BEFORE ITS TIME.
Jericho and Wilson walked slowly down the bright corridor towards the Angel’s office; both a little troubled about the summons from James, the Angel in charge of Collections, he didn’t often call for Temporal Detectives directly. They were stopped by Rufus who slapped hands with Wilson and nodded a greeting to Mr. Tibbs.
“You’re gonna love this weird shit brother!” Rufus exclaimed, pushing the dreadlocks from his grinning face; “Man, some dude is messing with the dying and its fucking up Records; they are coming up short – big time!”
Rufus was the Senior Collector for one entire Century of human existence and one of the busiest; the 20th. He held a bunch of brown paper folders under his arm and shook his head, still grinning; “Three of my Collectors have reported that souls they were suppose to pick up, were still in their damn flesh suits!”
Jericho and Wilson exchanged a puzzled look and Wilson asked; “How can that be man? Old man Death is always on top form when it comes to Dispatches!” Jericho nodded his agreement with Wilson’s comments and smiled – Arch-Angel Abraham who was in command of the Dispatch Department [responsible for scheduling human deaths] wouldn’t appreciate being called ‘Old Man Death’.
He had worked hard over the Millennia to give his department a new image; Even the old logo of the skeleton and scythe had been replaced with a bright white star and the names of his operatives had also been changed to ‘Dispatchers’ from the old title of ‘Death Stalkers’.
The Arch-Angel believed that the changes would give his Department a far friendlier appearance - Jericho chuckled to himself; I bet the living would disagree with that!
“It’s happening in one place at the start of the century; slam bang in the middle of a fucking big war!” Rufus tapped gently on the door and added; “We’re collecting loads every day and so far, nine souls have stayed firmly embedded in their fucking flesh suits and won’t come out.” He laughed loudly, flashing wonderful white teeth and threw back his head, the dreadlocks falling about his shoulders, adding; “Some dude is taking the piss and messing up our records and that isn’t right.”
Wilson grunted; "Which fucking big war is that - they had lot's in the century you cover Rufus." Jericho accepted a couple of files from Rufus, but turned to Wilson; "The First World war or the Great War, as it was originally called before the Second World war dropped by. Basically mass slaughter; it was the first real war of the Industrial Age and killing was now mechanised. The result was mass deaths - on a scale never seen before in human history."
"What's great about a war of mass killing and destruction?" Wilson asked and Jericho had to agree with him. Rufus tapped one of the brown paper files and said quietly; "We have nine souls still in their flesh suits and they were all soldiers who should have died. They were wounded in battle and should have passed over - it was scheduled. They were taken to...." He pulled open the file and then looked back up; "To Casualty Clearing Station No.21 - whatever that means - and every single one of them came into contact with one living human. Bit of a coincidence, eh?"
Jericho smiled; "I don't really believe in coincidence, what year are we talking about and who was it?"
Rufus pulled open the file again and pointed to the page; "Same dude each time; a Doctor Alexander Harris and the same year: 1916."
"Well, I think we have enough already, to get authority for a little mission to that bloody piece of madness and check out this Doctor Harris character. But we'll need a Doctor from that time period for advice on medical procedures and such. I think I know just the man." Jericho rubbed his chin and grinned, adding; "And it will make the girls happy."
Wilson gave Jericho a puzzled look, then shrugged his shoulders; "I don't expect I'll fit in back there." Jericho slapped him on the back; "You'll fit in like a glove - well, compared to our temporary new boy." Jericho chuckled; "I'll borrow him from Doc Underhill's team." Wilson caught on to what Jericho was saying and smiled; "Jesus Jericho, there won't be many of him around decent white folks
back in 1916!" The sarcasm in his voice was obvious.
The door slid open in invitation for them to enter and the threesome walked quietly in and the door slowly closed behind them.
2. A NEW MEMBER OF THE TEAM - FOR NOW.
Jericho had called a team meeting and the crew assembled in the Drawing Room, well supplied with coffee and tea by the ever attentive Mr. Harris. When everyone was seated, Jericho nodded to Owen who handed out a couple sheets of paper to each person. Alex quickly cast her eyes over the document and sighed loudly, she sipped her tea and spoke directly to Jericho; “Someone is saving lives of soldiers who should have died?”
“And messing up the Time-Line by doing that my baby girl!” Wilson commented and stirred more sugar into his thick dark coffee. He turned to the new member of the team and added; “Our lady Alex has a soft spot for the living!” Then smiled and sipped his coffee with relish, while everyone chuckled at his comment – including Alex.
The ‘new’ team member he referred to was a Temporal Detective on loan from another team: ‘Skyrise Young Mountain’ was a strapping Apache Indian with dark hair and eyes; he resembled a Greek statue fitted out with a Savile Row suit and expensive shoes. In any age populated by female humans he would be considered a handsome man; a very handsome man.
“He’s so bloody handsome, he’s gorgeous!” Whispered young Ruth Hall who was peeking into the study with the Housekeeper Mrs. Harris; who chuckled and pointed out to young Ruth that men are not referred to as ‘gorgeous’; but just ‘handsome’. Ruth voiced her disagreement; “No, this one’s gorgeous.” Mrs. Harris gripped her arm and returned to the kitchen – taking the reluctant House Maid with her.
Alex studied the young man over her tea cup and had to admit to herself that young Skyrise was quite a magnificent specimen of manhood. She watched him walk over to the table and place his coffee cup down; he moved like a big cat – with grace and poise that didn’t match his size.
Had Alex heard young Ruth’s comments, she would agree with her – totally.
Jericho called the meeting to order and explained the forthcoming mission; "In late June of 1916 there is a war happening in Europe and the Collectors are out in force. But some have reported failures to collect certain souls because their lives have been saved and as Wilson pointed out, this is interfering with the Time-Line and messing up Records. The Angel is not happy and we’ve been tasked to investigate and bring this strange phenomenon to a close. I’ve borrowed Skyrise from Doc Underhill’s team because he has special knowledge of this particular time period – especially this war.”
Everyone glanced at Skyrise with the same thought; how the hell is an Apache Indian an expert on some European war?
Jericho Tibbs must have read their minds or their faces and chuckled loudly, slapping Skyrise on the shoulder; "People, Mr. Skyrise was one of some twenty thousand Native Americans who volunteered to serve their country in that war. He was in France, not at the time of this incident, but the following year after the United States joined the conflict in 1917. He volunteered as a Military Surgeon, so you see; he is superbly qualified to assist us.”
Everyone sat in silence, a little ashamed at their ignorance of the person that stood smiling before them. “May I ask a personal question Doctor Skyrise and please be assured that I mean no offense by it.” Alex rolled her tea cup around in her hands and smiled at him. He nodded his agreement with no comment.
“How on earth did you end up a Military Surgeon in that racist time period, when other American’s treated your people like bloody aliens in their own land?” Alex spoke softly, her voice betraying a little anger and amazement at the man’s incredible achievement; why had she never heard of his exploits?
Skyrise smiled; “Genetics Lady Alex, simple genetics.” He clasped his hands together and explained to a very receptive audience how an Apache Indian was posted to France as a Military Surgeon;
“My father had an aptitude for medicine and the Christian brothers who visited his reservation saw his talent and arranged for him to receive Medical Training. But he proved such a good student they enrolled him in Medical School, paying for a scholarship and giving him a small allowance to survive on. He became one of the first Native American Doctors and a fine surgeon – but he was only allowed to treat other Native Americans, Mexicans, the Chinese and African Americans. He had no white patients. But he met my white mother, who was a Doctor in her own right, and despite the opposition from both families they married. So you see I was destined to be a Doctor – whatever colour I was.”
He laughed and continued; “I practiced medicine on various reservations and quickly became proficient at gunshot wounds. My people had taken to alcohol and rifles; I was always busy. There were several mines staffed by the Mexican and Chinese settlers that used explosives; I became a regular visitor there too and finally when the war came I found I was uniquely qualified to be a battlefield Surgeon. After some opposition I was accepted into the Army Medical Corp and went to France in late 1917.”
He accepted another coffee from Mr. Harris and stood quietly by the fireplace, pulling a brown paper folder from his jacket pocket and glancing at the contents. Jericho addressed the meeting again; “Skyrise has a suspect in mind; it appears the nine souls that couldn’t be collected all passed through this person’s hands just before the Collectors arrived.”
Skyrise nodded his agreement with Jericho’s statement; “They all passed through a surgical unit located behind the Front-Line; No. 21 Casualty Clearing Station at Corbie, in the Somme Region and a Doctor called Captain Alexander Harris.”
3. THE BIG PUSH.
“There’s going to be a big push there and we should be able to spot what’s happening, with so many casualties passing through it.” Skyrise collected his papers and sipped his coffee. “What is a ‘big push’?” queried Owen.
“It’s a colloquialism for a big attack, you know; to push the Germans from Northern France.” Skyrise did not smile and added; “There will be over a million casualties on both sides, by the time the insanity ends in the November of that year and they’ll do it all again the following year, at another part of the line, with basically the same result.”
“Were they fucking nuts?” Owen said with some amazement; "Maybe some were, but most were very brave men who believed they were saving their Country from enslavement.” Skyrise replied and Jericho ordered everyone to the Light-Room. "The local human agent has made all the arrangements for our party to attend the Clearing Station as hosted diplomats." Jericho spoke, checking his mirror, then turned to Alex and Skyrise in particular; "Remember, my medical friends, this is a 'hands off' mission - don't get involved with the injured. Understand?"
They both nodded - reluctantly. Alex muttered something under her breath which made Skyrise smile - but passed unheard by Jericho.
The Team headed for the light-room in silence, watched by Mr. Parker who jumped upon Jericho's armchair and settled down for a nap. Ruth who was cleaning up glasses and cups, gave the big cat a stroke. Then looked up to see John in the doorway; "I'm afraid you just missed Mr. Tibbs; they have left already." Ruth told him, filling her tray with dirty glasses and cups.
"What year has he jumped too?" John asked quietly, running a hand through his dark beard and staring at the floor. "1916." She said and headed for the kitchen, watching the reclusive John shuffle from the room and disappear.
"There's something about John. You can feel it." She told Mrs. Harris, as she washed glasses and cups in the deep sink. Cleo Harris just smiled; "He's a good man, a very good man." Ruth noticed the odd smile on Cleo's face - she always spoke highly of the strange man.
"I wonder how the team are getting on?" Ruth said to herself, wiping down the draining board and peering through the kitchen window; watching John walking along the sea wall, head down and in silence - always on his own, she thought. He had few conversations with the people he resided with - except Jericho and Lady Alexandra. She watched him disappear from view, clutching a book from Jericho's collection. A very odd fellow, she mused and set about cleaning the kitchen table and chairs.
At first, the little group passed the soldiers practically unnoticed despite having an Apache Indian, an African-American and even a woman – there were very few women here; in the support trenches that ran behind the Front line – and finally, a young boy trailing behind the group struggling with a wood and canvas stretcher. They were only challenged once; by a big Irish sergeant and his two men who were carrying the rum ration back to their unit in the Front line.
He saluted Captain Tibbs and asked directly about the Indian and the woman; Jericho explained that he was escorting an American Journalist; Mr. Mountain to Casualty Clearing station Number 21 – he was doing a piece on the care of the wounded for the New York Times. The sergeant nodded and shook hands with Skyrise and mentioned that he was the first ‘Yank’ he had ever met. “Are they all that bloody big Sir?” He asked Jericho with a smile.
The big Sergeant clearly liked the look of Alex and voiced his disapproval of such a fine young woman being risked in the support trenches until Captain Tibbs pointed out that Lady Alex was a representative of the Italian Government [Allies of the British & French] and had to be afforded access to all areas for her report on medical care back to the Italian parliament. Jericho also spoke quietly into the Sergeants ear; “Apart from being a trained Nurse, she’s the daughter of an Italian Count and Senior Government Minister – she takes bloody tea with Queen Mary!”
The sergeant whistled through his teeth and nodded, then pointed to Owen; "Is he underage Sir?” Jericho agreed and explained that Private Owen had enlisted whilst underage, so had been transferred to the Medical Corp as a Stretcher Bearer, to shield him from the horrors of war – the Sergeant laughed out loud at that and pointed the way to Casualty Clearing Station No. 21.
One of the younger Irish soldiers shook Wilson by the hand and admired the heavy camera that he carried effortlessly on his shoulder; “My brother George was a great portrait photographer in Wexford, he would love to see that bit of kit!” The young soldier wiped his face and stared down at his feet; "He caught one at Loo's last year with the Irish Brigade. Pity really, he was waiting for a transfer to the Army Photographic Unit, the letter turned up the day they buried him." Private O'Halloran wiped his face and smiled.
Wilson nodded; “It’s a ‘Speed Graphic’, only made four years ago, she's manufactured by Graflex, in Rochester, New York. Certainly a good bit of kit as you say.” He replied and all three soldiers commented on his American accent.
“When the hell are you Yanks coming in?” The Sergeant asked Wilson directly and Wilson smiled; "Soon as our bloody President grows a backbone!”
That made the three Irish soldiers laugh loudly as they continued down the trench, waving and shouting ‘bye’ to the strange visitors who were passing through their world of constant death.
Alex pushed her mirror back into her pocket after reading about the three young men they had just encountered. Owen caught the look upon her face and said quietly; “Do they make it?” Alex shook her head: negative. “They won’t see tomorrow’s sunset.” She said simply and glanced back at the threesome disappearing into the growing darkness of night – still laughing and talking.
The little group passed on down the trench – Lady Alex received many ‘wolf-whistles’ and several shouts of: “WOW!” She smiled and gave the men a little wave, which they cheered. “Just doing my bit for morale.” She whispered to Jericho who smiled broadly.
“We’re looking for a trench called ‘Oxford Street’ that runs to the Dressing Station where we can grab an ambulance to the Casualty Clearing Station.” Jericho called out as he led the group, in single file, through the damp trench, passing continuous lines of troops heading for the Front. Alex commented on how they joked and played about; “You would think they were trying to get into a football match and not a killing ground.” She muttered to Jericho who suddenly pointed ahead; “There’s the trench!”
The group stumbled across the broken floor of the trench and into ‘Oxford Street’. They all could hear the continuous sound of the British barrage falling upon the German trenches; “It’s been bombing the German lines for days and when it stops tomorrow; the poor bloody Brits will walk into hell because the wire won’t be cut in many places and the German soldiers have survived in deep dugouts – thousands will be killed or wounded in just minutes, after the battle starts: a disaster, a bloody disaster.” Skyrise shook his head with real sadness and the group continued down the trench in relative silence.
4. THE DRESSING STATION.
They found the Dressing Station as they rounded the next bend of the trench. Outside the dugout’s entrance lay several stretchers’ with bodies covered with dirty sheets – a young stretcher-bearer was pulling papers, cigarettes and personal items from a headless corpse and stuffing them in a heavy brown bag.
Private John Gates looked up from his gruesome task and smiled; "Good morning Sir.” He gave a clumsy salute and his eyes fixed upon Lady Alex and the Apache Indian - to say he was surprised would be a grand understatement. He gulped and wiped his brow, lifting up his tin hat which revealed a mop of thick black hair. Finally, he managed to stutter out; “Are they the party of foreign nobs Colonel Howes is expecting at No.21 Sir?”
Captain Tibbs smiled and nodded; “Two visitors from America and a diplomat from our Italian allies – oh, and my soldier servant.” Owen waved and grinned, whilst Alex noticed that the two boys must be the almost the same age; far too young for this hell-hole she thought. Owen pointed towards a dozen dead men laying against a small stone wall. Two stretcher bearers were searching the bodies wearing gas masks and gloves. The bodies were bloated with horrific contorted faces. Owen spoke quietly to Skyrise; "What the fuck happened to those poor bastards?"
"Poison gas. If your caught without a gas mask, it enters your lungs and produces a deadly foam - you would basically choke to death - like drowning without the need for any water." He looked quite grim and added; "The medic's have to wear masks and gloves when dealing with the dead bodies because the gas remains active on the clothes for some time afterwards - we learnt that little fact; the hard way." Owen saw the look on Skyrise's face and didn't ask any more questions of the big man.
"Mind your bleeding backs!" A panting corporal pushed past them, followed by two older soldiers carrying a stretcher with a young man groaning and swearing; laid upon it. He right arm was missing from the elbow down and was wrapped with a blood soaked field dressing. His right leg was open from the thigh down and tied with his belt to prevent the blood spurting. They laid him down outside the entrance to the tent and corporal shouted in for help.
A tired looking young medic wandered out and knelt down next to the injured soldier - wiping his blood stained hands with a rag. "He needs immediate removal to the Clearing Station; I can't do much for him here - except give the poor bugger some morphine."
Skyrise was about to interject, when he saw the look on Jericho's face and the little wave of his hand - simply indicating; back off. "The next ambulance is due in half hour." The medic muttered and started to examine the wounds more closely. Alex took a little breath; "He needs to go now private and I mean now."
The young medic looked up and slightly smiled; "Sorry miss. but I can't produce ambulances out of my arse - so he'll have to wait." He stood up and threw the blood soaked cloth into the mud - he didn't smile - then disappeared back into the tent. The corporal muttered; "Bastard." quite softly and covered the groaning soldier with a piece of canvas and let him drink from his water bottle.
"He'll be dead long before that ambulance shows up." Skyrise spoke to Jericho, then added; "And this is a quiet day on the front; wait until tomorrow, when there will be thousands like that young man arriving here and even more laying in no-man's land with no chance of surviving their wounds."
The group stood around in relative silence until Alex said quietly to Jericho; "He's going to die without some proper medical attention. Skyrise and I can help him. Please, please let us do so - I'm willing to beg you if I have too - but please let us help him, please."
A grim faced Jericho simply said; no. Alex pulled up her dress a little and knelt down in the mud and stared up at Jericho; the tears in her eyes clear and obvious; "Please let us help him - please." The corporal and the two older soldiers couldn't actually believe what they were seeing - they passed cigarettes between themselves in total silence.
Jericho folded his arms and sighed - quite deeply. Then looked down at the young soldier; groaning and swearing, his face white as snow - he was dying. Jericho held out his hand to Alex and slowly pulled her up. "You can have this one on me. But only this one not one more, do you understand?" He spoke softly into her ear with clear disappointment in his voice. He would have to square this with Angel Margret; later.
Alex and Skyrise rushed to the stretcher, yelling for the young medic to bring bandages, heavy dressings and clean water. They worked on the boy for some minutes as everyone watched - a little crowd had gathered - finally, they pulled away from the stretcher with smiles of real satisfaction upon their faces.
The young medic nodded to Jericho; "I've seen a lot of doctors and surgeons working on the men and those two are about the best I've seen in a long time." He spoke with real respect in his voice. "Why the hell aren't they in uniform?" He added, lighting up a 'Woodbine' cigarette.
Jericho explained quietly, that one was from a neutral country and the other was a diplomat from an allied country. They shouldn't be doing anything like it - but they had done so. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away - unsmiling.
Wilson grinned at Skyrise and whispered; " I told you that our lady Alex has a soft spot for the living!” They both chuckled, watching Alex wiping blood from her hands and dress.
But a thin sergeant appeared and barked orders at the young private; to fetch Lt. Kenning who was to host the visiting party. He looked like a young version of Lord Kitchener; sporting a huge dark moustache and mad eyes. He introduced himself to Jericho with a salute and apologised that the roads were so choked with troops and supplies that they would leave tomorrow morning at seven. The ‘guests’ would be accommodated overnight in the ruins of a small farmhouse.
“It’s quite comfortable Sir – very few rats - the lady can wash up there, I'll arrange for some warm water for her and get some hot meals for your people.” He announced, saluted again and shouted fresh orders at the hapless young private to help with any equipment the visitors may have. Thus Jericho and his team settled down for the night, with the British barrage as bedtime music in the distance.
Alex lay against the wall with a rough blanket wrapped around her. Owen was brewing tea and handed Alex a cup of hot sweet tea. "Well, did he make it? I saw you checking your mirror." He eased himself down next to her and sipped from his cup. Alex nodded; "Young Patrick O'Rook - aged nineteen from Limerick - will survive his wounds and despite losing a leg and part of his arm, will marry his childhood sweetheart and live until 1955. They didn't have any children and his widow - Katherine - died in 1961. He was a good man by all accounts - respected and much loved by family and friends. He managed to have a good and worthwhile life despite his injuries."
Owen smiled, then said quietly; "I still think a little apology to Jericho is in order; I mean, for putting him on the spot like that." Alex leaned back against the wall; "Your probably right Owen. I'll speak to him now." Alex, still in the blanket, wandered outside the little ruined cottage and found Jericho watching the flashes of the guns, arms folded and in quite a sombre mood.
She slipped her arm through his and just nodded - Jericho smiled. The pair both knew that such apologies weren't needed between true friends.
Private John Gates looked up from his gruesome task and smiled; "Good morning Sir.” He gave a clumsy salute and his eyes fixed upon Lady Alex and the Apache Indian - to say he was surprised would be a grand understatement. He gulped and wiped his brow, lifting up his tin hat which revealed a mop of thick black hair. Finally, he managed to stutter out; “Are they the party of foreign nobs Colonel Howes is expecting at No.21 Sir?”
Captain Tibbs smiled and nodded; “Two visitors from America and a diplomat from our Italian allies – oh, and my soldier servant.” Owen waved and grinned, whilst Alex noticed that the two boys must be the almost the same age; far too young for this hell-hole she thought. Owen pointed towards a dozen dead men laying against a small stone wall. Two stretcher bearers were searching the bodies wearing gas masks and gloves. The bodies were bloated with horrific contorted faces. Owen spoke quietly to Skyrise; "What the fuck happened to those poor bastards?"
"Poison gas. If your caught without a gas mask, it enters your lungs and produces a deadly foam - you would basically choke to death - like drowning without the need for any water." He looked quite grim and added; "The medic's have to wear masks and gloves when dealing with the dead bodies because the gas remains active on the clothes for some time afterwards - we learnt that little fact; the hard way." Owen saw the look on Skyrise's face and didn't ask any more questions of the big man.
"Mind your bleeding backs!" A panting corporal pushed past them, followed by two older soldiers carrying a stretcher with a young man groaning and swearing; laid upon it. He right arm was missing from the elbow down and was wrapped with a blood soaked field dressing. His right leg was open from the thigh down and tied with his belt to prevent the blood spurting. They laid him down outside the entrance to the tent and corporal shouted in for help.
A tired looking young medic wandered out and knelt down next to the injured soldier - wiping his blood stained hands with a rag. "He needs immediate removal to the Clearing Station; I can't do much for him here - except give the poor bugger some morphine."
Skyrise was about to interject, when he saw the look on Jericho's face and the little wave of his hand - simply indicating; back off. "The next ambulance is due in half hour." The medic muttered and started to examine the wounds more closely. Alex took a little breath; "He needs to go now private and I mean now."
The young medic looked up and slightly smiled; "Sorry miss. but I can't produce ambulances out of my arse - so he'll have to wait." He stood up and threw the blood soaked cloth into the mud - he didn't smile - then disappeared back into the tent. The corporal muttered; "Bastard." quite softly and covered the groaning soldier with a piece of canvas and let him drink from his water bottle.
"He'll be dead long before that ambulance shows up." Skyrise spoke to Jericho, then added; "And this is a quiet day on the front; wait until tomorrow, when there will be thousands like that young man arriving here and even more laying in no-man's land with no chance of surviving their wounds."
The group stood around in relative silence until Alex said quietly to Jericho; "He's going to die without some proper medical attention. Skyrise and I can help him. Please, please let us do so - I'm willing to beg you if I have too - but please let us help him, please."
A grim faced Jericho simply said; no. Alex pulled up her dress a little and knelt down in the mud and stared up at Jericho; the tears in her eyes clear and obvious; "Please let us help him - please." The corporal and the two older soldiers couldn't actually believe what they were seeing - they passed cigarettes between themselves in total silence.
Jericho folded his arms and sighed - quite deeply. Then looked down at the young soldier; groaning and swearing, his face white as snow - he was dying. Jericho held out his hand to Alex and slowly pulled her up. "You can have this one on me. But only this one not one more, do you understand?" He spoke softly into her ear with clear disappointment in his voice. He would have to square this with Angel Margret; later.
Alex and Skyrise rushed to the stretcher, yelling for the young medic to bring bandages, heavy dressings and clean water. They worked on the boy for some minutes as everyone watched - a little crowd had gathered - finally, they pulled away from the stretcher with smiles of real satisfaction upon their faces.
The young medic nodded to Jericho; "I've seen a lot of doctors and surgeons working on the men and those two are about the best I've seen in a long time." He spoke with real respect in his voice. "Why the hell aren't they in uniform?" He added, lighting up a 'Woodbine' cigarette.
Jericho explained quietly, that one was from a neutral country and the other was a diplomat from an allied country. They shouldn't be doing anything like it - but they had done so. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away - unsmiling.
Wilson grinned at Skyrise and whispered; " I told you that our lady Alex has a soft spot for the living!” They both chuckled, watching Alex wiping blood from her hands and dress.
But a thin sergeant appeared and barked orders at the young private; to fetch Lt. Kenning who was to host the visiting party. He looked like a young version of Lord Kitchener; sporting a huge dark moustache and mad eyes. He introduced himself to Jericho with a salute and apologised that the roads were so choked with troops and supplies that they would leave tomorrow morning at seven. The ‘guests’ would be accommodated overnight in the ruins of a small farmhouse.
“It’s quite comfortable Sir – very few rats - the lady can wash up there, I'll arrange for some warm water for her and get some hot meals for your people.” He announced, saluted again and shouted fresh orders at the hapless young private to help with any equipment the visitors may have. Thus Jericho and his team settled down for the night, with the British barrage as bedtime music in the distance.
Alex lay against the wall with a rough blanket wrapped around her. Owen was brewing tea and handed Alex a cup of hot sweet tea. "Well, did he make it? I saw you checking your mirror." He eased himself down next to her and sipped from his cup. Alex nodded; "Young Patrick O'Rook - aged nineteen from Limerick - will survive his wounds and despite losing a leg and part of his arm, will marry his childhood sweetheart and live until 1955. They didn't have any children and his widow - Katherine - died in 1961. He was a good man by all accounts - respected and much loved by family and friends. He managed to have a good and worthwhile life despite his injuries."
Owen smiled, then said quietly; "I still think a little apology to Jericho is in order; I mean, for putting him on the spot like that." Alex leaned back against the wall; "Your probably right Owen. I'll speak to him now." Alex, still in the blanket, wandered outside the little ruined cottage and found Jericho watching the flashes of the guns, arms folded and in quite a sombre mood.
She slipped her arm through his and just nodded - Jericho smiled. The pair both knew that such apologies weren't needed between true friends.
5. CLEARING STATION NO.21
The following morning was clear and warm. After a light breakfast of porridge, bacon, egg and funny tasting tea, Lt. Kenning organised for two staff cars to carry the visitors to Casualty Clearing Station Number 21.
Owen asked Skyrise why the tea tasted so strange and was told that chlorine was used to keep the water fresh and that tainted the flavour, Owen seemed quite anxious; “Christ!, don’t they use that stuff in poisonous gas?” Everyone chuckled and gathered by the two cars in the warm morning sunshine, where Jericho gave a final briefing to his group.
The two Vauxhall D-Type’s had their engines cranked by their drivers and the party split between the vehicles; Jericho, Alex and Lt. Kenning pulled away in the first car to leave – driven by a fat private with bad teeth who grinned constantly at Alex.
The second car had the thin Sergeant, Skyrise, Wilson and Owen aboard; their driver was a tall man who appeared to be quite old for a soldier, but he certainly could drive. He admitted to Wilson that he was 61 years old and had been a Chauffeur to some Lord and Lady in Yorkshire, but decided to do ‘his bit’, so he lied about his age and joined up – only to be a bloody ‘chauffeur’ to officers now!
As the little convoy pulled away from the front, Jericho and Alex looked behind them and realized that the British barrage had stopped, for some moments there was a strange quietness and then an odd sound could be faintly heard.
“Tac, Tac, Tac.” Skyrise whispered and Wilson asked him what that means, Skyrise sighed and wiped his brow; “German machine guns killing thousands of young men.” He sat hands clasped in his lap; head bowed and said nothing more until they reached Casualty Clearing Station No.21.
As the visitor’s convoy arrived at the clearing station, which was placed in the abandoned school at La Neauville, they saw that behind them came a long stream of ambulances, Lorries and carts.
They could hear a bell tolling and the station seemed to burst into activity as nurses and orderly’s started to gather by the large iron gates of the School complex. A very tall officer strode to the head of the crowd and shouted orders as he pulled his jacket off and handed it to a young nurse – he was organizing the station to take casualties – many casualties.
“That’s him – Captain Harris.” Skyrise said, jumping from the car with Wilson and Owen. “Can we help?” Skyrise shouted and helped Alex from the other car.
Harris stared at Skyrise and shouted; “Yes, stay out the bloody way!”
6. THE MAN AND THE HOUR.
But Captain Harris displayed real reluctance to accept the assistance of either of them. That was noted by everyone in the group. Wilson spoke softly to Jericho; “I see he doesn’t want us around. I wonder why that is?” Jericho just nodded in reply and the group was shown their quarters by a young Trainee Nurse; Rachel Goldman, who seemed fascinated by Alex and Skyrise – who admitted that she had never encountered an Apache Indian, apart from those in her young brother’s novels about the American Wild West – and she definitely liked what she saw!
The young nurse seemed in awe of Alex and kept calling her; ‘My lady.’ Alex told her on several occasions to call her just ‘Alex’. But there really was no time for long introductions as the wounded started to arrive in large numbers. Col. Howes announced that a hospital train would arrive that evening to collect the most seriously wounded [but could be moved], for transfer to both civilian and military hospitals in the cities.
A tall, dark haired Staff Nurse stopped the group as they walked and stared at Alex; "Don't I know you?" She asked with great hesitation in her voice and then half smiled; "Its Alex, Doctor Alex Featherstone isn't it?" Alex glanced at her team mates and shook her head; "No, I think your mistaken Staff. Right first name but wrong about everything else." Deliberately making her Italian accent clear - Alex smiled and the group moved on.
But everyone could hear the Staff Nurse speaking to a couple of her friends [other nurses] in the quiet corridor; "You could knock me down with a feather, I would swear on my mother's grave that is Alex Featherstone. She and I served together at Whitechapel Hospital at the turn of the century. Her father was a senior surgeon there, I thought she would be at least; a qualified Doctor by now, but if its her, she doesn't appear to have aged a single day since I last saw her and...."
The woman's voice faded as they reached the Doctors rest room and were served tea and sandwiches - Wilson stood close to Alex and whispered; "How does some lady in 1916 know you, when you died in 1801, in Italy?" He smiled a little, when Alex answered; "Well, because she doesn't and is wrong. Merely has me mistaken for someone else."
Wilson shrugged his shoulders and said; "O.K. that's fine by me - mistaken identity eh?" He grinned; "Anything you say baby girl!"
Alex directly asked Colonel Howes how she and Skyrise can be of assistance.
But Jericho reluctantly pulled both Alex and Skyrise to one side and reminded them of their mission here; and if both assisted in saving lives of men who would probably die from lack of immediate medical care, they would have some explaining to the Angel - like he already had to do so.
Skyrise accepted the reprimand with good grace, but Alex just folded her arms and said nothing. Wilson smiled and gripped Skyrise by the arm and the pair set about helping the Stretcher-bearers carry the casualties in. Young Owen was already busy doing the same and Alex volunteered to make endless cups of tea, whilst Jericho kept a close eye on Captain Harris.
7. MADE BEFORE ITS TIME.
In a quiet spell that evening, the group rendezvoused by the old boiler house of the school and talked softly about the day's events. They all had mugs of tea and cheese sandwich's, they all stood; except Alex, Wilson had found her an old armchair to doss in and she accepted it gratefully - she had been on her feet since arriving here.
That's when Skyrise waved them into relative silence; something had caught his sharp eyes. "Over there, where the ambulances and trucks are parked." He didn't point and everyone casually cast their eyes in that direction.
It was Captain Harris with an Orderly and one of the vehicle mechanics. The orderly was pushing a sack barrow which contained something obviously heavy - but was covered in a dull, green sheet. The mechanic was wiping his greasy hands and saying that it had been fixed. Jericho caught some of the conversation as they passed by - 'Wires, Copper conductors and fuses' were mentioned and the threesome disappeared towards the surgical unit at a good pace.
Jericho motioned to Skyrise to make a discrete call on the Captain and find out what was under the sheet. Skyrise smiled and made for the Surgical unit in a casual manner; finishing his tea and sandwich's as he walked.
That's when he heard the little bell being rung - indicating an emergency within the Surgical unit, so he increased his pace and arrived outside Operating Room 4 in time to see Captain Harris and the strange contraption being wheeled into the room, which had another Doctor and two nurses already waiting.
Skyrise placed himself by the small window in the door and watched carefully at the frantic actions of the medical staff, gathered around the patient on the operating table. He was very surprised to see sparks flying about and suddenly he realised that there was an elderly lady standing in the corner of the room.
Jericho had now joined him and pair realised that the nice old lady was Kate; a collector. She looked over to them and shrugged her shoulders, they watched her close the 'Soul Ledger' she was holding and disappear.
They walked from the building and found Kate waiting for them at the old boiler house and the conversation amongst the group was quite lively. "She was about to scoop up the young soldiers soul, when bang! - there were sparks and a strange smell and the soul was firmly back into its flesh suit!" Wilson shook his head, but smiled.
"He's using some kind of early defibrillator and restarting the heart. Little wonder the Records department is coming up short - such a machine didn't appear until the 1930's." Skyrise spoke softly and with a little admiration in his voice.
Jericho rubbed his chin and looked back to the hospital building; "Owen, pull the good Captains record and find out, if there has been any breeches of the time-line where he has been found." Owen nodded and pulled his mirror out and sat on the table edge, sipping his lukewarm tea.
"Maybe he's just invented the damn thing twenty years before anyone else thought of it." Alex finished her tea and stretched loosely in the evening sunshine and really wanted to soak her poor feet. Jericho shook his head; "If that's the case; why wasn't such machines in use immediately after the war? How come the first official use of such a device, doesn't appear until the 1930's?"
"Good point." Muttered Skyrise and they said farewell to Kate, who wandered off to the General ward to pick up a couple of young men who had just died in their sleep. No one had noticed that the pair were bleeding internally; caused by a nearby shell burst as the they were caught by machine gun fire.
"If he came up with it by a natural process or idea, then we could have a 'Mandela Effect' on our hands and that means changes to the current time-line which were unexpected - like saving the lives of hundreds of soldiers and later; it could run into thousands; every one changing the time-line and maybe not for the best." Jericho finished his now cold tea with a grimace and added; "If not, we need to find out who told him, and it would have to be someone from the future - an illegal time-traveller."
Owen pushed his mirror back into a uniform pocket and sighed; "Sorry Jericho, there's nothing really of interest - but our good Doctor doesn't survive the war; he gets killed in a few months and his soul was collected correctly. I'm still waiting on possible time breeches near him."
Jericho grunted his thanks and with their refreshments finished, the little group made their way back to the organised chaos and horrors of the casualty clearing station.
8. COLLECTORS EVERYWHERE.
Alex had the delightful job of emptying bed pans, which she completed without a single moan; that seemed to amaze young nurse Rachel Goldman, who normally would be tasked the job. "Your a fine lady, you shouldn't be doing this." She informed Alex as they emptied several ripe bed pans together.
But Alex just laughed; "Believe me Rachel, I've done worse than this in the service of God." Rachel didn't quite understand that, but she still smiled.
The conversation turned to Captain Harris and unsurprisingly, Nurse Rachel was full of praise; "He works long hours, he really cares for the boys and he actually treats us nurses with some respect - not like some of the other doctors. They really think we're their personal slaves." The girls stacked the clean pans, covering each with a cloth and Rachel continued; "He really fights for the boys, he often says that's its a battle between him and God."
Rachel fell silent as Sister Isabella passed by, on her way to the General ward, but she stopped by the Sluice Room door and smiled at Alex; "I wonder if you can assist me Lady Cappanni." She asked, Alex nodded; "Of course Sister, how may I help/"
After thoroughly cleaning and disinfecting her hands and arms, she joined the Sister walking towards the ward. "We have a couple of your countrymen in the General Surgical Ward; they were airman on some kind of special mission, but were shot down nearby - along with a couple of our planes [English] - our boys didn't make it. They are quite shot up and Doctor Marks doesn't believe they will make it." She pushed open the doors and Alex followed her in the large, crowded room, packed with beds, men and nurses.
An orderly pushed a trolley past carrying a body covered by a blood soaked sheet; the sister stopped and the read the brown tag; "Peter, make sure Doctor Davis knows about the Captain - he knew the man's brother. They were at school together." The young orderly nodded and wheeled the dead man away.
Alex watched as the late Captain of Engineers departed with Kasim, his collector; who waved and smiled. Sister Isabella Edwards, who obviously could not see or hear the departing pair, pointed forward and walked on.
"As I was saying Lady Cappanni, the two Italian pilots won't be here much longer and we really need to know who they are - their identity papers were blood soaked and burnt. We really need to know their names or unit - anything that may identify them. But both are lapsing in and out of unconsciousness and rambling in Italian. Do you think you can get some details for us?"
Alex nodded and the pair arrived at the first bed; closed off by some drab coloured curtains and the sister pulled back the flap and went in - Alex followed and was a little taken back by the sight.
The young pilot was covered with wet sheets and lay upon a rubber mat; "He has major burns from the crash and is in great pain despite the morphine doses. I think death will bring welcome relief for the poor boy." The Sister whispered and picked up the clipboard and wrote a couple of words and checked her fob watch, adding; "Its almost time for another morphine shot - this is very unpleasant for all of us."
Alex pulled up the single rough chair that stood in the corner and sat by the boys head and started to speak to him in Italian. The sister was joined by Nurse Patricia Kelly who carried a needle and morphine vial on a little covered tray.
The boy started to speak slowly, in broken little sentences punctuated by deep groans, Alex grabbed up the clipboard and with half a pencil, started to write on the blank rear of the form. Nurse Patricia had prepared his dose and Alex took the needle from her; "I'll do it." She said simply - the look of relief on the young nurses face was obvious and the sister told her to go and help elsewhere.
Alex administered the injection and the boy made no noise; except to whisper in Italian. Alex stood up and handed the clipboard back to sister Isabella; "His name is Roberto Russo, he is nineteen years of age and asks if he can see his mother to say goodbye." Alex walked quietly through the curtains - she was quite amazed that she had stopped the tears from showing. She swallowed hard and folded her arms, staring at the enormous amount of suffering in just this little ward and thought about the hundred of other wards along the front - both sides of the trenches. Each one full of Roberto Russo's; "Where's the other boy?" She asked the sister.
The sister pointed over to another set of curtains and the pair walked in silence to them. They were stopped by Doctor Marks, who emerged from the curtains and shook his head; "His gone." That was all he said and walked away. Only Alex could see the young woman with the late Captain Luca Ricci as they disappeared into the light.
"I think a cup of tea is in order." Sister Isabella gripped Alex by the arm and took her to the sisters small office outside the ward. "If ever you decide to return to a proper job, one for which you are more than obviously qualified, let me know. True nurses are hard to find; even in the middle of a bloody, God forsaken war." The pair of women sat drinking tea quietly, until the Sister was called back to her never ending duties - Alex accompanied her, rolling up her sleeves and putting on a clean apron. "Fuck it." She muttered.
More wounded were arriving every few minutes and Alex noticed several strangers wandering amongst the growing numbers of injured and dying men; clutching little black books and no-one but Alex could see them - a couple silently nodded their greeting and continued to collect souls.
9. STAND DOWN.
Jericho called the team together by the boiler house and shared a very good bottle of brandy with them. It was such good quality that no-one poured any into their tea, but drank it straight. Alex greatly appreciated it after the day she had, working the wards with Sister Isabella, who Alex respected as a woman and a superb nurse. She had little idea that the good sister was singing her praises to Colonel Howes and the senior doctors of the unit.
Everyone relaxed a little and sipped their much appreciated brandy, Jericho informed his team that they were standing down - the mission was over.
Alex asked him; "What's happened, what have you found out?" Jericho smiled a little and explained; "It appears that our good doctor has pre-empted the device's invention by almost twenty years, but historically, doesn't receive any acknowledgement for it. The damn thing gets reinvented in the 1930's."
Alex sipped her brandy and asked quietly; "Why doesn't he get any recognition for it?" Jericho placed the empty brandy bottle near Alex's thread bare armchair and sighed; "The good Doctor and some members of the medical staff here are killed, when the hospital ship; the SS Galeka strikes a mine in October of this year. He takes all knowledge of the device with him and the only other two people who knew how it worked, were with him, on that ill-fated ship."
Jericho had made arrangements for his team to depart Casualty Clearing Station Number 21 in the morning; informing Colonel Howes that they had gathered all the information they needed for the respective Governments and news agencies, that had asked.
Strangely enough, the Colonel told Jericho that they would be missed; especially Lady Alex and Skyrise, who he praised for their assistance and help. Jericho nodded his appreciation of the thanks and praise. He knew now, why Angel Margret had messaged him [via his mirror] that she wished to see the entire team when they returned from the mission - straight away, in fact.
"Shit!" was all he muttered as he walked back to their ramshackle quarters of tents and outbuildings. In the distance he could hear the guns; the battle of the Somme was continuing and would struggle on until the November of this year - leaving over 400,000 British casualties and would achieve no real break-through of the German front. The bloody murderous war would continue for another two years yet and result in casualties counted in their millions.
The final outcome of the war - to end all wars - would be round two in twenty years time with the rise of Hitler and the Nazi party. World War II would eclipse the First World War in death and destruction and again; change the world entirely.
Jericho dropped onto his bunk and loosened his collar, pulling his old hip-flask from his tunic pocket and sipped the contents slowly. The oil lamp flickered and cast a weak, yellow glow about the small room. He tried to sleep a little - but it wouldn't come and he sat up on the bunk and reached for his hip flask - again.
"Could I have a word please sir, I mean, since your still awake." Staff Nurse Alice Hadden, pushed the curtain aside - which served as some sort of door - and stood in the doorway. Jericho had, of course, recognised her in the corridor when she stopped Alex. Alice was married to his best human agent for this particular time period; The Metropolitan Police Detective Inspector Harry Hadden. Jericho nodded and said; yes softly and rose from the bed, turning up the lamp.
"I don't know what's going on sir, but Lady Alex Cappanni IS Doctor Alex Featherstone. She doesn't appear to have aged a day, since I last saw her, but I'm not mistaken about it sir. So I'm assuming she's sort of undercover. My husband is a detective and he's told me about such adventures. Just let her know that I'm so glad she is alive. My God, she was so missed when she vanished back in 1901. Nobody knew what had happened to her - please ask Alex to contact me when her jobs is over - we were not just working colleagues, but good friends. I always suspected that good looking Italian had something to do with her disappearance - her Italian is now excellent! - I'm so glad to see her again - alive and well. Please tell her that. Thank you sir."
Jericho nodded, but said nothing and Alice Hadden walked quietly away.
He placed both hands on his head and slumped back on the creaking bed; "Shit!" was all he whispered; then he thought about the coming enquiry into the two detectives actions - they had clearly defied direct orders not to interfere and the Angel wanted to know why. He would, of course, support his team and would have to materialise some cracking excuses, to get them off the hook!
Jericho tried to sleep - again with little success, but the brandy in his hip-flask certainly helped and he tossed and turned until morning.
10. DEPARTURE.
The two cars were cranked over, engines now running noisily with the drivers standing by, with open doors. Jericho and his team took their leave of the staff and climbed aboard. Captain Harris and Colonel Howes waved them off. As they pulled away, Alex could see Staff Nurse Alice Hadden give a little wave and smile broadly. Alex waved back and brushed a small tear from her face - noticed only by Jericho, who gripped her hand and said nothing.
Skyrise stared back at the disappearing hospital and grunted; "I'll be here properly in just under a year and even that I now know what I'm in for, I'll still be glad that I came." Jericho knew that Skyrise Young Mountain would be killed by enemy bombing, on a dirt road just outside Amiens, within months of arriving in France. He tapped the big man's shoulder and smiled.
"Who were the others from the unit that died on that ship?" Alex whispered to Jericho and he handed her the hip-flask. "Doctor Reginald Marks; Harris had trained him to use the device and he was making plans to produce the machine, but died before anything was done." Alex sipped some brandy and asked; "The other one?"
Jericho sighed and took a swig from his flask; "The luck of war, she swapped assignments with the sister that should have sailed, but the women's child was very ill and the mother obviously wanted to stay close. So Sister Isabella Edwards volunteered to take her place and drowned - trapped in the surgical unit with a couple of orderly's - when the ship went under. Sorry."
He then told Alex and Skyrise about Angel Margret's message and both didn't seem to care; "So we get demoted to Collectors for a century or so." Skyrise chuckled and Alex had to smile.
Jericho just shook his head - but smiled a little. He then thought about Alice Hadden and wondered who she would tell about her meeting with Alex, who she realised, had not aged a day. Jericho glanced at the beautiful young woman sitting next to him and knew that there was more to Alex than anyone could really know - perhaps save him.
The mission had achieved what it was despatched for; they had discovered the truth behind the missing souls and Angel Margret had allowed the changes to stand. "A little 'Mandela' effect." Owen had muttered to Wilson, who agreed with his young colleague. The small convoy continued down the rough road and Alex smiled; thinking about Alice Hadden. Then she remembered about what she had read on her mirror about Alice. Such knowledge of future events wasn't always for the best.
The guns continued to sound in the distance and the cars pulled over for a few minutes to allow a stream of ambulances and trucks to pass - carrying more wounded to casualty Clearing Station Number 21.
"God help the poor buggers." The driver said and lit a cigarette, whilst Alex muttered; "But he won't - free will and all that."
EPILOGUE:
"it was a relief for the Team 74 to discover that Doctor Harris had invented his amazing machine on his own incentive, nearly thirty years before it was 'invented' - again. All the souls that he had prevented from being collected, where allowed to remain in the current human time line. Angel Margret decided that was acceptable and correct."
W.A.S.
CHARACTERS:
Skyrise Young Mountain or Doctor. S. Mountains had joined the American Army Medical Corps and arrived in France in August 1917. He was killed by enemy bombing, on a dirt road just outside Amiens, within months of arriving in France. His soul was collected and he now - obviously - works as a Temporal Detective Constable on 'Doc' Silas Underhill's team.
Sergeant John Liam Connerly [Irish Brigade - Front Line trench] went 'over the top' the following morning at 7.30am - he was dead by 7.33am. He was 27 years old. His soul was collected and processed.
Private Frederick O'Halloran [Irish Brigade - Front Line trench] went 'over the top' the following morning at 7.30am - he was dead by 7.36am. He was 22 years old. His soul was collected and processed.
Lt. Paul Kenning [Dressing Station] survived the war, despite being wounded twice. He was discharged from the army in March 1919 and left Britain for Canada, where he worked in Newspapers. He was killed in a railway accident outside Montreal in 1931. His soul was collected and processed.
Private Patrick O'Rook [wounded soldier - Dressing Station] survived his wounds despite losing a leg and part of his arm. He married his childhood sweetheart and lived until 1955. They didn't have any children and his widow - Katherine - died in 1961. His soul was collected and processed.
Private David Richards [the Driver] had signed on to fight, despite being 61 years old! and remained an Officer's Chauffer throughout the war. He died in 1919 from the 'Spanish Influenza' and his soul was collected and processed.
Doctor Alexander Harris [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was never credited with his discovery, that could have saved many lives over the subsequent years. He was drown on SS Galeka, when that Hospital ship sank in October 1916. His soul was collected and processed. He now works as a Collector.
Private John Gates [Stretcher-bearer - Dressing Station]] was actually under-age for the army - he was fifteen - but a big lad for his age. The Military authorities allowed him to stay serving; as a Stretcher-Bearer. He was killed at Passchendaele in November 1917 - he was sixteen. His soul was collected and processed.
Private William Soames [Medical Orderly - Dressing Station] was killed the following day by a British shell that dropped short - several wounded men, he was attending, were also killed at the time. His soul was collected and processed.
Colonel Wilberforce Howes [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and returned to Manchester City Infirmary in 1919 as Chief Surgeon. He remained at the hospital until he retired in 1929. He was killed in 1941 during the 'black-out' - a car ran into him as he walked to the train station, after visiting his sister's home. His soul was collected and processed.
Nurse Rachel Goldman [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and returned home to Bradford, where she married a local coal merchant and had four children. Unfortunately, the fourth child came with complications and Rachel died. She was 31 years old. Her soul was collected and processed.
Staff Nurse Alice Hadden [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was married to Jericho's Human Agent for the early 20th Century; Police Inspector Harry Hadden. She alleges that Lady Alexandra Cappanni is really Doctor Alexandra Featherstone - a doctor at Whitechapel hospital in 1901, who vanished without trace that year. Jericho never reported these matters up his chain of command. Alice died in 1922 from stomach cancer. Her soul was collected and processed.
Sister Isabella Edwards [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was on the ill-fated SS Galeka, after she volunteered to take a colleagues place and drowned - trapped in the surgical unit with a couple of orderly's - when the ship went under. Her soul was collected and processed.
Doctor Reginald Marks [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was killed when the SS Galeka sank in October 1916; he had been trained by Dr. Harris to use the machine. The secret died with those two men, on that ship. His soul was collected and processed.
Nurse Patricia Kelly [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and left Britain for a new life in America. She married well and died a wealthy widow in 1938 with her three children and eleven grandchildren at her side. Her soul was collected and processed.
Flight Officer Roberto Russo [Italian Pilot - Casualty Clearing Station 21] was nineteen years old when he died of his wounds at casualty Clearing Station 21. There was a problem with this young man in that, the Italian Military had no knowledge of him! - His and Captain Ricci's mission on the Western Front was unknown to the Italian Authorities. There was no soul to collect and Temporal Inspector Stella Longstreet has been assigned the case; there is no resolution yet.
Captain Luca Ricci [Italian Pilot - Casualty Clearing Station 21] died of his wounds and his soul was collected and processed. But it appears that the Italian Authorities [at the time] had no idea of the Captain's mission on the Western front! - he was suppose to be on compassionate leave in his home town of Rome. It remains a mystery to this day.
That's when Skyrise waved them into relative silence; something had caught his sharp eyes. "Over there, where the ambulances and trucks are parked." He didn't point and everyone casually cast their eyes in that direction.
It was Captain Harris with an Orderly and one of the vehicle mechanics. The orderly was pushing a sack barrow which contained something obviously heavy - but was covered in a dull, green sheet. The mechanic was wiping his greasy hands and saying that it had been fixed. Jericho caught some of the conversation as they passed by - 'Wires, Copper conductors and fuses' were mentioned and the threesome disappeared towards the surgical unit at a good pace.
Jericho motioned to Skyrise to make a discrete call on the Captain and find out what was under the sheet. Skyrise smiled and made for the Surgical unit in a casual manner; finishing his tea and sandwich's as he walked.
That's when he heard the little bell being rung - indicating an emergency within the Surgical unit, so he increased his pace and arrived outside Operating Room 4 in time to see Captain Harris and the strange contraption being wheeled into the room, which had another Doctor and two nurses already waiting.
Skyrise placed himself by the small window in the door and watched carefully at the frantic actions of the medical staff, gathered around the patient on the operating table. He was very surprised to see sparks flying about and suddenly he realised that there was an elderly lady standing in the corner of the room.
Jericho had now joined him and pair realised that the nice old lady was Kate; a collector. She looked over to them and shrugged her shoulders, they watched her close the 'Soul Ledger' she was holding and disappear.
They walked from the building and found Kate waiting for them at the old boiler house and the conversation amongst the group was quite lively. "She was about to scoop up the young soldiers soul, when bang! - there were sparks and a strange smell and the soul was firmly back into its flesh suit!" Wilson shook his head, but smiled.
"He's using some kind of early defibrillator and restarting the heart. Little wonder the Records department is coming up short - such a machine didn't appear until the 1930's." Skyrise spoke softly and with a little admiration in his voice.
Jericho rubbed his chin and looked back to the hospital building; "Owen, pull the good Captains record and find out, if there has been any breeches of the time-line where he has been found." Owen nodded and pulled his mirror out and sat on the table edge, sipping his lukewarm tea.
"Maybe he's just invented the damn thing twenty years before anyone else thought of it." Alex finished her tea and stretched loosely in the evening sunshine and really wanted to soak her poor feet. Jericho shook his head; "If that's the case; why wasn't such machines in use immediately after the war? How come the first official use of such a device, doesn't appear until the 1930's?"
"Good point." Muttered Skyrise and they said farewell to Kate, who wandered off to the General ward to pick up a couple of young men who had just died in their sleep. No one had noticed that the pair were bleeding internally; caused by a nearby shell burst as the they were caught by machine gun fire.
"If he came up with it by a natural process or idea, then we could have a 'Mandela Effect' on our hands and that means changes to the current time-line which were unexpected - like saving the lives of hundreds of soldiers and later; it could run into thousands; every one changing the time-line and maybe not for the best." Jericho finished his now cold tea with a grimace and added; "If not, we need to find out who told him, and it would have to be someone from the future - an illegal time-traveller."
Owen pushed his mirror back into a uniform pocket and sighed; "Sorry Jericho, there's nothing really of interest - but our good Doctor doesn't survive the war; he gets killed in a few months and his soul was collected correctly. I'm still waiting on possible time breeches near him."
Jericho grunted his thanks and with their refreshments finished, the little group made their way back to the organised chaos and horrors of the casualty clearing station.
8. COLLECTORS EVERYWHERE.
Alex had the delightful job of emptying bed pans, which she completed without a single moan; that seemed to amaze young nurse Rachel Goldman, who normally would be tasked the job. "Your a fine lady, you shouldn't be doing this." She informed Alex as they emptied several ripe bed pans together.
But Alex just laughed; "Believe me Rachel, I've done worse than this in the service of God." Rachel didn't quite understand that, but she still smiled.
The conversation turned to Captain Harris and unsurprisingly, Nurse Rachel was full of praise; "He works long hours, he really cares for the boys and he actually treats us nurses with some respect - not like some of the other doctors. They really think we're their personal slaves." The girls stacked the clean pans, covering each with a cloth and Rachel continued; "He really fights for the boys, he often says that's its a battle between him and God."
Rachel fell silent as Sister Isabella passed by, on her way to the General ward, but she stopped by the Sluice Room door and smiled at Alex; "I wonder if you can assist me Lady Cappanni." She asked, Alex nodded; "Of course Sister, how may I help/"
After thoroughly cleaning and disinfecting her hands and arms, she joined the Sister walking towards the ward. "We have a couple of your countrymen in the General Surgical Ward; they were airman on some kind of special mission, but were shot down nearby - along with a couple of our planes [English] - our boys didn't make it. They are quite shot up and Doctor Marks doesn't believe they will make it." She pushed open the doors and Alex followed her in the large, crowded room, packed with beds, men and nurses.
An orderly pushed a trolley past carrying a body covered by a blood soaked sheet; the sister stopped and the read the brown tag; "Peter, make sure Doctor Davis knows about the Captain - he knew the man's brother. They were at school together." The young orderly nodded and wheeled the dead man away.
Alex watched as the late Captain of Engineers departed with Kasim, his collector; who waved and smiled. Sister Isabella Edwards, who obviously could not see or hear the departing pair, pointed forward and walked on.
"As I was saying Lady Cappanni, the two Italian pilots won't be here much longer and we really need to know who they are - their identity papers were blood soaked and burnt. We really need to know their names or unit - anything that may identify them. But both are lapsing in and out of unconsciousness and rambling in Italian. Do you think you can get some details for us?"
Alex nodded and the pair arrived at the first bed; closed off by some drab coloured curtains and the sister pulled back the flap and went in - Alex followed and was a little taken back by the sight.
The young pilot was covered with wet sheets and lay upon a rubber mat; "He has major burns from the crash and is in great pain despite the morphine doses. I think death will bring welcome relief for the poor boy." The Sister whispered and picked up the clipboard and wrote a couple of words and checked her fob watch, adding; "Its almost time for another morphine shot - this is very unpleasant for all of us."
Alex pulled up the single rough chair that stood in the corner and sat by the boys head and started to speak to him in Italian. The sister was joined by Nurse Patricia Kelly who carried a needle and morphine vial on a little covered tray.
The boy started to speak slowly, in broken little sentences punctuated by deep groans, Alex grabbed up the clipboard and with half a pencil, started to write on the blank rear of the form. Nurse Patricia had prepared his dose and Alex took the needle from her; "I'll do it." She said simply - the look of relief on the young nurses face was obvious and the sister told her to go and help elsewhere.
Alex administered the injection and the boy made no noise; except to whisper in Italian. Alex stood up and handed the clipboard back to sister Isabella; "His name is Roberto Russo, he is nineteen years of age and asks if he can see his mother to say goodbye." Alex walked quietly through the curtains - she was quite amazed that she had stopped the tears from showing. She swallowed hard and folded her arms, staring at the enormous amount of suffering in just this little ward and thought about the hundred of other wards along the front - both sides of the trenches. Each one full of Roberto Russo's; "Where's the other boy?" She asked the sister.
The sister pointed over to another set of curtains and the pair walked in silence to them. They were stopped by Doctor Marks, who emerged from the curtains and shook his head; "His gone." That was all he said and walked away. Only Alex could see the young woman with the late Captain Luca Ricci as they disappeared into the light.
"I think a cup of tea is in order." Sister Isabella gripped Alex by the arm and took her to the sisters small office outside the ward. "If ever you decide to return to a proper job, one for which you are more than obviously qualified, let me know. True nurses are hard to find; even in the middle of a bloody, God forsaken war." The pair of women sat drinking tea quietly, until the Sister was called back to her never ending duties - Alex accompanied her, rolling up her sleeves and putting on a clean apron. "Fuck it." She muttered.
More wounded were arriving every few minutes and Alex noticed several strangers wandering amongst the growing numbers of injured and dying men; clutching little black books and no-one but Alex could see them - a couple silently nodded their greeting and continued to collect souls.
9. STAND DOWN.
Jericho called the team together by the boiler house and shared a very good bottle of brandy with them. It was such good quality that no-one poured any into their tea, but drank it straight. Alex greatly appreciated it after the day she had, working the wards with Sister Isabella, who Alex respected as a woman and a superb nurse. She had little idea that the good sister was singing her praises to Colonel Howes and the senior doctors of the unit.
Everyone relaxed a little and sipped their much appreciated brandy, Jericho informed his team that they were standing down - the mission was over.
Alex asked him; "What's happened, what have you found out?" Jericho smiled a little and explained; "It appears that our good doctor has pre-empted the device's invention by almost twenty years, but historically, doesn't receive any acknowledgement for it. The damn thing gets reinvented in the 1930's."
Alex sipped her brandy and asked quietly; "Why doesn't he get any recognition for it?" Jericho placed the empty brandy bottle near Alex's thread bare armchair and sighed; "The good Doctor and some members of the medical staff here are killed, when the hospital ship; the SS Galeka strikes a mine in October of this year. He takes all knowledge of the device with him and the only other two people who knew how it worked, were with him, on that ill-fated ship."
Jericho had made arrangements for his team to depart Casualty Clearing Station Number 21 in the morning; informing Colonel Howes that they had gathered all the information they needed for the respective Governments and news agencies, that had asked.
Strangely enough, the Colonel told Jericho that they would be missed; especially Lady Alex and Skyrise, who he praised for their assistance and help. Jericho nodded his appreciation of the thanks and praise. He knew now, why Angel Margret had messaged him [via his mirror] that she wished to see the entire team when they returned from the mission - straight away, in fact.
"Shit!" was all he muttered as he walked back to their ramshackle quarters of tents and outbuildings. In the distance he could hear the guns; the battle of the Somme was continuing and would struggle on until the November of this year - leaving over 400,000 British casualties and would achieve no real break-through of the German front. The bloody murderous war would continue for another two years yet and result in casualties counted in their millions.
The final outcome of the war - to end all wars - would be round two in twenty years time with the rise of Hitler and the Nazi party. World War II would eclipse the First World War in death and destruction and again; change the world entirely.
Jericho dropped onto his bunk and loosened his collar, pulling his old hip-flask from his tunic pocket and sipped the contents slowly. The oil lamp flickered and cast a weak, yellow glow about the small room. He tried to sleep a little - but it wouldn't come and he sat up on the bunk and reached for his hip flask - again.
"Could I have a word please sir, I mean, since your still awake." Staff Nurse Alice Hadden, pushed the curtain aside - which served as some sort of door - and stood in the doorway. Jericho had, of course, recognised her in the corridor when she stopped Alex. Alice was married to his best human agent for this particular time period; The Metropolitan Police Detective Inspector Harry Hadden. Jericho nodded and said; yes softly and rose from the bed, turning up the lamp.
"I don't know what's going on sir, but Lady Alex Cappanni IS Doctor Alex Featherstone. She doesn't appear to have aged a day, since I last saw her, but I'm not mistaken about it sir. So I'm assuming she's sort of undercover. My husband is a detective and he's told me about such adventures. Just let her know that I'm so glad she is alive. My God, she was so missed when she vanished back in 1901. Nobody knew what had happened to her - please ask Alex to contact me when her jobs is over - we were not just working colleagues, but good friends. I always suspected that good looking Italian had something to do with her disappearance - her Italian is now excellent! - I'm so glad to see her again - alive and well. Please tell her that. Thank you sir."
Jericho nodded, but said nothing and Alice Hadden walked quietly away.
He placed both hands on his head and slumped back on the creaking bed; "Shit!" was all he whispered; then he thought about the coming enquiry into the two detectives actions - they had clearly defied direct orders not to interfere and the Angel wanted to know why. He would, of course, support his team and would have to materialise some cracking excuses, to get them off the hook!
Jericho tried to sleep - again with little success, but the brandy in his hip-flask certainly helped and he tossed and turned until morning.
10. DEPARTURE.
The two cars were cranked over, engines now running noisily with the drivers standing by, with open doors. Jericho and his team took their leave of the staff and climbed aboard. Captain Harris and Colonel Howes waved them off. As they pulled away, Alex could see Staff Nurse Alice Hadden give a little wave and smile broadly. Alex waved back and brushed a small tear from her face - noticed only by Jericho, who gripped her hand and said nothing.
Skyrise stared back at the disappearing hospital and grunted; "I'll be here properly in just under a year and even that I now know what I'm in for, I'll still be glad that I came." Jericho knew that Skyrise Young Mountain would be killed by enemy bombing, on a dirt road just outside Amiens, within months of arriving in France. He tapped the big man's shoulder and smiled.
"Who were the others from the unit that died on that ship?" Alex whispered to Jericho and he handed her the hip-flask. "Doctor Reginald Marks; Harris had trained him to use the device and he was making plans to produce the machine, but died before anything was done." Alex sipped some brandy and asked; "The other one?"
Jericho sighed and took a swig from his flask; "The luck of war, she swapped assignments with the sister that should have sailed, but the women's child was very ill and the mother obviously wanted to stay close. So Sister Isabella Edwards volunteered to take her place and drowned - trapped in the surgical unit with a couple of orderly's - when the ship went under. Sorry."
He then told Alex and Skyrise about Angel Margret's message and both didn't seem to care; "So we get demoted to Collectors for a century or so." Skyrise chuckled and Alex had to smile.
Jericho just shook his head - but smiled a little. He then thought about Alice Hadden and wondered who she would tell about her meeting with Alex, who she realised, had not aged a day. Jericho glanced at the beautiful young woman sitting next to him and knew that there was more to Alex than anyone could really know - perhaps save him.
The mission had achieved what it was despatched for; they had discovered the truth behind the missing souls and Angel Margret had allowed the changes to stand. "A little 'Mandela' effect." Owen had muttered to Wilson, who agreed with his young colleague. The small convoy continued down the rough road and Alex smiled; thinking about Alice Hadden. Then she remembered about what she had read on her mirror about Alice. Such knowledge of future events wasn't always for the best.
The guns continued to sound in the distance and the cars pulled over for a few minutes to allow a stream of ambulances and trucks to pass - carrying more wounded to casualty Clearing Station Number 21.
"God help the poor buggers." The driver said and lit a cigarette, whilst Alex muttered; "But he won't - free will and all that."
EPILOGUE:
"it was a relief for the Team 74 to discover that Doctor Harris had invented his amazing machine on his own incentive, nearly thirty years before it was 'invented' - again. All the souls that he had prevented from being collected, where allowed to remain in the current human time line. Angel Margret decided that was acceptable and correct."
W.A.S.
Skyrise Young Mountain or Doctor. S. Mountains had joined the American Army Medical Corps and arrived in France in August 1917. He was killed by enemy bombing, on a dirt road just outside Amiens, within months of arriving in France. His soul was collected and he now - obviously - works as a Temporal Detective Constable on 'Doc' Silas Underhill's team.
Sergeant John Liam Connerly [Irish Brigade - Front Line trench] went 'over the top' the following morning at 7.30am - he was dead by 7.33am. He was 27 years old. His soul was collected and processed.
Private Frederick O'Halloran [Irish Brigade - Front Line trench] went 'over the top' the following morning at 7.30am - he was dead by 7.36am. He was 22 years old. His soul was collected and processed.
Lt. Paul Kenning [Dressing Station] survived the war, despite being wounded twice. He was discharged from the army in March 1919 and left Britain for Canada, where he worked in Newspapers. He was killed in a railway accident outside Montreal in 1931. His soul was collected and processed.
Private Patrick O'Rook [wounded soldier - Dressing Station] survived his wounds despite losing a leg and part of his arm. He married his childhood sweetheart and lived until 1955. They didn't have any children and his widow - Katherine - died in 1961. His soul was collected and processed.
Private David Richards [the Driver] had signed on to fight, despite being 61 years old! and remained an Officer's Chauffer throughout the war. He died in 1919 from the 'Spanish Influenza' and his soul was collected and processed.
Doctor Alexander Harris [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was never credited with his discovery, that could have saved many lives over the subsequent years. He was drown on SS Galeka, when that Hospital ship sank in October 1916. His soul was collected and processed. He now works as a Collector.
Private John Gates [Stretcher-bearer - Dressing Station]] was actually under-age for the army - he was fifteen - but a big lad for his age. The Military authorities allowed him to stay serving; as a Stretcher-Bearer. He was killed at Passchendaele in November 1917 - he was sixteen. His soul was collected and processed.
Private William Soames [Medical Orderly - Dressing Station] was killed the following day by a British shell that dropped short - several wounded men, he was attending, were also killed at the time. His soul was collected and processed.
Colonel Wilberforce Howes [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and returned to Manchester City Infirmary in 1919 as Chief Surgeon. He remained at the hospital until he retired in 1929. He was killed in 1941 during the 'black-out' - a car ran into him as he walked to the train station, after visiting his sister's home. His soul was collected and processed.
Nurse Rachel Goldman [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and returned home to Bradford, where she married a local coal merchant and had four children. Unfortunately, the fourth child came with complications and Rachel died. She was 31 years old. Her soul was collected and processed.
Staff Nurse Alice Hadden [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was married to Jericho's Human Agent for the early 20th Century; Police Inspector Harry Hadden. She alleges that Lady Alexandra Cappanni is really Doctor Alexandra Featherstone - a doctor at Whitechapel hospital in 1901, who vanished without trace that year. Jericho never reported these matters up his chain of command. Alice died in 1922 from stomach cancer. Her soul was collected and processed.
Sister Isabella Edwards [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was on the ill-fated SS Galeka, after she volunteered to take a colleagues place and drowned - trapped in the surgical unit with a couple of orderly's - when the ship went under. Her soul was collected and processed.
Doctor Reginald Marks [Casualty Clearing Station 21] was killed when the SS Galeka sank in October 1916; he had been trained by Dr. Harris to use the machine. The secret died with those two men, on that ship. His soul was collected and processed.
Nurse Patricia Kelly [Casualty Clearing Station 21] survived the war and left Britain for a new life in America. She married well and died a wealthy widow in 1938 with her three children and eleven grandchildren at her side. Her soul was collected and processed.
Flight Officer Roberto Russo [Italian Pilot - Casualty Clearing Station 21] was nineteen years old when he died of his wounds at casualty Clearing Station 21. There was a problem with this young man in that, the Italian Military had no knowledge of him! - His and Captain Ricci's mission on the Western Front was unknown to the Italian Authorities. There was no soul to collect and Temporal Inspector Stella Longstreet has been assigned the case; there is no resolution yet.
Captain Luca Ricci [Italian Pilot - Casualty Clearing Station 21] died of his wounds and his soul was collected and processed. But it appears that the Italian Authorities [at the time] had no idea of the Captain's mission on the Western front! - he was suppose to be on compassionate leave in his home town of Rome. It remains a mystery to this day.
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
