The Furies (15 page)

Flieger nodded and Gabriel started back towards the recovery tent. But he stopped just before the entrance flap and looked back to see Flieger, a forlorn figure, still standing on his own, hugging himself for warmth. And then Gabriel remembered: today was 4 December, the Austrian feast of St Nicklaus. Back in Sarajevo, Flieger's children would be writing wish lists for their Christmas presents. This year, thought Gabriel, Christmas would be unlike anything they had experienced before.

Salonika port: the gateway to the Balkans.

Elspeth stood with twenty other women on the harbour front, her suitcase by her side, a strong smell of fish and sea-salt in the air, watching the ten remaining VADs rowed ashore. The oarsmen – good-looking, sun-tanned Greek boys with well-muscled forearms – skilfully steered the rowing skiffs through the crowded waters and deposited the VADs and their baggage on the harbour wall. While the boats were unloaded, Elspeth looked back out to sea, at the
Nile –
the French passenger ship they had just arrived in – which was anchored nearby. Beyond the
Nile
was a line of dirty black colliers with green electric lights slung between their funnels, and beyond them a white hospital ship with a red cross on its flanks.

‘Why is everybody looking at us?' someone asked, and Elspeth turned to Dr Frances Wakefield, the Serbian unit's physician, who had spoken the words. Dr Wakefield was staring at the mix of people on the quayside: khaki-clad British and French troops; traditionally clothed Arabs, Greeks, Spaniards and Turks; tall, deeply black French Senegalese soldiers, red fezzes perched on top of their heads. All of these men were gazing back at the women with interest.

‘Well, I don't suppose they've seen many women in uniform before,' Elspeth replied with a smile. She liked Dr Wakefield, who was a small but determinedly cheerful woman with straggly light brown hair and merry eyes.

‘Aye, they've probably never seen a Scotswoman either,' added Dr Lillian Chesney curtly. She was the unit's senior surgeon, a gruff but well-meaning woman with a sharp-featured face, short black hair and a piercing gaze.

‘Well, they could hardly miss us in all this tartan,' joked Sylvia, and Sister Louisa Jordan – a dark haired, plump-faced girl standing beside her – burst out laughing, but then stopped when she realised that Dr Chesney was giving her ‘a look'. All of the women were dressed identically in scots-grey skirts and jackets – the collars and epaulettes trimmed with tartan – a broad tartan sash and rainproof poncho, and a grey, wide-brimmed, tartan-ribboned hat. It was certainly an eye-catching uniform, thought Elspeth, although not a particularly elegant one.

‘Nothing wrong with tartan, Sister Jordan,' Dr Chesney said, and Elspeth saw the young ward sister squirm under the intense gaze of the unit's senior surgeon.

‘I think that's everyone ashore now;' said Dr Eleanor Soltau. A tall figure with curly dark hair and blue eyes, she was the last of the unit's four doctors and would be the hospital's chief medical officer until Dr Inglis was able to travel out to Serbia in a few months time. As well as Elspeth and the other three doctors, there were twenty-six other staff: eleven trained nurses, including Sylvia; two cooks; two drivers, one of whom was Vera; a laundress; and ten VADs, the last of whom were climbing out of the skiffs and onto the harbour wall.

‘I've asked the harbour master to organise some porters to take our luggage and medical supplies straight to the railway station,' Dr Soltau said. ‘But as it's only a short distance from here, I thought we could follow them on foot; it'll be nice to find our land legs again.'

It did indeed feel good to be to be on solid earth, Elspeth thought, as she strolled through the cobbled streets with Sylvia and Vera by her side. The ten-day sea voyage from Southampton had not been without risk. They'd travelled in a Royal Navy transporter, HMS
Ceramic
,
which did not fly the Red Cross flag from her mast, and had explosives and ammunition in her holds. This made them a legitimate target for the enemy, so immediately land was cleared the lifeboats were swung over the sides and Elspeth and the others were summoned to lifeboat drill. They'd even been tracked by a German submarine through the Bay of Biscay, Elspeth learnt from one of the ship's crew. It had been a relief to arrive safely in Malta, where they'd transferred to the
Nile
for the final stage of their journey.

As Dr Soltau led the women towards the station, Elspeth looked at the exotic shapes and vibrant colours that surrounded her. Between the rows of high whitewashed stone buildings, she saw the blue-green of the surrounding hills and the icy grey of snow-capped mountains; within the city itself the red-tiled roofs of turreted houses and minarets contrasted against the green of cypress trees and palm fronds waving in the breeze. It all looked breathtakingly wonderful.

They were met at the station by a tall, black-moustached Serbian army major, dressed in field-grey uniform. He spoke good English and introduced himself as Dr Curcin, their designated Medical Liaison Officer, who would look after them during their stay in Serbia.

The Serbian government's original plan had been for the women to set up their hospital in Skopje in the south of the country. ‘But circumstances have changed,' Dr Curcin announced. ‘The good news is that the enemy have been comprehensively defeated and the war is temporarily over in Serbia. But there are hundreds of casualties, and several thousand Austrian soldiers are being held prisoner. They are all in the north of the country, near the town of Kragujevac. That is where the fighting has been particularly fierce and the military hospital in Kragujevac is struggling to cope with all the wounded. There are also worrying reports of fever.'

‘Fever?' Dr Soltau asked, a troubled look on her face. ‘What sort of fever?'

‘It is not yet clear,' he replied. ‘But a number of hospital staff have fallen ill with it and some have already died.'

‘It'll probably be typhoid, or maybe typhus,' Dr Wakefield interjected.

‘
Typhus?
' Dr Soltau repeated, looking alarmed.

‘Yes, that is our fear,' said Dr Curcin, ‘that it might be the beginning of a typhus epidemic. There are also reports of fever breaking out in the prison camps surrounding Kragujevac, which hold thousands of Austrian captives. That is where medical assistance is most urgently required.' He hesitated before continuing. ‘So my question to you, dear ladies, is: would you be willing to go to Kragujevac?'

Dr Soltau conferred with the rest of the unit. The women had already been vaccinated against cholera and typhoid, but there was no vaccine for typhus. Therefore, travelling up to Kragujevac presented a significant risk to everyone. Nevertheless every last woman agreed that if this was where they were most needed, this was where they should go.

Dr Curcin appeared very pleased with their decision as he escorted them to the northbound platform, where a train was waiting. Most of the carriages were already filled with civilian refugees who were returning north now that the fighting was over. But Dr Curcin had reserved one carriage for the women. Their medical supplies and equipment were loaded into the baggage compartment and the women climbed aboard.

Once inside the carriage Elspeth sat on a three-seater bench next to Frances Wakefield. Sylvia, sitting directly opposite, was her usual cheery self, chattering away quite happily to Louisa Jordan in the aisle seat beside her. But Vera, in the window seat on the other side of Sylvia, seemed unusually quiet. As the train pulled out of the station and headed north, Elspeth saw Vera staring pensively through the window at the passing Serbian countryside.

‘Penny for them?' Elspeth asked Vera, when she finally turned her head away from the window.

‘Oh. Well, I know it's a stupid question,' she said, an embarrassed expression on her face, ‘but I don't understand the difference between typhus and typhoid. I thought we'd been vaccinated against both?'

‘It's not a stupid question at all,' Elspeth replied. She turned to Dr Wakefield. ‘You know more about this, Frances; perhaps you could explain?'

Dr Wakefield nodded, her eyes bright as she spoke to Vera.

‘Typhoid is an infection caused by swallowing typhoid bacteria, usually from contaminated food or spoiled drinking water. It causes fever with diarrhoea or constipation, and stomach pains. But as long as the food we eat is properly cooked, and our drinking water boiled, we probably won't catch it. Also, we've all been vaccinated against typhoid, so even if you did swallow the bacteria, the vaccine will either protect you from getting infected, or at least make the illness less severe.'

‘And typhus?' asked Vera

Dr Wakefield glanced at Elspeth before she replied. ‘Well, that's more of a problem. It was only discovered three years ago that lice carry the typhus bacteria inside their guts. It is believed that lice in your clothes defecate onto the skin, and bacteria in the faeces pass directly through the skin into the body. So it's different from typhoid in that it's not caught from eating or drinking, but through skin contact with lice. The illness is different as well: there is fever and a rash, a very high temperature, headache and muscle pains. But the main symptom is confusion; in fact, the name typhus comes from the Greek
typhos
, which means stupor.'

‘And we haven't been vaccinated against typhus?'

‘No. A certain Dr Plotz in New York claims to have isolated a bacterium from infected patients and says he can produce a vaccine from it. But his work has not yet been proven.'

‘Is there any treatment?'

‘No. There is little we can do, apart from make the correct diagnosis. You just have to let the infection take its course. After five to ten days of fever, there is usually a crisis with high temperatures. Then the fever breaks and most people recover.'

‘Most?'

‘With good nursing care and decent food, two-thirds of patients should survive. However, for a wounded soldier, badly fed and dirty, the chances are much less.'

Sylvia nudged Vera in the ribs with an elbow. ‘Don't worry, Vera; you're as strong as an ox. You'll be fine. Just don't let those beastly lice get under your corsets.' She slid a hand into Vera's sides and began to tickle her, eliciting a yelp of laughter. Watching her two friends fooling around, Elspeth smiled and shook her head. Let's hope, she thought, that Dr Curcin's fear of an epidemic did not materialise.

***

Kragujevac, eighty miles south of the capital, Belgrade, was the site of Serbia's main military arsenal, and Elspeth remembered Dr Curcin saying that the battle for this strategically important town had been particularly fierce. However, the first stage of their train journey was up through northern Greece and then across the border into southern Serbia, neither of which had been affected by the war. The train stopped briefly at Skopje station, where Elspeth had her first glimpse of the enemy: at the far end of the platform she saw a small group of Austrian prisoners standing in a circle; tired-looking men, in frayed pale-blue uniforms which hung off skeletal frames, their eyes compliantly downcast. A detachment of Serbian soldiers dressed in grey, with bright yellow straw moccasins on their feet and red-woollen hats on their heads, stood guard, rifles pointed towards the prisoners, bayonets fixed, eyes focussed on their captives.

The next stage of their journey was across the central plain of the Kosovo region. It appeared that the war had not yet touched this area either, and through the carriage window Elspeth saw ploughed fields, straw thatched cottages and red-tiled farm buildings with herons nesting on the chimney tops. But as the train climbed up into the Serbian highlands – with snow on the hills and eagles soaring high above the rocky crags – the scars of battle began to appear: the broken stumps of shell-blasted trees, dead cattle lying in shell-cratered fields, the ruins of burnt-out barns and farmhouses. Eventually they neared Kragujevac and the train slowed as it passed through the fire-scorched outer suburbs of the town. The carriage fell silent as the women pressed their faces up against the window, squinting through the evening gloom at piles of broken cobblestones on the streets, fallen telegraph poles, and houses and shops with windows smashed and roof tiles missing.

A small, grey-bearded man – almost gnome-like – with darkly shadowed, red-rimmed eyes was waiting for them on the station platform.

‘I am Dr Dmitri Anitch, from the First Reserve Military Hospital,' he said to them.

‘You speak good English, Dr Anitch,' said Dr Soltau.

‘I visited the London teaching hospitals some years ago,' he explained as he led Elspeth and the others out of the station.

‘How is the fever situation?' Elspeth asked.

‘Very bad. I am now sure it is typhus. The situation in my hospital is desperate; three of my medical colleagues have died this week and I am the only surgeon well enough to operate.'

‘Can we visit your hospital tonight?' Elspeth asked.

Anitch shook his head as he led them to a row of ox-wagons waiting outside the station. ‘There is no street lighting and it is unsafe to travel in the dark. I'll take you there tomorrow morning after we've found a suitable location for your hospital.'

Elspeth watched a number of Serbian guards load their hospital equipment, luggage and other supplies into the wagons. Then she and the other women climbed on board and the small convoy set off through the rubble-strewn streets. After a twenty-minute journey they arrived at a large ivy-covered, whitewashed villa on the outskirts of the town. Anitch explained that the villa had previously been used as a private medical clinic and had ten rooms, each holding three beds, which could be used as the women's sleeping quarters. The villa had some minor exterior damage from the fighting – a few bullet holes in the walls – but the inside of the building was undamaged and the rooms clean and recently decorated. Dr Anitch and Dr Curcin left for the First Reserve Hospital, promising to return early the next morning, and then Cook fired up the oven in the kitchen to prepare a late supper of toast, tinned meat and cocoa. Finally, the women went to their bedrooms, and Elspeth, Sylvia and Vera – sharing a room together – climbed, exhausted, into their beds.

The next morning Dr Anitch and Dr Curcin reappeared. Dr Soltau suggested that Elspeth, Dr Chesney and Dr Wakefield should accompany her, and so the party of six left the villa and began to walk towards the centre of town. After walking only a few hundred yards along the debris-littered streets, side-stepping piles of broken paving stones as they went, they came across two ox wagons pushed up against the pavement. Dr Curcin pulled back a thin tarpaulin sheet covering the first wagon, and Elspeth was shocked to see five wounded Serbian soldiers lying on the wooden floor. In the next wagon they found a similar number of injured Austrians, still in their bloodstained, mud-soiled uniforms. All the men looked malnourished and cold, so Dr Soltau sent Dr Wakefield back to the villa to tell the VADs to bring them food and warm clothing.