Page Title

In a crazy world when everyone is getting killed; do you spend those few brief moments of madness or play it safe for a future that might never happen?

Dohazari Airfield Burma, March 23rd 1944, 1100 hours.

Chapter one. Wrong place, Wrong time.

Dohazari Airfield was a makeshift landing strip, a creation of a world at war. Today it was in the forefront of the planner's minds; risks had to be taken. The entire Indian fifth division was being moved from the one battle area to another more deadly encounter at Imphal, the linchpin of allied aggression in the Burmese theatre of operations.

There has been little time to brief the pilots. Speed was essential with the enemy so near their objective; few questions asked if the chitty was in order. The planes mostly C 47's of the United States Army Air-force were refuelled loaded and flown out again. The reinforcements were vital to stem the Japanese attacks.

Emma Walker had arrived on the morning of the 20th and was being treated like a pariah. The initial posting has been wrong. A miss spelt name was all it had taken to get them lost. A colonel from the Indian medical Service, appalled at their impromptu arrival in the Arakan, had ordered them to the relative safety of Imphal by air of all things during a battle. Emma and her fellow nurses; had endured a hundred mile trek in the back of a bouncing lorry, crossing two rivers to find themselves marooned on a dust bowl of an airstrip. A two hundred and fifty mile flight across enemy territory lay ahead.

Having to share over crowded latrines and ablutions with men came as the last straw. At this rate they would all have the trots, then where would they be? Drastic measures were needed. They were definitely not a priority cargo.

A consuming aroma of aviation fuel mingling with the terrible dust dried out the back of the throat to make a cough almost dangerous. It was not hard to think the worst; not hard to let your spirits drop in such an awful environment. The waft from the latrines pervaded the nostrils, with every hint of the welcoming breeze, even if the smell of sweat stained bodies had already desensitised their sense buds. To keep any modicum of female allure should have been impossible. It wasn't outnumbered a thousand to one. A whistle a joke or a compliment was all that was needed for sexual awareness to blossom. It had to be a hormonal thing that brought out the worst and the best in them all. The need to mother them was part of their calling, the desire to mate a primeval instinct.

A front line nurse was a witness to the full horrors of war. A front line nurse could never be expected to carry her heart on her sleeve she had life and death decisions to make each and every day. It was far easier to think of the wounded as just a number and move on unscathed. Emma had done that. It had served her well enough while she learnt to live again, but not anymore. She was appalled, yet excited at her conclusion; the prime directive had been ignored far too long. Was there anything wrong in thinking of a patient as a sex object? This was a world at war with death around every corner. In spite of her attempts to appear standoffish in the wards, she had not been without her admirers, like a fool she'd shunned them all.

"Hell Mary! Have you got any Vaseline? I swear this knicker elastic is cutting me in half." Sister Briggs comment brought Emma back to reality. B undid her trousers pulling down her knickers a little to expose a nasty red line around a very slim waist.

"Oh you poor dear that looks painful?" Georgina commented.

"What we need is a bath; I'm itching all over". Sandy the Australian nurse added scratching her stomach. This one single action inspired the other nurses to imagine or feel the reality of yet another creepy crawly. "Bugger I swear I've got prickly heat. This ruddy country will be the death of me".

"Shush Sand. Behave all of you. B pull up yer knickers this minute; der you want the entire 5th Indian division over here? Mary Macmillan shouted in her thick Scottish brogue while extracting a jar of Vaseline from her kitbag.

"Tell them to form an orderly line," Sister Briggs retorted. "Blimey Mary that feels better than any man."

"Oh B you are awfu-".

The crescendo of rotors drowned their chat. A transport plane growled past billowing dust, another in the distance taxied into position. Georgina forced a wry smile. "Here we go again girls. Croyden airdrome was never quite like this though this does have a certain rustic splendour don't you think?"

"How should I know? You're the one that ate with the silver spoon. If Emma doesn't get us away soon I'll scream," B shouted in reply replacing her belt carefully.

"Well B if anyone can do it she can; those East Coast Americans always were rather pushy".

"Look she's crossing the runway now." B pointed then smiled at an Indian havildar in the middle distance.

"Let's hope my dear the result is better than yesterday". Georgina replied.

"Damned right sport or I for one am off to surrender to Tokyo Rose," Sandy interrupted.

Major Robert Eastlake had arrived with four soldiers that heavily armed they looked more like bandits than regulars. Two were officers. One looked like a Burmese yet his cap badge said different, the other was easily identified as Anglo-Indian. The two non-coms were European.

The Major was not the sort of man you argued with chitty or not; for the Queen Alexandra's nursing sister life was far different. She did not like pleading her case to a stranger especially a man but needs must. Emma marched briskly across the dust-baked ground to block his path. She saluted smartly. "Spare me a moment Sir?"

Major Eastlake stared down with tired eyes at the female. Perspiration glistened on her forehead. The sweat stains on her sodden shirt allowed the faint indentation of her nipples if not to show through to be imagined. They caught his glance if only for a moment. The female vulnerability behind her cold hard stare might have been imagined he thought not. What the dickens is the woman doing here? Got herself lost he supposed. The Major decided to humour her. "Well what is it sister?" He resisted calling her matron she was almost too young for that.

Emma was getting cross again even if she had vowed not too. "Our posting was wrong; some idiot man as usual. The resident medical officer dispatched us into this hellhole just to get us off his hands. We've been here for three days. No one will give us a berth. Surely sir, military nurses will be required if there is fighting? We're not just useless females you know".

The major almost smiled as he noticed the nurse's feeble attempt to keep her blossoming temper in check. "The battle has started madam; Yes! You might be needed. How many are you?"

"Eight with myself Sir, " Emma forced herself to be polite even if the smile did not match the effort.

"I'll see what can be done. Wait here!" The voice brooked no opposition. Emma held her tongue with some difficulty; she enjoyed the last word.

The Major marched towards the air traffic controller: that puny Flying Officer; full of his own importance that she had shouted at yesterday. The controller glanced at her dust-encrusted body then gave a knowing stare. Emma suspected some disparaging sexual remark had been passed as the rat spoke to the Major. She decided to humour the awful man. At times the act of pretending to be the weaker sex brought rewards, often the opposite, as she remembered all too clearly; but what was a girl to do in a man's world? The flying officer smiled back. Today things might be going a little better.