Joe settled in faster than he had anticipated. He had barely found his way to his quarters when he was summoned by a sentry to the make-shift hospital at the Base.
“Sorry sir, but they need you at the hospital. Some of the wounded are being shipped home and a few have asked for a padre.”
“Sure thing! Show me the way,” Joe answered.
The drive to the hospital, through a ploughed field, was short and bouncy. He was immediately shown into a large room – more like a hangar. Perhaps once was a hangar, Joe’s sudden thought. Beds lined each side of the building and in each bed lay an occupant – or the major part of an occupant, as first glance showed the horror results of war. Nurses were busily attending their patients.
“They leave in an hour. All severe surgical cases! Will be flown to Australia for specialist help – if anything can help these poor kids!”
An hour! One of the nurses was allocated to assist him.
The first patient still owned two legs, but his right arm was amputated at the elbow. He smiled wanly at Joe.
“Hi padre! I’m going home. One of the lucky ones. Yeah, your blessing won’t hurt.”
Joe gave blessing and absolution to all. For some it was received with a broken smile, for others it was with a frown and shake of the head, while for others again, it meant nothing – their minds were beyond reason. Within the hour they were all wheeled out and boarded the plane that would take them home – home to the best treatment possible. After that – who knows, thought Joe. He had been inwardly and outwardly shocked by the state of these young men.
He was driven back to his quarters by another sentry.
Exhausted in mind and body, he fell onto the bunk, as he prayed for all those maimed young men flying home. Deep sleep hit him like a hammer.