Jim kicked off the sheet that was soaked in his sweat. He was burning up despite the ceiling fans whirring above his bed, and his head felt as if it was stuffed with burning embers that might explode at any minute. The view from the window was a blur, the vivid colours swirling into one another at giddying speed as the merciless sun glared and the voices of those around him became muffled and incomprehensible. The fever was returning and would soon overwhelm him.
In the lucid moments between these bouts, he realised he was safe and far from battle, but when the fever raged the nightmares came to haunt him, and as his wasted body shook and burned he once again heard the endless booms of the guns – saw the enemy faces looming like ghouls at him from the jungle – and felt the anguish and gnawing guilt of what he’d done to Ernie.
He turned his head towards the shadow that fell across him and saw it was Staff Nurse Fitzpatrick – his very own angel of mercy who’d come to help him through. ‘You sent the letter to Peg?’ he managed through chattering teeth.
‘It went three weeks ago,’ she replied softly. ‘Don’t you remember?’
He did have a vague memory of being able to write the letter full of false cheerfulness, but it had taken an age because his wound was very painful and his hand had been shaking with the onset of the returning infection. ‘And the photo? You found the photo?’
She squeezed cold water out of a flannel and pressed it against his forehead. ‘It was in your kitbag.’ She replaced the flannel with another and began to wash his chest and arms.
Jim fought against the deep shivers that were making him shudder, determined to focus on Peggy and the subterfuge that had been so necessary. He’d had that photograph taken several months ago when he’d been sent south of here on a short leave, and because he looked fit and healthy, he’d kept meaning to send it home – but now it had become very handy because it would allay Peggy’s fears and make his letter more believable.
‘I’m just going to change your bed linen,’ said the nurse, ‘and then I’ll give you your pills and something to help you sleep.’
Like a helpless child, he let her roll him back and forth, and once the fresh sheets and pillows were in place, he obediently swallowed the pills. ‘To be sure,’ he managed weakly, ‘I’m thinking I’ll never make it out of here.’
‘It might feel as if you’re not getting any better,’ she said, filling a hypodermic, ‘but the bouts of fever are lessening in power and regularity. The infection you got at the field hospital is waning – and your wound is healing well.’
Jim wasn’t sure if he believed her, but the needle slipped smoothly into the scrawny flesh of his upper arm, and as the medication raced through his veins, he fell into sweet oblivion and no longer cared.