The convoy moved off at dusk, heading for the front. Three surgical teams. With so many vehicles, it wasn’t safe to drive in daylight. Villagers joined cooks and chicas and patients well enough to walk and they all gave them a good send-off. A few hours previously, Mr Smilie and the Czech surgeon, Jiri Fiedler, had set off with a chauffeur and an electrician and a mission to locate a suitable place to set up the new hospital, close to the front line. Felix and Kitty looked down from the cab of a truck piled high with supplies, Dolores squeezed between them and the driver.
‘I’m glad you decided to come,’ Kitty told her. ‘The more people we can rely on the better.’
Dolores nodded, and smiled briefly.
‘It’s going to be hard to find time to get more staff, or do more training when we get there. I don’t want to frighten you, but it can get awfully busy. You know what they call these evacuation posts?’
‘Hospitales de Sangre,’ whispered Dolores.
‘Does that mean what I think it does?’ asked Felix. ‘Blood hospital?’
‘Yes,’ said Kitty, staring into the darkness.
Without lights, the camiones couldn’t move fast. The slowest truck went first, so they wouldn’t be separated. They juddered past silent villages and over bomb-damaged bridges. Nobody said much. After a few hours, Felix thought she heard the crescendo hum of a motorbike. The convoy shuddered to a halt. Up ahead, a dispatch rider approached the autochir, the leading vehicle. The biker handed over some papers and sped off. The convoy set off again, slow and laborious. The road began to climb.
Felix was asleep, her head on Kitty’s shoulder, when a shout from Mr Smilie roused her. There were torches ahead, bobbing circles of light that showed the shadowy outlines of buildings. Then their truck pulled into another courtyard – festooned with balconies, as though ready for a troop of Juliets to appear, thought Felix – and the unloading began.
‘Here, bring the instruments through to the bar,’ called Mr Smilie. ‘We’ll set up theatre there. There’s water, after a fashion. And these counters are a good height for operating tables. Sterilisation that way. Dispensary over there.’
‘Bar?’ said Kitty, coming through with Felix and Dolores. ‘What is this place?’
‘It’s the Alcaldía. Sort of town hall, I suppose you could say. Anyway, it was this or a baroque palace covered in saints and cupids. Very fancy. Very primitive. All I can tell you is that we’re closer to Madrid, and closer to the fighting. Now follow me . . .’
‘Electricity?’ interrupted John, anxiously.
‘Not yet. It’s coming. Diego’s working on it.’ As if on cue, a few lights stuttered into life, and then flickered off again. ‘Go on, go on . . . yes!’
It was enough to see something. Felix set down her box of swabs by the stone sink, and set off after the others to have a quick look around before getting her next load.
‘Had a hell of a job to get them to let us in,’ admitted Mr Smilie. ‘The watchman fella didn’t like it at all. “Tell him he’ll be arrested if he doesn’t let us open up!” Jiri kept saying. I tried. But I couldn’t remember the word for “arrested” – still can’t. What is it, damn it? I think I said he’d be shot. Couldn’t think what else to say. That got him down here quick enough. Anyway, he’s been very helpful. Look!’
Three bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, shedding their yellow light on a huge empty hall. There was a small stage at one end, and a pile of wooden benches stacked at the other.
‘Perfect!’ said Kitty. ‘We’ve got twenty-five mattresses, and no beds. These will do nicely. Shall we sort this room out, John?’
‘When I’ve checked the plumbing.’ John vanished, frowning.
‘Felix, help me find the best place for triage – probably through there, by the looks of things. We’ll need to be able to sort out the wounded as quickly as possible. It’s going to be tough, I’m afraid, but it’s all about priorities. I can talk you through it later, but I’m pretty sure Doug wants you in theatre.’
The lights flickered again and died.