When he came to he was shaking so violently two soldiers held him to the cart rail. He screamed as his blackened skin came into contact with the rough surface. 'Easy there, Ronnie. Can't you see the lad's in pain? And getting that toxic shock syndrome no doubt an' all. Easy lad.' The medic drew a syringe from a big bag, peaked it and plunged it into his good arm. 'That should help.' A dose of pure morphine flooded into his blood, and, as he stopped shaking, Eddy looked at the men. Through a haze he saw faces; he saw the girl with the green eyes. As the drugs calmed him he was back in the public bar; he heard the music, the laughter. Smiling faces filled his mind. Just as he slipped into a coma he was saying 'mama ... mama ... ma.' His fists were clenched tight like a baby's. 'He might just make it, this one, he's a fighter.' They laid him down gently and covered part of his still face with a Hessian blanket. There were tears running down one side. 'Poor bastad, so young. Curse this fucking war.' The medic said and angrily threw the syringe to the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces as he stared at the endless line of smashed men; some with mouths agape; some with no faces; most openly weeping. next »