Chapter 1
Out of the Trenches by Quinn T.
Normally I don’t write about specific patients. There are far too many, and I cannot bear to recount all the lives lost. This man was not a special case by any means, and yet.
He came into the hospital with the influx from the battle raging at Chateau-Thierry.
There was already enough to cope with—air raids and shell fire at all hours—all the while conducting delicate surgeries.
Battered and beaten bodies, some barely recognizable as men, poured into the repurposed castle.
Even among the droves, this one stood out.
He had a shell wound to the shoulder, and was losing blood fast. My focus should have been on his injury yet my eyes kept drifting to his face.
I have come across my fair share of handsome soldiers, there is almost an unlimited number here, but even with the layer of grime and dirt he was perhaps the most handsome I have seen.
I forced my attention on his treatment…
…Edwin hunched over the makeshift bed Maxwell was laid over, stripped down to his waist. A gas lamp illuminated the torn up shoulder he was working on. Blood dripped onto the stone floor while Edwin dug through the wound to remove barely visible shrapnel.
The chandeliers above them jerked when another shell exploded too close to the castle for comfort. Edwin paused until the tremors subsided. Sweat dripped down his brow and he blinked the salt out of his eyes before carefully removing another shard of metal.
Maxwell groaned and Edwin looked up to see his face twisting in pain, his dirt-covered eyebrows scrunched together and his bloody lips pulled into a frown.
His eyelids fluttered open to reveal deep brown eyes, rich and warm.
They met Edwin’s pale blue eyes. Edwin didn’t need words to understand what Maxwell wanted to know.
“I’m almost finished. You’ve been strong, you’ll make it through.”
Maxwell responded with a weak grunt and lost his hold on consciousness once again. Edwin was glad he could focus on getting the last few pieces of the shell out without that dark, entrancing gaze on him.
It took the better part of an hour until Edwin finished stitching him up. He let a nurse bandage him to attend to another surgery. Maxwell was not the only young man in need of care here.
It was well into the night until Edwin found his way back to him.
Someone had wiped the dirt and blood from his face.
His shaggy hair was still wet from being washed and, although he had a change of clothes, he was still left shirtless to allow his wound to air out.
In this sweltering heat, Edwin barely wanted to wear a shirt either.
Maxwell’s nose had a slight crook Edwin hadn’t noticed earlier.
A childhood injury, perhaps? Edwin leaned in closer.
And then he was met with a beaming smile and big brown eyes.
Edwin jumped back. Maxwell’s smile only grew.
It was crooked and cocky in a way that stripped Edwin to a vulnerability he didn’t know he had.
Edwin straightened up and cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Maxwell tried to sit up but winced and lowered back down. “Better now.”
“Good. The surgery went well, but you’ll need to rest and let your shoulder heal for at least a few weeks,” he explained. “No sitting up for at least a week,” he added pointedly.
Maxwell chuckled from deep in his chest, and raised his hands defensively, the movement small. “You got it, Doc. Guess I should thank you for saving my life. Name’s Maxwell.”
A handsome name for a handsome man.
“You’re welcome, Maxwell. Don’t think you’re so special though, it’s what I do.”
Maxwell laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t consider myself special. I believe that’s for others to do.”
“Are you feeling hot at all?” Edwin asked, pressing his hand against Maxwell’s forehead. He was slightly warmer than Edwin would like.
“Not any more than usual.”
Edwin hummed and peeled the bandages back just enough to peek under, checking for pus. “So far so good. We’ll get those changed day after tomorrow.”
“So you’ll be treating me? Can I have your name then?”
Edwin’s lips twitched. “Well, you are in my section so yes but for the most part it’ll be nurses caring for you.”
“A pity.”
Edwin swallowed down his embarrassment and cleared his throat. “I’ll try to find the time to check up on you. I have other patients to attend to.” He stood.
“And what of your name?” Maxwell asked before Edwin could make his escape.
“Dr. Keller.”
Maxwell smiled. “We’re not well acquainted enough for first names?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“Not yet, Mr. Cox.” Edwin left with an unfamiliar fluttering in his chest.
* * * *
30 July 1918
Usual day today. Breakfast of biscuits and plum pudding. Received much needed supplies so morale is up. Continued good news of our troops pushing Germans back. An end to the horrors seems possible for the first time but no one dares speak it out loud.
Maxwell is healing well. He is pleasant company. I suspect he prides himself on being distracting.
* * * *
5 August 1918
I have long since become accustomed to the sound of men’s screams. The cries of a soldier in pain and shouts of panic at a sudden bomb shell would never lose their horror. Getting a proper amount of sleep can be a struggle with the constant noise.
Last night, I tried to get some shut eye near Maxwell (I have to admit it’s a more than regular occurrence), and he woke me with a blood curdling scream. I shot awake, as did a few others. Nightmares are commonplace here but I still went to his side. He didn’t seem to know where he was.
…Maxwell scrambled for purchase on his cot like a frightened animal, his breath coming out in wheezing pants. Edwin grabbed a hold of his shoulders and he jumped with a panicked shout. His whole body was shaking, his skin slick with sweat.
“Maxwell, Maxwell,” Edwin tried to reach him with a hushed voice. “You’re safe, you’re okay.” His main concern was getting Maxwell to calm down so he didn’t reopen his wound.
His eyes were wide and darted every which way. “I need…I need to get back,” he rasped. “H-Help me. Where—I…”
The darkness. It must be making the panic worse. Edwin lunged for a nearby gas lantern, the flame blinking on. He brought it up to his face and urged Maxwell to look at him.
“Maxwell. Look, it’s me. It’s Dr. Keller.” He gestured around them. “You’re in the hospital. You’re okay.” He took Maxwell’s trembling hand and squeezed. Recognition reached Maxwell’s eyes, the cloud slowly lifting from his mind.
“Keller…?”
Edwin smiled in relief at the sound of his name. “Yes, I’m here.”
The tension left Maxwell’s body and he slumped over himself, tears soon rolling down his face. He held his head in his hands and sniffled, trying to stifle his crying.
Edwin set the lantern down, the soft glow flickering over the pair, and sat next to Maxwell, awkwardly perched on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand on Maxwell’s back and rubbed small circles into his damp shirt. It took a few minutes before Maxwell was calmed enough to talk.
“S-Sorry about that. You can go back to sleep,” he muttered into his hands.
Edwin gave him a baffled look he couldn’t see. “I’ll do no such thing. Plus, your crying will keep me up.”
Maxwell let out a watery laugh and straightened up, wiping the tears and snot from his face. “Fair enough.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“You sure you want to hear about this?” Maxwell looked at Edwin seriously, his eyes still red and puffy. His hair was a mess from restless sleep, matted in the back and hanging in his face. The lantern cast dramatic shadows on his face, and even in this state he was absolutely gorgeous.
Edwin forgot to answer for a second while he stared. When Maxwell cocked his brow at him, he remembered himself. “I want to listen,” he finally said. “To help you, but also because I want to know.”
Maxwell sighed. “Okay. First though—” He reached into his pocket and produced a simple, silver lighter and a cigarette holder. Calming his trembling hands, Maxwell pulled one out and rested it between his lips.
With a flick of his thumb, a small flame came to life, and he cupped his hand around it while he lit his cigarette.
The embers crackled in the dark and Maxwell tilted his head back as he took a long drag.
Light spilled over his neck. Edwin longed to drag his fingers over the bump on his throat and tracing the curves of his jaw.
Maxwell parted his lips and released a slow trickle of smoke.
What Edwin would give to be that cigarette between his lips.
Maxwell noticed him staring. “You want one?” he asked, already offering the open cigarette holder.
“Um.” Edwin hesitated. He didn’t smoke often—the doctor in him suspected it must damage the lungs, but every other part of him craved something to take the edge off. There’s a reason cigarettes were part of the rations they received.
“Sure,” he found himself saying. Edwin pulled out a cigarette from the metal case and held out his hand for the lighter, but Maxwell was already pressing his thumb down on the spark wheel. The flame ignited and he brought it closer to Edwin’s face.
Holding his nerve, Edwin leaned in. He steadied the cigarette in his mouth with two fingers and hovered the butt in the flame.
He glanced up at Maxwell and saw he was already watching him, his brown eyes deeper than the sea.
Edwin held his gaze while he pulled back and inhaled, his body relaxing at the warm rush.
Maxwell leaned against Edwin, shoulder to shoulder.
“It was when I got shelled,” he started.
“I went over the top and nearly crossed to the enemy trenches but before I knew what was happening, I was on my back. Everything was blurry and I couldn’t hear, and I felt this searing pain—” He brought his hand up to his bandaged shoulder.