The German doctor leaned closer and asked his questions again, this time slower and louder, but the young soldier wasn’t listening. His thoughts were with the dead Australian. Would his body be returned to his troops to be transported home for a proper burial? Or would it be hastily dumped in an unmarked grave on foreign soil or discarded like rubbish in a field for wild animals to find?

These thoughts had become as routine as the nurse checking his vitals and the doctor asking him questions, and just like the seven times before, his wondering about the fate of the former occupant of the bed to his right led him to ponder his own fate should he die as a prisoner of war. He knew he’d taken a risk volunteering to fight in the war, but he’d assumed that should he die in battle, his remains would be recovered by his comrades and returned to his family, who would bury him near the cliffs of Dover, where they could visit his grave. The thought, though frightening, had given him a small sense of peace about his decision. That sense of peace no longer existed.

A primal scream ricocheted off the stone walls of the church the Germans had converted into a hospital. The young soldier’s head snapped in the direction of the scream.

Four beds over, a Canadian soldier, the victim of a mustard-gas attack, had bolted upright in bed. His arms swung out wildly, striking a nurse who’d been treating the pus-yellow boils covering his arms and face. The impact of the strike threw her to the ground.

“Over the top, boys!” the patient screamed, climbing off the bed.

The young soldier had heard talk of soldiers whose bodies returned from battle, but not their minds. There was little help and even less sympathy for those suffering shell shock. Watching the Canadian belly-crawl between two beds, the young soldier was certain the other man’s wide, unblinking eyes no longer saw a hospital room. He saw no-man’s-land, and he was fighting for his life.

The doctor rushed forward with a syringe of morphine to sedate the Canadian. The prisoner lunged at him, and chaos erupted as they wrestled for the needle. With another guttural scream, the prisoner threw the doctor to the floor. Medical staff rushed to help their injured colleagues and calm agitated patients. The prisoner plowed through the main aisle, knocking over everyone and everything in his path. A German officer stood at the church’s one exit, blocking the man’s escape.

“Halt!” he ordered as the prisoner barreled toward him. He pulled a revolver from the holster hugging his chest and aimed.

“No!” the young soldier screamed as the shot punctured the bedlam in the hospital.

The prisoner’s head jerked back, and his body collapsed in a heap on the floor. His boil-covered face came to rest at a crooked angle. Blood pooled around his head, and his lifeless eyes stared at the young soldier, burning in his memory, joining the others.