Susan crawled to Bertie, facedown in the field. His limbs were splayed, like a fallen scarecrow. The lambs scattered; their wavering cries grew. She touched his shoulder. No movement. Her breath accelerated, spawning cloudy puffs in the cold air. She rolled him over to find his eyes closed. Mud covered his cheeks. Coagulated blood clung to his forehead.

Susan trembled. Quickly, she placed her ear to his chest. A pulse. Then another. His chest slowly rose, then fell.

“Grandfather!”

He moaned. His eyelids quivered but didn’t open.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Bertie swallowed. “Susan,” he whispered.

“I’m here.” She touched his face.

“I fell.” His hand lifted, then settled to the ground.

She tried to lift him, but his limp body was too heavy. “I need to find help,” she said, glancing across the field. The cottage was a mere speck in the distance. With no other choice, she quickly ripped off her coat, tearing off two buttons, and placed it over her grandfather’s chest.

Bertie slowly opened his eyes. “Give me a moment, my dear.”

“I’ll be back,” she said, squeezing his hand. Before he could argue, she stood and ran, sprinting over the sheep pasture. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Cold air stung her skin. Her boots sank into the wet soil, causing her to lose one of her wellies. She retrieved her boot and put it on, then dashed towards home.

As she neared the cottage, she released a deep howling yawp that tore at her vocal cords. She shouted again. Louder. And the soldiers fled their tent.

“What is it?” a soldier asked, rubbing his eyes, as if woken from a nap.

“Grand . . .” Susan sucked in air and pointed. “Grandfather collapsed. I need help.”

He paused, then said, “We can’t leave our post. I’ll ring for an ambulance.”

“There’s no time!”

The soldier straightened his back. He glanced at his comrade.

Susan grabbed the soldier’s sleeve. “Now!”

Perhaps it was her shouts or her recent meltdown with the soldiers that created the misconception that she had a smidge of authority. Either way, she didn’t care. She needed help. Anyone’s help. Finally, after a hard tug on the man’s arm, the soldiers disregarded their strict instructions to man their posts and came to her aid.

When they reached Bertie, he was sitting up and rubbing a large goose egg on his forehead. He tried to stand and fell. His legs were weak, like sticks holding up a piano. Susan requested that the soldiers carry him, despite Bertie’s refusal for help.

“Put me down,” Bertie said.

The soldiers ignored him and pushed on, marching through the muddy field.

“Put me down, I say,” Bertie repeated.