Work Text:
She coughs as her senses come back to her. She blinks rapidly against the bright light and tries to make her brain catch up with what’s happening. It’s as she does this that she feels it, the barrel of the gun against her head. She takes a slow and steady breath; panicking won’t help her she’s trained for this. Panicking will only get her killed if they aren’t planning to do that anyway.
She quickly tries to take stock of her own injuries. She’s been in similar situations to this before, even if there’s never been a gun pointed to her head. She can feel blood trickling down her forehead and her upper left thigh. Her ankle seems tender, but it doesn’t feel broken.
Something about her minute movements must alert her captors - she’s sure there will be more than one - to the fact she’s come round. She’s pulled roughly to her feet while something is screamed at her in a foreign language, she thinks is Dari, but she could be wrong. It confirms her suspicion about her ankle, that it isn’t broken, but tender almost certainly sprained. She doesn’t cry out can’t let them see her weakness or give them the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.
The gun is pulled away briefly and Bernie thinks for a second, they are going to kill her then and there and wonders why they didn’t do it whilst she was unconscious. Her heart quickens but she doesn’t let the fear show, can’t afford to. She’s a British Army Major and it’s her job to show Great British Reserve. She’s trained for this.
The coarse hessian sack comes next instantly obscuring her of all vision. She almost wobbles, not helped by her sore ankle but she stands strong. As she feels her body armour and then her dog tags pulled roughly from her body. And it’s then she realises what’s happening. She’s being taken hostage and whoever is taking her is trying to make it look like she’s dead. Her heart begins to beat even faster, which she didn’t think was even possible. She reminds herself that she still can’t afford to panic, being taken hostage is better than being killed and even if they have her body armour and dog tags without a body the army will still look for her, won’t they? The question is her subconscious trying to force her to panic because she knows they will, she’s been in war zones enough times to know how these things work.
The gun is placed back against her temple then. Before her hair is pulled forcefully through the sack. There is force enough that she has no choice but to walk backward no idea where she’s going. She only stops when her legs bang into the back of what feels like a truck. Her knees buckle with the sudden movement, but she manages to stay standing. Still refusing to let the signs of pain escape her lips. She’s stronger than that. She’s a big macho army medic after all. This thought almost does make her cry, because Serena, she didn’t agree to this because she was happy with the idea, she agreed to this because she Bernie needed closure. Bernie can not imagine what it will do to her partner if she doesn’t make it home.
Serena is the last thought on her mind as she is abruptly lifted off the ground and thrown into the truck head colliding with the metal before the world goes black.
She comes too again, later, she isn’t sure how much later, the sack to thick to even work out if it’s still sunny. She feels aggressive hands grab hold of her shoulders and makes sure she’s ready to move her body along with their rough movements, trying to reduce any further injury to her body, can’t afford to look or act weak. Her ankle protests strongly below her, but she ignores it, has to ignore it. She feels slightly disorientated walking on uneven ground without her senses being allowed to do their normal job, but she keeps breathing deeply, lets herself be, guided, dragged to wherever it is they want to take her.
Instead, she uses her hearing, which she knows will have become heightened in her blind state. She can hear what she believes are three sets of footsteps not including her own. Each set of footsteps having its own unique pace on the rocky floor, allows her to guess there are at least three other people, men she assumes with her. She hears a door slam, just as she registers that the ground beneath her feet has become more even, can only guess that she’s inside a building of some sort.
She almost loses her balance when the hands that had been forcefully guiding her let go of her mid-step, but thankfully due to the sturdy army boots and the more even floor she manages to stay upright. She feels the barrel of the gun come to her neck, as the sack is pulled from her face. Wonders why they bothered to bring her here if it was just to kill her. Tries to tell herself that maybe they don’t want her dead, fighting the well not yet anyway out of her thoughts, because she cannot get through this if she thinks like that.
She wants to look around, survey her surroundings, gather all the knowledge she can. Knowledge is power after all, and she’s been trained. Trained to look for even the smallest speck of information that may help her. She’s also received her SERE training (defence survive, evade, resist, extract). Her fair share of it in fact during her twenty-five years service, including the training just weeks before she deployed here. She knows that if they know she is looking for any type of evidence, is compiling any potential weak points within the set up the militants have made here, knows they’ll kill her for that too. So instead, she waits, eyes fixed on the wall in front of her.
The room is dark but after the removal of the sack it isn’t so dark that she can’t see. The building from the one wall she can see seems to be fairly structurally sound, definitely more than a rushly built shack. Wonders if that might mean they are planning on keeping her here long term rather than moving her about. Has to hope that maybe that’s the case as it might give the army more chance of finding her.
And then suddenly a man is stood in front of her, not the same man that hold the gun she can still feel that being pushed against her neck. The man’s face is covered, naturally she thinks to stop him being identifiable. “You are a surgeon.” His accent is thick, but she’s done enough tours of duty to understand him easily enough.
“Yes,” she replies short and to the point, staring at his chest rather than his eyes, so to appear as if she’s respecting authority, though she doesn’t have an ounce of respect for the man.
“Look here,” the man says then, pointing his hand to the side, and Bernie allows herself to follow his gesture. Sees two men with guns in her peripheral vision as she does so, one guarding the door. Her eyes then land on a man, laid on a bed, deep wound in his leg oozing with blood, not fast enough to have severed an artery, but still enough that there is a decent pool of blood collecting on the floor. Realises that she is in some kind of very basic and very makeshift operating theatre. “Fix it.” And in that moment, Bernie knows why she’s here, why she isn’t dead, they need her skills. In that moment, she’s damn thankful she’d a bloody good frontline trauma surgeon, even if saving her own life does look like it might depend on patching up and saving the enemy. It’s allowed she reminds herself, that this is the survive part of her training. That patching this man up isn’t against any of the rules she agreed to when she became a soldier.
“Equipment?” She asks again not really wanting to say too much but knowing that it’s been long enough that they aren’t going to be offered up.
“Everything we have is in there,” the man speaks again pointing to a cupboard even further around the room. As she looks at it, Bernie sees another man, again face fully covered this time holding a kukri. Remembers the name from one of her previous tours, not that anything but the sheer size of it really matters right now. The man is stood in front of another door, and she categorises that information away for later in case it’s ever helpful.
She takes a slow step forward, trying to make it clear from her angle that she is heading towards the cupboard. Feels the man with the gun match her steps to keep it against her neck. She reaches the cupboard and moves slowly to open the door, keeping all her movement slow and none threatening. She might be a surgeon, but they also know she’s army. Does wonder if they know quite how highly ranked she is, guesses they have at least some knowledge of rank insignia.
She wants to sigh as her eyes land on a sparce supplies in the cupboard, a few bandages, a couple of scalpels, a handful of suture needles and one and two different size suture threads. She also sees a good number of disinfectant bottles which she guesses will hopefully help to keep any infections at bay. It’s seeing the content of the cupboard then that in some weird way make her thankful that she was the one taken hostage and not any of her own men or women, most of whom are on their first tour and would be less adept to cope with such sparse supplies. Of course, she’d rather that none of them, including herself had been taken hostage but at least she supposes she maybe has a chance at keeping the militants happy. She’s performed enough frontline emergency operations with the slightly wrong equipment to at least be able to try and make do.
She gathers the supplies she needs, before walking over to the casualty. Gives him a neutral title to make treating him just a little easier. Reminds herself of the two mottos she can live by, primum non nocere (first do no harm) and in arduis fidelis (faithful in adversity). The first is the oath she took when she first signed up to med school the second that of the RAMC and something she feels she’s done well enough during all her tours during her twenty-five years of service.
“This is going to hurt,” she says unsure if the patient can even understand English. Guesses not when one of the men in the room speaks in the foreign language, she’s still sure is Dari. Only then does the man nod. She takes her time cleaning the area, the bed, and her hands before the wound. She takes her time, knows that her work will be scrutinised once she’s finished, acutely mindful that she doesn’t have gloves and can’t afford to slip and cut herself risking infection or God knows what else.
She lets the familiarity of what she’s doing steady her a little, because if she is anything she is darn good at her job. Can perform this task with ease can almost imagine that she’s back at Holby in the theatre of AAU. But the ever-present force of the gun against her neck reminds her she’s not.
It doesn’t take her long to tend the wound, twenty maybe thirty minutes in her more careful state. “You need to stay off the leg so it can heal.” She says to the man again, easier to address him rather than the other men around the room. One of the other men translates again before the original man that spoke to Bernie comes up next to her to inspect what she’s done, has to assume that he’s in charge, well at least in charge of the other men in the room. Doesn’t say anything to Bernie but instead turns and talks to the other men in that foreign language again.
Two more of the men approach her to join the one that’s still got the gun to her neck, feels the sack go over her head and has no choice but to once again accept the darkness. She is thankful however when the gun is pulled away from her neck, knows it’s probably still somewhere in her vicinity but feels much better with it not touching her. She’s pulled forcibly by the arm and follows, not that she has any choice. She hears a door open, before she’s shoved unceremoniously into a room someone grabbing roughly for her hands. It’s ironic in a way, that were she back at Holby movement like that from any of her staff would make her body jump in fear, but here somehow as Major Wolfe she can force her body to control it. Feels the cold water as it’s poured over her hands and realises that they are at least cleaning the blood off. Can feel the splashes of water against the legs of her fatigues. As quickly as the water came it’s gone, and she’s once again being pulled along, remembers when she lands too hard on her ankle that she herself isn’t without injury. They go through two more doors before a hand grabs her shoulder forcing her to stand still. She hears another door open, and almost at the same time the sack is pulled off her head. She’s pushed violently in the back and takes a large step forward into the small empty room.
“Sleep.” Comes the command. “And try and escape and,” the man runs his finger under his throat by way of explaining what will happen to her. “Someone will always be out here keeping watch on you.” It’s the last thing she hears before the door is shut and she’s plunged into darkness.
She sinks down on the cold hard floor, knowing despite the insane tiredness she feels as a result of the recent events that she won’t be sleeping any time soon. Can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since the explosions, she doesn’t think it can be any more than twenty-four hours, probably a great deal less to be honest. Wonders if anyone has found her body armour and dog tags yet. Her mind drifts back to Serena at this, knows that as her first next of kin Serena will be the first to be informed by the family liaison officer of her disappearance. Can’t help but worry what the news will do to her girlfriend. God she never wanted this; knows she could never promise Serena she’d come home but deep down always felt she would. Knows that they’ve got so many things still to enjoy and explore together.
She wants to cry but won’t allow herself to. She’s got Great British Reserve and she’s bloody tough. If she has any say whatsoever, she’s getting back to Serena, back to her girlfriend. Has to trust that their friends and colleagues and the letter she’d entrusted Morven with for just such an event like this are enough to help her girlfriend stay strong when she does get the news. Hopes that somehow Jason will be able to cope and not add any extra pressure onto his Auntie.
She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she must at some point because the sound of the door opening wakes her. Startles her momentarily before she schools her face into a neutral expression just in time for the door to be open wide enough for her to be faced with another faceless man. Thinks from his height that it’s a different one from any of the ones yesterday.
“Eat.” He commands as he pushes a small bowl of rice towards her, it’s only then that she realises there is a light on in the room. Is thankful that it stays on when the door is once again slammed shut.
Her stomach grumbles then as if it’s telling her, it’s been far too long since she ate her last ration pack. She wants to grab for it and eat but she’s got a few more pressing issues. It’s the first time she’s seen light alone since the explosion; knows she’s at least got a few injuries that she needs to check over. She rolls up the leg of her fatigues, before loosening her combat boot, wincing slightly as she pulls it over her sore ankle. She can tell its swollen even before pushing her sock down. She curses herself that she didn’t at least elevate it somehow while she slept, then remembers to be kind to herself she had more pressing worries. She slides her sock back up putting her boot back on a lacing it up securely with practised ease. Really, she could do without having to wear them, but she can’t risk being unprepared. One of the things the army taught her, be prepared for anything and everything.
She turns next to her thigh, knows the wound is going to be fairly extensive from the blood she can see on her fatigues. Quickly undoes them, sliding them down her leg just enough to let herself see the damage. Its’s smaller than she expects but fairly deep, under normal circumstances would definitely have needed stitches, but this isn’t normal circumstances. She doesn’t touch it; knows it’s already going to be at heightened risk of infection and that she can’t afford to increase that risk. Knows that she’ll just have to try and monitor it over the next few days, even though she knows she won’t know when one day starts and another ends, not in here, not like this.
She slides her trousers back up then, ever the need to be prepared of course. Allows her fingers to move to the right side of her own temple, feels the cut there, the blood is dry and rough against her fingers, but that’s a positive in this situation. It may scar but it is unlikely going to get infected, body having already used its own defensive mechanisms to form a scab.
Only then does she allow herself to reach for the bowl, her neck cracking as she does, radiating pain down her spine, a reminder of the less than pleasant circumstances she found herself in last time she was deployed. Maybe someone out there genuinely is telling her it’s time to give up for good. Ironic she thinks when she’d already made that decision three years ago, hadn’t even planned on coming back this time until the army asked her to.
The bowl of rice is small, not nearly enough to sustain her especially not as the last thing she ate before this was her lunch time rations, and since then her body has been through such an ordeal. Knows that she somehow needs to conserve as much energy as she can if they are expecting her to act as their surgeon. The brain power it’s going to take to perform the jobs they expect of her as well as keeping herself cool and collect during what she can only describe as an ever-constant threat to her life is immense.
She can’t help but let her thoughts wonder as she sits there, unable and in a way unwilling to let herself sleep. Her thoughts wonder to Serena of course, curious if it’s been long enough that she’s been informed that Bernie is missing. Tries to force herself to remember Serena’s shift pattern so she can work out if she might be on AAU still totally oblivious of her girlfriend’s fate. Running AAU like a force to be reckoned with, laughing with their friends, treating the injured. Maybe even carrying out surgery, either planned or emergency due to the red phone. Bernie closes her eyes as her brain attacks her with images. Images of Serena’s soft kind eyes shining at her from between her mask and her leopard print scrub cap. The kind of smile that always tell Bernie that she trusts her, that she believes in her, that she loves her. They rarely need many words when they are in surgery together. But right here right now, Bernie does wish she could hear Serena’s voice.
She knows the door is going to be opened the next time it happens; she’d say she can guess approximately how long it is since the bowl of rice was pushed in but she doesn’t have a clue. It could have been minutes or hours, time when you’ve got nothing to do but be with your own thoughts is a funny thing.
There is a gun pointed directly at her again, and if she wasn’t under the genuine belief that the tiniest mistake from her will get them to use it, she’d say it was rather tiresome. Instead, she reminds herself, once again that she’s a British Army Major, that she’d trained for this, and has over twenty-five years experience of showing Great British Reserve.
She’s yanked to her feet, thankful that she’s in a position where she can force most of her weight onto her good ankle, at least as she finds her bearings. Steadies herself just as the sack comes down to cover her eyes. The hands that grab her a rough, rougher than any of the others so far, knows she’ll probably end up with bruises, but reminds herself that’s a small price to pay if she keeps her life during another encounter with the group that have taken her hostage.
She thanks her military training that she believes she can recognise their path through the building. Is almost certain that it’s the reverse of the trip they took to her cell an unknown amount of time ago. She recognises the sounds of the doors in reverse as well as the distance between them. She’s fairly confident even in her blind state, that she is being taken back to the makeshift operating room. What she isn’t ready for is the boot in the base of her back as the hands let go of her arms, causing her hip to bump painfully into the side of what she’s now certain is the makeshift operating table. She doesn’t make a sound though, doesn’t flinch at the pain now radiating through her back and down into her leg. Blinks rapidly to remove any traces of the tears that are trying to spring into her eyes. And then once more the sack is removed from her head.
She only allows herself to look at the operating table in front of her, looking at the man who just inflicted pain on her will only give him the satisfaction of knowing it worked. She instead forces her mind into army surgeon mode. It’s a slightly different mindset from her NHS surgeon mode, where most of the time shes got scans and tests and colleagues there to help her know at least to some extent what is wrong with a patient. She scans the body of the man in front of her. He’s unconscious, not dead she can see the rise and fall of his chest, and as she does, she spots it. The gun shot wound. He lucky she thinks in a warped kind of way, because why would she be happy for her enemy, that the shot hadn’t landed a couple of inches to the left, would have almost certainly got his heart.
She hears shuffling then, definitely not from the room they are in, but from somewhere near by, no voices just definite movement. The door on the opposite end of the room to which Bernie had entered opens, she can tell from the sound, it comes from in front of her rather than behind, has had years of training her hearing to work when her other senses can’t or aren’t allowed.
The footsteps get louder as they move across the room, still Bernie forces herself to look at the patient, trying to calculate from sight alone the size and depth of the bullet. Knows that it will make all the difference in the surgery she knows she’s going to be expected to perform.
Then someone grabs her head sharply and forces her to look to her left, she sees the woman, fear evident in every feature of her face dressed in US Military uniform. Realises she isn’t the only person being kept hostage. If the situation was different and Bernie was right now back in the theatre in Holby and Serena was the one stood with her, she’d be able to have a whole conversation with the woman with just her eyes. But she isn’t and the lady next to her isn’t Serena and can’t read her tiny facial expressions, so Bernie can’t even offer her the smallest bit of reassurance.
“She’s an anaesthetist,” one of the men says in a strong booming voice, pointing to the lady beside her. “You are a surgeon,” he says pointing to Bernie herself. “Together you make him better.” He points finally to the man on the table. “We have sedatives,” he says pointing to the supply cupboard which definitely didn’t contain sedatives last time.
Bernie has a few thoughts after that, the first being that at least she doesn’t have to try and operate on the man in his current state. She could and would have, of course, if that had been her only option, but she has no doubt he’d have come round mid surgery only to then pass out once more from the pain. The second is that she’s bloody thankful that she’s treated more than her fair share of gunshot wounds in the past. That she knows of the complications, the risk of bleeding, the fact that the bullet may be in pieces and that she may not be able to safely remove all of it without making the damage more severe.
Bernie moves slowly then towards the supply cupboard and is pleasantly surprised from a medical point of view to find it much better stocked than the last time she was in here. There are surgical kidney dishes, a variety of scalpels, sutures, needles, scissors, a handful of clamps and even a retractor, though she knows from sight it’ll be too big for this particular wound. There is also a variety of sedatives, strong enough to cause their casualty to feel little to no pain, but not strong enough to cause them to be so out of it that they need help breathing, that’s one thing the equipment here definitely doesn’t allow for. The biggest surprise comes at the sight of a box of surgical gloves. She doesn’t want to know how her captives got hold of all these things, whether it was in the explosion that allowed them to take her as hostage or if they have since been out and raided truck or hospital. She is however thankful that it will make performing the surgery easier and safer.
She carefully moves the implements she may need into one of the kidney dishes, picks up two pairs of gloves, one for her and one for her, companion isn’t the right word and neither is assistant, fellow hostage, though more than that because this surgery is going to require them working together.
She walks back to the table, as she does so her peripheral vision allows her to take sight of just two men in the room, both holding up guns in their direction. Knows that it is at least in part due to the implements that she’s holding. She wouldn’t stand a chance of really inflicting any damage with them though, not when she’d be shot instantly if she tried, won’t bother trying as she knows she’ll only cause her own death sentence.
She holds out a pair of the gloves to the woman and allows herself to quickly glance at the woman’s uniform at close range. Learns that her last name is Nelson and can tell from her insignia that she’s a corporal, thankful that her own many tours of duty have taught her well enough to recognise US military rank. Wonders if Corporal Nelson knows enough about British military ranks to work out how highly ranked, she herself is.
Once they are both gloved up, she speaks, keeping her tone soft and gentle. “If you sedate him, I’ll then assess his wound. I’ll need you to assist with the passing of instruments and such while you monitor him.” As she talks, she looks into the other woman’s eyes trying to reassure her that they’ve got this, that they can do it together.
The surgery is straight forward thankfully, the bullet, had only lost one fragment, and even that had been removeable with very little bleeding. The anaesthetist is very useful, follows her gentle commands and orders perfectly. Bernie can’t help but wonder if in some way it’s doing them both some good. Bernie so used to being in control of her team, both in the field in general and when in the when back in Holly on AAU. Knows that in her rank Corporal Nelson will be used to following orders and maybe the commands and a strong unwavering voice from herself are just what she needs.
They are allowed the luxury of washing themselves up afterwards. The bucket of cold water placed on the floor in front of the pair of them. She mouths thank you at the woman as they both crouch down next to the bucket and scrub at their arms, gloves not having been enough to keep their skin totally free of blood. She knows she can’t risk offering her thanks verbally, but the Major in her needs to offer the soldier in front of her some reassurance somehow, tries to make her eyes as bright as possible as she does.
The expected routine comes next, the hessian sack is placed over her head. She catches one last glimpse of the US Army Medic as she befalls the same fate, then she is once again pulled to her feet. She can tell from the grip on her arms, that she’s being taken back to her cell, by the same guy that brought her here. At least that means she’s somewhat ready for the slap around her face that comes after he’s ripped off the sack. It’s enough to force her face jarringly to the side though she doesn’t react, not with movement or sound. Just stands there firm until the door is slammed and she’s once again left alone in the darkness.
Being in the dark means she’s left with nothing but her own thoughts again. She feels her way towards the wall sliding down in the corner hoping it will give her the best support. She thinks of Charlotte and Cameron then, the US soldier had looked similar to what she imagines Charlotte will when she’s older. She knows her kids hate her for what she’s been doing here for the last eight and a half months. Knows they hated her for deploying every time it’s happened since they’ve been properly old enough to understand. She’d never been able to find the words to be able to explain it to them, why she felt the need to do what she did.
She’d never planned on having children, even before marrying Marcus, she’d known her true feelings were for women, but she’d had certain expectations to fulfil so she’d joined the army and married him anyway. Had hoped that what with tours of duty and being asked to move all around the country that they’d never have time for kids. Her feelings had of course changed each time one of her children had been placed upon her chest, wrinkled and bloody and just perfectly beautiful. But despite that it hadn’t stopped her love for the army. She learnt to do the maternal thing for short periods between tours and operations and all the other things that were expected of her as an officer. She guesses if she admits it honestly, she was scared of messing up their relationship if she was around too long, at least with being away so often she could be fun and exciting when she was actually home. Her plan hasn’t totally worked out though as her job had led to her destroying any relationship she had with them; Alex had been the final nail in that coffin.
Cameron of course had given her another chance, their strictly work relationship had turned into something closer resembling mother and son somewhere down the line, though had always remained professional at work of course. He’d berated her when she’d told him she was deploying again and wouldn’t even let her explain why. They’d snapped back into that strictly work relationship and Bernie hadn’t failed to notice that Cameron’s short-term residency at St James had coincided with her deployment. She’d thought then that maybe she’d ruined her relationship with him forever. She’d cried in private the day she’d received that first bluey from him. The first one he’d written by choice and not because he’d been forced to as a teenager by Marcus. It had explained how he’d spoken to Serena and that he thought he was beginning to understand why she’d done what she had. Of course, it had been Serena who had finally gotten through to him, she has always been better at that sort of thing than Bernie.
It’d taken her a few days to send him one back, she’d messed up the first four replies she’d tried to write. Words stumbling even in the written form, but in the end, she’d managed, and they’ve sent blueys back and forth since. He’d even sent her a care package on her birthday, filled with all the things him and Charlotte used to send her when they were younger, well except for the absence of any children’s artwork. It had given her hope that maybe once she was home, she’d really be able to rebuild that relationship with him, really be his mum. She isn’t sure she’ll ever get that now.
She thinks of Charlotte too, so different to her brother. Organised, meticulous, punctual, feisty, and stubborn. She guesses in some way she gets some of that from her so she can’t totally blame her daughter. It’s the reason that they’ve only shared a handful of phone calls since her and Marcus’s divorce, since Marcus had told the kids about Alex. She knows it’s not because Alex is a woman, Charlotte is far too liberal for that. Knows it’s because she lied about Alex, but at the time it had seemed best, hiding that part of her was all she’d ever known. Had wanted to try and get out of her marriage without hurting anyone but had only made the whole thing worse.
She misses Charlotte more than she’d ever dare voice to anyone. She’s tried to make amends with her daughter, but she just won’t have it. Guesses she only has herself to blame really. But that doesn’t make it easier, she’d told Charlotte she was deploying again, of course she did, but she’d been met with a few choice words from her daughter followed by a final “I hate you.” She wonders then if Charlotte knows now about the fact she’s missing, wonders if her daughter regrets her final words the way Bernie regrets so many of the choices she’s made during her years.
She considers then if Charlotte will accept her letter from Serena if she never does make it home. She’s entrusted Serena with the letters for Charlotte and Cam, Morven having been entrusted with Serena’s. Of course, she doesn’t ever want them to be needed but she just hopes that if it is Charlotte will at least let her girlfriend explain, on her behalf, how sorry she is that she wasn’t a better mum, that they never got a chance for that special relationship.
She forces her mind away from the sombre thoughts then, a hard feat in the pitch black with only her own brain for company. Has to picture in turn both of her children, then Serena and after that Jason. Has to just allow her heart to be full of love, as if even from three thousand miles away their love will somehow keep her safe. She knows it can’t, but it will at least let her drift off into an uneasy sleep.
The next time she’s awoken it’s to the light in her room going on. The light wakes her, anything would wake her here with her senses hyper aroused. But the expected opening of the door doesn’t come, well not straight away. When it does finally it’s to a tiny basin of water and some fresh clothes being shoved towards her. Knows this isn’t for her benefit as such. Knows that losing the army fatigues will make her harder to recognise if anyone ever does find her. Knows that the washing part is important especially in the small confines of whatever building they have here. Realises that they know she needs to stay at least somewhat healthy to perform the surgeries they require of her.
She knows they aren’t going to leave her; it should make her feel subconscious, but she’s served in the army for too long to be worried about getting changed in front of men. There have been far too many occasions when her and her unit have been in a rush to get somewhere or needed to get ready for an emergency operation where time had been prioritised over privacy. Maybe she’s thankful for that now, makes it easier to undress and wash and redress in the beige top and trousers they have provided her with, knowing the men’s eyes are on her, doesn’t look at them won’t give them that power over her.
The US army medic is dressed similarly the next time they are together in the makeshift operating theatre. This time dealing with a blast injury. There is little they can do for his burns other than dress them, though of course that only comes once they fixed his abdomen. Bernie’s thankful that it’s one of the least extreme cases she’s seen. Is very aware that she hasn’t got a hope in hell of getting hold of blood here if he loses too much.
Corporal Nelson is in there with her for the next four surgeries. The first is a man with a stab wound and Bernie has strange suspicions that it isn’t a combat injury, well at least not one from an altercation with the British or US military anyway. The next is another gunshot wound, this time to the thigh, made more complicated by the multiple fragments the bullet has broken into due to the force at which it made contact. She ends up having no choice but to leave two of the fragments embedded. The third, after what feels like one of her longest stints in her cell is an open leg fracture, and she’s thankful that she’s as well rested as she can be under the circumstances and even more thankful for the help of Corporal Nelson whose skills are definitely natural. By contrast she feels like she’s only been back to her cell maybe an hour before she’s pulled back to yet another surgery. This time a man has lost his ear, Bernie can’t quite work out how, doesn’t question it just uses her own skills and the help of the US army medic to ensure he doesn’t bleed out and to try and reduce his risk of infection as quickly as possible.
The next time Bernie is called upon, she panics internally when she doesn’t see Corporal Nelson. She’s not sure how long it’s been since they performed surgery on the man who had lost his ear, only that she’d been fed since. The army major in Bernie has an unwavering need to protect Corporal Nelson as if the woman was one of her own squadron. Feels like she has a duty as her senior, as her commanding officer to protect her. The surgery is simple just a few small cuts that need stitching, Bernie guesses maybe from being caught at the very edge of an explosion. Hopes when she realises how simple the operation is that that’s why the US army medic isn’t here accompanying her. Allows herself to worry briefly for the other woman as she yet again falls into an uncomfortable sleep. Though is thankful when in her dream state her brain thinks of Serena.
She’s pulled roughly from her dream some unknown amount of time later, by the sound of heavy footsteps. She’s grateful for her military hearing and perception that she hears the footsteps as a pre-warning to the door opening. She’s got no idea what time it is; can’t distinguish exactly how long she’s been held, though would guess upon at least a week, probably longer, with the different surgeries she’s performed. She has no indication if the army are any closer to finding her. What she does know as she stands over the casualty on the makeshift operating table, Corporal Nelson back across from her, looking as unharmed if as fearful as ever, is that she, can’t save the man’s leg. It has no pulse and from the looks of it hasn’t had one for a few hours at best. Knows that even back at Holby with Serena across from her they’d never even try to save the leg. She’s almost certain they can save the man though, but not if they try and make her, make them, save the leg. She realises they’ll kill them if he dies, she’s got to at least try and get them to see reason. Her military training kicks in as she runs the scenarios over in her head in seconds. Best case scenario they let them amputate the leg and they and the patient all live. Worst case scenario she makes it clear they can’t save the leg and they kill her for arguing. Final scenario is that they try to save the leg which she knows won’t happen, the man dies, and they’ll kill them both anyway. She’s a fighter she’s at least got to try.
“I can save him,” she says voice the epitome of calm despite the knife blade that’s digging into her neck, five inches from her carotid artery. She uses only the first person in the hope that if anything goes wrong, they’ll blame her and not Corporal Nelson. It’s her skills being tested here after all, and she cannot let the other woman take the consequences if anything goes wrong. “But for me to do that I need to amputate his leg.” She feels the knife slash across her neck, wills herself not to call out, not to show weakness, despite the pain searing through her body. “I CAN save him,” she repeats, as the knife stills, far too close to her artery for comfort.
“Okay,” the voice comes from the far side of the room and the knife is instantly pulled away from her neck. Bernie glances up and sees a militant she doesn’t recognise. He looks like he’s higher ranking than the rest of the men in the room. “Save my son, but if you fail,” he points his gun directly at her head, finger on the trigger, knows the slightest bit of pressure would end her life there and then.
She takes a calming breath, not one that’s big enough to be noticed by the men that surround her but enough to steady the slight shake she can feel in her hands. She might not be sure how long she’s been here but one thing she’s sure about is that she isn’t going to lose her Great British Reserve. She’s sure it’s one of the only things that have got her this far, well that and the thought of getting back to Serena.
She channels her army training, her Great British Reserve, her need to be a major and protect her subordinates, the wonderful US army medic in front of her, who has during every surgery so far followed her commands and her orders without question. She follows the same pattern now, every time she speak to Corporal Nelson, she offers strong but gentle commands, easy to follow and understand but where the other lady doesn’t need to think, doesn’t have to worry about making a mistake. That part is easy Bernie thinks, she’s commanded men and women for long enough to know how to make things just a little bit easier on them. The surgery however is not, they don’t have quite the right equipment and the saw they need to use isn’t anywhere near as sharp or sterile as it should be but it’s all they have. Takes all the effort they both have, to finally get all the way through the bone. It’s a surgery Bernie has performed too many times before, but it’s one of her most hated, knows how life changing it is. Has been told a few times by men that they wished they’d have died instead. But she can’t let that happen not this time.
She takes her time, ensuring all the areas of bleeding at looked over, to ensure that this man has the best chance of not bleeding out after he’s left the operating table. She spends even more time making sure the below the knee stump will be as neat and as sightly as possible, knows that as the son of whatever kind of leader had spoken to her earlier that this man will be held in high regard.
The man, the father of the patient is at her side examining her work before she’s even had time to put the suture needle back into the kidney dish Corporal Nelson is holding out to her. She does however place it back in the dish along with the bloody surgical gloves, then stands still has her work is examined, thankfully by look alone. She isn’t sure she’d have dared mention the risk of infection, not so soon after having to defy the situation to amputate the man’s leg in the first place.
There is talking then, in that foreign language that she still wants to think is Dari. It’s rough, fast, and forceful and in some way more unpleasant than Bernie feels like she’s heard it before. The sack comes down to cover her eyes as the foreign voices continue around her. She’s a little shocked that she hasn’t been given the opportunity to wash up, though she guesses they’ve never had to give her that have just always chosen to. She loosens her body, stiff from the hours spent over a table that is slightly too low for her really. She assumes she’s being pulled to her cell, but it’s as the second door shuts behind them that she realises they aren’t. They turn left instead of right; her military training has allowed her to memorise the route despite her blind state. She doesn’t panic, can’t panic just has to allow herself to be taken to wherever they are taking her. They go through two more doors, three more steps forward before she’s violently push to the ground, forced to her knees. She doesn’t think they are going to kill her, thinks if they were going to do that, they’d have done it as soon as she’d finished the operation, but something in her gut tells her she’s about to be punished. Punished for daring to speak out about the fact she couldn’t save the man’s leg; it may have been true, and it may have needed to be said but that doesn’t mean she didn’t defy them.
She feels her shirt pulled roughly from her body, forces herself to stay a lot calmer than she feels as the terror tries to take control of her senses. Her heart is hammering against her chest, reminding her that she’s alive, that she can feel, that she can fear. But she can’t afford the fear not right now. She doesn’t know how many people surround her. Can’t force her brain to comprehend what they might be about to do to her, but she has to stay calm.
She hears it just a split second before she feels it. The unmistakable sound of the whip cracking in the air, her body tenses unconsciously a small immeasurable amount of time before she feels the whip make contact against her back. The force rocks her forward slightly and she bites on her lip hard to stop herself crying out in pain. Army Major with Great British Reserve she reminds herself.
Each blow is worse than the one before, she knows she has never felt pain like it, and that’s saying something with the things she’s been through, she’s been blown up for goodness sake. There are tears, that she hasn’t given herself permission to release, streaming down her face behind the sack but still she refuses to let a sound escape her lips. By the time the fifth blow lands against her back every nerve ending in her body is protesting. She wants to yell out, do anything to make it stop, but forces herself to think of the alternative. The pain that starts in her back radiates in waves right to the tips of her toes and the ends of her fingers. All she can do is bite her lip harder, mouth full of her own blood, as she waits. Waits for the fresh pain to come again and mix with the fire that is already coursing through her body. Knows she has to be ready and prepared so that when it does, she doesn’t let the pain show. But it doesn’t come. She’s pulled forcibly to her feet. Feels the warm ooze of blood down her back, reminds herself to breathe in and out slowly, trying to slow her heartbeat, despite the fact her head is literally swimming with the pain she’s in. It’s all she can do in the situation, keep herself calm, keep her head. She forces herself to remember that in spite of the pain she is in that she is still alive. Being alive means she still has a chance to make it back to Serena, to her children to Jason, she’ll endure any of it if it gives her the chance of getting to hold Serena in her arms again. Can’t be the one responsible for causing Serena so much heartache if she never makes it home.
Her t-shirt is forced back over her head. It rubs roughly against the deep welts she can feel on her back, sending further sparks of pain through her body, but if it means she’s going back to her cell she’ll take it. She’s disorientated as she’s dragged through five doors. She can’t recognise the path she’s taking, and her mind is also distracted in ensuring she doesn’t cry out in pain as the harsh movements cause the already unbearable pain to worsen. She only realises they are back to her cell when they stop suddenly. The final part of her punishment coming as she’s shoved to the floor as the sack is pulled from her head.
She stays frozen for a minute. Waits until she hears the door close, until the footsteps are so far away that she can no longer hear them. Only then does she allow herself to move slowly into a more comfortable position, every movement causing her intense pain. She can feel the blood trickle down her back as she does so. Knows even without being able to see them that the welts are deep. She won’t risk touching them, can only hope they will heal on their own and thinks with a hint of sadness that if she ever makes it home it’ll be with more scars than she ever imagined. She forces herself to stop thinking about not making it home to Serena and instead occupies her mind with thinking about the new scars she’ll have gained from this tour of duty. It’s a strange thing to keep her mind occupied but it’s something at least. The scar on her arm from the suicide bomb rescue back in January. The ones on her thigh and her forehead from the explosion the day she was captured. The one on her neck from just a few hours before and at least one probably more from the welts on her back. Can’t tell how many of them broke skin, can’t tell from feel alone how many the blood is coming from. She falls asleep at some point woken only when the rice and water is pushed into her cell. She is thankful that even in this place where it’s impossible to guess how much time has actually passed in a numerical form that it seems to be a fairly long while until her skills are needed again.
Her body protests more than ever when she is next yanked from her cell, but she forces it to comply. She needs to check on Corporal Nelson. Needs to know if she did enough with her words to protect her companion or if she’s suffered the same fate as she herself did. She sees the moment that Corporal Nelson realises she’s hurt, eyes wide as she catches sight of Bernie’s bloody t-shirt. Bernie watches as she goes to speak, shakes her head minutely to stop her, to make sure she doesn’t make herself a target. But it’s also the confirmation that Bernie needs, that using the first person when she spoke was enough to protect the other woman. Her body lets out some of the tension it was holding the major in her did its job. It looked out and protected the wellbeing of the woman who Bernie feels probably irrationally responsible for. They perform this latest surgery fairly quickly, the time they’ve spent together has allowed them to be somewhat used to the way the other works. Bernie can’t help but be thankful that once they are finished, they are allowed to clean up before going through the now familiar ritual of being taken back to her cell.
Her cell is lonely, but in a way she’d take it over what she faces out of it. But the one thing she can’t stand is the lack of time perception. There are occasions when she can only assume that a long time passes between them needing her expertise. The times where she is given two and once even three bowls of rice, without leaving her cell. Though it still doesn’t help her comprehend how long she’s been there, because she isn’t sure they are feeding her three times a day, and especially not at usual mealtimes.
There does come a time when she is more grateful than ever that she’s an army major and an experienced frontline trauma surgeon. The four patients come in quick succession, doesn’t even make it back to her cell between the second and the third. She knows from the complexity of the surgeries that she’s been awake over twenty-four hours when she begins to assess the injuries on the fourth man. She’s done this before in the field, probably not all too far from where she is now, though in totally different circumstances. It’s rare she knows to have someone of her rank and her medical experience, most choosing to either further their medical or their army career, she’d of course chosen both. Has meant that on multiple occasions she was the most senior ranking in both authority and medical terms. Has therefore led in quick succession a multitude of different surgeries when they’d had a really bad day. When the life of the soldiers depended on her experience, no matter how long she’d already been awake, or how much her fingers wanted to cramp from the way she has to wield the scalpel with such precision. She can do it here too she reminds herself, as she flexes her fingers, trying to stretch them out as she assesses the injuries with her eyes. She needs her body to stay on side for this. Her back, from an unknown amount of time sleeping on the floor and the fact she still isn’t fully healed from the day she was whipped. Those things accompanied with hours of leaning over the slightly too low operating table have cause the sometimes dull pain she’s grown to expect to radiate painfully sending the occasional shooting pain down her leg.
The man on the table in front of her has a variety of shrapnel wounds, including a large fragment of metal currently protruding from his abdomen. It’s the last thing she plans on working on, knows for a fact that it isn’t bleeding as the metal itself is plugging the wound. Before she gets to that however she needs to deal with all the other shrapnel wounds. She gives her hands one final stretch before looking up at Corporal Nelson. They’ve worked together on most of the operations Bernie has been expected to perform, and it’s been nice to have someone at least friendly in the room with her. Even if of course, she isn’t glad the other woman has also been captured. The medical equipment they need has kept coming since that second surgery she’d performed, still doesn’t want to know how but she’ll use it to her advantage for now. This surgery too is long, she has to be sure every time that there is no metal fragments lefts in most of the wounds before stitching them. There is one wound on his arm where she decides it is safer to leave the shrapnel embedded, it won’t cause any long-term effects but she’s worried that moving it could.
Once all the smaller wounds are dealt with, she knows it’s time to turn her efforts to the man’s chest. She’s just about to ask Corporal Nelson to assist when it happens, she sees her hands slip from around the kidney dish that she’s holding, and watches as if in slow motion it falls towards the floor. Everything in her wants to try and help, to stop it but she knows she can’t, will only suffer the same fates she’s almost certain is about the become Corporal Nelson if she does. The kidney dish clatters to the floor just a second before the gun shot sounds. Bernie’s been closer to gun fire before, even fired her own gun on enough occasions that she can hear the sound without flinching. This time however it’s harder than ever, has to force herself to stay stoic and unmoving. The sound of the body hitting the floor comes next and Bernie finds herself fighting every instinct both military and medical, wants to rush to the woman’s side and see if she can help. Bernie knows her own life depends on doing the exact opposite, that if she shows even the smallest ounce of concern for the woman that they’ll kill her too. Knows it’s already too late, that Corporal Nelson is already dead. She does force herself to look at the woman’s face where she lies still and unmoving on the floor, face still but full of shock. Forces herself to commit every tiny feature to memory, needs to ensure that if she ever gets out of here alive that she can remember Corporal Nelson, ensure that her family at least get the truth about what happened to her. The major in her needing to ensure that this woman, a woman who has helped in countless unspoken ways is remembered for all the right reasons.
The major in her feels guilty as she looks away, and back to her patient as the men grab disrespectfully for the woman’s body. Feels like she’s doing her some sort of disservice, but also knows that while hours seem to have past it’s probably been a minute maybe two. Knows that she needs to carry on with the surgery to protect her own life. She thinks guiltily that it will now be more complicated, that she’s going to somehow have to remove the metal, work out where the resulting bleed is coming from stem it and repair any resulting damage all on her own. It would have been a tricky enough operation for her and Serena to perform in the theatre of AAU. Right here and now alone it feels almost impossible. She chides herself, she can’t think of that, needs to get this right so she can get back to Serena. Feels guilty as she even thinks it but can not allow herself to follow the same fate as Corporal Nelson because she cannot imagine what that would do to Serena, to her children and to Jason if she doesn’t make it home.
Her body protests, probably largely due to the adrenaline that she knows will be coursing through her veins and she forces herself to take it slow. Ensures her movements are calculated and precise. She knows the bleed is going to come when she removes the large shrapnel fragment, but she forces herself not to panic. Even as it gushes over her arms, forces herself to find the source of the bleed, and stitch it better than she ever has in her career both military and civilian, not because the man’s life depends on it - though it does - but because her life depends upon it. When she’s finished, she takes a small step back, waits for the scrutiny that she knows is going to be worse than ever due to the circumstances, but stands strong, refuses to show weakness. As the man next to her nods his approval, though she’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually have any medical knowledge, water is poured quickly over her arms before the sack is once again place over her head,. She has somehow survived yet another encounter with the militants who have taken her hostage , and as she’s being dragged roughly back to her room she prays to some unknown entity that she doesn’t believe in that she gets a proper break now, knows even Major Berenice Wolfe needs to decompress after this, and sleep as she’s sure she’s been awake at least twenty eight hours by now.
Once she’s alone in her cell, and she’s forced herself to eat the rice that was waiting for her, she allows herself a silent prayer of sorts. She doesn’t believe in God, isn’t sure many people in her position do but she needs to at least do something for the woman she’s lost. Sends up a silent thanks for her and all the help she’s given her during their time together. The dreams she experiences when she finally falls asleep are the most unpleasant yet. Images of Serena being the one opposite her in the operating room and dropping the dish, she wakes forcing herself to stay calm and not shout out. She still needs sleep and as she falls into yet another slumber the dream comes back, this time the person opposite changes each time she looks at them, Serena, Cameron, Charlotte, Jason and even Elinor. Reminding her in the most awful way what she has to lose, but also the pain that will be caused if her own life is ended. She wakes violently again, shaking the the image of all of her loved ones laying dead on the operating room floor from her mind. Reminds herself that all of them, Serena, Cameron, Charlotte, Jason and Elinor are all safe at home, that they are all physically okay, even if mentally they might not be. She doesn’t have a clue how they are coping with the news of her being missing. Wonders how many welfare visits they’ve had by now. Wonders if Serena has read her letter or if she still isn’t ready, had told Morven to tell her she had to be ready.
She forces herself to think of other things then, unable to allow any more negativity into her thoughts. Reminds herself for what feels like the millionth time since she’s been captured that she’s a British army major, that she knows how to muster Great British Reserve and that’s what she’s got to continue to do. She thinks then of all of the men she’s operated on since being taken captive, of the lives that would have been lost without her skills, it doesn’t make her feel good per say, these men are still the enemy but she knows deep down that a lot of them do what they do out of fear rather than choice.
The first time after Corporal Nelson’s murder that she’d forced to help a casualty is tough, she forgets for a millisecond that she isn’t coming to join her, before replaying the whole event over in her head again. In the end it turns out it’s just burns that need dressing rather than actual surgery and she’s thankful that it means she can get out of the room and back to her cell faster than usual.
As she continues to be expected to perform surgery alone the medical equipment continues to come, she still doesn’t question it, just reminds herself each time that she only needs one pair of gloves. Each time she makes it back to her cell she is even more thankful than the time before that she is still alive, knows others in her situation with no ending in sight might rather be dead, but she has so much to keep fighting for. And it’s this and the thoughts of those she’s fighting for that helps her sleep.
The sound when she wakes is so quiet that she almost believes she’s imagining it. She’s tired after all, doesn’t know how long she’s been here, would guess that it’s been a least a couple of weeks, heart aching at the thought of Serena having no real clue what is going on for such a long period of time. She’s sure she can hear a commotion in the distance though. Strains her ears to hear the shouting, the footsteps, the gunshot. That’s the moment she realises she isn’t imagining it. She stands quickly thankful that her ankle is now healed, moves herself to the corner of the room. Wants to have the best view of what’s happening if her cell door is opened without appearing threatening.
She’s got no idea who or what is causing the commotion. Multiple possibilities running through her head, she’s an army major after all and trained to plan for all eventualities. It could she thinks be more militants, knows that sometimes they fight amongst themselves, for land, buildings, even people - her maybe if word has somehow got out that this group of militants have got themselves a decent surgeon. Realises that maybe if that is the reason, she won’t end up being killed during whatever this is. The other thought she almost doesn’t dare to believe. That maybe the army have somehow found out about her location , whether or not they know it’s her location or if they are just ambushing it because they know there are militants here.
Her senses are hyper aware, it’s dark and she can’t see, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t hear. Listens carefully for footsteps, doors slamming and more shouting and the unmistakable sound of more gun shots. It might have scared her years ago on her first tour, but now she’s done enough, seen enough that she knows she can’t change anything just has to hope. And suddenly she hears them, the voices outside the door, another gunshot which she thinks can only mean that whoever was guarding the door is either dead or seriously injured.
The thought crosses her mind for only a second because as soon as she hears the door opening, she lifts her arms above her head. If they are other militants, they may well kill her no matter what. If they’re British or American forces, the sight of her clearly in a position of surrender should be enough to stop them firing so she can get across who she is.
As the door swings open the lights hurt her eyes momentarily, make her blink against her will, as she wonders exactly how long it’s been since she’d last been fed, knows that was the last time the light was on. When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted with the unmistakable sight of the desert-coloured fatigues that she knows only too well from over twenty-five years of service belong to some serving members of the British army. Her brain wants to explode with relief, but she’s been an army major long enough to know it’s not time for that yet. Knows she needs to keep herself calm and collect for a while yet.
“Hold fire,” she commands trying to use her best major voice, though even to herself it sounds weaker than it should. She also knows they shouldn’t shoot given that they’ve clearly had time even in the few seconds they’ve been standing there to know she isn’t a threat. “24975394” the number rolls off her tongue the way it has ever since she was two weeks into Officer training, and she got a rollicking because she fumbled over it. “Major Berenice Wolfe of the Royal Army Medical Corps. I’d show you my ID tags, but they were removed from my person before I was brought here.”
Bernie watches almost in disbelief as one of the two soldiers in front of her motions for her to step forward, knows they need to check she genuinely isn’t a threat. She sees the moment they are happy that she doesn’t have anything on her to harm them as their weapons drop slightly, not enough to leave them unprepared but enough that they aren’t actively pointing the guns at her. It gives her time to glance at their arms and realise they are a corporal and a sergeant. Knows there will be countless more soldiers in and around the building.
“Right if you are who you say you are you’ll understand when I say we are going to get you out of here now, but that I’ll have to keep a hold of you at least for now.” She knew it was coming, as he’d said she understands, knows protocol well enough, but that doesn’t mean the warning isn’t welcome after such a long time being manhandled by the militants.
“I’m Sergeant Doherty and this is Corporal Penton by the way” the other man offeres as they start to move through the building. She watches the movements of the two men as they make their way through the building, the other two soldiers following all the proper procedures as they check around the corners and cover each other’s back as they make their way slowly through the building. Through rooms she’s likely been through countless times but doesn’t remember from sight due to being blindfolded, her mind too occupied with other things to remember if this is the path she travelled whilst blindfolded. She does of course recognise the makeshift operating room; it had become a strange bit of familiarity in this unknown world.
She sees multiple dead bodies as they continue to walk through the building, it should affect her in some way, but it doesn’t. Wonders how many of the men on the floor had been responsible for the marks on her body, the cut on her neck or the whip marks on her back. Then suddenly for the first time in, well she still doesn’t know how long she stood in the sunlight. She takes a deep breath of the hot air, and never has it felt so good to breathe the hot humid Afghanistan air. She isn’t sure if she wants to scream or cry with relief but in reality, she does neither, there is still far too much she is going to need to do, she needs to keep, for now at least, being Major Wolfe.
Suddenly the space in front of her is a hive of activity. Organised chaos. Each and every person having a specific role, the British army is nothing if not precise. She watches as Sergeant Doherty goes off and speaks to a superior, can’t see the other man’s rank insignia due to the distance but knows the other man is superior when Sergeant Doherty salutes first.
She watches the gentleman converse for a while. Assumes the sergeant is filling the superior in on who she’s claiming to be. Guesses she’s right as she watches as the superior approaches her where she is stood, still being held onto by Corporal Penton. She listens as words are spoken between Corporal Penton and the superior, feeling somewhat relieved when he lets go of her and walks off, before the other man addresses her. “Excuse me, Major Wolfe,” he says, clear tone of respect in his voice. “As the highest ranking officer on this operation I’ll have to take charge here, I know it isn’t exactly usual, but with us being unable to be sure you are who you say you are and no one higher ranked being available we don’t really have a choice. All I can do is apologise.” She gets it. Knows there is protocol to follow, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have questions. She’s just about to speak when cool metal is placed into her hands. Isn’t sure whose water canteen it is but unscrews it quickly, forcing herself to drink slowly, only then realising how dry her mouth is, doesn’t want to make herself sick.
“Of course, I’m a stickler for protocol myself so there is no need to apologise. What I would like you to do though is answer me a few questions, ones that you should be permitted to answer even within protocol.”
“Certainly, Major Wolfe,” his eyes seem kind and she’s glad that someone with as much experience as he must have to be a captain is in charge of this. Understands that it’s a unique situation, especially as she doesn’t have her body armour dog tags or even her uniform to prove who she is.
“What’s the date? I’ve not left that building,” she says inclining her head in its direction, “since I was brought here, couldn’t even tell you how long I’ve been here.”
“7th of May.” and shit Bernie thinks because that means her regiment, the men and women she’s in charge of have gone home. That she’s been held captive for almost three weeks. Her heart aches for Serena then, wants to say she hopes she’s holding up okay, but knows she probably isn’t, that she herself wouldn’t be if the roles were reversed. Wonders how long it’ll take them to confirm who she is and actually let Serena know she’s alive. Knows that she’ll have been told there is a possibility of her being dead, always the possibility when someone is missing in action like she has been for the last twenty days.
“How far from Base Inkerman are we? Knows he won’t be able to tell her where they are in case, she isn’t who she says she is but should be able to tell her how far from it they are as there is little, she can do with that information without knowing exactly where and in what direction etc the base is.
“Around fifty miles,” Captain Williams tells her without hesitation.
“Right okay, slightly further than I expected actually, though I didn’t really know because I was out cold the whole journey here.” She admits honestly. “I’m guessing with all this and the fact you need to confirm who I am you didn’t actually know this was my location?”
“No but there have been medical supplies going missing recently, not tonnes but enough for us to need to look into it and it led us here.” And Bernie is more thankful than ever for the medical equipment she had to work with during her time as a hostage.
“You’ll find some of it in the makeshift operating room. Though less than have gone missing I’ve had to use a lot of them over the past few weeks, I’m guessing you’ve gathered by now that’s why they took me.”
Captain Williams nods at her. “I did wonder, especially with who you are claiming to be, it would make total sense. Now I’m sorry Major Wolfe, but I have a few questions for you so that we can start to get things rolling, contact your base, try and get things started with getting your identity confirmed.” Bernie gets it, they aren’t just going to let her walk into an army camp without being sure but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hope they can do it quickly, needs Serena to know she’s safe.
“How did you end up here?” Bernie recounts the parts of her being here that she can actually remember, the explosion at the field hospital, having her dog tags and body armour taken from her, being forced into the back of a truck, explains there isn’t much more than that she can tell him because the only other things she remembers are from within the building, none of which will help confirm her identity. Knows that at some point she will have to relay information of everything that happened here during her time as a hostage to a commanding officer, though not her commanding officer as he’ll be firmly back on British soil now.
“Service number?”
“24975394, Major Berenice Wolfe.”
She sees his eyes widen at that, knows that anyone with any military knowledge can make a sensible estimate at just how long she’s been in the army from it. Doesn’t wait for him to ask. “Twenty-six years, left to live a civilian life and was asked back after three years to be part of the medical training mission here.”
“Any identifying features that’ll be on your record once we can get hold of it, help us to confirm who you are.”
“Chest scar, as a result of a pseudo aneurysm following being blown up by an IED.” She says pulling the neckline of her t-shirt down just low enough for the red scar to be seen, she’s shared camp with enough men, is used to getting dressed around them, so the action doesn’t bother her at all. Neck scar, just here,” she says pointing to the right side of her neck where the thin white line is, “as a result of an unstable neck fracture from the same incident. C-section scar. No tattoos.” Knows that should be enough.
“Thank you, Major Wolfe, I’ve just got to go and organise a few things then we’ll set about getting you out of here. She’s offered a chair shortly after that, ease’s herself into it gently, only now she’s been rescued and can think more does she realise how much her back is niggling, guesses twenty nights on the floor are to blame for that. Not to mention the whipping she received, doesn’t even think she wants to know what the permanent damage of that is.
It’s only once she’s sat down watching all of the soldiers move about with purpose that she feels lost, out of control. She thrives out here because of the control. While she’s been a hostage, she’s used that control to keep herself calm and collect, but now with Captain Williams taking control and her not being allowed to do anything she’s lost.
She continues to watch the soldiers move about and can’t help but think of her own squadron of men and women. Wonders if they all made it home safely, if she was the only one injured and captured in the explosion. After an unknown amount of time, she’s directed towards a convoy truck. A separate one from Captain Williams, knows he’ll be trying to make contact with different people from his location and that she has to be kept separate from him for if they find out that she isn’t who she said she is.
She gets informed by Corporal Penton, during the journey, that Captain Williams has been able to assure her identity, enough that they can travel back to base Inkerman. It’s a long journey and during it she doesn’t really know what to expect when she arrives. It certainly isn’t the sight of Lieutenant Colonel Guilford stood there the second she gets out of the truck, because he should be at home.
Her mind whirls briefly before she salutes him, because stickler for protocol and all that, he returns the gesture before speaking. “Major Wolfe! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She can hear the emotion in his voice, and she guesses that he was genuinely worried about her. Somehow, he’s been the officer shes answered to through the whole of her career, he’s always been one rank above her, they’ve done all of their tours together. Well apart from the one He did when she’d left the army. What she doesn’t expect is for him to throw his arms around her. Knows that in just a few minutes she going to have to go and debrief with him but that for now she can ask her own questions.
“Is the whole of the regiment still here? You should have gone home yesterday.”
“Yes, insurgent issues, the new plan is to leave in the early hours of the 10th, maybe someone or something knew you were going to be rescued. Knows that for your last ever tour you deserve to lead your men and women home. That is of course if you want to.”
She just gives him a look, the one that tells him that he knows her well enough and of course she plans on spending the next two days being Major Wolfe and looking after her men and women! That this is her job!
“Shouldn’t have even asked should I. I really am glad to have you back.”
There are thanks and handshakes shared with the team responsible for rescuing her and then her and Lieutenant Colonel Guilford are retreating to the private tent. She debriefs him, with every bit of detail she can remember. Tells him every detail of Corporal Nelson the US army anaesthetist, of the surgeries she was forced to perform, of the things they did to her. He looks at her injuries himself, he isn’t as medically competent as she is but competent enough for this, and she’s glad he does it rather than one of her subordinates. Just wants to get back to them and be that person they can lean on even if it is only for two more days. Once she’s informed him of everything she can, she questions him again.
“Where are my ID tags?” I thought you’d have got them round my neck the second I was back, you’re the reason I learnt to be such a stickler for protocol after all.”
He hesitates for a second so unlike him, but then she only picks up on the hesitation because she knows him so well. “They got sent back to Serena.” Bernie knows he should really call her Miss Campbell but that the two of them have such a good work relationship even if he is her superior that he doesn’t feel the need, knows Bernie will prefer her being called by her first name. At the same time Bernie’s heart feels like it shatters, can only imagine the thoughts running through her girlfriend’s mind when she was given the ID tags.
“Well, that explains a lot, can’t even talk to her, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question and she knows he’ll know it. “Bloody protocol.” And for maybe the first time ever in her military career she curses the protocol. Is all too used to cursing NHS protocol but never military protocol until now.
A while later she heads to join her troops, gets a round full of salutes before she’s inundated with hugs, it isn’t normal for them, but under the circumstances she allows it. She always knows how much she means to the younger recruits when they are deployed but the love they give her at having her back just cements it.
She sleeps that night, dreamlessly believe it or not, knows it’s probably only because her body is just so exhausted that it doesn’t have a choice. She spends her last two days in camp in full Major mode, allows her to shut off the past few weeks and just do her job, she’s good at that. She talks to some of the guys on their first tour about ways to help themselves settle back in at home. She oversees five separate surgeries watches and guides the doctors and surgeons she has trained for the past nine months. Only actually assists with one operation to help save a soldier's arm. Most of all she spends her last two days, the last two days she’ll ever spend as a British Army Major doing what she does best, just reassuring her team that despite the difficulties they’ve faced in the last nine months, despite the men and women they’ve lost that they really have made a difference to so many lives. That they’ve got a lot to be proud of, that she is proud of them.
The second night after she’s freed, she lays on top of her sleeping bag looking up at the stars. She knows she isn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, her body is rested now, and her body and mind have twenty days of trauma to begin to process. The building with all the bunks laying too close together is just too claustrophobic. She can’t help but smile however knowing that Serena is three thousand miles away under the same stars. That by this time tomorrow she’ll be back with her, can only guess that by now Serena knows she’s safe and is coming home.
Serena is her safe space, her muse her lover, the woman who she can truly be herself around. There have been times recently where Bernie had seriously considered that she was never going to get to see her again, never get to be held safe in her arms. So, the thought of getting back to her is also too much. She knows that over the next weeks and months she will likely struggle, that even her and her Great British Reserve won’t have come out of her ordeal unscathed. That as she really begins to process what she’s been through, what she’s survived that she’ll most likely become a mess, at least for a while. What else she knows though is that there is no one she’d trust to support her through the recovery more than Serena.
As she steps foot on the plane a few hours later she knows she is closing this chapter of her life for good. She never expected it to go the way it had, though neither had any of her other tours of duty. She’s proud of herself for what she’s done over the years in the British Army. Even prouder of what she’s overcome in the last three weeks. This time however she doesn’t feel sad that her army career is over. Knows that this isn’t the end, while it’s the end of her military career, it’s not the end of her. Her and Serena have still got so much of their story left to write.