The Field Hospital

Field surgery was a messy, bloody business; the grass ran red, smelling of salt and iron. She sat on a stool in the shady open tent, her clothes covered by bloody surgical garments. Anya was tranced on her feet, fused with Rosalyn, giving the healer more energy with which to work. The din of suffering patients and working medics was cacophonous. Maintaining wards on the hospital, especially pain blocks and regeneration fields, was draining. She stretched further, conducting occasionally to heal critical patients. They had been at this for hours, and the tide of wounded showed no signs of abating.