Mud seeped into Anna’s boots as she wrapped bandages for the fifth hour, her hands trembling with exhaustion. She wrote home by lantern light, confessing, “I barely remember the faces anymore; they come and go with the stretcher bearers.”

When she did sleep, the echo of distant shells still rang in her dreams. One letter slipped from her pocket, marked with a smudge of dried blood. "You must be so proud," a doctor whispered, not looking up as another wounded man was carried in.