Summer 1916, France, the front line.

No one thought then that the First World War would receive such a name, as well as that it would be called one of the bloodiest wars in human history.

In the field hospital there were simple and urgent problems. Mangled, disfigured, broken and suffering, who were brought here from the battlefield. To all those who worked and helped in the hospital, it seemed that the flow of the wounded on the battlefield could not dry up.

The war that unfolded within the walls of the hospital was no easier than that which was waged on the battlefield. Everyone worked to exhaustion, gritting their teeth, waging their own daily battle - the struggle for the lives of each person.

Stéphen took the kettle off the small burner and poured boiling water into his mug, brewing himself tea. After thinking for a moment, the military doctor threw a few cubes of sugar into the cup. He didn't like sweets, but it helped him stay on his feet after a long day.

It was already late evening. His shift was over. Stéphen planned to drink tea, give the nurses his last instructions and go to bed. So that tomorrow morning all this hell would repeat itself again. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was doing useless work, just wandering in a meaningless circle day after day for two years.

Stéphen walked along the hospital corridor with a cup in his hands. He was lost in his thoughts when he almost tripped over a nurse, who was sitting exhausted right on the floor.

He didn't know her name. The hospital was full of nurses. But on their such fragile, but such strong shoulders lay the functioning of the entire hospital. From disinfecting bandages and preparing food for patients to dressings and distributing medicines. They did not doubt, they just did what they could. Day after day, without sparing themselves.

Dr Coutrot respected them infinitely for this.

Stéphen squatted down in front of the nurse and handed her his mug of tea.

“Drink this, it will help,” he said, smiling slightly.