SURGEON

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1st SOLDIER

SURGEON

1st SOLDIER

SURGEON

SURGEON

2nd SOLDIER

SURGEON

2nd SOLDIER

SURGEON

2nd SOLDIER

SURGEON

1st SOLDIER

SURGEON

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Well give him some more brandy. He’s too clear headed.

(Holding up an empty bottle) We ain’t got any sir. We ran out hours ago. This poor fella is as sober and as understandin’ as the rest of us.

Rats! Well, (To one soldier) you pin his leg down with the full weight of your body and you (To the other soldier) lean on his chest with all your might and I should be able to finish the job with one clean cut swipe of my blade.
(The two soldiers do as they are asked and the SURGEON, with his back to the audience, raises his blade and brings it down with a forceful blow on to the injured soldier’s leg. The wounded soldier lets out a piercing, prolonged scream with outstretched arms and clenched fists, which fall limp as he faints. The two soldiers abruptly look away with contorted faces at the moment of impact)

Quick! Put a tourniquet around his leg to control the bleeding.

Wass that?
Grab that belt off that dead soldier over there.
Any particular soldier. They’m nearly all dead!

(In despair) Just use your loaf man.
(The soldier kicks and prods a couple of soldiers lying on the floor before bending over and removing the belt from a body. Hands it to the SURGEON who straps it around the stump)

’is well past it! ‘Ow long’s ‘ee bin lying there fer?
I thought the Orderlies were supposed to be dumping the dead outside!

They wuz sir. But two of ‘um’s bin struck down wiv the fever. They’m’s as dead as most of these poor blighters ‘ere.

(Referring to the amputee) Remove this man. (Then bellows) Next!! (Blackout)