One week ago, in the city of Sinop of the Ottoman Empire. The wounded soldiers who fought in the battle of Alma were being tended by the nurses and doctors in the hospital. The one who was managing the hospital is none other than the daughter of the Prime Minister of the British Empire, Penelope Ascart.
Despite heavy opposition from her father, she still managed to convince him, saying that she'll only stay in the backline tending the soldiers.
She is currently in the surgery room, extracting bullets from one of the soldiers that got hit in his belly.
She stood over the wounded soldier, her hands steady and precise as she prepared for the delicate surgery ahead. She had spent years training as a surgeon, and now, as she looked down at the man lying on the table before her, she felt a sense of calm settle over her.
"Alright, let's get started," she said, her voice firm and professional as she signaled for her assistants to begin prepping the patient.
As her team worked to clean and sterilize the wound, Penelope carefully examined the bullet lodged in the soldier's abdomen. It had entered at an angle, tearing through the soft tissue and causing extensive damage.
"This is going to be tricky," she murmured to herself as she prepared her tools.
With a deep breath, she made the first incision, cutting through the skin and muscle to reveal the bullet's location. The soldier groaned in pain, his body twitching as she probed deeper into the wound. But Penelope remained focused, her hands deftly maneuvering the instruments as she worked to remove the bullet.
It was slow going, and Penelope knew that one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death for her patient. But she didn't let the pressure get to her. She simply focused on the task at hand, moving with purpose and precision as she carefully dislodged the bullet from its hiding place.
As she worked, she called out instructions to her assistants, directing them to hand her the necessary tools or to adjust the patient's position as needed. It was a well-oiled machine, with everyone working in perfect harmony to ensure that the surgery went smoothly.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Penelope extracted the bullet from the soldier's body, holding it up triumphantly for all to see. The room erupted in applause, and Penelope allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction before turning her attention back to the patient.
The wound was still open, and Penelope knew that there was still much work to be done. But she was up to the task. With steady hands and a sharp mind, she worked to repair the damage, suturing the torn tissue and carefully closing the incision.
When she was finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. The wound was clean and neat, and Penelope knew that with time and proper care, the soldier would make a full recovery and return to fight another day.
"Excellent work, Lady Ascart," said one of her assistants, a young nurse who had been observing the surgery.
Penelope smiled, "Thank you Irene, and to all of you, you are a great help."
She was used to receiving compliments from her staff and in all honesty, she can't think of any better response other than thank you. In fact, this is not the first time she conducted surgery on a soldier who fought in the war against the Russians. At first, she noticed something odd about the bullet she was extracting from the patient's body.
They were not the same caliber as the Mosin Nagant, it has a slightly larger diameter than the 7.62x54mmR cartridge used in Mosin Nagant. It also has more penetration power than the cartridge used in Mosin Nagant. And at that point, she noticed that the Russians are using a different kind of rifle. The question is what.
As she stepped out of the surgery room, she removed her facemask, gloves, and gown, revealing her stunning appearance. Her face was angelic, with high cheekbones and full lips that curved into a gentle smile. Her strawberry-blonde hair cascaded in soft waves around her face, framing her delicate features.
Despite her curvy figure and ample bosom, she was slender, with a graceful neck and long, toned limbs. Her blue eyes were bright and clear, sparkling with intelligence and kindness. As she walked down the hallway, her steps were light and confident, exuding a quiet strength and poise that drew admiring glances from those around her.
The wounded soldiers, covered in bandages and confined to their beds, couldn't help but heave a sigh of admiration as they caught a glimpse of Lady Ascart, daughter of the Duke of Wessex, tending to their wounds. In their eyes, she was a true angel of mercy, a beacon of hope in a time of war and uncertainty.
Penelope approached one of the soldiers, her steps light and confident as she moved through the hospital ward. As she drew closer to his bed, she could see the pain etched on his face, the sweat beading on his forehead.
"Hello there," she said softly, her voice gentle and soothing as she took his hand in hers. "How are you feeling?"
The soldier looked up at her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in her stunning appearance
"Better now that you're here, milady," he said, his voice rough with pain.
Penelope gave him a small smile, her blue eyes bright and clear as she assessed his condition. She could see that he was still in a lot of pain, and she made a mental note to check on him again later.
"I'm glad to hear that," she said, her voice warm and caring. "We're doing everything we can to make sure you make a full recovery."
The soldier nodded gratefully.
As she stood up, she could hear the nurses behind her squealing as a man approached Penelope from behind.
"Hello, Penelope,"
Penelope turned around and saw the Crown Prince of the British Empire, Prince Alexander Edward James Windsor.
Penelope's expression remained neutral as she greeted the prince back, her voice calm and polite. "Your highness, it's a pleasure to see you," she said, curtsying respectfully.
Alexander gave her a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took in her appearance. "You look as lovely as ever, Penelope," he said, his voice smooth and charming. "I trust everything is running smoothly here?"
Penelope nodded, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. "Yes, your highness. We're doing everything we can for the wounded soldiers."
Alexander's smile widened, and he reached out to take her hand, his touch warm and familiar. "I know you are, Penelope. Your staff has spoken highly of your work here."
Penelope withdrew her hand from the prince's grasp, a flicker of discomfort crossing her features. While she had known Alexander for many years, she had always found his attentions a bit too familiar for her liking.
"Thank you, your highness," she said politely, trying to keep her tone neutral. "I appreciate your concern for the soldiers."
Alexander's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "Of course, of course," he said smoothly. "I just wanted to see how things were going here, and to check on you, of course."
Penelope gave him a small nod, her gaze flickering toward the soldier she had just treated. "As you can see, we're doing everything we can to help those who have been injured," she said, her voice firm and professional.
Alexander's eyes followed hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his expression - perhaps admiration or respect for the work that Penelope was doing. But it quickly disappeared, and he turned back to her with a smile.
"So, about the thing, you asked about the Russian Rifles, we found out that they are using rifles made in the United States, manufactured by Axelsen and Nielsen Arms Manufacturing Company."
The moment she heard the name of the manufacturer, Penelope's world slowed to a halt. What did he just say? Axelsen and Nielsen? She recognized those names and she couldn't help her tears from escaping her eyes.
She quickly blinked them away, not wanting anyone to see her emotional reaction.
"Are you sure? That the name is Axelsen and Nielsen?" she asked, her voice low and strained.
Alexander looked at her with concern. "Yes, I'm sure. Why? Is everything alright?"
Penelope quickly took his hands and looked up at him with pleading eyes.
"Take me there!"
Alexander looked at Penelope with confusion. "Take you where?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"To the United States, " Penelope said urgently.
