Iraqi desert.
Captain Bogart was clearing her table when Anna asked to leave on her tea break. She agreed and forgot about her. At the end of the day she did one final round before she left.
She inspected each bed meticulously, then stopped at the last one, closed off and frowned. She could not remember a patient in this bed and opened the curtain, just to stop.
Anna was in the troughs of passion, her clothes discarded on the floor and bed. Brock noticed her, lifted his head and passed her a kiss. Shocked she closed the curtain and heard him chuckle. She blushed slightly. With trembling fingers she arranged her hair, a trick she had learned as a young child when she was nervous. Composed once more, she returned to her desk. It was not her problem anymore. The work in London at a local hospital would do simply fine. Her dedication left her with no time for frolicking as she continued her last tasks. When they appeared twenty minutes later, she was still busy with the reports.