Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson
Authors: Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson
Ads: Link
attach you to Rommel for a while. Technically he’s still surrendered, but it looks like he’s going to do some fighting on our side. I’ll straighten everything out with Ike … as soon as I can get in touch with him.” He smiled at that, and Wakefield knew that he intended to delay telling Eisenhower as long as possible.
“You need anything from me, you holler. Got it?”
“Got it, General.”
“Hell, call me George. See you later, Henry. Good hunting.” He turned to leave.
“Hey, George,” Wakefield called. Patton turned around.
Wakefield held out one of his stogies, “Have a cigar.”
Patton took the cigar and sniffed it. “Jeezus, Henry, what the hell do you pay for these things? Fifty cents a dozen?”
Wakefield snorted. “Hell, no. Too rich for my blood.” He let out a cloud of blue smoke.
Patton laughed and lit the cigar. “I oughta put you on report for trying to assassinate a superior officer, Henry.” He punched Wakefield on the arm, got into his jeep with the three-star flag, and waved at his sergeant to move out.
Chuck Porter, who had discreetly moved back but stayed within eavesdropping distance, thought about writing the exchange down, but realized he’d never get anybody to believe it.
Patton waved for his driver, and his jeep with the three stars began to move out.
ARMEEGRUPPE B FIELD HOSPITAL, NEAR DINANT, 1623 HOURS GMT
“Make way! Make way! Wounded man coming through!” The panzer crew carried the officer into the makeshift field hospital. Quickly, hospital orderlies provided a stretcher onto which the wounded man was placed, and he was wheeled into the triage area. Because the fighting had died down, there were few other injuries waiting for medical attention.
“And what do we have here,” said the doctor in charge, who appeared at the stretcher side almost at once. He wore Wehrmacht major insignia alongside his caduceus. “Hmm.” Carefully, he peeled away the bandages to look at the raw and seeping flesh beneath. “Painful, but not life-threatening. Looks
like the shell fragment missed the eye, but bleeding and surrounding damage to the muscle are not so good. We should be able to restore sight, however. For the rest—I’m sorry to inform you, Herr Obersturmbannführer, that our field hospital is virtually out of anesthetics. Only the most serious cases get any at all, and those not enough. We have had to revert to more barbaric practices here. I apologize to you in advance. This is likely to be rather painful.”
He turned to the panzer crewmen. “I am Major Doktor Hans Schlüter. I will be working on your officer personally. This will not be an easy experience. He must be strapped to the operating table, because otherwise he will jerk free and harm himself. I will have a nurse clean the wound area, and then I will suture the damage. You have all seen blood before, no doubt.”
The soldiers nodded their agreement. “We have all been on the Russian front.”
“Then you have seen such things before. You may find the atmosphere of an operating room somewhat different. I will not have fainting or vomiting. If you cannot refrain from these behaviors, you are to leave at once and get me a replacement. Do you understand?”
“Jawohl, Herr Major Doktor,” the soldiers said in unison.
“Very well. We will begin shortly.”
The shrieks of human agony echoed down the hospital corridors and into the wards. Feldwebel Carl-Heinz Clausen looked up. “It looks as though someone else is enjoying the finest medical care available,” he said mildly.
The soldiers around him laughed meaningfully. Most of them had enjoyed the same experience within the last few days. The fact that they were here in the open ward meant they had come through the operation in good shape, or that they had not been severely wounded.
Carl-Heinz looked at the long, skinny man in the next bed. He had a leg wound and had evidently also taken a piece of flak between his eyes. He’d worn an
“You need anything from me, you holler. Got it?”
“Got it, General.”
“Hell, call me George. See you later, Henry. Good hunting.” He turned to leave.
“Hey, George,” Wakefield called. Patton turned around.
Wakefield held out one of his stogies, “Have a cigar.”
Patton took the cigar and sniffed it. “Jeezus, Henry, what the hell do you pay for these things? Fifty cents a dozen?”
Wakefield snorted. “Hell, no. Too rich for my blood.” He let out a cloud of blue smoke.
Patton laughed and lit the cigar. “I oughta put you on report for trying to assassinate a superior officer, Henry.” He punched Wakefield on the arm, got into his jeep with the three-star flag, and waved at his sergeant to move out.
Chuck Porter, who had discreetly moved back but stayed within eavesdropping distance, thought about writing the exchange down, but realized he’d never get anybody to believe it.
Patton waved for his driver, and his jeep with the three stars began to move out.
ARMEEGRUPPE B FIELD HOSPITAL, NEAR DINANT, 1623 HOURS GMT
“Make way! Make way! Wounded man coming through!” The panzer crew carried the officer into the makeshift field hospital. Quickly, hospital orderlies provided a stretcher onto which the wounded man was placed, and he was wheeled into the triage area. Because the fighting had died down, there were few other injuries waiting for medical attention.
“And what do we have here,” said the doctor in charge, who appeared at the stretcher side almost at once. He wore Wehrmacht major insignia alongside his caduceus. “Hmm.” Carefully, he peeled away the bandages to look at the raw and seeping flesh beneath. “Painful, but not life-threatening. Looks
like the shell fragment missed the eye, but bleeding and surrounding damage to the muscle are not so good. We should be able to restore sight, however. For the rest—I’m sorry to inform you, Herr Obersturmbannführer, that our field hospital is virtually out of anesthetics. Only the most serious cases get any at all, and those not enough. We have had to revert to more barbaric practices here. I apologize to you in advance. This is likely to be rather painful.”
He turned to the panzer crewmen. “I am Major Doktor Hans Schlüter. I will be working on your officer personally. This will not be an easy experience. He must be strapped to the operating table, because otherwise he will jerk free and harm himself. I will have a nurse clean the wound area, and then I will suture the damage. You have all seen blood before, no doubt.”
The soldiers nodded their agreement. “We have all been on the Russian front.”
“Then you have seen such things before. You may find the atmosphere of an operating room somewhat different. I will not have fainting or vomiting. If you cannot refrain from these behaviors, you are to leave at once and get me a replacement. Do you understand?”
“Jawohl, Herr Major Doktor,” the soldiers said in unison.
“Very well. We will begin shortly.”
The shrieks of human agony echoed down the hospital corridors and into the wards. Feldwebel Carl-Heinz Clausen looked up. “It looks as though someone else is enjoying the finest medical care available,” he said mildly.
The soldiers around him laughed meaningfully. Most of them had enjoyed the same experience within the last few days. The fact that they were here in the open ward meant they had come through the operation in good shape, or that they had not been severely wounded.
Carl-Heinz looked at the long, skinny man in the next bed. He had a leg wound and had evidently also taken a piece of flak between his eyes. He’d worn an
Similar Books
