Devils with Wings

by Harvey Black

  He wrinkled his nose, what could he smell? It seemed to be a mixture of disinfectant, vomit and bleach, making him heave and feel nauseous again.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder again and an upside down face peered at him, it was the same nurse once more. Although she seemed to carry the same aroma as the rest of the room, it was interspersed with the faintest scent of coal tar soap, the fragrance like an island in a sea of storms.

  “We’re going to lie you on your front and then get these filthy clothes off you, ok? Give me a hand here,” she called to an auxiliary.

  The nurse indicated to a second auxiliary close by and they both managed to manoeuvre Paul onto his front, after which they cut away his paratroopers uniform.

  “I believe you have come from the fortress across the canal Leutnant Brand?”

  He felt the cold scissors against his arm as they cut away his shirt. The auxiliary was slicing away at his tunic trousers.

  Paul nodded his head, briefly, as the effort brought bile to his throat making him gag.

  “Rest easy soldier,” said the auxiliary, who appeared to be dressed in the black and white robes of a sister, or some other religious persuasion. She looked to be in her early thirties, the nurse tending to him seemed younger, maybe in her early twenties.

  “Don’t talk, you rest, let us do all the talking.”

  Paul sighed, wanting this nightmare to be over, being back with his men, back in command.

  They had cut away his uniform completely, all he had covering the lower part of his body now, was a thin grey army blanket.

  The upside down face peered into his eyes again. He looked into her brown eyes, they looked friendly and caring. He noticed a curl of auburn hair escaping from beneath her nurse’s cap.

  “We’re going to clean your wounds now Leutnant Brand and take out some of the debris that has peppered your back. We’ll wash it with a mild anaesthetic first, before cleaning it with antiseptic wash, but you’ll still feel some occasional pain. Ok?”

  The nurse wiped his brow, wiping away the thin film of sweat that not only covered his face, but now his entire body.

  He tried to nod again, but the nausea returned making him close his eyes and breathe heavily, causing the sweat oozing from his pores to double.

  “Anyway, we were forced to make a promise by some hulking Fallschirmjager Unterfeldwebel. He was threatening the orderlies with their lives if they didn’t make sure you got here in one piece.”

  She laughed, “They had to stop him getting in the ambulance to come with you; it was only because of three Unteroffizier’s holding him back that you are here on your own.”

  The smile was involuntary, he could just picture the orderlies’ faces confronted by his bulky sergeant, face and clothes plastered in dust and blood, and he would have made a fearsome sight.

  He felt something cold touch his back; at first it felt quite soothing, cooling his back down easing the throbbing pain that seemed to be his constant companion. It was short lived, whatever lotions and potions they were using, once they seeped into his wounds they stung like hell and he issued a groan.

  A hand was placed on his head, “it will soon be over.”

  They spent half an hour plucking out bits of metal, uniform fabric and other bits of detritus the force of the explosion had embedded in his back.

  They had finished cleaning up the wounds when the Doctor appeared.

  He didn’t even see the Doctor, and just drifted in and out of consciousness as he was examined and the major wound was sewn up and the smaller ones patched up.

  He remembered his face being cleaned and more stitches to repair the gash on the side of his face, and then he drifted off again.

  He woke up to the sound of curtains being swished back from the windows, the light bursting through, the low, early morning sun lighting up the small ward.

  He was lying on his back and was immediately joined by the nurse who treated him yesterday, or was it today.

  “Leutnant Brand, you’re finally awake then?”

  “How long have I been asleep?” he croaked.

  She moved to the unit by the side of his bed.

  “Here, let me help you sit up. You’ve been asleep for nearly twenty four hours.”

  She called over another nurse and they helped him sit up, protecting his heavily bandaged back as they did so.

  Once he was leant forward she placed some pillows behind him, which he sank back into, suddenly feeling weak.

  She poured him a glass of water, placing it against his lips allowing him to take a sip. After a couple of sips he pulled away.

  “That’s better,” he said, “but I feel really weak.”

  “You will for a few days, but everyday you’ll notice an improvement. I’m Nurse Keller, Christa Keller; I shall be looking after you during your stay with us.”

  “Paul, Paul Brand, where am I?”

  “You’re in a hospital in Maastricht; it was requisitioned by the army to take care of the wounded.”

  “Are there any other Fallschirmjager here?”

  “Not in this ward, this is one of the wards for officers and there are none in here.”

  He was about to ask her to make enquiries for him when he was overcome by a desperate need to sleep.

  “Right Paul, you’re going to feel a bit rough for the next few days, but we’ll get you out of bed and sitting up by tomorrow. For now, we’re going to change your bandages and then just relax. In fact try and get some sleep again.”

  Paul awoke on his third day in the Maastricht hospital and was able to pull himself up into a sitting position on his own. It took him sometime and he had to be careful about his back injury. In fact he had slept most of the night on his front.

  He looked about him. He was in the end bed of a line of four with equal numbers on the opposite side. There was a tall window between each bed and the ceilings were very high and ornamental.

  All the beds were full; the curtain was drawn around the one immediately next to him. Across from him, the other patients were lying down, two of them with drips suspended alongside their beds. It looked like he was the healthiest of them all.

  He saw the nurse, what was her name he thought? Keller, Christa. She was adjusting the bedding for what appeared to be one of the more seriously injured patients.

  She looked nice in her blue and white uniform, the tunic riding up her thighs as she reached over to the other side of the hospital bed. She stood up, noticed him looking and smiled.

  He smiled back. She was slender, almost bordering on petite. Her auburn hair, just touching her shoulders, partly hidden by the trail from her cap, glistened in the sunlight shining through the windows.

  She finished off adjusting the bedding and made her way over to Paul’s bed.

  “Good morning Leutnant Brand,” she said very formally, “how are you feeling today?”

  “Much better, thank you,” he replied.

  She came to the side of his bed, leaning over him tucking in the sheet of his bed. He was sure he could smell a scent of sorts; he breathed deeper absorbing the sweet perfume.

  “I’m glad, because you have visitors today.”

  Paul’s eyes immediately lit up, the nurse noticing how clear and bright they were.

  “Who is it?”

  “Well for one, there’s that oversized sergeant of yours and three Uffz’s. They came earlier but were sent away by the Doctor, but not surprisingly they are back again.”

  “When can I see them?”

  She could see the excitement in his face at the thought of seeing his comrades in arms again. It brought some welcome colour to his usually pale face, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

  “We need to change your dressings first Herr Leutnant, then you can have visitors.”

  “Call me Paul, please.”

  She looked at him, their eyes locked for a few seconds, “then you call me Christa.”

  The auxiliary nurse, who came to help Nurse Keller change his dressings, interr
upted them and the moment was broken.

  They quickly changed his dressings and then gave him a bed-bath to freshen him up.

  They joked with him, telling him that he would be out of bed tomorrow and there would be no more pampering and bed-baths.

  Once they had finished, they left him to his own thoughts, to await the visit of his friends.

  He heard them before he saw them. Max’s voice heard above all others.

  The Ward Sister was on to them immediately and Max received a berating and warned to keep quiet or they would be thrown out.

  They approached Paul’s bed, four of them, Max, Fischer, Leeb and Kienitz, grins splitting all of their faces.

  Paul’s face also broke into a broad smile from one side of his face to the other.

  They saluted and crowded round his bed. Max sat on the edge of the bed, the others pulled up chairs they found in the ward.

  “Well sir,” started off Max first, “you seem to have landed on your feet here,” he said glancing around the ward, “living in luxury you are.”

  “Three meals a day sir?” added Leeb

  “Are the nurses Dutch or German?” asked Fischer.

  “Does it matter,” stepped in Kienitz, they’re all lookers.

  “Seriously sir, how are you feeling?”

  Paul couldn’t help but break into a smile, he had missed the banter.

  “Back is as sore as hell, but apart from that I’m on the mend. How is Halm?”

  “He’s on the mend sir; he’ll be back with the unit in a few weeks. His leg will need couple of months before he can start training again though.”

  “How’s your arm Kienitz?”

  “Well on the mend sir, it was just a scratch, nothing like yours.”

  “Where have they billeted you?”

  “We’ve been given some accommodation in Maastricht, so we are not far away,” replied Leeb

  “Its Luxury sir, after Poland and Hildesheim,” informed Fischer.

  “The locals are a bit quiet, but the beer is great,” added Max

  Max then took out a couple of bottles of Dutch beer, stuffing them under Paul’s blankets, “for later sir.”

  “You’re going to get me thrown out Unterfeldwebel.”

  “That’s the general idea sir. When will they let you out?”

  “I’ll be seeing the Doctor this afternoon, but will be up and about tomorrow.”

  “Don’t rush sir,” suggested Leeb, we don’t seem to be going anywhere soon.”

  “And we’re all heroes at the moment,” added Kienitz

  Fischer jumped in, “the minute they see our uniform, we immediately get our drinks paid for, whether by soldiers, airmen or sailors.”

  “I’m sure there are no complaints from you guys,” said Paul

  “No way sir,” they all added.

  “How is the war going?”

  “Well, “said Max, “we’ve already advanced well into Belgium, they’re finished, and there doesn’t seem to be anything stopping us.”

  A white and blue uniform suddenly appeared at the end of the bed.

  “I’m sorry gentlemen, but the Leutnant needs to rest, so you have two minutes.”

  Christa started to walk away and after a few steps, stopped and turned round, looking directly at Max.

  “You might want to take those bottles of beer with you Unterfeldwebel, you wouldn’t want to see them wasted.”

  Max’s face turned red, the first time Paul had ever seen him embarrassed.

  “Maybe next time, eh Max?” supported Paul.

  “Well, we’d better leave you to your pampering then sir. Could you give us a few minutes guys?”

  The three Uffz’s understood that Max would want to speak to their Commander alone for a few minutes. They stood up pushing their chairs back, then moving them back to their original positions.

  They saluted, wished Paul a quick recovery and left the ward, chatting excitedly as they left.

  Max grabbed one of the vacant chairs, dragged it to the side of the bed, sat down and shuffled it close to Paul.

  “Are you truly ok sir?” An unmistakable look of worry on his face now that their subordinates had left.

  “Yes Max, truly I am. I will find out more today, but I have every intention of getting out as soon as possible. What about the platoon?”

  “They’re all fine sir. Halm will be with us before we know it and the rest are fine.”

  “Has someone written to Weyer’s parents?”

  “Yes sir, Hauptman Volkman did it in your absence.”

  “Good Max, good, he said sleepily.”

  “Right Unterfeldwebel, he needs some peace and quiet now,” whispered Christa who had silently appeared by Paul’s bedside.

  “Ok nurse, I’m off now.”

  He turned to say goodbye to Paul, but his eyes had already closed and he was already drifting into a deep sleep; the effects of his wounds, the trauma of the last few days and the drugs taking over.

  She handed Max the two bottles of beer, smiling, “I know soldiers will be soldiers, but these are not a good idea for him at the moment.”

  Max took the bottles, “you will look after him won’t you?”

  “You can be sure of that Unterfeldwebel.”

  Max got up out the chair, took one last look at his platoon Commander and left.

  Christa looked at the NCO as he left and then looked at the sleeping Fallschirmjager officer, recognising the strong bond between them.

  I’ll look after him she thought, I’ll look after him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  She trundled the wheelchair around to the side of his bed, two orderlies also stood by waiting to assist.

  Although his legs had not been injured, his back was very weak, the muscles damaged by the large chunk of shrapnel that had struck him from behind. Fortunately the blow had not been severe as he was hit at the periphery of the shells blast zone. Had it been more severe, it may even have punched a hole straight through his body, an event he probably wouldn’t have survived.

  The two orderlies helped Paul manoeuvre his body so he was sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

  Christa placed the wheel chair alongside him, the orderlies helping Paul to stand, being careful of the dressings on his back, turning him slightly; then helping lower him into the seat of the wheelchair.

  “There Leutnant Brand,” said one of the orderlies, his accent indicating that he may even be Dutch, “we can get you outside into the fresh air now.”

  “Right,” said Christa, “we need to get you on your feet one more time; you need this dressing gown on to keep you warm.”

  They raised Paul on his feet again; Nurse Keller gently placing his arms in the oversized gown, ensuring it didn’t catch his back, disturbing his healing wounds.

  They sat him down again and she fussed around him, placing slippers on his feet and a blanket on his knees, tucking it in around him.

  “Shall I wheel the Leutnant outside?” asked one of the orderlies

  “No, I’ll take him,” responded Christa.

  “But aren’t you off duty soon?”

  “That’s ok,” she replied, her face reddening slightly.

  She proceeded to push the chair down the centre of the ward, past the three beds on Paul’s side, through the double doors at the end turning right which took them to some French doors.

  Christa left Paul in the chair and opened the framed glass doors then wheeled him out onto a slabbed patio.

  To the left was a row of cane easy chairs, some occupied by recuperating patients, fronted by a waist high, white picket fence, interspersed with potted plants.

  To the right it was very similar, except for a few additional circular tables with parasols.

  She pushed Paul forwards along a path; lawn on either side, until they reached another squared patio area, covered by an ivy-blanketed arbour.

  She positioned Paul next to a low, black, cast iron table, and then sat opposite him on
a matching black, bistro seat.

  On the table was a crystal jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and two crystal glasses.

  “Would you like a drink Herr Leutnant?”

  “Yes please and please call me Paul.”

  She poured them both a glass and pushed one over to him, and raised her glass, Paul picking his up and she clinked them both together.

  “To your recovery,” she said smiling.

  “Thank you,” he responded.

  “What part of Germany are you from?”

  “Charlottenburg, in Berlin, and you?”

  “Ah, the ‘new west’, I’m from Berlin too,” gasped Paul

  “Where do you live then?”

  “Brandenburg, that’s only eighty kilometres from you. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with the DAK, the German Red Cross, they asked for volunteers, to support our soldiers and airmen.”

  “But how did you know you would be sent here, the war has only just started?”

  “They told us that we would be going to Poland, but at the last minute we were sent here.”

  “I’m glad about that,” said Paul, looking into his lap, fiddling with his blanket.

  “Me too, but you won’t be here for much longer. I overheard the Doctor; I shouldn’t really be telling you this. He said you would be out in a few days, but would be sent home to recuperate, then on light duties only.”

  Paul’s face lit up, “It will be good to get out of here.”

  He saw the disappointment in Christa’s face, and immediately regretted what he had said.

  “I, I didn’t mean I wanted to get away from the hospital, or you, it’s only that I want to be up and about and get back to my unit.”

  Before one of them could interrupt the embarrassing silence, there was a cough behind them.

  “Leutnant Brand, I see life is looking up for you.”

  Christa stood up and Paul twisted round to see Hauptman Volkman, immaculate as ever, his cane tapping the side of his highly polished boots. Paul immediately tried to get up out of his chair.