None But The Brave: A Novel of the Surgeons of World War II
Page 1
© Anthony A. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.
Published by:
Deer Creek Publications Group
www.DeerCreekPublicationsGroup.com
www.NoneButTheBraveNovel.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems–except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews–without permission in writing from its publisher, Deer Creek Publications Group.
All Maps Copyright by Anthony A. Goodman. All rights reserved.
Cover Painting: “Normandy Sabbath” by Lawrence Beall Smith, 1944.
Courtesy of the U.S. Army Center of Military History. Photo from U.S.
Army Medical Department Office of Medical History Website 2011.
Excerpts from: “A Survivors’ Haggadah.” Copyright 2000.
With permission from the publisher:
Jewish Publication Society
Philadelphia, PA
ISBN: 1463507984
ISBN-13: 9781463507985
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-120-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011930165
CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC
Also by Anthony A. Goodman
Historical Fiction
The Shadow of God: A Novel of War and Faith
Non-Fiction
Never Say Die. A Doctor and Patient Talk About Breast Cancer
With Lucy Shapero
Lecture Series with The Great Courses
Understanding The Human Body: Anatomy and Physiology
The Human Body: How We Fail; How We Heal.
Life Long Health: Achieving Optimal Well-Being at Any Age
The Myths of Nutrition and Fitness
Critical Praise for Anthony A. Goodman’s None But the Brave.
“Dr. Goodman’s work of historical fiction vividly and accurately takes us into the lives of our troops and their medical support teams in WWII. The intensity of the description of a life at war, on the battlefields and in the operating rooms, can only deepen our appreciation for the daily heroic acts of courage by these men and women without guns.”
General Barry R McCaffrey, USA (Ret.)
Critical Praise for Anthony A. Goodman’s Historical Fiction
The Shadow of God: A Novel of War and Faith.
Nominated for the prestigious International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award.
“So vividly rendered historical fiction fans will be crossing their fingers for a follow-up.”
Publishers Weekly
To the memory of Dr. Alfred Hurwitz
Surgeon, Soldier, Teacher, Mentor
And
To the men and women who risked their lives day after day to rescue the wounded and the dying of World War II.
Acknowledgments
My deepest thanks and appreciation to Dr. Richard L. Hurwitz, Susan Hurwitz and Tobey Hurwitz Isenstein for allowing me the opportunity to read the diaries of their father, Dr. Alfred Hurwitz.
My sincerest thanks to Dorothy Hurwitz for inspiring and encouraging me to write this book; and for supplying me with the books, photographs and stories of her husband’s journey. She is greatly missed by all of us who knew her.
To my wife, Maribeth, who encouraged me to write this work and then guided and supported me through the many stages of bringing this book into being; and for her always helpful, tireless and important editing, suggestions and corrections. And, of course, inspiration.
My thanks and deep appreciation to Col. Ron Stevens, U.S. Army, Retired, for his help in editing and keeping me on the correct military path.
And to Mike Alexander, my long time friend who provided many colorful and accurate first hand accounts of life as a combatant in World War II. Thank you, Mike.
Deepest appreciation to Dorothy Sewell for her thoughtful and exacting editing, as well as her devotion to clarity.
My thanks to Tommy Nardine for his excellent graphic design work.
D-DAY INVASION OVERVIEW
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Maps
D-Day Invasion Overview
D-Day Invasion, 6 June 1944
European Campaign, 1944-1946
Chapter One
6 June 1944, 0300 Hours
A Horsa Glider, Over the English Channel
Chapter Two
10 September 1942
Nearly Two Years Earlier
Operating Room
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Chapter Three
11 September 1942
Home of Steve and Susan Schneider
Philadelphia
Chapter Four
19 April 1944, 2330 Hours
Nineteen Months Later
The Fox and Pheasant Pub, Devon, England
Chapter Five
6 June 1944, 0330 Hours
LST 37-Baker, the English Channel
Chapter Six
6 June 1944, 0330 Hours
A Horsa Glider Over Turqueville, France
Chapter Seven
6 June 1944, 0630 Hours
Rhino Ferry 47-Fox, the English Channel, Normandy
Chapter Eight
6 June 1944, 0630 Hours
Near Turqueville, France
Chapter Nine
6 June 1944, 0700 Hours
On the Road near Turqueville, France
Chapter Ten
6 June 1944, 0800 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Eleven
6 June 1944, 1340 Hours
Near Fauville, France
Chapter Twelve
7 June 1944, 0800 Hours
Dog White Section, Omaha Beach, Normandy
Chapter Thirteen
8 June 1944, 1700 Hours
Fauville, France
Chapter Fourteen
11 June 1944, 1100 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Fauville to Hiesville, France
Chapter Fifteen
11 June 1944, 2200 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Sixteen
13 June 1944, 0200 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Hiesville, France
Chapter Seventeen
13 June 1944, 0600 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Hiesville, France
Chapter Eighteen
1 July 1944, 0800 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, East of St. Lô, France
Chapter Nineteen
26 August 1944, 0600 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, 100 Miles West of Paris
Chapter Twenty
1 December 1944, 1700 hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Belgium
Chapter Twenty-one
3 December 1944, 0530 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Twenty-two
17 December 1944, 1200 Hours
Filed Hospital Charlie-7, Waimes, Belgium
Chapter Twenty-three
18 December 1944, 0200 Hours
Baugnez Crossroads, near Malmédy, Belgium
Chapter Twenty-four
8 May 1945, 0900 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Twenty-five
8 May 1945, 1200 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Leipzig, Germany
Chapter Twenty-six
8 May 1945, 1300 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Leipzig, Germany
> Chapter Twenty-seven
9 May 1945, 0700 Hours
Field Hospital Charlie-7, Leipzig, Germany
Chapter Twenty-eight
19 May 1945, 0800 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Twenty-nine
20 May 1945, 2100 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Thirty
25 May 1945, 2100 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Thirty-one
26 May 1945, 0800 Hours
A Concentration Camp near Weimar, Germany
Chapter Thirty-two
15 April 1946, 1900 Hours
Deutsches Theater Restaurant, Munich, Germany
Chapter Thirty-three
15 April 1946, 2200 Hours
Munich, Germany
Epilogue
15 April 2004
The Home of Dr. Jacob Hammer
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Tribute
Author’s Note
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserve the fair.
Alexander’s Feast
John Dryden
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Julius Caesar
William Shakespeare
He who would become a surgeon, should join the army and follow it.
Hippocrates.
Chapter One
6 June 1944, 0300 Hours
A Horsa Glider, Over the English Channel
Doctor Steve Schneider was still agonizing over what the hell he was doing in a Horsa glider scudding through the clouds high over the English Channel. The glider was approaching the coast of France and about to land in the dark behind German lines.
“Jesus Christ!” Steve muttered.
The glider shuddered and Schneider bit his tongue hard. He tasted his own blood trickling into his mouth.
It’s not an airplane! It’s an orange crate, he thought.
He wasn’t far off. He was flying in a wood-and-canvas box held up by flimsy eighty-eight foot wings. It wasn’t even metal. Just plywood and canvas, with windows only for the pilot. With no visible means of support, to Schneider it felt more like a coffin than an aircraft—a coffin dragged behind an aging tow plane at a hundred miles an hour. Schneider looked around at the silent GIs and medical personnel around him. Thirty in all plus the pilot. There should have been a co-pilot, but the right-hand seat was empty. Schneider had no idea why, but that was the way it was.
How the fuck did I do this to myself? Seemed like such a good idea at the time. I should have talked to Hamm before I volunteered for this one. Damn! Hamm would have talked me out of it.
Except his friend Hamm was getting ready to land on a beach somewhere in Normandy.
Back in England, the officer had made it sound so easy, so heroic. He had come to Schneider’s billet shortly after dinner. Sitting there in his own warm quarters with a full stomach, Schneider had felt comfortable, almost safe.
“Why anyone would want to go in with the main invasion force is a mystery to me, Major,” the officer had said. The man had not introduced himself. His insignia indicated that he was a major, like Schneider. They were equals in that regard. But that was where it ended. This man was all army, all the way. He looked twice Schneider’s size—at least to Schneider. And his hair was cut to regulation. His uniform was starched and clean in spite of the dampness and the continuing rain. Even his boots were shined. Schneider wondered how the man had walked there and managed not to get mud on his boots. He smiled at the image that surfaced in his brain: an enlisted man carrying the major from the jeep to Schneider’s billet.
“The main invasion force is going to be reduced to a mass of seasick grunts,” he told Schneider. “They’ll hardly be fit to fight when they finally hit that beach. Those who live long enough to land, that is. It’s going to be a slaughterhouse.”
Schneider just listened as the officer pointed out how strongly the Germans had defended the coastline.
“The Krauts have had years to build up their defenses. Doesn’t matter that they don’t know the exact location of the invasion—at least we don’t think they do. Anyway, Major, we have a mission, and we want you to be part of it.”
The mission was to land undetected behind German lines three hours ahead of the main invasion force.
Ahead of the invasion, Schneider reminded himself.
The GIs were to secure the small town of Turqueville, just east of a German stronghold at St. Mère-Ėglise. Schneider and his small medical group were to establish a forward aid station and then wait for the main invasion force to catch up with them. The main force would then bring in a larger medical group, supplies, and personnel. Then they would eventually become a full-fledged field hospital. At least, that was the way it was supposed to work. The GIs were also along to protect the unarmed medical group on the ground.
Schneider ran his now tender swollen tongue against the roof of his mouth as he thought back upon that conversation. He shook his head at his own naïveté. If it sounded too good to be true back then, it sure as hell was too good to be true now in the damned glider. The officer had made it sound heroic: volunteer for a mission to defeat the Germans and prepare the way for the guys who would be wounded in the invasion. Schneider had convinced himself that he was doing a noble thing, a brave thing, going in ahead of the invasion. Ahead of Hamm and the others. But, deep inside, though he could barely admit it to himself, he knew he was really trying to avoid at any cost landing on that beach under the guns of the Wehrmacht. He knew he could not face those guns and the slaughter they would create.
Schneider leaned forward to look out the front window of the glider. Over the pilot’s shoulder he could just make out the tow plane’s silhouette, and barely hear the engine noise. The tow plane pilot had just reduced power and begun a slow controlled descent as they crossed the northern coast of France. All the commandoes had eyes on the glider pilot, who was trying to maintain his position directly behind and slightly above the tow plane. The men in the glider were seated on narrow wooden benches bolted lengthwise along the walls of the aircraft. Their feet were tucked in and they faced each other across the small walkway.
The glider shuddered with each gust of wind. It was as if they were bouncing along a rough dirt road in an old jeep. Through the windshield Schneider could just make out a glow from the exhaust of the tow plane’s engine. He wondered if the German ack-ack batteries could see the glow too. The plane was moving in and out of the clouds, and from their low altitude he caught glimpses of white caps on the surface of the English Channel below. Then the clouds closed again and plunged them into a deep gray darkness. Although being able to see out of the glider gave Schneider some comfort, he knew this was an illusion.
“If we can see the Krauts, they sure as hell can see us,” he said out loud.
“Sir?”
Schneider looked to his right. It was Andy Marsh, his medic. He was all of nineteen years old and barely shaving yet. Schneider couldn’t imagine what the hell a kid so young was doing here.
“Just talking to myself, Andy.”
Could Marsh see his fear? He wondered.
Schneider’s bladder was suddenly very full. He wondered when he would get the chance to pee. He tightened his muscles against the fullness and then tried to relax his mind, hoping he could relax the spasm deep in his pelvis. It never occurred to him that this would be a problem. The damned glider didn’t have a toilet. Now he was flying into battle with a bladder ready to overflow.
“Crap.” He looked at Marsh again and said, “Never mind.” Schneider shuddered again, and squeezed his thighs together. He wanted to tell Marsh that if he wet his pants now it would be because there was no toilet—not that he was afraid.
It wasn’t just Schneider who was having trouble. All the soldiers
had full bladders by then. The minutes passed slowly for everyone, and the ride became bumpier as the aircraft descended closer to the ground. Here was where the English Channel met the French coast, driving columns of air upward that tossed the glider like a kite. His stomach knotted each time the aircraft lurched, his knees locked tighter together, and his fists clenched. He hated the turbulence, but if the rough ride were the only threat to his safety he could tough it out. If only there were not the additional risks of being shot out of the air, of burning to death in this wooden crate, of crashing while still alive into the trees of France.
Schneider looked out the window again but couldn’t see any of the other gliders in their flight. He guessed that they were still behind him. Or too far off to the sides.
None of the other men seemed to be bothered by the turbulence. But Schneider’s nerves had broken him into a cold sweat. Every time he adjusted his position, the droplets coalesced into a tiny creek of cold salt water between his shoulder blades. He was beginning to shiver.
“Cold, Doc?”
Marsh had called Schneider “Doc” from the first day they met in England a year and a half ago. Never “Major” or “Major Schneider” or even “Doctor Schneider.” Just “Doc.” It was the army way.
It was fine with Schneider. He didn’t feel much like a major. Or a soldier. He was a surgeon. He carried just a heavy medical pack, and no gun.
Schneider smiled at Marsh. “No, Andy,” he said. “I’m just scared shitless.”
There! He finally said it out loud. Oh, man, did that feel good!
In all these many months and years, he had never spoken the words. Now he was admitting his fear to this nineteen-year-old medic he hardly knew. Well, why not? It was very likely that one or both of them would soon be dead. That made Schneider shiver again.
“What’s there to be scared about, Doc? After all, here we are in a plywood and canvas airplane with no engine, no guns, no armament; flying over enemy territory at night with no lights; getting ready to land in the fucking dark, in a place with no fucking runway, in a place the Krauts’ve been fortifying for the last four years. So what the fuck’s there to be scared about? Anyway, they’re not shooting at us. Yet.”