None But The Brave: A Novel of the Surgeons of World War II

by Anthony A. Goodman

  Antonelli raised the plasma bottle high in the air. The whole volume was delivered right into the heart in just a few minutes. “That’s my last one, Doc. You got any?”

  “Nope.”

  Higgenson reached into Antonelli’s medical pack and fished around, looking for some more plasma. His hand exposed a pile of morphine Syrettes.

  “Holy cow, Gene! You got enough morphine to zonk the entire platoon.”

  Antonelli pulled his pack away from Higgenson and closed the cover.

  “You’ll be glad I got so much of that shit before this day’s over.”

  Higgenson reached out with his free arm and handed Antonelli another full plasma bottle from his own supply. Antonelli quickly exchanged the empty one for the full one and again held it high as the plasma ran into the wounded GI’s heart. After the complete supply of plasma was exhausted, six bottles in all, the four men just sat there and watched.

  As the last of the plasma entered the right auricle, the strength and force of the cardiac contraction increased rapidly. The heart rate sped up, and a pulse could be seen in the vessels leaving the heart. The man’s color improved, and as the GI’s blood pressure climbed, some bleeding began to show along the wound edges where Hamm had opened the chest.

  Hamm laughed.

  “Will you look at that!” He took a heavy suture in his right hand and held the tubing in place with his left. Then he placed a purse-string suture around the tubing and tightened it into place, securing the IV right into the heart itself. Antonelli replaced the plasma with a bottle of saline solution, which was all he had left now, and slowed the drip slightly. It wasn’t over yet.

  Hamm let go of the tubing, now held securely by the purse-string, and began to look for other sources of injury. The hole in the lung was small, so he was able to stop the air leak with a few sutures in the pleura, the shining, thin covering of the lung.

  McClintock tested the suture line by inflating the lung forcefully with the anesthesia bag. The sutures held. There was no air leak. Then he backed off the pressure and kept the lungs only full enough to aerate the man’s blood, but not enough to get in the way of Hamm’s exploration of the chest. They had always been a good team. They hardly ever needed verbal communication.

  “I think that’s all it was,” Hamm said to everyone. “Let’s just wash this out and close him up.

  McClintock shook his head slowly back and forth. This show of incredulity was rapidly becoming a habit.

  “Anyone going to believe that you just did open heart surgery in a tank ditch?”

  “Pretty crude surgery,” Hamm admitted.

  “Pretty tough patient,” said McClintock.

  “Good work, guys,” Hamm said to Antonelli and Higgenson.

  Hamm took some adhesive tape and put it across the man’s forehead. Then he took out a pen, and on the patient’s forehead wrote “MS (morphine Sulfate).” He wrote the date and the time of the dose. He looked up at Antonelli and Higgenson and said, “This man’s going to see a lot of different doctors in the next few hours and days. I need to keep the medication records where they won’t be missed!”

  The two medics nodded. They were still trying to bring order to their little ditch hospital, even as they, themselves, served as the operating table, IV stand, and assistants, with the patient still lying across their knees.

  Hamm smiled. “Very nice indeed. Let’s close.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  8 June 1944, 1700 Hours

  Fauville, France

  Sorenson’s platoon of infantry and medics spent a busy forty-eight hours after they killed the sniper and moved into Fauville. They set up a perimeter and organized the locals to help patrol some of the weak spots.

  As soon as Sorenson was settled into his makeshift command post in the Mairie, the little town hall, he called for Kelly to organize the care and feeding of his own men and the locals as well.

  “Round up all the food you can find, Sergeant, and make sure there’s no hoarding. Everyone’s gonna get fed here with whatever we have.”

  “Yes, sir. But these people have almost nothing. The Krauts pretty much took it all when they boogied.”

  “Do the best you can. We’ll have to share our C-Rations and K-Rats with them until we can hook up with some resupply.”

  Kelly did the best he could, and the French villagers were very cooperative. They were so happy to see the last of the Germans that the Americans could do no wrong.

  The troops methodically cleared the houses one by one, looking for any more snipers, then for booby traps. But, none were found.

  Schneider stayed so busy tending to the villagers’ various ailments that he had almost no time for anything else.

  The situation stabilized by the morning of the second day. Schneider made many house calls to Sorenson’s command post. In the early morning of the second day, he found Sorenson asleep, glad that the Lieutenant had slept without needing any more morphine. Still, he needed to wake him.

  “Sorry to get you up, Jim,” he said as he gently touched Sorenson’s shoulder.

  Sorenson awoke with a start, reaching for his rifle, then grimacing in pain from the sudden movement.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry,” Schneider said.

  “It’s okay, Doc. I’m still on high alert, I guess. Even asleep!”

  “Sit tight, here. I just need to look at that wound.”

  Sorenson lay back against his makeshift cushions of his field pack and local blankets while Schneider undressed the wound and washed it with water. Then he applied some more Sulfanilamide powder and clean gauze. Finally, he re-splinted the whole leg.

  “Looking good, Jim,” he said. “I’ll be back later. Need anything for pain?”

  “No, Doc. What are you doing out there?”

  “Ha! It’s like being a GP and a gynecologist and a surgeon and a psychiatrist all at once. I’ve never been so busy even in my own practice. These people are starving for medical care. The Krauts did nothing for them. I’m just afraid I’ll run out of supplies and have nothing for our guys when the fighting heats up again.”

  “Do what you can. I’m thinking we’ll link up with a field hospital soon. At least I hope so.”

  For the next day, the men stayed busy patrolling and helping the locals when they could. Kelly sent out several small patrols to secure the area and try to make contact with American troops. But to no avail.

  Sorenson felt better after the village was cleared and under his control. But they still hadn’t joined up with the main body of the surgical group, and worse still, they hadn’t joined up with any significant fighting force. They had no supplies to speak of. Pretty soon the team would have trouble treating a hangnail with what was left in their packs: no plasma and only a handful of sterile supplies, most of which went to keeping Sorenson’s wound from turning gangrenous.

  Schneider was still incredulous that he had taken such a great risk dropping into France, at night, behind enemy lines, so that he could have an aid station up and running to receive the inevitable casualties. What was I thinking? However, it gave him great satisfaction to treat the locals, and a sense of pride at both how much basic medicine he remembered from medical school as well as his rapidly improving French.

  Still, when he wasn’t busy treating patients, his mind was teeming with questions and recriminations.

  Shit. What have I gotten into, he thought? And what’s happening to Hamm? And McClintock? Jesus, those poor guys are landing right into the German fortresses. Festung Europa, Hitler called it.

  He couldn’t help imagining that the rest of the invasion was foundering just as badly as his part. It wasn’t a pretty thought. He was also agonizing over his decision to sign up at all. He didn’t have to go. How much of it, he wondered, had to do with his need to get away from Susan, even at the cost of leaving his little girls as well? Or the fact that all his colleagues had joined up? And how could he have looked Hamm’s family in the face if he had stayed behind? Or more important, Hamm himself
? And how much was determined by his guilt over his German heritage? And his orthodox Jewish parents? And, not the least, his hope to find his uncle? Was his uncle even alive? So many questions.

  When Schneider wandered up to the command post again, Sorenson was talking with Sergeant Kelly and two other soldiers. Sorenson had moved up from Claude’s cart to a more stable vehicle. The Germans had abandoned a small trailer used to carry supplies. It was made of steel and had rubber wheels. The ride was better, but without a jeep or truck to pull it, there was no way they were going anywhere: it was way too heavy to be pulled by his men for any distance on the flat, and uphill not at all.

  Schneider walked over toward the small group and listened from a distance as they made plans for the defense of Fauville. Sorenson was still trying to set up a protected perimeter, but there just weren’t enough men to go around. For the time being, he had no idea if the villagers would be of any use to them at all in a fight. Another group of GIs was dispatched to find out if there were any French Resistance fighters in the neighborhood who might help. So far in the two days there, not a single Maquis had turned up.

  “Hey, Doc. Come on over here for a minute, will you?” Sorenson said.

  As Schneider joined the small group, he noticed that the dressing on Sorenson’s leg was bleeding through again. The wound had remained fairly clean, but he was now concerned about the continued blood loss.

  Sorenson was probably losing significant blood through the open bone marrow, and that really had Schneider worried. He was in no position to fix anything under these conditions without supplies. He didn’t say anything to Sorenson because, for the last several hours, Sorenson had adamantly refused to let Schneider do any more with the leg. He was fully engaged with the defense of the group, and he would waste no more time or supplies on anything as trivial as an unset open fracture; never mind the unremitting bleeding, the possibility of tetanus, gas gangrene, and loss of limb or life.

  “Listen, Doc. Exactly what can you do here in the way of setting up an aid station? I mean, are we doing any good?”

  “We may as well not even be here, Major. I have shit for supplies; I have no support personnel other than Marsh. He’s damned good, but he’s still just a kid with a high school diploma and a few months of on-the-job training playing doctor. We need to link up with the main medical group and set up a field hospital as soon as possible. And I don’t have to tell you that we need some more warm bodies to defend us. I mean the Jerries may have pulled out of this town, but God only knows when they’ll be back.”

  “God may not know, but I do. They’re going to be back through here just as soon as they regroup in sufficient strength to blast our asses. That could be any time now.”

  “Well, then shouldn’t we move out of here and find some friendly faces? Your guys and mine.”

  “Listen, Major. Leave that to—”

  Before Sorenson could finish, Marsh began shouting and waving.

  “Hey, LT, Doc! Look. Look. Quick.”

  Marsh was pointing and shouting at the same time. He stood at the crest of the small rise at the edge of town. Schneider trotted up to Marsh, while three of the GIs struggled to drag Sorenson’s trailer over to join them.

  As Schneider pulled up, he could see, off in the distance, a cloud of dust rising from the surface of the earth, looking for all the world like a big brown caterpillar. It undulated and slithered along the brown dirt road, coming slowly and steadily in their direction. Marsh continued to stare straight ahead. He handed Schneider a pair of binoculars. Schneider adjusted the focus and zeroed in on the vehicles at the leading edge of the caterpillar. What he saw was just too unimaginably wonderful. There, less than a mile away now, and moving toward them at a fast pace, was an American military convoy led by khaki-colored jeeps and trucks, the first three of which were armed to the teeth. Moving through clouds of dust behind them were jeeps, trucks, and ambulances emblazoned on every surface with red crosses set in bright white circles. By Schneider’s count, more than fifteen of them, followed by many more jeeps and troop transports.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  Sorenson was pulled up next to Schneider, his men sweating and puffing at the exertion of getting the steel trailer the few yards up the little hill. Sorenson lifted his war-battered binoculars to his eyes.

  “Holy shit! Look at that!”

  It was only seconds more before all of them were cheering and hugging and jumping up and down in place. The villagers, who had been milling around the outskirts of their little town, saw the commotion and began running to see what was happening. When they arrived at the observation point, they too began cheering and hugging each other. Everyone began waving at the convoy. One of the French villagers had unfurled the French tricolor flag, the Bleu, Blanc, et Rouge. After a moment, the members of the convoy spotted the hilltop as well. The three armored lead jeeps accelerated aggressively up the dirt road in the direction of the crowd, brandishing three large tripod-mounted machine guns as they came. When they were about five hundred yards away, it appeared that they could see the American uniforms, and they too began to wave, slowing down the jeeps and elevating the muzzles of their menacing guns to a safe position.

  “Looks like our prayers have been answered, Doc. Here comes the cavalry,” Sorenson said quietly, as if this were just what he had expected. They had all watched too many westerns.

  “Sure does, Lieutenant. But now that we have some protection, I think we need to set up closer to the fighting. Nothing’s going on around here. What good is all that equipment, if there are no casualties for us to treat?”

  “We’re not out of the war just yet, Major. We may be up to our asses in casualties in short order here. Let’s just see what these guys know. They must have some radios and information. And a god damned map!”

  “Where are Hamm and Ted right this minute? Are they even alive?” Schneider said to himself.

  Schneider and Sorenson waited, not so patiently, as the medical caterpillar made its way up the slope to their position. After being alone for so long, it seemed forever before the rescuers arrived. The jeeps came up the hill first, the muzzles of their machine guns all now aimed safely at the sky. Several of the soldiers jumped down and immediately mingled with the troops. An officer—another lieutenant—came directly up to Sorenson, who was still holding court from his German trailer.

  The lieutenant saluted Sorenson, more of a friendly gesture than a stiff military salute, and said, “Nice ride you got there, Jim.” Then he looked down at Sorenson’s leg, and his expression changed. “Oh man, what the hell happened to you?”

  “Fell out of a glider,” Sorenson said. “It’s sure as hell good to see you, Jack. Where’d you come from? And who’s with you?”

  “We’re just comin’ up from Utah Beach. Been movin’ in this direction since the invasion. We got hooked up with these medics as soon as we got off the beaches. Got orders to bring them inland to set up a field hospital at Hiesville, about six miles southeast of here. We secured Ste. Mère Église early this morning. Bad shit, that was. Very heavily defended, but we sure did kick some Jerry ass back there. Heavy losses on both sides. Then we rounded up these medical guys and their supplies from Omaha Beach and were ordered over this way to find you. So? What’s left of you?”

  “We got the shit kicked out of us, Jim. Crashed and burned most of the gliders. Lost about half my men right there in the field the first night. We just made it here. Jerries cleared out except for one dumb fuckin’ sniper, just a kid, who managed to wound one of my men before Kelly nailed him. But the doc here’s ready to go. Oh, Doc, this here is Lieutenant Jack Bender. He and I went to OCS at Benning together a long time ago. We go way back. Jack, this is Major Schneider.”

  Bender reached out to shake hands. “Pleasure, Doc.”

  Schneider shook hands and nodded.

  “Glad to see you guys, Lieutenant. Who’ve you got for a surgical team back there?”

  “Got a whole surgical group for you
, Doc. Surgeons, anesthesia, medics. Operating tents. Generators. All kinds of good equipment. You’ll be happy as a pig in shit. No nurses yet, but they should be along after a while.”

  As he told Schneider the good news, the convoy of trucks swept up the hill and descended into the town. Bender waved them past and pointed to the village. The trucks passed in a cloud of dust, leaving everyone coughing and wiping the grit from their eyes. But, oh, were they happy to see those red crosses all lined up on the doors and hoods and roofs of those ugly khaki trucks. It was as if all their wishes had come true at once; it was like a birthday with presents for everyone.

  Schneider immediately started looking for his team, especially Hamm and Ted. Also, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on those supplies. He knew that his very first task would be to get Sorenson under anesthesia, debride his fractured leg, set it properly with a real plaster cast, and pump him full of some of that wonderful penicillin. This time, he would not be taking no for an answer. Bender’s presence meant that they could take Sorenson out of the line of fire and get him back to a safe place where he could recover from his injury. He might even live to fight another day, walking into battle under his own power.

  Wouldn’t that be nice? Schneider thought. Or maybe Sorenson could just go home. That would be even better.

  Suddenly, Schneider couldn’t stand it any longer. He waved to Bender and Sorenson, spun on his heels, and began to run down the slope in the dusty wake of the caterpillar convoy. The trucks had stopped outside the village square and were lining up under the direction of one of the sergeants. Men poured out of every vehicle: jeeps, trucks, half-tracks. Combat soldiers were forming their protective groups, creating a perimeter while the medical teams unloaded supplies and erected tents. The apparent chaos was in reality an enormously complex machine building itself into a full-fledged army field hospital. All Schneider’s worries and the visceral fear that had clung to his intestines ever since he took off from England two days earlier evaporated. He was going back to work. At that moment, he was just proud to be part of this organization.