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

by Anthony A. Goodman

  Although Stein fought and railed against him, Berg prevailed on the other Kapos to allow him to bathe and clean his father’s body. He had wrapped the old man in one of his two remaining lab coats (there were no clean sheets anywhere to he found) and he managed to say the Kaddish over the body with a minion composed of patients gleaned from the few men on the ward still capable of standing long enough to utter a prayer. Berg hoped to get permission to bury his father himself when Grau or Himmel returned to the hospital.

  Berg fell asleep in his chair that night. At precisely 0800 the next day, he still was in his chair when Standartenführer Himmel walked into the room. He cocked his head to one side and said, “Guten morgen, doktor. A terrible night for you, I heard.”

  Berg nodded. It was no surprise that word had gotten to Himmel. He knew everything that went on in the camp.

  Berg could only sigh. Words were beyond him.

  “This may bring you some comfort then,” he said. “Kapo Stein will join his relatives today.”

  Berg’s mind was confused and muzzy, without any reference as to what Himmel meant.

  “Yes, Stein will be gassed with the eight o’clock group this morning. He is on his way to Oven Number One as we are speaking.”

  Berg should have rejoiced, shouted, smiled. But, it meant nothing to him. Kapos had a short life expectancy anyway. After a few months, they knew too much or enjoyed too much power, so the SS generally gassed them with some regularity. It didn’t really affect the rest of the camp one way or the other.

  But his own beating at Stein’s hands and the news of Stein’s death that morning as punishment were nothing compared to what Himmel said next. Himmel told Berg that he was sorry to hear about his father. Berg would never forget the way Himmel looked at him: there was the hint, just the hint of a smile, the suggestion of sympathy. But, there was also an ambiguity, an unexplained nuance that would haunt Berg every day for the rest of his life. And he was sure it was deliberate.

  “Herr Berg,” Himmel said, touching him lightly on the shoulder, “Why didn’t you just come to me? Why didn’t you say something?”

  Then he shook his head in mock sorrow and walked slowly from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  8 May 1945, 1200 Hours

  Field Hospital Charlie-7, Leipzig, Germany

  By the time the biggest and bloodiest battle of the war—soon to be known as the Battle of the Bulge—was over, the Americans had suffered almost 90,000 casualties, with nearly 20,000 dead. With that terrible part of the winter war now almost six months behind them and little more than a terrible memory, life was again actually becoming a little boring at the field hospital. There had not been much in the way of fighting for several weeks. They had reached Leipzig now, deep into the heart of Germany, only a little more than two hours south of Berlin. The medical teams were used to losing so many soldiers in such a short time that any lull in the fighting seemed like peacetime.

  And Marsh was back, though God knows how he managed to prevent getting shipped home after such a terrible injury. But he was the same Marsh they had all grown to love and admire.

  Pockets of resistance remained, but the troops encountered none of the massive assaults they had met in Belgium near Bastogne last winter. Once the Allied armies had crossed the Rhine, everyone knew it would not be long before the war was over.

  Schneider and Hamm were writing notes on some post-op patients. “Rumor has it that Patton publicly pissed in the Rhine to show his contempt for the Nazis.” Schneider said.

  “I wish I’d been there to see that,” Hamm said.

  “With the Russians coming from the east, and our guys moving in from the west, the Krauts are pretty well surrounded by now,” Schneider said.

  “And they are a pathetic bunch. So much for the Master Race and the Thousand Year Reich,” Hamm mused.

  “They’ll all wish they’d surrendered to us when the Russians arrive. Rumors are they’re damned brutal.”

  Hamm nodded.

  “Some of those German kids I hear,” Hamm said, “they’re just reaching puberty! Who’s sending them out to fight?”

  “They’re all that’s left. So much for the great Reich,” Schneider said.

  “They’re so pathetic. But, I could also cry for them.” Hamm said.

  Schneider thought for a moment, and then went on. “The scuttlebutt is that Hitler married his mistress a few days ago. Eva Braun, I think her name is, and then they committed suicide in his Berlin Bunker. As of now it’s still scuttlebutt, but if it’s true, I’m actually sorry to hear it. I’d have liked a little revenge, and it would have been nice to take that son-of-a-bitch alive.”

  The men were war-weary and anxious to get home. For days the rumors flew that this or that army had surrendered. Or that they had not.

  Most of the surgery was on German prisoners now, and most of those were old men and children. They saw few SS prisoners, either because the SS were fighting to the death, or because the Allies weren’t taking too many SS prisoners alive. Nobody lost much sleep over that. Hamm felt sorry for the old guys he saw in uniform. They were too old to be of much use to anyone, and they surrendered as soon as they saw a GI with a gun…or even without a gun. One group even surrendered to Antonelli. The most dangerous things he carried were some morphine Syrettes. He didn’t know what to do with the prisoners, so he just led them back to some MPs and turned them over. He looked like the Pied Piper.

  “In some ways it’s sad to see the German army reduced to old men and teenagers,” Hamm said. “Their guns are dirty and rusted, and their uniforms look like something out of a Bill Mauldin Up Front cartoon.

  “Then there are the German civilians. They were just as pathetic. Half of them claimed to have never heard of a Nazi.”

  Schneider scowled as he spoke. “Yeah, ‘What’s a Nazi?’ Imagine that!’ Phhh! I had more respect for the ones who at least admitted what they were and surrendered to history. But these others: ‘Nazis? Where? Who?’ Like they’d been asleep for the last five or ten or fifteen years. Well, I’m not going to lose any sleep over them either, and I certainly won’t waste my good time hurrying to their aid. It doesn’t bother me one bit,” he added.

  But it did bother Hamm. He was uneasy with their diminishing sense of humanity toward their patients, Nazis or not. Schneider was more sanguine. He had lost that sense of obligation to come to the aid of the sick and injured. He was drawing lines in his mind, making categories.

  Then, of course, there was the other big question: Where would they go when it was over in Europe? Home? Stay there in Europe? Be shipped to the Pacific?

  The Pacific.

  “God forbid!” Schneider said to Hamm when the subject came up. “Those Japs really give me the creeps. The things I’ve heard about the treatment of our prisoners over there make my skin crawl. Of course, the Nazis weren’t so great either. I guess seeing them up close is different than the rumors of something unknown like the Japs.”

  When the German surrender finally came, different people heard about it at different times. At Field Hospital Charlie-7 they got the news later than most, because their only radio was broken. They finally liberated a German radio, a Kleinfunksprecher, and, though Schneider hated to admit it, it was a fine piece of equipment. At least it worked.

  They were all in the mess hall, this time a real room in a real hotel in the center of Leipzig. Schneider was eating alone with Molly, agonizing about their own personal problem now that the end of the war was in sight. The surrender might come at any time. But coming, it was. And with it, the decisions that they both had been talking about for several months.

  The question had become an irritant, an interruption in an otherwise fairy-tale romance. That was the whole trouble: It was too much like a fairy tale. Falling in love in a war zone, at the very front battle line, was just not real life. If Schneider had been single or, at least, had no kids, it would have been easy. But he was married, and Anna and Emily were young, and everyone at
home was counting the days until Daddy came back to them. Here he was at the front lines of the biggest war in history, in love up to his ears, and longing to spend his life with this woman next to him. This woman who had been through the war with him night and day for nearly a year. Through everything.

  Schneider finished his meal and watched Molly as she picked her way through hers.

  “We do need to make a decision, you know. It could happen any day. I mean this war is ending,” she said.

  Schneider lowered his voice, and said, “I love you, Molly, and it wouldn’t matter if we were here or in Sheboygan or Gary, Indiana. War or not, I fell in love with you against my better judgment. I know about married men falling in love. It’s stupid and self-destructive. And it never works out. And, to tell you the truth, I never thought we both would survive the war. When we were under fire every night back there in France and Belgium, there was no way I thought we could survive. So, I didn’t have to think too far ahead. Then when the Germans captured the field hospital and fucking Fuchs took over, my God, who could have believed we would survive. But, here we are, and I’m a hopeless romantic and—”

  He stopped and turned his head away from her, trying to collect his thoughts. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” Then, as if he were taking off one mask and replacing it with another, he turned back and said, “I just don’t know, Molly. Maybe I need to go back to the real world and see Susan and the kids before I decide.” He actually choked when he said Susan’s name. It wasn’t lost on Molly.

  “I need to go on with my life as if you aren’t going to wait for me,” he went on. “I can’t do anything else. I can’t ask you to sit around waiting, hoping I’ll come back to you. It isn’t Susan’s fault, this war. If it hadn’t been for Hitler and the Nazis….”

  He stopped, not knowing where he was going with this. Once again, his nervous confusion was making him babble. So, he remained silent then, feeling that he had gone too far; that perhaps he might say more than he meant to say. He felt and saw her slipping away from him, moving her heart toward a safer place ‘back behind their own lines,’ as they used to think of their safe havens from the Germans. It was all too startling to behold in those now darkening green eyes of hers.

  “Is that what you really want?” she said, with a cold edge in her voice and a rigidity in her body. She wanted him to tell her that he wanted her so desperately that he would go home and divorce Susan and marry her. Hell, not even marry her but just stay there in Europe and live their lives together. It was a romantic dream, but she had been living a dream for so many months that it was hard to get ready to go back to the real world.

  Molly had made the war into something to live for: a dream instead of a nightmare. It was, after all, Steve’s fear for her safety that kept him sharp and alert, that made him kill the German patient without a second’s hesitation and without any remorse. His only shame was the memory of how much he enjoyed it. Yes, he admitted to himself, and to her, and not without shame, that he actually enjoyed it when that man’s larynx snapped. He still regretted that Fuchs had also shot the man. He wanted all of the credit for himself. But now was not the time to go back there.

  The two of them sat, numb and mute, staring at the scrubbed wooden table top, when Antonelli burst into the room shouting. All heads turned toward him.

  “It’s over! It’s over! The Krauts surrendered. Eisenhower signed the Nazi’s surrender papers in Reims.”

  He called it Reems.

  “Damn! It’s officially over!” Antonelli was jumping up and down, hugging everyone within reach. Most of the room burst into cheers and laughter. They all knew it was coming, that the end was really there already. But, hearing it from Antonelli—the perpetual bearer of all news, good and bad—made it real.

  Victory in Europe Day! It was over.

  Soon all the personnel of the field hospital were pouring into the mess hall. It was noisier than New Year’s Eve. They were singing “It’s A Long Way To Tipperary” and “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.” Two GIs from Montana were singing, “Home on the Range.”

  Schneider was speechless. He didn’t know what to do or say. He just stood there looking at Molly, and she stared back at him. There was no delaying any more. He had to say something. Do something.

  Without a word and before he could speak, Molly turned and walked quickly away. Schneider tossed his tray onto the pile of dirties and tried to run after her. But he was caught in a mob of exuberance, of hugs and kisses, back slaps, and more hugs. Marsh was there, messing Schneider’s hair, and then even Sorenson managed to lose his perpetual air of seriousness and authority. He was next to Schneider, hugging Mary Doyle, and then Shirley, and Pat, and just about every female who got within reach.

  Schneider struggled to break free of the crowd. He tried to get to Molly, fighting his way through the throng of cheering GIs and nurses. But it was hopeless. He found himself carried back into the tent, smothered in a mob of celebrating officers and enlisted men and women. Just about all of his friends in the world were there in that tent with him. But not the love of his life.

  He stood high on his toes in time to see Molly fleeing as if she were being chased. She ran as fast as she could, faster than if the Germans were after her. In his heart she was running from him and any life she might have had with him.

  She just kept on running.

  Schneider pushed and bullied his way back toward the door, accepting hugs and kisses as he went. But he wasn’t making any headway. It was like one of those dreams where he was running through molasses, unable to evade a pursuer or catch his prey. The crush and the exuberance were just too great. Finally he surrendered to the crowd as he watched Molly disappear from sight, perhaps from his life.

  Out of nowhere, Hamm stepped into his path. His face, and his alone, was as serious as Schneider’s. Schneider was puzzled for a moment and he stopped trying to rush after Molly.

  “What’s up, Hamm?”

  “War’s over,” he said, without a smile or any enthusiasm. “What’s up with you?”

  “What do you mean?” Schneider said.

  “Want to talk to me?”

  “About what?”

  “C’mon, Steve. It’s me, Hamm. Talk to me.”

  “Yeah. All right.” Schneider knew just what Hamm was after. “Not here. This isn’t the place right now.”

  “OK,” Hamm said. “Later, pal. Go talk to her, but then come find me. We’re all going for a little ride. The whole group.”

  “Ride? Where to?”

  “I had some jeeps and some passes lined up before the news broke. We’ll keep the hell away from Berlin and head down toward Prague to have some well-deserved furlough.”

  “OK. When do you want to go?”

  “Soon as we can pack up a few things. I’m going over to post-op and make some rotation assignments. We’ll leave a skeleton staff to hold the fort here. Maybe take three or four days, then rotate back and give the others a few days off.”

  “Right. I’ll meet you back at the room. I need to go talk to Molly.” Schneider said.

  “I know.” Hamm said.

  “Think she’ll come along?”

  “I don’t know. I was going to assign her to our leave group. Is that what you want?”

  “Yeah, I do. Damn me, I really do.” Schneider said. “Well, you better OK it with her first.”

  They said no more and went in different directions, Hamm to post-op, and Schneider to find Molly. He hated to burst into the nurses’ quarters, but there was no other way.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  8 May 1945, 1300 Hours

  Field Hospital Charlie-7, Leipzig, Germany

  Schneider headed toward Molly’s tent, stopping as infrequently as possible to shake all the hands and share the general good mood of the field hospital. The heavy pall pressing down on his chest, when all the world was celebrating the great day, made him feel as if he alone bore the weight of defeat in his heart.

 
He got to the tents where the nurses were billeted and found the door open. There was a crowd inside there too, and a real party was going on. He was shocked to see Marsh standing on one of the cots, pouring champagne from a huge bottle. God knows where he got it. He even had champagne glasses. It was like New Year’s Eve there, too.

  Schneider scanned the crowd, and when he couldn’t see Molly, he pushed his way to her cot. She wasn’t there. He waded through the crowd again, and a third time, but she was nowhere to be found. Suddenly there was a tug at his sleeve. He turned expecting to find Molly there at his back. But it wasn’t. It was Mary Doyle. She pulled Schneider down to her level and said quietly into his ear, “She’s out there,” and pointed to the rear entrance to the tent. He nodded and started to go, when Mary pulled at him again.

  “Careful, Major. Gently.”

  He nodded to her and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and smiled. He left the room by the back door.

  Almost directly behind the nurses’ area was an open field. There at the edge of the field was a stump, and on the stump was Molly. It was an exact replica of that encounter they had so long ago in France when she told Schneider of her husband’s death at Pearl Harbor. She was sitting facing away from him again and looking west. This time there was no sunset and no dramatic scene. Just fields, and a lightly overcast sky. It was hard to tell what time of day it was, for the sun was obscured, though the day was bright and a little blustery. Spring in Europe had been wonderful much of the time. The coming of the new leaves and the early flowers; endless fields of something bright yellow, though Schneider had no idea what the crop was; endless rejuvenation following on the heels of death.

  Schneider walked up behind her, making enough noise so that he wouldn’t startle her. He could see her stiffen. Even without turning around, she knew who it was. Who else would be out there instead of joining the celebration back in the hospital?