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

by Anthony A. Goodman

  The introduction, in English, also surprised them. The page began with, “And the khaki-clad sons of Israel commanded by Lt. General Truscotte gathered together as was the custom in Israel, to celebrate the Passover festival.”

  Schneider whispered to Hamm, “They seem to have left out Patton.”

  Hamm nodded, eyebrows raised, while Schneider turned the page.

  More woodcuts bordered the pages, now showing the future in the Promised Land, a land of crops and farmers. The text went on to draw parallels between the liberation of the ancient Jews and the liberation of the camps.

  Schneider turned the next page.

  Everyone winced as they scanned the woodcut borders once again. At the top was another swastika and the words Brause Bad, the deadly gas showers of the extermination camps. More horrible still were the drawings of all the terribly efficient engines of death: the knives and axes, the gas chambers, and the crematoria. In the middle of the page, instead of the words that begin the traditional Haggadah,

  “We were slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt.”

  was inscribed alone on the page,

  “We were slaves to Hitler in Germany.”

  And so this new Haggadah, “The Survivors’ Haggadah,” began, comparing at every turn the plight of the Jews under Hitler to the story of their slavery under Pharaoh. With each new page there was the suggestion, in drawings and in the text, that the bitter fruits of slavery would be turned into the fruits of the harvest; that the memories of the camps would spur the work of the future to provide the Jews with a place that was their own, just as Moses had led them to the Promised Land after their exodus from Egypt. Thus, the story that each Jewish father tells his sons and daughters every Passover, the story of the freeing of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, would now be joined by the telling of the story of their imprisonment under Hitler, and their exodus after their liberation by the Allied armies of Eisenhower. Woodcut after woodcut showed black and white images of the camps in the most chilling details: Nazi guards separating the children from their parents, soldiers shooting unarmed prisoners, laborers toiling under impossible loads as they were lashed by guards with leather whips, dark black chimneys spewing into the air the terrible smoke in which rose the souls of the tortured and the dead Jews. Among these were images of a brighter future of freedom, of plenty, of peace.

  Those who were there would swear to tell the story forever so that no one could ever forget. No one. Ever.

  Soon, nearly everyone in the room was either crying silently or straining to hold back tears. Even McClintock, and Molly were drawn into the collective sorrow of the Jewish service.

  As the rabbi continued, Schneider explained the various elements to Molly and McClintock. It was a wonder for Hamm to see Steve shed his long-worn cloak of agnosticism and embrace his Judaism with fervor and pride. And tears.

  Page after page continued to reveal woodcuts such as pyramids next to gas chambers and Pharaoh’s slaves juxtaposed next to the camp victims digging their own graves. These were intermingled with the traditional Hebrew liturgy followed by admonitions to future generations.

  With Schneider as their guide, Molly and McClintock learned about the Passover symbols. These very symbols had embarrassed Schneider as he grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home, driving him farther from his parents with every passing year; something only the war and its aftermath could reverse.

  Schneider showed Molly and Ted the matzo, the unleavened bread that the ancient Jews baked on their backs by the heat of the sun as they fled across the desert; the bitter herbs to signify the bitter days of slavery; and the burnt lamb bone to recall the sacrifices. Molly crumbled the matzo as she took her turn, looking more like the Catholic she was, taking the host rather than the unleavened bread of the exodus. Berg lifted his piece of the matzo in a silent toast to Molly. She smiled at him and nodded.

  The group heard the most famous of all the liturgy, the Four Questions, when the youngest child asks,

  “Why is this night different from all other nights?

  “Why is it on all other nights during the year we eat either leavened or unleavened bread, but on this night we eat only unleavened bread?

  “Why is it on all other nights, we eat all kinds of herbs, but on this night we eat only bitter herbs?

  “Why is it on all other nights we need not dip our herbs even once, but on this night we dip twice?

  “On all other nights, we dine either sitting upright or reclining, but on this night we all recline?”

  And the story began, as the eldest, this time the rabbi, answered the questions, reading from the Haggadah,

  “We were slaves in Egypt unto Pharaoh…”

  The child was told that the unleavened bread was a food of necessity for the fleeing Jews who had not the time to allow the dough to rise, that the bitter herbs are to remind them of the bitter times, and that reclining at dinner is the sign of a free man, no longer a slave.

  And so it went that evening in Munich, as it was all over the rest of the world where Jews were free to practice their religion, free to ask these important questions.

  At evening’s end, the seven of them still at Hamm’s table joined the service for the newly freed congregation of European Jews. Schneider rejoined his own faith; Hamm and Berg renewed theirs; McClintock and Molly celebrated for all of them. And the Guttmanns sobbed.

  The shock of the revised Haggadah was just beginning to wear off when the service came to the chanting of the Dayenu, the Hebrew word signifying, “It would have been enough.”

  In the traditional Haggadah, the Jews thank God for his infinite blessings. In the traditional responsive reading, they say: if God had only freed us from Pharaoh, Dayenu! It would have been enough! If God had only led us out of Egypt, Dayenu! It would have been enough!

  Each blessing was recounted and thanks was offered to God, for any one of those would have been enough!

  But in the Haggadah of the Munich Seder, the Jews instead admonished God for plagues visited upon them by the Nazis.

  “If he had given us the ghettos but no gas chambers and crematoria, Dayenu! It would have been enough! If he had given us the gas chambers and the crematoria, but our wives and children had not been tortured, Dayenu! It would have been enough! If he had tortured our wives and children….”

  And so it went, on and on, reciting each and every horror of their lives under Hitler, every unthinkable, unspeakable plague endured under the SS and the Nazis, any one of which would have been enough!

  By the time the Seder neared its end, the voices had grown hushed. Tears saturated every cheek and napkin. Schneider felt a desperate need to be by himself to assimilate the events of the evening. He knew that, for him, this would be a process that would go on for many years to come; the Seder was only the beginning.

  This—perhaps the most unusual Seder since the Last Supper—unfolded in an ordinary restaurant before an extraordinary congregation. It reminded Hamm of how most of the great events in humankind’s short history on the planet were played out in front of common, ordinary men and women.

  As the evening wound down Hamm found himself focused on Molly and Steve. They had all been through years of war and all its horrors together, and he realized that in a short while they would all be parting. This Seder marked a special place in their lives, a line in time between the years of war and the years of peace. Hamm had a feeling that it might be a very long time before they three would be together again. For the past many months, they had worked together to clean up Hitler’s mess: healing the casualties, civilian and military, left in the wake of the great armies of Europe. It once seemed as if they would be there forever. Now, on the eve of their departure, he realized that they were each going to travel very different paths.

  Steve and Molly had been in their own world that night, their heads now close together as Schneider moved next to her and joined her in reading through “The Survivor’s Haggadah.” There was a connection between them so intangible yet so strong that it w
as palpable. Neither had said anything to Hamm about their plans after the war, but he was looking at two changed people. All of them were changed, of course. But these two lovers had much more pain in front of them. Whether they would stay together or not, Hamm wasn’t sure. However, even he could see the connection between their hearts.

  At the end, the congregation rose and silently shook the hands in turn of everyone at each table. “Next year, in Jerusalem,” they repeated to each other. These the traditional words of hope and prayer of the Jews for as long as anyone could remember. The same words were on the lips of every congregant as the handshaking and hugging spread through the room. Even McClintock and Molly, the resident gentiles, found themselves caught up in this most important wish of Jews all over the world: to find a place of their own, a nation forever open to all Jews in need of a homeland.

  Hamm could only wonder where each of them would be when it came time again for the Seder next year.

  The crowd dispersed quickly when the Seder was finally over. The rabbi stood near the door, shaking hands with the German civilians as well as the army personnel as they left. Chaim and Bessie Guttmann stood uncertainly near the door. They seemed reluctant to leave the warmth and the safety of the restaurant. Berg approached them and spoke quietly in German.

  He turned to Schneider and said, “I think I’ll walk a while with the Guttmanns. They seem very uneasy to be on their own. I’ll see you later at the rooms.”

  Schneider started to protest, still protective of his uncle. But he realized that the man needed to take over his life again, so this was as good a way as any. Here they could all recreate a kind of family: a new community.

  Berg nodded to Hamm and lightly kissed Molly on both cheeks. He held his hand against her forehead for a few seconds as a blessing just for her. Then he hugged his nephew, Stephen, and disappeared with the Guttmanns.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  15 April 1946, 2200 Hours

  Munich, Germany

  Hamm, McClintock, and Schneider headed for the door. Molly took Schneider’s arm and snuggled close to him as they walked out into the dark street. There was a chill in the air as the last remnants of the German winter held back the real coming of spring. The streets were wet and slick. Only a few streetlights were on, making glistening paths along the uneven and, as yet, unrepaired roadway. Hamm and McClintock walked a few yards in front of Schneider and Molly, hunched against the cold, hands stuck deep into their jacket pockets for warmth. The warm glow of the Seder and its camaraderie left their bodies as soon as they stepped out into the cold, wet Munich night. As they left the security of the large assembled crowd for the eerie emptiness of the rubble-strewn streets, an unease crept into their hearts.

  Alone for the first time all evening, the group of four meandered slowly along the back streets of Munich, somehow reluctant to call it a night. The Seder had evoked many mixed emotions in all of them, a uniting of the spirit in many ways. For McClintock, it was a new look into a religion that had, for his whole life, seemed foreign and strange. The biases of his family had hardened him against the Jews when he was young. It was not until college, and then later in medical school and residency, that he had come face-to-face with large numbers of colleagues who were Jewish. Still, he had never really taken an interest in the religion itself, so his contacts were professional and social, rarely philosophical. He felt that something new and substantial had entered his life.

  All lost in their own thoughts, the little procession followed no defined route, but rather slowly heading only in the vague direction of their billet, about a mile and half away. It would be only a twenty or thirty minute walk at their pace, but already Molly had begun to shiver from the dampness more than the temperature. The wet air seemed to cut through her army coat and knife straight into her bones. She tightened her grip on Steve’s arm and pressed herself closer to his body for the heat she needed and out of the love she felt for him.

  By the time they had walked no more than ten minutes, mostly in silence, the streets were entirely empty. Not a soul was in sight. Houses were dark, to save on the cost of electricity wherever it was available, to save on candles and lamp oil where it was not.

  Hamm began to talk quietly to McClintock. Neither Molly nor Steve could hear what they were saying, nor did they try. Both still agonized over their own futures. Time was slipping away, and it was only a matter of days before they would have to decide what they would do. Molly was going to fight for Steve, no matter what it took. Steve was wavering painfully toward staying in Europe with Molly, at least for the foreseeable future. By not going home, he could delay the painful encounter with Susan. He rationalized his need to help resettle his uncle, but he knew in his heart that this was just an excuse. Berg was on his own road home, even though there was no home to which he could return.

  About halfway back to the billet, Hamm and McClintock turned a corner, disappearing from sight for the few seconds it would take Steve and Molly to make the turn as well. Instinctively, the couple hurried their steps to catch up. There was safety in numbers, and though the Allies had definitely won the war a year earlier, the peace was still fragile: with the economy stalled, people were short of just about everything. Jobs were scarce. The menace of the post-war months was real, with bitter hatreds still active between the losers and the winners. To make it worse, there were illegal military handguns and rifles to be found nearly everywhere. Even grenades surfaced from time to time. The role of the military police had expanded considerably to restore order to the chaos. But it was taking time, and nobody was comfortable on the streets alone after dark.

  As Steve and Molly neared the corner where they had lost sight of Hamm and McClintock, they heard a muffled noise, distinct but indecipherable. It was little more than a scuffling. But, there was something, something that made the hair stand up on the back of Steve’s neck. Molly tightened her grip as Steve reached down to free himself from her hand on his arm. Instinctively, he wanted to be able to move. To fight? To run away? Something. But he didn’t know what. In those short few seconds, his heart began to race, and even in the cold wet night, he began to feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead and down his back.

  Steve and Molly turned the corner almost together. Steve reached out to hold Molly back, stepping forward to turn the corner first; to put himself between her and whatever danger might lie ahead.

  Almost immediately he tripped, stumbling over the bodies of Hamm and McClintock. As he fell to the ground, he saw that his friends were prone, hands behind their heads, face down on the wet pavement. Two young German men—he couldn’t see them well enough to guess their ages—were standing over them, the much taller man pointing an American officer’s .45 at the back of Hamm’s head. Molly, just behind Steve, rounded the corner, and before she too stumbled to the ground, grabbed the side of the building for support. Her stomach tightened and she cried out, “Steve!”

  The sight of her created agitation and surprise from the two Germans, neither knowing where to point their weapons as they were now outnumbered by officers in uniform in this unexpected turn of events.

  The man holding the gun on Hamm was dressed in a ragged German army greatcoat. The insignias were torn off, so the green color was deeper and richer where the insignias had protected the coat. The sleeves and hem were ragged, and there were tears in the front pocket.

  A shorter man stood over McClintock, who was bleeding slightly from a two-inch gash in his forehead, the blood dripping over his left eyelid.

  “Achtung, Kurtz!”, the tall man shouted.

  Kurtz was armed with a length of steel pipe, ready to strike again. In his left hand were two leather wallets dangling open, a few American bills protruding from the compartments.

  Both men became increasingly agitated with the arrival of Molly and Schneider, and were now speaking frantically to each other in German.

  Schneider tried to hear what they were saying. He could make out Ami, the derogatory German slang for the Americ
ans. He also heard the German word, schießen, to shoot, along with the warning, Achtung!

  Schneider rolled over and struggled to his knees to look around for Molly, making sure she was out of harms way. Just then Kurtz struck him across the temple with the pipe.

  “Um Christus willen, schießen, Lange!

  Hamm, right next to Steve on the ground, whispered, “Steve, what the hell are they saying?”

  “Shit,” Steve whispered, “He’s telling him to shoot us! He’s saying, ‘Shoot for Christ’s sake.’ Can you fuckin’ believe it?”

  Lange, seeing them talking, kicked Schneider low in the left chest, knocking the wind out of him and momentarily paralyzing his diaphragm. Molly opened her mouth to scream for help, but nothing came out.

  Schneider collapsed to the ground with the impact of the strike. He struggled to catch his breath, but it would not come. He had felt the distinct cracking of a rib, seizing him with intense localized pain and making his breathing nearly impossible.

  With rising fury in his gut, and adrenaline coursing through his veins, McClintock started to leap to Schneider’s defense. But Lange leaned down and whispered in a menacing voice, “Bewegen Sie sich nicht.”

  Though Ted had no idea what the tall German had said, he knew it’s meaning in his gut. Schneider did know and was relieved that Ted did not move.

  Steve shook his head to clear his mind, realizing he had not lost consciousness. He felt the blood from his lacerated temple trickling down toward his eyes. Everything in him screamed in fear and rage. Schneider thought: The fucking war is over. It’s over for God’s sake, but he couldn’t get the words out in German or in English.

  It was all a blur. Everything was happening too fast to make any sense. All instincts were set on high. Ted, Hamm and Schneider knew where this could end.

  The Germans became more and more agitated, now faced with three soldiers and a woman instead of just the two men they had set out to mug. As Hamm turned over and struggled to get up, Lange pushed the barrel of his .45 against Hamm’s forehead, forcing him onto his back.