Breaking From the Enemy Page 2

  The transport stopped as the commander in the front seat looked toward the shots. He saw the smoldering tank on his left, and then he heard another shot. The commander spotted two German boots and a Luger being held in the air beside a tree stump.

  “Go see who is over by the tree stump,” ordered the commander. The back of the transport opened and two infantry soldiers exited the vehicle.

  The captain could barely hear what was going on but knew the transport had stopped. He passed out.

  “It is a tank commander. He is wounded but alive,” yelled one soldier.

  “Load him into the transport. I’m hungry and we need to get back to our command before nightfall,” ordered the commander.

  One soldier grabbed the captain under his armpits while the other grabbed the feet. As the soldiers loaded up the gravely wounded officer, the transport commander immediately noticed it was Captain Schmidt. Schmidt was a legend in the tank community, with more tank kills than any other commander. The commander put the transport in gear and moved on with the wounded captain in his care.

  ***

  The first thing Captain Schmidt noticed was a bandage covering his eyes and wrapped around the top of his head. He could barely move without pain shooting up and down his back. If he lay perfectly flat, the pain was manageable. The aroma of battle had switched to that of clean sheets and bleach. He couldn’t see, but he heard other people in the room.

  “Where am I?” asked the captain.

  “You are in the Berlin hospital recovering from your wounds. You should relax and let your body heal. The doctor will be in later to talk with you about your wounds,” the attending nurse said.

  “How long have I been here?” asked Schmidt.

  “You have been here three days. Now rest.”

  The nurse finished her rounds and was catching up on her paperwork when the doctor entered the nurses’ station.

  “Has anything changed since I was here last?” asked the doctor.

  “Our Captain Schmidt has come around and started talking.”

  The doctor grabbed his chart and reviewed it. “Well, that is good news. Did you tell him his tank career is most likely over because of his extensive back wounds?”

  “No, I left that bit of good news for you,” answered the nurse with a smile. The doctor smiled and picked up his charts for rounds.

  The captain heard someone come into his room.

  “Good morning, Captain Schmidt. How are you feeling?” asked the doctor.

  “My head is pounding and my back hurts worse than my head. When can I get out of here and get back to my tank command?”

  “Let’s see if we can get you walking before we decide about you getting back to your command. You took shrapnel to the head and back. Let’s take a look at your head and talk about your back.”

  The doctor removed the bandages around his head, releasing some pressure. Suddenly Schmidt felt a little better.

  “You lost a lot of blood, but fortunately someone saw you and brought you back to your command. They were able to stop your bleeding before they transported you here. Looks like your head will be fine.”

  The captain had a hard time focusing after the bandages were removed.

  “How is your vision?” asked the doctor. Schmidt blinked to focus.

  “It gets better every time I blink.” He reached for the top of his head but quickly removed his hand when what he touched felt like a foreign surface.

  “That’s where you had the shrapnel. You’re lucky it didn’t penetrate your skull, or you could have had brain damage. Your hair will grow back and cover the scar,” remarked the doctor.

  The captain moved his hand across the scar; it wasn’t as bad as he first thought.

  “Your back is what we need to talk about. We removed what we could, but there is still some shrapnel lodged near your spinal cord. If we remove it, there is a chance we could sever your spinal cord, which would paralyze you. If we leave the shrapnel there, any future shock to your body could move the shrapnel and cause paralysis. I am afraid the outcome is poor either way.”

  The captain looked at the doctor with disbelief.

  “I am sorry to say, but your tank days are behind you.”

  The doctor closed his chart and left the room. Captain Schmidt couldn’t believe what he had heard. What am I going to do now? I must fight for my country.

  Chapter 3

  IN THE SUMMER OF 1940, Germany rolled into Paris victorious. But conquering France was difficult for Germany, and the battles took a heavy toll. Hitler wanted more of Europe, so getting his wounded recovered and back to war as quickly as possible was a top priority. Hitler’s focus was east, which would require an even larger army.

  One of Germany’s largest military hospitals was in Berlin, where most of the military wounded were shipped to recover from their wounds. Captain Herman Schmidt was on the physical therapy floor, or what he referred to as “the physical torture ward.” He was on the floor doing his daily strengthening exercises. As he stretched, his mind drifted back to how far he had come in his recovery. It was slow at first, due to the pain and swelling in his back. He was in traction and heavily medicated for weeks to reduce the swelling. Not to mention he had to go through an agonizing bout of withdrawal from not getting his daily dosage of Panzerschokolade, an amphetamine known as “tank-chocolates.”

  During training sessions and battle periods, the tank crews were given pills to help them cope with the physical demands of war. His need for the amphetamine and methamphetamine finally subsided around the same time as the swelling in his back.

  Schmidt’s mother visited but returned home after only a week in Berlin. Herman’s father had died during the First World War and he was their only child. Schmidt enjoyed her visit but soon realized she missed her new life. She had remarried and had three other children. Without hesitation, Schmidt requested that she go home—he could recover without her assistance.

  He was taken out of traction a week ago and made better progress in his recovery. Walking wasn’t possible yet, but he was determined to recover and get back to fighting for the country.

  “So, how far are you going to walk today?” asked Nurse Hilda Straus.

  She sat in a chair next to him. Schmidt looked at her with his piercing brown eyes, not wanting to show any fear or weakness.

  “How about we go farther than we did yesterday?” Schmidt said. The nurse smiled at the tall officer. As she helped him up from his reclined position, she noticed he was getting better looking. His hair was growing back and covering the scar on top of his head.

  “How did you get this job of babysitting me during my recovery?”

  Hilda smiled as she helped him to his feet.

  “Well, you are not the shortest patient we have here, and since I am one of the taller nurses I drew the short straw. Besides, you’re the great German tank commander hero from the Battle of Hannut. That may be the other reason I’m here,” she answered.

  Schmidt put his arm around the young nurse so she could help him walk and noticed for the first time that she was tall for a woman. Plus, she always smelled so good.

  “Why are you calling me a hero?” asked Schmidt. She guided the captain to the medical parallel bars across the room. He placed his hands on the bars to balance himself, and she shifted her body and weight away while he pulled himself upright.

  “I guess you haven’t been reading the newspapers lately? The newspapers are calling you the Hero of Hannut. They say you broke through French defenses so our troops could get through and defeat them. That started the eventual move toward victory in France.”

  “Well, if that is the truth, I better get going and get out of your hair so I can continue my military career.”

  Hilda laughed. “Captain, if you walk anytime soon, it will be a miracle. The doctor already told you your tank career is in your past.”

  They stopped talking to concentrate on his therapy.

  The doctor was busy with his rounds when he n
oticed two men in Gestapo leather outfits waiting at the nurses’ station. When the Gestapo showed up, it usually wasn’t good news for one of his patients. In fact, he’d had numerous patients dragged out of the hospital by the Gestapo before they recovered from their injuries. He never saw those patients again. He and the nurses were trained not to interfere with Gestapo during the course of their duties or they would face imprisonment. As the doctor approached the Gestapo, he noticed that these two were not the normal lower-ranking ones; both were high-ranking officers.

  “What can I do for the Gestapo today?” asked the doctor.

  The more senior officer replied, “Which room is Captain Schmidt located?” He carried a box and some paperwork.

  “He is down the hall on the right, last room. Why do you want to see my patient?”

  They ignored the doctor and walked to the room. The doctor waited until they entered the room before he moved toward the physical therapy room to warn Schmidt of his visitors.

  Nurse Straus helped the captain into his wheelchair.

  “Which way do you want to go back to your room for some much-deserved rest?” she asked. He turned to his left side, which was more comfortable than sitting.

  “Let’s go see some sunlight before I take my after-therapy nap.”

  Nurse Hilda smiled, knowing she did a great job with him today. He is making excellent progress, which means he will be leaving soon, thought Hilda.

  As the doctor entered the therapy room he saw a nurse’s white uniform disappear down the corridor toward the makeshift atrium that the hospital used for patient recovery. He glanced at the medical parallel bars, but there was no one there. There was only one other patient in the room and it wasn’t Schmidt. They must have gone the other way, thought the doctor as he hurried back down the corridor. He saw Nurse Straus pushing Schmidt.

  “Captain, may I have a word with you?”

  The nurse swung the wheelchair around for the doctor. Just as the wheelchair turned, one of the Gestapo officers stuck his head out of Schmidt’s room to see what was going on in the hallway.

  “Captain Schmidt?” asked the officer. Nurse Straus, not knowing what to do, turned the wheelchair so her patient could see both of the men calling his name. It took Schmidt about a second to realize that the doctor had come to warn him.

  “Doctor, let me see what this officer wants and I’ll get back with you.”

  The doctor defiantly put his hands on his waist but submitted to his patient’s request.

  “Gentlemen, let’s get this over with, or my nurse is going to pass out,” Schmidt told the Gestapo officers. “Shall I stay in this wheelchair, or can I get into bed? My ass is killing me.”

  “Nurse, please help the captain into bed so he can be more comfortable,” replied the senior officer. When she left the room the Gestapo officers wasted no time.

  “Captain, how is your recovery?” asked the senior officer.

  “Well, I’m making progress, but the doctor told me my tank career has come to a close. Shrapnel is wedged in my spine. What does the Gestapo have in store for me today?”

  The senior officer grabbed a piece a paper from a folder and began to read. The other officer approached with a wooden box.

  “For extreme gallantry and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, Captain Herman Schmidt upheld the highest form of leadership by defeating our enemy. Your unit broke through their defenses with such force you destroyed five tanks, disabled countless other vehicles and killed over twenty enemy soldiers. Our infantry was able to advance with such force that our great infantry of German soldiers defeated the enemy in less time and with fewer causalities. You are hereby awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross.

  Signed by Adolf Hitler.”

  The second officer placed the cross around Schmidt’s neck, and all three gave the traditional German salute to their absent leader. When he saluted, Schmidt gasped in pain. The senior officer handed Schmidt the wooden box, then grabbed another piece of paper and read it.

  “Captain Herman Schmidt, upon completion of your recovery from your wounds you will report to Gestapo officer training at the below location. Before you report to training you are hereby advanced to the rank of major.”

  Schmidt opened the wooden box and noticed a major’s emblem enclosed next to the chest ribbon for his award.

  “We will be sending someone to get measurements for your new uniforms. Welcome to the Gestapo, Herr Major.”

  The two Gestapo officers saluted him one more time and gathered all of their items before leaving the room.

  The doctor and nurse were at the station when the door opened. To their surprise the Gestapo did not have Schmidt in tow. They passed the nurses’ station without acknowledging the medical staff’s presence. As soon as the Gestapo officers were out of sight, the two stepped into Schmidt’s room. He was resting in bed with a ribbon and medal around his neck.

  “Well, that doesn’t happen very often,” remarked the doctor.

  The nurse removed the box and papers from Schmidt’s chest so they wouldn’t slide to the floor. She shut the blinds and turned out the lights before exiting the room.

  Chapter 4

  MAJOR SCHMIDT WAS IN his third month of recovery. He started walking without assistance from anyone or any apparatus weeks ago. He did physical therapy in the morning and again in afternoon after his post-lunch nap. The major and Nurse Straus spent a lot of time together in his room after his afternoon therapy sessions. They played cards, drank wine and shared stories about their lives. She found him to be distant and rigid at the beginning of their card games, but by the time they were on the second glass of wine his walls began to crumble. Still, Major Schmidt would indulge in long periods of silence, and this drove her crazy. She was never privy to where his thoughts took him.

  The major had opened up about his fatherless childhood and disappointing upbringing. His only enjoyment was his military schooling. The military was where he excelled; it became his family. His mother had remarried and started another family, so he decided to join the German movement at the early age of sixteen. He quickly established himself as one the best tank drivers at the academy. While completing his engineering degree, military leaders tasked him with assisting in the development of the Panzer tank. When it came into production, he was one of the first test drivers, reporting all the flaws that needed to be corrected. He also noted all the advantages of this advanced tank.

  Knowing the capabilities of the Panzer helped Schmidt become a brilliant field commander. He knew how and where to deploy the tanks. The battlefield was all he lived for, and despite his injuries he desperately wanted to return. In his long moments of silence, his mind drifted to his glory days destroying the enemy. His only consolation was the pretty nurse who tended to him.

  He found out Nurse Straus was single and living in Berlin with another nurse. She was raised in a small farming community and left home years ago to find her way in the world. What better way for a girl to learn about the world than to come to the big city of Berlin? She finished her nursing education and was one of hundreds of female nurses taking care of the German soldiers wounded in battlefields all over Europe and Africa. She loved her work but wanted to have a family—eventually. With her busy schedule, she had no time to be involved with a man.

  Nurse Straus was standing at the nurses’ station catching up on paperwork when the doctor approached.

  “How is our hero doing?” he asked with a little smirk.

  The nurse blushed and remarked without looking in his direction, “He is doing excellent and walking without any assistance from me.”

  “How is his pain?”

  “Well, it’s hard to tell because he doesn’t complain a lot, but he is not pain-free when he walks. He seems to be pain-free when sitting or lying down.”

  “The Gestapo called me this morning and they wanted to know when he will be ready for duty. What do you think, since you spend so much time with him?”

  Nurse St
raus had dreaded this day.

  “I couldn’t tell you until he is walking pain-free. It may take a couple of weeks to get there.”

  After her brief meeting with the doctor, she went to the major’s room to see if he was ready for his morning physical therapy session. As she got closer to his room, she heard voices.

  “Good morning, Nurse Straus. How are you doing?” asked the major.

  The nurse could not help but blush a little—her patient was down to his undershorts and being fitted for his new uniforms as a Gestapo major. The room was full of hats, shirts, pants, gloves and jackets. A tailor was measuring his legs and waist. Beside the tailor, a young man who looked like his son held the tailor’s pins.

  “I guess this morning’s session is on hold until you’re done being fitted for your uniforms?” asked Hilda.

  The tailor respectfully moved away from his work until he heard from the major to continue.

  “Let’s skip this morning session. Please come back at around one o’clock so we can get out of this hospital and grab some lunch. Will I have at least one uniform and a jacket, since it is getting cold outside, ready by one?”

  The tailor nodded.

  The major turned to Nurse Straus. “Can you leave the hospital and have lunch with me?”

  At first, Straus thought he was talking to the tailor, but the handsome major was staring at her. She blushed and nodded submissively.

  “Good, I am tired of this food and need a good, hot meal from a restaurant, and a cold beer.”