“Let him through…!” Ritter bellowed, the volume and tone finally managing to get through to the rest of the men, some of whom at the front were – truth be told – rather unfortunately reluctant to depart at first, having caught sight of a woman undressing within the room. “Move, damn you all…! Make way! Shultz…” he continued, singling out the ensign from Kormoran. “Take two men and find Generaloberst Schiller… having him made ready for departure…!”
“Move yer arses, for fook’s sake!” Watson joined in, pushing forward with a doctor’s bag in one hand and recognising the intent of the expressions on the men’s faces in the doorway. “If there’s a time and a place at all, this isnae it, y’ lecherous bastards… Move…!”
“Christ almighty…!” Watson breathed softly as he finally got inside and Ritter forced the door shut once more. One corner of the room looked like a charnel house, with Oshiro’s gutted corpse lying right in the middle of a huge and slowly-spreading pool of darkening blood. “Here…Eileen… here…!” he added quickly, stepping across to a large, wicker basket by the bear wall and pulling out a set of medical scrubs and a large towel, which he tossed across the room to her. “They’re no’ clean, but they’ll do at a pinch. You’re hurt…” He observed, noting the oozing blood on her upper arm for the first time as she took a moment to wrap the towel about her chest and hips and turned to sort out the scrubs he’d provided.
“I’ll manage,” she croaked weakly, diverting her attention for a moment and reaching out to grab a large wad of bandages lying on a bench to her left. “It’s nae more than a flesh wound,” she added with a shake of her head, lifting the arm in question and pressing down the bandages with her other hand. “See to the old man first…”
“Oh, aye… let’s be havin’ y’ then,” Watson acknowledged eventually, turning to stare down at Reuters’ prostrate form after a long moment of serious thought. “What’s happened to you, then…?”
“The additional bend in my arm is not enough of a giveaway, Herr Doktor…?” The Reichsmarschall snapped testily in return, having regained full control of his faculties once more, although he was still terribly weak.
“Orright, Fritz… no need to be smart…” He quipped thoughtlessly, placing the bag at his feet as he crouched down to attend to Reuters.
“The man’s name is Kurt…” Ritter growled darkly, taking a step toward Watson with fists balled at his sides, his tone and stance making it quite clear that there was still a great deal of tension and pent up anger within that small room. “His rank is Reichsmarschall of the Deutsches Wehrmacht… I’ll thank you, doctor, to accord him at least the respect you’d accord any other military patient…”
Watson glared up at the pilot, extremely close to firing back a tirade of abuse regarding the Nazis’ occupation of his homeland and the atrocities they’d committed in the name of their Führer, however he held his tongue in that last moment upon noting the savage intensity of the man’s eyes and expression.
“They’re a loyal lot – God only knows why…” Reuters observed with a wry smile, gasping once as he attempted to shift position slightly. At the same time, he lifted his good arm and turned a raised palm toward Ritter, making it clear he should calm down. “You are…?”
“John Watson…” the doctor muttered grudgingly as he opened the bag and drew out a small pair of scissors.
“Indeed?” Reuters remarked, almost surprised. “No doubt you’ve had your fill of observations regarding your name and its association with Conan Doyle, so I’ll not bother. As my rather intense colleague here has already pointed out, I am Kurt Reuters and, mostly through my own recklessness and stupidity, it appears I have managed to have my arm broken. Any assistance you could provide in this matter would be greatly appreciated.”
There was no sarcasm in the words… no condescension or tone of superiority, and the genuine nature of them along with the man’s serious expression finally got through to Watson and softened his mood in a way that threats were never likely to.
“I’ll… I’ll need tae cut the sleeve away… to look at it…”
“Please proceed…”
“I should give y’ some morphine first…”
“No…! Thank you doctor, but no: opiates… are a luxury I cannot afford – I need my wits about me right now…”
“But… but it’ll hurt… like a bastard…”
“Believe me, doctor,” Reuters replied with a knowing grimace, “I am well aware of how much this will hurt! Please... please proceed.”
“Aye, right enough then…”
He reached out and pinched up a section of the man’s sleeve below the shoulder, using it to start the first cut with the scissors and then gently make his way around the entire circumference of the arm. Regardless of every effort to take care however, it was still necessary to move that arm to complete the action, and there were several moments where the Reichsmarschall was forced to clench down on his teeth once more and stifle long, guttural groans of agony as he felt that movement case the broken bones within to grate against each other.
With the sleeve completely detached, he was able to slowly slide it from Reuters’ arm and toss it to one side. With as much care was he was able, and with a nod to the stoic and clearly terrified Reichsmarschall, Watson began to feel his way up and down the area of the break, taking in the true nature of what was happening beneath the skin as his patient grunted again in agony and tensed his whole body in an attempt to control it.
“Looks like it’s yer ulna that’s snapped… I’ll need to reset the bone…” he explained carefully, and he could tell by the man’s dismayed expression that he knew exactly what was being said. “It – it won’t be a perfect job, but if I don’t do it now, it may start to knit in the wrong position, and that’d be far worse.”
“I – I understand, doctor…” Reuters nodded weakly, turning his head away as if not seeing might somehow lessen the excruciating pain he was expecting any moment.
“I’ve nae plaster ready to secure it after, but I can gi’ y’ bandage and splints that’ll do well enough until y’ get somewhere they can do a proper job…”
“Please, doctor… get this over with, if you will…”
“Aye, right enough then,” Watson conceded, swallowing hard and not at all relishing the idea of what he was about to do. Working on touch and years of experience alone and wishing all the while that there was time for a few X-rays, Watson positioned his own hands as best he could while Reuters, whose free hand had fallen unexpectedly upon the cast off sleeve, scrunched the material into a thick ball and stuffed it between his teeth, preparing for the worst.
It didn’t take long in the end, although the process almost certainly seemed like a millennia for the Reichsmarschall. One or two deft and purposeful twists and manipulations, and Watson had straightened and realigned the snapped bone above his wrist while Reuters, to his credit, kept that arm completely steady despite the writhing of the rest of his body and the muffled scream that forced its way our through teeth bit down hard on the material of his discarded sleeve.
“Orright…” Watson muttered quickly, holding the arm in position with one hand as he scrabbled inside his bag for something. “You… fella…” he came up with finally, catching himself before he could say ‘Fritz’ again. “Find me somethin’ thin but strong – maybe a foot or so long…. Thirty centimetres…” He added, converting to metric as a quizzical expression flickered across Ritter’s face. “Metal… wood… it d’snae matter as long as it’s solid enough to take the strain…”
“Here…” Eileen ventured, her voice week but steady as she stepped forward, dressed completely now in the pale green scrubs Watson had provided. Turning, she took up a long-handled mop that had been propped in the far corner of the room in its metal bucket. Pressing the mop down against the floor at a low angle, she placed a foot across the shaft quite close to the head and heaved upward, snapping off a section of the handle in one piece. This she then laid that across the edge of
the examination table and snapped in half again before handing it across to Ritter.
“Aye, that’ll do a treat,” Watson nodded with a faint smile, noting the grim expression on her face as Eileen realised there was still a substantial amount of drying blood on her hands, immediately turned back toward the nearest sink and began scrubbing heavily at them.
As Ritter stepped forward to pass over the makeshift splints, he was for the first time given a clear view of his commanding officer’s bare arm. Below the elbow it was red and swollen and already showing signs of discolouration – a warning of the terrible bruising that was certain to show up within the next few hours. Between elbow and shoulder however, everything appeared relatively normal, save for two tiny, brown birthmarks just below the shoulder, formed in the shape of a mirrored pair of hearts.
Had Watson actually looked up at that moment, rather than simply taking the wooden splints that had been placed into his waiting hand, he’d have instantly caught the sudden expression of shock and horror that spread across Ritter’s face. Had Eileen not still had her back turned, she’d definitely have noted the way the man’s body stiffened and jerked backward as if he’d received some kind of faint electric shock.
Certainly, Kurt Reuters, had he not already turned his head away so as to avoid looking at the manipulation of his own injury, would’ve known something was wrong, judging by the way Ritter had backed as far away as he possibly could in that moment, fist jammed against his lips as if to prevent some terrible secret from being set free. Of the others present in that room however, perhaps only the Reichsmarschall might’ve truly understood the reasons behind the man’s reaction as Ritter’s heart leapt into his mouth and he struggled to regain control of his own emotions and resist the sudden urge to be violently ill.
“Any further activity?” Langdale asked softly, crouched beside Bluey Johnston at the edge of the clearing as both men stared across at the rear of the hospital building, a few dozen yards away.
“Nothin’ outside, Sarge, since that lot went in earlier. There was that initial burst of shooting after they went in, then nothin’ till those two shots about five minutes ago. Oops…‘allo…!” He added, lifting the silenced M4 quickly to his shoulder and sighting through the scope at some movement he’d detected. “Looks like we’ve got a couple o’ Japs movin’ up toward the front door from the huts. Both armed, and lookin’ pretty sneaky if you ask me…”
“Oh yeah? Guess we don’t want the captain and her boys’ to get any nasty surprises, do we, private?” Langdale suggested with a thin smile. “Would you do the honours please, mate…?”
“My pleasure, Sarge…” Johnston replied with a grin of his own, carefully flicking off the weapon’s safety and sighting in on the rearmost of two Japanese troopers attempting to sneak up on the hospital’s main entrance.
There was a soft snort of gas from the muzzle as the weapon jumped slightly in Johnston’s hands, and two hundred yards away, a lifeless body dropped to the hard earth with a neat hole drilled through the side of its steel helmet. The leading guard turned at the sound of his comrade falling, only to join him seconds later as another heavy, .375-inch round struck the back of his head also.
“You there, El-Tee…?” Langdale whispered briefly into his radio, holding the mike close to his lips. “We’re ready to approach the hospital… what’s you’re status… over…?”
“Enemy advancing toward our position in squad strength, Sarge...” the reply came back a few seconds later. “Don’t think they know we’re here yet, but…”
The rest of that sentence was cut off as the chatter of automatic fire suddenly rose up from that direction, immediately joined by a number of similar-sounding weapons and quickly countered by the deeper, unmistakable hammering of several Kalashnikov-designed M2 rifles.
“Need to sign off for the moment, Sarge,” Jinkins’ voice came through once more over the radio. “Bit busy here at the moment… think they might’ve spotted us…” That last sentence definitely carried a fair amount of sarcasm. “Report in shortly… out…”
“Righto, gents…” Langdale called out, glancing around at the men behind him. “We’ve got a diversion now… time to move out. Remember: check your fire and keep weapons tight… the last thing I want is any allied casualties. Once we get inside, the CO on site will be Captain Eileen Donelson, Royal Navy. Whatever she says goes… got it…?”
“Yes, Sergeant…!”
“All done,” the doctor declared with relief a few moments later, having made a reasonable job of bracing the injury and securing it with copious rolls of white bandage. As a final touch, he’d provided Reuters with a cloth sling that held his arm high against his chest and provided significant support.
“I thank you, doctor…” Reuters acknowledged with a weak smile if his own as Ritter carefully helped him to his feet once more and remained at his side, trying very hard to look somewhere else other than at the man’s bare arm above the bandages. “It is painful… but manageable, I think…”
“You’ll still need to a surgeon look at it as soon as you get… wherever you’re going…” he finished with a shrug, not sure how to end that sentence.
“On that note,” Ritter announced, suddenly very desperate to be away from that place… to be bound for safety, “might I suggest, Mein Herr, that we take our leave…? We have, after all, fulfilled our side of the bargain…”
“An excellent point, Herr Oberst…!” Reuters nodded, wincing as the movement jogged his arm slightly. “Captain Donelson… as my fellow officer has so shrewdly observed, our bargain is complete. I’ll ask you again: you’re certain you wish to remain here on this island…?”
There was a long silence as Eileen didn’t move, bent over the sinks with her back to the rest of them. The pause lasted long enough for Reuters to begin to wonder if she’d in fact heard him, and only as his lips pursed in preparation to repeat the question did she finally speak up.
“Aye…” she croaked softly, otherwise remaining quite still. “Aye, Reichsmarschall, I’m quite sure o’ that…”
“Then we will bid you a farewell… and, for what it’s worth, you have my thanks also…” he added, forcing the words out through teeth that wanted very badly to clench in disapproval. “…My thanks for your help, and that you allowed yourself to be ordered into this room – almost certainly to your death – rather than allow that creature to shoot me…”
Again, he was met with silence, and under the circumstances, the Reichsmarschall was willing to accept that there was surely a lot going on within the woman’s mind at that moment: certainly enough dark and conflicting emotions to be deserving of a little leeway for the time being.
“Und damit lebewohl, fräulein…” He offered simply in parting, nodding once to Ritter, who managed to keep a steady expression for those few seconds he was within view as he helped him turn in place and hobble toward the door.
Watson stepped carefully over the near edge of the fallen cabinet and pulled back the door, allowing Ritter to lead Reuters carefully out into the hall as the crowd of Aussies and Germans drew back to give him passage. As they limped their way toward the main entrance, neither officer noted that the ranks of Australians present seemed to have grown somewhat since they’d entered that room, and that there was now one rather incongruous dark face amongst the rest. Eileen Donelson followed a few seconds behind, having found her motivation and motor skills once more, however she made no such mistake, and she was instantly drawn aside by Langdale for a few quick, whispered words.
The remaining Germans had all gathered by the doorway, while all the Australian and Dutch present now appeared to have congregated behind the point where the four of them had stepped out of that doorway. Near the entrance itself, Ensign Schultz and two other Kormoran crewmen were standing with Schiller, who’d been transferred to a large and seemingly quite sturdy wheelchair someone had scrounged up.
“You’re well, Albert?” The Reichsmarschall called as cheerily as he was able.
“Well enough to travel, Kurt…” he replied with a weak smile. “Well enough to be getting out of this hellhole!”
“The hard part is beyond us now, kamerad,” Reuters assured with a grin, nodding in acknowledgement as he hobbled forward with Ritter’s assistance. “Just a little further to go…”
“Herr Reichsmarschall…!” Eileen was standing in the middle of the hallway now, no more than six feet away, and there was a strange glint in her eye. As she raised her right arm, they all realised that Oshiro’s pistol was grasped tightly in her hand, and she’d made quite certain the jam had been cleared as she’d picked it up. “Don’t thank me yet, Mein Herr…” she added, her tone cold and lifeless. “As much as I owe you my life, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave…”
“Captain…” Reuters warned, slowly turning to face her as Ritter backed away to one side, sending horrified glances in either direction. “We had a bargain, captain…”
“Aye, we did…” she nodded, a hint of sadness almost reaching her tone in that moment, “…and I’m breakin’ that bargain right now.
“Put ‘em down, boys…!” Langdale barked, raising his rifle in unison with four other men beside him, all of them aiming directly down the hallway over Donelson’s shoulders.
Two Kriegsmarine sailors armed with an SMG and a bolt-action Arisaka rifle had thought for a moment to bring their own weapons to bear, but they were forced to think better of it as the muzzles of five assault rifles were suddenly aimed in their direction. The decision was aided substantially by a wave of Reuters’ good hand that clearly suggested they should stand down and not get themselves and everyone else pointlessly killed.
“Captain, this agreement was made in good faith…” the Reichsmarschall argued calmly, resting his free hand against the wall for support and releasing a long sigh of tired frustration. “Were our roles reversed, I assure you I would have honoured my part…”
“I actually believe that,” Donelson nodded, the strain of guilt and self-doubt showing in her tone and expression now as her initial resolve began to waver, “but the fact remains, I cannot allow an opportunity like this to slip away.”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 104
