True Calling by Albert Baker (Claudia) 2007
No profit, just fanfic. Dedicated to Major Doc B, M.D.
How far have I walked today? The medic had no idea. He tried to concentrate on heading west, but sometimes the trees blocked the sun, and his exhaustion dulled his reasoning. Twice, he had noticed a familiar rock or tree stump, finding he'd walked in a circle. Although he had managed to stem the bleeding, his shoulder pounded with pain, making each step more difficult to take. He stopped for a rest in an area of thick brush. The sun was getting lower in the sky and evening promised to be cold and still. His hope of finding the squad was dying. Doc lay on the hard ground, wondering where he would find shelter and if he would make it back to the American lines. Within five minutes, he fell asleep.
The medic didn't know if it was the sound of the German 88s flying over him or the bone-numbing cold that woke him. The darkness told him he'd slept for hours. His body felt stiff and his shoulder ached. He pulled himself to his feet, trying to get his bearings. Squinting into the blackness, he saw a flicker of light in the distance. He grabbed his rucksack and moved out of the brush. The faint light continued to glimmer.
I'm not gonna last out here alone. Even if there are Germans over there, I'd have a better chance as a prisoner than I will tryin' to go on like this.
The thought saddened him. He was reminded of his experience with German SS Captain Steiner when the entire squad was taken prisoner. The Sarge had gotten him out of that camp.
But I'm alone now.
Doc walked through the woods, winding slowly around trees and trying not to trip on the underbrush. He realized that the 88s had stopped and that the light he followed was growing larger.
A fire caused by the shelling. Must be a building burnin'. He shook his head. I can't believe I'm walkin' into another shelled village.
Banking on the chance that there were still Americans in the town, Doc took a gulp from his canteen and moved toward the fire as quickly as he could. He was no expert on troop movement or battle strategy, but he had seen enough in this war to know that it was unlikely the Germans would advance until morning.
Twenty minutes later, Doc arrived at the edge of the village. He collapsed in the dirt, his legs finally giving out. The cool earth against his cheek felt somehow reassuring. It
would be so easy to just remain there and sleep forever. For a moment Doc considered it, but his eyes jolted open as something brushed past his head. He lifted himself up onto an elbow and made out the silhouette of the creature, illuminated by the fire
A rat! Lord, I hate rats!
Motivated by his repulsion, Doc dragged himself to his feet and moved forward once again, using whatever was available in his path to hold himself up. Rounding a corner, the light provided by the fire was waning, but Doc was able to discern a familiar sign. The medical cross on a tattered banner was hanging awkwardly over the door to a damaged shop.
An aide station. Maybe some bandages or morphine.
Doc made his way resolutely to the doorway and grabbing the doorknob, fell into the attached room, landing unconscious on the wooden floor.
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"Here, drink this." A man in a dimly lit room spoke to him. The medic's head was lifted and he sipped the water.
Doc began to focus and made out the man's face and white jacket.
"You're a doctor!" The medic's hoarse voice clearly expressed his surprise and relief.
"That's right, Joe Sullivan's the name…and you're a medic, and a wounded one at that. Luckily, the bullet went through cleanly. There shouldn't be any permanent damage. I cleaned that wound while you were out, but I still need to finish bandaging it." The doctor turned to get more bandages from a box. "You want to tell me who you are and how you got here?"
"I'm John Malcolm. My squad calls me Doc. I'm with the 361st, King Company." Doc took a deep breath before continuing. "I got separated in a firefight when I got hit. I guess nobody saw me fall, and I was out awhile. When I woke up, I bandaged myself best as I could and started walkin'." The medic gasped as Sullivan worked at bandaging the shoulder wound.
"Sorry Doc. I'm almost done. I'd give you some morphine, but I'm out."
Grimacing, Doc surveyed what he could of the room. There were a couple more cots along one wall. A line of wooden shelves leaned against another, holding boxes marked as medical supplies. Most of the boxes were tipped on their sides and were empty.
Sullivan's eyes followed Doc's. "They had to leave in a hurry. There were a couple of badly wounded GIs in here that they carted away in an ambulance." The doctor nodded toward the area behind Doc. "He couldn't be moved."
Doc twisted his head to see another cot. On it, a blanket completely covered the still form of a dead man.
Sullivan sighed. "He died right before you got here. Poor kid didn't have a chance."
Doc frowned and looked up at Sullivan who was already concentrating once more on the medic's wound.
"You took care of this yourself?" Sullivan asked as he finished rebandaging Doc's shoulder.
"Well, I did the best I could."
"Looks like you did a decent job, and considering you did it one handed, I'm impressed."
Doc laid his head back onto the cot and stared at Sullivan with concern. "They left ya back here alone, Dr. Sullivan?"
Sullivan chuckled softly. "It was my choice to stay behind. I've only been in the ETO a week, but I'm already tired of hospitals at the rear. And I'd prefer you call me Joe. I'm not much on formality."
"But you're a DOCTOR. I don't think I could call ya, Joe." Doc said matter of factly. "I feel pretty ridiculous havin' you call me Doc, too."
Sullivan grinned. "Being a doctor is just a job. That's all. Back home I mostly dispensed aspirin and cough syrup. I'm not a god. I get reminded of that everyday." He turned again to stare at the blanketed body, his face thoughtful. " His name was Daniel Dorgan. He was eighteen years old. From Nebraska. They thought I could save him and so did I…for awhile."
"Well, they all can't be saved. I guess the…"
Doc stopped talking as the sound of vehicles entering the village drew their attention. Sullivan ran through the door to the left and into the entry room to the shop. He stood to the side of the window in front and peeked out. The lights of a line of vehicles entering the village were visible. A German staff car was in the middle of the small convoy. He ran back into the room where Doc waited.
"Germans! We need to get outta here!" Sullivan blew out the lamp in the room and grabbed his rucksack.
Doc struggled to get to his feet and swung his arm around the doctor's shoulder. The two men went into the shop's main room, staying low to avoid being visible from the street.
"There's a back door that opens to an alley, I think we can make it out of town."
"Doctor Sullivan, I don't know that I can make it very far. Maybe it'd be best to leave me behind and try an' get yourself outta here."
"No way, let's get going. Come on, the sun's coming up soon."
Sullivan dragged Doc along the rear walls of the buildings, hiding in shadows and
stopping to rest every few minutes. Luckily, the shop where the aide station had been was close to the edge of the village. Doc looked up and made out the tree line beyond a small field.
"We should be okay once we cross that open area and get into those trees. Hang on and we'll start making our way over there."
Doc clung to Sullivan, trying to maintain an upright position while the two men moved as quickly as possible through the grassy, open space. Halfway across, the Americans heard the sound of several Schmeissers opening up.
"Hit it!" Doc cried and let go of Sullivan as both men fell to the ground.
Sullivan froze, face down on the ground. He turned his head to Doc. "Were they firing at us?"
Doc lay on his side holding his wounded shoulder. "I don't know, but I figured it was time to duck!"
The firing continued for a minute, but seemed to be coming from the other side of the village. The familiar sound of M-1 and Thompson joined the Schmeissers.
"Sounds like quite a firefight. Hard to tell which side is winnin'."
Sullivan frowned and looked at Doc questioningly. "You can tell from sound which side is winning? "
"Well, I can tell if the last guns firing were ours or German Schmeissers. I guess the sound doesn't tell me who's holdin' the gun. Over here you git to know a lot of things ya never thought you would."
"We better get out of here in case the Germans win." Sullivan rose to his feet and helped Doc stand.
The two men continued across the opening and into the trees. Stopping to catch their breath, they slumped to the earth in unison.
"Well Doc, looks like that way is west," Sullivan said pointing toward the woods. "I suggest we take five and then head out."
"Wait a minute, Doctor Sullivan. What if our guys are wounded out there?"
Sullivan looked at Doc with concern. "You opened up that wound when you fell." He pulled out more bandages from his rucksack and applied them to the wound as Doc sat with his back against a tree. "Let's say we wait here for awhile. Then, I'll circle around and see who won the fight over there, and if anyone needs medical care."
The medic nodded and exhaled with a sigh. "Thanks. I'm sure glad you were at that aide station."
Sullivan smiled. "So am I, Doc." He reached for his rucksack.
"Hey, you don't happen to have any water on ya, do you? My canteen's empty."
"I'm sorry, Doc. Guess I'm used to nurses taking care of my patient's food and water. Here you go." Sullivan handed Doc a canteen and watched as Doc took a drink. "Well, you don't look like your developing a fever."
"No…just thirsty from all the walkin'." More gunfire sounded in the distance. Doc handed Sullivan the canteen, both men still breathing hard.
"How long you been a doctor?"
Sullivan leaned back against a small tree. "I finished my medical internship about a year ago. I was practicing medicine in Toledo before I decided to join up."
"Toledo, Ohio? Is that where you're from?"
"No, I just ended up there. I'm from Wisconsin."
"No kiddin'? I remember takin' a trip to Wisconsin with my folks when I was a kid. Beautiful country."
"Where're you from, Doc? I can tell by your accent it's not the Midwest."
"I'm from Arkansas. Eureka Springs—one of the prettiest little towns you'd ever wanna see."
"So, what did you do before the war, Doc?"
"Nothin' long term. I was a bouncer, a grocery clerk, did some farm work, lots of odd jobs. I guess I wasn't real sure what I wanted."
Doc studied Sullivan curiously.
"What made you decide to be a doctor?"
Sullivan grinned. "You did…or rather men like you who are medics in wartime."
The medic looked at Sullivan wide-eyed. "No kiddin'?"
"My dad was a soldier in World War I. He used to talk about the war—well, if I hounded him enough, anyway. It was clear that the men who impressed him the most were the medics. I guess most kids grow up thinking of heroes like Superman or Sergeant York. Not me. I grew up dreaming of being a medic in a war. As it turned out, my interest in medicine led me to medical school and now I'm a doctor."
Doc cocked his head and spoke seriously. "You know, I've seen a lot of lives saved in aide tents and field hospitals. Men like you make a real difference. All we medics can do is try to keep the guys alive 'til they get to you doctors."
"Yes, but you get to go out with the squads and be right in the thick of things!"
Doc shuddered. "Yeah, you can see what bein' in the thick of things did for me," he said looking at his shoulder. "You know the Germans don't always see the red cross on the helmet, and some of them probably don't care about it one way or the other."
"I guess you have a point there, Doc."
The medic's voice took on an air of authority as he turned to Sullivan, brow furrowed. "Joe, you said back there that bein' a doctor is "just a job". Well, I've never been a doctor, but I've worked close to 'em and I've seen what they can do. I say you're wrong, Joe. At least out here, bein' a doctor is holding a guy's life and hope and dreams all in your hands. Even the ones ya can't save have hope till the end just cause you're here. It's a lot more 'en just a job."
The doctor rubbed a weary hand over his forehead, considering the medic's words. He then started to rise, brushing the forest debris off his clothing
"The firing has stopped. I'm going to leave you here and circle around to see who's left in town. Take the canteen. If I don't come back in a half hour, you should probably try to make your way west and find our lines."
Doc put the canteen by his side and looked up at Sullivan. "Stay low and don't get too close unless you're sure they're Americans."
"Got it."
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Sullivan circled through the trees and back toward the far side of the village. He wasn't a tall man, and by crouching very low he was able to sneak into the village undetected. Soon he came upon several dead bodies. Most were Germans. He found himself methodically checking for pulses while still trying to remain undetected.
"Hold it!" A gruff voice sounded from off to his left, making Sullivan turn with a start. An American sergeant with a camouflage-covered helmet stood before him. The sergeant held a weapon at ready and looked considerably dangerous.
"Where did YOU come from?" The sergeant asked.
"I'm an American doctor. Joe Sullivan's the name. I was here with Able Company before they had to evacuate. I stayed behind with a wounded man."
The sergeant studied him for a moment. "Where's your wounded man now?"
"He didn't make it. But there's another wounded man in the woods on the other side of town. He wandered in before the shelling. He's a medic."
The sergeant's eyes reflected a special interest at Sullivan's words. "This medic say what outfit he was from?"
Several other GIs were beginning to gather around the two men in the street. All eyes were on Sullivan.
"Yes, he said King Company, I believe. Said his name's John Malcolm."
"Hey, he found Doc!" A small, wiry GI smiled widely and grabbed the elbow of the large, dark-haired private next to him.
"You said Doc's wounded. How bad?" The sergeant asked, still not moving.
"He should be all right with some better care." Sullivan turned to survey the group. "So, you're Doc's squad?"
The sergeant grinned. "That's right. I'm Sergeant Saunders" Gesturing with his hand, he introduced the other men. "The rest of these guys are Kirby, big guy is Littlejohn, that's Caje, and over there is McCall."
"The town looks clear, Sarge." Caje reported. "I found a dead GI in the aide station.
Saunders nodded.
"Okay, Barker's squad is on the way. Let's go get Doc and head home."
Turning back to Sullivan, Saunders asked, "You want to go back with us, doctor?"
Sullivan smiled. "Yes, if there are no wounded here, I definitely would like to head back with you. Come on, I'll show you where Doc is."
The squad moved through the village and Sullivan led them quickly to Doc, finding the medic asleep under the tree where the doctor had left him. Sullivan knelt down by Doc's side and gently shook him awake.
"Hey Doc, time to wake up and go home."
Doc opened his eyes to see his squad standing behind Sullivan. "Well. I'll be…Looks like you found some Americans, Doctor Sullivan."
"How are ya feelin' Doc?"
"We've been lookin' all over for you."
"Don't worry, Doc, we'll get you back okay."
The words poured out from every squad member at the same time, bringing a grin to Doc's face.
Sergeant Saunders pulled a map out of his field jacket.
"Looks like we should be able to make it back in less than an hour. Caje, Littlejohn-- rig a stretcher for Doc."
Doctor Sullivan sat down next to the medic and breathed a heavy sigh.
"Quite a squad you got there. Seems like they're pretty attached to you."
"They kinda grow on ya," Doc replied, smiling widely.
Sullivan leaned back against the tree and nodded.
Turning to him with concern, Doc asked, "You're not still wishin' you were runnin' around with a squad, are ya?"
Sullivan stared back at the wounded man. "No, Doc, you convinced me I'm needed elsewhere. Thanks for the wisdom."
With that, the doctor pushed himself to his feet, offering Doc a hand.
"I think your sergeant's ready for us to start moving again. I need to get you to a hospital."
"Just what I was thinkin', Doc said with a grin.
END