The Fools They Are
A sharp intake of breath coincided with a muttered curse as Georg rose from bed. Slowly and carefully, he shuffled to the bathroom that was down the hall from his room. Having no longer needing constant medical attention, he was transferred to a different ward in the hospital. While his rank and title afforded him his own private room, he was not fortunate enough to have his own bathroom. However, his biological clock was to his advantage. Up before anyone, he was able to go to the bathroom long before any of the other injured men were up and long before the nurses came to do morning rounds.
The light from a lone yellow bulb lit the path for him as he slowly walked to the bathroom. He hated seeing other men's injuries more than being injured; another reason for his early morning excursion across the ward. Most of the injured men were no more than boys, young enough to be his sons. The injuries varied; some, like Georg, would be lucky enough to recover with time. Others were not so lucky. Some of the men when they left the ward would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their lives; others suffered from burns and wounds that would them disfigured for the rest of their lives. Others would maybe one day be fit and healthy, but their brains and minds so addled that their cognitive ability was that of a young child. Those like Georg who leave the ward and are able bodied would be back on the front lines trying to survive, while those who are not mobile would work at a desk job, or in the kitchens. Those who could not even do that... Georg shuddered to think what their future would hold.
One foot, and then the other.
Georg gritted his teeth against the pain as he forced himself forward. He heard soft moans and whimpers coming from the beds. Boys under white sheets, thrashing in bed. No one told them about this part of war. Nobody spoke of its terrors and the nightmares that one got. He was once like them: young and foolish, believing in his own might, and his own intellect. What a fool he was; what a fool they all were. Because in truth, war was horrible and no one spoke of its horrors. Somehow, embedded in the code of man, was the inability to speak of it. To feel it, to let it touch you, was a sign of weakness, and one does not dare to show weakness to anyone - enemy or friend. But at nighttime, it all came out. At the brink of unconscious thought comes the truth. The horror. Walking among the beds, Georg was thankful he slept in his own room; at his age, he was not sure he had the mental capacity to ignore the cries at night.
He leaned against the bathroom door heavily, catching his breath. He questioned his own ability to survive. He still did not know his fate. Was he to go out again, or was he to stay behind safe in Bremerhaven and wait out the war until he was reunited with his children? He was too tired for both. He did not think he could handle the physical toll of going out to sea again, but he was just as doubtful that he possessed the mental strength to play the game he was forced to play with the admiral. He had managed well the few times he was at land, but he was unsure he could keep the charade up any longer. He was just so tired.
Using the wall for a support, he undid the bandages around his ribs, entered a shower stall, and turned on the hot tap. The warm water soothed his aching body. His skin was still red and tender around the gunshot wounds. He shoulder was slowly gaining movement, but it was still painful. Standing directly under the tap he let the water wash over his shoulder. Steam from the hot water rose, and Georg breathed as deeply as he could. His ribs were healing very slowly, and while he was able to take shallow breaths without pain, deep breathing was difficult for him, as well as any activity that required movement. Walking down the hall tired him; bending was painful, as was sitting and standing. While he was thankful to be alive, he wondered if there would ever be a day when he could do normal activities without pain.
Finishing up his shower he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist and stepped into the antechamber by the sinks. He was not surprised to see Maria standing there, holding up his bathrobe.
A wide grin spread across his face when he saw her.
"Good morning," he said quietly, not wanting to wake anyone.
"More like goodnight," she whispered back. "You are up very, very early."
"I have a good reason to be up and about."
She walked towards him and held out his robe as he carefully slid his injured arm through the first sleeve, and then the second. After securing the garment with a knot, he placed a quick kiss on her brow.
Wordlessly, they walked towards the sinks. He turned on the tap and began to shave. It had become their routine, their quiet time in the early dawn long before the other soldiers woke, and before the hustle of the nurses up and down the ward.
Maria tried to meet him before her morning shift, or after her night shift. If he was awake she would help him while he took care of grooming himself. Georg was no longer in her ward, and was no longer her patient. It was at this time - early dawn - that Maria stole away to see him. It was a discreet time, and it had the added advantage of being able to help him with something he still struggled with. He was healing and did not need constant medical attention, but he still needed help as he recovered. While he was under her care, they had come to an understanding of what her role with him would be. While at first it was difficult, because they were both equally stubborn and Georg was frustrated with his inability to function, they had grown so close that Georg felt comfortable with Maria and only with Maria.
Georg glanced at the mirror as he brushed on shaving cream. He caught her gazing at his reflection as he ran the blade along his stubble. Almost every morning she saw him shave and it warmed his heart to find that his Maria was still his innocent Maria, who was fascinated by a man shaving. It was such a mundane routine, one that a wife would see a husband do each morning. In the glow of a yellow bulb above the sinks, Georg let himself fantasize about boring routines that would be part of their boring lives, had their lives been different. She already saw him in various forms of undress and it didn't bother Georg anymore. She got used to seeing him only wearing a towel and bathrobe; she no longer blushed and yet she didn't look at him or treat him in a detached clinical way. They were simply used to each other. They had grown so close that no words needed to be said in the quiet slumbering ward. Everything already was and what wasn't spoken of was felt.
After brushing his teeth, Georg wiped his grooming tools dry and carefully zipped his shaving kit closed. Maria was once again by his side. She stroked his smooth cheek as he leaned in to kiss her properly. She was his savior, he thought as he deepened the kiss. He could not have imagined surviving without her. Maria saw him through his most vulnerable stage and he let her. He loved her even more for that, and she loved him even more for letting her help. He was such a prideful man and Maria knew how difficult it was for him to show weakness and hurt. Georg was one to drive away others when he felt vulnerable, but he let her in and he let her help.
Quietly the two walked down the ward to Georg's room. Somehow the walk did not seem as long and difficult with Maria at his side.
In his room, Georg quickly slipped on his pants as Maria made his bed. Holding his ribs he gingerly sat down. Maria pulled the bandages tightly as she wrapped his chest. He grunted in pain and let out a slow breath through his gritted teeth.
"How did you sleep?"
"Not bad," he replied as he slid his legs onto the bed. She placed a pillow behind his head as he leaned back against the headboard.
"Your shift is starting soon?"
"Yes soon, unfortunately," she said, glancing at her watch. "Though I am happy you are getting better, I do miss you. "
"Well then, I will try to get better more quickly so that we don't need to steal these few minutes each morning," Georg said quietly while taking her hand and drawing her near to him.
She sat down next to him and placed her head on his good shoulder. Georg stroked her shoulder and nestled his face onto Maria's hair, breathing her scent.
They sat in a comfortable silence glancing at Maria's watch every so often. When the time came for Maria to part, they kissed one more time.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said with a smile as she rose from the bed.
"Tomorrow."
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Tomorrow seemed to never come.
A couple of hours after Maria had left, Georg was visited by the admiral. He complimented Georg's efforts and informed him that he and his men would be decorated for their actions. He also informed Georg that at the end of the month, he would be transferred to a base along the French border. An area that was contested and fought after. The admiral eyed Georg carefully as Georg tried to absorb his shock at being sent back to battle so soon, before he was even able to heal.
"You are awfully quiet, Captain."
"Yes, sir."
"Speak your mind; lately you've seemed to keep your thoughts to yourself."
"Yes, sir."
"Well?"
"I am," Georg started slowly, "a bit embarrassed to admit my own weakness to you, sir. But I do not think I have the physical strength to go back into the fray so soon."
"You are alive, aren't you?" the admiral asked. "That is all the strength you need to go back into the fray, as you call it. It is your duty, is it not?"
"Yes, sir; but it is not a matter of duty, but of weakness."
"Weakness? My dear captain," he scoffed. "Let's talk about weakness. Or perhaps we should talk of your weakness for a certain blond nurse?"
Georg paled.
"Perhaps her life will help you find the strength you need."
"She doesn't need to be part of this," he muttered.
"She doesn't choose, and neither do you."
"You need a nurse, mistress, whatever you need to gain your strength -"
"She isn't my mistress," Georg replied with barely contained anger. "Sir," he added quickly.
"Why so touchy, Captain?" the admiral sneered. "She's a nurse, and you are an unattached man. One would expect you to have one, even if your wife was alive."
Georg clutched his fist and used all his willpower to not throttle the admiral.
"She will leave Bremerhaven with you to the newly captured navel base in northern France. Any wrong move on your part, and she's dead," the admiral said coldly, rising and walking toward the door. "You will leave Bremerhaven at the end of the month. Will you both return together alive? That depends entirely on you, Captain."
Georg watched the hours slowly tick by. At dawn, Maria was to come like usual. What would he tell her?
A/N: It's been a long time since I updated this story. Thank you to all the readers who stuck with it. Thank you to Laveycee for betaing this chapter.
