Wounded. Flown out of combat.

…Everything is numb for Graeber. Emil looks above him with several cracked ribs and an eye covered by a gauze. The buzz of the Junkers becomes dull before fading completely. He lays down beside him and sighs.

Graeber’s wound was hastily stitched and bandaged, as was his head wound. Those Russians really didn’t want to give up those AA emplacements. Emil reached for his hand and rubbed it, trying to warm up it as if he himself was warm.

“Es tut mir leid," Emil sniffed. “Du hast etwas Besseres verdient.”

The medics told him his situation was hopeless. They stabilized him for the time being, but if he didn’t get evacuated out soon, his **** would just add to the statistic that it was the world’s bloodiest battle, regardless of whether or not he knew that.

Emil hunched over beside Graeber, letting out choked sobs for a few seconds before finding the willpower to pull away and catch his breath. He rubbed his eyes and stood up. “I wish I could tell you how sorry I am for the things I’ve done. You would have been the only person in my life that could understand. We mustn’t stop fighting, but how could we ever win?”

He stepped out of the medical tent and saw Pitomnik. The night was cold as it always was, but it was different. No hope lingered. No victory seemed near. Survival seemed less critical when his friend was no longer there.

The following two days are spent fighting. Emil sees horrible things and has no way to escape from them. Too much ****. Too many horrors. The cold is unforgiving. The nightmares are never-ending. Sleep never comes, and food is often unattainable. His weight loss affects the performance of his duties— it causes injury and pain, causing the morale to plummet— the fear of **** is soon replaced with the longing for the end. Escape capture. Evade the defeat. Avoid the punishment. For Emil, his life will end in Stalingrad; never seeing the downfall of the Reich, he started to doubt.

…

…

Graeber’s woke up like he was coming out of a deep sleep. He blinked and looked around, immediately noticing how dark his surroundings were. He saw a man with blonde hair and a field gray uniform beside him. His back was hunched, and his eyes were closed. He had Graeber’s hand in his as he mumbled something. Graeber didn’t understand him, however. It was neither German nor English. Even in his confused state of mind, he knew it wasn’t French.

There was an odd peace over Graeber despite his new surroundings. He blinked and looked around, just then noticing not just how tight but enclosed a space he was in. The man hovering above him looked clean but distressed.

The cabin shook, dragging all of his attention to the surroundings. He groaned as brightness came from the windows around him. This interior was one of a plane, he realized. The metal walls were covered slightly, and there were others like him inside– wounded, dying, ****. It was difficult to decipher their conditions beneath the blankets and bandages, however, but he figured they must’ve been pretty bad.

The man above him was gone, and so was that odd peace he was experiencing while he was there. Graeber mumbled to the one other person in the cabin standing. He could tell it was a girl from her figure. It took him a few tries, but she eventually heard him and came over.

Her expression was horror-struck, and there was clear evidence of surgery on her gloves. “Wie bist du wach?”

“Where is the man?” Graeber tried. “He had my hands…in his….”

Her brows furrowed, her eyes went to his head wounds, and she frowned. “Dir geht es nicht gut.” Graeber looked down, noticing that his hands were tucked under blankets.

“Was it Emil? Is he in here with me?” Graeber tried to get up, but the nurse pushed gently down on him.

“Stay still,” her eyes went all over Graeber. “You could hurt yourself.”

“Where am I?” Where’s Emil?”

She pursed her lips. “What’s your name?”

“Samson Graeber,” he closes his eyes. “I’m Samson Graeber. Where’s Emil Weber? Where is he?”

The nurse shook her head. “Samson, please calm down. You’ve been airlifted from Stalingrad because of your injuries.”

“Stalingrad,” he said as if the name was of an unknown planet. “Stalingrad…Where’s–what’s…No. I’m– when did we–?!”

“You got out,” she said. Her eyes went cold, and she nodded. “You’re safe now.”

He looked around the plane, the sound of the engines now clear. They had been shouting at each other as they spoke, and he just now realized it. He looked at the nurse, trying to comprehend what she had just said. “Where’s Emil? WHERE IS HE?!”

“Samson, please! Stay down!” She pressed more weight against him. “You’re safe now!”

“Do you want us all to die there!?” Someone shouted. “Be glad you’ve escaped that hell! We’ve at least earned some rest for the time being!”

“I’m not wounded!” Graeber said. “Emil was hurt too! Why isn’t he here with me?! We have to go back for him! Emil! Emil!”

One of the co-pilots took off his headset and stomped back. He held Graeber down and shouted at him. “You know how men have died in that city?! You know many men would rather be in here than you! Be happy you’re here now and not dying in Stalingrad, you fool! God has spared you for some reason.”

Pain shot throughout Graeber’s body and put him in shock. He groaned and shook. Though uncomfortable with the situation, the nurse is accustomed to such cases. He came to Graeber’s side and shook her head. “Listen, Samson." She said in his ear. “I understand that you might be confused right now, but… You’re going to a hospital in the rear section. Possibly further back in Ukraine, too.”

Emil Weber was the only person he could consider at the moment, though. His friend. Then he remembered Schnieder too. Schnieder was married with three children. Where is he? He hadn’t seen him in weeks. Emil Weber had a sister somewhere in Berlin, The Weber family– his mother, father, and sister! Where were they?! They must know about him! Emil isn’t dead! He’s alive!

The nurse licked her dry lips and stared at Graeber, holding his hand as he started to cry.

…

…

New Year, 1943. Poland

Katarzyna sniffed. Her nose was pink and runny as she looked at Graeber. “Welcome back, Herr Graeber.”

Graeber was clean, shaved, and washed now. After going to several field hospitals on the Eastern Front, he was eventually brought to Poland, where the winter was more forgiving, and the flow of recruits was still coming. He was trying to ignore the conversation of Stalingrad and the conditions of the city, but it was the nation’s main focus now. He wasn’t allowed to talk about it or answer any questions that could be translated into something negative.

He woke up one day with Katarzyna next to him, looking like a nurse. Dress, apron, and armband, and she kept him company when he woke up until she was called to do something else.

She discovered him early on when she took in the wounded from the front. Suddenly, her position became more intimate than what was once predicted. After Graeber left his furlough, she figured he had died somewhere in Russia. The combative operations and missions were costly, and she heard of dangerous events caused by partisans… Hence why she was here.

“You’re crying?” Graeber commented.

Katarzyna shook her head. “I’m cold,” she rubbed her nose with her sleeve and sat down. “You’ve been asleep for nearly 12 hours.”

“It feels like I haven’t gotten any rest still,” he rubbed his hands together. “Sometimes I wake up at night thinking everything I’ve seen these last few days have been a dream of some kind. It’s all surreal.”

Katarzyna held her hands as she listened to him. Her mind working. Processing. Somehow understanding what he means. “I’m… I’m glad I’m out of there, but I wish I knew how my friends were doing. Emil and Lukas especially.”

She sucked on her lower lip, her eyes drifting somewhat. She wrinkles her nose suddenly and then pinches it clean. This little execution of movements makes Graeber smile without reason. “When I look at you, dressed like an army nurse, all clean and beside me, I wonder if I am dreaming.”

A smile is offered in return for his remark, but it is short-lived when she looks up and notices others are watching. “Germany needs everyone to help. I just happened to be, uh, noticed at the right place at the right time.”

Her smile is now faded completely. “You’re so thin now,” her fingers tingle like they want to move, but she protests their desire and keeps them folded neatly before her. “Do you want something special to eat? It’s nearly noon, but I can get you a snack.”

Graeber’s stomach growls, but it’s silenced by the cotton buried beneath. “Anything warm,” he says.

Katarzyna opens her mouth, but instead of saying something, she bites her tongue, only nodding before she turns away. Graeber looks around the room, smelling the sterile hospital supplies that are nowhere to be seen. The floor is off-white and stained in some places; the windows are clean, however, so he can see outside. White skies indicate the winter season is still upon this side of the world, but at least it’s peaceful.

There’s a man to his left, legless and asleep. Another man to his right, missing an arm and is hollow-eyed as he stares out one of the many windows. One last man is across from him. His whole face is bandaged, and Graeber cannot tell whether or not he is awake or asleep. Staring at the bandaged man, he feels embarrassed and looks away.

Besides the wounded are a few others nurses, also in blue and white with red crosses bright on their heads and arms. There is very little conversation happening in this room without Katarzyna; it makes it seem like he’s gone deaf until one of the nurses approaches him.

Unlike Katarzyna, she is in pristine condition and looks to be well-rested. She beams at Graeber with a snow-white smile. This smile would have been presented as something creepy on another face, but it was plastered on a young, fair-skinned beauty with a sharp nose, pointed chin, and narrow eyes that were the colors of sapphires. Holding this beautiful frame was locks of golden blonde hour, pulled back in carefully done braids with red ribbons. A swastika, reflective black with white accents along the edges, was pinned on her apron.

Graeber looked at the nurse and tilted his head. He didn’t suspect such immature thoughts to plague his mind so soon, but as he discovered her hourglass figure and red nails, he let his boyish thoughts come to mind without worry. “Guten Tag, Herr Graeber,” she flashes her smile and steps closer.

“Mm,” Graeber says. “Hallo.”

The nurse looks back at the doorway Katarzyna went through briefly before looking back at him. “I will be taking care of you whenever Katarzyna, is away. You might not know me, but I am familiar with you. We’ve met a few times, but judging by the look you’re giving me, you don’t recognize me.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t. I don’t know how I don’t know though, you’re…” he trails off, not wanting to offend the lady before him.

“No need to finish, sir.” She winks and then leans in to whisper something in his ear. “I don’t need you to finish yet, at least.”

A harsh blush comes to his face when she says this, and his cock grows, curious of the activity it’s been shamed of since Julia. The events of what has happened since meeting Julia come to memory. The excitement dies, and he starts to worry.