Bad luck, Ian explained, just poor, dumb, bad luck. It had been organized as a two-day, two-night patrol by the 10th Cavalry, entirely on foot. They’d made it to within sight of the German defenses in one day and settled in to observe. They spent that night and the next day in safety, but discomfort. “Damn mosquitoes were bigger than some birds we have in England. It rained, of course. It was impossible to brew tea.”
They were on their way back the second night when they’d blundered into a German patrol. “One minute we were moving along in the dark, trying not to step on each other, and the next we were clawing and stabbing at shapes in the night. It was so sudden, so awful.”
Ian added that there had been little time for gunplay, and few shots had been fired. The accident of fate had brought both patrols within arm’s length of each other before bullets could be chambered and safeties removed. For what seemed an eternity, they fought with hands, clubbed with rifles, and stabbed with hunting knives. Finally the Germans fled, leaving several dead comrades. As they distanced themselves from the Americans, a few got their weapons ready and fired. It was then that Heinz had been hit.
“If it’s any consolation, we killed three of the bastards, and others must be wounded. We almost got a prisoner, but he slipped away in the confusion. I guess we had too much on our minds to keep proper track of him.”
Patrick sighed. No, it was not really much consolation, although it would have been interesting to have a fresh prisoner. “Well, at least you saw the German lines. What are your thoughts?”
“Of Byzantium.” He smiled slightly at Patrick’s puzzlement. “Surely you remember Byzantium and its fabled triple walls. Didn’t you get to Istanbul during your European trip?”
“No, Ian, I managed to miss Istanbul. But I do understand your analogy.” Byzantium had been the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire for about a thousand years until its fall in 1453. During that long time, its triple walls were the stuff of fable and legend. Huge and high, incredible works of man, they encompassed the city and protected it from barbarian invaders, many of whom could only stand in awe at the massive constructions. It was not until the advent of gunpowder and the siege guns brought by the attacking Turks that the walls were finally breached and the city was conquered. The result was the end of the Eastern Roman Empire and the city of Byzantium. After a period of looting, it was renamed Istanbul. The walls, even in ruin, are impressive to this day. If Ian was comparing the German fortifications to Byzantium, then he had truly been impressed. “Are they that good, Ian?”
“Yes, I’m afraid they are. They have spent a huge amount of effort building fortifications that run solidly from the Sound to the boggy ground about twenty miles north. Unless you have some secret advantage like the Turkish artillery, the American army I’ve seen will not be able to penetrate them. Sorry.”
Patrick shrugged. “I’m not too surprised. The near miss at Danbury must have put the fear of God into them.”
“So why haven’t you built as sturdily as well? The American lines are nothing in comparison with theirs—just some trenches and some barbed wire.”
“Good point. The fact of the matter is we don’t want them to fear our forts so much that they won’t come out. You’re right, we can’t take them. Their forts are not really impregnable—nothing ever is—but the price we’d pay to take them would be just too horrible. The Germans must come out of their defenses and fight us. MacArthur’s plan is to tempt them with several lines of defenses, but not any one as formidable as theirs. He hopes to entice them to come out. Then, pray God, we can defeat them, no matter how good they are.”
Patrick stood. “If you can, stay here and let me know about Heinz. I’d like to stay, but there is the rest of the brigade to take care of.”
Ian nodded sadly. “I know. There’s a war on.”
To Patrick’s relief, Trina was not nearly as upset as he had feared she would be when he finally summoned the nerve to confront her at her cottage. “Then Heinz will live?” she asked, her face pale. Once again the war had struck someone she knew.
“Yes, he should live. As Ian suspected, the leg wound was minor, although he will limp for a long while. It was the arm and the loss of blood that were the major problems. The arm was disinfected and the bones were set. He will probably lose some use of it because of the way the bones were broken and the muscles were shredded, but, barring infection, he will keep it. We will know for certain in a couple of days.”
“What about the blood loss?”
“He’s getting transfusions.”
She paled. “But those are so dangerous. I’ve heard that many people die from them, and for no apparent reason.”
Patrick smiled. “Well, you learn something every day. The doctor treating Heinz is a civilian and a correspondent of another doctor, a Karl Landsteiner, who recently discovered that several different blood types exist and a person can receive a transfusion only from others with a compatible type. He checked and found people with the same blood type as Heinz—type O, I believe—and started providing him with blood.”
“Fascinating. And invented by a German?”
“No. Landsteiner’s an Austrian living in the United States.”
Trina folded her hands on her lap and nodded her head. “Good. Much better an Austrian than a German.”
He thought of saying that she sounded more like Molly than Katrina Schuyler, but he deferred to discretion. The thought of moving blood safely from one person to another was intriguing. What if blood could be taken in advance and stored until needed, not only for military purposes but for other problems and disasters as well? The army doctor—what the hell was his name?—said they were working on it. He also reiterated how lucky Heinz had been that he’d been wounded during a period of low activity. Along with the time to treat him, there was the matter of sanitation. Both the doctor and the operating room were clean. Although the idea of doctors and attendants washing up before operating was widely popular, it was not universally held to be advantageous. And after a battle, the press of numbers often precluded sanitation, good intentions or not.
Patrick left Trina with the burden of informing Molly about Heinz. Thus he was not surprised when Trina showed up at his command tent a few hours later.
“How’s Molly taking it?” he asked.
“Badly at first. She screamed like the day we first saw her. It took a while, but I finally got her somewhat calmed down. I left her at the hospital on the way over here. Heinz is out of surgery but still unconscious. It helped to know that he will make it.” Patrick nodded. Ian had kept him informed.
“He will likely make it, Trina,” he corrected gently. “Nothing’s certain with these things.” He remembered so many who’d died from wounds and infection long after receiving medical treatment.
“I know. That’s why we’re starting to make arrangements to get him back home so we can care for him properly. I’m sure you know a hospital’s no place for a man to get well. You will help us get him out as soon as possible, won’t you?”
“Can you handle his care?”
“I could not. But I’m confident Molly can. She had to help both her brother and her father through convalescences, and she has some experience treating infections. Her father died from gangrene after cutting himself in his meat shop.” She shuddered. “Yet another awful experience for the child, but what she learned then will be useful now. Please don’t forget that a battle could occur at any moment and result in a flood of patients to the hospital, and that could be tragic for Heinz’s recovery. No, I think Heinz will be all right with us. Agreed?”
Patrick remembered his stay in various places as the result of wounds and malaria. “Yes.”
“And, of course, we don’t want Molly to risk losing the baby.”
“Then it’s true? She is pregnant? Funny, but I kind of thought you weren’t certain the last time we spoke of it. Might’ve even been teasing me.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “the girl is truly pregnant. Soon to be great with child. The eager youngsters have gone and created themselves a family. We shall have to get them married before anything else happens. Then we can ship them to Ohio where they’ll be safe.”
Patrick agreed, although with the caveat that it might be a while before Heinz could be sent back to Cincinnati. He reminded her that Heinz had volunteered for the duration of the war and might not want to go home just yet. If the wound healed properly, he could be returned to some duty. The decision would be Heinz’s, not theirs. He would certainly be able to serve. Even with a bad left arm—was he right- or left-handed?—there was a place for his mind, if not his body. Thank God he wanted to be a lawyer and not a doctor.