Free On Desperate Ground by James Benn Page A

strode to the desk of Elsa Klein, her gray nurse’s uniform flapping with purpose. She carried a clipboard thick with patient charts, her mouth set in a stern frown.
    “Elsa,” the sister said, “where is Feldwebel Jost Brunner? He is supposed to be taking physical therapy for his leg this morning.”
    Sister Anneliese tapped the file with her pencil as she lifted an eyebrow at Elsa, impatiently waiting for her response. Elsa Klein, Saint Ludwig’s Chief Social Worker, was responsible for the needs of the poorer patients following their discharge from the charity wards. St. Ludwig’s was a Catholic hospital, and every nurse here was a nun, while staff like Elsa were lay people. Sister Anneliese was Head Nurse, a formidable figure in every sense of the word. She came from sturdy northern German peasant stock, and her wide, strong form towered over the desk where Elsa sat.  
    “I only have three Sisters to work in the physical therapy ward, Fräulein Klein. When a patient fails to show up for his appointment we waste valuable time. Do you know how many men with leg wounds we have here?”
    Elsa knew very well. In November 1943, the Wehrmacht informed the hospital that except for an emergency room and an outpatient clinic, all beds were to be reserved for military casualties. Civilian patients were to be transferred out within two weeks. Elsa’s job had changed from social worker to rehabilitation specialist, but not until she had overseen the discharge of hundreds of patients, many not well enough to survive without medical care.
    As the Sister waited for her answer, a group of doctors with a high-ranking SS officer walked by. The SS man had been slightly injured in last night’s bombing raid, and the Chief Surgeon and his assistant were giving him a tour of the facility before he left. The white sling holding his left arm against his black uniform only deepened the darkness surrounding it. Elsa looked into Anneliese’s eyes and meaningfully glanced to the SS officer, to be sure the Sister took notice of him.
    “Sister, I apologize for the error,” Elsa said, somewhat formerly. “ Feldwebel Brunner had greatly improved so I took him off the list for therapy. Perhaps the typist missed it. I thought a long walk with his cane would help build up his strength. I sent him to pick up extra rations for us.”
    Anneliese let a discrete gasp escape her lips as she took in the hidden meaning behind Elsa’s words. Wehrmacht soldiers on temporary leave from the hospital, but not discharged from it, could draw their own rations from the local Berlin garrison commissary. Some did this to supplement the hospital menu, but once in a great while a good man like Jost Brunner would do it for an entirely different reason.  
    Before the two women could exchange any further words, Herr Doktor Hubert Kappelen approached them, accompanied by the SS officer.
    “Sister Anneliese, Fräulein Klein, allow me to introduce Sturmbannführer Otto Hettstedt. The Sturmbannführer was injured in last night’s terror bombing.” Sturmbannführer was the SS rank equivalent to a major in the regular forces.
    “Heil Hitler!” snapped Hettstedt, as he clicked his heels and gave a lazy half-armed Nazi salute, bowing slightly towards the women. He was a short, pudgy man and the finely tailored uniform did little to hide his well-fed form.  
    “Heil Hitler!” responded Sister Anneliese loudly, with her substantial arm fully extended. “I trust the Sturmbannführer was not seriously injured?”  
    “No, Sister,” Hettstedt said, looking directly at Elsa as she stood. A smile crept up the sides of his mouth as his gaze wandered from the light brown hair falling across her forehead, to her bright blue eyes, over her full mouth, and downward to her breasts. Elsa willed her breath to remain calm and returned Hettstedt’s look.  
    “As a matter of fact, Fräulein ,” Hettstedt continued, ignoring Sister Anneliese. “I was just returning from a