Headlights flash in the distance and an engine rumbles. There's a small vehicle driving down the road from the west, fast.

Inside the aid station, Sofia is wearing her usual garb, though it should be noted there is a woman-sized set of surgical garb hanging now. She's on shift, meandering between beds.

A truck rumbles up to the house, sliding to a stop, nearly skidding on the gravel. Two soldiers jump out and shout in German, "Medic! We have wounded!" They scurry to the rear and lower the tailgate, flashlights turning on to shine on the wounded stowed back there.

Medic? Well, that would likely be her, she supposes. Sofia sets down the water pitcher, and turns, striding to the doorway.
"Wounded? How badly?" Sofia asks, peering out, trying to see if she can spot the wounded and perform a bit of triage herself.

"You tell me," the soldier says. "I just drive the truck." The soldiers grab the stretchers and pull the wounded out. Why, it's Wagner and Fuchs!

Sigh. Sofia rubs her temples a moment. She just smiles, and nods. She looks over the wounded, blinking. Wagner and Fuchs? She frowns. Oh no.

Wagner is in very bad shape. It's a miracle he's even lasted this far. He has superficial wounds to his arm and gut. Most troubling, however, is the fact that he's missing a chunk of his skullon the right side. His brainthe temporal lobe—is dimly visible and pulsating. The scharfuhrer's helmet and MP40 rest on his chest. A goodish part of the right side of the helmet has been sheared off.

Fuchs is laying on the stretcher, looking fairly normal, other than the pale skin… that is, of course, until you look anywhere above the shoulders. Most of it is a blood-soaked, somewhat bandaged mess, but if one looks closely enough, one can see most of a jawline (it looks like part of the left side may have been blown out), and he one can only hope that somewhere under those bandages his left eye still remains in its socket.

"Mein Gott," Sofia winces. Even as seasoned medical personnel, that's somewhat troubling. And her friend, Fuchs too. She chokes, but tries to stifle it for the sake of professional manners. "Ugh, he needs to be taken to the bed— Operating Theatre," That's a more professional word for the bedroom-turned-operating room, at least. "Both of them," She frowns. Sofia turns, and goes to get her garb on, even stopping to wash her hands and get gloves.

The soldiers seem to be satisfied with Sofia's reaction (she's getting into her scrubs, after all), and soon drive off.

Wagner lays on his stretcher. His face is blank, his eyes staring, blinking spastically. If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of his chest, one might think him dead. At least he'll live long enough to mess up Doktor Schmidt's aid station.

Fuchs :is also breathing, although barely. Lucky for him, he's passed out from the pain and bloodloss. Must have been why those Frenchies thought he was dead… white as a ghost with blood practically squirting out of him.

Poor bastard. Sofia sighs, and shakes her head. She's even got her hair pulled back more tightly than usual, to keep it away. Girl germs and all. She will have a couple of orderlies help her get Wagner and Fuchs into the operating room. No time to waste. "Come, these men are dieing," She frowns. She's a bit pale herself now, but no time for hysterics. It's time to work.

Wagner looks marginally better, except for his pulsating brain and all. Man, that's gross!

It is gross, and Sofia will do her best to keep him safe, clean and reasonably patched up.

Sofia is currently in the operating theatre, trying to keep Wagner from dieing horribly. "Where is Herr Doktor? I can't—" She's not going anywhere near that head injury. "Herr Doktor!" Sofia calls, peeking out.

Wagner is on the "operating table," eyes still blankly staring at the ceiling, brain still pulsating within his skull. And yes, he's managed to bleed EVERYWHERE.

Doktor Schmidt comes out of his office upstairs in the house. It's not much more than a cupboard, but Doktor Schmidt feels he needs an office even for this kind of small medical station. He bounds down the stairs, calling out, "What is it?" As he reaches the landing below, he blinks, staring at the exposed brain of the Scharfuhrer. He doesn't even notice the blood, and has to stop a smile from appearing onto his gaunt face. He likes head injuries. The tall surgeon slowly strides forwards, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. "Ah, Miss Weir. The Scharfuhrer appears to have caught a bullet with his head. Find the Wagner. I will be operating."

The right side of Wagner's skull is missing, exposing his temporal lobe.

Who is Sofia to argue with the Doktor's needs? She nods, "I am afraid he did," She replies. Sofia feels a little shiver as Schmidt smiles. She just smiles weakly. Her gloves are a bit red with blood, and it seems his other wounds are tended too. "I felt your expertise would be best here," Deferring to the Doktor's skill seemed wisest. She falls silent, and moves along to help the Doktor. "Yes, herr." Sofia finishes, and blinks. Find the Wagner …?

Fuchs is currently laying somewhere nearby, bleeding out pretty well. At least his brain isn't exposed… we think. The medics managed to wrap some bandages around his head, so if there is cranium leakage, at least it's hidden from casual view.

Doktor Schmidt points a finger at the gramophone, offering no other explanation for his wish. He leans down, peering close at Wagner's brain. The bloody floor doesn't bother him. Fuchs doesn't bother him. Being stuck out here in the boonies as a lowly field surgeon doesn't bother him. Now, he's where he wants to be, alone with an exposed brain. Doktor Schmidt starts arranging scalpels, needgles and other medical apparatuses on a nearby table, like a musician preparing his instruments.

Wagner's eyes remain fixed on a spot on the ceiling. He's in shock. Or something. He stares. A lucid man would probably be nervous with sharp instruments near his head, but the old scharfuhrer's on another plane of existence.

Oh! THAT Wagner. Sofia gets a sheepish look on her face. As per Doktor's request, she sets on the Wagner. Something suitably dramatic and mighty, of course. Sofia looks to Fuchs, after she's set the gramaphone to do its thing.There's a twinge of pity in her expression, for the two men but she only does it when she's turned /away/ from the Doktor. She turns back around, waiting obediently. "Anything else, Herr Doktor or should I leave now?" She's apparently quite content to leave the man alone.

"No, you will help me with the instruments. I don't see a nurse around." Doktor Schmidt hardly even glances around, his bespectacled eyes locked on the exposed brain. He reaches over, his fingers hovering a millimeter above the pulsating mass.
"Miss Weir, did you know that the brain is almost completely numb? It has very few pain receptors. I have it on the very best authority that with sufficient anesthesia, you can slowly dismantle a man's brain without him dying, as long as the brainstem and some other parts of the anterior cerebellum remain intact. I find this fascinating." After a moment, he adds, "Luckily, there seems to be very little damage to the brain itself. We need to work fast, to avoid infection."

"Yes, herr," Sofia nods. She is watching both the Doktor and that strange brain now. She tilts her head, listening. "Oh?" Her eyes widen at that. "That is very incredible," She agrees. But what would he be like? So many questions. She shares the Doktor's fascination for the moment then lets it go. "Of course," She takes her spot to help with the instruments. At least she's less pale now, and more in a sort of student mode. Listening, taking in the words and situation. It's hard not to ignore the questions about that mysterious brain, but that's /Wagner/ down there, so she stows it.

Wagner blinks a few times.

Sofia does add quietly, "I wonder what the person would be like after…" Seems one question got loose.

Fuchs seems to have stabilized somewhat for now… seems he was the lucky one… although with a piece of jaw snapped loose, that's a really subjective term. Eyes closed and shallow breath show that at least his mind has blessed him with unconsciousness.

"A vegetable." Doktor Schmidt answers promptly. "Mind you, infections would probably finish him off in a relatively short time. But even small changes and injuries to the brain can cause significant personality changes and memory loss. It will be interesting to observe what kind of neurological changes the Scharfuhrer will experience, if he makes it." Doktor Schmidt stares down at Wagner with absolute curiosity, and no empathy; interested in the patient as a specimen, with no emotions invested. The tray of gleaming instruments on the nearby table is like a glimpse into the Doktor's mind, all cold, gleaming metal. "Hand me the smallest scalpel. We shall begin."

"Oh," Sofia replies quietly. "Do they have any ideas about what changes what? Like if I got shot in the back of the head versus the front?" She listens, then immediately after her question. The woman reaches down, looking at the scalpels. Another twinge of inner horror. She's helping the Doktor… just helping right? She carefully hands over the scalpel, making sure she has it just so. Imperfect handling could lead to infection right? Maybe. She looks down at Wagner now, even more pity. Poor bastard. Sofia's face is beginning to betray her pained curiosity. Will he be ok? Her breathing is slow, held, tense. She awaits her next task.

Doktor Schmidt speaks as he works, "Damage to the extreme front of the brain tends to affect personality. The left section of the brain is dominant for language functions. Let me show you." He points with a bloody scalpel at an area in the front left side of Wagner's brain, "This is Broca's area. Damage to it causes Broca's aphasia, which inhibits speech. However, it is quite hard to say what causes what: The parts of the brain are interlinked, and every brain injury is different. This is part of the reason why the brain is so fascinating to me. It is an unknown land." He carefully cleans off debris and bone shardsfrom the surface of Wagner's brain, before starting to work on sewing the bone back on so that the brain isn't exposed anymore.

Sofia nods, as she listens then. "Seems like a strange land, with so many places and so many twists and turns," Sofia considers. She looks over the exposed brain quietly, turning it over in her mind. There's so many implications and things to muse over. She's at a loss, for a moment, mostly waiting and nodding. This is Doktor Schmidt's world, and she is a new traveller. "Is there a favorite thing you like to study about it?" If nothing else, she'll at least get some new insight perhaps.

"Its dysfunctions. The brain in general has been understood only through its dysfunctions, and imperfectly - when one thing is damaged, something doesn't work. Therefore a connection exists. In particular, I have focused on language-related neurological damage. Various aphasias. I've written several books on them." Doktor Schmidt looks animated, excited, and considerably less snarky than usual; almost like a human being. Maybe it's true that life starts with your hands up to their wrists in someone else's brain. "However, there is much to learn, still. Our understanding of the brain is still very limited." His gaunt features darken slightly. "Somehow, I doubt much progress will be made in this field anytime soon." He finally starts closing the skin over Wagner's skull, stretching it and sewing it closed over the skull and its - yes, metal - fillings.

"Books? Really?" Sofia looks over at him with a tone of voice that indicates interest. Maybe she'd even buy one. It's a bit surprising to see Doktor Schmidt so animated, excited … maybe even happy? No, that's too far gone. She bobs her head, as he speaks, content to let him go on then. Then a frown as his features darken. She watches him as Wagner's skull is once again closed. Maybe he'll get better radio reception than ever now at least? "That's very sad, it seems like people could learn a lot," She considers. Sofia takes a deep breath.

Doktor Schmidt's grey eyes narrow. "I think that people are done learning, miss Weir." He carefully puts down the bloody instruments into a wooden bowl full of water. He looks at Wagner's head with faint satisfaction, but something seems definetely to be bothering him. "Foregone conclusions and dogma have replaced scientific inquiry. I might have written books, a few years ago, but now all I can remember are burning pages. Good evening, Miss Weir." He stares at Sofia with an impulsive, dark anger, that is gone in an eyeblink, leaving behind it only the cold, arrogant mask. The tall surgeon walks back upstairs, throwing his surgical gloves onto a nearby table.

Oops. Sofia looks a bit startled, and glances down, apologetic. "I am sorry, herr," She frowns, trying to look small now. She is hoping to melt into the floor or blend into a wall or … Well, now she seems genuinely bothered. She was happy listening to the Doktor. "Good evening, Herr Doktor Schmidt," She murmurs quietly and will take Wagner with the Orderlies somewhere to rest. What did he mean by that though? Sofia seems puzzled, but she's not stupid enough to push the issue. As if the Doktor lingers long enough to allow it. She just sighs and resumes her duties.

Wagner's eyes are now closed, and he appears to be truly unconscious. No more of those dead fish eyes staring at Fuhrer-knows-what on the ceiling. There's no telling howor whohe'll be when he comes to.

Fuchs gurgles slightly, in that story-esque manner of regaining consciousness at the precise moment when things might actually start to settle down. the gurgle, of course, turns into a slow, pained moan… foolish man tried to talk.

Sofia has taken off her gloves and scrubs, washed her hands and even helped straighten the operating theatre. She arrives near poor Fuchs, just in time to hear him moan. "Mister Fuchs?" She blinks, moving over to him. Sofia looks over the man, to see if someone has tended to his wounds.

Fuchs seems to have been taken some care of. Most of his face is covered with bandages, the left eye still completely covered, and most of the bandaging is white instead of the crimson strips of fabric that he had donned earlier. The one visible eye does open, and he grumbles something again, this time reaching up to press a hand to the left side of his face, where the bandages are the thickest.

Phew. Sofia takes a breath of relief, she smiles down at the poor man. "Well," She looks over. What DOES one say to a guy who just got shot in the head? She tilts her head, considering it. Time for the age old gauge of lucidity, "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?" Duh. Duuuuuuuuh. But at least it's a start, right?
Fuchs makes a muffled sound, much like an attempt at speech - one that is quickly followed by the somewhat loud growling/gurgling of pain. Foolish soldier tried to speak again. After a few moments of clenched eyes to calm himself, he points directly at his left jaw, and traces a line along the left side of his face toward his temple.

OH! Sofia catches on a moment, "Er, stop doing that. Maybe we can numb the area and get you a pen and paper…" Helpful, this one. Poor Fuchs. She disappears momentarily, returning with some local anesthetic and even a pen and paper as promised. She offers the writing utensils over to him, "Here, and we can at least numb your jaw. Does that sound alright?"

Fuchs takes the pen and paper, shakes his head once, and holds out a hand for her to stop. Then he quickly scribbles down, "Doctor says cannot numb. Bad for food and water" and shows it to her.

"Hrm, that's unusual," Sofia shrugs. "Sorry then. But I'll leave that pen and pad with you, alright?" She offers. At least she can give him communication. "I'm happy to see you again, but not really this way…" Sofia frowns. "Ah well. Hopefully you'll heal quickly. I'm wishing you well at least."

Fuchs would smile, but manages to not do -that- again. Instead he nods slowly, then scribbles quickly on the paper a single word. "Wagner?"

"Wagner … we don't know yet, herr Doktor operated on him post haste though, so I imagine he'll be better in no time," Sofia nods. "He's very skilled with things involving brains," She even taps her skull for emphasis. "And even better he's got a metal plate in his head, so you can just keep the radio right by him," A bit of a joke. But it is news that Wagner will be a-ok, mostly.

Fuchs nods slowly and scribbles once more on the paper. "Command must know we are wounded. I Report tomorrow."

"Hm, ok. I can go find our typewriter, if you need me to do that," Sofia looks over. "I can type as you write or something," She shrugs. "I feel badly for you though. Ah well," Sofia looks over her shoulder in case of Doktor and even picks up something to clean with.

"One more thing." Fuchs scribbles down, waits for some sort of affirmative from Sofia before continuing.

"Hm?" Sofia pauses, waiting for him to write his next thing then. "What's that?" She peers down at the pad.

Fuchs writes one last thing, then two broad strokes across the page before showing it to you. It's the words 'Thank You', with two broad underlines. His one visible eye peers up at her as he watches her reaction.

Surprised, really. Sofia tilts her head, blinks. Then she smiles. It's more genuine than her usual polite passoffs. She nods, lowering her head. "I- don't know know what to say, but you are welcome and it's an honor," She says. "Thank you too, for being a good patient. Now, work on getting better. I'll bring you soup later. The operating room needs cleaning though, and I am afraid Herr Doktor won't put up with that."

Fuchs's shoulders actually shake slightly, amusement at the thought of no matter how much things change, they in many ways stay the same. "Wouldn't want that" is quickly scribbled across the page, and the soldier nods to Sofia, before closing his eyes.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Sofia muses. She even grins down at Fuchs, nodding. "Sleep well," She murmurs to him and lets the poor man rest in peace. She's gathered up a mop and heads towards what passes as their operating room.

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