How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Doktor

Fuchs is currently working on the trench, and while some of the men working have shed their jackets during their labours, his is firmly in place with each shovelful of earth.

Wagner emerges from a cottage carrying a transceiver and trailing a wire. He moves more easily than he did a few days ago, now that his wounds have been tended to. His uniform is immaculate, but that's about to change. The seasoned vet heads over to the trench and sets the transceiver down within easy reach. Wagner hops into the reserve trench, picks up a shovel, and gets to work.

Doktor Schmidt steps out of the imprompty medical station, adjusting his clothing. As soon as he is satisfied as to the state of his attire, he makes his way to the trenchline, a little faster than dignity might allow - he knows enough about trenches to be aware that people dig them for a reason.

Fuchs spots Wagner making his way into the trench and moves over toward the Scharfuhrer and stands at a moment of attention, waiting for the all-clear. He remembers enough about the Great War not to salute the man, but snapping to attention still couldn't be helped. "Sir, trench preparations near a close."

"Excellent," Wagner says, grunting as he reinforces part of the mound by packing the earth in with shovels. "Have you seen the Oberscharfuher or Obersturmfuhrer?" He nods towards the transceiver. "This village is wired up. I've got both guard posts wired up, so we're ready for whatever it is the Poles have planned." He shrugs. "Not that I'm worried about it."

Doktor Schmidt drops into the trench, grimacing at the, lets face it, dirt all around him. The tall doktor moves along the trenchline, slightly hunched so as not to present a clear target. He stops, as he sees Wagner. "Ah, scharfuhrer. I see that you're up and about." He adds, after a moment's thought, "You bled profusely on the floor of the aid station." The Doktor's tone suggests that he holds Wagner fully responsible for this heinous mess.

Herrmann is sitting off in a corner of the redoubt cleaning his rifle. The swelling of his face from the 'boxing lesson' has gone down considerably.

Its not so much a trench anymore, but a nice little fortress. Ewald comes out of whatever Polish house he'd be staying in, pleased as punch to see that his plans have been followed and a secure command post has been created. "Good work, boys," he says, after entering the re-enforced bunker.

Herrmann gives a side long glance at the Doktor then attends to his weapon.

Fuchs hears the Doktor's pronouncement of Wagner's 'mess' and fires a look toward the Doktor. "It is the blood of a German warrior, Doktor. Be honoured." He gives a quick nod to them both and turns to put away his tools and get somewhere further away from the Doktor.

Wagner smirks a little. "Ja, so I did. But we must all be willing to bleed for the Fuhrer," he says proudly. "I would bleed a thousand times more to ensure victory. In fact, I expect to." Construction finished, he finds a spot to place the radio transceiver. "Besides," he mutters, switching it on and fiddling with the knobs, "if the Poles knew how to load proper bullets, it would have gone straight through as it should have. Less digging around for you that way."

"Indeed? I would really rather that you didn't, scharfuhrer." Dr Schmidt looks at Wagner with slight distaste. Patients - the bane of his life. "However, your injuries were indeed relatively minor. I am sure you will catch something bigger this time." He Glances at Fuchs, eyes narrowing, as if trying to work out whether the other man's trying to be clever. Dr Schmidt doesn't hold with Cleverness.

Herrmann reassembles the last piece of the rifle and rams the receiver home <CLICK-CLICK>.

Doktor Schmidt just realizes something, adding sharply, "And that's Herr Doktor, or Doktor Schmidt, Sturmmann. We may be in the army, but we aren't savages, are we?" The doubtful look that he casts at Fuchs makes it seem that he's not completely sure about that.

Herrmann sets his rifle aside and fires up a cigarette.

Herrmann rises to his feet and leans against the wall. He exhales in the direction of the Doktor, whether or not this was intentional is hard to tell.

"This transceiver is picking up a lot of static. I'm going to check the wires going to the guard posts," Wagner says, ignoring the Doktor and Fuchs. He heads out.

Doktor Schmidt eyeballs Fuchs, stiffly inclining his head. "It does not do to let discipline slip, Sturmmann. After all, without discipline, we are little better than the lesser races." Dr Schmidt coughs, as the offensive smell of cigarette smoke reaches his delicate nostrils. He glares at Hermann, out of habit, but doesn't say anything.

"It would also behoove us to remember just why it is they are lesser, and what that means, when we are surrounded by those loyal to our race and to Germany, correct Standortarzt Schmidt?" Fuchs asks, in a tone that seems respectful enough. Maybe.

Doktor Schmidt sneers at Fuchs, speaking, "What exactly is it that you're trying to say, sturmmann? As a former official of the Reich's medical authorities, I am intimately affair of the superior physical and genetic - from which the moral naturally emerges - condition of our race." He looks pompous for a moment, before deflating. There's possibly a reason why he isn't involved with said medical authorities anymore.

Fuchs takes a step forward, and lowers his voice, realizing that this sort of argument is not the type to have in front of the others… but he's not about to let some 'doctor' with a pretty rank because he went to school push Fuchs around in his own sandbox. "I am trying to say that you would be better off remembering that the blood all over your floor is spilled by Aryans that are proving to the world our own superiority, to stupid Poles that do not know their place. I am saying that you should honor those men with your words, as they honor us all with their blood." His voice rises once more, to one that could be heard by those nearby. "However, I was unaware of such a… hygeine problem, Standortarzt. I apologize for my hasty words", and actually salutes the Doktor.

Doktor Schmidt maintains his sneer, crossing his hands over his chest, "Your simian mind could not comprehend the services that I have rendered the Party and the Reich. I would explain - in detail - the magnitude of my intellectual contributions to the legacy of the Schutzstaffel, but I am afraid that it would pass right over your head, Sturmmann." He ignores the apology, if such it is, but does turn around as Ewald approaches. He offers the other man a nod, and a more or less civil, "Good day, Herr Oberscharfuhrer. I was just engaging in an intellectual discussion with this soldier." His words drip scorn.

Fuchs lowers his hand and looks the Doktor up and down slowly, not bothering to hide the fact that he's sizing the man up. "I do not say you do not contribute, I only say that your contributions are no greater or less than our own, and you would do well to remember that, Standortarzt. Ignore it at your peril." He turns his gaze deadahead, still standing straight, and clears his throat. "Do you require anything else, Standortarzt?"

Herrmann secretly hopes Fuchs does not find himself in need of the Doktors 'talents'.

"Oh, but I am saying that my contributions are considerably more important, and in fact, of a different quality than your own. While oxes are valuable beasts, and quite necessary, it is the driver, the intellectual who is to be more respected." Dr Schmidt smiles at Fuchs, or at least bares his teeth at the man. "And I would keep your threats to yourself, if I were you. Otherwise, we can perform empirical testing on your relative expendability."
"We could always properly salute our intellectual surperior, as we should, and test something of a much different nature… the accuracy of Polish snipers. I'm sure after enough tries, even one of them could find you." Fuchs quips in kind, but keeps his gaze to a spot somewhere past the puffed-up doktor.

Fuchs adds quickly, "A proper test of a lesser race, yes Herr Doktor?"

Doktor Schmidt glances around, as if expecting to be a target for sniper attacks - his inflated self-opinion leads to the view that he is, indeed, a valuable target. He scowls at Fuchs, "Do not try being smart with me, Sturmmann." Being Smart is a capital offense, the way he says it. "If it was my destiny to end my career nameless and forgotten lying face down in a ditch, I would be wearing an uniform. Fortunately, my talents are placed elsewhere."
Herrmann says casually to Wagner just barely loud enough for the Doktor to hear, "Speaking of snipers, didn't they pick off a couple of fellas who were working on this Redoubt just the other day?" He looks about the area buildings to give the lie some credence.

Herrmann crouches down a bit to be a smaller target.

Fuchs says, "That is simple, Herr Doktor. There are only two names that matter. My leader and my people… Hitler and Germany. To think yourself worthy of a name to be remembered places you as their equals… not something many take lightly." At Herrmann's mention of snipers, his eyes dart toward the Doktor, but he manages to have the good grace to not quite smirk. "Am I dismissed then, Standortarzt?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sturmmann. While it is indeed extremely likely that no one will remember your name, except in the general category of martyrs for the Aryan race," Dr Schmidt shoots Fuchs a dark look, as if indicating that this will become a reality if he ever turns up on his operating table, "Those who have rendered great services to the Reich are appropriately commended, and honoured by the nation. Do not presume to imply that you know the doctrine of the Party better than I do. I have been a member of the Thule Society for almost two decades, and sworn to the Sigrune while you were still prancing around in your brown shirt." The doctor ducks reflexively as Hermann speaks, glaring at him too as he realizes that there's no immediate danger. At any rate, he decides that this is no longer the proper place for a man of his eminence, "Carry on. I am sure that digging is a task eminently suited to your capabilities." And with that he disappears, making the trench a slightly nicer place to be in.

Herrmann quietly laughs to himself with great satisfaction as the Doktor ducks from his mention of snipers.

Fuchs waits until the Doktor has wandered off before turning back to Herrmann with a rolling of his eyes. "Blowhard." And suddenly realizes just what it is he's done… Fuck, that had courtmartial written all over it. Still, there were enough brass, even in the SS, that had the military man's mindset resenting the officer's rank given to civilians like doctors for him to get away with it… once. Shaking his head he grumbles and moves over toward the others near Hermann and lowers his voice. "So… how manypeople heard that, you think?"

Herrmann looks back and forth and says, "Two maybe three. If I were you, I'd pray you not need his services. Know what I mean?"

Herrmann shakes a cigarette out of a crumpled pack and offers it to Fuchs, "Smoke?"

Fuchs shakes his head. "For all his foolishness, he's still smart, I think. AFter that scene, everyone will know he did it. If I end up on his table, I'm sure I'll get the best care." To the proffered pack of smokes he shakes his head and waves it off. "No… can't run as long with those."

Limping slightly on one of his feet, Andreas makes his way towards the trench, looking around for a few moments.

Fuchs is sitting on a crate in the completed Redoubt beside a smoking Herrmann, grumbling about the day's activities.

Herrmann shrugs at Fuchs and puts the pack away and whispers to Fuchs, "Me, I think that Dr. will do whatever he wants and I doubt yours or my personal safety is a priority. And I'll deny I said it."

"That kind of thinking isn't welcome here," Wagner says as he steps into the redoubt. He heads over to the radio, flips a switch, then fiddles with a knob, nodding to himself. Then he shoots a glare at Herrmann. "The campaign has barely begun, and we are spearheading the advance. And here you are, with your doubts. I have complete faith in Herr Doktor, as I trust the Fuhrer does."

Einar Kassel gets up after chow, grabs his kit and makes for the fortified position and the men therein. "Gentlemen, watch is about to come round. I've got a spot in the church on the edge of this little town, made it plenty cozy and I /do/ need a gunner's assistant," he offers cagily.

Herrmann simply shrugs at Wagners comments as remembers the Dr's comments about needing wounded soldiers with head wounds for brain experiments.

Fuchs hears Einar's request, and glances over at Wagner. "Do you want this one, or should I take it?"

"I'll accompany you, Mann," Wagner tells Einar. He nods to Fuchs, "The radios should be working now. If I'm needed and you can't reach me, send a runner."

Andreas listens rather quietly, frowning a little as he looks around at his weapon again.
Herrmann puts out his smoke and picks up his rifle.

Fuchs nods and pushes away from the boarded wall of the redoubt he was leaning against, shouldering his rifle beside Herrmann. "Alright. We're on the east side then?"

Herrmann adds, "Just point me where you want me."

Einar Kassel nods, hefting his daypack. "Alright, Shcarfuhrer. I'll meet you there." With that he makes his way to his post.

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