What The Doktor Ordered

La Gare
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Steam engines fill the air with their noise, there are shouts and barked orders in this hive of activity. The military has taken this station over, and the station is packed with soldiers, some of them with the drawn faces of those who have just been relieved from the front lines, others, new recruits, with expressions of resignation and fear.

There is a palpable sense of hopelessness and misery, the soldiers, whether arriving or leaving, look to be broken men, even the young seventeen and eighteen year olds.

It is currently daytime.

Sub-Rooms :

Doktor Schmidt
(Item 1) Gewehr 98 Ranged Weapon
(Item 2) Gewehr 98 Ranged Weapon
(Item 3) Gewehr 98 Ranged Weapon
(Item 4) Gewehr 98 Ranged Weapon
(Item 5) Gewehr 98 Ranged Weapon
(Item 6) Kar98k Ranged Weapon
(Item 7) Kar98k Ranged Weapon
(Item 8) Kar98k Ranged Weapon
(Item 9) MP18 Ranged Weapon
(Item 10) MG08/18 Ranged Weapon
(Item 11) MG 08 Ranged Weapon
(Item 12) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 13) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 14) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 15) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 16) Flammenwerfer Ranged Weapon
(Item 17) Luger P-08 Ranged Weapon
(Item 18) Luger P-08 Ranged Weapon
(Item 19) Luger P-08 Ranged Weapon
(Item 20) Wire Equipment
(Item 21) Wire Equipment
(Item 22) Wire Equipment
(Item 23) Wire Equipment
(Item 24) Wire Equipment
(Item 25) Wire Equipment
(Item 26) Wire Equipment
(Item 27) Wire Equipment
(Item 28) Wire Equipment
(Item 29) Wire Equipment
(Item 30) Wire Equipment
(Item 31) Wire Equipment
(Item 32) Wire Equipment
(Item 33) Wire Equipment
(Item 34) Wire Equipment
(Item 35) Wire Equipment
(Item 36) 7.92-57 x 1442 Ammo
(Item 37) 9mm Parabellum x 190Ammo
(Item 38) 9mm Parabellum x 200Ammo
(Item 39) Flamethrower Napalm x 5Ammo

Out <O>

Falk is seated on an overturned wooden crate. It likely once contained ammo, but it's long been drained and its contents sent to the boys at the front. He's just sitting now, his rifle in his lap. By all appearances he just finished field-stripping it. He doesn't seem quite sure what to do with his hands. They twitch ever so slightly over the gun.

Doktor Schmidt is rummaging through a couple of crates set a little away from the ammo and weapons, apparently a supplies delivery for the hospital judging by the red crosses stamped on them. He is wearing black leather gloves to protect his long, delicate fingers as he works, a frown of uncommon disapproval set on his aquiline, angular face. Finally, he straightens, slamming the lid of the crate down in disgust, "Schaisse…" This done, he peers around, potentially looking for someone to vent his frustration on. Seeing you sitting nearby, apparently doing nothing, the tall doctor strides your way. "You there, private! Where are the rest of my supplies?"

Falk looks up at the slam. He doesn't quite flinch but he comes near to doing it. When he's spoken to, Falk hurries to his feet, trying to look like a proper soldier. "The shipment was delayed, Doctor. I was sent up from the front to unload it but it has not arrived yet."

Doktor Schmidt stares down at you - with a little effort, seeing as you're not a midget yourself - his thin black eyebrows arching down over his beak of a nose. The Bayerian surgeon's lips are pressed into a thin line, and he takes a moment before speaking, "Dealyed, eh? Damn fools. How am I supposed to operate, when I have no sterile bandages, no sulfa and only rudimentary instruments?" He peers at you thoughtfully through his small, round spectacles, as if trying to, in his coldly analytical way, pigeonhole you into some useful category.

Falk stands stock still under Schmidt's gaze, with some effort. He doesn't even try to look the doctor in the eye. Nor does he try to answer any of those questions. He's a private, after all. He can't. "Is there anything else I can assist you with, Doctor?"

"Is there? IS there?" The Doktor bends down, peering closely at you like you were some foreign and possibly interesting specimen. "I need an orderly for the field hospital. The last man was a bloody fool who got his head quite thoroughly shattered by a sniper's bullet." He adopts a mournful expression, looking away, "Rifle bullet entered via the frontal lobe and did some considerable damage to the motor cortex and the anterior cerebellum before exiting with half of his rear cranium. Quite unsalvageable." After this brief digression, his steel grey eyes slide back to you, inquisitive look in place.

Falk grimacese at the doctor's…detailed description of the bullet's affect on the skull. He probably doesn't think about such things too much, just firing his own rifle on the line. And he looks less than pleased at the invitation to this assignment. Not that he can really refuse. "It…it would be my honor, Doctor."

"Of course it would, ja. It would also mean less frontline duty, less risks. That is what you soldiers care about, nein?" Schmidt's attempt to be colloquial with you comes off as being a bit strained, and condescending - his tight-lipped smile looks more like a constipated grimace. But hey, at least he's trying! The surgeon straightens, adjusting his round spectacles. "Very good. Now, you can start by grabbing one of those crates, and accompanying me to the ill-equipped dump that command has undoubtedly designated as the field hospital." His cold, contemptuous tone reveals his lack of respect for the people running the show.

"I am not afraid of risk, Doctor," Falk replies, unable to hide a twinge of irritation at the implication. "I have been in the trenches for two years now." Two years? He's probably not even 18 now. "But I will serve as I am asked. Anything I can do for the effort." He shoulders his rifle and strides over to grab a crate, as instructed. He lifts it without any trouble. He's a strong one, at least.

"Well, that is not very sensible, is it? If you were more familiar with the precise qualities of hydrostatic shock and gunshot cavities, you would be less eager for the trenches." Because clearly, the Doktor is right. Schimidt adds, as an afterthought, "What is your name, soldier? You may call me Doktor Schimidt, or Herr Doktor, or Herr Doktor Schmidt." He grabs a small leather doctor's case from near the crates, and walks before you, directing you to the field hospital.

"I am called Falk, Herr Doktor," the young man replies, lugging his crate along as directed. "Schutz Gerhardt Falk. And I would not say I am eager for the trenches." This seems to contradict what he said a moment before, so he hastily adds, "I only mean I am not afraid. I am no coward. I do not know precisely what a bullet does, but I have seen them kill."

Karl is standing off to one side looking around as if in awe. Obviously a fresh recuit from the looks of him. He keeps bumping into people or is in constant peril of being run over as he wanders about.

"Ja, of course. Very virile of you, I'm sure." The rather casually sarcastic words come from the Doktor almost by rote, with no particular feeling behind them. Doktor Schmidt's version of a social autopilot tends to vary from mild sarcasm to biting scorn. "Well, Herr Falk lets go." He notices Karl bungling around, and calls out imperiously, "You there! Private! Grab that supplies crate and come with us." He points a gloved digit at a box with a red cross on it, walking out of the train station towards a warehouse nearby.

Karl jumps a bit startled and then anxiously looks about to see what the tall man is pointing at. He gives a weak, "Ja" then effortlessly lifts the crate and falls in behind the other men.

Boulevard Gendebien
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Coordinates : 6 1

A somewhat more industrial boulevard down the city of Mons, a railway line runs alongside the street on the northern side, while the opposite side is given over to warehouses and commercial properties. The German army can be found in abundance here, with the warehouses commandeered as barracks and storerooms for munitions, and the railway itself hauling munitions to the front for the German war machine.

It is currently daytime.

Sub-Rooms :

Doktor Schmidt

La Gare <LG> West <W>
East <E> South <S>

Doktor Schmidt arrives from the La Gare.

Karl has arrived.

Karl arrives from the La Gare.

Doktor Schmidt moves through the street, fastidiously avoiding contact with the groups of soldiers hurrying every which way on the streets. He guides the pair of you towards a simple warehouse, stopping in front of it. "Not even a red cross painted on it. Lazy pigs." He snorts, shaking his head at the wretched state of the world, reluctantly holding the door open for you… After all, you are both carrying things. "Careful! Make sure not to jostle those crates, they have delicate medical equipment inside."

Karl falls in about 6 meters behind the other man. As the other man opens the door Karl makes his way through the opening bumping the crate against the door frame at about the same time the man orders to be careful. Karl steps off to one side to allow the others room to enter.

Falk has arrived.
Falk arrives from the La Gare.

Andreas has arrived.
Andreas arrives from the La Gare.

"You fool! I don't know which hayseed village in Bavaria you came from, but these are extremely fragile and sensitive instruments that you are carrying, not boxes of dung and hay! Please be more careful with them." Doktor Schmidt barks out this abuse at Karl, staring severely down at the other man. There's no real heat in his voice or manner, just finding an outlet for the overwhelming aura of disapproval and ill-temperedness that seems to constantly hang around the surgeon. After entering the makeshift field hospital, he moves to a makeshift operating table, instructing with an absent-minded gesture of his gloved hand that the crates are to be placed nearby.

Falk tries not to jostle his crate too much as he carries it. As much to avoid the doctor's ire as out of any concern for the medical supplies. He is silent throughout, though he does exchange a look with Karl. There's not real expression in the look, but he still tries to do it behind the doctor's back.

Karl looking crest fallen only answers, "Yes, sir sorry sir." He then steps back as if to retreat to safety while asking, "Where would you like this crate?"

Making his way along in the direction of the field hospital, balancing a few of the smaller crates needed to be brought to the hospital. Pausing a little as he hears the doctor's outbreak, and shakes his head. "When you said that, he's probably from Augsburg, or Munchen, or something," he remarks, a bit lightly in his Kolsch dialect.

Karl mumbles "Dusseldorf" as he very carefully sets the crate on the floor near the table as indicated. Despite his being overly careful the crate still makes a noticable clinking noise as it is set down.

"Not sir. Herr Doktor, or Doktor Schmidt will do." Still, the doctor can't prevent a small, self-satisfied smile from ruining the disapproving frown on his face at the 'sir. He likes that, even if it's a misnomer. As Karl asks about the crate, the smile slips away, and he points once more, impatiently, to the ground near the operating table, "Here, right here. You can help Herr Falk here unload these crates, but /carefully/. Schutz Gerhard here is my new orderly, so he needs to learn all he can about the instruments." He shoots a faintly condescending, solicitous smile at the latter man.

As Andreas speaks up, he stares incredulously at the other man. Some soldier, adressing /him/ in such a familiar fashion. After being lost for words for a few moments, he manages to sputter, "I am sure there is nothing wrong with Munchen, young man. I have studied there." This, despite the fact that he's probably at most a few years older than him.

Karl looks over at Andreas, "I'm from Dusseldorf, not Muchen." He then turns his attention to the Doctor. "Yes. Herr Doktor, I'll be careful." Karl then proceeds to open one of the crates addressing Falk, "Where do you want these precious insturments, Herr Falk?"

Andreas nods a bit at the Doktor, before offering a bit of a grin to Karl, "Another Westphalian, then," he offers with a nod, before he looks back to the Doktor. "Where do you want this, Herr Doktor?"

Falk does not grimace when he is called an orderly. From the twinge in his shoulders he wants to, but he doesn't. He looks down at the instruments when Karl opens the crate, then back at Schmidt. "Where should these instruments be put, Herr Doktor?" he asks, all sharp respect in his tone.

Doktor Schmidt mutters to Falk absent-mindedly, "Arrange them on the low table near the operating table, scalpels on the right." He's already taking the other man for granted, quite amazing considering that he's only known him for five minutes or so. As Doktor Schmidt walks away from the operating table, he glances suspiciously at Andreas - afraid that this might be that dreaded individual, the peasant intellectual - but he's mollified by the proper adress used by the man. The tall surgeon strides to a locked cabinet, and opening it, motions for Andreas to come closer, "Right here. Lay it down, and I will unload these boxes myself." He assumes a self-important expression - doctors only for handling the medicine in the boxes.

Karl quietly and carefully removes each insturment one at a time and hands them Falk.

Falk works alongside Karl, arranging the instruments more or less worldlessly. He doesn't trust himself to speak too much while doing this, lest he start grumbling. He does glance briefly back at Andreas but, again, tries not to pay the man too much attention.

Karl catches Falks gaze just long enough to give him a roll of the eyes as if to indicate, "oh, brother."

Andreas nods, as he moves to place those crates where the doctor said.

Falk actually crooks a grin at Karl's eye-rolling and muttering. He nods his head, conspiratorially, in agreement. "How long have you been on the line, friend?" he asks. Apparently moved to conversation.

Karl scoots the first crate aside and cracks open the second one. Again, he carefully unpack the contents and hands them to Falk. Keeping his voice low so as to not raise the ire of the esteemed Herr Doktor answers, "I arrived only yesterday. I am only a week out of basic training."

"Quinine." Doktor Schmidt stares disapprovingly at the medicine cabinet, and at the now empty box before him, "Where is the quinine?" He looks at Andreas with a disgruntled look on his thin, aquiline face, as if wondering whether the other man has nicked it. "This is scandalous. How do they expect me to perform my art with insufficient tools? I could as well be operating with a hammer and a hacksaw." This seems to be something in the nature of general grumbling, a sentiment voiced many times over the last few years.

"A week?" Fallk can't hide his surprise. He shakes his head. "I have been nearly two years in France." He must have been underage when he first enlisted. He barely looks past the minimum age now.

Karl looks back over his shoulder as he hears the Doktor ranting about quinine and hacksaws. He quickly everts his eyes and goes back to unpacking less the man turns his attention on him again.

"Ah, you know how they are, Herr Doktor," Andreas replies. "Wants everyone to do much with no equipment." He then looks over at Karl, and then at Falk, nodding a little. "Welcome," he offers, with a shrug, before he nods a bit at Falk, "That makes it two of us."

Karl stands up and says to Falk, "That is the last of it."

Karl address the Doktor, "Herr Doktor, the crates have been unpack as you instructed. Will there be anything else?"

Doktor Schmidt is so lost in righteous indignation that he doesn't bristle at the relative familiarity in Andreas' words, "If they have their way, this will be a butcher's shop, not a hospital! Those fools understand nothing about medicine. Four years, I have been here. Four years, of oversight and making do with limited means." Peeved as he is, a good amount of Schmidt's hidden Bayer accent creeps into his voice - a Bayer country accent, too. He seems startled as Karl adresses him, jolted out of his litany of woes, "What? Oh yes. Get a broom, and sweep the floor. This is a place of healing - it must be cleaned thoroughly." Even if the floor does look pretty clean now.
Andreas nods a bit as he listens, shrugging a little bit.

Karl looks about the area and the floor inparticular, as he answers, "Yes, Herr Doktor, sweep the floor." He moves off to find a broom, relieved to be 1. occupied, 2. out of ear shot of the other mans rantings.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License.