Kalkuliertes Risiko (die Zweite)
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120_minutenTitel: Geneva
Challenge: Kalkuliertes Risiko
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe, Babe Heffron, a German soldier
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Dieses Fandom ist noch nicht fertig mit mir.
“Never heard of the Geneva convention? I’m a medic, you aren’t supposed to shoot at me!”
Geneva
The first bullet goes past his shoulder and hits a tree three meters away. Eugene barely notices as he kneels down into the snow, attention squarely on the wounded soldier in front of him. He doesn’t recognize the man, a Sergeant by his insignia, so he has to be from another company, Dog or perhaps Fox. It’s a sign that he has wandered too far down the line, or perhaps the sergeant has gotten lost himself, but there’s no other medic around, so Eugene does what he can.
It might not be enough. The man is already unconscious, his uniform bright red from the blood flowing from the wound in his chest. Eugene rips the jacket open, wiping the blood away with his hands so he can see the damage. The wound is deep, but no major artery seems to be hit and the lungs aren’t perforated. He spreads the sulfa over it generously to stave off infection before he starts digging into his medical bag for a bandage.
The second bullet whizzes past his ear, and this time he looks up. There’s a German soldier standing between the trees clutching a Sturmgewehr, the muzzle of which is aimed directly at his chest.
Eugene freezes. Then he shouts “Medic!” and points at the brassard on his left arm, the red cross barely visible through the layer of dirt and blood. “Sanitäter!” he repeats in German when the soldier doesn’t lower his weapon, one of the first German words he learned during training, one he was assured could save his life.
The third bullet hits the snowy ground only inches in front of his boots. Even over the noise of the battle around them, the low pop of the machine guns and the whistle of the shells, the shot rings out in the cold air. “Shit!” Eugene swears.
The soldier steps out of the shadow of a tree and now Eugene can see his face. A half-healed scar runs from the edge of his right eye over the ruin of his nose almost down to his mouth, pulled into a twisted grin. Eugene has seen enough battle-craziness in soldiers to recognize it when it stares him in the face.
“Never heard of the Geneva convention?” he yells. “I’m a medic, you aren’t supposed to shoot at me!” For the first time Eugene wishes he could trade in his vast knowledge of French for some more bits of German.
The man’s eyes flicker to the white cross on his helmet and for a moment Eugene hopes that he’s coming to his senses. Then the man steps closer, eyes fixed on the unconscious soldier behind him, and motions for Eugene to move with his rifle. “Weg! Beweg dich! Na los!”
Eugene knows that if he moves now to save his own life, he’s never gonna be able to forgive himself. So he makes a decision. “If I don’t treat this man, he’s gonna die anyway! So you can shoot me or fuck off!” With this words he turns away to focus on the Sergeant again. He digs the bandage out of his bag with shaking hands, expecting a bullet in his back at any moment.
The shot that follows is not from a Sturmgewehr – Eugene could recognize the metallic clang of an M1 Garand in his sleep. He looks over his shoulder just in time to see the German collapse face first onto the ground, a rush of blood tinting the snow around him red.
When he turns around he looks directly into the angry face of Edward Heffron. “Fucking medics, you’re all fucking crazy! Were you really going to get shot for this guy? Who is that anyway?”
“I think he’s from Dog Company”, Eugene says. His ears are ringing and a part of him can’t yet believe that he’s still alive. But he’s got more pressing issues to attend to. “You gonna give me a hand here?”
“Jesus fucking Christ”, Babe says, but he slings the M1 over his shoulder and helps him turn the man around so Eugene can wrap the bandage around his chest. The blood starts to seep through within moments.
Eugene hurriedly packs up his things. “He needs a surgeon right now. We gotta find a jeep.” They haul the unconscious man up and each of them slings one of his arms over their shoulders to carry him.
“Why weren’t you at your position?” Eugene asks as they drag the man towards the street, ducking behind trees when they get too close to enemy fire.
Babe turns to look at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? I just saved your ass!”
“I ain’t complaining”, Eugene says, adjusting his slipping grip on the Sergeant’s arm.
“I really hope you ain’t”, Babe mutters. They stop for a moment to reorient themselves, flinching as a mortar shell hits a group of trees only a few meters away.
As they hurry on, Babe says: “I was looking for you, alright?”
Eugene frowns at him. “Why?”
Babe looks away. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Eugene can feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah.” Babe nodded slowly. “Me too.” And a moment later he adds: “He would’ve shot you.”
“I know.” There’s an expression on Babe’s face that tugs at something in Eugene’s chest and he wants to say something, but in this moment they stumble out of the woods and onto the street. They manage to flag a jeep down quickly, loading the Sergeant onto the hood while Eugene tells the driver what to relate the doctors at the aid station.
“Medics get shot, you know”, Eugene says as they watch the jeep drive off. “Though mostly by accident.”
Babe shakes his head. “That’s just… not right.”
Eugene glances at him. “Anyway, thanks for saving my ass.”
Babe chews on his bottom lip, but then he turns and shoots him a grin. It lights up his whole face right up to the strands of his messy red hair peeking out from underneath his helmet, and Eugene files this picture away in his memory. “You’re welcome, Gene. You’re really welcome.”
Challenge: Kalkuliertes Risiko
Fandom: Band of Brothers
Charaktere: Eugene Roe, Babe Heffron, a German soldier
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Dieses Fandom ist noch nicht fertig mit mir.
“Never heard of the Geneva convention? I’m a medic, you aren’t supposed to shoot at me!”
Geneva
The first bullet goes past his shoulder and hits a tree three meters away. Eugene barely notices as he kneels down into the snow, attention squarely on the wounded soldier in front of him. He doesn’t recognize the man, a Sergeant by his insignia, so he has to be from another company, Dog or perhaps Fox. It’s a sign that he has wandered too far down the line, or perhaps the sergeant has gotten lost himself, but there’s no other medic around, so Eugene does what he can.
It might not be enough. The man is already unconscious, his uniform bright red from the blood flowing from the wound in his chest. Eugene rips the jacket open, wiping the blood away with his hands so he can see the damage. The wound is deep, but no major artery seems to be hit and the lungs aren’t perforated. He spreads the sulfa over it generously to stave off infection before he starts digging into his medical bag for a bandage.
The second bullet whizzes past his ear, and this time he looks up. There’s a German soldier standing between the trees clutching a Sturmgewehr, the muzzle of which is aimed directly at his chest.
Eugene freezes. Then he shouts “Medic!” and points at the brassard on his left arm, the red cross barely visible through the layer of dirt and blood. “Sanitäter!” he repeats in German when the soldier doesn’t lower his weapon, one of the first German words he learned during training, one he was assured could save his life.
The third bullet hits the snowy ground only inches in front of his boots. Even over the noise of the battle around them, the low pop of the machine guns and the whistle of the shells, the shot rings out in the cold air. “Shit!” Eugene swears.
The soldier steps out of the shadow of a tree and now Eugene can see his face. A half-healed scar runs from the edge of his right eye over the ruin of his nose almost down to his mouth, pulled into a twisted grin. Eugene has seen enough battle-craziness in soldiers to recognize it when it stares him in the face.
“Never heard of the Geneva convention?” he yells. “I’m a medic, you aren’t supposed to shoot at me!” For the first time Eugene wishes he could trade in his vast knowledge of French for some more bits of German.
The man’s eyes flicker to the white cross on his helmet and for a moment Eugene hopes that he’s coming to his senses. Then the man steps closer, eyes fixed on the unconscious soldier behind him, and motions for Eugene to move with his rifle. “Weg! Beweg dich! Na los!”
Eugene knows that if he moves now to save his own life, he’s never gonna be able to forgive himself. So he makes a decision. “If I don’t treat this man, he’s gonna die anyway! So you can shoot me or fuck off!” With this words he turns away to focus on the Sergeant again. He digs the bandage out of his bag with shaking hands, expecting a bullet in his back at any moment.
The shot that follows is not from a Sturmgewehr – Eugene could recognize the metallic clang of an M1 Garand in his sleep. He looks over his shoulder just in time to see the German collapse face first onto the ground, a rush of blood tinting the snow around him red.
When he turns around he looks directly into the angry face of Edward Heffron. “Fucking medics, you’re all fucking crazy! Were you really going to get shot for this guy? Who is that anyway?”
“I think he’s from Dog Company”, Eugene says. His ears are ringing and a part of him can’t yet believe that he’s still alive. But he’s got more pressing issues to attend to. “You gonna give me a hand here?”
“Jesus fucking Christ”, Babe says, but he slings the M1 over his shoulder and helps him turn the man around so Eugene can wrap the bandage around his chest. The blood starts to seep through within moments.
Eugene hurriedly packs up his things. “He needs a surgeon right now. We gotta find a jeep.” They haul the unconscious man up and each of them slings one of his arms over their shoulders to carry him.
“Why weren’t you at your position?” Eugene asks as they drag the man towards the street, ducking behind trees when they get too close to enemy fire.
Babe turns to look at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? I just saved your ass!”
“I ain’t complaining”, Eugene says, adjusting his slipping grip on the Sergeant’s arm.
“I really hope you ain’t”, Babe mutters. They stop for a moment to reorient themselves, flinching as a mortar shell hits a group of trees only a few meters away.
As they hurry on, Babe says: “I was looking for you, alright?”
Eugene frowns at him. “Why?”
Babe looks away. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Eugene can feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah.” Babe nodded slowly. “Me too.” And a moment later he adds: “He would’ve shot you.”
“I know.” There’s an expression on Babe’s face that tugs at something in Eugene’s chest and he wants to say something, but in this moment they stumble out of the woods and onto the street. They manage to flag a jeep down quickly, loading the Sergeant onto the hood while Eugene tells the driver what to relate the doctors at the aid station.
“Medics get shot, you know”, Eugene says as they watch the jeep drive off. “Though mostly by accident.”
Babe shakes his head. “That’s just… not right.”
Eugene glances at him. “Anyway, thanks for saving my ass.”
Babe chews on his bottom lip, but then he turns and shoots him a grin. It lights up his whole face right up to the strands of his messy red hair peeking out from underneath his helmet, and Eugene files this picture away in his memory. “You’re welcome, Gene. You’re really welcome.”
no subject
Date: 2019-01-06 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-07 07:58 am (UTC)(Und ich gucke gerade die Partnerserie The Pacific, im Vergleich dazu sind das hier alles Peanuts...allein vom Gucken entwickelt man schon fast PTSD. Also mach dich darauf gefasst, dass ich das vielleicht irgendwann mal verarbeiten muss...)