Chapter Twelve Gunther

TWELVE : GUNTHER

CAMP FORREST, TENNESSEE

FEbrUARY 1942

Gunther knew he should be grateful to have a job as an orderly in the military hospital at Camp Forrest, but there was no pride in the position. He was essentially a prisoner of war, with little choice but to comply with his captors. From the moment he was arrested, he'd tried to gain back the freedom stolen from him, but to no avail. Since arriving in Tennessee, he and the others were told they were not being held on criminal charges, but reality said otherwise.

The evidence declared they were dangerous inmates.

High barbed-wire fences surrounded the small huts where they lived, six men crammed into a space barely fit for three or four. Armed soldiers stood guard at the gate and in watchtowers twenty-four hours a day. Gunther and his fellow internees had neither the freedom to move about the camp nor access to legal help to fight for their release. Even now, a soldier carrying a rifle walked behind Gunther, watching while he pushed the wheelchair of an injured young man to the building where the X-ray machine was housed.

The chair bumped over a rough place on the wooden walkway, causing the young man to curse.

"Watch where you're goin'," he said, his southern accent thick. The man glared at Gunther over his shoulder. "My leg's already broken. I don't need some lousy German makin' it worse."

Gunther clenched his jaw. "My apologies."

He continued to push the chair forward until they reached the building. The ramp to the door was steep, requiring Gunther to pull the chair up backwards. Once again, the wheels hit an uneven plank.

"I don't know why the Army lets you people work on base," the patient bellowed. Foul words followed. "Every one of you should be shipped back to Germany."

Gunther's grip on the handles tightened. He wished he could dump the chair over the side of the ramp with the rude soldier in it. He glanced at the armed guard. Clearly, he'd heard the cursing and callous remarks, yet even though he outranked the patient, he obviously had no plans to intervene.

When they reached the landing, Gunther shoved the chair through the door, ignoring the complaints of the young man. He parked him in the crowded waiting area and turned his back, fighting to suppress his anger.

How he longed to tell the arrogant soldier exactly what he thought of him and his fellow Americans. How the "land of the free" wasn't free to everyone. But Gunther knew if he spoke his mind, he would likely lose his job. And although being an orderly was a menial and thankless position, it provided an escape from the barbed-wire prison.

After a minute or two, his hot anger cooled.

The insults were nothing new. Some of the guards on Ellis Island had the same opinion of Gunther as this man did. It didn't matter to them that he'd done nothing wrong. It didn't matter that he'd been a student, studying medicine, with the hope of becoming a doctor. A doctor who could tend to this man's broken leg.

None of that was important to Americans like him. The only thing they knew about Gunther was that he was German. And that made him the enemy.

The main door opened, and an attractive woman entered.

Gunther recognized her as the young woman who'd bumped into him the other day. He couldn't recall her name, but he would never forget her smile. Sadly, it had disappeared the moment she realized he was one of the German detainees. She hadn't said anything, but he'd seen it in her hazel eyes.

Gunther watched her now as she walked to the receptionist's desk. The two women were chatting when a nurse arrived and called for the patient with the broken leg. The woman turned, and her gaze met Gunther's.

Her brow lifted, but after a moment, she offered a small nod, indicating she remembered him. Gunther returned the gesture.

"Don't you have ears, Fritz?" the soldier in the wheelchair hollered. "The nurse called my name. Get movin'."

The woman's eyes widened, and embarrassment washed over Gunther. He wished she hadn't been there to witness his shame.

"Can't you hear me, Fritz? I said, get movin'!"

The patient's loud voice silenced the crowded room. Everyone's attention focused on them.

Gunther took hold of the chair's handles and began to push. He kept his eyes downcast as they neared the desk.

"Sir? May I have a word with you?"

Both Gunther and the patient turned to look at her.

"You talkin' to me, pretty lady?" the young man drawled, then grinned. "I've gotta get this leg of mine tended to, but after that I'll have all the time in the world for you."

The woman, however, didn't smile. "I wasn't speaking to you." She focused her attention on Gunther, and her expression softened. "It's Mr. Schneider, correct?"

Gunther nodded, stunned that she knew his name.

"We met the other day. I'm Ava Delaney. I work for Colonel Foster. I'm updating personnel files." She held up a small stack of folders. "Yours is one of them. When you're finished here, would it be possible for me to ask you some questions?"

Gunther stared at her, at a loss for words. The young soldier, however, had plenty.

"Ma'am, this fella ain't American. He's one of them enemy aliens the Army brought in. You best keep your distance. He could be a Nazi, for all we know."

Gunther thought Miss Delaney would realize the mistake she'd made by approaching him, but she leveled a severe look at the soldier, not Gunther.

"Colonel Foster does not tolerate disrespect in his hospital. To anyone." She turned to the armed guard. "It is your duty to see to it that this man treats everyone with respect. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man said.

The patient's face grew dark. "I'm a soldier in the United States Army. You got no right to tell me—"

"That's enough, soldier." The guard moved to stand between him and Miss Delaney. He looked at Gunther. "Get this man into X-ray. When you're finished, you can meet with the lady."

Gunther nodded.

A quick look at Miss Delaney told him she agreed with the plan.

He pushed the chair forward. The angry patient remained sullen until they reached their destination. Gunther and a nurse helped him from the wheelchair onto a raised padded table, with a metal contraption hovering above. When the nurse stepped out of the room, Gunther turned to follow, but the young man grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

"You better watch yourself, Fritz," he said in a low voice, his lips curved in a snarl. "No broken leg is gonna stop me from teachin' you a lesson next time we meet."

Gunther jerked his arm from the man's grip and left the room without a backwards glance.

Miss Delaney was waiting for him when he and the guard returned to the reception area.

"I'll try not to take up too much of your time." She offered a cautious smile.

"Thanks to your government, I have nothing but time on my hands."

An uncertain expression marred her face, and Gunther wished he could take his terse words back. His anger with the injured man had gotten the better of him, and he shouldn't take it out on her.

"I thought we could talk in the mess hall next door," she said to both Gunther and the guard. "That will afford us more privacy."

With it settled, the guard led the way. Lunch would be served soon, and aromas from the kitchen greeted them when they entered the long building. Rows of tables and chairs filled the space.

Miss Delaney sat at the nearest table. Gunther took the seat opposite her, while the guard remained near the door.

"I must apologize, Miss Delaney," Gunther said. "I was rude a moment ago when you were merely being polite by offering not to take too much of my time."

Her serious gaze studied him. Gunther wondered what she saw. The enemy?

"You don't need to apologize." She gave a slight shrug. "I don't actually understand why you and the others are being detained."

"Nor do we."

She seemed surprised by his response. "Didn't they tell you?"

Gunther saw her earnestness, so he answered without sarcasm. "The authorities arrived at my apartment in New York City and took me to Ellis Island, where I was held for a month before I was given a hearing. No charges were brought against me. Only questions," he said, shaking his head. "But they didn't listen to my answers. They didn't care that I was innocent of whatever it was they thought me guilty of. The other detainees have similar stories."

Sympathy shone in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

The guard approached. "Ma'am, I need you to finish with this man so he can get back to work."

Miss Delaney nodded. "Yes, of course." She opened a brown file folder and took out a single sheet of paper. With pencil in hand, she looked up at Gunther. "State your name and where you were born."

For a moment, Gunther's mind flashed back to the interrogation in New York. The government men who came to his apartment asked the same questions. Had Miss Delaney been sent here to trick him? Perhaps they hoped his responses would be different if a pretty woman asked them.

"Gunther Schneider. I was born in Germany."

He watched her closely to gauge her reaction, but she simply jotted down the information.

"What is your occupation?"

"I was a student at Columbia medical school, studying to be a doctor, before I was arrested."

Her brow rose. "A doctor? That's wonderful."

Gunther glanced at the guard, then back to her. "It was, but now the question is, will I be allowed to return to my studies?"

Three men in military garb came through the door, chatting as they entered. They glanced at Gunther and Miss Delaney but continued to the long counter at the far end of the room where lunch foods were set out, filled their plates, and took a seat at one of the tables.

Miss Delaney returned her attention to Gunther. "We better hurry, before the room fills with hungry personnel."

She proceeded to ask more questions. His age. His religious background. His family. Gunther provided the answers, although he didn't elaborate on Rolf or his military involvement in Germany.

"That's all the information we need." She returned the sheet of paper to the folder.

Gunther stood. "Thank you, Miss Delaney."

"It's actually Mrs. Delaney."

"My apologies."

She nodded and seemed about to say something when a ruckus arose from the table where the soldiers dined.

"Help!" one of them hollered.

Gunther turned to see a man lying on the wood floor, with the other two gathered around.

"Someone help him. He isn't breathing."

The guard hurried to the group. He conferred with the men, then approached Gunther and Mrs. Delaney. "I'm going for a doctor," he said. He gave Gunther a hard look. "You stay here. Understand?"

At Gunther's nod, the guard ran out the door.

"I hope that young man will be all right."

Mrs. Delaney's worried voice brought Gunther back to the situation. The two men continued to hover over their friend, but no one was doing anything to help him. If he truly wasn't breathing, Gunther knew these minutes were vital.

"He needs chest compressions and air to his lungs." Mrs. Delaney's wide eyes met his. "He won't make it if the doctor doesn't arrive soon."

Her frightened gaze darted between the man on the floor and back to Gunther. "Can you help him?"

A memory flashed through Gunther's mind.

He'd watched Dr. Sonnenberg perform a lifesaving technique at the hospital with positive results, but he'd never attempted it himself. "Perhaps."

Before he knew what was happening, Mrs. Delaney took him by the arm and tugged him with her. The two worried soldiers looked up.

"This man can help your friend until the doctor arrives," she said. "Move aside."

The men looked skeptical as they eyed Gunther's green prisoner uniform, but they finally stepped away to make room for him.

Gunther knelt next to the man. He felt for a pulse and listened for breathing, finding neither. Planting his palm in the middle of the man's chest, he began to administer quick pushes, ten or so, before he blew into the man's mouth. He repeated the procedure two more times, then listened for a heartbeat.

Gunther had just begun another round of chest compressions when two things happened. The unconscious man gasped for air, and a horde of medical personnel and the guard rushed into the building.

"What are you doing?" The doctor who'd yelled at Gunther earlier now gave him a hard shove, causing him to lose balance and land on his backside. "Get away from this man."

The guard grabbed Gunther by the arm and yanked him up. "I told you to stay put," he growled. "I oughta lock you up—"

"Stop this." Mrs. Delaney's shout gained everyone's attention. "Mr. Schneider has studied medicine. He was trying to save this man's life."

Right on cue, the patient groaned and opened his eyes. The doctor's attention shifted to him.

"It's true," said one of the men who'd been dining with the soldier when he collapsed. He met Gunther's gaze. "You saved Joe. He wasn't breathing until you started working on him."

In the next minutes, the patient was loaded onto a stretcher and carried away. His buddies went back to their meal, but not before each of them thanked Gunther for what he'd done for their friend.

"Let's go," the guard said. He didn't smile, but he also didn't seem as unfriendly as he'd been before.

Gunther turned to Mrs. Delaney and found her watching him, her eyes shining.

"That was amazing, Mr. Schneider. You truly did save that man's life."

Her praise embarrassed him. "Anyone could have done it, given the correct training."

She offered her hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Schneider."

Gunther stared at her. It took a moment to recover, and when he did, he gently grasped her soft hand. "The pleasure was mine, Mrs. Delaney."

She gave a shy smile.

Gunther followed the guard out the door. Sunshine poured over him as they crossed the grounds and headed for the hospital, but it was Mrs. Delaney's smile that filled him with genuine happiness for the first time in weeks.