‘A Waffen-SS officer leads from the front, eh, Johann?’ he had said when first describing how he received his injuries, which Johann understood to be a dig at the officers of the Wehrmacht—the regular army—who on the whole seemed more inclined to lead from a safer distance.
K?hler was already sitting up as Johann stirred, and Johann noticed that he was gazing along the line of beds to his right, towards the entrance. Looking around, Johann saw that he was the last on the ward to wake, and that several of the men were also looking towards the entrance. Johann sat up to get a better look, and the sharp pain in his chest caused him to wince, reminding him that he was not long out of surgery. His movement drew K?hler’s attention.
‘Looks like an inspection,’ K?hler said.
‘At this time of the morning? We’re in hospital for pity’s sake.’
‘Well, that’s what it looks like from here. Why else would we get a visit so early in the day from such a high-ranking officer?’
Johann tried to glimpse the detail on the officer’s uniform to better gauge his rank. He was certainly highly decorated, and Johann noticed that his collar tabs bore silver oak leaves, meaning that he had command of a regiment-sized unit at least. His adjutant was beside him, holding what Johann thought must be the senior officer’s briefcase.
‘He’s working his way along the beds,’ K?hler said. He laughed to himself. ‘Do you think I should tell him one of my jokes?’
‘No, Ernst. I don’t.’
‘Not even the one about Hitler and the French prostitute.’
‘Definitely not that one. Not unless you want to be shot. And keep your voice down. He might hear you and have us both shot.’
When the senior officer arrived beside Ernst K?hler’s bed, K?hler sat to attention. He raised his right arm in salute, all trace of mirth gone. Now that Johann could see the officer more clearly, he saw that his collar tabs bore two silver oak leaves, signifying that his rank was that of SS-Oberführer—a senior leader of the Waffen-SS. He was a slim-figured, softly spoken man who looked to be in his late thirties. As he addressed K?hler, K?hler began to tell him how he came to be at the hospital, and Johann got to hear how Scharführer K?hler received his injuries all over again. They spoke for a few minutes, and then the Oberführer and his adjutant came to Johann’s bedside.
The Oberführer studied Johann’s chart at the foot of his bed briefly before greeting him with a sympathetic smile. ‘And how are you doing today?’
Lying in a bed next to that of a double amputee, Johann felt he had no cause or right to complain. At least his limbs were intact, which meant there was a good chance he would soon be able to rejoin his Division. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing my release papers, Herr Oberführer.’
‘That’s the spirit. Your country is most proud of you. How were you wounded?’
Johann recalled his encounter with the Soviet Army in the woods north of Romanovka the previous month—how he and his small Reconnaissance Company had found themselves cut off and heavily outnumbered by the enemy. His account of the events was not of bravery or courage, but of the mistake he felt he had made in his eagerness to push forward, which to his mind had cost the lives of several Kameraden under his command. It was a mistake that now haunted his dreams.
‘You are too hard on yourself,’ the Oberführer said. ‘And while it does you credit, it does little to serve our cause. It is, after all, a Reconnaissance Company’s duty to venture into harm’s way. You are often at the very tip of the spearhead of your division. I might add that such fighting spirit that drove you forward in the first place is the very thing that makes the Leibstandarte the elite Division it is.’
Johann knew the Oberführer’s comments were well meant, and he could not deny that they had put him a little more at ease over what had happened, but it was perhaps too soon for Johann to accept that he was without blame for the deaths of his men. He nodded sharply to the Oberführer, and had he been standing he would have clicked his heels.
‘And what of your wounds?’ the Oberführer continued. ‘I saw on your chart that you received more than one.’
‘They tell me I’m lucky to be alive,’ Johann said. ‘I was shot in the leg, but that was no more than a flesh wound. After that we became caught in mortar fire and a piece of shrapnel struck my chest. From the clearing station I was initially sent to a temporary hospital in Western Ukraine, but the shrapnel was very close to my heart and they didn’t have the facilities to remove it without running a high risk of killing me.’
‘So they sent you here. I’ve heard the facilities in Vienna are first class.’
‘Yes, Herr Oberführer. I’m sure they are.’
‘And how is your family bearing up under the strains of war?’
‘So far as I know they’re managing quite well. I was able to write a few letters before I arrived here, but I suppose the mail service is having a difficult time keeping up with my whereabouts.’