Mein Gustav
by
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I very nearly did not make it to the western front. Often personnel were transferred by aeroplane as part of transporting that aeroplane to another location. However, most of the aeroplanes in use on the eastern front were outdated models no longer effective on the more active western front. Fighting was more aggressive and required the newest and best technology in order to compete. So I was taken by horse-drawn wagon to the railway depot, where I continued my transfer by rail. My train approached a junction in western Germany just as it was being bombed. The engineer applied the brakes to keep us out of the attack, and we slowed to a stop on the outer limits of the yard. We found that not all the bombs landed in the center of the target area. One errant piece of ordinance found its way into a nearby ammunition storage building, resulting in a massive explosion, hurling much shrapnel at our train. Many windows were broken, including the one I was looking through. As a result, I was hit full in the face with glass and whatever had penetrated the window.
I woke up a short while later in a large wooden shed, surrounded by other German soldiers and civilians, some apparently medical personnel. I was assured I would be fine. I had come out on the losing end of the encounter with glass and a sharp metal object.
“Gott im Himmel! What hit me, a cannonball?”
“No. A window, mein Herr. And this . . . ‘
A most pleasant round face with brown eyes and framed by short auburn hair smiled down at me. She was wearing white under her dark overcoat. The woman took my hand and placed in it an object, which I raised so I could see it.
“It seems you stopped a pipe, or at least this part of it. The pipe entered your compartment through the window. It hit you full on your cheek, leaving a nasty gash, knocked you to the floor, and remained on your chest.”
“And you found it necessary to save it for me.”
“I thought you would want to be better acquainted with the little miscreant. After all, it left a big impression on you.”
“How is that?”
“Well, there are numerous glass cuts, mostly minor in nature. I don’t know how all that debris missed your eyes. But the pipe did the most damage, cutting deep into your cheek. I'm surprised it didn’t break your cheekbone or knock out any teeth. We cleaned the wound thoroughly and I stitched it the best I could, but I’m afraid it might not heal as well as you might like.”
“These things happen in a war. I'm pleased I am still alive to discuss what happened.”
“I like your attitude. Das ist gut. We are going to be together, at least for a short while.”
“How is that?”
“I’m taking you with me. You need rest and you need to be monitored after what happened to you.”
“Nonsense. I have a war to fight. This wound is nothing.” I sat up and began to swing my legs off the bench or table I was on . . . and sagged back to horizontal.
“Go ahead and fight your war. Tomorrow, maybe. You were hit very hard and you lost more than a little blood. Consider this. Even if you were well enough to continue, there is no good way to get to your destination. Nothing will depart or pass through this junction for at least a day or two. Damned Englishmen did a through job. Our men need to clear the debris off the tracks and determine what repairs need to be made. You do not want to be on a horse cart in your condition. Not on these roads.”
“So you are my assigned nurse.”
“Not exactly. But yes.”
“Not exactly? What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“I’m not a nurse. And nobody assigned you to me. I work near here. I was walking to work when the attack happened, and I saw the explosion that hit your train. I could not help with the building that was on fire, but I thought I could help with people on the train. I saw you lying there with your pipe. You were bleeding badly and needed a compress on your wound. I raised you and held a rag to your face. Once the bleeding subsided I got some others to help get you off the carriage and over here with the other victims.”
“Danke. Wait. You are not a nurse. But you stitched my face.”
“Ja. A student nurse helped me clean your wounds, but he was afraid to do stitches. There were more seriously wounded people about, so I took the needle and thread from him and sent him to help with others.”
“But you are not a nurse.”
“I helped in a hospital while I was in school. I’ve seen doctors stitch patients. How hard could it be?”
“And that is why my wound may not heal well?”
“No. The pipe tore out a bit of your cheek. I fixed it the best I could, but the wound needed to be closed to keep out infection. Look. You lie still. I am going to see if I can get you anything for the pain. I'll be back soon. I will not leave you. You are going to need someone nearby in the morning.”
With that she was gone. I drifted off to sleep. Well, I passed out from lack of blood.
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About the Book
Mein Gustav is a historical fiction set in and over Europe during World War I. Though the characters are fictional, the danger and circumstances are real, based on over fifty years of research into the aerial aspect of the conflagration. While there is plenty of flying, there are more interactions happening on the ground. The characters are, after all, people, and people do what people do. There are two stories presented—British and German. While they interact mostly by inference, there is also direct conflict in the air. The story starts with Corporal Noble-Brown, recently transferred into a British fighter squadron on patrol over the front lines that scarred France. He is startled by a German fighter pilot’s surprise attack and seeks to find said pilot and return the favor. The German story introduces us to Vicefeldwebel Gustav Model, also a recent transferee into a single-seat fighter squadron. We learn of his infantry service where he suffered a gas attack that nearly killed him. We go on to meet various squadron mates and other people in their lives, as well as discover new acquaintances. The women are strong women in a time when women were little more than property. Though on the surface it is about the war and flying, Mein Gustav is very much a character-driven story. Purchase your copy, settle in for the first few chapters, and see if you can put it down.
About the Author
IRA B CAMPBELL is originally from the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. He has a BM degree in instrumental performance from Youngstown State University with a minor in American history. After moving to Florida, he met and married the love of his life, Paula. They are still married and currently live in North Central Texas. Still active with his trumpet, IRA is an avid entertainer in many and varied venues. In addition to World War One aviation and music, IRA studies American history, builds scale models and dioramas, continues to write, maintains the family Mustangs, and tries to keep Paula’s pedestal clean.