Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) Read Online Free Page A

satisfactory, but I have good hopes for this one.”
    Müller let out a deep breath he had not been aware he’d held. Relief flooding his body, he suddenly remembered to ask, “And the feldwebel—the field marshal’s driver? How is he?”
    “You mean Mutti?” Schlüter smiled. Everyone knew Mutti, Carl-Heinz Clausen, Rommel’s driver, orderly, and mother hen. “The wound was less serious than it first appeared. His condition is good. He’ll be up trying to help his wardmates before too long. We’ll probably have to tie him down to the bed to give him time to recover.”
    Müller smiled broadly. Hearing the news took a huge burden off his shoulders. This was good news all around in a time when good news seemed increasingly scarce. “Is it possible to see either of them?”
    “Briefly,” replied the doctor. “Follow me, please.”
    Müller followed the doctor through double swinging doors into a long hall. Doctors, nurses, and aides of all sorts were bustling around, but it was only ordinarily busy rather than utterly chaotic—the worst of the battlefield wounded had been dealt with, and now the hospital’s business had returned to a more normal state.
    Carl-Heinz was in a large, brightly lit ward filled with heavily bandaged soldiers. Some were sitting up; others were even ambulatory. Hospital machinery surrounded the feldwebel’s bed, an IV drip fed into his arm. Müller was shocked at how pale and drained his face had become. Carl-Heinz was normally filled with life and confident energy, and to see him like this was unsettling.
    As Müller approached, Carl-Heinz smiled, and something of the old energy showed through in his face. “ Guten Tag, Herr Oberst,” he said. “Pardon me for not saluting. My salute hand is temporarily occupied.”
    “How are you, Feldwebel?” Müller asked. “The field marshal asked me to make sure you were all right, and to tell you that he would be here to visit you shortly, as soon as he can. He depends on you utterly, you know.”
    Carl-Heinz smiled. “I know he does. And now the rest of you will have to take care of him until I get back. You tell the field marshal that he is to get a good night’s sleep and a real meal into him before he comes traipsing over here. I won’t have him straining himself, you know.”
    “I’ll relay your orders to the field marshal as soon as I see him.” Müller smiled in return.
    “I can get back to work soon. It will be in a couple of days, all right? Definitely no more.”
    Müller nodded. He knew it would likely take more than a few days before the brave feldwebel was back at his post.
    “Herr Oberst—that was a heroic act you did, killing Brigadeführer Bücher before he could assassinate the field marshal,” said Mutti. “Thank you.”
    Müller waved off the thanks with an embarrassed shrug. He still could hardly believe he’d done the act, and the thought brought back the sheer terror of the event. “I—er, well—it was …” He stammered for a minute, then simply replied, “Er—thanks. Is there anything I can do for you, anything you need? Something to eat, perhaps?” Müller remembered that there was still some cake his mother had sent, one made with real flour and real eggs.
    “No, Herr Oberst, nothing at all. They’re taking wonderful care of me and granting my every whim,” Carl-Heinz said with a grin, his expression seeming more robust. But the fatigue and pain were also still clear.
    The doctor lightly touched Müller’s arm. “I must leave you alone now, I think,” the pudgy supply officer said. “If there’s anything I can do, send word immediately.” He moved on.
    The intensive-care ward was only dimly lit, and smelled of carbolic acid and other odors he didn’t want to dwell upon. Numerous tubes dripped into one patient; a nurse sat beside him, monitoring his vital signs as the pudgy colonel hesitantly approached. The patient’s face reflected in the highly polished metal surfaces of the