Doctor Erhard's manner rested under the heavy shade of thick pine forest. It was the doctor's vacation retreat, but for the last two years it had become his home.
Erhard was vehemently against Hitler's war and his government and despite the dangers involved he didn't make this a secret. He served in a medical unit during the first great war, and he witnessed first-hand war's ravages.
Every night he dreamt about stumbling over bloated corpses in rain flooded trenches. His nightmares were like vivid pieces of cinema set to the soundtrack of screams and artillery fire. Every night he watched his hands perform the same amputations, cut away the same burnt flesh and excise bullets that had lodged themselves in the soft tissue of internal organs.
Every moment was reborn in overwhelming detail. The rusty color of dried blood that stained his worn-out instruments, the feeling of dirt showering on him when the artillery …