 Recorded Books Presents 1637 The Transylvanian Decision by Eric Flint and Robert E. Waters Narrated by May George Waddell Part 1 April May 1637 From Sophocles, Ajax, Our Prince of the Old and Kingly Line Chapter 1 Field Hospital, Grand Army of the Sunrise, Near Krakow An arch of arterial blood sprayed across Isaac Cohen's blue scrubs, followed by the angry voice of Dr. Oberhuiser, Keep that himmostat locked boy, the army's chief medical officer shouted, Or I'll kick your worthless ass back to medical school! I'm sorry, doctor, Isaac said, reaching with his forceps into the mangled thigh of the badly wounded soldier. The font of blood, fortunately, helped guide his hand. These forceps are useless, they keep slipping, tearing the artery and don't give excuses, boy, find that artery and clump it down, now! Isaac leaned in, despite the blood pouring from the soldier's leg. He was trying to clamp the femoral artery so that they could amputate the right leg above the knee. A tourniquet had been put in place in the field. It had stopped the bleeding long enough to get the lad back to the hospital, but it wouldn't do for a removal. Proper anesthesia had been administered, the nurses were standing by with the bone saw. The man was ready to go, save for Isaac's task, clamping down the artery before the man bled out. The sound of artillery echoed in the distance, shaking Isaac's hands, his nerve, juicing his anxiety. The battle was close, a mile or so at most. General Morris Roth's grand army of the sunrise, locking horns with Polish-Lithuanian forces. This field hospital was closest to General von Merci's cavalry, so most of the soldiers being brought in were cavalrymen. The soldiers splayed out on the table before them. However, it was an artilleryist whose leg had taken a nasty bounce from an enemy cannonball. The ball had ripped most of the calf muscle away, leaving nothing but scraps of meaty red flesh, broken bone, and tattered uniform below the knee. The femoral artery itself had been damaged such that a proper ligation was necessary before amputation. He could be saved if Isaac could just find that artery. Got it, he shouted, almost making another mistake of holding up the hand that held the clamp tightly against the artery, just to prove to the old grumpy son-of-a-bitch surgeon that he had it. But he kept his hand in place and further supported the clamp with the index finger and thumb of the other hand. Cut! No cutting. He said it again, but the nurse holding the saw just stood there with a sad expression. Her eyes cast down toward the bloodstained ground. He's dead, boy, Oberhoiser said, seping away from the table. He's dead. The lifeless eyes and pale, shallow face of the soldier confirmed it. Oberhoiser ran his hand over the man's face to close the eyes. He then sighed deeply and wiped his sweat-stained sleeve across his horrid. Very well, take him away. Place his body in line outside with the others. Quickly now, we have other wounded to attend to. Isaac stepped away from the table to let the orderlies come up and carry the man away. He stood there, holding the forceps, letting blood drip from his hand onto the ground. His heart raced. He was sweating. He felt like with him. My apologies, doctor. I did the best I could. Oberhoiser took off his gloves and tossed him into the bucket where all soiled prophylactics were tossed for later sanitation. He pulled his mask down to his chin. Isaac's head said, don't worry about it, boy. It's not your fault. You're too young and inexperienced to be doing this. Her wrath put you in the field too soon. You're not ready. Oberhoiser was never one to mince words or belay his criticism, especially during times of great stress. Criticize me all you want, Isaac thought, as he placed the forceps in a bowl nearby, but you aren't suited for fieldwork at all, old man. You may be a good surgeon, but you don't have the proper temperament for this. The old doctor was, in fact, a very good surgeon. He was in his fifties, Isaac knew, though he wasn't sure of the man's exact age. Carl Oberhoiser had been an army physician for the Catholics in Hapsburgs before the Ring of Fire, but had quickly aligned himself with the uptimers and their Swedish allies when he had apparently seen the writing on the wall. He had received some modern medical training in Jena, and had served on Torstensohn's medical staff near Arndtwerk. When General Roth had asked the USE for additional medical support for his own army, Oberhoiser had quickly volunteered, which in truth had come as a complete surprise to Isaac. The old doctor wasn't an anti-Semite in the strict sense. Isaac had grown up in the ghetto of Prague and knew what true anti-Semitism was. Sample complete. Ready to continue?