One person's craziness is another person's reality.-Tim Burton
He was Soldat Wilhelm Kerrl. He was in his mid-twenties, and had enlisted only several months before. According to the paper, he suffered from a fear of needles and had arrived at the field hospital after his squad returned from patrol. He was suffering pain in his ankle, and couldn't put weight on it.
Soldat Kerrl was sitting on a table, drumming his fingers on the wood while he waited. A brown haired man that needed a bath, he had a sort of rugged, backwoods look to him. He gave Panzergrenadier Streithorst a small smile when he approached, to show that he wasn't in any severe pain.
“Soldat Wilhelm Kerrl?”
Streithorst nodded, “It says here that you’re suffering pain in your ankle.”
“Yes sir. I twisted it when on patrol, I stepped in a hole on the road.” He shrugged, “I guess I wasn't looking where my feet where going.”
“Please lift your leg,” he spoke bluntly, and without passion. He had dealt with too many screaming men on the table to really offer sympathy to a man who had twisted his ankle because he hadn't bothered to watch where he was going. When the Soldat lifted his leg, Streithorst felt around with his fingers. The injured flinched, but Streithorst made no move to apologize.
“Nothing seems broken, just a twisted ankle.” Twisted ankles and upset stomachs, that was all he got to see anymore. “You can lower your leg now.”
Streithorst picked up the clipboard and scribbled something on it. “You need to take it easy for a bit, and stay off that ankle. No more patrols for a while.” He turned and waved an orderly down, “Get that ankle wrapped up. Remember, snug, not tight. He needs good circulation or the healing will be slowed.” Technically, Streithorst should have been wrapping the man’s ankle himself, but he had been a medic for so long, he had gained an unofficial superiority in the field hospital. He'd leave all but the exciting tasks for the others.
As he left Soldat Kerrl, he met Panzergrenadier Bachmeier. Bachmeier was just a rifleman, but he and Streithorst had gained a sort of friendship during Barbossa when Bachmeier had fallen ill due to the freezing winter. He looked well enough at the moment, so Streithorst wasn't sure why he was in the field hospital.
“Good afternoon Reinhardt.”
Streithorst nodded, “I wish it was a good one. I have to go deal with a Panzerobergrenadier that’s been shitting water for days.”
Bachmeier smirked, “Have you heard? Our new commander has arrived.”
The medic smirked, “Good, I suppose I’ll have to clean up his shit soon as well.” Not that he’d be the one cleaning it up, he’d have an orderly do that.