“Protect the wounded,” he said and closed his eyes.
His hand slipped free, and his pulse faded into nothing. Glancing around, Watford pleaded for help. Aside from her fellow combat medics struggling to heave the gravely injured, they were on their own. At least sixty men rested on the cots while Doctor Fawcett performed emergency surgery on one. Many would die waiting for assistance that wasn’t coming, but death would come sooner if the Nazis seized the place.
Green bolts struck the doorframe beside her, and she tumbled back. Fear tore through her veins as she fought to focus her thoughts and remain in control. Her hands scrambled for something, anything, to hold off the enemy, and they rested on the barrel of a Lee-Enfield. She c****d the weapon and raised it when a hard-faced Nazi stor
