The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

The next American he came upon in the confines of this particular hell on earth was unconscious, his upper right leg bent at an awkward angle and marked by the broken bone protruding through his flight suit. But he was alive, and Max grabbed him under both armpits and began dragging him to safety. Once outside and away from the fire the Luftwaffe officer placed the man down as carefully as he could, gulped a few precious breaths of the fresh summer air and headed back into the fiery conflagration again.

Three more times the young German made that trip, each time bringing out another man from the clutches of a certain death. Max’s lungs felt as if all the air had been sucked out and replaced by blackened soot and ash. His vision was blurred and the exposed parts of his hands and arms were red and blistered from the heat. The Luftwaffe captain’s hair and eyebrows were singed or partially burned off, and his knees were wobbly and unsteady as he turned back toward the crashed Skymaster yet once again.

Max Grephardt took a couple of steps that direction and then stumbled, wondering why the grass was suddenly rushing up and forward to meet him. He hit hard face down on the ground and laid there, coughing and retching up a vile mixture of spit, phlegm, vomit and ash. Max tried to get back to his feet but strong hands had taken hold of him, easing him down again and rolling him over to his side.

"Easy now, fella, just take it easy," implored a voice that seemed faraway. "You've already done your part and then some, there’s plenty of help now."

Max looked up, his vision cloudy and unfocused as his eyes tried to find the source of the faraway voice. He could barely make out a big man looming over him in the olive drab of an American Army Air Force uniform, and the bold tech sergeant stripes on both upper arms.

"Hey! How about it over here!” The burly tech sergeant bellowed over his shoulder, "This Kraut officer is about half dead himself!"

"How is he, sergeant?" another faraway voice asked. Max blinked several times, attempting to clear his vision and found himself staring into the greenish-grey eyes of an American major with pilot wings on his chest. He looked to be about Max’s age.

"He's pretty bad off, major," the tech sergeant replied. "When we drove up, he was bringing the fourth guy out of what's left of that Skymaster. There’s no telling how much smoke and trash he's breathed in."

“Did you see what happened?” asked the major.

The sergeant shook his head. “Not before the Skymaster went in, sir. But I did see this guy take off like he was shot out of a cannon. Major, he went through those flames like they weren’t even there. He’s a man, alright, Kraut or otherwise.”

Amid the small crowd of medical personnel now gathering about to help, the young major knelt down, fingering the small silver cross on the exposed part of Max's blackened chest. To no one in particular he murmured the words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

“What’s that, major?”

“A quote from the Bible, Sergeant. It seems to fit the circumstance.”

Looking up from the cross, Major Ezekiel Templar reached over and patted the German officer on his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. You saved lives today."

Max stared again into those same greenish-gray eyes, now reflecting gratefulness and even admiration. The Luftwaffe hauptmann did not understand much English but he could tell from those eyes, as well as the American officer’s tone of voice, that he had done well. With that lingering thought of having made a difference Max felt himself drifting, and the light from the bright sunny afternoon went away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sometime later he had awakened in one of the wards of the base hospital, his hands and arms freshly bandaged with a greasy salve for his burned ears and face. Each day he was held to a strict regimen of breathing treatments and bandage changes, accompanied by good food and plenty of rest. The bandage changes were especially painful. Yet each time the dressings were replaced it reminded him that he was still alive, and with the real promise of getting better.

The young American major who had been at the crash scene was also part of that daily routine. He became a regular fixture by checking in on Max and making certain he was being properly cared for. When the field ambulance had brought the Luftwaffe officer to the facility, the major had ridden alongside, speaking to him in words of encouragement.

Later, while going through Max's personal effects he had secured his identification papers, a few old photos and his small Lutheran Bible. With the assistance of the Army Counterintelligence Corps as well as his fellow German detainees, Major Templar learned more about the Luftwaffe hauptmann, including his many combat decorations. The Iron Cross with Oak Leaves made a real impression on everyone involved. Through an interpreter, the major returned those personal effects and thanked Max again.

Meanwhile, Max had found out the major's name was Ezekiel Templar and that he was from Texas. During the major’s many visits they made small talk as best they could and, in the process, became better acquainted with each other. Max was fascinated with anything to do about the American West, so Ezekiel obtained numerous Western novels by Zane Grey, Max Brand and Will James printed in German, for the Luftwaffe officer to read during his convalescence.

During their many conversations Max would work on his English and Ezekiel would struggle in