Meet the Medic

Germany, 1941, Close to the Polish Border
“Halt right there, Doctor Schuler, and put your hands where we can see them.” The Medic dropped his bags and raised his gloved hands in the air. He heard the sound of several guns being cocked. He chewed his lip, and the dove cooed in his cage. The Obersturmführer walked in front of his men to face the prisoner, his jackboots crunching in the freshly-fallen snow. “Turn to face me, Doctor,” the officer ordered. The Medic did so. He was facing seven soldiers; four in the back with rifles, and three in the front with sten guns. “Although I suppose you are no longer really a doctor, are you?” he asked mockingly. “After all, your medical license was revoked after the General Kohler incident.” The Obersturmführer spat at the Medic’s shoes.
“I suppose not,” the Medic replied.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I will continue to call you a doctor. There are so few in the medical world with your talents.”
The Medic nodded his head, and said, “Thank you.”
“But tell me, Doctor Schuler,” the Obersturmführer shook his head. “Did you really think you could escape?”
“Perhaps.”
The officer brandished his mauser in the air. “Did you hear that, gentlemen? The poor chap thought he could actually escape!” The soldiers chuckled, probably fearing the consequences if they did not. The Medic scowled.  The Obersturmführer wiped an imaginary tear from his eye with his leather-gloved hand. “That is priceless, that really is.” There was the eerie silence of the wind blowing through the bare trees. The dove cooed once again, and the Medic swallowed.
The officer began to circle the Medic, much like a predator circles his prey. “Doctor Schuler, you were the greatest doctor in the Third Reich. So much promise. And yet you threw it all away.”
“I did what was right,” the Medic replied, but was cut short by the barrel of the pistol being shoved into the back of his neck.
“You removed General Kohler’s entire skeleton!” The Obersturmführer shouted.
“Is he still alive?” the Medic asked calmly.
“As a matter of fact, he is dead now. We couldn’t find a doctor who could successfully replant the skeleton.”
The Medic smiled slightly. “Good. He was a bastard, anyway.”
“And then, you raided a private party, killed several chief officers, and stole one of their pets!” The dove cooed in reply.
“I did. His name is Archimedes.” The Medic looked down upon the cage as a father would look upon a newborn son. “He looked as though he was suffering from malnutrition. I couldn’t leave him like that.”
“And yet you took the lives of five senior SS officers, Doctor Schuler. Any excuse for that?”
“They were my superior officers at the camp. They deserved to die.” The Medic’s arms were growing weary.
“And why is that, Doctor Schuler?” the Obersturmführer seemed bemused, like many of the sadists in the Schutzstaffel were before executing prisoners.
The Medic looked towards the ground. “The instigation of the deaths of an entire people is not reason enough?”
The officer laughed, as did some of his soldiers. “People? They are not humans like you or I, Doctor Schuler; they are rats. Dirty, filthy rats, a plague on humanity. They deserved to die.” The Medic scowled again, disgusted by the pure prejudice of it all. “Now, before we execute you, I would like to ask one more thing. Do you know what that thing is, Doctor Schuler?”
The Medic looked towards the ground, refusing to reply.
“I think you do,” the Obersturmführer said. He strode over to a large, metal case. “Is this it, Doctor Schuler? The device?” The Medic remained silent, but the officer smiled. “Oh, don’t play games. Of course it is. Were you planning to sell it to the Russians, or the British? In hopes that the Reich would be defeated?” The Obersturmführer stuck is gun underneath the Medic’s chin. He remained stoic. The officer withdrew the weapon with a great flourish of his hands. “Oh well, no matter. It won’t happen now; the device will be returned to its rightful place; at the hands of the Third Reich.” The Obersturmführer walked behind his men. “I’m tired of talking, and receiving no reply. Farewell, Doctor Schuler.” He raised his gun; the symbol for the soldiers to take aim. The Medic looked worriedly towards the baggage he was trying to bring across the border. Each piece held an important piece of equipment, one of which the Nazis knew of, the other, they did not.
In a flash of movement, the Medic bolted for the bags. “FIRE, you lazy bastards!” the Obersturmführer cried. “KILL HIM!” The Medic lunged as the deafening gunshots resounded through the woods and kicked up clouds of fine snow. He felt four shots hit him; two grazed his shoulder and leg, while the other two embedded themselves in his chest and abdomen. He landed in the snow, crumpled and on fire with pain, but alive. Unfortunately, the stens were still chewing up the ground around him. He tore open one case, and removed its contents in an instant. It looked like a gun, but it had a cylinder filled with needles as the feed, and was oversized and looked as though it was still in development.
Without hesitation, the Medic pulled the trigger mechanism, which unleashed a steady stream of the needles inside the cylinder. The needles didn’t seem to do much damage on their own, but all of the soldiers were astonished by the speed and amount of the needles that they halted firing and raised their hands to protect themselves. The Medic’s eye twitched, a glimpse of madness twinkled inside, and he possibly even started cackling as he watched his weapon chew up his opponents. He even seemed to forget the blood coming out of his wounds like water out of a faucet. When the cylinder was completely empty, he reached inside his large, white coat, and drew out the sort of saw doctors used for amputation. The Medic ran over to the stunned soldiers in the blink of an eye, and started slashing at them viciously with the saw. The Obersturmführer, however, was the only one to regain his composure quickly, and shot at the Medic several times with his pistol, as he watched the snow become tainted with his underling’s blood. As the Medic slashed the final remaining soldier across the chest, the officer fired a bullet into the Medic’s chest.
This time, the pain wasn’t as great. The Medic felt his eyelids become heavy as his glasses fell off his face and he tumbled backwards into a snowdrift. He fought to retain consciousness as the Obersturmführer towered over him. “It’s a shame what you did to my men,” he said coolly, despite the situation. “But with your device, wounds will no longer be a problem.” The officer turned, knowing that the Medic would never be able to get up. It was physically impossible. In fact, it was impossible that he had survived this long. It really was a shame; Doctor Schuler was such a good addi-
The saw was in his back. The Obersturmführer dropped his pistol, and collapsed on his knees. He turned to see Doctor Schuler standing. He was wincing, his knees were bent, and he was clutching his blood-soaked wounds, but he was standing. “How the Hell?” the officer asked faintly.
The Medic reached down to retrieve his glasses, and pushed them onto the bridge of his nose with his index finger, as was his trademark. “You didn’t think I would have left myself defenseless, did you?”  The Obersturmführer scowled as the Medic hobbled past him. “The fluid I use for my device; I consume a dosage of it each day, in hopes that it will provide a slight regenerative effect. In all honesty, I hadn’t tested it beyond giving myself paper-cuts.” The officer noticed that Doctor Schuler had ceased to bleed, and the wound looked slightly less raw. “Thank you for completing my test.” The Medic stumbled over to the other, larger case, and opened it. “You wanted to use my device? I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. But you shall see its power before you die.” The Obersturmführer’s vision had begun to cloud, but he could still see the Medic’s device. He had to admit, it looked less impressive than his superiors had made it out to be. It looked like a long cylinder with black tape around it and a sort of handle towards the back. This initial device was attached to a long, black tube that connected it with a strange, backpack sort of thing. The Medic pointed the cylinder part towards his wounds, and pushed the handle part towards the opening. There was an electric hum, and then a stream of light poured out of the opening of the cylinder. The light surrounded the Medic, and poured into wherever there was a wound. The Obersturmführer couldn’t believe what he was seeing; the tissue was beginning to reform, and one by one, the wounds closed. The only sign they had ever been there were the holes in the Medic’s clothes. He breathed in deeply, as if appreciating the scent of pine and the crisp air. The Medic then put the healing device and the weapon back in their respective cases, and nonchalantly gathered his belongings.  
The Obersturmführer opened his mouth to speak, but only coughed up blood. “You bastard!” he tried to yell, but it came out as more of an aggravated moan. “You’re going to leave your fellow countrymen out in the snow to die like this?”
A small smile flashed across the Medic’s face, and his eye twitched again, showing the small glimpse of insanity. “It would appear as such.” He strode over to the officer and pulled the saw out from his back. The blood began to flow more freely, turning the snow around the officer’s body crimson.
“Doctor Schuler! You are a lunatic, you Semitic son-of-a-bitch!” the Obersturmführer spat his last words, along with more blood.
The Medic walked in front of the officer, and knelt down. “I am no longer Doctor Schuler,” he said. “You may call me Medic.”