The experiences of a Nazi surgeon on the Russian front resemble a tent filled with disinfectant. You won't find the expected stream of casualties, the perspiring devotion of an unequipped medical staff, the sobs of fear and pale blinkings of gratitude -- they simply are not here. The various field hospitals were, it appears, smoothly run with a merely adequate supply of patients; occasionally operations were performed amid shellfire bur most surgery was peaceful and the staff possessed all the portable equipment necessary; unemotional wounded went through their ordeal by scalpel in an improved form of goosestep. The narrator's humanity seems nowhere to have exerted itself. The persons he remembers most keenly combine clown, goldbrick and petty thief; persons without affinities of any type -- to God, family or friend. A few comments on the psychological reactions of the German soldier to defeat and Party rule comprise the book's chief value. Bleatings of rage against Hitler, ""the Tyrant"", and moralizing mutterings about atrocities against Russian Jews fall on the reader's ear like a gust of dead wind.