A short sample from Fields of Fire

[Clemens]

We arrived at hills and the road dipped into a slight valley—out of sight and a good hiding place. Shortly, the valley turned into a gulch, only a few feet deep. We came to a flat area. Several motorbikes stood parked in a disorderly fashion. The big man stopped the car and we got out. The bikers also dismounted. The big man, obviously in a hurry, pushed me in the direction of a large square tent, the cloth dirty and soiled. They hustled me inside. I wasn’t prepared for what met me.
The tent was almost free of furniture, about ten by ten feet and eight feet high. Inside it was tremendously hot. Dark liquid had spilled on the desert sand and the imprints of many shoes were visible. People had been at work here.
There were two men in the tent. One of them was standing, a short black beard and seemingly intelligent eyes behind simple wire-framed spectacles. He was much shorter and younger than I was. His face was sweaty and his mouth stood ajar. At regular intervals, his tongue would sneak out and he would wet his chapped lips.
The other man was lying on his back on a simple wooden table, the only piece of furniture. He was asleep or unconscious. His face was red and surrounded by straggly hair: a full beard and long locks on his forehead. A white sheet, smeared with blood and dirt covered his body. The big man pushed by me from behind. He moved to the other side of the table and looked in my eyes. I stared back at him. He pulled away the sheet.
I cursed as I turned away. Some of the other men winced as well and two actually turned and walked out again. One of them started to throw up somewhere outside. I stared back at the big man. “What the fuck is this?”
The big man threw the sheet back. “An accident. He had an accident.”
I moved forward and lifted the sheet up again. I stared at the left leg of the man. Somebody had cut away his trousers, way up above the knee. They hadn’t removed his shoes and socks though.
Obviously, his lower leg had broken. More than that; it looked as if it had been smashed by a heavy object, a sledge-hammer or something. I could see pieces of bone sticking out of the red flesh. I recalled my days as an anatomy teacher and recognized the Os tibia and the Os fibula, and both were goners. The leg was at a weird angle because of it. The bleeding had stopped, but there was enough raw meat and bodily fluid to turn my stomach.