He died, saving a wounded man on the battlefield—only to awaken in the same hell, but now in 1941. The same gunfire, explosions, pain, and blood, except that now the shouts in his back are not “Hands up!”—but “Hands up!”
The surgeon-and-fighter’s reflexes are put to the test by a new-old time: a clamp is salvation for his own, a shot is the death of the enemy. This is how his new, old Great War begins.