Chapter 1: Buffalo Soldier
2003, Los Angeles, California
"Okay, you mind giving us your name for the record?" a young black haired boy about 15 years old asked a much older, elderly african-liberian man sitting in the chair across from him. Behind the boy sat his his camera man, another boy with a backward black baseball cap covering his brown short hair and holding the camera towards the old man as he is about to answer.
"Clyde Hester." the old man said with his low and raspy voice.
"Is it okay if you give us the nickname they gave you back in the army?" the boy asked with a half smile.
"Smacks...they called me Smacks."
"Aaaaand could you tell us a little info about when you were in the army?"
"I was a just a regular infantryman, my unit was D Company, part of the 366th infantry regiment, part of the 92nd infantry division."
"The Buffalo Soldiers, right?" the boy asked as he started writing on a notepad.
"Yes."
"How old were you exactly?"
"Well, most of us were about 16 to 24 in the unit." Clyde had said rubbing his bearded white chin. The boys sitting across from him looked at each other and then at Clyde with a shocked and Excited face.
"OH MAN, they let you join at that age?!" the boy almost yelled out, making the elderly man hit the side of his head trying to get his hearing back.
"Well, I got drafted when I was 14 sooooo back in...1942." Clyde said crossing his arms.
"Why were you drafted at such a young age?" the cameraman asked lowering his camera a bit.
"It was pretty desperate times during the second Neuroi War," the old man continued, " some got drafted and others were there for their own reasons."
"What was your rank during this time?" the young interviewer questioned.
"I was a sergeant at the time."
"And for the camera could you tell the us the year and place?"
"It was 1944 when me and my squad got stationed at the Mont Saint Michel base."
"So, could you tell us about what happened during that year?"
"That year...was a pretty great year for me." the old man said with a small grin forming on his face.
"Could you tell us why it was a great year for you, gramps?" the boy asked chuckling a bit.
"Because, that was the year I actually met the Strike witches of the 501st Joint Fighter Wing." the old man said with his grin turning into a full smile.
"That was also the year that I even met your grandmother, Junior." the old man said, having the young boy look up in excitement.
"Really?" He asked.
"Yep." the elder responded.
"So do you mind telling the story for us then?" the boy asked again.
"Why yes I can, youngsta." the old man said sitting back in his chair.
"Well it started in Gallia, 1944..."