June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
Operation: Overlord
How many times in history does one get the chance to redeem themselves? To right the wrongs brought unto them by others? With any hope, this one invasion could bring justice and redemption back to the French. Under the command of British forces, the Free French Forces slowly made their way toward Sword beach to help liberate their country. Among them sat a tall, blond French man, gun ready, blue eyes staring intently at the beach.
When the blond man had heard of the Allies plan to invade his home, Francis had signed up right away. He had stood defiantly in front of Arthur, Ivan and Alfred, presenting his case as to why he should be allowed to help. Finally, they had agreed to have Francis and a group of Free French Force soldiers be placed under British command and land at Sword beach. Francis had swallowed his pride enough to thank them and promise them that their kindness would not be forgotten. Now here he was, making his way slowly back to his home, prepared to save his country.
The Invasion craft landed on the beach without difficulty, the crafts door opening to the beach. Francis ran forward with the group, heading towards the mainland. The beach's resistance was weak, allowing the British and French forces to push through. Francis ran forward, gun raised, firing at any Germans that remained standing. Francis's bravery shocked him, any other day and he would have been running for it. But this was his home; it was his duty to defend it.
June 6, 2010
Normandy, France
66 Year Reunion
Francis's home was littered with remnants of the past. There were soldier cemeteries, memorials, visitor centers, all so tourists and native French citizens alike could remember this day. For 66 years, those involved in the D-Day invasions visited the respected beaches that they were involved in before meeting the others and reminiscing. It was a tradition that one rarely missed. In the recent years Ludwig had started showing up as a way of reconciliation with the Allies. No one minded.
Francis watched as the waves crashed lightly against Sword beach, caressing the sand as someone would do with their lover. The waves hadn't been like that 66 years ago. No, those waves were far from romantic. The entire affair of Operation Overlord and the war had been nothing but pain and destruction with no love. The whole thing was sickening. Francis looked down, frowning as memory after memory crashed through his mind like the waves on the beach.
June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
Operation: Overlord
The fighting on the beach had been pushed inland hours ago. Francis was slightly shaken as he thought of the bodies he had passed on the beach, mainly Germans, which lay dead or dying. He had never experienced this level of death before, it was unnerving. Francis shook his head to clear it, trying to focus on the task at hand. The Germans resistance had dwindled and the troops were now rounding up Germans who had decided to surrender.
Francis walked among the wounded soldiers, spotting a few Free French soldiers among the wounded. He saluted to the ones that were still conscious before moving on. He didn't know a lot of these men, but it still filled him with pride and regret to see them fitting and dying for their home. Sighing, Francis tried to shut out the heartache from the dead French men that he had seen earlier and felt little pangs on his heartstrings as two wounded French soldiers passed away.
All at once, a mortar shell exploded a few feet from Francis, knocking him off his feet and throwing him backwards. Francis landed hard on his back and felt himself blackout. All around his unconscious form, British soldiers and Free French fighters scrambled to get into fighting positions against this new enemy. The 21st Panzer Division had arrived to be the German's counterattack.
Francis slowly opened his eyes, his vision blurred and his hearing shot. He could feel the explosion of mortars and the British counterattack. Francis tried to stand up, only to feel excruciating pain in his leg. That couldn't be good. He propped himself up onto his elbow to survey the battle.
British soldiers and Free French soldiers had been fast in their response to the 21st Panzer Division's attack. The anti-tank guns were wheeled out and prepared for counter fire. From the looks of it, the German tanks were spread out enough to destroy them easily. Francis felt the need to help and tried to get to his feet, wincing in pain.
A British soldier spotted him and ran over, concern in his light green eyes. He crouched next to Francis, gently touching his leg.
"Are you alright sir? Can you stand?"
Francis shook his head, wincing at the soldiers touch. The soldier grabbed his arm, hoisted Francis to his feet and placed Francis's arm around his shoulder. The soldier began to help Francis hobble away from the immediate fighting. Francis looked at him, not sure if he should feel thankful towards the soldier for helping him or annoyed that the man was British.
Swallowing his pride Francis asked in hesitant English, "Why are you helping me?"
The soldier looked at him before answering, "It was the right thing to do. The British and the French may get along like cats and dogs, but we as gentlemen know that when an Ally is down that we should help them no matter what. The Germans are our enemies today, not the French."
Francis nodded, "What's your name?"
"Joshua Young. You're Francis Bonnefoy right?"
Francis nodded once more, thanking Joshua once more before feeling himself pass out from pain.
June 6, 2010
Normandy, France
66 Year Reunion
Francis's leg had been fine. It had fractured in two places, but other than that he hadn't suffered any lasting damage. Joshua had dropped him off with the medics and ran off back to battle, eager to help fight against the Germans. Francis learned later that Joshua had died in battle just minutes after helping Francis. Francis felt regret about Joshua's death like no other.
Francis had never told Arthur that he had been saved by a British soldier. If Arthur knew, he would never let Francis live it down. Francis had been removed from battle and flown back to England where he could be treated properly. Arthur had, surprisingly, saluted him afterward for his effort in battle rather than bother him for getting injured. Francis suspected that Arthur couldn't really talk because he had been shot in the leg, but refused to mention it.
Francis took one last look at the beach and walked back to his car. This was his day to celebrate the retaking of his home, he didn't want to be late to his own party.