Disclaimer.
As much as I'd like it to be so, these characters don't belong to me, but to Combat! and Selmur Productions, ABC, and Image Productions. I get no monetary compensation for my work.
Ignorance is Bliss for Glory
"Soldier!" Eleanora Hunt called. She waved a hand towards a soldier that she could barely make out. He was deep in the shadows in the early morning and the sun was not yet high enough to show more than a figure. She thought it was the motor pool; this seemed to be the same place where she'd been dropped off last night, after that abortive liberation day at Trois Anges,
A young man looked up from gassing up one of the jeeps. It was the last thing he had to do before returning the jeep to service. He paused in his task looking towards a woman making her way to him. He quickly topped off the tank and hung up the hose.
He watched her approach at a fast pace, juggling equipment and a helmet that kept threatening to slide right off her head. Normally, he would go help her, but no one else was out in the motor pool bay and he didn't dare leave his post. He'd been blessed out just yesterday for doing the same thing to help out someone and the sergeant's words were still ringing in his ears.
Nonetheless, it went against his instincts not to help. He stepped out a few yards from the gloom into the sunshine. She would at least see he noticed her.
He scanned her uniform quickly to see if he could make out any rank. Seeing none, he waited patiently for her to come a little closer. "Ma'am?" he asked politely, once he gauged she was within hearing range of his normal voice. Although he did use a bit more volume than usual because he thought she was about ready to drop that bag.
"Oh, Private." She fumbled with the bag, finally letting it drag along the ground, as she returned his greeting.
He couldn't stand it and came to meet her. "Ma'am, may I?"
She gave him a sigh of relief and relinquished the heavy bag. "Thank you."
He walked with her towards the garage. He hadn't met her, but he kept an ear out for gossip and had an idea of who she was. At least he knew she belonged here, most likely. "Ma'am, what are you doing here, so early in the morning?"
"Oh, Private. I'm in a big hurry to meet someone. I'm working on a story and have to do an interview." She had managed to get a note to one of the Resistance men before Lieutenant Hanley drove her back from Trois Anges. She wanted to get a Resistance fighter's view on the Americans' action of vacating the town so soon after its near-liberation. A return note from him had been waiting back at 2nd Platoon for her. If possible, he would meet her on the same logging road where she first met him and his fellow Resistance fighters.
She couldn't disappoint Jacques. He was taking a terrible risk, she knew. The least she could do was to meet him. She had visions of taking him back to Trois Anges and interviewing a couple of citizens. She was eager to see how that first day of liberation had gone.
She had no clue what could happen to a town too eager to welcome the Allies.
"I really need to borrow a jeep or something. I don't have other transportation. "She looked at the jeep that was parked nearby. "Like that one." "Is it all gassed up and ready to go?"
"Yes, ma'am. But ma'am, I can't let you just take it." He was apologetic, but firm.
"Oh, please. It's important."
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure, but I can't let you have it without authorization."
If she couldn't get a jeep this way, she'd either have to sneak one or go find Captain Smith and she expected that the good captain would not go along with her plans.
She responded, stalling for time, "Naturally, Private. I wouldn't dream of taking it without permission." Think, think, think, she prodded herself. Ah, she remembered. Better than a passport.
"Could you please hand me that bag?" she queried. Without a word, the private handed the heavy bag over. She dug around in its depths, searching for something. Triumphant, she pulled a rather battered piece of paper out of the bag. Her "carte blanche" as it were, straight from the Pentagon.
"Thank you." "Will this work, Private?" "It's signed by General Green." It was signed by General Gruene, but he pronounced it as "Green" so that was the way she'd said it to the private. If he was like most people, he just assumed it was spelled just like the color green, not its German spelling.
He looked at the document. Orders. It was signed by some muckety-muck back stateside and looked darned official to him. It even had her picture attached. He read it carefully, concentrating on the words, not so much on the signature.
Oh, it put him in a pickle. She could get a jeep or a truck or whatever she needed, pretty much, because that's what the paper said. "Ma'am, I have to get this confirmed by the captain."
"Captain Smith?" "Oh, he's fine with it. "A little white lie. Smith had no clue she had this paper.
The paper was legitimate, though, if a bit stale, dated May 13th of 1943. But fortunately for her, it had no expiration date so as far as she, and probably the hierarchy it was still in effect. She'd first gotten this lovely little pass, as it were, before she'd gone to Australia last year to interview General Mrs. Douglas MacArthur. And it had come in handy a few times since.
But the Navy had discounted it and took no notice of what it said, back in the States when she'd used it to try and get into a submarine headed for Pearl. She never forgot that little lesson and now carried one signed by a Navy admiral for exigencies just like that one.
Politics were politics, Army or Navy, and they spent too much energy on one-upmanship, she thought. Gad, and the Navy was the worst. They even treated the Marines like bastard children, often as not. And how some of them Navy boys treated the Army. And tit for tat, the Army often returned the "favor," treating Navy boys as misbegotten whatevers. At least, today was all Army.
Well, she wasn't going to wait for confirmation from on high today. It would take days, like as not. Because nobody back in the Pentagon was going to wake up any general at 1 or 2 AM, whatever the time was back home, just to confirm a signature. And just to relay the message Stateside. Who knew what place it would have in the echelon of radio traffic that had to be relayed from Europe to England to the States, or whatever route it took. It would take FOREVER, she thought, and she didn't have forever to wait.
"No, ma'am. My captain. Captain Jeffers."
"Oh. Well, is he about?"
"No, ma'am. He doesn't come on duty for," he glanced at the clock on the wall, "another two hours." Or more, he remembered. There was some big meeting today for the captain, but just maybe the meeting would be over fast.
"Oh, Private, please. Surely you can make an exception or find him or something." She pled her case. "I really have to get going. This person I'm meeting is with the Resistance, and every minute he waits out there puts him in more danger." It was true, she thought. Jacques was taking a big risk to meet with her, especially out in the open like they were.
The private thought she looked sincere, and the letter looked real. He was a bit of a sucker for puppy dogs and kittens, and damsels in distress. To him, long starved of any feminine presence, it seemed as if she had some darned soulful eyes. Although Eleanora could put on the charm, she tried not to, especially with youngsters like the private. That was not how she wanted to get her stories or even her way.
A small sigh from the private as chivalry overwrote military procedure. "Okay, ma'am, you can take this jeep here. It's just been serviced and it's in good shape. She won't let you down."
Eleanora put her stuff into the jeep and started to climb in. "Ma'am." The private's word stopped her.
"Yes, Private?"
"I need to write down some information. Who signed that order. And stuff." He really didn't know if he needed to write it down but he wanted some cover in case his captain and the sergeant got all huffy on him.
She said the name while quickly showing him the paper, then stashing it back in her equipment bag. "General Green" again pronouncing Gruene as Green since that's how the general said it.
"Private, the keys, please." It was all she could do to keep from snapping her fingers. She felt that familiar restlessness come over her and fought hard to remain patient.
"Here, ma'am."
"Thank you," and with that she started the jeep, slipped it into gear and drove away, accelerating as fast as the nimble little vehicle could manage.
The private stared after her. Holy mackerel! She'd even left a bit of rubber on the drive. If she didn't watch it, she was liable to bust an axle or something if she kept driving that way once she got on some of those country roads.
He realized too late, he'd not gotten her name but at least he'd gotten some general's name to write. It was some color, Brown, White, Black? Green. That was it. Green. He hoped there was truly a General Green back in Washington. He hadn't really focused on that general's name and when she showed it to him again, she'd been pretty fast to put it back in her bag.
xxxx
She arrived at the rendezvous point with time to spare. She would only wait ten minutes for Jacques. If he didn't show up, she would press on for 2nd Platoon's bivouac. He'd meet her there if possible. Perhaps they would go on together to Trois Anges if things looked promising.
Her ten minutes were up. As much as she hated to do it, she would go on to that platoon's bivouac. He'd written that staying out on the road could be risky for a lone American, especially une belle femme like herself. From the Milice. Whoever that was.
Were they another secret police force of the Germans?
Jacques hadn't even mentioned the Gestapo. The Gestapo had a reputation equal to that of any of Stalin's secret police. Or secret police in any of those other dictatorships. if Jacques had taken time to capitalize Milice and underlined it in his note, it must be a real organization and a threat.
She started the jeep back up and made her way over to 2nd Platoon. She looked around for Hanley and his sergeant. Neither was there. As a matter of fact, no one was there that she recognized. Except Jacques. He looked worse for the wear. He looked bad, as a matter of fact.
"Jacques!" she hailed him. "Ce qui vous est arrivé? What happened to you?"
"Mademoiselle, c'était terrible." He proceeded to tell her that the SS had come into Trois Anges late yesterday and had arrested citizens and were torturing them.
"Mon Dieu!" The exclamation was out of her mouth before she realized. Hanley? Saunders? Did they know.
"Oui."
"Merci, Jacques!" She pressed his hand and expressed her sorrow, then went looking for some American who could tell her something more. It was even more important that she got to Trois Anges. Her story had taken a dark turn and she needed to be there to record it.
She looked around for someone with stripes or whatever. Privates probably wouldn't have a clue. She'd learned enough about the military that they were the last to know what lay in store for them. Just like every other organization, the ones that had to make it happen, were the least likely to know what "it" was.
She found a corporal manning a radio. "Corporal, can you help me? I need to know where Lieutenant Hanley or Sergeant Saunders is? Are?" Really, she thought, trying to get correct verb tense at a time like this?
The corporal barely looked her way. He mostly saw the uniform pants and figured her to be a nurse or something. "Yes, ma'am. They headed out to Trois Anges a bit ago. You can wait right here for them if you like." He indicated a chair across the tent.
She had no intention of waiting but instead asked, "Thank you. And could you point me towards the latrines, Corporal? Please." She put just a note of urgency in her voice. That usually worked.
"Of course, ma'am. It's way over there behind that little rise. Just follow your nose." He thought, then said, "Do you want me to detail someone to escort you, ma'am?"
"No thank you, Corporal. I'm sure I can find it, especially with that extra little bit of information."
"Oh, ma'am, it's not too bad. We haven't been here that long, but," he paused, "you'd better announce you're there before you go in. There's no separate one for ladies."
She had to smile. "Thank you, Corporal. I'll do just that."
He was so polite, she thought. Just like most of the men she'd met over here. With the exception of that Hanley and his sergeant, and those two correspondents, most everyone had been uniformly polite. She would remember to put that into a few of her articles.
She really did use the facilities; she just didn't go back to the tent to wait. Instead, she got back in the jeep and cranked it back up.
The corporal heard the jeep turn over and looked out. Good, she looked to be heading back toward J Company or at least whatever direction she probably came from.
She was out of his hair. Someone else's problem. And he needed to focus on the radio since he was Hanley's link with the rest of the world.
She'd driven a few kilometers back towards J Company, then using her handy Michelin guide, she found another way to get over to the road she thought Hanley would have taken.
Once on that road, she drove like the proverbial bat out of hell. And Jacques' warning about those Milice people, whatever they were, gave extra urgency to her driving. She really didn't want to be alone on that road if those sorts were roaming around.
If she got there to Trois Anges in time, she could get pictures of the Americans. American infantry, defeating an SS contingent and rescuing the paratroopers and the Underground members.
It was made to order for the men that had commissioned her to do some stories on the infantry. What a coupe it would be, for the infantry and for her. Freedom for Trois Anges and the rescue of brave Underground members and the Allied troops they sheltered. Glorious freedom.