CHAPTER 5 "The Welcoming Party"

0200 Hours; Route D-17, Outskirts of Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day

06/06/44

1st entry

Guess what? I'm in France at last. I hooked up with Captain Collins after the jump; met a few guys on the way. I also met up with David and Hugh on the ground. Right now, we've commandeered a truck and we're headed to Beuzeville-au-Plain. Haven't seen anyone from my unit, aside from them. Hopefully, most of them are OK.

Among us are a collection of men from Dog, Fox and Baker Companies. Seems the night drops became a mess. We lost two guys earlier. In any case we're headed now to our objective. The capture of Buezeville probably will give the guys on the beaches a road to take as they link up with us. However, the krauts could be already being mobilized in a counter-attack against us. Should that happen and they'll catch us a hell of a men short…

I pray we all make it through the night…

"You can give it to me later, Private." Lieutenant Speyer replied.

I was handing him the pencil I borrowed. Just finished writing in my diary.

"Give it to me when we get to Boozeville."

"Beuzeville…Lieutenant." Captain Collins commented.

Well, so far so good. The Germans haven't spotted us yet. The road we were taking wasn't rough, but there came the occasional humping when we drove through the rough edges. Funny. The shaking I was feeling reminds me of the airplane I sat on just earlier. At least we have a long rest, until we reach the town. And soon, it's gonna be another fight.

It was already 2:03 AM. My Rolex was a bit dirty after being smudged a bit with Normandy soil.

Actually, we should have already been to Buezeville-au-Plain 45 minutes ago. We occasionally stopped, drove the truck into the trees when we saw a few German half-tracks on patrol earlier. There were a lot of troop movements in the area. I'd say about several platoons are scattered around the landing sites; hoping to find and neutralize the paratroopers who had survived the jump.

Parachutes litter the road. Like a kindergarten's mess.

McCarran was blindly starring at the shaking floor. His eyes were still; a train of deep thoughts chugging in his mind. I assessed it was a normal reaction for a man after surviving a bitter gunfight.

"You sure your alright, Hugh?" I asked.

No answer.

"You don't need to ask, Robert…" O'Shea commented.

"I was just-"

Knock, knock.

"Alright, ladies, the joy ride is over. We'll stop here, and then we move on foot." Captain Collins ordered.

Buezeville was visible in the horizon. The place was practically consisted of houses. But there was something awfully weird. An eerie bright glow emanated in the distance.

"Man…the place is burning!"

We all got out of the truck. I assumed that the fire partly ravaging the town was because of the attacks done by the bombers. The planes still litter the skies. The explosions were still heard. The guns still zip into the air. A burning village was bound to be common here.

We parked the truck just beside a tall brick wall. Trees and fences line up the road. With a wave of the hand, Captain Collins ordered us to move out. Weapons at ready, we were prepared for another fight.

We were huddled up near fence, bordering another road. It was at least 4 feet tall for some reason. Past that are a couple of houses; seemed abandoned. There was a machine-gun resting by the 2nd floor window of one of them. But no one's there. No Germans…yet.

"Alright guys stay low and move fast." The Captain ordered.

We used the fence the cover our advance.

"Get your heads down! Get your heads down!" He whispered.

Fear and anxiety was prevalent amongst us. The night seemed like an ironic reflection to us; the usual silence of it after the light of day was overpowered by the roars of the explosions above. Hopefully they were loud enough to shroud the slightest thuds of our feet; as we made our way past into the town.

So far so good. Yet it was deathly quiet.

We made past the fence. Across the road was another fence.

"Jump over them! Go! Go!" The Captain whispered again.

"Hey, Turner! Remind you of something?" O'Shea murmured.

"Shut up!"

Once we were all through, we resumed our trek. We entered what appeared to be the village entrance; a small steel gate that led into a forked path. The aroma of burning wood was getting stronger. We made a right turn, coming into an inclined lane. Unusually, though, there was a helmet lying on the ground before us; so are bloodstains. One of us inspected it. It seems that one fellow dropped it; no trace of splinters, bullet holes, blood or anything.

"Stay sharp guys!"

We stood close watch as we walked. The place seemed to be unusually empty. The ground, however, was littered with plenty of footprints; marks of boots as if resembling a panicked group running away or a huddled set of men running forward. They seemed to look like German and American alike as we continued on.

There were no Germans in sight. We turned to the right. We came across a local motor pool.

Bang!

A shot fired.

"Spread out! Spread out!" Lieutenant Speyer screamed as we ran for cover. Contact was made.

The shot came from a house; a muzzle flash blinked near it. The bullet ricocheted away into the ground as eyes began to peer at every direction. .

Then another shot, missing us and hitting the concrete exterior of a wooden pole.

"Shit! Take cover!"

Wait a minute…

"That didn't sound like a K98…" Speyer murmured.

It was a Garand. Like the one I was using. Who could have…?

The Captain knew what was amiss.

"Thunder!" Captain Collins shouted out…

No response.

"Thunder!" he called out again.

…

…

…

"Flash!"

A voice from no where.

"What the hell was that?" I asked.

"Airborne guys, Turner…More of us." He grinned.

Another voice from the distance.

"Captain Collins? Hey the Captain's here! Everyone the Captain's here! They made it!"

We all stood up. Two guys, clad in the same uniform as ours came out from the rubble of a smoking house from ahead. Their faces smudged in dirt. Holding their rifles, they greeted us. Why on earth they're here?

"Sorry about that sir. Thought that you were one of the stragglers." One said.

Stragglers? Do we look like stragglers?

The night could have dimmed out all of our profile.

"Never mind that. This place secured?"

"Yes sir. We we're just handling the mop-up work."

That answer wasn't a relief. The place was already ours the moment we got here. Beuzeville was already captured. The blood has been shed for us earlier. We came a bit too late to join in and fight.

"Sergeant Donnelly took temporary command, sir." The other said.

"Where is he then?"

"Right there sir, in the restaurant. We set it up as an aid station for our wounded."

"Much of the guys from Able Company landed in their marks, sir. We just got here half a mile north of this town. We regrouped; took the town in numbers. Much of the German garrison here left before we came; we speculated that they were all headed to Ste. Mere-Eglise. We saw them drive most of their materiel and men south west of here."

"Your strength?" the Captain asked.

"About 20 men sir, minus you guys and our KIA."

We let them lead the way. We made our path through the village, badly burnt and punctured with a lot of rubble and bullet holes. I could tell that the place was just taken an hour ago, maybe. Brass casings and grenade pins litter the ground. It was one hell of the fight.

There were no bodies. We saw them piled up in a field, beside a burning house just west of us. Airborne are everywhere, getting glances and blank stares at us.

The town wasn't big though. Smaller than the suburbs. Beuzeville was merely a town in the middle of the road. But it was liveable. Barbed wires, sandbags and iron hedgehogs are placed in the pathways and alleys. There was a ruined Flak 88 by a barber shop; its metallic grey grew darker with the black scars of it being set ablaze earlier.

What waited for us in the town square was the welcoming party. A bunch of Airborne guys resting near a water fountain; cracked up but still running.

"Wesson!" O'Shea yelled out.

I mapped him out from the group. He was shocked to see us alive.

"Turner! O'Shea! McCarran! You guys made it!" He ran towards us; his glasses almost falling.

I smiled back. But like a cold-shoulder, not a word broke free from my mouth.

The others were surprised to see Captain Collins. I could tell that they didn't have the strength left to even greet him or us. Good to see that they were alright. The rest of us scattered throughout the village, hoping to take a breather or whatever. McCarran and O'Shea made their way to the chapel.

"Where are you guys going?" I asked.

"Gonna catch some shut-eye. Care to join?"

I followed them. I left without a word as the stream of chatters echo in my ears. It was kind of wrong for us to have gained the rest that we thought we deserved; whereas it was our comrades who bled and fought for it; did all of the work in capturing this town of Beuzeville.

"Wesson! Get over here quick!" Captain Collins barked out.

The night was over at last.

Yet there comes daylight.

And for some reason, I wished that the sun will not shine tomorrow.

-TO BE CONTINUED-