CHAPTER 6 "A Calm Before Tomorrow"

Ellsworth, Kansas; 1937, Saturday
"You should really get used to this job, Matthew."

"How can I get used to it? I break my back everyday and I can only earn enough for one loaf of bread."

"Yeah. Yeah…or maybe half a dozen eggs, or a bottle of milk…"

"And now, the union can't even appeal to Ford about our conditions." He sighed

"It'll take time, Matt. Remember, you lose this job and we've got nothing left but this house to sell."

"I know, Martha. But you can't expect us to keep our mouths shut because broken hands and wrists and faces splotched with motor oil ain't enough for us to have our appeals sent on federal court."

My parents were again discussing at the dinner table. Again, Labour issues. The 30's was truly a hard time for my family. Of course it would. Since Wall Street crashed in 1929, Mom lost her job at the dairy farm. Dad lost his at the bank just downtown from my neighbourhood. They were both lucky, though, to have at least kept all of us well-fed.

My father Matthew got hired in a car factory. Mom had a job in the local dry cleaning. Weekends, she handles a bread line in Missouri; travelling by train at 6 in the morning.

Life's hard. All I can think about are my studies, yet I needed to help. Saturdays, I worked for Mr. Doe and his home improvement thing. He pays me 50 cents a day, a dollar or two if the work was tough or if I worked overtime. His house was a terrible mess. He just moved here two months ago, after he had bought the old house two blocks away from our street. That house was once owned by the Parkers, before they shipped to Britain. It has been left to rot since then.

Last Saturday I helped fix the broken water pipe in the basement. It was difficult. The old man's really thankful, anyways. I don't know where he gets all those bucks he keeps on paying me. Some say he runs the small bakery down the road. But Chris and George suspect him to have worked for the Chicago mob bosses and that he moved here to Kansas to hide from the cops. They claim that they saw a lot of boxes in Mr. Doe's backyard; crates containing bootlegs and other liquor.

"Aren't you going to eat that Robert?" Dad called me up.

"Yeah…just thinking something…" I mumbled.

"Eat all up. Not everyone's lucky to even have dinner." Mother said.

"How's that old man Arthur today?" He asked; a frown in his face. He too had doubts about him.

"Oh…Mr. Doe didn't show up today…"

"Really?"

"…His car wasn't in the front yard though…"

Dad grinned, "I knew he was with those mob-"

"Matt!" Mother spoke up.

"What? I'm just kidding!"

Dad wasn't a drinker. One Saturday evening, during our family reunion, I came home from Mr. Doe's place; I had with me a bottle of Scotch whisky. Nobody in town can even afford that after the Prohibition back in the 20's as far as we're concerned. Since then Dad has his suspicions with the old man.

That night as well, I drank with my dad. We climbed up in the attic, Chris and George with me as well as my cousin Tommy and Uncle Douglas enjoyed a few bottles of whisky; the Scotch that I brought home was the last we touched. Yeah…that was a happy time amidst the Great Depression. I remembered Mom screaming to us to pipe down; our smiling and laughing lasted until mid night.

That was the only time dad ever drank, you know to drink to forget. I could still savour the spirits and the bitter-sweet taste every time I take sips on something else. Like a memory one could always recall.

0800 Hours, Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day; day-break

It was morning. Finally. The guys on the beaches must have landed by now. They were just a few miles away from us but that seems like a million in our point of view. Right now, there is nothing much to do but to hold up with the guys who took this town earlier. Fortunately, there might be no counter-attacks from the krauts. Right now, we hoped today should be a calm before tomorrow.

I was sipping on some wine, together with Wesson at the cellar below the restaurant; where Captain Collins and the rest of the officers are discussing right above us.

"What do they call this thing again?" I asked.

"The French guys called this one cognac. Some sort of French brandy…"

"Damn…it smells like Normandy brandy to me. Tastes like cherry water too." I gulped down my cup.

"Maybe it got aged quite too long."

"I could sure use some Scotch. You seen any whisky bottles here?"

"Nope." Wesson finished his as he replied, "We're in France, dumbass, you won't see any English brands here."

A good way to start breakfast. Cornbread and some wine. The heat surely woke me up.

"Gotta get back to work." Wesson stood up.

"Where're you going, John?" I asked.

"Oh…forgot to mention…our radio got broken during the jump."

"Guess it's your fault, eh?" I smiled.

"Yeah, yeah…Come on Robert." He bid.

We walked up the stairs; Captain Collins and the rest are busy discussing today's plans. I tried to filter out their chatter coming to my ears. I don't want to hear any imminent tasks of today. Though I'm awake, I didn't get much sleep last night. The chapel was cold; even with a blanket on. The planes and gunfire outside kept rocking me from my drowsiness even when I closed my eyes.

But I couldn't help it. I overheard the situation talked about by the Captain. On their table were maps. Lines and circles jot out our location and the enemy's.

"…Possibly 2 more platoons will come to counter-attack. They could take the road from Chef-du-Pont and take a turn away from Ste. Mere-Eglise, making us the next town ahead of them. Right now, for defence we got 3 captured MG-42s, one Browning 30 cal, we got 3 mortars and several caches of Panzer Fausts scattered throughout the town. We were lucky enough to have salvaged most of them."

"Most of these were stationed down south sir. That place is the most likely entry point for the Germans." Lieutenant Alderman spoke.

"Why would they attack us anyway?" Lieutenant Speyer asked.

"Ste. Mere-Eglise is a vital town for the Germans. Anything around it could be as important as it is."

"How about the possibility of an attack from the garrisons near Utah, Sergeant? How about here in Foucarville up north? Our drive from there last night had us encounter numerous German vehicles; possibly en route to reinforce the town." Captain Collins asked as he pointed out in the map.

"That wouldn't be possible sir." Sergeant Donnelly sighed, "As far as I'm concerned the 82nd may have already taken Ste. Mere-Eglise. They'll be sending many of troops there to re-take it; the Foucarville reinforcements might be bound for the town or at Utah Beach; that's for sure."

"But we shouldn't forget the troops from St. Lo and Carentan" Lieutenant Speyer cut in, "They alone can be allotted for the retaking of Ste. Mere-Eglise; there are enough of them stationed there. The rest would probably be sent to reinforce Utah beach…"

"…And they'll be taking this road. Here in our position." The Captain muttered.

"Well, that's just a speculation."

"We really need to get our radio fixed quick…" Sergeant Donnelly spoke up.

Jesus…I heard too much

Their eyes glanced towards me and Wesson. "I thought you were with Rosenbaum, Wesson?" Captain Collins asked out.

"Oh…uh…I was just having my breakfast downstairs…" His voice quivered.

"Get your ass back with him! We got a lot of work to do!"

"Yes, sir."

We went outside. Airborne guys sprinkled everywhere, jostling at the town going about their routines like the townsfolk here used to be. Sentries were positioned in the buildings, keeping at watch. The structures ablaze last night were reduced to a charcoaled heap; smoke billowing from their ruins. I heard from the others that more guys from Able Company managed to come by the village at dawn when I was asleep; as well as an assortment of a few others from Fox and Baker. The place seemed like a haven.

The landings were surely a mess last night.

The guy named Rosenbaum was in a barber shop, tending tediously at the disassembled radio. It looked like the standard one issued to every platoon. Its bag was missing, though.

"What's up Dieter?" Wesson spoke up.

"Guten Tag…"

"You already done with it there?"

"You're asking me? I thought you're the one who knew about the clockwork of this."

"Just see what you can do."

"Hey! I wouldn't be doing this if only you haven't landed right in the middle of a pond and used this as a shield last night! Dummkopf!" ("Idiot")

He spoke with a very odd accent. As his name implies, I'm quite sure that this Rosenbaum guy is an immigrant; a German. It was odd; I didn't saw him back in Toccoa.

Wesson went beside him; try to see what's wrong as he fumbles his glasses. I placed my rifle next to his, on top of a table.

"The transistor is dead broken. Way beyond repair. I fixed the tuner but with this much damage…"

"Shit. How are we going to explain this to the Captain?" Wesson sighed.

"…"

"How about you, Turner? What do you think?"

"What? That thing is your problem, John. Not mine!"

"I think we should find parts for it right now." Rosenbaum suggested. "Come on, this is a village right? I think there's bound to be something we could use to repair this. Wie tust sie typen stehen?" ("What do you guys say?")

"Yeah…as if there's a radio repair shop here! Give me a break!"

But he could be right.

"I think Rosenbaum's right. There is a chance there can be-"

yells>

I couldn't finish my words. Somebody was shouting out. I heard it. Then it became louder as it sounded; clear as the daylight today.

All 3 of us looked at each other, in awe. I cursed as I hurried. We grabbed our rifles and ran outside, so are the rest. And with a flick of a finger, the tranquil day ended immediately. Everybody was hustling outside. The yells kept ringing our bells back to reality; back to action:

"WE GOT COMPANY!"

"TIGER TANK INCOMING!"

-TO BE CONTINUED-