CHAPTER 8 "Smiles"

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn for those who have died. Rather, we should thank God that such men lived…"

-General Patton

Beuzeville-au-Plain, Normandy; France

D-Day

4 hours later…

Quite frankly, I have never been in a cemetery before. Only once. But that was when my grandfather was laid to rest in Missouri. I was only 3 years old, as Mom retold to me. A place like that had always cast down to me a ghastly and mournful atmosphere, even though I have never visited such a place when I can now assess the stark difference of life and death.

In a narrow field between two houses were freshly dug graves of our fallen. Stretched out and lined up in an orderly manner. I never really saw this part of the town. The bodies piled up in a field I saw earlier last night were just a preliminary for this.

Helmets were resting upon rifles and wooden crosses that are erected on the ground; honouring their once alive and well masters. Decorating these graves were the names; either written by charcoal or branded by the dog tags strung on them.

It was a shame that the dead Germans never had such a privilege.

Many would dare not answer the reason why. The bodies were laid in a fallow pasture outside of town; with stacks of hay to bury them.

Rosenbaum was sitting near one of the crosses. A bleak trace of sorrow was etched in his face. After the battle earlier, there came a placid ambience amongst us who survived. I was thankful that we have one; since I never had the chance to fire my rifle again after I ran outside from the restaurant. But now, everything felt like last night; everyone barely had the courage or strength left to even talk to one another.

Wesson was killed.

So are 9 others.

No rites and rituals were held after the remains were gathered. Lieutenant Speyer smirked that by doing so, the Germans may catch us with our pants down. Isn't that something?

I approached Dieter, holding the glasses of the fallen John Wesson.

"You OK, Rosenbaum?"

Being nice to a stranger works; even though I only met this fellow here 4 hours ago.

"Yeah…just a little shaky…" he murmured.

"Shaky, huh? Where did you learn that?"

"I can say that there are a lot of terms I still need to learn from you Yanks." He managed to crack a smile.

"John taught you that; didn't he?"

"Yeah. He was one of those people whom I signed up together with. We got close since then."

I myself was not close to John. I only met Wesson at training day; he almost got RTUed when they found out that he was an arachnophobic. Sergeant Donnelly remarked that nobody wanted a geeky-chicken in his platoon. His fear didn't cause him his life anyway. Ironically it was his courage. Dieter paused for a moment as he stared at his grave. I needed to cheer up this guy. But, I don't know him that much.

"So where do you live? And how did you get yourself in the military anyway?" I asked him.

"Heh…well, I'm from Boston. My parents and I left Munich in Germany after they began rounding up Jews. I don't know how I got myself here in the Airborne…maybe I was lucky enough to have had a place that will welcome me. Or us, in our case."

"So there were more of you guys?"

"Not just German. I saw some Polish too, in our lodging back in Ireland. But probably these guys were already in America decades before this war started."

Yeah. Probably. Reminds me of the folks who flocked to New York during the 30's.

"Hey Turner! Who's your new friend?"

It was O'Shea. I didn't felt him walking up behind me. I turned around. Hugh was with him as always. Unusually, they were smiling. The second instance I saw after the happenings earlier.

"You always like sneaking up on me, do you David?" I smirked.

"Heh heh…Old habits die hard, man." He laughed.

"So, this is where all the others are…" McCarran looked around.

"Others?"

"I mean the dead ones, dumbass."

It was strange. Being surrounded by several graves didn't bother me that much; even though I knew I wasn't comfortable in any place like this. Probably this is the effect of gathering yourself together after winning a fight. Especially like the one this morning. Almost nobody was smiling after that. All we can do is to snap out from the hell we experienced from the Germans; the wreckage of their own making.

I sipped some water from my canteen. I sure wished that the guys from Utah Beach arrive soon. The constant alertness we have to experience was getting unhealthy for all of us. The enemy may be coming back again. If that would happen we'll find ourselves smacked into another battle. The routine gets tiring every time.

What to do from here? Nothing much. We sent a few guys on patrol earlier; try to see if there are any more Germans coming or if the boys from Utah are already en route. One headed north, the other headed the opposite. Lieutenant Speyer headed the one bound north. Captain Collins managed to procure for them two Type 88 Kubelwagens for their journey. The guys from Baker Company were able to fix them.

Speaking of fixing, I forgot about the radio that Dieter was working on.

"Hey Rosenbaum, how's the radio you were…"

"I told Wesson before. It's WAY beyond repairing. All we should do is to just pray that our friends at the beaches reach us first."

"Wait a minute! You're Rosenbaum?" McCarran asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"The German guy from 2nd Platoon? From Sergeant Spears' boys?"

"In the flesh Hugh…" O'Shea remarked.

"What about his name?" I said to him.

"No, nothing. Just curious. I heard that he almost got expelled from training after they knew about him. The brass wanted his ass out of Toccoa so bad that they even got a tit-for-tat with the Immigration guys."

"But they were convinced that a kraut like me can do some good for them." Rosenbaum smirked.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Interrogating, deceiving, translating… and of course kicking their asses back to the Deutschland."

"You wouldn't mind shooting your 'countrymen' would you?"

"They're just the enemy. No more, no less. They were shooting at me last night anyway."

"Really?" O'Shea giggled.

"Yeah! I was crying out in German 'don't shoot! I'm a German! I'm a German!' But did they listen!"

The laughter was brief. But the distressed atmosphere of the place quickly took over us again. It all turned bitter. Silence. The mounds of ground containing remains of fellow paratroopers gave a hollow premonition; reminding me that death was inevitable. Right in front of us used to be people fighting beside us; people who were not lucky enough to have lived through the day. They were the ones we knew we have the power to save. But what can we do?

Nothing. Just to stay alive.

McCarran glanced back at the crosses. He stood up and came to me.

"Here, Robert..."

From his pocket, he gave me a card. An Ace of Hearts. By just holding the partly crumpled thinness, I instantly knew who owned it.

"Hey, ain't this…Clyde's…?"

"Yeah…" He muttered.

It was his lucky card. He said that it one him his very first poker game. It gave him luck since then.

I soon remembered about him. Shanny was the guy next to me during the drops last night. I didn't bother where he was; I was a few seconds late when I took that leap. McCarran and O'Shea managed to meet up with each other. Somehow we forgot all about him.

Hugh's face was depressing. The same look he gave to me during our trip to here last night.

"Clyde's dead…He drowned in a flooded field just outside Foucarville."

"What? How did you-"

"The plane swerved the moment you jumped out. I landed at the wrong place; but just a few runs away from his. That card was snagged in his helmet. That's how I found him…"

So that was it…

"I took off my gear and made a quick swim. I got him back to the ground. I tried to save him…"

Hugh never failed. He took it not as a pride, but as a challenge he keeps on winning. And somehow, God wanted us to make our firsts. In his case, his first failure. No wonder why he was gloomy. No wonder why he felt the same way when Lewis got hit last night. The feel of letting one man down was discomforting. McCarran takes it very seriously.

"You should bury it, Turner. With these guys. I think he desperately needs to play poker with them." Hugh gave a bitter laugh.

This war caused much change for us that fast. It only took one night to see many few lose their lives. And now, it took a few more to complement for the day.

Then, I suddenly began thinking about Gretchen. Perhaps this was one of the things she was talking about; the risk of dying. Wasting my life for the both of us.

"They're here! Lieutenant Speyer's here!" A shout was heard from the distance.

We all stood up and ran towards the ruined fences and sandbags in the edge of town. The car was moving past the derelict Tiger Tank and half-tracks across the field afar; following the swerving road in front of it. It soon arrived at the sentry. The Lieutenant seems to have something very important to say; a bit of smile was strewn from his face.

Captain Collins came to meet with Lieutenant Speyer's group.

"What's the news Lieutenant?"

He got out; a bit panting because of exhaustion, until he finally spoke out.

"They're coming."

"Who?"

He smiled. "Care to take a guess?"

He brought a fresh bottle of whisky, Blended American. With it is a box of supplies; patented in dark initials "US ARMY". Cheers and joy began to smile from their faces.

"They just hooked up with the Airborne guys at Foucarville up north."

"Alright!" others cheered.

"They certainly took their sweet time!"

It had been a tiring day. And now our buddies at the beaches are finally meeting up with us. The Longest Day was over at last. My voice joined their roars for joy. In the end, I was happy to have earned my rest.

-TO BE CONTINUED-