Total ripoff, yes, I know. Story of the Airborne on D-Day.
***


The drone of the planes resounded in the Lieutenant’s ears, but they were not loud enough to drown out the sound of his beating heart. A folded piece of paper sat in his front pocket like a dull weight. His men had explicit instructions to post it back to his mother to America if he died. He just hoped the letter would never have to be sent.

Flak, in the form of distant explosions, was nearing now, and the men were starting to get anxious. He glanced at his soldiers’ faces, a reassuring smile on his face – or at least what looked like a smile. It was a far cry from what he was feeling.

A few feeble jokes were made [anyone want to buy a good watch?], trying to lighten the morose mood. A few men chuckled, but not for long. Was there anything that would make them happier? Thought the Lieutenant, almost desperately.

The planes were flying faster now, and they were slowly beginning to lose altitude. The Drop Zone must have been close for the red light had come on and the flak had reached them. Struggling to his feet, no easy feat for his equipment weighed almost as much as he did, the Lieutenant shouted, “STAND UP AND HOOK UP!” It was hard to be heard over the planes – and the fact that the plane was being tossed around like salad did not help. The men stood up and hooked up quietly, each lost in their own world of thought.

“SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!” the Lieutenant yelled as loudly as he could, the ack ack and planes almost drowning him out. Obediently the men slapped each other on the shoulder and sounded off. ’17 OK!...16 OK!...15 OK!...” and so it continued down the line until it was the Lieutenant’s turn to say “1 OK!”

The deathly silence resumed as they waited for the green light, not helped in any way by the flak now booming close to the planes. The Lieutenant struggled towards the open door, only to be forced back when flak burst right outside their plane. Looking out of the window, he saw that the wing had caught fire. Just great.

Someone shouted, “If we’re flying any lower we won’t need any chutes!” this forced a few smiles from the men. Not from the Lieutenant, though. On the contrary, he felt that the soldier had a very good point. The planes were flying so low now that they could probably climb down with a ladder.

A piece of flak smashed through the bottom of the plane and one trooper cried out in anguish. The piece had gone right through his leg, coming out at his thigh. Quickly the Lieutenant ordered him to go right to the back. The trooper was really pissed – he had been training for this moment for two years and now this just had to happen. Masking a slight smile at the man’s attitude, the Lieutenant struggled to the door again and peeked out.

Shrapnel scraped his cheek, leaving a dark gash. Blood dripped onto his uniform, spreading, as the Lieutenant fumbled with his pocket, trying to find bandages. The green light came on at that moment. He was too busy taking care of his injury to notice it, however, until the second man tapped him on the shoulder tentatively. He looked around wildly before noticing the green light. Smiling sheepishly, he yelled, “GERONIMO!” before launching himself into space.

The Lieutenant landed roughly, in a dark field. He hastened to take his Mae West vest off and searched for his leg bag, which had somehow disappeared along with all his equipment. All he found was a broken piece of rope – and even that was a miracle in itself, seeing as it was pitch dark. Cursing, the Lieutenant moved off in the direction his leg bag was most likely to have snapped off – only to be met by a German machine gun.

To hell with that! He thought privately as he set off in the opposite direction.

The silence was unsettling as he trekked through the dense foliage and hedgerows, alone, armed with nothing but a knife he had hidden in his boot and a cricket used to identify himself. A movement in front startled him. “Flash!” he whispered the code word quickly, clicking his cricket once just to be sure.

No answer. Creeping up silently, the Lieutenant walked closer and clicked the cricket again. Still no reply. He moved closer and tapped the man on the shoulder, knife in his hand.

The man whirled around and they recognized each other instantly. “Jeez, sir, don’t kill me!” the man held up his arms. He stood up and walked towards him, followed by a few others.

“You dense sod! Why didn’t you answer?!” hissed the Lieutenant furiously, although as angry as he may have seemed, he was really glad for the appearance of one of the best men in the company and his trusted friend, Sergeant Hastings.

“Didn’t hear you,” he replied by way of explanation.

“Then why didn’t you click the stupid cricket?”

Hastings shrugged. “Lost the clicking part,” he said.

***

The men had managed to salvage a map from a German the soldiers had killed. The Lieutenant dug around, searching for something, until he gave a triumphant smile and produced a miniscule compass. Squinting at the map in what little moonlight there was, aided by the fact that Hastings had seen a signboard about one mile down the road saying “Ste. Mere Eglise”, the Lieutenant figured out where they were. There was just one little problem.

“Well, base is that way,” he said at last. “But, we’re a good way off. As in a very, very long way off. For heaven’s sakes, this is the 82nd’s drop zone!”

Hastings cursed. “Still think we’ll get there on time, sir?” he asked softly.

“As long as we set off immediately, we hurry, and we march through the night,” was the reply.

Hastings grinned. “Well, we’ve nothing else to do but march, right? There’s no time or place to sleep, and we can’t go around killing Germans all night.”

“Who says we can’t?” asked another soldier indignantly. Hastings offered him a smile. “Me. Now, let’s get going!”

***

They trekked all night, and by the time they neared base they were pretty beat. The moment they stepped inside a messenger came running. “Sir,” he panted, “Lieutenant Lewis wants to see you, sir. I think you’re needed up front.”

Obediently the Lieutenant trotted forward, inwardly laughing with relief that his best friend, Lt. Ron Lewis, was alive and well. A big smile was plastered on his face at the thought of seeing him again.

The smile was no longer there when the meeting was over, however. He was fuming as he gathered the soldiers to tell them what they had to do.

“We’ve got to destroy four 105mm canons firing down on Utah,” he said, grimacing. The soldiers looked stunned as they protested.

“With ten men? Are you friggin’ kiddin’?” exploded Hastings incredulously. “155mm guns and god knows how many Krauts against ten of US?”

The Lieutenant grinned mirthlessly. “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said tersely, before beginning to outline the plan.

The men listened in shocked silence. Finally, when the Lieutenant came to the end of the briefing and asked, “Any questions?” Hastings raised a hand. “Sir,” he drawled, “Can we just surrender instead? Seems a helluva lot more easier than what you’ve just told us.”

***

The Germans might have had the advantage in numbers and armor, but they had surprise. The Lieutenant reckoned that they probably wouldn’t expect anyone to attack them, least of all a ten man paratrooper team. He had made sure that everyone knew their jobs before moving out. If this didn’t work, he didn’t know what would.

They moved out quickly, silently. The guns were relatively easy to find, seeing as they knew their exact location. Soon they had fanned out and were in their exact positions before the attack started.

At the count of three the men attacking through the trenches threw their grenades. At the same time, the two machine guns opened fire, making Krauts dive for cover. The Germans were absolutely confused. That was good. The Lieutenant had been banking on that. They now charged through the first trench, hiding around the corners, shooting the Krauts and withdrawing slightly after every Kraut killed. Using this “shoot and withdraw” tactic they managed to take the first gun, losing one man killed. Unfortunately there was no TNT to blow it up.

“Never mind,” said the Lieutenant. “We’ve no time. Secure this gun and we’ll go get the next one.”

A hail of bullets interrupted his words. The Germans were regrouping now, and were starting to fight back. They too had MG42s, and to top it all off mortars as well. The Lieutenant peeked out and took a look. Ping! A bullet shot his helmet off. He fell back, a dazed expression on his face. “NO!” hollered Hastings, rushing to his side.

The Lieutenant looked at the expression on Hastings’ face and said hesitantly, “I’m alright! I’m alright…am I alright?”

Hastings continued to stare at him concernedly. The Lieutenant shoved his helmet back on. “Stop looking at me like that!” he exclaimed, annoyed with Hastings for no particular reason.

The battle resumed ferociously – not that it stopped, anyway. The mortars – both German and American – were exploding all around them as they ran through the trenches, guns blazing. It was a miracle that no more Americans were killed, seeing as the German MG42s were ferociously firing non-stop. Hastings found a young sapling and climbed it, firing at the Germans in the other trenches. Grenades were lobbed, bullets were fired, mortars were shot, and with that the second gun was taken.

The demolition “team” – a man carrying blocks of TNT – arrived. The Lieutenant directed him to blow the first and second guns. This he did, and pretty efficiently. The loud explosions gave the men reason to cheer, and boosted their morale immensely.

Turning the corner the Lieutenant stopped abruptly. An MG42 was pointed directly at him. Without thinking, he ducked, rolled, and opened fire. The two men manning the machine gun keeled over, dead, with shocked expressions still etched on their faces.

But the MG42 had gotten him thinking. If there were these men and machine guns suddenly appearing out of nowhere, then there had to be replacements. And if there were replacements…

Damn. Grabbing his M1 – that he had borrowed from a dead soldier the night before – tightly, the Lieutenant crawled cautiously through the extending trench behind the two machine gunners. What he saw shocked him.

It was a whole, dozing company of Germans. Without really thinking, the Lieutenant dropped to one knee and fired into the midst of the Krauts, at the same time yelling, “Hastings! Turner! Gerard! On me!”

The three men in question raced towards the direction of the Lieutenant’s voice, Hastings jumping off his precarious perch in the process. They were, however, also stunned at what they saw; the Lieutenant, discharging round after round into a huge German unit in a widened trench. Hastings, true to his name, hastened to help the young officer, with the other two on his heels. Pulling pins, they lobbed grenades into the Germans, Hastings watching in satisfaction as his grenade landed squarely on a Kraut’s head and blew him to bits.

They were armed and dangerous, and nothing seemed to be able to stop them. Although the Lieutenant was hit in the leg and Hastings in the cheek, they still managed to keep on firing. Mortar fire started coming in, bombarding the helpless Krauts, most of whom were unarmed. Soon the entire company had almost been annihilated and they had taken 11 prisoners. Not bad for three guys and a few mortars, the Lieutenant thought proudly. “Back to the battle now,” he told his men, who nodded grimly and trekked out again, but not before Hastings said, “But weren’t we already in the battle?”

Outside, the battle was raging in full force. The third gun had been taken and blown, but the fourth gun was being well-defended by troops desperate not to lose the entire battery. Just when the battle seemed to be tilting to the German’s favor, the cavalry arrived.

“Matt!” called the Lieutenant delightedly. Lt. Matthew Spears was the commander of the 1st Platoon, D Company, and he’d arrived with four men. Matt, in his typical “shoot first, talk later” trigger happy style, directly charged the gun, losing one man killed. After the sight reinforcements, coupled with a crazy figure charging straight for them, the Germans didn’t seem that keen on fighting anymore. “Funny bunch,” Matt remarked as he gunned down the German mercilessly. “You would’ve thought 5 reinforcements wouldn’t have scared them.”

“Although,” Hastings quipped, “They seemed pretty scared of you more than anything else.”

***

The celebrations that night were marred by bad news. A runner came looking for the Lieutenant, looking rather solemn. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, passing the Lieutenant a letter, which he in turn opened, biting his lip. The truck they were in had gone deathly quiet. The Lieutenant read through briefly and turned away, climbing out of the truck silently. The letter had “regretted” informing him that his mother had died. Now he had no one – his father had died a long time ago and he was an only child.

The letter in his pocket was still there. He pulled it out of its residing spot and sliced it open.

Dear mom, it read,

If you’re reading this, if you have received this, it means I would be dead. Not that this letter would be necessary, since you would have received a telegram as well. I just wanted to tell you not to be sad, since I’m already gone. The hugest amount of grief wouldn’t get me back from the dead. Don’t try to cry or to be sad too much. Get on with your life and don’t worry about me. I’m in a better place now. I’ve seen too much of war and depression. Don’t worry. Just take heart in remembering that your son died for his men, for his country…and for you.

Your loving son…

His name had smudged, becoming one dark splotch of ink. Not that it mattered now. His mom was dead. There was now no one to send it to.

Closing his eyes, he tore the note into half, then into quarters, and crumpled the pieces. Tossing it over his shoulder, he put his hands in his pockets and walked away slowly.

As he walked, he made a silent vow to himself. He prayed to God, asking him to guide him safely, to let him survive the war, to let him go home, and to let him find the one thing he had been searching for all his life.

Peace.

Finis