Love is a Wounded Soldier (21 page)

“Is it well with your soul?” he’d ask a
fellow solemnly, his meaty paw gently shaking his shoulder. If the answer was
no, he was sure to set him on the straight and narrow. Several days before the
invasion, he asked me that.

“Yes, sir,” I assured him, looking him
straight in his kind gray eyes.

“That’s a good boy,” he said, smiling
gently and patting my shoulder, “that’s, that’s . . .” he couldn’t finish. He
patted my shoulder a few more times as he blinked at me with watery eyes, and
left.

~~~

“I just want to go home,” Johnny Snarr told
us glumly. He usually didn’t express his feelings openly, except maybe to me,
but tonight, it seemed everyone was prepared to spill their guts. We were all
sure General Eisenhower would issue the command any day now, and everyone was
strung tighter than banjo strings.

“The road home goes through France and
Germany,” Ronnie Fisher piped up cheerily. He was playing a game of poker that
had been going on for a day and a half now. Ronnie was one of the fellows that
was as excited about D-Day as a boy is about Christmas.

“Yeah, well I’d just as soon skip the
scenic route and paddle my way back the way I came,” Johnny replied, his tone
disdaining the eagerness Ronnie displayed.

“Come on, Johnny, don’t you want to win you
some medals?” asked Private First Class Francis Capriotti, putting down his
Lucky Strike to deal another round of cards.

“Fuck the medals,” Johnny replied bitterly.

“The ladies
love
medals,” Francis
said dreamily, and you could tell by the far-off look in his eyes that he was
planning his welcome home parade, the way a young girl plans her wedding. And
he had yet to fire a shot.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do
when you get home?” Johnny asked generally, scanning the circle for a response.
“You know, if you make it.” He gave a forced smile, as though he was trying to
lighten his mood.

“If I make it?” Francis laughed. “Oh, you
don’t need to worry about me makin’ it, it’s the rest of these poor
sonsabitches you need to worry about!” We laughed. Our youthfulness caused most
of us to look at the other guys and think “his poor mother,” never doubting our
own cloak of invincibility was intact.

“Hmm . . .” I thought aloud. “Kiss the wife
and get her to make me some biscuits and gravy,” I smiled, thinking about how I
missed Ellen’s great home cooking—and her loving.

“I’m going to start helping Jedidiah do the
Lord’s work,” Honky-tonk chimed in fervently. I almost smiled, because it
seemed he was saying it extra loud, as though he thought his zeal might
convince the Lord that it would be in the best interests of his kingdom if he
spared the life of this prospective servant.

“Well, amen! Amen!” Jedidiah smiled at him
encouragingly.

“I guess I’ll settle down for a change.
Marry Alice. Help my dad out at the print shop,” Leroy Green contributed
tamely. My ears perked up.

“What does he print?” I asked, trying not
to sound too interested.

“Newspapers,” Leroy replied. “He owns the
Arlington
Daily Herald
.”

“Interesting,” I said thoughtfully. “Well,
if he ever needs a rookie reporter, tell him to put my name at the top of his
list of people to call.”

“I’ll do that,” Leroy promised sincerely.

“What are you going to do, Eddie?” Francis
asked “Crazy Eddie” Gunn. Eddie had been manically preparing for D-Day,
cleaning and oiling his gun compulsively, and now he’d sat on a crate for
nearly an hour, fastidiously honing the edge of his bayonet with a whetstone.

“Huh?” Eddie looked up upon hearing his
name. He was a wild man. He kept to himself, but when we talked about going
into battle, his eyes gleamed.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do
when you go home?” Francis repeated.

“I’m not going home,” Eddie replied,
testing the edge of his bayonet with his thumb and putting it back on the end
of his rifle. He spat on the whetstone, picked up his trench knife, and
painstakingly ran it along the stone.

“What, you going to settle down in Germany
after it’s over?” Harold Meeker asked him jestingly.

“I’ll be somewhere in Europe,” Eddie
responded, his eyes intense as he carefully stroked the stone with the blade.

“There won’t be enough left of me to send
home in a shoebox.” He stopped for a moment, laughed a humorless, chilling
laugh as he looked at our faces, and resumed his task. We stared at him
silently.

“But, you can bet your life I’m going to
stick Betty Bayonet into the chests of a thousand Krauts before they finally
get me.” He brandished his gun.

“Yah!” He yelled and lunged at George
London as though running the bayonet through his body. We all jumped, and there
was daylight between George and his chair.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, be careful with that
thing!” George shouted loudly at him like your father does when he's more
scared than mad. There were no two ways about it, Eddie was unbalanced. I was
glad he’d be shooting the other direction come D-Day. A strained silence
overcame the room. The only sound was the spine-chilling scrape of metal on
stone.

“What about you, Johnny?” someone broke the
silence.

“Huh?” Johnny hoisted his gaze from the
ground.

“What’ll be the first thing you do?”

“Me?” Johnny asked himself, as though he
hadn’t given it any thought. A grin spread slowly over his face.

“Oh, fuck the missus,” he replied to a
chorus of hoots.

“Well, that goes without saying,” Harold
observed. “And what’ll ya do after that?”

Johnny swished the words around in his
mouth. “Flip ’er over and fuck ’er again!” he drawled.

We all laughed. Those were good days.

~~~

Despite all of our training, not all the
men could psychologically cope with the angst of going to war. One paratrooper
drove a knife through the palm of his hand, just to be relieved of his
soldiering duties. Another fellow from C Company washed down a whole can of
chewing tobacco with swigs from the canteen of alcohol we were each given to
use for sterilization of wounds. He managed to miss D-Day in the hospital, but
was shipped to France after his stomach had settled. These men could handle the
certainty of self-inflicted pain, but the unknown of war was too much to bear.

They began loading ships in the beginning
of June, 1944. The HMS
Empire Javelin
was our assigned vessel. We were
to begin Operation Overlord on June 5, but inclement weather caused General
Eisenhower to change his mind. So we waited. We knew our objectives, and had
memorized every landmark drawn on the maps we were shown. The sand tables we’d
studied were accurate, scaled-down versions of the Normandy coast. But still,
the nervousness persisted. The flutter in my stomach was there even when I
wasn’t thinking of going to war. My hands were always moist. The adrenaline
never slowed. Men talked of being home by Christmas. I wasn’t holding my breath
this time.

~~~

Clang! Clang!
The ship’s general alarm bell woke us up at 2:00 a.m. It was June
6, 1944. D-Day. The real deal. Excitement and dread tangoed in my belly to the
beat of my thumping heart.

“Twenty-nine, let’s go!” someone shouted
the 29th Division’s motto as we got ready for a breakfast of meat with gravy,
bread, and coffee. My throat felt like it was clamped shut below my jaw, but I
managed to get some breakfast down. We went down to our sleeping quarters and
geared up.

Men wished friends and former enemies alike
good luck with a sober warmth. Fellows passed around copies of General
Eisenhower’s memo to us for their buddies to autograph.

“
Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the
Allied Expeditionary Force!
” it read.

“
You are about to embark upon the Great
Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world
are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march
with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other
Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the
elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security
for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your
enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened. He will fight
savagely.

But this is the year 1944! Much has
happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted
upon the Germans great defeats in open battle, man-to-man. Our air offensive
has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war
on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in
weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of
trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are
marching together to Victory!

I have full confidence in your courage
and devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full
Victory!

Good luck! And let us beseech the
blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking
.”

SIGNED: Dwight D. Eisenhower

We mingled on the deck of the
Empire
Javelin
, waiting to be transferred to the thirty-man LCAs (Landing Craft,
Assault). A surly wind smacked me in the face with the salty ocean spray. The
sky was still as black as the inside of a whale’s belly, until American B-24
bombers began lighting up the Normandy coastline with thousands of bombs meant
to tenderize German fortifications before we landed. It looked like a southern
sunrise. Streaks of orange shot through the low-lying clouds like lightning as
German anti-aircraft artillery tried to pick off the endless flocks of planes
that hummed overhead.

“Look at that!” First Lt. Floyd Stavely was
as awestruck as I was.

“Quite something,” was all I said, too
engrossed in the fireworks display in front of me to form a longer response.

“Robert?” Floyd asked, turning to me after
a silence.

“Yes?” I looked him in the eye.

“Do you think maybe you could say a few
words to the fellows before we push off? You’ve got more of a way with words .
. . you know?” He looked a little embarrassed. I knew what he meant. He was a
great leader, but not a great communicator.

“I think I could,” I agreed, outwardly
calm, but inwardly uneasy. We were standing in the doorway of history. My words
could affect the future—for good or bad.

Floyd gathered the company to the deck
around us, while I prayed for words to buoy the spirits of the men.

“Gentlemen!” I addressed them. They moved
about like spirited thoroughbreds, restlessly chomping at the bit. Some were
eager to fight, most were just eager to get the fighting over with.

“We stand at the threshold of an
undertaking whose parallel the world has never seen. We embark today on a
mission to chase a mad dog back to his lair, and drive a knife between his
ribs. May the justness of our cause fill you with a strength more potent than
the power evil has inspired in our enemy. I cannot promise you tomorrow. I
cannot promise you this afternoon, or even two more hours. I can promise you
that when the earth sips your lifeblood from you, you will not have bled in
vain. I can promise you that you will not be forgotten, however small a role
you play in this grand theater.” I paused to steady my voice. I was glad the
dusk hid my glistening eyes.

“Comrades. Friends. Brothers. Love your
life, for he who doesn’t love his life has no strength to fight death. But
don’t grow too fond of it, lest you exhaust yourself in trying to save it, and
put your brothers in harm’s way. For your life is a vapor; it appears for a
little while, and vanishes away. But while your life may vanish, you will not.
You’ve been branded on my heart, and on the hearts of your brothers. Your
legacy is ensured. Godspeed comrades! Twenty-nine, let’s go!”

The men cheered and yelled. We wished each
other good luck and got buddies to sign our Eisenhower letters or pictures or
money. Emotions ran high. It was an eerie feeling, to look a man in the eye,
shake his hand and wish him luck, and wonder if those eyes you saw would be
lying dull in their sockets in a few short hours. It was like a carnival of
death. Some men were laughing and joking, some were sober and subdued, others
fought tears.

Eddie Gunn stood alone on the bow, looking
at the fiery coast just eleven miles away. The sky flashed like a Fourth of
July from hell, lighting up his face with each flash. He was like a pit bull on
a leash staring intently at another dog. He looked about ready to jump into the
water and start swimming across.

“You ready, Gunn?” I asked him. His eyes
stayed fixed on the glowing horizon.

“Hell, yeah!” he replied through clenched
teeth.