An American in Paris ( OPEN TO ALL )

[Harry Hamilton]

Paris, 1944. The city of love and all that jazz. His dad had told him stories about Paris and its charms. He had praised the architecture, the food, the people..he had worshipped Paris. Needless to say, Harry had been excited to visit the city whenever he got a pass. He'd soon been issued one, and off he went in his service uniform complete with garrison cap. He didn't bring any weapons except for his Browning Hi-Power, which he kept at his side at all times.


It was like that Gershwin song--"An American In Paris." He hummed the song softly to himself as he strolled down the shady lanes. He bumped into several other soldiers, who glared at him at first but held their tongues when they saw his stripes. He grinned to himself before walking into a a restaurant. He ordered tea and sipped it at one of the tables outside. The other soldiers at the restaurant had ordered ales and beers.

Harry wasn't much of a drinker. He had his first beer overseas and that was it for him. He seldom drank afterward. He could smell the scent of freshly baked baguettes wafting through the air, drawing him in and intoxicating him. He bought one and chewed it happily. He felt like a kid in a candy store. Here he was with all the food he could ask for after months of fighting on the front. Now he had a break from the hell that was war. The sight of men without limbs and crying and reaching their breaking points. He would never forget what he saw, but right now he pushed the thoughts away.

He wondered if anyone else from his company had gotten a pass. He was the only one from the platoon that had been granted one. He took another sip of his tea before picking up a newspaper someone had left behind on the table. After a few seconds of examining it he realized it was in French and put it down. He couldn't read or speak a word of French.

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

Paris. A city Furey had flown over time and time again during the battle of Normandy, but never once did he drop a bomb on this beautiful city. Both the Germans and Americans called it a "Open City", a city that would not be shelled, nor bombed, to keep it from going ablaze. He had been in town for the victory parade a few weeks ago, and had a meeting with fellow British and French Air-core officer to discuss future battles. Sitting next to him in his Plymouth was a Luftwaffe General, his personal Prisioner of war, whom he had taken to the meeting to discuss their flying expertise. It was rather strange to Furey, being so close to a German Luftwaffe General, in his uniform and everything, and not shooting him, but he had grown to like this man, he was a smart man, and from what Furey could tell, one of the few German officers not stuck up in the Nazi Idiology, to Furey, this man only wanted to protect his country, and wanted this war to end as quickly as possible, and Furey respected that.

Furey found himself driving his Plymouth down the long roads of Paris, trying to find a nice little place to relax and get himself, and the General, a cup of coffee, for he'd promised the man a cup of Cafe, and Furey never went back on his word, not even for a German. He looked around, rolling down the street with his drivers side window open. He found himself loving paris, He had been in the victory parade, four cars behind Eisenhower, and three cars infront of Patton, it was quite the exilerating thing for him, he had always wanted to meet those grand officers, but he had never gotten the chance to do it, they were always too busy to talk to a loley Airforce Major.

After a moment, he found a nice little resturant, and slowed his car to a stop infront of it, closing the window of his car before he stepped out of the car, closing the door carefully. He looked around, putting on his Officers cap, the bright golden insignia and deep blue color catching a few French womens attention, and they waved at him. He looked over as the General, a man named Hans von Krueger, stepped out of the car, nodding at him. Furey made sure he had his three Pistols, a Colt, a Webly Revolver, and a Browning High-Powered. Two of his pistols were in side holsters, and one was in his shoulder holster.

Furey led the General into the Resturant, passing by a soldier he'd recognized, but wasnt exactly sure who he was, so he let it go for a moment. The aroma of freshly backed bread and pastries filled the air of the small resturant as Furey asked Hans "Was würde Sie mögen?"What would you like?

Hans looked over at him, and looked at the menu for a moment, before saying "Gerade ein Schwarzer Kaffee, Danke."(Just a Black Coffee, Thank you.)

Furey nodded, walking over to the counter, and asked the counter attendant, a beautiful young woman, "Deux cafés noirs s'il vous plaît, merci."(Two Black Coffees, please.

She smiled, replying "Dont worry, I speak English, so you do not have to speak French. And will there be anything else?"

Furey shook his head, smiling as he replied "No thank you, that will be all". Furey pulled otu his wallet, putting the money to pay for the coffee on the table. Furey looked around, as the woman said "We will bring your coffee out to you two."

Furey smiled, nodding, and said "Folgen Sie Mir, Hans.".(Follow me, Hans.)

Hans nodded, following Furey out the front door as he looked around for a seat. Most, if not all, the table were taken, mainly by French civilians. He noticed the soldier he'd recognized still sitting down, at a table with three empy chairs. He suddenly realized who it was, A man named Harry Hamilton, he'd met at one of his private parties back in Northern France, at his private mansion taken as a spoil of war.

He walked over, introducing himself, by saying "Hello, Sergeant Harry Hamilton. I believe that we know eachother. I am Major Furey Campellone, we met when you came to one of my parties. Would you mind if my friend an I sat down?"

[Harry Hamilton]

Despite the war, the city was a lively as ever. He could hear music from inside the shop, and could see couples dancing. He turned back around and caught sight of a French woman who looked distinctly like a character from Casablanca. He watched her for a while before shaking his head and drinking some more of his tea.

It was a fine city. He'd give it that. He didn't know what all the hype was about though. Maybe it was because he was homesick. After being over there for two years it would only make sense. He tried not to think about his homesickness, especially during battle. It was distracting, and the smallest distraction could cost you victory, as well as your life.

He supposed the only good thing about the war was the fact that through it he had met the girl he intended to marry. It was two years ago, during Operation Torch. Harry had been shot in the arm and evacuated to a field hospital. A nurse named Elsa had taken care of him and brought him back to health. They began seeing each other soon after, and he promised to marry her after the war--whenever that was.

He couldn't guess when the war would end. Not anymore. After D-Day, he, like everyone else, thought that the Germans would give up every day. But that wasn't what fate had in store for them.

He could no longer predict what was going to happen to him or the division in general. He knew that at some point he'd go into combat with his new division. He wasn't exactly worried. He'd seen combat in North Africa, and had taken over his platoon when his CO was KIA. That had earned him the rank of Sergeant. No, he was worried about leading this entirely new group of men. Most of them were his age or younger, and had not been in combat before. He'd need to motivate them, and he would need to earn their trust and loyalty.

He knew he could do that. He'd done it before. But the difference was that he had only temporarily had control of the platoon in North Africa. He was platoon leader from now until he was either relieved or killed. These men's lives were in his hands. He had realized that in North Africa, but he had been so calm under fire. All that had mattered was getting the job done. He had to do that now. He had to prepare his men for combat, and lead them into battle. He had to do what was expected of him.

He drank some more tea and looked up as someone addressed him. It was an officer--he could see that he was a Major. When he introduced himself as Furey Campellone, he nodded, suddenly remembering him. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't mind." He reached into his pocket and held out a pack of cigarettes to the two men. "Cigarette?"

[Tech Sgt. John Whitmoor]

John was on yet another leave, this time in the city of Paris. He had gotten so many leaves that some guys from the 101st had described him as legally going AWOL. It didn't bother John, but he had put a stop to that, just in case bitterness might result. It wasn't his fault that he was getting so much leave time anyway, blame the higher-ups, who sent the papers down to the noncoms.

Anyway, John was in Paris, enjoying the sights, the food, the music, the women, the monuments and architecture, everything. But right now, John was in a food moment, walking over to a small restaurant, where he barely noticed an officer's vehicle parked in front. It didn't matter, as long as John got some food. But, the line was long, and John had to wait a while. When it was his turn, he used his basic French to order a ratatouille and some black coffee. It probably didn't go together, but John didn't care he was hungry.

When he finally got his food, John went outside to look around for a place to sit. The only place he could find was with three other soldiers. At first, they were unrecongnisable, but as John got closer, he realised that he knew two of them. He walked over to the table. "Major Campellone! Sergeant Hamilton! What a surprise meeting you two here? Mind if I sit down?" And without really waiting for a response, John sat down. He looked across the table, and saw a German officer of the Luftwaffe staring back at him. "Guten Tag, Offizier. Mein Name ist Oberfeldwebel John Whitmoor, der 101st Airborne Division. Was ist dein Name?"

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

Furey nodded, smiling as he took a seat, and watched as Hans took a seat also. He looked around, before noticing that Harry was offering him and Hans a Cigarette. Furey shook his head, pulling out a package of Cigars, saying ”I’ll one up you, Have a cigar.”. Hans didn’t hesitate, taking a cigar from the leather holder, and biting the end of it, spitting it out onto the ground before pulling out a lighter, and lighting it.

Furey smiled, lighting his own cigar as he bit the end out, spitting it onto the ground just as the German did, and inhaled it deeply. He looked at Harry, and said ”I haven’t seen you in some time, but I see your on leave in Paris. How has this city treated you?”

Before Harry could reply, the counter attendant delivered His, and his Generals, cup of coffee, and Furey took out his cigar for a moment, taking a long sip of the coffee, and gave a long sigh of content. He looked around, and returned his looked to Harry, but before they could strike up a conversation, another allied soldier made his way over to them, introducing himself as John Whitmoor. Furey nodded, saying ”Nice to see you again, John.”. When John asked if he could sit with them, he simply stated ”Im a guest of Mr. Hamilton, you must ask him first.”

Furey looked around as John took a seat, and spoke to Hans as he sipped his coffee, and smoked his cigar. Furey smiled as Hans introduced himself, saying ” Hallo, John. Ich bin General Hans von Krueger von der deutschen Luftwaffe.”.(Hello, John. I am General Hans Von Krueger, from the German Luftwaffe.)

Furey smiled, sipping his coffee, before looking towards John and Harry, saying ”Hans here only knows a bit of English, and they are the lyrics to the 1917 song “A bachelor Gay.”, by Peter Dawson..

As soon as Furey said the title of the old 1917 play, Hans looked over at him, and smiled, before taking off his visor cap and setting it on the table, and soon Furey did the same, running his hand through his hair, and looking around, waiting for someone to strike up a conversation.

[Daniel Steinert]

Combat had slowly been eating away at Daniel and just when he felt he had taken too much he got a weeks pass to Paris; the city that had been recently been occupied with the Germans and supposidly Hitler himself. Nethertheless a break is what Daniel needed. A warm bed, a hot shower, and food that didn't come in a cardboard box.

It was day three and life had eased up. Daniel was going to a cafe near where he was quartered for a bite to eat and maybe a cup of tea, coffee made him too jittery. He put on his uniform decorated with two medals which made him look good in front of the girls. He also put his Luger in a sholder holster he had goten custom made the day before.

The air in the city was warm and crisp with that city smell that he enjoyed. He passed a few shops before spotting the cafe on the corner. He noticed that it was pretty crowded but that wouldn't get between him and a good meal. As he approched a staff car cought his attention. At once he recognized the flag and knew it belonged to none other than major Furey.

He sort of half cut the line in a sneaky kind of way since he was very hungry. He saw Furey at a far table with who he could identify as Harry, another man of his company. There were Also two other figures he could not identify. He made his way to the table and asked "may I join you?"

[Harry Hamilton]

”I’ll one up you, Have a cigar"

"Oh, thank you sir." Harry replied gratefully as he took the cigar the officer had offered. "That's a fine cigar." he commented once it had been lit and he had taken a puff. Before he could say anything else, John Whitmoor had walked up to them and asked to sit down. He sat down before Harry could say anything. Harry merely grinned and said, "Hello, John." He listened as John spoke with the German officer who was with Major Campellone, but the only thing he could understand was 'Luftwaffe' and 'Officer'. He didn't speak or understand a word of German, but he could understand that this man was an officer of the Luftwaffe. He tried not to stare, but he did wonder what he was doing here. He guessed that he was a POW under Campellone's care.

”I haven’t seen you in some time, but I see your on leave in Paris. How has this city treated you?”

"Ah, it's a very beautiful city--Dad was absolutely right about it. He was an infantry soldier in the Great War..he had a few leaves here so he told me stories about the city." He didn't mention his belief that some of the soldiers' descriptions of Paris were overly exaggerated. He was extremely greatful for this furlough. Combat took a toll not only on one's physical health, but his mental health as well. It could ruin a man and leave him completely and utterly broken--Harry had seen it happen many times.


”Hans here only knows a bit of English, and they are the lyrics to the 1917 song “A bachelor Gay.”, by Peter Dawson.."

"Oh. Well, I have to say I don't know a bit of German. I, uh, took Spanish in high school instead. But that's not really coming in handy, is it?" He remembered that his father had suggested that he take German, but Harry had gone against his wishes and taken Spanish instead, since he believed that it would be easier.

Yet another soldier had arrived at the table. Harry recognized him as now-Sergeant Steinert. "Hello, Daniel. Yes, please, join us." he invited him with a friendly smile.

"Has anyone seen any good movies lately? I saw that Judy Garland picture a few days ago--Meet Me in St. Louis? Gosh, does she have a great voice.." Harry observed. "Say, did you here that she's going to be at a USO canteen in London soon? I'd give anything to go."

[Daniel Steinert]

Daniel took a seat after it was allowed he guessed. Daniel hadn't really thought about manners for a while as he was on the front lines a lot and his manners really deteriorated. If only his mother saw him now. "Have you seen any movies lately?" Daniel didn't really want to make his combat uneasiness show through so he said: "No, I just got here, I'm on a 5 day leave."

A waitress came over and asked in very broken English "What like would you?" Daniel tried in his best voice: "I'll have a cup of tea and a biscuit." "What about you guys?" He waited until everyone was done ordering and when the waitress came to get the order for the German General, she looked at him and put on a sour face as if the whole war was his fault. She reluctantly took his order and hound that the General spoke a fair amount of French. The waitress dissipated into the crowd and into the kitchen.

"Hey, I know we have all been in this war together, what kind of souvenirs have you gotten?" Daniel almost forgot that he was in the presence of a German general and a US Major which his question now seemed quite informal. Daniel didn't want to wait, he never got to show the major his last souvenir since he knew he was a pistol freak. "I acquired this beauty from a German sniper" Daniel took the Luger out of its holster and held it in front of him. He showed it off as it was his only real war trophy. He looked around and was some impressed faces not including the Generals.

[Harry Hamilton]

"No, I just got here, I'm on a 5 day leave."

"Oh. Is this your first time in Paris, too?" Harry asked curiously. He had felt like such a wide-eyed kid when he got here. He wondered if Daniel was as impressed with the city as he was. His father was right--it was definitely worth the wait. He'd been wanting this pass for months. Now that he was here, he was going to enjoy himself.

"What about you guys?"

"I'm still working on my tea, but I would like another baugette, please." he told the waitress with a friendly smile. She smiled back and nodded before rushing off inside to the kitchen to put in their orders.

"Hey, I know we have all been in this war together, what kind of souvenirs have you gotten?"

"I sent one of those back home the other day." Harry replied with a nod. "But it was a gift from a friend." he added, indicating John. "I did get an Afrika Corps hat from a German during Operation Torch. I sent it home to my parents." He hated to say it, but he was anxious for the next battle. He wanted to prove himself once more, and get a Luger himself.

"So, any of you gentlemen going to be lucky enough to attend that canteen in London?" he asked. "I've been there before, but there weren't any celebrities there at the time." he explained.