Post by Harry Hamilton on Jun 8, 2011 14:36:53 GMT -5
Autumn, 1944
0600 hours
A little bar in a town in France
The brown-haired sergeant entered the bar and took a few moments to breathe in the atmosphere. There were soldiers from his own division, the First Armored, as well as some paratroopers from the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions. There were a few other infantrymen with division patches he didn’t recognize, and there were even a few British soldiers there. The place was packed. The Germans were being pushed across France and things were really looking up. Some people boasted that the war might even be over and done with by Christmas. As much as everyone else, Harry ardently hoped that was true. He’d signed up for the Army the day the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor, and had seen his first combat with the 1st Infantry Division during Operation Torch. He’d landed at Gela in Sicily and landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day. He’d been through hell and back and he was just about ready to go home.
However, there was still a job to be done. The Germans weren’t going to give up without a fight, and he was ready for a fight. That’s not to say he didn’t enjoy being in reserve. He’d slept in a nice, warm bed, he’d seen Paris, he’d been to a few USO shows, he’d had hot chow—for a soldier, time away from the frontlines was heaven. He knew it couldn’t last, though. Every day he found himself wondering if that day he’d march right into hell again. The Allies were on the offensive and things seemed to be wrapping up, but still he couldn’t help but worry. When he’d been with the Big Red One, his leaves never seemed to last that long. He and the other men of the division had a joke that the Army consisted of the Big Red One and ten million replacements. They’d always been called up to spearhead whatever offensive the brass felt like launching, or to plug the gaps in the Allied lines.
He couldn’t say he didn’t miss the division, though. The men he’d met and bonded with were some of his closest friends. Many of them hadn’t survived. He’d lost several of his friends in France, and a few in Sicily. The replacements were nothing like the old breed. They were green as grass and were fresh out of basic. Neither Harry nor any of the other men made too much of an effort to make friends with them, since usually they were the first to die. They were so reckless and foolish. One man had charged an MG42 all by himself, trying to be a hero. Others had cracked under the pressure of combat. Harry had even seen officers crack. He supposed every man had his breaking point. He hadn’t reached his, but he like everyone else did get scared every once in a while. He’d been afraid that he wouldn’t make it back home as he’d crouched in a shell hole on Omaha Beach. That had been terrible. They’d lost a lot of good men that day.
Harry took off his overseas cap and folded it before tucking it in his back pocket. He wore his fresh OD dress uniform. The bartender was at the other end of the bar, so he withdrew a piece of paper and a pen from his coat and started working on a letter home to his parents.
0600 hours
A little bar in a town in France
The brown-haired sergeant entered the bar and took a few moments to breathe in the atmosphere. There were soldiers from his own division, the First Armored, as well as some paratroopers from the 101st and 82nd Airborne Divisions. There were a few other infantrymen with division patches he didn’t recognize, and there were even a few British soldiers there. The place was packed. The Germans were being pushed across France and things were really looking up. Some people boasted that the war might even be over and done with by Christmas. As much as everyone else, Harry ardently hoped that was true. He’d signed up for the Army the day the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor, and had seen his first combat with the 1st Infantry Division during Operation Torch. He’d landed at Gela in Sicily and landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day. He’d been through hell and back and he was just about ready to go home.
However, there was still a job to be done. The Germans weren’t going to give up without a fight, and he was ready for a fight. That’s not to say he didn’t enjoy being in reserve. He’d slept in a nice, warm bed, he’d seen Paris, he’d been to a few USO shows, he’d had hot chow—for a soldier, time away from the frontlines was heaven. He knew it couldn’t last, though. Every day he found himself wondering if that day he’d march right into hell again. The Allies were on the offensive and things seemed to be wrapping up, but still he couldn’t help but worry. When he’d been with the Big Red One, his leaves never seemed to last that long. He and the other men of the division had a joke that the Army consisted of the Big Red One and ten million replacements. They’d always been called up to spearhead whatever offensive the brass felt like launching, or to plug the gaps in the Allied lines.
He couldn’t say he didn’t miss the division, though. The men he’d met and bonded with were some of his closest friends. Many of them hadn’t survived. He’d lost several of his friends in France, and a few in Sicily. The replacements were nothing like the old breed. They were green as grass and were fresh out of basic. Neither Harry nor any of the other men made too much of an effort to make friends with them, since usually they were the first to die. They were so reckless and foolish. One man had charged an MG42 all by himself, trying to be a hero. Others had cracked under the pressure of combat. Harry had even seen officers crack. He supposed every man had his breaking point. He hadn’t reached his, but he like everyone else did get scared every once in a while. He’d been afraid that he wouldn’t make it back home as he’d crouched in a shell hole on Omaha Beach. That had been terrible. They’d lost a lot of good men that day.
Harry took off his overseas cap and folded it before tucking it in his back pocket. He wore his fresh OD dress uniform. The bartender was at the other end of the bar, so he withdrew a piece of paper and a pen from his coat and started working on a letter home to his parents.
