In honor of all those who are or have been in military service to our country, and to the families who support them, I submit this little vignette from my Dad's service during World War II.
Steve Orr
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Riding in the back of the deuce-and-a-half, the cover pulled back and tied down, Dad could keep an eye on their 40MM Bofors gun as the truck pulled it along on its two-wheeled carriage. Dad was happy. The weather was perfect. The sun was shining. The few clouds in the otherwise azure sky were white and feathery. This was the France that had been described to him during his sojourn In England before the D-Day launch. The road on which they traveled was tree-lined and smooth, completely free of the usual pock marks and potholes marking the passage of war.
That probably should have been their first clue.
Since General Patton had begun the big push east, they had seen a lot of action; moving fast, really taking the fight to the Germans; advance, advance, advance. They often traveled at night, fought pitched battles during the day, and then traveled again at night. Dad fell asleep in the back of that truck each night listening to the distant sounds of battle, and he awoke each morning to add the sounds of their own gun to that cacophony. Today was different, though; they hadn't heard the sounds of battle all day.
And that definitely should have been a clue.
All about, the soldiers marching along in loose formation were joking, laughing, smiling; many were shirtless to take advantage of the sun. The pace of their truck was no faster than that of the nearby infantry. Dad talked with the guys walking alongside.
It went like that for quite some time. And then, like often happens during wartime, everything changed in a flash. Their column snaked around a curve and straight into the heart of a French village. They were in the town square before they could really register the fact that they had actually ARRIVED somewhere. And just as quickly, they were surrounded by townspeople shouting "Libérateur! Libérateur!"
Surrounded as they were with all the shouting, laughing, and joyfully tearful faces, it took a few beats before what was happening really sank in. And a few more as the shock of it paralyzed them. Then, while most couldn't get their minds to get any traction, the Captain stood up in the lead jeep. Looking back, he raised his voice above the noise of the crowd and shouted, "Follow us out!"
With that, he returned to his seat. His driver made a slow turn to the left, narrowly missing some of the more adventurous of the townspeople. When it was pointed back down the road on which they had just come, the jeep began to accelerate. As the jeep passed the truck where Dad still stood, speechless, he heard the Captain yelling, "Turn back!"
Dad never knew the name of that little town in France. But he never forget the stunned looks on those faces as their supposed liberators turned away and left them standing in the town square, forced to face the fact that their situation had not really changed. They returned to waiting, waiting for the day when liberation would come, truly and finally to their little town.
And so, faster than they had arrived, the column of soldiers, trucks, jeeps, and weapons traveled westward, back down that French road. And this time, no one was joking, laughing, or smiling. Serious faces pressed westward.
But, what was the cause of all this?
Somehow Dad and his fellow soldiers had moved past the line of battle. Somehow, in the night probably, they had moved far ahead of the rest of the Allied Armies and had penetrated well behind enemy lines. They weren't prepared to liberate any villages or towns by themselves. And no one thought General Patton would be happy to find they had not followed his plan. So, quickly, and as stealthily as possible, they made their way back; back to where the roads were pitted, back to where they could hear the sounds of battle in the distance, back to the war they were there to fight.
Their free day was over.
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