Shrapnel Page 5

  We’re shipped out to the coast two days later. I never see Violet again. I don’t finish the maps; I turn them in to Major Love. I’m sure they don’t mean anything any more to anybody.

  I don’t write to her and she doesn’t write to me. I have no real address to give her and I’ve lost her envelope with the address of her girlfriend. Much later I receive a short note through Regimental Headquarters from Violet with no return address. Roger has been killed in the air war over Britain. She doesn’t want to live. She’s happy she knew me for our brief time. Still I can’t write. I tear everything apart looking for that envelope with the letter but it’s gone. I’ve lost the address. In a war it is difficult to hold onto personal things.

  D-3

  We left Biddulph just as quickly and silently as we arrived. We hadn’t been there a month when the order to move out came through. It was two days of getting everything in order and we left in the night on trains again. We all knew, in general, what we were going to do but none of us knew when or where, not even field officers knew as well as all the non-coms and enlisted men being kept in the dark. And when we arrived, we were literally in the dark. There didn’t seem to be any moon and the clouds made it even darker. We get out of the trains, and, of course, are told to pitch tents. Pitching tents in the dark on an open field is a good trick. I’m tenting with Gettinger, who has taken Corbeil’s place. He makes a good tent mate, doesn’t snore or roll around too much. Also, he’s one of those rare people who seem to fall asleep as soon as they stretch out. I’m definitely not that way, but I try not to twist and turn. A pup tent is a very small place for two grown men. Luckily neither Gettinger nor I is very big.

  Three days after we arrive, we start beach landing maneouvres with the Landing Ship Infantry, called LSI and the Landing Ship Tanks, called LST. It’s the beginning of summer but in England it’s still cold and the water is icy. We slog through that cold water, looking out at the white cliffs above the beaches, trying to keep our rifles dry and hoping that France doesn’t have any cliffs like those. Getting our clothes dry each day is another problem. Half the time it’s raining. We only have two pair of OD trousers and shirts plus our field jackets. As far as I can see, we are all going to have pneumonia before the Germans even have a chance to shoot at us. It’s strange to be camping so close to the enemy and having it be so quiet. At night we can hear the planes flying over and there are huge balloons all along the coast. It doesn’t look as if anybody is really trying to keep a secret about what’s going on, except from us.

  Now begins an experience that I not only didn’t tell my children, but I’ve told no one but my wife. In this particular set of events, I not only behave like the young fool I was, but I’m set up with a situation which is so incredible, I didn’t believe it then or even understand it now.

  It all starts with a command car rolling through our little tent city just after chow. I’m finishing up some fruit cocktail dumped over the last bit of my mashed potatoes and hash. There’s too long a line at the clean up pail to wait around again. It all comes together in my stomach anyway. I’ll clean up my mess kit after everybody’s finished.

  It seems the Lieutenant in the command car driven by a Staff Sergeant is looking for me. I don’t know what to expect, maybe they’ve changed their minds about sending a cripple with varicose veins in his balls and a lump on his heel into combat. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  It’s the first time I’ve been in a command car. They’re certainly a lot roomier than a jeep. I have the entire back seat to myself. I wave to Gettinger and some other guys as I roll along, weaving our way through the tents. They don’t wave back, only stare.

  We go about three miles, always away from the beach. It’s looking good. Then we come to a big house. There are armed guards all around this place, even up the pebble driveway to the front. We stop. The Lieutenant motions me to follow him. Now I’m worried. What could they have possibly cooked up for me. I hope it isn’t a court martial for something I’ve overlooked. No, it wouldn’t be something small like that. This is big.

  I’ve just gotten out of the command car when I realise I’ve forgotten my rifle; I was eating when they came. At least I have on my helmet. We’re supposed to wear those heavy pots on our heads no matter what we’re doing; even in the tent, we’re supposed to keep them near our heads when we sleep.

  I follow the Lieutenant into the house. It’s a regular house with furniture and rugs, actually a very fancy place to be in the middle of a war. The Lieutenant still hasn’t said a word to me. It isn’t a good idea to start up a conversation with a Lieutenant, so I don’t, that’s his job.

  Finally we go into a big room. I can see it was once a library. There are books all along the walls. Huge windows going down to the floor are blacked out. It’s still light outside but the lights are turned on in here. The Lieutenant shows me where to sit in a chair along the wall and then leaves. There are three officers around a huge desk in the middle of the room. They’re all looking down at something. At first, I can’t see it, but then one of them motions me forward. I stand at attention and salute. He gives me a careless salute back.

  ‘At ease, Soldier.’

  I go into my personal version of ‘at ease.’ I peek down at the desk. What they’re looking at are my drawings of the maps I did in Biddulph. What now? Are we going to invade England? I’m beginning to be scared because I don’t understand.

  ‘Soldier, you’re the one who did the maps for the town of Biddulph here?’

  It’s definitely a question. I nod, then pull myself together.

  ‘Yes, Sir. They were ordered by Major Love.’

  I’m wondering if they’ve found out how I copied them from the maps in the library. Could that be some kind of military offence?

  ‘These are very good maps. I see from your records you’ve also been exceptionally good using the 506 radio and can take Morse code. Is that correct?’

  What are we getting at. Maybe I’ll be transferred to G2 doing some kind of secret work.

  ‘Yes Sir. In high school, in a class before school, I learned it. We did it in the typing room and typed out messages from records. I wasn’t particularly good at it, but neither was anyone else.’

  ‘It says here you typed at sixty-two words per minute and took code even faster than that.’

  I don’t really remember. I took the class for fun because our bus always arrived early and the principal of our school would set up anything to help the ‘war effort’. They don’t need to know that.

  ‘That’s right, Sir. I don’t know how fast I could do it now because I haven’t had much practice.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  He pauses, starts talking to the officer beside him. It’s then I notice he’s a bird colonel, the same as our Regimental Commander, but I’ve never seen him before. He turns back to me.

  ‘Soldier, you’re also in Regimental Intelligence and Reconnaissance and you have had jump training at Fort Benning. Is that right?’

  He has to know this. It’s in my service record and I can see it on the desk right beside the map. I decide to keep my mouth shut. The rule we’ve been told is when we’ve been captured we give only our name, rank and serial number. I’ve been captured here all right. Maybe these are Nazi spies who have gotten hold of US equipment and uniforms. I decide that’s ridiculous. They wouldn’t call me in. But then, I’ve already seen some ridiculous things in the army.

  ‘We have a mission for you, Soldier, a special kind of patrol. Your record as a patrol leader is also good.’

  I wait, my heart literally in my mouth. How can we have a patrol when we aren’t even in combat yet?

  ‘This mission must remain top secret, Soldier. You’re not to mention it to anyone. Don’t talk about it to any of the members in your regiment. Do you understand me?’

  I don’t, really, but I nod my head.

  ‘It is a very important mission. We can’t force you to do it, but you are the best candidate.’
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br />   Now, he has my attention full out. I try not to keep my mouth from opening.

  ‘There will be three different invasions going up those beaches over there. One is the American, then the British and the other, Canadian. We’ll all be going in at the same time in very close formation, wave after wave. Do you understand?’

  I do, but I don’t want to. This is not something they should be telling a mere PFC. Crazy as the army is, this is too much.

  ‘We want to drop you by parachute behind the main German defences. There is something of no-man’s land there. The rest of the German defensive forces have been driven back by our long range artillery.’

  He pauses. I wait for him to go on. This all sounds like a very poor movie. Where’s Van Johnson, John Wayne? All 4F, I guess. They know how to do these things. I just stand there waiting.

  ‘Are you willing to serve your country, young man?’

  What would happen if I say no? But I say yes, a small, almost inaudible, ‘yes’.

  ‘Congratulations. If you succeed I shall see to it that you are awarded at least a silver star. Do you understand?’

  He’s staring me in the eyes again. That almost inaudible ‘yes’ must have tipped him off. I didn’t even say Sir.

  He looks over his shoulder. He nods one of the other officers forward.

  ‘Major McGeehan here will explain the patrol to you. If you don’t think you can do it, you can always back out. Nobody will hold it against you. Got that, Soldier?’

  I got it all right, basically no way out. I stand there as Major McGeehan rolls out some other maps over mine. He motions me forward. I come and look down at the maps. They’re not as good as mine, but then, after all, I cheated.

  ‘You see we’re here. The British are there and the Canadians are there. When we have some reasonable weather and the supreme commander gives the word, we take off for these beaches here.’

  He points with his fingers to the coast of France. I don’t really know one part of France from the other, no one’s mentioned it.

  I only nod. He doesn’t look up. He starts making arcs with his fingers on the maps.

  ‘These are the general areas of penetration for each group but you don’t want to know too much detail. You might be captured and we want the enemy to know as little as possible.’

  I’m wondering how those Germans can capture me. Are they about to invade England? Nobody’s said anything about that. We aren’t even dug in, just splashing around in the water, sleeping in wet clothes and being miserable. Only then I realise they’re going to capture me in France! I’m ready to quit.

  ‘You will be driven from here to a small airfield not far away. From there in the dead of night, actually early morning, you will be flown over the Channel.’

  He points out the so called no-man’s land, then pulls out another map. It’s a photographic blow up.

  ‘This was taken by our aerial reconnaissance team. You can see there’s a large tree which was blown down here in our artillery barrage.’

  He points to a blurred smudge on the map. I peer. What’s this got to do with anything?

  ‘A small plane will drop you with a black parachute near this tree in the dark.’

  He smiles at me as if he’s a magician who has just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

  ‘You will be carrying a combat pack filled with K rations, enough for several days. On your chest will be strapped a radio well padded for the impact of landing. Of course you will also have the parachute which will be hanging low. On your webbing belt will be a small pistol.’

  So, with this pistol I’m supposed to fight off the entire German army? How can I get out of this? I don’t really want to be a hero; in fact I’m not sure we should even win this war. I’m willing to learn German.

  ‘You must be very careful with your landing. You must land on your back holding your arms around the radio. The radio is the most important thing.’

  I look at him to see if he’s kidding. He isn’t.

  ‘Then after you’ve landed, and you’re okay, you gather in the chute and dash to the shelter in the roots of this tree. This will need to be done quickly because there’s a chance someone might have seen you coming down.’

  He’s serious. I can’t believe it. He’s got the wrong guy. They must have made a terrible mistake.

  ‘You’re to spread out the chute in the hole left by the roots. Cover yourself with the parachute as night camouflage and get the radio operating. Try to make contact with us or our allies. Warrant Officer Mullen will tell you which frequencies to search.’

  He stops, looks at me again.

  ‘Any questions?’

  ‘How do I get out of there, and when?’

  ‘There will be French Freedom Fighters, “Les Maquis”, with whom we are in contact who will be watching for you. They know where you’re being dropped and they’ll help you if the invasion is delayed for any reason.’

  ‘What am I supposed to be doing there? I still don’t understand.’

  ‘You have several missions. At first, you will be trying to get in contact with the British and the Canadians, as well as the Americans to assure them that they won’t veer and begin shooting at each other in the dark. There is always that possibility in a situation such as this. Next, as soon as possible, you will deliver the radio to the French. They know what to do with it. They’ll take care of you and help you get out. Don’t worry, Warrant Officer Mullen will explain all this in more detail to you.’

  He stops, looks at his watch, his job is finished, I’m totally confused. He leans across the desk and shakes my hand.

  ‘Good luck, Soldier. The driver is outside and will take you back to your outfit so you can gather up your things. You won’t need your helmet, rifle, bayonet or any M1 ammunition. Warrant Office Mullens will provide you with all you will need. Remember, you’re not to say a word about anything you’ve heard here, or about your mission. We’re counting on you.’

  On some kind of cue, the driver comes in to pick me up. The Lieutenant isn’t in the command car. I sit up front with the Sergeant and go over in my mind all that’s happened in the past hour or two. I almost begin to think I’m going crazy, or this is some kind of joke and tomorrow everybody will have a big laugh out of it.

  We arrive at our tent city and he drives off. We haven’t spoken a word. I come back to my tent and it’s almost dark. Gettinger wants to know what it’s all about.

  ‘Stan, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. Don’t ask too many questions. My head is spinning so I have a headache.’ He rolls over, and, as usual, is directly asleep. I pack my few things in my duffel bag and deliver them to the kitchen truck. I’ll leave my shelter half, pole and pegs with Stan. I feel like a husband sneaking out of a marriage, but with no lover to greet me.

  The command car is there just after breakfast. I wash the eggs out of my mess kit, stuff the mess kit into my duffel bag, shoulder it and am off, way off. We drive for almost an hour, this time along the beach when we can stay close to it. It’s the same Staff Sergeant and we have just about as much conversation as before, that is, none. Maybe he’s a guy with a hearing deficiency who the army keeps to drive people like me on suicide missions.

  We arrive at a small airport. The Sergeant motions for me to stay in the car and goes into a hangar. In a few minutes he comes out and motions me to pick up my gear and go in. I struggle out of the command car, the last one I ever get driven in, and go into the hangar.

  Inside is a Warrant Officer. He introduces himself as Pat Mullens. A warrant officer is between a commissioned officer and a non-commissioned officer, sort of a limbo in officialdom. Usually warrant officers have some technical speciality. I can see Officer Mullens’ speciality behind him. It’s a small airplane painted a dark mottled grey not olive drab like most army equipment. He takes me into a little office behind the plane. He moves a chair for me to sit in; no ordinary officer would ever do that.

  ‘Look, Wharton, this is
the craziest mission I’ve ever heard of. I’m not the one who thought it up. I’ve heard all kinds of things, but from what I hear it’s some high ranking staff officer who got the idea, but he doesn’t want anyone to know who he is. How do you like that for army secrecy? You and I are going on a mission neither one of us knows anything about.’

  My heart jumps a beat.

  ‘You mean you’re coming with me?’

  ‘Well, I’ll be flying you across the Channel.’

  ‘But I’ve only been in an airplane one time in my life and that was when I was six years old. My father paid five dollars for the two of us to have a ride in a two winger, a biplane, at Wilson Airfield in Philadelphia. I was scared to death we were going to fall out. So was my father. There was no strap or anything to hold us in.’

  ‘One of those old Barnstormers, I guess. Well, we’ll be flying in little Sally there, but we won’t be going very high. You did do five jumps at Fort Benning, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but that was different. It was daytime and we were all hooked together. I didn’t exactly jump. I was pulled out and the chute opened by itself.’

  ‘This will be different. We’ll go across the Channel only about ten feet above the water. We don’t want them to see us. When the time comes, after I’ve gotten some altitude, I’ll just tip the plane and you’ll slide right out. You’ll need to pull your own ripcord the minute you’re out of the plane.’

  ‘What’s a ripcord?’

  He looks at me as though he’s just seen me.

  ‘I’ll show you. Come follow me and we’ll set everything up.’

  I go out with him to the airplane. It has a top wing, no bottom one, like the Taylor Cubs I used to see down at Wilson Airport when I’d bicycle down there as a kid. We walk into the depths of the hangar. The Warrant Officer walks ahead of me. He has everything ready, all the way down to heavy gloves, a jump suit and a parachute. I stare at them.