Post by John Patrick McCreary on Jul 31, 2010 20:40:38 GMT
Overall, very good. I am more than happy to accept you at Second Lieutenant. If you have any questions, feel free to ask, and remember to check out the Beginner's Guide
Welcome
Nathan
Account E-Mail: [Edited out.]
Name: John Patrick McCreary
Nationality: American
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? US
Character History:
John Patrick McCreary was born on August 2nd, 1920 in New York City. His father, Daniel, was a well-to-do businessman and his mother, Betty, had been a secretary before their marriage. John was the youngest of three–he had a brother named George ( the oldest ) and a sister named Anne. The McCrearys were a happy family, and they could often be found picnicking in Central Park on Sunday afternoons. John was close with his siblings–especially his brother George–and got along well with them, save for the occasional argument. John’s father would take the boys out hunting in the countryside every weekend. George was the better shot out of the two brothers, but as the years went by, John slowly became an impressive marksman. Besides hunting, John also enjoyed fishing, football, and baseball. However, the family’s idyllic life was forever altered by the stock market crash of ‘29.
The Great Depression, as it would later be called, took its toll on the whole country, including the McCrearys. Daniel’s business was failing, and the family’s standard of living changed drastically. Extravagant meals were done away with, and one sweater and a good pair of socks had to suffice. John was very young when the stock market crashed, so at first he didn’t know what was going on. As he got older, he began to understand that his father had lost most of his money. Perhaps that was why John never took an interest in re-starting the family business as George had. John was very studious and hardworking, but he didn’t want to be a businessman. He wanted to go off and have spectacular adventures, just like in the stories he read. The movies also sparked his imagination. Both books and “talkies” alike inspired the youngest McCreary to write adventures of his own. Many an afternoon he spent in his room after school, sitting at his small desk and writing stories of pirates, explorers, and treasure hunters to pass the time. At night, the family would gather around the radio and listen to the evening news, as well as the occasional fireside chat.
John started high school in 1934. The young freshman, to his family’s surprise, decided to try out for the football team. George, the team’s quarterback, simply laughed at him, insisting that even if he did make the team, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t break a few bones once he played his first game. John assured his brother that the other team would have to sprout wings to catch him. He was right. Against all odds, the lanky teen became the best wide receiver the school had seen in years. His father called it natural talent, George called it a miracle, and John simply referred to it as luck. Whatever it was, John became a well-respected and crucial member of the team. George graduated in John’s junior year, and he encouraged his little brother to try out for quarterback. Reluctantly, John followed his brother’s advice. To his delight, he was given the position, and was also made captain of the team. John proved to be an efficient leader–the team was both respected and feared by other schools. It was under John’s leadership that the team ended a fierce rivalry with a neighboring school.
John was certainly the big man on campus, and though girls flocked to him, he never really dated that much. The once skinny and awkward teenager had grown into a dashing and handsome young man–though he’d never admit it. Standing a 6'2" and sporting wavy dark hair, ocean blue eyes, and a winning smile, he had plenty of attractive features that made plenty of his female classmates swoon. But John just wasn’t the romantic type at the time. He spent more time daydreaming about going on a grand tour of Europe or exploring the rainforest than daydreaming about women.
John kept a steady 4.0 GPA throughout high school, despite having to also balance football and a job at a nearby golf course. He graduated in 1937 with honors. He was offered a football scholarship to NYU, but he declined, instead enrolling at West Point Military Academy, and surprising his family and friends. John’s father had served during the Great War, as an enlisted man. John wanted to serve too, with his leadership skills. His mother was against it–she didn’t want either of her boys serving in the military. John’s father assured her that the officers were treated better than the “dough boys” and gave his youngest son his best wishes.
John fit right in at West Point. His roommate’s name was Anthony Romano. Romano’s parents had emigrated from Italy and started a family of twelve. Romano was the seventh child–the “lucky baby number seven” as he called himself. He decided to attend West Point because he was tired of living in a cramped tenement and he wanted to serve his new country. He would have just joined the Army, but his mother didn’t want him to end up as cannon fodder. He shared a common admiration of Joe DiMaggio and the Yankees with John, and the two became fast friends.
Both young men were aware of the conflict heating up in Europe. Civilians went about their daily lives without any concern of the events overseas, but John and the other cadets couldn’t help thinking that the United States would somehow be involved in the war. First came the Lend Lease act of 1941, and then came Pearl Harbor. The Class of ‘42 was eager to join the fight. John felt a strange mix of excitement and fear after graduation. He described it in a letter to his father, who recognized the feeling and confirmed that he had felt it too just before he went into combat. He warned him, however, that combat was like nothing John could imagine, and that he should “keep his head down and don’t do anything foolish”. He also reminded him that he was a 2nd lieutenant now, and that he was responsible not only for himself, but also the men that would be under his command. John kept this in mind as he volunteered for the paratroopers.
John wanted to be part of the elite unit because he felt that they were the best of the best. He didn’t want to command draftees that didn’t want to be there. He wanted to get the most out of his time in the Army, he wanted this to be a positive experience. For John, a positive experience was serving as a paratrooper. Soon, he found himself in Ft. Benning, Georgia. After attending Infantry School, he went on to Jump School. The training was grueling, like nothing he’d ever done before. The physical training consisted of daily running and calisthenics. By the time he was through, he was certain that he was fitter than any Olympic athlete. In addition to this, John and the rest of the men would make long night marches with full field equipment. To simulate jumping from a plane, the men would jump from a 250-foot high tower while strapped into a parachute harness, which was connected by a pulley to a cable. John found this somewhat fun, and always looked forward to the mock jumps. But what he eagerly anticipated was his first real jump from a C-47.
The day seemed to take forever to arrive, but it did. John was one of twenty-four men who were loaded into a C-47. He needed to complete five jumps to earn his jump wings. He was nervous and giddy–the same feeling he’d had after graduation. The young man had never been on a plane before, so that day he experienced two new things. There was a red light next to the door that lit up. The jumpmaster ordered them to rise and hook the lines connected to their main chutes to the anchor line that was on the top of the fuselage. After checking their equipment, the green light went on, and one at a time they jumped from the C-47. John was the fifth man out of the plane. He grabbed the outside edge of the door before looking straight at the horizon and jumping.
There was a gigantic shock as the parachute opened. It was both thrilling and terrifying ( the former more than the latter ). The view was spectacular. John couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he jumped out of that plane without freezing up and panicking, like some of the other men had. If he could do this, then he could do anything. The second jump was similar to the first, but this time, all fear had vanished from John’s mind. His first jump with equipment was memorable, as this time the jumpmaster yelled as each man exited the plane. With “Go! Go! Go!” ringing in his ears, John leapt from the plane, relishing in the opening shock as he floated down to the ground.
The fifth and final jump would come at night. John knew that after he completed that jump, he would receive his silver parachutist wings. When it was his turn to jump, he let go of the hook and sprung out of the plane. The jerk of the main chute opening signaled the end of his training. He couldn’t help but have a grin on his face as the silver wings were pinned onto his uniform. John was also authorized to wear Cocoran paratrooper boots with his trousers “bloused” ( tucked into the boots ).
Soon after that, John was assigned to the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment. He and the rest of his regiment were sent to the Airborne Command at Camp Mackall, North Carolina. Here he practiced jumps with rifles and small arms. John also participated in field exercises as a platoon leader. As a West Point graduate, he had a pretty good idea of what he was doing in each scenario.
Finally, in January of 1944, the 23-year-old 2nd Lieutenant and his regiment were deployed to England from Camp Miles Standish, Massachusetts. When they arrived in England, the regiment was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division. John was now officially a Screaming Eagle. He didn’t know what fate had in store for him, and he didn’t know if he was ready. Nothing, not even one of the finest military academies in the world, could prepare him for what he was about to do.
Military Rank: 2nd Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
Flak pierced the air around him as his main parachute opened. 2nd Lieutenant John McCreary could see the armada in the distance, slowly making its way towards the beaches of Normandy. He thanked God that George was not in one of those boats, having been designated 4F because of a back problem. He could smell smoke and hear machine gun fire all around him. The raging fires on the ground below lit up the skies. A C-47 next to the one he’d just jumped out of was shot down–the wreckage hurtled to the ground. He prayed that the men in it had gotten a chance to jump but his stomach churned at the thought of what had really happened. He steered the parachute safely to the ground and slid to a stop. He folded his chute and quickly and methodically checked his equipment. The leg bag’s gone, he noted with frustration. It had all his extra ammo in it. In his jump, he’d also managed to lose his .45 cal Colt revolver. His tommy gun was ready and loaded, but still–God only knew when he’d meet up with more of his men. He discarded of his Mae West life vest and clutched his submachine gun as he crept through the hedgerows.
Here he was, in occupied France, and completely lost. He’d missed the DZ, that was certain. If he hadn’t, then where was the rest of the regiment? He stayed alert, knowing that the enemy could be anywhere. He and the rest of the paratroopers were equipped with “crickets”, to identify each other with. If one squeezed the cricket, it would make a ‘click-clack’ sound. The person who answered was to respond with two squeezes–‘click clack, click-clack’. In addition to this, there was a password. A man would challenge another by saying “Flash”. The response was “Thunder.” If given correctly, the first man would answer, “Welcome.”
John kept this in mind, keeping his head down and crouching as he peered around a corner. He could see a helmet in the darkness, but he couldn’t tell if it was German or American. He held out his cricket and “click-clacked” once. The head turned, and a shot rang out. John hit the ground behind the hedgerow. Guess that answers that. He aimed his Thompson and squeezed the trigger. A burst of bullets sent the German to the ground. The man lay still. After waiting a few seconds, John examined his prey. He was dead, alright. I killed him. I killed a human being. A man. he realized silently. This wasn’t like shooting rabbits. He’d taken the life of another man. John suddenly felt dizzy as nausea began to overtake him. I had to. It’s kill or be killed. That’s how it is. That’s how war is. he reminded himself firmly before inhaling and taking the Kar96k and the soldier’s ammo in case he needed it.
He needed to find his platoon. The hedgerows were probably crawling with Germans. Had all of the boys survived their jumps? He mentally said a prayer for them as he moved on. Crouching between the hedgerows, he couldn’t help but get the feeling someone was following him. They weren’t directly behind him, but they were close. He stopped and got down, his Thompson at the ready. He made sure to take cover behind a tree in order to obscure himself from view. It was imperative that he put as many obstacles as possible between him and the enemy so that they’d have a harder time shooting him. He could hear the footsteps coming up from the north–right in front of the tree. He cocked the Thompson, aiming it in that direction. Then he heard a “click-clack.”
“Click-clack..click-clack.” The cricket sounded as he squeezed it.
“Lieutenant McCreary, is that you?”
John recognized the voice as belonging to young Pvt. First Class James Mitchell, a demolitions man in the platoon. “Yeah, it’s me. Private Mitchell?”
“Yes, sir! Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought I was all alone.”
Do I know the feeling. John could see that the teenager was shaking. “It’s okay, Private. We have to rendezvous with the others, and fast. It won’t be long until the Germans find us.” He put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Mitchell nodded and followed John. The younger man had an extra Garand, so John ditched the German bolt-action rifle for the semi-automatic American one. The two paratroopers met no resistance until about a quarter of a mile from where they first met. Shots rang out and John dove for cover. Mitchell wasn’t so swift, and he fell, a bullet embedded in his neck. John watched, helpless and horrified, as the man thrashed about in the grass. The lieutenant stayed low behind the brick wall as the Germans kept shooting. He carefully leaned around the edge of the wall and tried to ascertain where the shots were coming from. He saw a muzzle flash and ducked. He was unharmed, but the German would not be. He raised the Garand and fired. The German fell to the side, dead. He snapped off another shot at the second German, this one hitting him in the chest. He shot another German in the leg, sending a second shot into his stomach. That left one more German. This one was a bit more clever than his counterparts. He hid behind a tree, not daring to show himself. John stayed behind the brick wall, deciding not to chance raising his head, for he knew that the German would shoot, and the bullet would most definitely hit its mark. They sat there in silence for a good minute or two, during which John silently cursed the German, knowing that the longer he sat here the smaller the chance that he could save the young private that lay dying on the grass a few yards away from him. If he’d been close enough he would have tried to reach out and get him, but he knew that the German would mow them both down if he attempted to do so. It was torture just sitting there, waiting.
Finally, the German revealed himself and shot–not at John, but at Mitchell. The defenseless young man’s screams were silenced with a shot to the chest. Angered by this, John peered over the wall and fired. The German crumpled in a heap. He sprinted to the young private, already knowing that he was dead. He gazed down at him, and frowned. The kid wasn’t even old enough to buy a beer, he asserted sadly. It was then that he heard another young voice.
“Flash.”
“Thunder.” John responded.
“Welcome. Lieutenant McCreary! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Hello, Corporal Parker.” John rose and faced the man. He was with two privates–from the 82nd, by the look of their patches. “I’m assuming these two fellas missed their DZ as well?” The two privates nodded.
“Yes sir–somebody must have–I mean, 82nd troops?”
“You can come along with us until we find your unit. For now, we’re going to see if we can locate the rest of our platoon.” John reached into the pocket of his M1942 trousers, withdrawing his field map. “Parker, do you have a flashlight?”
The corporal dug around in his backpack and handed his flashlight to John. The lieutenant withdrew his rain poncho from his own backpack and draped it over his head before turning on the flashlight. This was done to ensure that the enemy wouldn’t be able to see them. John studied the map for a few minutes and then shut off the flashlight. “We missed the DZ by approximately five miles.” he stated as he off the poncho.
“Jesus Christ..” the corporal muttered.
“Alright, let’s get a move on. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time. Move out.” ordered John. God help us.
Welcome
Nathan
Account E-Mail: [Edited out.]
Name: John Patrick McCreary
Nationality: American
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? US
Character History:
John Patrick McCreary was born on August 2nd, 1920 in New York City. His father, Daniel, was a well-to-do businessman and his mother, Betty, had been a secretary before their marriage. John was the youngest of three–he had a brother named George ( the oldest ) and a sister named Anne. The McCrearys were a happy family, and they could often be found picnicking in Central Park on Sunday afternoons. John was close with his siblings–especially his brother George–and got along well with them, save for the occasional argument. John’s father would take the boys out hunting in the countryside every weekend. George was the better shot out of the two brothers, but as the years went by, John slowly became an impressive marksman. Besides hunting, John also enjoyed fishing, football, and baseball. However, the family’s idyllic life was forever altered by the stock market crash of ‘29.
The Great Depression, as it would later be called, took its toll on the whole country, including the McCrearys. Daniel’s business was failing, and the family’s standard of living changed drastically. Extravagant meals were done away with, and one sweater and a good pair of socks had to suffice. John was very young when the stock market crashed, so at first he didn’t know what was going on. As he got older, he began to understand that his father had lost most of his money. Perhaps that was why John never took an interest in re-starting the family business as George had. John was very studious and hardworking, but he didn’t want to be a businessman. He wanted to go off and have spectacular adventures, just like in the stories he read. The movies also sparked his imagination. Both books and “talkies” alike inspired the youngest McCreary to write adventures of his own. Many an afternoon he spent in his room after school, sitting at his small desk and writing stories of pirates, explorers, and treasure hunters to pass the time. At night, the family would gather around the radio and listen to the evening news, as well as the occasional fireside chat.
John started high school in 1934. The young freshman, to his family’s surprise, decided to try out for the football team. George, the team’s quarterback, simply laughed at him, insisting that even if he did make the team, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t break a few bones once he played his first game. John assured his brother that the other team would have to sprout wings to catch him. He was right. Against all odds, the lanky teen became the best wide receiver the school had seen in years. His father called it natural talent, George called it a miracle, and John simply referred to it as luck. Whatever it was, John became a well-respected and crucial member of the team. George graduated in John’s junior year, and he encouraged his little brother to try out for quarterback. Reluctantly, John followed his brother’s advice. To his delight, he was given the position, and was also made captain of the team. John proved to be an efficient leader–the team was both respected and feared by other schools. It was under John’s leadership that the team ended a fierce rivalry with a neighboring school.
John was certainly the big man on campus, and though girls flocked to him, he never really dated that much. The once skinny and awkward teenager had grown into a dashing and handsome young man–though he’d never admit it. Standing a 6'2" and sporting wavy dark hair, ocean blue eyes, and a winning smile, he had plenty of attractive features that made plenty of his female classmates swoon. But John just wasn’t the romantic type at the time. He spent more time daydreaming about going on a grand tour of Europe or exploring the rainforest than daydreaming about women.
John kept a steady 4.0 GPA throughout high school, despite having to also balance football and a job at a nearby golf course. He graduated in 1937 with honors. He was offered a football scholarship to NYU, but he declined, instead enrolling at West Point Military Academy, and surprising his family and friends. John’s father had served during the Great War, as an enlisted man. John wanted to serve too, with his leadership skills. His mother was against it–she didn’t want either of her boys serving in the military. John’s father assured her that the officers were treated better than the “dough boys” and gave his youngest son his best wishes.
John fit right in at West Point. His roommate’s name was Anthony Romano. Romano’s parents had emigrated from Italy and started a family of twelve. Romano was the seventh child–the “lucky baby number seven” as he called himself. He decided to attend West Point because he was tired of living in a cramped tenement and he wanted to serve his new country. He would have just joined the Army, but his mother didn’t want him to end up as cannon fodder. He shared a common admiration of Joe DiMaggio and the Yankees with John, and the two became fast friends.
Both young men were aware of the conflict heating up in Europe. Civilians went about their daily lives without any concern of the events overseas, but John and the other cadets couldn’t help thinking that the United States would somehow be involved in the war. First came the Lend Lease act of 1941, and then came Pearl Harbor. The Class of ‘42 was eager to join the fight. John felt a strange mix of excitement and fear after graduation. He described it in a letter to his father, who recognized the feeling and confirmed that he had felt it too just before he went into combat. He warned him, however, that combat was like nothing John could imagine, and that he should “keep his head down and don’t do anything foolish”. He also reminded him that he was a 2nd lieutenant now, and that he was responsible not only for himself, but also the men that would be under his command. John kept this in mind as he volunteered for the paratroopers.
John wanted to be part of the elite unit because he felt that they were the best of the best. He didn’t want to command draftees that didn’t want to be there. He wanted to get the most out of his time in the Army, he wanted this to be a positive experience. For John, a positive experience was serving as a paratrooper. Soon, he found himself in Ft. Benning, Georgia. After attending Infantry School, he went on to Jump School. The training was grueling, like nothing he’d ever done before. The physical training consisted of daily running and calisthenics. By the time he was through, he was certain that he was fitter than any Olympic athlete. In addition to this, John and the rest of the men would make long night marches with full field equipment. To simulate jumping from a plane, the men would jump from a 250-foot high tower while strapped into a parachute harness, which was connected by a pulley to a cable. John found this somewhat fun, and always looked forward to the mock jumps. But what he eagerly anticipated was his first real jump from a C-47.
The day seemed to take forever to arrive, but it did. John was one of twenty-four men who were loaded into a C-47. He needed to complete five jumps to earn his jump wings. He was nervous and giddy–the same feeling he’d had after graduation. The young man had never been on a plane before, so that day he experienced two new things. There was a red light next to the door that lit up. The jumpmaster ordered them to rise and hook the lines connected to their main chutes to the anchor line that was on the top of the fuselage. After checking their equipment, the green light went on, and one at a time they jumped from the C-47. John was the fifth man out of the plane. He grabbed the outside edge of the door before looking straight at the horizon and jumping.
There was a gigantic shock as the parachute opened. It was both thrilling and terrifying ( the former more than the latter ). The view was spectacular. John couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as he jumped out of that plane without freezing up and panicking, like some of the other men had. If he could do this, then he could do anything. The second jump was similar to the first, but this time, all fear had vanished from John’s mind. His first jump with equipment was memorable, as this time the jumpmaster yelled as each man exited the plane. With “Go! Go! Go!” ringing in his ears, John leapt from the plane, relishing in the opening shock as he floated down to the ground.
The fifth and final jump would come at night. John knew that after he completed that jump, he would receive his silver parachutist wings. When it was his turn to jump, he let go of the hook and sprung out of the plane. The jerk of the main chute opening signaled the end of his training. He couldn’t help but have a grin on his face as the silver wings were pinned onto his uniform. John was also authorized to wear Cocoran paratrooper boots with his trousers “bloused” ( tucked into the boots ).
Soon after that, John was assigned to the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment. He and the rest of his regiment were sent to the Airborne Command at Camp Mackall, North Carolina. Here he practiced jumps with rifles and small arms. John also participated in field exercises as a platoon leader. As a West Point graduate, he had a pretty good idea of what he was doing in each scenario.
Finally, in January of 1944, the 23-year-old 2nd Lieutenant and his regiment were deployed to England from Camp Miles Standish, Massachusetts. When they arrived in England, the regiment was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division. John was now officially a Screaming Eagle. He didn’t know what fate had in store for him, and he didn’t know if he was ready. Nothing, not even one of the finest military academies in the world, could prepare him for what he was about to do.
Military Rank: 2nd Lieutenant
Writing Sample:
Flak pierced the air around him as his main parachute opened. 2nd Lieutenant John McCreary could see the armada in the distance, slowly making its way towards the beaches of Normandy. He thanked God that George was not in one of those boats, having been designated 4F because of a back problem. He could smell smoke and hear machine gun fire all around him. The raging fires on the ground below lit up the skies. A C-47 next to the one he’d just jumped out of was shot down–the wreckage hurtled to the ground. He prayed that the men in it had gotten a chance to jump but his stomach churned at the thought of what had really happened. He steered the parachute safely to the ground and slid to a stop. He folded his chute and quickly and methodically checked his equipment. The leg bag’s gone, he noted with frustration. It had all his extra ammo in it. In his jump, he’d also managed to lose his .45 cal Colt revolver. His tommy gun was ready and loaded, but still–God only knew when he’d meet up with more of his men. He discarded of his Mae West life vest and clutched his submachine gun as he crept through the hedgerows.
Here he was, in occupied France, and completely lost. He’d missed the DZ, that was certain. If he hadn’t, then where was the rest of the regiment? He stayed alert, knowing that the enemy could be anywhere. He and the rest of the paratroopers were equipped with “crickets”, to identify each other with. If one squeezed the cricket, it would make a ‘click-clack’ sound. The person who answered was to respond with two squeezes–‘click clack, click-clack’. In addition to this, there was a password. A man would challenge another by saying “Flash”. The response was “Thunder.” If given correctly, the first man would answer, “Welcome.”
John kept this in mind, keeping his head down and crouching as he peered around a corner. He could see a helmet in the darkness, but he couldn’t tell if it was German or American. He held out his cricket and “click-clacked” once. The head turned, and a shot rang out. John hit the ground behind the hedgerow. Guess that answers that. He aimed his Thompson and squeezed the trigger. A burst of bullets sent the German to the ground. The man lay still. After waiting a few seconds, John examined his prey. He was dead, alright. I killed him. I killed a human being. A man. he realized silently. This wasn’t like shooting rabbits. He’d taken the life of another man. John suddenly felt dizzy as nausea began to overtake him. I had to. It’s kill or be killed. That’s how it is. That’s how war is. he reminded himself firmly before inhaling and taking the Kar96k and the soldier’s ammo in case he needed it.
He needed to find his platoon. The hedgerows were probably crawling with Germans. Had all of the boys survived their jumps? He mentally said a prayer for them as he moved on. Crouching between the hedgerows, he couldn’t help but get the feeling someone was following him. They weren’t directly behind him, but they were close. He stopped and got down, his Thompson at the ready. He made sure to take cover behind a tree in order to obscure himself from view. It was imperative that he put as many obstacles as possible between him and the enemy so that they’d have a harder time shooting him. He could hear the footsteps coming up from the north–right in front of the tree. He cocked the Thompson, aiming it in that direction. Then he heard a “click-clack.”
“Click-clack..click-clack.” The cricket sounded as he squeezed it.
“Lieutenant McCreary, is that you?”
John recognized the voice as belonging to young Pvt. First Class James Mitchell, a demolitions man in the platoon. “Yeah, it’s me. Private Mitchell?”
“Yes, sir! Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought I was all alone.”
Do I know the feeling. John could see that the teenager was shaking. “It’s okay, Private. We have to rendezvous with the others, and fast. It won’t be long until the Germans find us.” He put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Mitchell nodded and followed John. The younger man had an extra Garand, so John ditched the German bolt-action rifle for the semi-automatic American one. The two paratroopers met no resistance until about a quarter of a mile from where they first met. Shots rang out and John dove for cover. Mitchell wasn’t so swift, and he fell, a bullet embedded in his neck. John watched, helpless and horrified, as the man thrashed about in the grass. The lieutenant stayed low behind the brick wall as the Germans kept shooting. He carefully leaned around the edge of the wall and tried to ascertain where the shots were coming from. He saw a muzzle flash and ducked. He was unharmed, but the German would not be. He raised the Garand and fired. The German fell to the side, dead. He snapped off another shot at the second German, this one hitting him in the chest. He shot another German in the leg, sending a second shot into his stomach. That left one more German. This one was a bit more clever than his counterparts. He hid behind a tree, not daring to show himself. John stayed behind the brick wall, deciding not to chance raising his head, for he knew that the German would shoot, and the bullet would most definitely hit its mark. They sat there in silence for a good minute or two, during which John silently cursed the German, knowing that the longer he sat here the smaller the chance that he could save the young private that lay dying on the grass a few yards away from him. If he’d been close enough he would have tried to reach out and get him, but he knew that the German would mow them both down if he attempted to do so. It was torture just sitting there, waiting.
Finally, the German revealed himself and shot–not at John, but at Mitchell. The defenseless young man’s screams were silenced with a shot to the chest. Angered by this, John peered over the wall and fired. The German crumpled in a heap. He sprinted to the young private, already knowing that he was dead. He gazed down at him, and frowned. The kid wasn’t even old enough to buy a beer, he asserted sadly. It was then that he heard another young voice.
“Flash.”
“Thunder.” John responded.
“Welcome. Lieutenant McCreary! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Hello, Corporal Parker.” John rose and faced the man. He was with two privates–from the 82nd, by the look of their patches. “I’m assuming these two fellas missed their DZ as well?” The two privates nodded.
“Yes sir–somebody must have–I mean, 82nd troops?”
“You can come along with us until we find your unit. For now, we’re going to see if we can locate the rest of our platoon.” John reached into the pocket of his M1942 trousers, withdrawing his field map. “Parker, do you have a flashlight?”
The corporal dug around in his backpack and handed his flashlight to John. The lieutenant withdrew his rain poncho from his own backpack and draped it over his head before turning on the flashlight. This was done to ensure that the enemy wouldn’t be able to see them. John studied the map for a few minutes and then shut off the flashlight. “We missed the DZ by approximately five miles.” he stated as he off the poncho.
“Jesus Christ..” the corporal muttered.
“Alright, let’s get a move on. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time. Move out.” ordered John. God help us.
