Visiting the cars...(Speirs)

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The vehicle garage…Joe hadn’t been in here for ages, last time he had had a tick off from his CO, telling him off for driving manically around the barracks, he remembered the skid marks on the road that he and two mates had to rub off with only a mop and a bucket of soupy water, it had taken them nearly the whole afternoon as the marks didn’t seem to want to come off sadly…god it had been annoying!

That was before Joe had gone off to France, when he didn’t have a care in the world and had never seen action or a Nazi since just after the Great War, now he felt a dark shadow was over him wherever he went, he was so nervous that he would get blown up by someone sooner or later. Like in that hospital, he felt that Strumfelder knew exactly where he was at all times…obviously that would be ridiculous cause no one knows where someone else is from hundreds of miles away only if they had a tracker on them…

It was early evening, Joe had popped down to look at the machines that were kept here, he had always been into machines, he had been an engineer before the war, and he had loved that job…now a woman had it. There were a few women in the garage as he entered, tidying everything up for the night. Joe smiled softly at them, a few started as they saw the scars on his face but recovered and smiled back at him. Joe walked towards a truck, it had a massive gun on the front of it, it’s engine was on view, sparkling in the light of the evening sun pouring through the open doors.

Joe walked around it, looking at it, it certainly was a beauty.

[rspeirs]

The M7 Priest, in all its wonder, was an awe inspiring sight for Ron Speirs. He had requested for Patterson to send one of those menacing tanks to Foxtrot Company, only to be informed that he was no longer Commanding Officer in Foxtrot. No, some Welshman by the name of Nicholas Ealing was now Commanding Officer, making Speirs Foxtrot’s Executive Officer. Speirs felt some resentment at the new position. After all, he loved the title of Commanding Officer. He missed the paperwork, the daily bantering of his men, the role calls he conducted with his 1st Sergeant, whom Speirs deemed to garrulous for his liking-George O’Brian. He however, knew that his role now was not as a leader, but as a 1st Officer. He would serve for Ealing whether he liked it or not.

The sun, which was now setting, cast a beautiful glow on the Priest, which was battered and bruised from seizing a French city during Operation Overlord. Speirs placed his hand on the warm steel and smiled. It was odd, he thought, for a man to fall in love for such a envoy of death. Speirs however, knew that death was the only way to win this war. A wise man once told Ron “Nothing good was ever free.” That quote justified the destruction the M7 Priest left in its wake. He had now removed his hand from the tank in the hopes that this beast would bring more destruction to the Krauts. The thought was cold, but Speirs knew the atrocities which these shells of human beings had committed. He had heard the stories of innocent people killed in the Battle for Britain. He heard the stories of men and women, who opposed Hitler, being sent to their deaths by the Gestapo. He had heard of his brother’s death during WWI, which had come after much German shelling, mortar fire, and infantry fire. Speirs scoffed. “I am cold?” he thought. “War is cold” he mumbled to himself.

He walked away from the M7 Priest, toward the exit of the garage. As he was walking, Speirs wondered why he entered this place at all. Most likely fond nostalgia of his years back in the states, after he and his family moved from Scotland. He had worked in a garage, fixing cars. He had remembered the days of hard labor, where he would rise at 5 in the morning and finish at 9 at night, only to get up and repeat that day’s work the next day. He remembered the days off, where he would lie on the hammock in his backyard, enjoying a nice Coca-Cola, waiting for his childhood sweetheart to arrive, whom he would take out for ice cream. Oh how he longed for the days of old. However, he did not dream too often for these days. He remembered from reading stories of T.S. Elliot and F. Scott Fitzgerald in his free time that dreaming would get you nowhere. No, it was only lately that Speirs cared to dream. Only during this war, when all hope seems lost, that Speirs drifted off into some sort of fantasy world, often neglecting his war motto that “In war, you are already dead.” On the contrary, Speirs was more than alive. He was vivid on the inside, despite being a man of great pauciloquy on the outside. Speirs kept his emotions inside for the sole fact that he wanted to appear strong on the outside. He found value in being one of the toughest and most respected men in Foxtrot, second only to Ealing.

Nevertheless, Speirs walked onward toward the exit, until he was stopped by an odd site. A man, tattered and torn, staring, in awe, at a Staghound Armored Car. Speirs gave a small, subtle smile and walked toward him. “Sure is a beauty” He said quietly, yet audibly. “This is one of Patterson’s finest. It was trashed at Tobruk, or at least I think it was. I’m relatively new to the 3rd Infantry Division, although I am battle tested.” Speirs extended his hand. He had no idea why he was being so friendly towards the man, but by the looks of his scarring, Speirs figured he needed some person to confide in. Speirs, so far, had no one to talk to. He even felt distance to Patterson. Therefore, he decided to talk to this man. He pointed to a Mercedes Benz. “See that car over in the corner. “It was seized from a Nazi occupied area. They say it has bullet proof windshields. I have found out that armor piercing rounds work quite well.” Speirs gave a small laugh, in hopes to break the ice.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe was still fascinated by the car, it was extremely shinny. Joe remembered back when he was in the engineering job, working hard to make the cars look smart and well presented, to please the owners if they were fixing someone else’s car or to please the buyers who would be buying the cars to take them home and most likely ruin them. That’s what happened most of the time with the buyers, they’d buy a really expensive car, one that had been done up to perfection, as soon as they left the garage in which it had been sold, they would take it along the roads, speeding, getting it scratched and next thing the engineers and mechanics knew the car was back within a week.

Not all the time of course, but Joe did remember one time, a Mr Tydwood had come in to look at a new car, he was in his mid 40s, he had fought in the Great War for the US as a Commanding Officer, he had stayed in the army for a few years after 1918 and was now working at a base camp in California, training up young recruits and troops. He came over to East for his holidays and that was when he had decided to buy a car. He had come in, all dressed up in a tweed suit and searching eyes that scanned the faces of the men as they worked around the cars, fixing them up proper smartly. He had wanted to buy a Ford as it was one of the most expensive cars around and was very good…”Goes up to 40mph you know.” he had said to everyone who would listen, they had sold him the beauty and he had gone off with it. Three days later, he had come back, furious. He had said that the ford car had spun off the road as he took one of his motorist friends it but it was later to be found out that he had been driving too fast and a wheel on the car had burst, sending it spinning into a ditch.

But that was all in the past, Joe kept staring into the shinny metal, his scarred face stared back at him. Jumping slightly, he turned to see 1st Sergeant Speirs standing behind him. ”Sir.” the paratrooper saluted. Speirs began to tell a brief history of the car that stood in front of them. A hand was stretched forward and Joe looked over, Speirs was new to the company, like Joe…he was battle tasted…lucky him, Joe wasn’t battle tasted, he was tortured tasted if there even was a phrase to use for that. ”Corporal Joe Claude, sir.” Joe took the hand and shook it firmly, giving the more respectable man a small smile. He looked over at the Mercedes Benz, he smiled and heard the man give a laugh. ”That’s good then sir.” he muttered, not really in the mood for laughing. ”I worked with cars before the war sir, that is why I am so interested in them.” he added, trying to break the ice as well.

[rspeirs]

They say you can tell a lot about a man from the way he shakes a hand. In this case, it was true for Speirs and Claude. Speirs noticed that on Claude’s hand lie a circular scar. It was odd looking and almost misplaced, as it shouldn’t be there. He had never seen something like it, and, for lack of a better term, was awestruck, fascinate by it. He did not bring attention to it, as he did not want to offend Claude. He knew the cruel and bitter ways of war and figured that this scar was only a complication of an already gruesome war. Other than the scar, Speirs noticed that that Claude’s handshake was firm. Speirs liked that in a man, especially Claude.

The 1st Sergeant had an odd feeling about Corporal Joe Claude. The man seemed almost tormented, rather, haunted by something in his life. He decided to dismiss it for now, and maybe bring up the subject later, as he hardly new Claude, and he thought that something like this would be too painful to talk about with a mere stranger. Rather, Speirs admired Claude’s strength. At the moment he shook Claude’s hand, he felt a determination in Claude that was like no other. Speirs almost found himself admiring the Corporal and for good reason. Speirs let go of Claude’s hand, smiling.

Speirs now took in a deep breath. Beneath the smells of axel grease, gasoline, burning equipment, and other equipment or items that are synonymous with a car garage, Speirs smelled something. It was faint, yet uplifting. Spring. Yes, on the very verge of this fateful day was spring. Speirs knew it. Finally he thought – A glimpse of hope in the midst of so much despair. Speirs however, did not believe in fate, so this juxtaposition between spring, which could technically symbolize hope, and Claude, a young, war torn soldier, who had a bright future in front of him.

Speirs’ joke did not seem to have much effect on the Corporal, who muttered something along the lines of “That’s good to know.” Speirs, on normal circumstances, wouldn’t be surprised by this, as the 1st Sergeant isn’t much of a joker. In fact, he thought of that one to liven the spirits of the corporal, even though it was a true fact. He did actually fire an armor piercing round at the Benz, which killed the driver, a German soldier, instantly. He nodded at Claude saying, “It’s a joke, Corporal, you are aloud to laugh. You are amongst a friend, not a superior. Stop being formal, there is no need.” Speirs smiled. This occasion of kindness on Speirs part was out of place. Speirs was renowned as a strong, able, cold soldier, not some kind, and witty friend. However, he felt that if he was ever to get the real Joe Claude to speak with him, this kindness would be necessary.

The corporal told Speirs that he used to work with cars. Speirs smiled, stating, “You don’t say? So did I. Back in the states, I worked for my dad’s auto business for quite some time. It was hard labor, but it only prepared me for life.” Speirs smiled, not knowing where to go with the conversation. He wasn’t a people person, and the scars still fascinated him…

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe had also be told when he was younger that he could always tell what a man was like by the handshake that they gave him at first meeting. This was it, Speirs’s hand shake was firm but nice, not too firm…Joe gave a soft smile and noticed the man looking at his scar on his hand. He withdrew it quickly as he looked away, feeling slightly embarrassed, he always would be embarrassed from now on, he would never be able to walk into a shop without getting looks from people…

Speirs looked a nice enough man, when he had first approached the Corporal, Joe had thought that he would be another one of those higher ranking Sergeants that would start barking orders like the one at his training ground back in the US…Sergeant Richard Cotton, a man who everyone hated but couldn’t do anything about it. Joe remembered the day when the men were eating in the mess hall, pasta was on the menu, E. Company had just sat down to eat when Cotton had come in, ordered them up and off to run up the hill three times, absolute hell it had been, horrible. Most of the men had been sick for having to run after just eating. Joe remembered another time when they had been about to go and leave for the weekend, Cotton was inspecting them and had taken Joe’s bayonet, chucked it on the ground because it was rusty and told everyone that their passes had been cancelled, everyone had hated Joe for a few hours after that, Joe had felt so stupid, annoyed at Cotton but annoyed at himself. He had never let a bayonet go rusty again.

Speirs smiled as he let go of Joe’s hand, Joe shrugged his shoulders, shuffling his feet slightly. The sergeant spoke again, saying that Joe could laugh. Joe didn’t feel like laughing, he wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t been in the mood for a long time. Amongst a friend? ”Sorry sir, used to respecting higher ranks, not used to being so informal.” he gave a soft smile. Indeed, rumours had it that Speirs had killed some German prisoners after giving them a cigarette, while they smoked it he shot them in the back…apparently…but rumours were rumours.

”Really sir? That’s quiet a coincidence!” Joe began to relax a bit, leaning up against the wall as he glanced from the car to the sergeant. ”I worked at a garage, Fords we sold sir, lost my job during the depression and then got it back but the war came along so took up the army instead…wished I hadn’t now but ah well…” he shrugged as if it didn’t matter, which was wrong of course, Joe did wish that he could wide back time, back to the comfort of home and happiness.

[rspeirs]

“Heh…Fords, eh?” Speirs said with a tone of enjoyment. He rubbed his chin, which, by now, was becoming increasingly dense with hair. He knew a Colonel who always told his men to shave every day. His name was Robert Sink; the man he wished was his commander. He had liked being in the infantry, and Henry Patterson was one excellent Commanding Officer, but the 506th Paratroopers always held a special place in his heart. He longed to be one of them. Indeed, he rubbed his quasi-goatee for a bit longer, than began to speak. “Didn’t really sell or make cars myself, just fixed. Damn tough business, laborious hours, long, hot days, men yelling at you, trying to survive…prepared me for the army.” Speirs smirked. He wanted to laugh at his statement, but seeing Claude standing there, straight-faced, he held his tongue.

Claude then mentioned the Crash. It brought back terrible, yet homely memories for Speirs. This was a time of very mixed emotions for Speirs’ family, yet it was also the time when Speirs met his childhood sweetheart, Samantha. She was a beautiful girl, and he had wanted to spend his life with her. He recalled the many days where they would walk through town, looking at store windows, picturing all the things they would buy if they had enough money. He remembered the days when her and himself would sit in the backyard, staring aimlessly at the sky above, talking incoherently about nothing. Afterall, to her and Speirs, nothing mattered except the sole fact that they loved each other. However, when that day in 1941 came when Pearl Harbor was bombed, their lives were changed. He remembered the day he went to enlist for the service. The paratrooper roster was full, so he decided to enlist in the armed forces. He finished, and was walking out, when his eye caught something at the window. It was her, crying her eyes out at the fact he was leaving. He still remembers the moment vividly when he walked out and she ran up to him, sobbing, and clasped her arms around him. “Why Ron?” she said in a faint, whimpering tone. “Why?” she said again, almost angry at him. Speirs did not have the courage to ask her. He tried to comfort her, but it did not work. She just walked away slowly, into the dreary December day. Speirs moved his hand into his jacket and pulled out a photo. It was of her. His hand shook as he stared into her beauty. He then realized that Claude was still speaking with him. He felt embarrassed and put the picture back in his pocket quickly. A tear ran down his eye, and he turned his head way, for fear that Claude may see him crying. Afterall, Speirs did not want to seem like a weak man. It was his strength, courage, and valor in war that made him so respectable to his men. He had to think of a response to give Claude, so he said simply, “I remember that time well, hit my family hard too. Harder than you can imagine. It tore us apart, isolated us, and ultimately, ostracized us from each other…” Speirs still fingered the photo of his sweetheart in his jacket’s pocket, still reminiscing on the good times they shared.

Then, Claude said something else. He said he wished he hadn’t joined the army. This thought tormented Speirs and he immediately stopped toying with the photo. He zipped the pocket back up and just thought, rather, simmered, over what Claude had just said. It was unbelievable. He felt both obligated to respond, but he hadn’t the words to do so. There weren’t any words to do so. He gritted his teeth. Yes, war, was a hard thing to endure, but it was necessary. Nothing good was every free. Claude was ignorant to that truth. “You know, Claude…” Speirs said, trying to hold back his anger. “A lot of good men died in this war. I have seen them die. Hell, a couple weeks back, I saw one of my privates shot in the damn kidney, and then peppered by a damn grenade. War is hell. There is no doubt about that. However, there comes a time in every man’s life when they must accept war as apart of this cruel façade we call life. At that time, we must put everything aside and take up arms against whatever tyranny exists. Yes, men will be slaughtered, yes, cruel things will become normality, and yes, hearts will be shattered. I know I have seen all three of these things happen. However, If I could go back to that time when I enlisted for the armed services. If I could change what I did that day and not enlist, I wouldn’t. You see, in war, there is no room for the weak. There is no room for cowards. There just isn’t. If you cower in your foxhole during a battle, you are most likely to die. If you become weak, you are most likely going to die. That may sound cruel, but that is war. War is hell. You must come to that reality when you are over here, fighting with those damn Krauts, that you are already dead. Only then can you function as a soldier should function—without remorse, without mercy, without compassion. The whole war depends on our actions. If we act with those things, we will act as cowards. The Krauts already have accepted this…” Speirs, at this point, pointed to Claude’s scars. “They have shown those qualities I have just mentioned on you. Or so I assume, especially from the way you seem to act about them-shy, ashamed, embarrassed, but Claude, there is nothing to be embarrassed about them. You see, do not live your life in fear of those Krauts, you aren’t Hitler’s only victim. In this war, everyone Hitler has laid his bastard hands on is a victim. Instead, you should be proud of them. You survived Nazi oppression.” Speirs scoffed at the thought of what the Waffen SS did to Claude. His anger at Claude seemed to change into his anger at the Krauts. “In fact, those wounds should make you want to kill more. They should make you want to fight like a man possessed. Like a soldier ought to fight. Show no quarter to the enemy…the black flag.” Speirs voice had an ominous, foreboding tone to it as he finished his speech.

He wasn’t sure how the Corporal would react to what he was saying. He, thus far, had an impression that Claude had been completely demoralized. “I have my reasons for fighting this war, as do you. We back down now, and every God damn reason we are here is all for not. We will lose it all, and it will all become nothing…”