Post by 2nd Lt. John P. McCreary on Oct 16, 2010 19:37:51 GMT
( OOC: I used a translator, so that's why it probably isn't grammatically correct XD. )
November 1st, 1944
1230 hours
3ID Base
“Lookin’ good, Lieutenant. You got a date?”
John turned at the familiar voice. It was his platoon sergeant, a man by the name of Harry Banks. The officer grinned back and shook his head. “Just with the city of lights.”
“Oh, so you’re the one who got that pass! The boys were talkin’ about it back in the barracks. I made a bet that it was Robertson, but I guess I owe them five bucks.” Banks stated with a frown.
John laughed heartily before patting the Philadelphian on the shoulder. “See ya later, Banks.” He left the building and headed across the field leading to the division’s garage. He had to be back by that time the next day, and he’d been looking forward to this for quite a while. His father had never really spoken about the Great War, but he did always talk about his visit to Paris. Most of the G.I.s wanted to go there in order to get drunk and maybe pick up a few skirts. John’s motivations were far more concrete. He’d wanted to visit the city since he was a child, honing his French to near perfection. Indeed, he’d learned in total three European languages, including French, the other two were Dutch and German. It was funny how those two had been very useful during his time year, the latter especially when interrogating prisoners. But now was not the time for that. Today he was going to live out his childhood dream.
************************************
November 1st, 1944
1330 hours
Paris, France
About an hour later, John was leaving the Gare du Nord train station. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d thought it would be, which was good–he could explore in peace. The normally calm and collected Lieutenant resembled a kid at Coney Island as he stared at the station’s interior in awe. After a few moments of gawking at his first Parisian building, he finally exited the station and began walking along the sidewalk outside with his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. He wore a neat Class A uniform, as well as a matching garrison cap with infantry piping.
He continued walking for a good long while, before realizing that at this rate he’d probably get lost. His stomach was growling as well, as he’d left before lunch. Flagging down a taxi, the New Yorker opened up the cab door and sat down in the comfortable back seat. “Bonjour monsieur. Je suis un américain et je n'ai jamais été ici auparavant. Avez-vous des suggestions pour quelque part pour manger?” John asked politely.
The taxi driver seemed surprised that the young GI knew French, and nodded with a smile. “Il y a un petit café agréable près de la Tour Eiffel appelée Le Blanc est Monté. Je supposerais que vous voudriez visiter là aussi. Voulez-vous moi pour vous prendre là, monsieur?”
“Oui, s'il vous plaît.”
On the way to the café, the friendly driver recommended various places that John should visit before he headed back. Most of the places were on John’s list, and they included the Lourve, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Champs-Élysées, as well as other places John had not thought of, such as the Opéra Bastille. When he told the driver that he was a writer, he also suggested that he visit the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, which was the National Library of France.
The pleasant trip finally came to the end, and the taxi slowed to a stop outside Le Blanc est Monté. John dug into the pocket of his service uniform and counted out the correct number of francs, offering them to the driver. To his surprise, the Frenchman stopped him, shaking his head.
“Non, monsieur. Je ne peux pas accepter cet argent. Vous nous avez libérés. J'étais avec la Résistance et je suis très reconnaissant à vous et vos hommes pour que vous avez fait pour la France.” the man protested with a faint smile. “Thank you, American.” he added in heavily accented English.
John insisted on paying the driver, but he refused to take the money. “Merci.” he said, shaking the older man’s hand before climbing out of the cab. He watched as the taxi departed, and then stared up at the café. It had two floors, with a pretty balcony that offered a grand view of the city. I’m definitely sitting up there. he decided as he pushed opened the door to the restaurant. There were a few G.I.s seated at some of the tables, and there were also some Brits scattered about the place, but other than that, the place was empty. John supposed that it was because most of the soldiers were drowning themselves in liquor at Parisian bars. There was a small dance floor in the corner, with a small band playing on the stage in front. John walked over towards the staircase and climbed up to the balcony, seating himself at one of the tables. A waiter came over and handed him a menu, promising that he would be served soon.
Another waiter with oily, black hair soon approached him. “Bonjour, mo–hello, sir. How may I help you?” he asked. His English wasn’t the best, but it was understandable.
“It’s okay, I speak French. Je prendrai le Lobester newbert avec une salade et un thé pour boire s'il vous plaît.”
“Choix excellent, monsieur. J'aurai votre nourriture prête tout de suite.” the waiter answered with a grin before hurrying away.
He wondered if the lobster here was as good as the kind his father picked up from the seafood market back home. His mother made the best sauce for lobster tails, he didn’t know how she did it, but it was delicious. All this began to make him feel homesick, and he wondered if he’d ever see home again at all. He pushed the thought far out his mind, he was here to enjoy himself, to forget about the war for a while.
But he still couldn’t help thinking about what the cab driver had told him. Me, a liberator? He supposed he had done all that, but the ones who deserved to be thanked had died on a battlefield miles away from home. They were the heroes, not him. Still, the man’s statement led him to believe that the lives that had been lost had not be lost in vain. Though America had given many sons to rescue a foreign land from the Nazi War Machine, it had been worth it. They had freed France, all right. And now they had to move the ball forward, one yard at a time, to liberate the rest of Europe. Yes, more lives would have to be sacrificed, but he had to believe that they had made a difference, that they hadn’t died needlessly.
With this in mind, John took off his garrison cap and pulled out a folded piece of parchment paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded the parchment and withdrew a pen from the same pocket.
Dear Ma and Pop,
You’ll never guess where I am right now...
Translations
Bonjour monsieur. Je suis un américain et je n'ai jamais été ici auparavant. Avez-vous des suggestions pour quelque part pour manger?–Hello, sir. I am an American and I’ve never been here before. Do you have any suggestions for somewhere to eat?
Il y a un petit café agréable près de la Tour Eiffel appelée le Blanc est Monté. Je supposerais que vous voudriez visiter là aussi. Voulez-vous moi pour vous prendre là, monsieur?
--There's a nice little cafe near the Eiffel Tower called the White Rose. I'd assume that you'd like to visit there as well. Would you like me to take you there, monsieur?
Non, monsieur. Je ne peux pas accepter cet argent. Vous nous avez libérés. J'étais avec la Résistance et je suis très reconnaissant à vous et vos hommes pour que vous avez fait pour la France.
–No sir. I cannot accept this money. You liberated us. I was with the Resistance, and I am very grateful to you and your men for what you have done for France.
Je prendrai le Lobester newbert avec une salade et un thé pour boire s'il vous plaît.
–I’ll take the Lobster Newbert with a salad, and tea to drink please.
Choix excellent, monsieur. Votre nourriture sera prête tout de suite..
–Excellent choice, sir. Your food will be ready right away.
November 1st, 1944
1230 hours
3ID Base
“Lookin’ good, Lieutenant. You got a date?”
John turned at the familiar voice. It was his platoon sergeant, a man by the name of Harry Banks. The officer grinned back and shook his head. “Just with the city of lights.”
“Oh, so you’re the one who got that pass! The boys were talkin’ about it back in the barracks. I made a bet that it was Robertson, but I guess I owe them five bucks.” Banks stated with a frown.
John laughed heartily before patting the Philadelphian on the shoulder. “See ya later, Banks.” He left the building and headed across the field leading to the division’s garage. He had to be back by that time the next day, and he’d been looking forward to this for quite a while. His father had never really spoken about the Great War, but he did always talk about his visit to Paris. Most of the G.I.s wanted to go there in order to get drunk and maybe pick up a few skirts. John’s motivations were far more concrete. He’d wanted to visit the city since he was a child, honing his French to near perfection. Indeed, he’d learned in total three European languages, including French, the other two were Dutch and German. It was funny how those two had been very useful during his time year, the latter especially when interrogating prisoners. But now was not the time for that. Today he was going to live out his childhood dream.
************************************
November 1st, 1944
1330 hours
Paris, France
About an hour later, John was leaving the Gare du Nord train station. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d thought it would be, which was good–he could explore in peace. The normally calm and collected Lieutenant resembled a kid at Coney Island as he stared at the station’s interior in awe. After a few moments of gawking at his first Parisian building, he finally exited the station and began walking along the sidewalk outside with his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers. He wore a neat Class A uniform, as well as a matching garrison cap with infantry piping.
He continued walking for a good long while, before realizing that at this rate he’d probably get lost. His stomach was growling as well, as he’d left before lunch. Flagging down a taxi, the New Yorker opened up the cab door and sat down in the comfortable back seat. “Bonjour monsieur. Je suis un américain et je n'ai jamais été ici auparavant. Avez-vous des suggestions pour quelque part pour manger?” John asked politely.
The taxi driver seemed surprised that the young GI knew French, and nodded with a smile. “Il y a un petit café agréable près de la Tour Eiffel appelée Le Blanc est Monté. Je supposerais que vous voudriez visiter là aussi. Voulez-vous moi pour vous prendre là, monsieur?”
“Oui, s'il vous plaît.”
On the way to the café, the friendly driver recommended various places that John should visit before he headed back. Most of the places were on John’s list, and they included the Lourve, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Champs-Élysées, as well as other places John had not thought of, such as the Opéra Bastille. When he told the driver that he was a writer, he also suggested that he visit the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, which was the National Library of France.
The pleasant trip finally came to the end, and the taxi slowed to a stop outside Le Blanc est Monté. John dug into the pocket of his service uniform and counted out the correct number of francs, offering them to the driver. To his surprise, the Frenchman stopped him, shaking his head.
“Non, monsieur. Je ne peux pas accepter cet argent. Vous nous avez libérés. J'étais avec la Résistance et je suis très reconnaissant à vous et vos hommes pour que vous avez fait pour la France.” the man protested with a faint smile. “Thank you, American.” he added in heavily accented English.
John insisted on paying the driver, but he refused to take the money. “Merci.” he said, shaking the older man’s hand before climbing out of the cab. He watched as the taxi departed, and then stared up at the café. It had two floors, with a pretty balcony that offered a grand view of the city. I’m definitely sitting up there. he decided as he pushed opened the door to the restaurant. There were a few G.I.s seated at some of the tables, and there were also some Brits scattered about the place, but other than that, the place was empty. John supposed that it was because most of the soldiers were drowning themselves in liquor at Parisian bars. There was a small dance floor in the corner, with a small band playing on the stage in front. John walked over towards the staircase and climbed up to the balcony, seating himself at one of the tables. A waiter came over and handed him a menu, promising that he would be served soon.
Another waiter with oily, black hair soon approached him. “Bonjour, mo–hello, sir. How may I help you?” he asked. His English wasn’t the best, but it was understandable.
“It’s okay, I speak French. Je prendrai le Lobester newbert avec une salade et un thé pour boire s'il vous plaît.”
“Choix excellent, monsieur. J'aurai votre nourriture prête tout de suite.” the waiter answered with a grin before hurrying away.
He wondered if the lobster here was as good as the kind his father picked up from the seafood market back home. His mother made the best sauce for lobster tails, he didn’t know how she did it, but it was delicious. All this began to make him feel homesick, and he wondered if he’d ever see home again at all. He pushed the thought far out his mind, he was here to enjoy himself, to forget about the war for a while.
But he still couldn’t help thinking about what the cab driver had told him. Me, a liberator? He supposed he had done all that, but the ones who deserved to be thanked had died on a battlefield miles away from home. They were the heroes, not him. Still, the man’s statement led him to believe that the lives that had been lost had not be lost in vain. Though America had given many sons to rescue a foreign land from the Nazi War Machine, it had been worth it. They had freed France, all right. And now they had to move the ball forward, one yard at a time, to liberate the rest of Europe. Yes, more lives would have to be sacrificed, but he had to believe that they had made a difference, that they hadn’t died needlessly.
With this in mind, John took off his garrison cap and pulled out a folded piece of parchment paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded the parchment and withdrew a pen from the same pocket.
Dear Ma and Pop,
You’ll never guess where I am right now...
Translations
Bonjour monsieur. Je suis un américain et je n'ai jamais été ici auparavant. Avez-vous des suggestions pour quelque part pour manger?–Hello, sir. I am an American and I’ve never been here before. Do you have any suggestions for somewhere to eat?
Il y a un petit café agréable près de la Tour Eiffel appelée le Blanc est Monté. Je supposerais que vous voudriez visiter là aussi. Voulez-vous moi pour vous prendre là, monsieur?
--There's a nice little cafe near the Eiffel Tower called the White Rose. I'd assume that you'd like to visit there as well. Would you like me to take you there, monsieur?
Non, monsieur. Je ne peux pas accepter cet argent. Vous nous avez libérés. J'étais avec la Résistance et je suis très reconnaissant à vous et vos hommes pour que vous avez fait pour la France.
–No sir. I cannot accept this money. You liberated us. I was with the Resistance, and I am very grateful to you and your men for what you have done for France.
Je prendrai le Lobester newbert avec une salade et un thé pour boire s'il vous plaît.
–I’ll take the Lobster Newbert with a salad, and tea to drink please.
Choix excellent, monsieur. Votre nourriture sera prête tout de suite..
–Excellent choice, sir. Your food will be ready right away.
