PART ONE: THE BEGINNING

The day, is June 6, 2014. A day known by many as D-Day. I was once young when this took place. Now, I am an old man. I have a family now, a loving wife, 4 children who are up in age themselves, and many grandchildren. I don't feel comfortable telling stories about what I saw during the invasion, but it's best to get certain things off one's chest. It's about time my family knows what happened. I'd rather have them know the truth before I die.

"Grandpa?" That was my granddaughter, Alison.

"What did you do in the war?

I had to chuckle, "I did many things. Thankfully I got out alive."

As soon as the thought arose in my mind, I could hear thunderous sounds in the distance. The constant "Boom-boom" of the artillery was still fresh in my mind. It felt like it was yesterday. I joined the 1st Canadian Parachute Battalion. I was a paratrooper, I was to jump out of an aircraft, and drop behind enemy lines. I'm jumping the gun though, so I'll backtrack to the waiting time before the invasion. We got all assembled in the briefing room, being told what we were to do.

"You are to jump out of the aircraft, aim for the drop-zone which is about 5 miles from the town of Caen, you are to then rendezvous with the 3rd Canadian Infantry Division. From there, you will attempt to liberate France within 90 days. Be warned, the Germans won't be there to have a cup of tea with you, they're going to try their best to stop you from liberating France, understood?"

"Yes sir!" We all chimed in unison.

"Good. Now, dismissed!"

For many hours, we waited. To pass the time, some played cards with buddies, others, got mildly drunk, as this may have been their last time to live happily. For others, they wrote letters home to loved ones, letting them know what was going on, and how they were feeling. Finally, the word was spread.

"All paratroopers! Head to the aircraft and line up, single file!"

As we were lining up, I heard some of the men in front and behind me, talking excitedly.

"I can't wait to go up, I'd like to see France from the air, but more importantly, I'd like to shoot some Jerries!"

"Yeah, well, don't be upset when they start shootin' back at ya, Corporal Patterson." That was our commander, Master Sergeant Johnson, a very well-respected man.

"I'm more interested in chatting it up with some pretty French girls," one young Private said.

"Ah, be quiet, McCain," Patterson said, "French girls are far more interested in men, not boys."

"You're no more a boy than I am, you rat!"

" The last time I checked, I'm a Corporal, and you're a Private. I outrank you. I'm going to teach you a lesson about not sassing your superior officers!"

Before a punch was thrown, Johnson intervened.

"Save your energy for the jump, you'll need it," he said.

"Yeah, McCain, listen to the Master Sergeant," Patterson snarled.

"One more out of you, Patterson, and you'll be scrubbing toilets until your fingers fall off," Johnson snapped.

"Yes sir."

In my own thoughts, I said to myself, "I don't care so much for the girls, or seeing the country from the air, I just want to get the job done, and go home." Minutes later, we were all loaded up and ready to go. The rough, choppy sound of the engines firing up was heard, and the plane jumped forward. We were finally going up, heading towards a total bloodbath. The sights I'd see there would still haunt me to this day.


PART TWO: THE JUMP

It felt like hours, but we were nearing Normandy. I heard the pilot yell over the sound of the engines.

"30 seconds to red-light!"

As soon as he finished that sentence, the sound of what appeared to
be many fireworks going off was heard, however, it wasn't fireworks. It
was Anti-Aircraft fire, or "flak" as we called it, and it was exploding
all around the aircraft, shaking it violently.

The red light came on, and we all stood up, checked each other's
packs, and hooked ourselves up to the zipline lining the roof of the
aircraft. The side-door was opened, and we lined up. I was right behind
Master-Sergeant Johnson, who was the first in line, Corporal Patterson,
and Private McCain were behind me. I had just enough room to look past
Johnson and out the door. I saw 3 planes hit by flak almost
simultaneously, I saw many parachutes open, but they too were pierced by
the flak and machine-gun fire spewing from the German defenses below.

Patterson said to me from behind, "this is it, eh, Winnie?"

That's my name: Sergeant Edward "Winston" Churchill. They call me
Winston because I'm told I act so much like him. Mom told me years ago
that Churchill is my Grandpa's brother, so I feel pretty special.

"I hope we don't get scattered to Hell and gone, I'd rather have you
and McCain next to me, than a Jerry with his bayonet in my back."
Patterson said.

"Same here." I chuckled.

The aircraft shook again from the flak, and leaned very steeply to
the right, causing Johnson to fall out of the aircraft. The pilot
noticed, and hit the switch for the green light. The rest of us jumped
out after Johnson. My parachute opened, as did everyone else's, and
there we were, floating gently downward amidst utter chaos. As I floated
down towards the drop-zone below, a flak shell exploded in front of me.

"Phew, that was a close one." I thought to myself. I couldn't see
anything for the first few seconds, but as the smoke cleared, I looked
up to see many tears in my parachute, and felt myself being pushed
towards a small forest below. As I rapidly descended, I felt a great
burning sensation in my left leg. I looked down to see shrapnel embedded
in my calf-bone and mid-thigh. I had lost a fair amount of blood, and
my vision was beginning to blur. I blacked out just as I crashed into
the trees.


PART THREE: DANGER

Tangled amidst the trees by my shrapnel-riddled parachute, and the
burning pain from shrapnel still very apparent, I flitted in and out of
consciousness.

Despite the war raging on around me, the sounds below me were startlingly clear.

I could hear voices. Were they French? German? I did not know, but as I began to regain consciousness, I looked about.

Sure enough, a group of soldiers were moving cautiously along the
ground below me. Those rifles, they don't look like anything I've heard
of or seen during any briefing sessions with our Superiors. Those
helmets, they don't look like anything I've seen my comrades wear. I
could speak a little bit of French, but what they were saying to each
other was a language I did not know at this time.

Germans! I could see them, but they had not noticed me. At least not yet.

"Haben Sie etwas sehen?" I heard one soldier whisper to the others.

"Nein," another said.

"Halten Sie auf der Hut, Männer, sie könnten überall sein." That
must be their commanding officer. Even amidst the smoke, I could spot
an Iron Cross that glinted in the moonlight which hung from his uniform.

As these soldiers moved along the ground, their heads were on a
constant swivel, rifles at the ready. Ready to fire upon anything that
moved.

For fear of being spotted, I played dead, occasionally opening my eyes a bit to see what was going on.

Just as I thought I was safe, the group having just about passed me,
a branch near me snapped off with a sharp crack, and fell onto one of
the soldiers' shoulders.

Startled, he spun around and looked up, rifle raised.

"Oberst, schau! Ein Soldat!"

They were all turning to look at me now, guns trained on me.

"Ist er tot?" The man asked.

"Sehen Sie das Blut aus seinem Bein läuft!" One soldier said.

To my surprise, the officer spoke English rather well. An educated man before the war, what a sight that was for me to behold.

"Hello?" He said. "You are an Allied soldier, yes? You appear to be
injured, you can stop with the games. We have a medic with us who can
treat your wound, but you must surrender."

Knowing it was no use to keep playing this charade, I raised my hands.

"You'll have to cut me down first." I said.

"Certainly. Helmut, schneiden Sie ihn."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst."

I felt a sense of dread, for what the future may have had
in store for me. Yet, at the same time, I felt a sense of happiness that
at least I was a prisoner of war, and not a corpse rotting in the
French countryside.


PART FOUR: CAPTIVITY


It had been a couple of days since I was captured by the Germans. They have treated me well. My wounds were tended to. The officer in charge told me that I was lucky. The shrapnel in my leg had just barely missed a major artery, but nicked a smaller one, which was quickly cauterized to stem the blood-flow. These men gave me small portions of their rations, cigarettes, and water from their canteens. However, they still kept an eye on me at all times. I had to have someone with me even if I needed to relieve myself in the bush.

They searched my belongings for anything that may have aided them, but found nothing. They asked me questions as to what I knew about any Allied plans, but, I truly knew nothing. After this, they simply let me be.

All around me, the sounds of war raged on. The rat-tat-tat of machine-guns, the boom-boom of artillery and anti-aircraft batteries, the muffled sounds of explosions, the occasional whine of a warbird passing overhead.

In my dreams I could still see the brutal images of the aircraft around us bursting into flames. The sight of no parachutes opening as the aircraft plummeted towards the Earth below. The thought of so many innocent men sent to their deaths. And for what? They did not ask for this, nor did they expect to go out this way. How will their mothers and fathers react when they receive a telegram stating that their son has fallen, but no body can be recovered and sent back for a proper burial?
I woke with a start. One of the men was shaking me, he motioned with his arm and said "aufstehen, wir ziehen um." We were moving once more.

As we continued onward at a cautious pace, I could hear the sounds of heavy machinery nearby. Loud growling noises, and rusty creaking sounds like some enormous mechanical beast. These sounds drew nearer until we could see something moving near a road up ahead of us. The men jumped up immediately and started to walk briskly towards the thing. Shouts of excitement and greeting were heard, but I could not make out anything. Sure enough, it was a tank. It was huge!

The tank was larger than anything I had ever seen! The width of the tracks were more than two feet! The gun was so long, and so large! The hull looked so big and box-like. Nothing on it was rounded like some of the Churchill and Sherman tanks we had, yet I had heard the horrific stories that this particular tank could bounce shells as though they were made of nothing. It spewed black smoke with every rev of the engine, the smell of the oil and fuel was horrid, I did not know how these men managed to live with the stench.

The commander of this steel beast was conversing with the officer in charge of us. He turned back to us and said "Holen Sie sich auf dem Panzer, Männer! Wir per Anhalter eine Fahrt." He then turned to me and told me that the commander of the tank had offered to give us a ride to the nearest village. He noted that I was his prisoner, and that he wanted to get myself and his men to safety for the time being.

With all the men aboard the rear of the tank, the beast lurched forward with a tremendous roar. The officer turned to me and had to shout, because the engine was so loud. He patted the tank with his hand and said "glorious German engineering. Probably the most successful tank we have. We call it the 'Tiger'." I smiled and told him that it was rather loud, and uncomfortable to sit on. He just laughed and slapped me on the back.

The tank came to a halt outside a small French village. There was no sign to be seen, and no people to be seen either. A few buildings had been reduced to rubble, but otherwise it was in decent shape. The men jumped off the tank, and helped me down. The tank drove off into the village to ensure it was safe.

The rest of the men advanced into the village as well, scoping out the area for anything worth salvaging. They found some bread, cheese, and bottles of wine. They brought out a large table into the middle of the street, and some chairs. I was seated near the officer, who poured me a glass, and gave me some food.

After a short moment of silence and relief, I asked the officer about himself. He replied, "I am a Colonel of the Wehrmacht. I am in charge of these men, I am responsible for their safety and well-being. They are like brothers to me." I got a bit more personal.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, what is your name?"
"My name is Erich. Erich...Hermann."
"And who are you?," he said in a puzzled manner.
"Edward. Edward Churchill. I am a Sergeant in the Canadian Army, I'm a paratrooper."
He stifled a bit of laughter. "Churchill, you mean the British Prime Minister?"
"Yes. I am related to him."
"And a Canadian too? Fascinating." He smiled. "I like you, Sergeant Churchill."
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"Why, just because we are two different men in two different armies fighting for an unknown cause, doesn't mean we can't treat each other as human beings. We are not animals. We are not as propaganda makes us out to be. Now, finish your meal, and get some rest, you'll need it."

He was right, about all of it. No wonder the men liked him, he was truthful. He was strict, but firm. He was human.


PART FIVE: THE CLIMAX


After the meal had finished, the men checked on me once again, and placed me in the shade of a lone tree to rest up, while the rest continued to ensure the safety of the village we were in, setting up defensive positions just in case.

One man was posted in the bell-tower of a battered cathedral overlooking the entire area, which also acted as a vantage point for any incoming intruders from the outskirts. All was quiet, save for the creaking and belching of smoke and noise of the mechanical beast which had brought us here in the first place.

It was a sort of quiet which we had not heard in what seemed like forever. It was almost peaceful. The silence was soon shattered by shouts from the man in the bell-tower. “Panzer! Drei von ihnen! Mittlere Infanteriezahl vorhanden! In unsere Richtung geleitet!“ Sure enough, the rumble of engines could be heard outside the village. The Colonel rushed to me to explain the situation.“There appears to be several Allied tanks and infantry headed this way. I fear there will be a skirmish here. Though you are my prisoner, I will make sure you are safe while we try to protect ourselves.“ They carried me into a building with a large gaping window which had a view of the whole area in which the skirmish was to take place. The Colonel and his men, along with the tank tucked themselves away in an effort to surprise the invaders.

The noise grew louder until I could see the emergence of a few Sherman tanks, and some Canadian infantry flanking the sides. I saw the men advancing through the village, when I heard a large bang, and saw one of the Shermans burst into flames. The men scattered like rats into every piece of cover while the battle raged on. It sounded intense, with men shouting, and guns blazing.


It didn’t last for very long before I was hearing English shouts of “Hands up! Against the wall, Fritz!” Other than the burnt-out Sherman, there didn’t seem to be any other casualties. I looked out the window and saw the Colonel was alright. I hollered to him, to which he motioned to some of the Canadians to get me. They brought me down to see the Colonel, and we were happy to see the other had survived.

While we were exchanging our pleasantries, I heard a couple shouts and saw some men running towards me. Master Sergeant Johnson, Corporal Patterson, and Private McCain! They all survived the drop as I did, by some miracle. “Winnie!”, they said, “you’re alive!” I was just as happy to see them as they were to me. I told them of how I got wounded, and how these Germans had captured me, but also of their generosity and hospitality to me as a prisoner of war. I exclaimed to them that Colonel Hermann was a very nice man, despite being the enemy. Master Sergeant Johnson saluted the man and thanked him for taking care of me. I asked the Colonel what was to happen to him from here. “They’re going to imprison me and my men for the duration of the war. At least, I won’t have to worry about losing anyone else, or my own life”, he joked.

Before leaving, he removed his Iron Cross from his neck, and handed it to me. “Here’s something to remember me by”, he said, “it won’t do me much good when I return home to Germany, as I’ll most likely be spit upon by my own people for failing them.” That was the last I saw of Colonel Erich Hermann. I was taken into the safety of my own men and was soon shipped back to Canada on an honourable discharge.

I married my childhood sweetheart and started a family. I helped my father as a meat-cutter in his meat shop, and took over the business when he passed away, and have been a successful butcher out here in the arid Canadian Prairies for a long time. To this day, some of the images which I saw terrify me to this day. But most importantly, every time I glance at the cross the Colonel gave me, I still wonder whatever happened to him, and whether he is still alive. Oh! The wife is calling! What’s that? An old enemy-turned-friend has come to visit? He says he helped to save my life? Well, I’ll be…

This story is dedicated to the brave Canadian soldiers who gave their lives for the liberation of France. Lest We Forget. 



Legend: (For German sentences used)

Haben Sie etwas sehen?
Did you see something?

Nein
No

Halten Sie auf der Hut, Männer, sie könnten überall sein.
Keep on your guard, men, they could be anywhere.

Oberst, schau! Ein Soldat!
Colonel, look! A soldier!

Ist er tot?
Is he dead?

Sehen Sie das Blut aus seinem Bein läuft!
See the blood running out of his leg!

Helmut, schneiden Sie ihn.
Helmut, cut him down.



Jawohl, Herr Oberst.
Yes sir, Mr. Colonel.



Panzer! Drei von ihnen! Mittlere Infanteriezahl vorhanden! In unsere Richtung geleitet!

Tanks! Three of them! Medium-sized number of infantry present! Heading in our direction!

*Forgive the broken German, folks. I'm still learning German as it
is, and basically used Google Translate as a substitute for my utter
lack of knowledge on the language.