TDTLBU Chapter Fifty-Seven

The battle was already raging as the Allies marched into view of Paris. The French resistance, knowing that help in the form of tens of thousands of allied soldiers was on its way, had made their move. On the nineteenth of August it had begun and on the twenty-fifth, the Allies were there. The roads seemed to shake under the force of countless thousands of military boots and the tread of Allied tanks. A glorious army, strong as ever, and prepared for victory. The enemy was hanging on only by a thread. The end was very near and soon France would be free. And then Germany would have to make its last stand. 

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August 24th, 1944

Letter from Josh to Emma

Only hear bits and pieces over here on the radio and I tell you, Em, it's driving me crazy. I know they're out there fighting, all my buddies, and I can't fight with them. Are you still out there in France? Tell me what's going on, tell me everything! They're in Paris now, aren't they? I can feel it. They'll win and we'll hear the shouts of freedom all the way over here in England. It's enough to get me back into uniform and rushing to the front with a rifle in my hands, even if I still don't feel all that great. But it won't be long now… they can't keep me here forever. I'll be back there with them when Hitler makes his last move, there to help stop him. 

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On August twenty-fifth, 1944, the Germans surrendered Paris. And early on the next day, Allied troops began to pour into the city in the greatest victory parade the world had ever seen.

Those shouts of freedom were more deafening than the battle had been and they reached much farther. The sound of France liberated was broadcasted all over the world. 

Josh heard it, leaning close to the radio in his hospital ward, and cheering as loudly as any of them. 

Rob and Myra and Jim and Donna heard it, gathered in the Stewart's living room back in Jefferson, and they wept with joy while Mickey pranced around the room screaming "huzzahs!"... this, he had learned from Emma. 

Lissie heard it, at her aunt's home in Philadelphia, and breathed a silent prayer, begging God to bring peace soon. John heard it, at the factory. He tossed his hat in the air with a whoop, crying "three cheers for the Yanks!", stirring up the others and practically starting a riot.

Emma and Marci heard it from the hospital tents a couple of miles out of Paris and laughed and cried at the same time, spreading the news like wildfire among the wounded men under their care. The thought of the victory was better than medicine and men who had lain motionless for days were lifting their heads with renewed hope.

And in Paris, thousands upon thousands of Allied soldiers lined up, twenty-four abreast, and marched victoriously through the Arc de Triomphe and over the Champs Elysees. Heads held high, rifles slung over their shoulders, they marched down the streets of Paris, thronged by the screaming hordes of thousands of citizens. The French flag hung from every window, waving in every hand, side by side with the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes. The black swastikas were trampled underfoot and burned in the streets. People were weeping openly, mobbing the conquering soldiers in their overwhelming joy. 

Ronnie and his men were there in the thick of it, bewildered by the noise and confusion, yet caught up in the joy of the moment and feeling more hope than they had in many long and weary months. This was what they had been waiting for... Back on the beach when they had made a mad rush for the cliffs, vowing that their comrades would not die in vain. This was just a glimpse of what they fought for, but it was enough. Not one would die in vain. 

"Biggest party I ever saw!" Sandy was yelling over the noise as he marched side by side with the men from his unit. 

"Can't hear you," Dan yelled back, laughing. In the heart of Paris, the triumphant march was dissolving before their eyes. The streets were flooded with civilians now, making further advance impossible. Hundreds of teenage girls and young women practically threw themselves at the soldiers, tears streaming down their faces as they offered kisses with reckless abandon. More than a few cried out desperate proposals of marriage... to men they had never even seen before.  Several had brought out bottles of French wine, long-hidden from the Nazis, and were toasting the soldiers, passing bottles around from man to man. Children, arms filled with bread, cheese, armloads of flowers, whatever they had managed to find, shyly presented their gifts. A little girl ran up to Ronnie, clutching a fistful of wilted daisies, and pressed them into his hand with a quiet "Merci." At that same moment, a young woman stood on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around Ronnie's neck as she pressed a kiss on his lips. He pulled back sharply, startled and embarrassed. Sandy laughed and elbowed him. Ronnie ignored both Sandy and the woman, bending down to scoop up the little girl. He clapped his helmet on her head teasingly, lifting her on his shoulders, and she laughed, waving the tiny French flag she carried.

Laughter. It was something France hadn't heard for so long. Laughter and the happy voices of children. They were free now… free to laugh, free to dance, free to sing, free to breathe the air of liberty. There was dancing and singing in the streets that night and no one even bothered to go to bed. It was a night of rejoicing, to follow a day of rejoicing. And for days after that the soldiers continued to march through in victory while the people of France set about rebuilding their lives. God was smiling on France and peace was restored to one small corner of the world.

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Katie moved slowly through her ward, the flashlight she carried making strange shadows on the walls as it reflected off the iron bedsteads. She had taken once again what they called the “graveyard shift”, adding an extra eight hours of work to her already full day. There hadn’t been anyone else available at the moment and she almost preferred to be on her feet. Working… always working… until she dropped from exhaustion. She hadn’t given herself a moment’s break since she had gotten the news of Jerry’s death. It seemed as if her wounds were so deep they couldn’t be healed.

It was comforting somehow to be working among those who bore such deep wounds themselves… comforting herself by comforting others. There were so many scarred and ruined lives around her. Knowing she could bring a bit of peace and hope into their dreary existence was the greatest joy she could know. A sad, weary, bittersweet sort of joy. 

She stopped at each bedside as she paced the room, adjusting pillows, smoothing blankets, sometimes laying her hand on someone’s forehead as they tossed and turned, calming them with a gentle touch. These were haunted, broken men. They often cried out in their sleep, reaching out as if to assist a dying comrade. It hurt her heart… these piercing cries of agony. Grown men sobbing like children. 

There was one young soldier… younger than she was… only seventeen. He had lied about his age and made it to the beaches of Normandy, but he got no further. He had lost his right arm that day. He called out for his mother every night. And how she wished she could bring his mother to him! But she was far away… in a little town in Oregon, he had told her. And so Katie had sat by his bedside, writing out letters as he dictated to send to his mother. 

There was a captain there too… a tall, handsome man well past thirty years of age… he had parachuted into France with his troops and in the fighting there had lost his left foot. Just above the ankle. She told him he was lucky and he agreed with a smile, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was a farmer, he told her. And how could he go home and support his family now?

And there was the young lieutenant… she knew he had been cocky, before he had come to the hospital. She had always been able to read human nature… it was a sort of gift of hers. He had lost both of his legs and now lay silent, staring at the ceiling hour after hour. She couldn’t get him to try again. It was as if he had lost his will to live along with his legs,

“There’s no use any longer,” he had told her, bitterly. “I’m no good without my legs. Just half a man. Wish I had died. That would’ve been something. Died a hero, not returned a broken piece of what used to be a man.”

And then there was Mac. She had never told him so, but he was her favorite of all her patients. He out of all of them had managed somehow to stay cheerful, in spite of the fact that he had lost his right leg. His smile always brightened her day and his witty complaints about the endless therapy exercises kept her laughing long after he had said them. She tried to assume an air of professional solemnity when she was around him, as with all the patients, but there was many a day when, once safely in her little room again, she would collapse onto her bed and laugh until she cried. 

But in spite of his positive exterior, she knew it was mostly a front. She could feel him hurting. Every time she caught a glimpse of his eyes, she could see the pain and horror hiding deep, deep within. She didn’t know what he had seen on that bloody beach in Normandy, but she knew it had scarred him for life. The mental and emotional wounds were just as deep and as serious as the physical ones which had, at first, threatened his life. The other wounds… they threatened his soul.

She paused at his bedside, playing the beam of the flashlight over his face. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully and she smiled. He would be alright. But as she stood there, he started suddenly, lurching as if he had been shot. He reached out in his sleep to grip the blanket, his knuckles white. His face twisted in pain and he cried out, kicking at the covers. She dropped the flashlight, bending to put her hands on his shoulders, suddenly afraid he would fall out of the bed. He wasn’t conscious… trapped in some terrible nightmare that only he could see. 

“No… no… get away from there…” he yelled, gritting his teeth, the veins on his neck standing out like whipcord. “Get your head down… they’ll kill you!” he gripped Katie’s wrist and she gasped from the pain. She couldn’t pull her hand away… he was too strong for her. 

“Mac... Mac!" she shook his shoulder with her other hand. “Mac… It’s me… It’s Katie… you’re okay, Mac, do you hear me? You’re okay!” 

He didn’t seem to hear her words and his grip around her wrist tightened. His whole body was thrashing as if he was wrestling with some unseen enemy. With his other hand he reached up, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. 

“Can’t ya see ‘em? They’re all around us… they’ll kill you… they’ll kill all of us…”

“Mac... please..." Katie was crying now, her tears landing on his cheek. “You’re hurting me, Mac… Do you hear me? Mac! It’s Katie!” 

He seemed to snap out of it then, opening his eyes and peering through the darkness at her. His eyes filled with horror and he dropped her wrist like a stone. She bit her lip, trying not to stare at the dark red marks his fingers had left on her skin. 

“Katie…” he whispered, his tone filled with dread. “I’m so sorry… Katie… I didn’t mean to… I… It was all back again… bloody Omaha… I didn’t mean it… Katie…” 

She shook her head, her heart constricting as she saw tears filling his eyes and sliding down his cheeks. She had never seen him cry, except once before in another nightmare. 

“No… please don’t,” she murmured. “It isn’t your fault. Don’t feel bad.” He was struggling to sit and she reached out to help him, realizing that he was trembling. She bent over him, pulling him close and pressing his head against her heart. She could feel his tears beneath her fingers as she raised her hand to his face and it made her heart ache.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I’m so sorry…” 

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Stay with me…” he pleaded. And she did, holding him until he fell asleep again.