I'm a 23 year old college grad with an unhealthy obsession for WWII history, a deep-rooted love of classic rock, and a mind brimming with creativity. An amateur writer and even more amateur game designer. Known for my hat.
So I’ve been trying to write up a part 2 of the short story I wrote a few months ago and I’m having the hardest time at it. What also doesn’t help is that I’ve been on vacation all week and writing is the last thing on my mind (first vacation in the year I’ve been working woohoo!)
That said, this is something I’ve been hiding up my sleeve for some time, so why not show it off a little? I’ve constructed all my ‘main players’ from the Memoirs story in Lego form!
Up top we have the Allied characters, including Adam, the Lieutenant, a few soldiers armed with different period-accurate weapons and...action Adelaide (possible spoiler!?)
The bottom shows us the grim and fanatical troops of the SS-Techniker, basically Nazi super scientists trying to develop amazing wunderwaffen (wonder weapons) for the Fuhrer. In the lead we have ‘The Twins’, with their StG.44 assault rifle and duel pistols. In the back is their silent heavy weapons man, who is rumored to have an experimental weapon that can even hurt Adam, and two foot-soldiers armed with sub-machine guns.
Hope it’s not too disappointing, but I will hopefully get the writing up next week!
In keeping with tradition of respecting and acknowledging the history that I use to exist in my craft, everything that has been written in the Memoirs stories is true. The only thing fictional thus far is the existence of Adam, thus making events where he took place sort of fictional as well. But hey, I didn’t say this was a true biography!
Anyways, if you’re interested in reading about some things I incorporated into the D-Day story today, look no further:
Normandy landings. The grand-daddy of all things WWII. These of course obviously happened, and were on a scope I could never quite reach in my writing. That’d be a book series in itself!
2nd Ranger Battalion. Created with the purpose of landing at Normandy, this is the unit Adam is assigned to after the 1st Ranger Battalion is all but destroyed after fighting in Italy (As true in real life).
Point du Hoc. The objective of the 2nd Ranger Battalion was to scale the 100′ cliff and destroy German gun emplacements that threatened to fire upon the Omaha beachheads. Unfortunately, after the Rangers climbed their way through machine guns and barbed wire, they found the guns were gone! They eventually found and destroyed five of six, but the Rangers were stuck with limited ammo and supplies for two days.
Hafner Rotachute. WWII had a lot of wacky inventions. Some worked great, others not so much. The rotachute was a British invention that in practice worked swell. They even developed it further by melding the technology to create a ‘flying jeep’. But helicopter technology took over. Sorry rotachutes! I wanted to include some fun weird aspects of WWII into my stories, which is why they got the spotlight.
During writing I like to listen to music to help keep myself immersed and in the mood. For this section of the story I had this playing in the background. Feel free to check it out as you read.
Five minutes later and I had Sgt. Barker at my side, the old man leaning against the wall. The whole field was abuzz with Germans. Spotlights from half-tracks combed the skies as a good five dozen men combed the field with rifles and flashlights at the ready. Five trucks were parked at the road, having pulled up just a few minutes ago. Their attention was focused on the downed rotachutes. But they’d soon come for us in the farmhouse.
“We’re moving!” I shouted, falling down the stairs in a graceful manner. Every man was up and ready, weapons cocked. They weren’t afraid to fight, but there were far too many Germans to take on. We’d be slaughtered. And our new friend Claire Perrault would take us to the Resistance meeting place. The men poked a lot of fun at his name, but even though he spoke no English he could tell what they were up too. A permanent scowl was fixed upon his face.
The seven of us lit out from the backdoor, Claire leading us to the stables. He had ten horses sitting astride, antsy and wanting to leave.
“<You ride?>” He asked me, hopping up onto the horse.
“<I’ll just run.>” I shrugged. I was worried my weight would crush a horse. The other men seemed a little unsure, though Pvt. Hanson was more than comfortable from his farming days back home in Indiana. They followed his movements and the horses did the rest. As I had offered, I hustled alongside Barker. As long as I didn’t press myself I’d be okay with keeping this pace. The cooler air would help, the sun still struggling to rise above the horizon. The red orb was like a squat giant watching all of this unfold, not having a care in which side appeared the victor.
It was about five miles away, and I needed to take a minute to release some heat afterwards. Claire brought me over a jug of water, and after thanking him I poured it over my head. The steam rolled off my brow. I set my helmet back atop it and slipped inside the barn. Claire had gathered six other men, all armed with similar civilian arms. I had to hand it to them, they were brave men. Just simple people with an axe to grind against the Germans, and more than willing to risk their life in throwing out the invaders. Of course, they were very concerned in our invasion attempt at just seeing six of us. I assured them that we were simply early to the party, the rest of the Allies armies would get here soon. Liberation was now. That satisfied them.
Claire and his men had a good map of the area’s German troops, having been spying on them for months now. We compared notes and I added everything he had to my map. It gave us a good idea on the bridge approach. We needed to get there quick. The whole mission relied on it. The Germans were taking a prisoner away, a high-ranking OSS agent that had been working with the Resistance to co-ordinate Overlord. If they took him beyond our reach, he’d be interrogated and executed. We all had the secret fear he was already dead inside all of us, but Claire was very sure his spotters would notice the Germans disposing of a body. They had the building cased out. The Resistance men would come with us, the German headquarters being so far away as it was. We all made sure we knew exactly what we were doing, and headed out.
It took an hour to reach the bridge, the morning dew coating the grass we crept through. We were too late however. The bridge was a crippled mess. It wasn’t supposed to be touched in the bombing. But its dark gray corpse hung over the river, the occasional piece of debris collapsing into the water below.
“Looks like one of ‘em air boys got a little trigger happy.” Sgt. Barker complained, sidling up besides me as I stared at the map. The Germans would probably know the bridge was kaput, and would take a different path. There were at least three other bridges to choose from. But which one was it? I called up Claire and his men, we’d have to split our groups up. One bridge each, and meet at the last one. If we came up empty handed, all of this was for nothing. I didn’t want to think that Scott and Smith had died for no purpose. We needed to find that bridge. Our deliberations were cut short as a the crack of a rifle echoed across the farmlands.
During writing I like to listen to music to help keep myself immersed and in the mood. For this section of the story I had this playing in the background. Feel free to check it out as you read.
The landing craft below us shuddered and popped over the cresting waves of the English Channel. This was the barrier that had stopped German aggression from reaching the shores of England back in 1940. We were now using it to our advantage. The metal wire that tethered us to our anchor was taut in the wind, the metal snapping occasionally as pressure was built and released. We were three-hundred feet above the waves, but still at the mercy of the ocean.
“BEACH IS AHEAD!” Lieutenant Allen Smith shouted at me. He was in P-2, just over my right shoulder. With the wind and weather everyone had to shout, and I could barely hear the man who was only fifty feet away. I gave him a thumb’s up, knowing my electronic speaker systems couldn’t pierce that thick audio turbulence.
The LCVP below us could only top out at about fourteen miles per hour, and that required us to carefully judge the slack in our tethers, pulling farther away to keep the drag going as the rotors fluttered above our heads. I can only imagine that it looked like our funny little craft were skipping across the sky. I guessed we had another five minutes before we were to unhook and take these things, and ourselves, onward to destiny.
The Germans could see us by now. Mortars and long-range artillery flashed out from the darkness, striking at the water. Massive bursts and ripples scattered the landing craft. The men inside held tight as water rushed over the sides, some bailing it out with their helmets. The jerky motion did nothing to our help our light rotachutes. I tried to keep an eyes on everyone to make sure we stayed in formation. Pvt. Scott was relieving his stomach over the side, a yellow-green mass descending like some biological weapon from above. The poor guy’s sea-sickness had taken its toll.
As the craft approached the beach the fire got more concentrated. They were starting to aim now, and it was driving the carefully planned waves apart. We were already late thanks to a navigational error. We couldn’t waste anymore time, the men below needed to cross that cliff to call upon our allies offshore. The British pilots of the landing craft were steadfast in their resolution, aiming for the white sandy beach ahead and the looming cliffs behind. Some blasts got too close. I saw a geyser of water launch up at the impact point, flipping the metal hull of the hapless boat like a pancake. It rolled over onto its belly like some strange aquatic creature descending into the depths, flinging men over the sides and sent crashing into the waves. There was nothing we could do for them from up here, though there was a chance the other craft could help. They thrashed and fought the heavy weight of the gear that cruelly dragged them below the waves. Another boat, on of the amphibious DUKWs, was struck directly by a mortar. The hot updraft shot through our little formation, debris and men scattered and dead among the surf.
Lt. Smith was victim as well. It had been ‘his’ landing craft that had been hit. The tug jerked the rotachute to the side, a violent motion that trapped his craft like a yoyo.
“THE LINE! CUT THE LINE!” I tried to roar over the din of the apocalypse unfolding below us. I tried to point as well, my own rotachute wavering as I leaned to the side.
I saw the panic on his face as the rotors coughed and sputtered, still turning as the machine flipped on its side, a skating motion as the aerodynamics kicked out at the rotors. He had just been assigned to us. Maybe with a few more weeks of training. It was fluttering, trying to right itself. I could’ve given him a few more hours on the trainers. It was not enough.
“SMITH!!”
The rotors buckled, the tail-like section crumpling as the line wobbled and fell slack as the landing craft below started to sink, a whip-like motion seizing Smith’s rotachute. The metal frame buckled, the man’s leg trapped in the footrest as it started to drop like a stone. He tried to escape. But the metal was twisted around his foot like a vice, and the mottled brown-painted flying machine tumbled down towards the writhing ocean, a frantic beast that seemed to be alive and plaguing the poor Rangers cresting its watery hide below..
I had little time to mourn, or panic. It was time to detach. The loadmaster on the craft below ran to each line, hooked into an eye-bolt on the metal hull of the landing shuttle’s structure. They gripped and twisted the bolts with their wrenches, the tension lashing out at them as each of the brown machines popped up a few feet, having been freed from the grasp of gravity.
Smith’s rotachute hit the ocean, camouflaged visage vanishing under the waves. A landing craft started for it, but if he was still trapped there was little anyone could do. He didn’t even get his first chance at combat. To lead his men into battle. To return home with tales of glory and bravery.
Machinegun fire ripped through us all. We were close enough now, on our own as the men below started their beach assault. Cpl. Hill’s rotachute got hit the worst, three rounds tearing through the fabric structure. Three holes that threatened the flying capabilities, but they held. Sgt. Barker and Pvt. Scott’s machines were hit as well, but the distance and height gave us the advantage for now.
We started buzzing low towards the beach, the skipping motion of the rotachutes carrying us towards the deadly counter-fire of the Germans. I could hear the mortars ripping through the air, smashing into the surf as the first landing craft touched down. I think they were confused, unsure as to what to do with us. But at least a few of them assumed they’d shoot us down. We bolted for the cliffs, ready to shoot upwards as the rotors kicked in with elevation. I could see the pale faces and gray uniforms of the Germans in their trenches, staring up in disbelief at our flying spectacle.
As we buzzed over the cliff-face the grass kicked up under our rotor wash. Bullets were flying everywhere around us, and I heard one ping off my leg. Behind me, in P-7, Pvt. Scott was hit again, another two hits into his machine. It couldn’t stand any more pressure, fluttering and fighting to gain altitude. It hit the lip of the cliff and grinded upwards. To my amazement, several Germans actually ran at him, trying to grab the landing struts and bring down the strange thing as it tried to escape. Smith had his pistol in hand, and I saw the grungy muzzle flash and sharp crack as he shot two of them down. But the rest grabbed and lunged, the rotachute tumbling and rolling into the long grass. I lost sight of what was happening as we plunged by trees, a squad of armed Germans rushing towards his downed craft, and the bloodied man pointing his pistol defiantly. I hope he could take a few more with him. The overwhelming sound of rifle fire diminished that thought. Godspeed.
We were out of the danger zone now though. The Germans had everything facing the sea, waiting for the Allies. We were past their lines, zipping ahead at a comfortable cruising speed. But down two men. I could only hope that things went better now. The calm air and placid parting clouds above were a stark contrast to the madness unfolding behind us at the cliff. By now the Rangers had to have their ladders raised, trying to scale the rocky obstacle.
I scanned the farms and hills below me, trying to find the beacon I was looking for. The French Resistance had set up a flashing beacon for the paratroopers that had landed hours before us, and we’d use that as our guide. The other five rotachutes puttered behind me, their only concern to scan for danger and follow my lead.
Then I saw it, a tiny flashing light in a farmhouse below. The signal we needed, probably from a flashlight. I pointed it out to Sgt. Barker, who had taken Smith’s place at my side. He nodded and scooted back to alert the others. We’d land in the field. The buzzing machines whipped about, angling in. Landing was the hardest part. I decided to wait for last, to ensure everyone hit the ground okay. Barker went first, skidding and sliding in the grass. Mendoza went second, hitting the dirt a bit too hard. I saw his rotachute shudder and roll. Hanson and Hill and landed fine, despite Hill’s rotachute having all that damage. I finally took mine down, smashing it into a bush. I had my blade out, hacking at the leaves and branches suddenly shoved into my face. I pulled my way free and rushed towards Mendoza’s craft. The others were there, pulling him free. Pvt. Mendoza was clutching his Garand in one hand and his left leg with the others. I feared the worse. It’d be no small thing to fracture or snap a bone in a crash like this, or cut something vital.
“It’s nothing sir, I’m fine. I’m fine.” He said as he saw me approaching. The others leaned him up against the tilted machine, metal structure bent and warped. I looked at Barker, who shook his head. He took me aside. Told me Mendoza couldn’t feel anything on his left leg past his thigh. But no signs of bad damage, could just be shock. I decided to give them a few minutes. Barker stayed with Mendoza as the rest went to get their weapons and packs from their rotachutes. I pulled the map free from my pants pocket, unfolding the wrinkled paper onto the ground. I found the smudge of land that had to be where we just landed, the farmhouse nearby. I took a peek and saw no movement from inside. Could be good or bad.
Five minutes later and they had Mendoza up. He had a bit of a limp, but said he could wiggle his toes and everything. We’d be a little bit slower, but we weren’t leaving him behind. The sky was a strange color of orange and burnt red as we headed towards the farmhouse. Every man scanned the horizon, waiting and watching for trouble. Smoke was pouring into the sky behind us, from the beaches.
We needed to meet a resistance contact. Hopefully they’d be at the farmhouse, the ones who signaled us. At the very least it had to be somebody who knew *something*. The tall grass rubbed up against my pants, standing at almost hip height. I was worried, anything could be hiding in here. And we left quite the trail from our landing spot. Guns were raised, Cpl. Hill swinging his BAR wide and far, ready to spray anything unfriendly.
Everyone dropped as a flicker of light appeared in the window again. I peeked up from under my helmet. It was Morse code. ‘Come inside, Germans coming’. We decided that we’d have a better chance in that building, and we all started full sprint to the inside. I shouldered open the door, followed by the others. They were out of breath and panting, and I could feel my arms and legs heating up. Better not overexert myself and shut-down. Pvt. Mendoza took the time to vomit in the kitchen sink, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looked sheepish about it.
“<Hello?>” I called out, hoping that my answer would also be in French.
“<Upstairs. Come see.>”
I told everyone to lay low on the first floor, checking all the windows and doors. I slung my Thompson under my arm, wary of any traps. It’d be like those German bastards to pull something like this.
An old man sat on a bed upstairs. He had a pair of binoculars and an antiquated hunting rifle at his side. A band was wrapped around his arm, marking him as Resistance. He turned and saw me, cursing me as a demon in his French tongue.
“<No demon. American. Soldier.>” I corrected him, putting my gun away. No need to spook him.
During writing I like to listen to music to help keep myself immersed and in the mood. For this section of the story I had this playing in the background. Feel free to check it out as you read.
“I said, do you think it’s gonna work?” Sergeant Eddie Barker asked me, lighting a cigarette from his private stash. He rubbed his hands together to warm his cold flesh. My metal surface remains warm most of the time.
“I suppose so. We’ve trained religiously. We’re as ready as we’re going to be.” I shrugged. Warfare had too many factors, to many rooms for error. A giant swelling nexus of random fate and pure chance. It made me processors hurt just to think about it.
“I knew the minute they told me I was serving with you we’d be thrown right into the shit.” Barker complained, taking a drag.
“Sergeant, all the men in the squad volunteered.”
“Like hell. Why doesn’t the brass just bend me over and…”
He started into a rather colorful tirade against the upper echelons of the United States Armed Forces. It seemed that most sergeants had this strange pervasive attitude to buck the system and hate those that employ them. But he was wrong. The men had volunteered. Of course, that was most likely skewed by the fact that wanted to serve with ‘the’ Adam. I was a minor celebrity and had been pestered for autographs by many of the soldiers and sailors around me. Even a Colonel once. That was flattering.
“As long as the rotachute works as planned, things will go fine. When we hit the ground, well, that’s still up in the air.”
“They look pretty damned stupid.”
He wasn’t wrong. We stepped back as crews pulled away the tarps to finish the final assemblies, making sure all the bits and bolts were attached in the right way. Some of the men called them ‘Tadpoles’ and the overall design scheme wasn’t too far off. A small seat attached to a frame all of about ten feet long, the single pilot controlled the thing in a gliding motion. A single ski under the frame was set for landing, with a small basket for us to place our gear. The two rotors were perched right above the pilot’s head, and when triggered correctly, would create a flapping sort of motion to help keep the thing aloft. The Brits had built them back in ‘42, and only eight had ever been made. All eight were assigned to us for this crazy mission of ours. The machines worked well during testing, and we had all trained on them for about a month now. For the purposes of this mission it was one-use only, so landing was the key.
“Well, get the men ready. We’ve got forty minutes. Check all the equipment, and have them assemble up here.”
Barker headed off and I examined the rotachutes again. They were awkward looking things, but did their job. The amount of technology and strange invention that powered the war effort on both sides was staggering. I had been slowly finding out the Germans were more than willing to use tech to fight a war they realized they couldn’t win. And with the menacing fortifications of the Atlantic Wall, who knew what tricks were up their sleeves?
I headed back down to the hold and grabbed my gear as well. The rest of the men were eating. I stopped by to ensure everybody was awake. Plates were full of steak and eggs, cups steaming with coffee. I needed a different type of fuel to survive, but it even looked good to me. A huge full meal, though it was more of a pity/morale sort of thing. Helped boost the spirits.
I sat on a crate, clipping on belts and tucking my Thompson underneath into the small basket of P-1, my assigned rotachute. The others were stacked behind me, ready to go. Crews were attaching the cables to the front now, leading them off the side. The thing is, they needed to be towed for best use. So the landing craft were going to tow us into the beach, where’d be disengage and fly over the cliffs to reach our objective. The rest of 2nd Rangers would assault Point Du Hoc as planned. A daunting hundred foot cliff that loomed like a jagged nightmare. But we were prepared. The cliffs of Dover were our playground for the past few months. These would be easy.
The men filtered in, some more awake than others. Sea-sickness had been a real trouble this whole ride. Pvt. Scott looked a little green around the gills, clutching his M1 Garand wrapped in its protective rain jacket. All the men had them. Again, water wasn’t part of the plan, but it was better to be prepared. All shivered a bit, staring at me. They wanted a speech, something to light a fire under them. I let the silence fester for a second.
“Alright. We’ve trained for a long time, and today is the day that all of the blood, sweat, and tears are going to pay off. We’re Rangers, we’re tough. Overlord is something the world has never seen before, and we’re tip of the spear. That means they trust us”
A final weapons check began, and the rest of the 2nd Rangers were sliding and clambering down the ladders into their landing craft, bobbing like sad little toy boats in the wake of our massive armada.
“We have been given this dangerous task because we’re the best. The brass knows this. They aren’t going to put raw talent like ours just anywhere dammit. That’s why no one else can do this.”
Landing craft sputtered awake as the large guns of the ships started to swing across, training on the misty shores that lay ahead of us. This fleet wasn’t just cargo carriers full of shivering men. We had teeth.
“We’re going to be some of the first men on Occupied Europe. Once we set foot on the ground it’s enemy territory. You’ll need to be sharp and ready. No mistakes, they cost lives. Watch your back, watch your buddies back, and then watch another.”
The mighty destroyers and cruisers opened fire, the heavens ripped open by God’s wrath as brilliant flame lit up the once-silent ocean. Shells larger than me sliced through the air, impacting with titanic thuds that kicked up dirt and explosions that ripped apart defensive positions and bunkers alike. Spotlights flicker everywhere, the whole armada lighting up the horizon.
France lay before us, shrouded by mist and smoke. The accumulated power of twelve Allied powers lay behind us.
During writing I like to listen to music to help keep myself immersed and in the mood. For this section of the story I had this playing in the background. Feel free to check it out as you read.
Dark and cloudy. No stars. Faintest hint of the moon peeking through the occasional gap of sullen charcoal skies. Waves smashing up against the metal hull of the ship, causing it to pitch and groan in protest. The stinging breeze of salty air.
Not the kind of scene you imagine on the eve of something world-shattering. History was going to be changed tomorrow, everyone felt it. The crew was all nervous, struck by the jitters. The cargo holds were always full of cigarette smoke now, the only things besides betting on cards and sleeping that the men could do to stay sane. Tempers were beginning to flare in the tight confines of the landing ships, people could only stand each-other for so long it seemed. Those that did not slip into the false bravado could be find praying in circles, or staring at the ceiling as they desperately tried to find some reason to sleep. We had all been stuck here almost two days now.
My only companion on the deck was the insistent seagull, wheeling about above our ship and giving off its forlorn cry. Its brethren would probably never hear it. I could only barely hear it over the crashing sound of the water below us, a churning dark maelstrom threatening to swallow up this whole endeavor. I was very much afraid of the water, a mechanical red flag that triggered in my processors when I was near it. A man could swim, whereas I would surely drown. And if I was to propel myself to the surface, the slow decomposition of my body would doom me in the end. Even with my new titanium coating there was little that could be done. I’d freeze up like some horrible statue.
The raging waters of the English Channel was not the proper environment for us to attempt what we were trying, but Eisenhower had decreed that we needed to go now, and this was our only chance. There was no lights, no signals, no radio communication. The element of surprise was key to this operation, and once we had set out from port in England there was nothing that could be done to turn us around, unless High Command scrapped the entire operation. I doubted they would. I could make out the dark smudges a couple hundred yards away from us, the other boats. There were thousands of them, the largest gathering of naval vessels I had ever seen in my life. The entire might of the Allied forces had been gathered and processed over these past few months, and there was nothing to stop us from taking the beaches of Normandy at this time. So we hoped. So we prayed.
Further along the line sat the hooded crates concealing our ‘golden chariots’. A real hair-brained scheme if you asked me, but what else are you going to do with a robot soldier? I’m practically made for this sort of stuff. I act like a weirdness magnet, which is unfortunate for those stuck to be around me.
I continued to pace along the upper deck, the chill from the slight drizzle and sea air actually quite comforting, keeping my core temperature levels at a minimum. There’d be no way to overheat out here. I made a mental note in the processing systems to make sure I double-checked all my seals and plugs. While our plan did not involve dealing with any water, who knew what might face us over the next few hours. Best to be prepared.
The low metal creak of a hatchway opening caught my attention. A lone crewman, dressed in Navy attire, walked out and made his way down along the portside railing. A tiny flicker of flame from his lighter and the gentle whoosh of an exhalation. The thin smoke trail rose higher into the sky, curling and tumbling about in the air currents before fading away. I had learned to look closer at such smaller things, trying to improve my eyesight. Plus it helped me feel more human, to better connect with all those around me. It felt like a lifetime ago I was just a large blocky computer structure, sitting in a sterilized containment room discussing the weather with Dr. Allard. If you had told me then, only a mere nine years ago by human standards, that I would be standing on the deck of a cargo ship that had just sailed across the English Channel, perched to pounce upon the German defenders of the smoky French coastline just a few miles away, I would’ve laughed. Or whatever a computer might do to laugh. I’ve come a long way.
Deciding that I’d spent enough time philosophizing outside, I made my way through the same hatchway, greeted by the warm glow of the few torches lit inside the hull of the ship. Anything near a window had to be snuffed out, but most places were safe to illuminate. Didn’t want any accidents this close to the goal line after all. My steps thudded along the metal hull, even with the leather moccasins that had been given to me. Amazingly good at silencing my steps, apparently used by the ancient tribe of Indians that resided in the Americas before colonization. Human ingenuity was quite amazing. It had created me.
The tight confines of the ship’s halls were still something that messed with me. Everything had been built for humans, but despite my near-humanoid build it was still a bit off. I had created quite the trouble before, knocking over various items and stepping on people’s toes. Sent a few to the medical station on-board. I passed the mess hall and saw a large gathering of men dressed in white, sailors, and those in the Army issued olive drab. The men of 2nd Ranger Battalion. The surviving members of the 1st Battalion I had served with in North Africa and Italy were more than welcoming to me, but had been heading back to the States to set up more Ranger schools. More men to be trained, more soldiers for the field. I couldn’t waste my potential on training more men. I needed to be out here, to do my part. I was as good as ten men, and they needed me. It had not been easy. Allard was, as always, a tough customer. He saw the writing on the walls. Something big had been brewing in England, and though the brass still didn’t warrant me important enough to tell me all the details, 2nd Rangers was going to be in deep. Myself with them, and he didn’t like it. We had gone our separate ways after a rather heated argument. We had never done that when I was just a computer. My last moments with Adelaide had been even more fleeting. I hoped they weren’t too worried for me. I hoped they were thinking about me.
A chaplain was giving a small service, backlit by the approaching sun cresting over the horizon. Underneath it lay France, and our ultimate goal for today. Would we be able to achieve it? I suppose that’s why the men gathered among these uncomfortable tables were here. Allard had explained a little of religion to me. He was no church-going man by any stretch, but since he did name me ‘Adam’ there was something hiding in there somewhere. He explained it as a way for humans to search for hope, that there was something bigger and better out there. Watching over them. That’s what these men wanted.
I sat in the back, listening to the Father’s sermon. He told the men that this next day was a great trial. That the Lord Jesus had suffered many trials as well; of temptation, hunger and pain. They would all be facing challenges, and could rely on the eyes of the Lord to guide them. And if they were to perish during this climactic undertaking, the gates of Heaven would all be opened to them in a massive uprising of chosen souls. I’m not sure how I felt. I still don’t think I have a soul, it’s not even something that can be quantified. Sometime humans made no sense. Is dying even the right word to use for me? I could always be rebuilt, I wasn’t as unique as a human was. Though most people tend to see it differently. There’s no other robots running around after all.
The men took the wafers and drank from the wine, the chaplain blessing each. They left one by one, and I could see a faint glimmer of hope passing behind their eyes. Many of these men knew that whatever we were to face in the next few hours would be deadly, many lives would be lost. Friends would be taken from us, and we’d all have to face it in our own way. A silent understanding among all those in the armed forces. You fight to keep your partner alive, the best you can. If only I had known that back in Tunisia, Fear wouldn't be dead. A paradox, a blank spot in my memory banks. There was no ‘emotion’ to log for me, but the memory was fresh. He had fallen away in my arms, life slipped and gone through the cracks. And I had missed his final words. I replayed it often in my head, but I hadn’t been looking. I couldn't read his lips.
I had been walking aimlessly, and stumbled into Hold C, where my berth was. Not that I needed a bed, but the guys had decided that I should at least pretend. A small bedroll placed on the ground with a few of my personal effects. A French language guide from Allard, a photo of a cool bird Adelaide had seen. Small, intimate things. All the men had them. And they were good men with a lot to lose. None but two had actually seen combat. The 2nd Rangers were mostly fresh. Pvt. Harold Hanson, an old farmboy who had signed up to find something for his life more than plowing fields, had survived North Africa and Italy, moved over to 2nd Rangers with me. Despite his candor he refused to move up. He didn’t talk much anyway. Pvt Chad Scott was another farmer, weren’t they all, and had served at Anzio. I didn’t know him, but he had been assigned to us as well.
All the rest; Privates Roberson and Mendoza, Corporal Hill, Sgt. Barker, and even 2nd Lt. Smith were new. I mean, we had all trained together for a few months to prepare for the landing. But Lt. Smith was just assigned to us two weeks ago, and we hardly had any chance to know about the man. My only concern was that we was a bit too cocky for his own good. His officer school training and good looks can only get you so far. And ultimately I was in charge of this whole outfit. They had made me a First Lieutenant just so I could technically outrank Smith. But they were good men, especially for what we had planned. What lay under those tarps on the deck was a far cry from what those boys had trained for during Basic, but they had given it their all. Our rushed training over the past month was hopefully going to pay off. Each men had their own doubts and fears of course. My job was to keep them alive.
My pacing had taken me back onto the deck. The sun was starting to peek even more across the horizon. A few sailors traded small jokes and smokes on the deck, leaning on the railings and dropping their butts into the turbulent water below. I started back down the length of it, holding onto the railing as the large ship pitched and groaned.
The dark gray tarps marked the end of my march. Hopefully they remained intact from the ride. Crews were already about, rushing to their stations. The landing craft on the sides needed last minute maintenance, and to be warmed up. Long rope nets cast over the side for the troops to disembark into. The hustle and bustle began.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of D-Day! As promised, I have returned to my writings for Memoirs. Focusing on, of course, D-Day. I’ve broken it up into four segments that I have scheduled posted over the day.
never thought about this before but now it’s obvious
although like i hope they’ve actually improved cooling tech by the time they’re building androids bc my laptop can actually get so hot it makes THE ROOM hot and it’s only the size of a laptop so potentially an android who was thinking very hard would be a veritable furnace
humans who carry around those chemical freeze-packs in case they need something to drape across their friend’s fevered brow
humans who insist on holding a parasol for their robot friend on sunny days
a robot draping herself over a fainting couch in distress and a bunch of worried humans mobbing up to fuss and fan her and bring her some cool water and pat her hand and gallantly offer to beat up whatever alarmed her
It would certainly be a really good detail to add, especially with the problem with overheating. With all that gear and stress a soldier has it really presses on them, and Adam would certainly be no different!
1. Aries: Spontaneous Day Trip.Aries lives for new experiences and adventures, anything to change up their usual routine. Surprise them with a day trip to a new place they have been wanting to explore, keep the itinerary open, and see what happens. They’ll love it.
2. Taurus: Wine Tasting.If any sign appreciates the finer things in life (AKA wine), it’s Taurus. An afternoon spent tasting an array of reds and whites at a scenic winery will appeal to their sensual side, and leave them feeling buzzed in more ways than one.
3. Gemini: Seeing A Documentary (And Discussing It Afterwards).Geminis love to be engaged in something and learn new things. Take them for a night out to see that mind blowing new documentary, and don’t forget to schedule ample time afterwards to sip cocktails and debrief every aspect of the movie in detail!
4. Cancer: Dinner At Their Favorite Restaurant.Cancers really thrive in places that feel comfortable and familiar. Find out their most beloved restaurant and take them there. Even if they have been there a million times, trust us, they will thoroughly enjoy it and appreciate your thoughtfulness!
5. Leo: Karaoke.Leo loves having your full attention. Take it up a notch and have them get up on stage for karaoke night. Cheer them on as they belt out their favorite tunes late into the night, but watch out: if anyone can convince you to join them for a duet of “Livin’ On A Prayer,” it’s a Leo.
6. Virgo: Cooking Class.Virgos are practical by nature and love learning new things. Skip the predictable dinner and a movie routine and sign the two of you up for that cooking class they’ve been talking about; they’ll leave the date with a new skill they can apply to their lives and some fun memories (not to mention a killer recipe for spinach ravioli).
7. Libra: Couples’ Massage. Libras love to be pampered and relaxed. Plan a date that is calm and rejuvenating for both of you with a couples’ massage. Not only will your Libra feel their stress melt away, they’ll love the romantic aspect of getting side-by-side massages. After the masseuse has worked their magic, toast to your new-found relaxation with a glass of champagne and a bit of dark chocolate to round out this perfect evening.
8. Scorpio: A Night In. Intimacy-craving Scorpios want one thing: to be alone with you. Invite them over to your place and create a private oasis for the two of you complete with candles, good music, great food, and red wine. They’ll love being able to focus on you (and vice versa) with no outside distractions.
9. Sagittarius: Hiking.If there’s any sign that absolutely loves to be out doing things, it’s Sagittarius. They tend to get antsy sitting around inside, so plan an outdoor adventure for the two of you. Pack a picnic and spend the day hiking and taking pictures. Bonus points for choosing a trail that ends at a romantic waterfall.
10. Capricorn: Dinner At An Exclusive Restaurant.You know that awesome new restaurant that everyone has been raving about and is basically impossible to get reservations at? Pull whatever strings you have to pull to get a table, and take your Capricorn there for dinner. They’ll be blown away by your tenacity, and super excited to be the first person in their foodie friend group to experience those famous saffron-seared scallops.
11. Aquarius: Live Music.Aquarians crave experiences that are both social and stimulating. Oh, and they really love music, especially music that’s a little under-the-radar. Going out to a bar or jazz club to see a local band perform is a perfect combination of all three. They can enjoy some great music, a few beverages, and conversation with you between sets. They’ll love it.
12. Pisces: Art and Wine.Pisceans love to express their creativity and appreciate the creativity of others. Take them to an art gallery, art show, or better yet, a local paint and sip class, where you can both try to channel your inner Picasso (while enjoying a glass of wine or two). They’ll leave with a completed painting and a refreshed supply of inspiration. Perfect.
Happy birthday to the one and only @cherryblossomrare! Hope you have an awesome day today! Enjoy the awesome weather we’ll be having on Patriot’s Day as well! I think we’ve all deserved it!
I can actually say that I haven’t seen this movie. At first I thought it was Force 10 from Navarone, another WWII flick with Ford in it. Which by my accounts came out a year before this one! Busy guy!
Goodbye Gravity Falls. I can say without a doubt you were the best TV show I’ve ever watched. And the greatest summer vacation adventure anyone could ever have.
