Captain Tony Rizzo stared into the faces of a dozen men. He swallowed hard as his shaking hand reached for what was probably his last cigarette. At 45, Rizzo had seen a lot, too much if he did say himself. He was a double dipper in World War II and right about now he could not remember why he had volunteered to serve a second campaign. These guys were a bunch of fucking kids for Christ’s sake, what was lady liberty sending them for? As the Higgins Boat ripped through the fog and waves, Rizzo watched the terrified kids, as their heads bobbed up and down like a dog begging for a treat. What could he say to such a pitiful bunch? Hell, Rizzo could hardly muster hope for himself. All he wanted to do was have a beer and watch the yanks play one more time or two, and as far as the army was concerned, this would have been his last mission as a soldier. However, now it seemed that Operation Overlord would be the death of him. They were about to attack over 100,000 krauts who had been dug into the cliffs of Normandy for months. The cigarette was gone before he knew it, worried and weary, Rizzo turned away from his men to face the raging ocean.
“What the fuck is Roosevelt thinking?” screamed a thin wiry soldier in the back of the craft over the waves. A few worried faces turned his way. The young Jewish man was named Jacob Halberstram. College was a joke now, for that matter, dinner tomorrow from his pack was a joke, he was sure death was upon him. His fears and insecurities had gotten the best of him, he continued his rant and said, “This operation is already FUBAR, you all know we’re gonna die don’t you? I mean look at us! Driving up as pretty as a little goddamn shooting gallery for the fifty calibers to tear apart.” “Halberstram is right,” muttered a pale kid named Danny Thompson as he clutched the plastic bag wrapped around his .30 caliber M1 carbine. “Maybe if there were about a hundred thousand more of us, maybe then we’d stand a chance! There is less than thirty thousand in our division, that’s nothing more than cannon fodder on this beach.” With that everyone fell silent, Rizzo shot a quick glance back at the men and Danny could swear he saw some fear in the old Italian’s eyes.
Greg Flannigan who had to be the only man there over thirty besides Rizzo finally gave way to his stomach and vomited over the side of the metallic vessel. It was either seasickness or downright fear, he could not decide. Greg or Mr. Flannigan, as he was known at PS. 118 in Brooklyn, was no soldier. He was a husband to a beautiful wife named Danielle and a seventh grade teacher. Sure he knew general history, and he could probably name you all of the presidents, but anything really about the military was, as they say in the army, above his pay grade. He did not have any idea how to check his six and he still could not figure out what Halberstram meant by FUBAR. This world was completely foreign. He mused in his mind about how he had not felt this nervous since he had to dance at his wedding. The happy memory managed to dig up Flannigan’s always-inappropriate sense of humor as he thought he would probably take death by the hand of a German soldier over polkaing with Danielle’s Old Italian grandmother again.
He had to do something, say anything to inspire these guys. He could not quite catch what was said but the privates sounded angry, mostly out of fear he guessed. Halberstram and Thompson were still going on about the impending “slaughter” and their “pointless” assault. Just then, Rizzo saw that Irish teacher, Flannigan losing his lunch over the side of the Higgins. Enough was enough, he thought. Rizzo planted his feet and pulled himself up by the latched front of the boat. Brushing water off his helmet, he turned to face his squad grasping for words to say.
“What’s that Halberstram? You and Thompson don’t think there’s enough of us here to beat the krauts? Well son, you might be right, but I would rather die fighting then wishing for reinforcements. There is no greater honor that you or any of us could do today than to die for Uncle Sam. We may be just a few thousand men, but I would not have it any other way. History will remember this day, privates, and in it, it will remember us. I am not a vain man, and living my life in Hell’s Kitchen has taught me never to be greedy, but you can bet your asses that I have pride. If I die here on this beach, I do it with glory and endless faith for my country and what we fight for today. To any of you that are afraid, that fear death, cease those thoughts. We are a company of heroes and we will fight valiantly. Any of you that are not willing to give your all for the United States of America can jump off this boat right now and fair your best in the waters. Because I would not fight in that man’s company that has no courage to fight with us. When the American flag is raised over Normandy, the soldiers left standing who return to the states will be known as such great heroes that the world has never known before. He, who is a veteran of this bloody battle will yearly, on June 6 feel his heart swell with pride for his country and love for his comrades in this infantry unit. He will yearly, on the anniversary, salute Old Glory and tell his tales of war to his friends and family, wowing them with his courage and resolve. Then, the names of your brothers in arms, Halberstram and Thompson, Flannigan and Rizzo shall be on that day honored in the highest. Our story will be taught in classrooms, and every June that comes by we few shall be remembered. We few, we courageous few, we band of brothers. For all of you men are like brothers to me, no matter your race, heritage, or age you are my brother. Because anyone who is willing to fight by me and die is my brother. And men of the world not here fighting for this cause will wish they had after this day. What say you privates? Are we going to lament and fill ourselves with fear, or are we going to take this beach in the name of America?”
With that, the entire Higgins nearly tipped over as every man present rose to his feet. Gone were the insecurities and the thoughts of death. There was only excitement and pride aboard the small landing craft. The soldiers felt such love for their captain that they were willing to follow him into the hell that waited. His words had inspired such miraculous courage that ever soldier no longer even saw death as an option. The cheering of the dozen soldiers riding upon Higgins vessel 27 from the first infantry division was heard on nearly all of the surrounding boats, and the shouts of goodwill and excitement carried on as the Higgins hit ground and the bullets ripped the air.
This is interesting. Normandy is a hell of a thing. I can understand feeling awkward -- it isn't as tight as some of your later work. But we've all gotta start somewhere.
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