The 10th of June, 1944 - D + 4, The Bocage and Other Things...

Bocage country on the Cotentin Peninsula, Lower Normandy

...bocage refers to a terrain of mixed woodland and pasture, with fields and winding country lanes sunken between narrow low ridges and banks surmounted by tall thick hedgerows that break the wind but also limit visibility. (Source)

Corporal Jack Wilson was exhausted, filthy, and hungry. His nerves were pinging and his knees and back ached relentlessly as his squad shuffled slowly alongside yet another overgrown bank as they probed forward towards yet another small field somewhere in Normandy. The day was dusty and hot, though Jack was glad to be alive, there were moments when he wished he would get hit just so he could lie down, maybe even a wound bad enough to send him home. But...

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, Sarn't Bill, as Jack had taken to calling him, had sent their point man forward to "have a peek" around one of these innumerable damned hedgerows to see if it was safe to cross the opening into the field on their right. The field they couldn't see, the field they couldn't get through without using one of the openings the Norman farmers used to access their fields.

Private Teddy Woolworth was a good kid, was from somewhere in Maryland that Jack had never heard of. He had actually volunteered for the Army as soon as he had turned 17, with his folks' permission of course. A good kid and a pretty good soldier. But even a good soldier depends on luck every now and then to stay in one piece.

Teddy had taken his time, gotten himself in a position where he could observe the field, well, most of it, without being seen himself. Or so he thought. He hand signaled back to Sarn't Brandt who motioned him forward.

He had nearly made it across when they all heard that searing, ripping sound of a Kraut machine gun. Teddy was hit in the lower right leg, well, truth be told, the MG burst had taken off Teddy's lower right leg. Before anyone could react, Sarn't Bill, who spoke a little German, had dashed forward, grabbed Teddy's collar and pulled the kid out of the line of fire.

Jack wondered what Bill had heard the Germans shouting, Jack had heard them too, but had no idea what they were saying.

Heavily Camouflaged Pzkw VI Ausf E "Tiger" in Normandy, June 1944
(Source)

They just couldn't move in daylight. The battalion had lost six Tigers in the past two days from Allied Jabos¹. On the upside, the idiot company commander who had insisted on moving during the day had been in one of the tanks destroyed just this morning. Herr Hauptmann Karlheinz von Hauser was not a popular officer. Many claimed he owed his command to connections in the High Command, not to any talent as a tank officer.

The new skipper, Oberleutnant Altendorf, had come up through the ranks. He'd fought in Poland, France, North Africa, and then Russia before gaining his officer's commission. He had been posted to the battalion back in January, after another short stint in the East. Willi was glad to have him.

"So Gerhard, think we'll make it to the beachhead to be of any use? Do you think we'll make it at all?" Feldwebel Willi Hoffmeister asked his tank commander.

"So many questions Junge, we should be within striking distance of the Tommies tomorrow morning. After that? Who knows?" Stabsfeldwebel Gerhard Lindner tossed his cigar stub to the ground as he looked around at the small woodlot where they had parked the tank, named "Gerda" for his favorite aunt.

Willi watched his friend as his tipped his field cap back on his head then dropped into the turret with a sigh. "I'm going to catch some sleep, you should too Willi. It's going to be a short night and a very long day tomorrow I'll wager."

German POWs in England
(Source)

Grenadier Horst Mellanthin was tired and hungry. He hadn't eaten since the day after the Allies landed in Normandy and captured him. Now he was in line with a long queue of other tired Landsers with mess tins out, ready to eat whatever the Americans would deign to offer their enemy.

The big, very disheveled cook slapped a slice of bread into his tin, then ladled a rather generous portion of some creamy sauce which appeared to have flecks of meat in it. It smelled rather good he thought.

As he began to eat, he though, "Mein Gott, this is delicious!" Whether it was his hunger or the fact that he'd never eaten chipped beef on toast before (what the cook called "SOS²") Horst gobbled it down. He thought that it was the best meal he had had in weeks!

"How do you say your name again? Yawn Kowohjee?"

"That's pretty close lieutenant. Close enough."

ex-Obergrenadier Jan Kołodziej shifted in his chair and took another long drag on the cigarette the American lieutenant had given him. He was no longer wearing his German uniform. Now he was wearing an unmarked American uniform. He grinned to himself as he realized that this wasn't the first time he had swapped uniforms in the middle of a war. The same war actually.

"Do you have a problem working with us as an interrogator? I see by your paperwork that you speak German, Russian, English, and even some French. In addition to your native Polish of course."

"Yes, lieutenant. I was in university before the war. If you know your history, we Poles are rather good with languages. When you are surrounded by so many peoples who wish to steal your country, it's good to know your enemy, don't you think?"

"Uh, nobody out there speaks English, do they?" While the lieutenant had gone to a good Midwestern college, he'd studied agriculture and business. Hadn't looked at a history book since high school, and that had been, naturally, an American history book.

"Ah yes, English! That I learned from a lovely Polish girl from Chicago who was visiting her relatives in Poland before the war. That, I can tell you, was a very good summer."

"I'm sure that was, uh, memorable." The lieutenant's wife was of Polish extraction, from Chicago, though she had never visited Poland, it made him a little uncomfortable to think about it. Not to mention that the young lieutenant was something of a prude.

"Now how good is your French?"

Jan grinned and said, "Je connais assez le français pour me saouler et pour me débrouiller avec les demoiselles!³" As he said that, he saw the lieutenant blush. Aha! The kid speaks French!

"Quite, er, thank you Yawn. Why don't you go get some food, I'll find you later today."

In the days to come, Jan Kołodziej would be enlisted into the U.S. Army as "John Wheeler" which was a pretty good match for his Polish name. He would be attached to a special unit tasked with handling German POWs in the field and doing liaison work with the French Resistance as well.

He assumed that his duties would be well behind friendly lines.

Assumed...




¹ Jabo - Short for Jagdbomber, fighter bomber, primarily P-47 Thunderbolts, RAF Tempests and Typhoons who roamed the skies of Normandy, destroying anything German.
2 SOS - the ubiquitous G.I. "Shit on a Shingle." Don't knock it, I love it too. 
³ I know French well enough to get drunk and get on with the ladies!