honoring the dead

Preface: based on conversation with my dad about the army refusing to bury a black sailor who was killed in normandy. the story is historical fiction based on that conversation.

"What am i doing here?"
Those weren't the exact words the Doc Sam was thinking, but he still had trouble using f*** as a universal noun, verb, and adjective. He leaned against the hood of the jeep he had been given for this mission and saw the long rows of trenches six feet wide four feet deep that the army engineers had dug. The wind blown rain stung his face almost as much as the sgt.'s words had stung his heart.
I DONT GIVE A DAMN WHAT KINDA UNIFORM IT HAS ON.
the self appointed cemetery guardian was the first person he had seen in France wearing a khaki uniform complete with tie.
YOU AINT BURYING NO NIGRA HERE.
what am i doing here? a sailor from the bronx ,4000 miles from home, dressed in army green fatigues, .45 on my hip. we had been driving for 6 hours to reach this place overlooking the omaha beachhead. wet, chilled, and tired we were not ready for this.
"but sgt, he was a navy man unloading ammo when...."
ARE YOU HARD OF HEARIN CITY BOY?
the corpsman behind the wheel of the jeep gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.
YOU AINT BURYING NO NIGRA IN MY CEMETERY
he had heard the words clearly 25 feet away from where doc sam was confronting the sgt. he let his chin fall to his chest and bit his lip to fight back the tears. smitty raised his head when he heard sam's foot steps.
sam got in the jeep. get us out of here smitty
smitty put the jeep in gear and and began to slowly head back to the road. when he was abreast the sgt, he pushed in the clutch gunned the engine and dropped the clutch covering the sgt in mud and gravel. the sgt's curses echoed in his ears as he made his way back to the road. they drove until the road came to a T.
they couldn't go to the left as in less than a mile they would at omaha beach and would have a world of explaining to do. smitty turned right when there was an opening in the traffic and fell in line with the trucks headed south. the day had not gone well, not that any of the days here has been fun. six hours of driving for this. heading back the way they had come with their mission not completed. some mission. the admiral had been quite clear and specific as to what their mission was, make sure ship's cook first class jones got a proper burial and don't return until you do.
smitty recognized the road coming up and turned right. there was no traffic, so after driving about a mile, he pulled over and shut the jeep down. he rested his forehead on the steering wheel and thought why am i here? i remember now, i volunteered, go to scotland and see the sights. well i guess this is payback for my time there.

sc1st jeremiah jones had joined our merry band the previous november. we were all in roseneath, scotland waiting. we knew an invasion might happen someday and when it did our group would help with unloading the ships. the when and where we had no clue. jonesy was sent to work in the hospital kitchen where smiity and i spent most of our time. about a week after he arrived, we all noticed a big improvement in the quality and flavor of our food. since one of my duties was making sure the kitchen followed navy sanitation rules, i made it a point to visit 4 or 5 times a week. although jonesy was not the senior man, he had become the lead cook on his shift. the ingredients in the food had not changed, but he made sure everything was cooked and seasoned properly.
Food at the hospital was great till our new co arrived. He was touring the base and stopped by the hospital at supper time. After eating the meal, he did some checking and transferring and jonesy ended up as his chef. Oh well. In early 44, the brass started shifting people around and organized 4 drew units. Smitty and I ended up in drew one. We were told we would be operating a port in France after the army had liberated it. Sounded ok at first, move to southern England then to France after the fighting was over. In late may we heard the real plan, land the second day of the invasion and make sure the initial off load of troops and material went well. We moved to south England by train and ended up in one of the many tent cities that housed the invasion forces. The first of june we had an equipment inspection then moved our ship.
We had all been thru landing training and went to the firing range once a week. I got comfortable with the M1 and eventually qualified sharpshooter. When I was given the marksmanship medal , our co said “it is mighty f…ing sad that the highest rated rifleman in our unit is a f…ing non-combatant.


AH, THE BEACHES OF NORTHERN FRANCE IN THE LATE SPRING
we were sent ashore on the second day, 6/7/1944. we got out of the landing craft, formed up and counted heads. good, everyone made it. an army officer approached our LT and we were soon marching off the beach