Plus One

Matthew Nagel - December 4th, 2023

The air was brisk and the winds were gusty in the wee hours off the coast of Normandy, France, but the belly of the U.S.S. Nevada was as humid and cramped as ever. William Davenport was being shaken awake to the sounds of pounding boots and loud voices. “ Corporal!  Corporal Davenport!” shouted a husky voice.

Will opened his eyes to the outline of Sergeant Micheals` sharp face looming above, just illuminated by the few beams of light being cast through the door. “Davenport! Get your scrawny ass moving!” shouted the same voice, the voice of Sergeant Micheals.

“I’m awake, sir,” Will mumbled through the haze of sleepiness.

“Then get moving! Ike gave the word, we go at O’ 6:30!” 

With that, Sergeant Micheals moved on to some other poor soul unlucky enough to have slept through the commotion in the bunks. Will sprung up from his bunk, looked at his watch, and laced up his boots. His watch read half past five, giving him an hour before he needed to be in his landing craft. Grabbing his helmet, jacket, and pack, he set off for the mess. He didn’t usually eat breakfast, just smoked a cigarette and drank some coffee, but something told him this might be the last warm meal he’d have for a while. 

The mess was packed when he arrived, other soldiers bustling to get an extra piece of bacon or another cup of coffee. They don’t usually have bacon, Will thought to himself, must want to give us a good send off. Squeezing between a couple of Marines who were built like trees, Will managed to snatch a tray and pick up a few slices of bacon out of the bottom of a dish, a couple fried eggs, and a fresh lump of hash browns. They never feed us this good, Will noted. Dodging between people, Will made his way over to a table where a few of his buddies were sat at. Setting his tray down on the table, Will realized he forgot to grab coffee. He swore as he stood up again to get some,  Corporal Mickeys gestured for him to stay and points at a second cup of coffee in front of him. “C’mon, sit down. I figured somebody would be tired enough to forget their coffee,” Mickeys remarked.

“Thanks,” replied Will, as he jostled between Sergeant Palmer and  Corporal Bianchi.

“So, who's ready to get off this damned boat?” asked Bianchi, a short, husky man, to the table.

“We’re all ready, if Eisenhower hadn’t given us the go ahead I would’ve jumped off ‘n’ swam to shore, and I don’t think I woulda been swimming alone,” Palmer stated.

“Speak for yourself, I’d rather be tossed around in a boat than shot at by those Krauts,” Mickeys chimed in.

Will took a bite of his bacon, although a little burnt, was one of the better tasting things he had eaten recently. It was probably going to be the best thing he ate for a while. This might be the last bit of food I ever have, Will mused to himself. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he might die when he got drafted, he was well aware of how dangerous war can be, but it hadn’t really dawned on him until just now how final it all was. With less than an hour until the landing crafts launched, Will realized it may not be a bad idea to get his affairs in order. Maybe I should write a will? Hah, Will’s will. Yeah, I’ll do that. With that, Will reached around to his pack and grabbed out a pen and piece of paper.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” asked  Corporal Mickeys.

Will set his utensils and canvas down on the table. He looked at Mickeys and said matter of factly, “I figure I’ve got a better shot at dying than living, and after I’m gone things betta happen the way I wish ‘em to happen.”

“You’ll be lucky if that piece of paper makes it back to anyone important enough to do something with it,” Bianchi chimed in.

Will tuned out the conversation, instead focusing on the piece of paper in front of him. He started my writing out a title, then a few wants if he didn’t come back, but after that the words started flowing out of his pen and onto the paper. It turned into more of a letter home, telling Ma and Pop he was sorry he didn’t make it back, telling Matilda that he’d been true and missed her, and telling his little brother, Jimmy, that he’d have to take up his responsibilities now that he wasn’t around. It was a messy document, misspellings and crossed out words marred the surface, informal language and abbreviations throughout, and spatters of bacon grease and butter melded with the ink; but it was exactly what it was meant to be, a final word if Will didn’t make it back stateside.

Folding it roughly and tucking it inside his jacket, Will looked around the table. Everyone was caught up in conversation with somebody else. Bianchi and Palmer were arguing about the right way to smoke a cigarette and Mickeys was talking to an infantryman from another unit about some card game from a week ago. Will checked his watch, it read five ‘till 6 o’clock. Standing up from the table, Will bid his intimates goodbye and grabbed his breakfast tray. Walking back towards his bunk, he set his tray in the bin and slipped out of the mess.

Back at his bunk, Will grabbed the few possessions he’d left behind earlier. A black and white photo of Matilda, a silver half dollar, and a small, weathered, leather bound Torah. Tucking these items in his breast pocket, he did a final once over of his bunk.  Lining up his sheets one final time, he exited the bunks and headed for the landing craft.

Darting through the bustling halls of the ship, Will picked up his M-1 Garand and nine spare clips of 30-06. I wonder if I’ll make it far enough to use all of these, Will thought grimly. He grabbed one more, just in case. After picking up his rifle he checked his watch again, this time it read a quarter past 6:00. Making his way up onto the deck, the sun casting only a few rays through the thick clouds. Will spotted Platoon lead, Second Lieutenant Halford, barking commands to the Sergeants, among them Sergeant Micheals. Will made his way over to the Sergeant. 

“Davenport, there you are. The unit is loading as we speak, get into that boat ASAP,” commanded Sergeant.

“Yes, sir!” responded  Corporal Davenport.

The  Corporal made his way over to where other members of 4th Company were gathered.He immediately spotted Bianchi despite his short stature. Cutting his way through the crowds, Corporal Davenport made his way over to the side of the ship and began his descent down the ropes into a landing craft. The craft weren’t much more than five sheets of steel welded together with hinges and a motor riveted to the rear. Mickeys and Palmer had already made it into the boat, holding on for dear life as it rocked in the rough surf. Landing feet-first in the craft, Corporal Davenport secured himself on one of the two benches along the side and towards the back. I’d rather not be by that door when it opens, the Corporal thought to himself . The man to his right, Corporal McDoulin, had his hands firmly clasped in his lap and was repeating a prayer under his breath. “. . . and complete protection for my life, Dear Lord Jesus, keep me today from suffering, darkness, and fear. For should I . . .” 

Will reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his Torah, flipping through the weathered pages until he found the familiar psalms that brought him comfort in times of doubt or strife. Reading them steadied his mind, but Corporal Davenport was quickly whisked back into the landing craft as it began moving away from the side of the ship and towards the beach.

The small amount of chatter that was in the boat prior to departure immediately subsided, with a palpable silence coming over the boat. This silence was stark in contrast with the crashing of waves and roaring of landing craft motors cutting through the surf, but the silence was more tangible than either of these things. The deafening silence was suddenly broken by a deafening boom as the U.S.S. Nevada and the other warships began peppering the coast with shell fire.

With shells flying overhead, Corporal McDoulin began bouncing his leg up and down nervously. Corporal Davenport was just starting to wonder how long it would be until they made landfall when the pilot shouted to prepare for disembarkation. Bullets began to whiz past the landing craft from the shore. This is it, Will thought to himself as he stood up and tightened his helmet strap. Loading a magazine into his rifle, Will noted, Nine left. Just has he thought he couldn’t tense up any more, the disembarkation ramp dropped and the inside of the landing craft was exposed to the unimpeded carnage of Normandy beach.

Bullets flew into the boat, finding homes in Corporal Davenport’s platoon mates. The screams and shouts of pain and anger filled his ears. Walking out there is a death sentence, Will thought in panic. Before he could fully grasp what he was doing, he threw himself over the side of the boat into the water. The bracing cold water penetrated his clothes, leaving him shivering facedown in the water. Lifting himself up, he waded through the waist deep water towards the shore. Bullets pounded the water around him. A severed limb drifted past him, staining the water red. Will gagged at the sight. Pushing through the reddening water, Corporal Davenport felt bullets wizz past him. Finally making it onto the beach itself, the Corporal was greeted by the bodies of his fellow soldiers. Some mangled by explosives, others torn apart by German machine gun fire. Looking up he saw the heavy fortifications of the German bunkers along the cliffs, spewing forth copper  and brass en masse. 

Corporal Davenport dashed for anything that may afford him some cover from the incoming fire. He jumped  into a blast crater a ways up the beach, hunkering down next to another infantryman, who was huddled in the sand muttering under his breath. Bullets peppered the edge of the crater, but nothing made it through the sand. Loud booms surrounded Will, leaving him paralyzed. Suddenly, a mortar landed next to the pit, throwing sand in every direction and destroying any cover the crater may have afforded. Corporal Davenport scrambled and the man next to him clutched their rifles and charged ahead to their next crater. They jumped in just before a volley of machine gun fire pelted the air where their heads had just been. The soldier next to Corporal Davenport lifted his head up briefly to see if they could make a break for it. As soon as his head cleared the edge of the pit, a bullet hit his helmet, though fortunately bounced off. Sitting up in shock, he took off his helmet and stared at it in disbelief. Only a moment later, another bullet splattered his brain across the sand and his body fell limply. Will gagged again. 

Then Will was the one huddled in the sand, praying that he would see his next moment. A hand reached down and pulled Corporal Davenport to his feet. An unfamiliar face was shouting at him to move. Gripping his rifle, the Corporal charged forward with this man. As he ran past more bodies mangled by the carnage, Will wondered if he would make it off this beach. They jumped into another crater, this one just in front of the barbed wire-covered bases of the cliffs. Using the barrel of his rifle, Corporal Davenport  tried to push the barbed wire aside, but he couldn’t get it untangled. The man that had pulled the Corporal up a moment ago had pulled out a knife and had started to try and saw through the barbed wire. Seeing this, Corporal Davenport did the same. Being so close to the cliffs, they were mostly safe from the bullets; but then they had to worry about having something dropped on their heads. Just as the two soldiers had sawed and hacked through enough barbed wire to squeeze through, a German hand grenade landed in front of them. Springing back immediately wasn’t fast enough though. Corporal Davenport had just turned around to start running when the grenade went off, throwing him away from the cliff a few yards and deafening him. His pack had absorbed a good amount of the force, but it felt like he had just been kicked from behind by a horse. Ears ringing, he lay face down in the sand, unconscious, with blood running from his ears. The battle continued around him, with the Americans eventually pushing past the German fortifications. After the fighting had subsided, Will fell out of his deep slumber. Rousing further from his black sleep, he looked around to see the beach littered with craters and bodies in various states of damage. Wiping the sand from his face, he looked around for his rifle. Picking it up, he took a closer look at the beach. Aside from the carnage, the beach was peaceful and quiet. How long have I been out? Will thought to himself. He turned his attention to  the cliffs, and saw that there was movement atop them. The Corporal moved towards the cliff, finding a steep path up its face. After climbing to the top, he saw that American soldiers milled about, moving crates of equipment from one place to another, setting up communications stations, and tending to the wounded. Corporal Davenport moved towards one of the tents, looking for somebody who could tell him what had happened to the 16th Infantry. Seeing a Sergeant, the Corporal figured that he would know what had happened. Corporal Davenport walked up, saluted, and said, “Sir, I’m Corporal Davenport, First Division, F Company, Fifth Platoon, sir.”

“At ease,” the Sergeant responded, “Why aren’t you with your unit, Corporal?”

“Difficulty on the beach, sir, I was separated from my squad,” replied the Corporal.

“The 16th Infantry was merged with the 18th due to loss of members, you’ll find them if you keep walking that way,” the Sergeant said and pointed down the cliffs where more soldiers were milling about.

“Thank you, sir!” the Corporal said with a salute.

“At ease, go find your unit, the Germans won’t give us this beach this easy,” with that, the Sergeant turned around and started talking with some other officers.

Corporal Davenport set off in the direction the Sergeant had pointed. Walking through the camp, the Corporal saw wounded everywhere, some only had a few scratches while others would be gone within the hour. I got lucky, he thought to himself, I could’ve ended up a lot worse off. 

He made his way down the line until a familiar voice called out to him. “Davenport! Davenport!” the Corporal turned his head to see Mickeys and Palmer sitting on the back of a jeep. Will ran over to his comrades, dropping his rifle and pack next to the car and giving them both firm handshakes. “How’d you lucky bastards make it through?” Will asked his friends.

“Lucky is right, we charged a bunker with nobody in it and started clearing others ones,” Mickeys responded.

“We haven’t found anyone else. We thought we were the last two left from the squad, but it looks like you pulled through. How’d you manage that?” inquired Palmer.

“Got blasted by a damned grenade when I got close to the cliffline. Ma pack took most of it, knocked me down for a bit, though,” replied Corporal Davenport. 

Mickeys and Palmer seemed to see the dried blood mixed with sand on either side of Corporal Davenport’s face for the first time. “Sounds like you got lucky too,” said Sergeant Palmer.

“Sure did. Hear we got thrown in with the 18th, musta taken a bad beatin’,” Corporal Davenport said.

“Sure did. Beaches’ll be red for a while. A cryin’ shame, so many good men lost here t’day,” Mickeys chimed in.

“Commanders are worried, Rommel might have his tanks in Africa, but these krauts have every town from here to Paris under their control. It’s a rough road ahead, best get some sleep,” the Sergeant said before grabbing his gear and heading towards one of the tents. 

Davenport looked at his watch for the first time since he woke up, and saw that it was half past four o’clock. Realizing sundown wasn’t for some time, he decided to look around the camp a bit. Maybe I can find something to eat, he thought to himself. Corporal Davenport quickly realized that decent food was strictly limited to this morning, finding nothing but dry rations and watery soup; still, it was something. 

A quarter past nine the sun began to set over the horizon. With the clouds still hanging over the world, the sky was cast in a deep, fiery crimson. Fitting, Will thought to himself. It was almost like the heavens themself were bleeding. By this time, the stench of death had permeated the coastline, becoming inescapable. Finding his squadmates, Corporal Davenport settled down for the night, his head pounding from the day's tribulations.

He felt his breast pocket, and found that his book, coin, and photograph were still in there. He pulled out the photograph and stared at Matilda until her image was sharp in his mind. He pulled out his Torah and prayed the same, familiar prayer until he felt God heard him. Then, he pulled out the silver half dollar, and pressed his lips to it for a brief moment. After he finished  his rituals, he placed all three of these items back in left breast pocket, right over his heart. Tomorrow’d better be better than today, Will thought to himself as he shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around his rifle.

Will awoke on the morning of the seventh of June. He looked around and saw that a heavy fog had settled over the camp in the night. He gathered his items and made his way to the impromptu mess. Breakfast wasn’t any better than dinner the night before, a bland meal designed for nothing but sustenance. Corporal Davenport ate his portion and refilled his canteen. After eating, he looked for Palmer and Mickeys. Davenport found them with a handful of unfamiliar Corporals, and he moved to the group. “What’re the orders?” Davenport asked.

“‘Mornin’, Corporal,” Palmer said, “ We were thrown in with H platoon, this is our new squad. Meet Corporal Dallas, Gallen, Porter, and Krivitski. Dallas, Porter, and Kivinski, meet Corporal Davenport.” 

Each one nodded. Dallas was a lean man with sandy blond hair and light hazel eyes. Porter had wavy brown hair and brown eyes, with a speckling of freckles on his cheeks. Krivitski was a pale giant, towering over everyone else even when he leaned against some crates. He had pale blonde blonde and piercing, ice blue eyes. He was built like a bear, with forearms thick as oak tree branches.

“The company has been instructed to start clearing nearby towns of German holdouts. Our squad has been tasked with being first into Bayeux, a small town just off the coast. We’re leaving at oh eight-hundred,” instructed Palmer. 

The group sounded off with yes, sir’s, though they were apprehensive at being the tip of the spear. Davenport checked his watch, it was half past seven. Half an hour, he thought to himself. 

Half an hour came and went. The squad had prepared to move out, having grabbed anything more  that they may need. Each person had picked up enough food for the day, as well as spare ammunition. Davenport still had his ten full magazines from the day prior. Setting out for Bayuex at eight o’clock sharp, moving quietly through the woods which bordered on the cliffs. After about an hour of slow, quiet movement, the squad of six had come into sight of the town. It was a small town, the buildings were of old construction, mostly brick and wood. Only a few of the chimneys had smoke coming from them, and the town itself looked mostly empty. “Just because it looks empty doesn’t mean it is. Keep your eyes and ears on,” whispered Sergeant.

The group nodded at his warning. Palmer motioned for them to move around the town and come at it from the western side. Following his call, the squad crept through the woods. They reached the edge near where the road entered the town. The squad paused and watched the road, waiting to see if anyone came in or out. There wasn’t any traffic, at least at this hour. Sergeant pulled the group in to lay down a strategy. “Davenport, you take point with me. Krivitski and Mickeys, you two take the rear. Dallas and Porter, I want you two watching our sides. We move in sections, Davenport and I, then Porter and Dallas, then Mickeys and Krivitski. Clear the town of any hostels, but take prisoners where we can. Is that clear?” said in a hushed voice.

The group understood, and nodded to confirm it. “Alright, lets go,” Palmers said as he moved towards the road.

Corporal Davenport sprinted to catch up with Palmer, moving along the side of the road opposite him. The others followed step. The squad swept through the streets, moving towards the town center. The town looked empty, having been ransacked by the Germans after being taken from the French. Broken glass and a few fallen shingles littered the cobblestone streets. As the squad approached the center of the town, a murder of crows took off from the square's center. Palmer and Davenport poked their heads into the square. It had been given the same treatment as the rest of the town, a ransacking and hasty withdrawal. Sergeant Palmer motioned for Davenport to take point. Corporal Davenport took a careful step forward towards the belltower. He took a few more steps, then a few more. Nothing exploded or tried to kill him, which was a good sign. He motioned for Palmer and the others to follow him. Sergeant Palmer dashed over to the other side where Davenport was waiting. Next went Corporal Porter across the square. After that was Corporal Dallas, who sprinted for the other side. When he was halfway across the courtyard, a loud boom split the air. Dallas fell to the cobblestones with a cry of pain as red poured from his leg. “GET DOWN!” shouted Sergeant Palmer.

Everyone in the group dove for cover. Corporal Dallas was wailing in pain, his lower leg having been torn apart by a bullet. Corporal Davenport looked around for where the bullet could have come from, but he couldn’t tell. Krivitski and Mickeys were still on the opposite side of the courtyard. Where did it come from? Will thought to himself as he looked around the square. Mickeys shot up at the belltower, then Krivitski rushed out and scooped up Dallas like he weighed nothing. Krivitski carried Dallas over to the side of the courtyard where Palmer, Porter, and Davenport were. He laid him down gently behind some cover and quickly applied a tourniquet to Dallas’ mangled leg. “Morphine,” the huge man commanded. Davenport reached into the man’s bag and pulled out a handful of morphine syrettes. He uncapped one and pushed it into Dallas’ neck. Dallas relaxed visibly as the morphine coursed through his veins, dulling the pain.

Dallas’ shin had been shattered by a bullet, and left him unable to walk. “Porter, Davenport, take that belltower! We need to get this courtyard secured! Move!” Sergeant Palmer commanded. 

Davenport and Porter wasted no time, they grabbed their rifles and made for the base of the belltower. Davenport kicked in the door, shouldered his rifle, and swept the room. Porter rushed in behind him, doing the same. It was a spiral staircase that wrapped around the edges of the inside walls and led to the top. Davenport took the lead with Porter close behind him. They neared the top of the stairs, then paused and waited until they heard Mickeys start shooting again. After the consistent sound of Mickeys’ fire returned, the two Corporals rushed up the remaining stairs, and trained their rifles on the figure at the top. It was a boy, no older than eleven years old, with a German infantry uniform on. “Bitte! Ich gebe auf! Ich gebe auf!” the boy cried.

Davenport lowered his rifle, but Porter kept his rifle trained on the boy. “Cease fire!” Davenport shouted down to Mickeys. “Anybody speak German?” Porter shook his head, and lowered his rifle slightly. 

Corporal Davenport paused for a second. What’s that hum? He listened closer. It went from a faint buzz to a deep rumble. He scanned the horizon, what he saw made his stomach drop. A German tank company approached  from the north, directly towards the town. “Grab the boy! We’ve gotta warn the others!” Davenport shouted as he started down the staircase. 

The rumble was more muffled in the streets, but Davenport still heard it. He dashed over to where the rest of the squad was gathered. “Tanks! German tanks north of here, we’ve got to warn headquarters.” Palmer’s face went pale as Davenport described what he saw. 

“We can’t move fast enough with Dallas’ ruined leg, even if Krivitski carries him. We have to stop them,” Palmer said with a grim face.

“How? It’s Panzers, what are we supposed to do, shoot at them?” Mickeys asked with a defeated look on his face.

“Hold on, doesn’t the road go through the town?” Davenport asked, having had a realization.

“Yeah, why?” Palmer asked, intrigued.

“The buildings here aren’t the sturdiest, we could collapse them when the tanks came through. Get them trapped, or at least slow them down so someone can warn headquarters,” Davenport replied.

Krivitski nodded in agreement. “Who will be our runner?” he asked.

“Mickeys is fast, he has the best shot at making it back in time. Mickeys, leave your munitions and grenade with us, you shouldn’t need them where you’re going,” Palmer commanded.

“Yes, sir!” Mickeys responded, then dropped his pack and emptied his ammunition pouches.

“Get a move on, run like you’ve hounds on your heels!” Palmer shouted.

Mickeys sprinted back out of the town towards headquarters, wasting no time. Everyone else hastily grabbed a couple magazines from his ammunition pouch. “What about the sniper?” Palmer inquired to Davenport.

“He’s only a child, sir, we can’t kill him,” Davenport replied, then realized that Porter and the child were still atop the belltower.

Palmer shook his head slowly and thought for a moment. “We’ll bring him back if we live, just move him out of harm’s way for now,” he commanded.

“I can carry him,” Krivitski volunteered.

“Make sure he’s out aways, maybe even out of town. Go now,” Palmer ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Krivitski responded, moving up the belltower.

Porter came back down with Krivitski and the child. Sergeant Palmer laid out the rest of the plan in brief. Everyone would be positioned on major streets or buildings. When a Panzer passed them they would drop their grenade on it, hopefully crippling it or collapsing a building on it. The rumbling had grown much louder in the brief time they had discussed a plan. Everyone sprinted away to their positions.

The rumble grew louder and louder, until the first Panzer entered the town. Davenport waited around a corner for the Panzer to come closer. One shot, can’t mess it up. It’s just like pitchin’ baseball, he thought to himself. The rumbling was deafening now, the Panzers were just down the street. Corporal Davenport pulled the pin on his grenade, rounded the corner, and chucked it right between the right tread of the Panzer and the wall of the nearby building. A second after it landed went off with an ear-splitting bang. The building creaked, shuddered, then collapsed, filling the street and covering the Panzer. The Corporal ducked back behind the corner, hidden from sight. The Panzer reved its engine, trying to escape the trap, but one of the tracks had been destroyed by the grenade. Davenport sprinted away, putting as much distance between himself and the stalled Germans. As he turned away he heard angry shouting from behind him. He ran towards the belltower where Dallas was in hopes of getting a better vantage of the town.

He rushed up the stairs to the top of the tower. He heard two loud bangs, one after the other, then more shouting in German. Davenport saw Porter, Krivitski, and Palmer running back to the belltower. He rushed to the bottom of the stairs to meet them. “That won’t stop them forever, let’s move!” Sergeant Palmer shouted.

Krivitski picked up Dallas, who was almost unconscious from the morphine. He shouldered him like a sack of potatoes. The squad sprinted out of town to where Krivitski had left the young German boy at the edge of the woods. The boy was still here, sitting in the brush. Porter gestured for the boy to follow. The boy stood up, fear still in his eyes. “We’ve got to get a translator,” Palmer commented.

“For now we’ve gotta move,” Davenport said.

“Let’s move, Mickeys has probably just warned upper command,” Porter said, starting to move away.

The rest of the group followed. They made good time back, less than half of what it took them to get there. When they arrived they saw everyone up in arms as they scrambled to mobilize tanks. Krivitski dropped Dallas off at a medical tent, letting the other medics tend to him. 

The squad was called into General Roosevelt’s tent. “Gentlemen, I want to thank you for your brave actions today. You all played a part in stopping the Nazi force’s advance towards us. The importance of that cannot be understated. I believe commendations are in order. Given our current circumstances, we’re a little short on medals. Until we can get things properly arranged, stay here and recover,” General Roosevelt ordered.

“Sir, yes, sir!” the entire squad replied in unison.

With that, the squad left the tent, and settled in for the day, knowing that a long campaign was ahead of them, but today they had made a difference.