Evening Chats

1.2K 51 15
                                    


Torture was the right word

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Torture was the right word. 

All of the men in the Company ate a big helping of Sobel's special spaghetti meal. During the run up Currahee, of course, they vomited it all on the trail, which was part of the twisted, sadistic plan Sobel had, who seemed to be taking great pride in watching them suffer. I ran alongside the men, watching as they struggled with their full stomachs. Sobel shouted his insults and taunts at them. Instead of buckling to his child-like goading, the men started to sing.

It brought a smile to my face as I listened to the strength in the words and determined voices as they sang, uniting against their current common enemy. The look on Sobel's flabbergasted face was priceless when the singing started. It was clear he expected the men to break but we proved to him that we were finally a Company - one that would stand together, no matter the opposition and we would succeed where others might fail.

Early the next morning, we gathered in the landing field near the airstrip for one last lecture before we would begin the series of jumps required to earn our wings. My nerves started to build within and I couldn't concentrate on the lecture. My eyes drifted to the sky as other Airborne men were already jumping in the distance, painting the blue sky with an array of green silk chutes, gliding the men back down to the earth.

Before I knew it, the lecture was over and we piled into the awaiting planes on the runway. As I sat inside the plane, I could hear our jumpmaster shouting over the noise of the engines and open door, "Any refusals at the door and you will be out of the Airborne!"

I blinked away the fear as it started to boil inside of me. I couldn't be afraid - not now - not when I had come so far. I closed my eyes, trying to think of something else - anything else - to distract me from the bubbling fears within me; as I focused on my breathing, an old memory from long ago popped into the forefront of my mind.

There was a time when I was about seven years old and my mother found a bluebird with a broken wing. She cradled it carefully in her hands as I watched with curious eyes while she used things from around the house to make a splint. We fed it daily, talked to it, and watched over it as it healed. One morning, I woke up to find my mother with the bird in her hands standing outside. She removed the homemade splint and released the bird from her hands, letting it fly into the cerulean sky until we could no longer see it. I asked her why we had to let the bird go. Her reply was simple: "Because it was time to let her fly."

My mother's words echoed within my mind as I sat in the plane, knowing today was the day I needed to fly. It was my time to spread my wings and I didn't want to disappoint my late mother. So when the order was given, I stood with the rest of the men, hooked up, and checked the equipment on the man in front of me, all the while feeling the tugs on my equipment as the man behind me checked mine. We stood waiting for the green light at the door to illuminate - signaling us to jump...to fly for the first time.

We Were There: Emmeline's StoryWhere stories live. Discover now