Chapter 30

(JAN 1942 FIRST AMERICAN TROOPS IN BRITAIN)

The people of Britain were ecstatic to see the arrival of the first American troops in early 1942. The ordinary civilians of the British Isles had been exposed to the chaos of war right in their own backyard with the bombing and rocketing of London and many other targets of the German Luftwaffe.

The casualty lists were lengthy with the average civilian suffering the most rather than the military billeted in rural areas far away from the German Blitz.

The sight of the long lines of American combat soldiers off-loading from the transport ships and heading to the tent cities that were springing up across the countryside brought tears to the eyes of the battered populace that had come dreadfully close to full scale invasion by the Nazi Stormtroopers.

The British people had been holding off the Germans single-handed for more than two years and the American reinforcements were welcome by one and all. The American troops were equally as happy because it was a fifty-fifty chance of Britain or North Africa. The prospect of being sent into the Pacific conflict was slowly developing with the heaviest load placed on the rapidly expanding Marine Corps. The Marines had a different perspective on fighting in a combat zone since their basic philosophy was to kill, kill, and kill as many Japanese soldiers as possible with ruthless determination and no quarter given. The American Army and the Navy were a bit more civilized in their approach to battlefield tactics and more closely followed the rules of modern warfare established following the bloodshed of World War One.

The Russians stayed out of the war in the Pacific until the very end of hostilities. The primary reason why they did finally come into the fighting was so that they could share in the “spoils of war” that usually translated into gaining new territories or control over vital sea lanes.

Of course, the “Yanks” brought those strictly American contributions to the English speaking residents of the third rock from the Sun. The sounds of American Jazz wafted over the quiet neighborhoods of urban Britain like some ritual of passage into a new era. The incidence of women actually smoking in public increased ten-fold and the Boogie-Woggie replaced the waltz as the most popular dance. The black market price of nylons and female cosmetics was driven by shortage of supplies and huge increase in demand from nubile women trying to make up for lost time in a scenario that might literally explode any moment.

The mood in Italy and in the Balkans was that the force of German military power was inevitable and that resistance was only an invitation to horrific reprisals. France was already experiencing that same conflict of interest and many civilians protested the overt actions of resistance units because the evil-minded Nazis used the civilian populace as their “whipping boy” to influence the occupied residents to not rock the boat by killing German soldiers merely following orders and doing their duty.

In all honesty, looking back in retrospect, the most vicious resistance units in France, both in occupied France and in Vichy, France were inspired more by an inclination toward Communism rather than Nationalistic pride. The same was true in Italy and in Yugoslavia and right down into the cradle of civilization, the country of Greece.

I could see from the perspective of an observer that the ordinary people would rather co-exist with the Nazi scourge than ruffle their feathers and stir up some deadly retaliation that was aimed at abandoned women and children with no understanding of the consequences. I was relatively safe in a conflict free zone in Italy in a country that was shifting from the black-shirted followers of “Il Duce” and a romance with the Nazi philosophy into a county moving from the sphere of influence of the Axis state to eventually become a part of the Allied cause. It was certainly confusing to say the least but stranger things were taking place all over the globe.

Francesca and Louise were both learning the basics of small arms care and cleaning and honing their skills with both rifle and handgun in a sound-contained little quarry only a short distance from the barn and pig sty that were key elements of their farming operation. I was curious about the ready availability of ammunition for all sorts of weapons but refrained from any questions because such inquisitiveness was frowned on by the reclusive rural resistance fighters. I was a bit surprised by the fact that the resistance fighters seemed so inexperienced in military matters and I tried my best to give them some hints about doing night sorties into the logistics train of the Wehrmacht to tie down the German combat divisions in place and unable to reinforce either the fortress wall against the Allies coming across the Channel or to shift much needed reinforcements to the Eastern front. In late 1942 the Americans were building up their manpower in the rural areas of England and Scotland getting ready for the “Big Show” when they invaded into the European Continent.

It was quite accidently I discovered that Francesca’s mother was half Jewish.

The fact was well hidden inside family circles but it made their participation in such activities even more dangerous.

It was later in the war that the family found that the two brothers were scooped up by the Gestapo and sent to Germany as forced labor in the farm regions. Actually, that was good news because those areas were seldom if ever bombed they were relatively safe from danger. Fortunately they had nothing in their background to suggest that they were one quarter Jewish and that was not something to fear in that sensitive time.

Francesca announced that she was pregnant at a family dinner and all eyes turned to me as the suspected father. I did my best to look guilty but passive and other than a few smiles and suggestive comments, it did not remain a topic of conversation much longer. I knew there was not chance that I was the guilty party because of my long time in the future testing that confirmed I was unable to father any offspring. I didn’t ask Francesca the name of the father because it was her business and I had no problem as being the bad guy if it helped her out a little bit.