The Two Americans

The Two Americans

https://www.archives.gov/research/african-americans/ww2-pictures

        

I could hear the sound made by the heavy leather shoes hitting the grass like loud drums. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. My left leg was getting sore from sitting in the same position. Suddenly, I heard a dull voice coming from behind me: “Sergeant Schneider, when are we moving?” I stood there and made him a sign to keep quiet. The Americans were still climbing up the hill and our artilleries were being taken down by the F6F Hellcats. I was the commander of the 243rd infantry division and our mission was to retreat back to our lines. As we were preparing to get out of our underground bunker, I remembered my daughter’s words before I left the house. She wanted me to bring her a souvenir from France; she always dreamed of visiting France one day. Unfortunately, with the political condition that we had with France at the time, we couldn’t take her there. As I was the commander of the division I had to stand in front of the pack and open the door of the bunker. The old wheel that I had to turn to be able to lift the bolt and unlock the door was full of cracks and, as soon as I placed my hands on it, the paint peeled off on the ground. Before getting out, I picked up a blue rock that was down to my right and placed it in my pocket for my daughter if I ever saw her again one day. I climbed up the ladder to reach the hill. Suddenly I heard a loud gunshot which stunned me and I fell flat on the ground. I recall feeling the hot sand touching my face at the edges of the hill. I can’t remember how long I stayed there for, but when I slowly opened my eyes again, I was on a medical bed. I could feel the balancing of the bed when the two men were walking. The sun was hitting right on my face so I couldn't see them very well. The soldier in front of me was wearing the standard issue American army uniform. The man also had an armband with a cross to show that he was a doctor. I could barely move my head, but the two soldiers carried me away as far as possible from the fighting area. I didn’t understand why or where the Americans were taking me, but all that mattered is that they had saved my life. After walking for a while, the two American soldiers bandaged my left arm which was slightly injured near the elbow and placed a bandage over my right ear which was bleeding from the gunshot earlier. As soon as they place the bandage on my ear, I heard a loud humming as if I was getting shot near the ear all over again. The two men were talking to each other but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. They were sweating heavily and one of the men had only four fingers. We continued walking for another 2 hours until we arrived at a small river. They placed the bed on the ground and motioned me to stand up. When I stood up, I realized how tall the two men were; they were about 6 feet tall. One of the men took off his helmet and started rearranging his hair, which was all straightened from the helmet; he had short bright yellow hair. The man opened his bag, gave me a cup of water and a piece of bread. Then, the two Americans waved at me and said with a funny deep accent: “go dat wey” pointing at a direction and left. I had no idea at the time what they told me, but all that mattered was that they had saved my life. I went next to the river and poured some water on my face. At the time, I didn’t realize what had just happened to me. I was one of the few German soldiers to have survived the Normandy Landings on this day July 6, 1944. I spent the next 10 months hiding in France and trying to survive until the war was over. I went from farm to farm sleeping with cows and stealing their food. I also met a farmer who told me I could stay and sleep at his house until things came down. France was a beautiful country. I felt unhappy when I knew I was in a beautiful country but I had to stay hidden at all times. Almost a year later, the war ended. I returned peacefully to Germany to see my family again. A week after I returned to Germany, my daughter was turning seven. I told her the story about the rock I took in France but lost on my way to Germany, she laughed. After the war, I decided to give up my position in the army and to become a writer. I also changed my name to Wilson, so that people wouldn’t think anything bad if they would find out who I really was. Two months later, My family and I moved to France in a city called Nice. My daughter Elisa was really happy when I told her we were moving, she started crying of excitement and told me she was happy to go to France but sad to leave Germany. I answered: “Leaving Germany doesn't mean we will never go visit again!” She smiled. After two years in France, I already knew how to speak French. We were in love with this country. One day however, my wife wanted to go visit the place where I was saved by the American soldiers. I wasn’t sure If I wanted to go back but we went anyway. We walked along the coast for hours looking at the ruins of the British boats on the sand and the destroyed bunkers by the F6F planes. All these dark memories were coming back to me but suddenly, under a brown oak tree, I see a rock. The rock looked exactly like the one I had lost three years ago. I picked it up and analysed it carefully. The rock had a touch of blue with really sharp edges. I placed it in my pocket thinking about the two Americans who had saved my life. I looked at the clock it was 3 A.M. I put the pen down and stopped writing, closed the book and went to bed.