The Luck of Private Riley

PFC Andrew Riley hid along the tree line, about 200 yards from the barn. He had no idea where he was. The C-47 that had flown him and his company over the Channel had run into some serious flak as they approached the drop zone. Their pilot couldn’t get down to 700 feet, so they jumped from well above the expected altitude. All the parachutes and men were scattered around Cherbourg like dandelions in the wind. Riley found himself drifting away from his company as he came down. He fell through a tree that shredded his parachute on the way down and hit the ground hard enough that he suspected his ankle was broken. He was lucky to be alive, but being alone and lost behind enemy lines, Riley was pretty scared.

After landing, he used his rifle as a makeshift cane and hobbled in the direction he hoped was the rallying point. He had gone about a half mile when he saw a parachute off to his left. He used his cricket and clicked it a few times. He got no reply. He made his way over to the parachute and saw a GI lying face down. Riley hoped the soldier was just unconscious but as he got closer, he saw the blood. Riley rolled the man over and recognized him. It was Ortega. He didn’t know him well, but it was still a shock to see the man dead. During his jump, Ortega had taken flak to his chest. He probably died before he hit the ground. There was nothing Riley could do, so he rolled Ortega back over and said a quick Hail Mary. It was then that he’d noticed the structures nearby, an old barn, with a dark farmhouse a little farther on.

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Riley didn’t think the buildings were abandoned. He wanted to get to the barn so he could assess his injury and then figure out what to do. There might even be someone in the farmhouse who could help him. He was terrified to cross the 200 yards of open ground to the barn. He would be wide open to enemy fire if there were any German soldiers around, and he was in no condition to run. Riley took a deep breath and started hobbling to the barn as quickly as he could.

Riley’s 70-pound pack was weighing him down, but he never considered abandoning it. The pack was a lifeline. In Basic they drummed into him the importance of everything that he carried because a soldier never knew where he would end up. All he could think of was getting inside, having a cigarette, and finding something in the medical kit that could help his ankle. It seemed like an eternity, but his luck held and he made it to the barn. He went in and immediately sat on a bale of hay by the door. Riley pivoted his Garand rifle from a walking stick, to a weapon and scanned the barn. As best as he could tell in the darkness, there was no one there except two skinny cows. He relaxed and put his rifle down.

Riley let his pack slide off his back. He really wanted a cigarette but thought better of it with all the hay around him. He settled for a stick of gum instead. He started to carefully unlace his boot on the injured leg. It was painful to remove it along with his sock. His ankle seemed swollen and his shin really hurt, but he didn’t think there were any broken bones. He sighed in relief because he felt he might be able to manage the injury and keep moving. He was digging through his bag for the medical kit when he heard the barn door open.

A young woman stood in the doorway with a lantern. A tall man, dressed as a farmer, stood next to her with a double-barreled shotgun. Riley still had his hand in his pack and managed grab his Colt automatic as he wheeled around to face them. Even as he pointed the gun at them, Riley was saying, “American! American!” He hoped they might understand that he was not their enemy.

The man and woman were shouting at him in French, but they also seemed to be arguing between themselves. Riley couldn’t understand anything they were saying. He had only a rudimentary understanding of French and the two were talking too fast for him to pick-up any of it. Riley did notice something odd about the way the man spoke. It didn’t sound like most French he had ever heard. He realized that the man sounded German.

“Nazi!” Riley shouted. “Put down your gun! Drop it!” Riley leveled his pistol squarely at the man. The man may not have understood the words, but he picked up on the meaning. He lowered the shotgun and the woman softened her tone. He guessed that they were asking him not to shoot. Riley didn’t want to shoot farmers, but he was pretty sure the man was German. He had been trained to shoot Germans. In all the times he had thought about what might happen when he dropped into France, he always imagined facing Germans in Nazi uniforms. He could shoot them without giving it a second thought because he was just shooting a uniform. They were the enemy. But what should he do about these people?

As the Mexican stand-off continued between a French girl, a German man, and an American soldier, there was suddenly a faint, but familiar sound. He yelled at the two to shut up. They may not have understood, but the fierceness of his yell conveyed his meaning. He listened carefully and definitely heard the chirp of a brass cricket. It was the best sound he’d ever heard. He quickly pulled his own cricket out of his pocket, and chirped a response. After a few back and forth clicks he heard someone say, “Flash!” He immediately gave the countersign: “Thunder!” The voice outside said. “I’m coming in.”

The GI entered the barn with his Garand pointed in front of him. The French girl and the German man moved out of his way, and he held her closely. The soldier recognized Riley, and smiled broadly at seeing him. “Andy, what the hell is going on in here?”

Riley relaxed for the first time since he’d landed. The soldier was Corporal Tony Maggio. He was one of Riley’s closest friends in the company. “Jesus, Tony, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Yeah, me too, Andy,” Maggio said. “What’s the story with these two?” Maggio asked as he gestured with his rifle.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Riley said. “The girl is French, but the guy sounds like a German.” Before Riley said another thing, Maggio started speaking French to the girl. You could see the relief on their faces to be understood. Maggio listened carefully and lowered his rifle as she talked. He then passed on her story to Riley.

“Her name is Collette. She lives here with her grandmother. The guy, Herman, was patrolling in this area when he met her. She told him that her grandmother was sick and since he had been in medical school before the war, he said he would try to help. He visited a few times and he did help the grandmother. Later his squad got ambushed by French resistance fighters. The other guys were killed, but Herman managed to make it here with a bullet in his arm. Collette hid him while he recovered. By that time, he didn’t want to leave. He was never really a Nazi, she says. Just got drafted. The Germans must have assumed he was killed, too, because no one looked for him. Now these two are engaged. Crazy world, isn’t it Andy?”

Riley put his pistol down. “Christ, Tony, I almost shot the guy.”

“Good thing you didn’t waste the bullet,” Maggio said with a laugh. Then Herman said something in accented French to Maggio. He smiled and said “Oui!” to the German. It was just about the only word Riley understood. “Herman noticed you’re injured. He asked if he could examine you and I said yes, if you were okay with it.”

“Sure!” Riley said. Herman knelt by Riley and carefully checked the leg. Collette held the lantern for him. After a few minutes he said something to Maggio.

“He says that it’s not broken,” Maggio said. “It might just be a bad sprain. He said to tell him when it hurts.” Herman gently manipulated the ankle and listened for Riley’s reaction then asked Maggio for something. “He wants your med kit,” Maggio said.

Herman bandaged the ankle tightly so that it wouldn’t flex too much. It was a much better job than Riley would have done on his own. He tried standing, and while it still hurt, he would be able to walk. He smiled at Herman and thanked him in English. Maggio showed his map to Collette and she helped him get his bearings. They were only about a mile and a half from their expected drop zone. She also said they probably wouldn’t find many Germans on their way. Maggio and Riley collected their gear and got ready to go. They each gave Collette and Herman two of their Hershey bars; it was all they really had to give them. They started walking, but Maggio stopped to say something to Collette in French. “Don’t worry. Now that we’re here, the war can’t last much longer.” She waved, and hugged Herman tightly.

Riley was limping a little, but he felt pretty good, considering. “So, Tony,” he said, “you think any of the other guys are having a night like ours?”

Maggio laughed. “I doubt it, Andy. I don’t think many other guys are gettin’ fixed up by a German medic. I guess you’re just lucky.”

“Yeah, really lucky. Separated from our company, sprained ankle, walking through occupied France,” Riley said.

“Well, at least you’re alive,” Maggio said. The two GIs walked on in silence, listening for crickets and signs of danger.

The next morning, Herman found Private Ortega’s body. He removed his pack and parachute. Then he dug a grave and buried Ortega with a wooden cross to mark the grave. Collette joined him to pray over the fallen soldier.

They kept the contents of the pack, and Collette collected the silk from the parachute. Her grandmother made a beautiful dress out of it. Collette didn’t wear it until a few days after the war was over in Europe when she and Herman were married.

Riley’s luck continued after D-Day. He and Maggio were both wounded during the Battle of the Bulge, but survived the war. The two GIs remained friends after returning home and often wondered what had become of their friends from the barn.