My thoughts drifted lazily to the water below. The waves dashed powerfully against the conrete fortifications, sending chills down my spine. I had, form childhood, been enthralled with the power of those waters. And now, at their greatest spring tide they dashed with undescribable fury. The full moon shone brilliantly through the dense fog. For some time we had expected an Allied attack of Nromandy Beach, where we now guared, but I had no fear in this weather. No aircraft of navy would attempt a move in the English channel, not now.
Finally the bare clock ticked 6:00 and I stretched my arms. This was what I had been waiting for; no one would be awake now. Carefully i slipped my boots on and tiptoed around the sleeping figures.
I weaved through the barracks and to the narrow, but strong doorway. I shoved open the concrte door and slipped into the sheets of rain. Behind me the door closed tightly with a bang that made my muscles cringe. if someone heard, my dreams of freedom woudl vanish immediatly. For a fleeing moment I stood alone, amonst the waves crashing and the dimly lit shore. Free for the first time in five years.
Soon I found myself walking along the bare shore. I didn't know where I was going but to get away from my cursed capturer. On one side of me the high cliffs of Juno Beach protruded form the landscape. High atop these natural fortifactions perched two 155 mm guns and 75 mm batteried pionted defensively toward the coming Allies. But the sleepless night finally took it's toll on me and I slumped against the bare cliff to catch some much-needed sleep.
Some time later, as I long as I slept I know not, but I awoke to find a young man, a few years younger than I, sitting nearby gazing anxiously into my face. "Who are you?" I demanded in a somewhat harsh tone, while trying to wake fully.
"Ah, man, that's exactly the question posed in my mind regarding you! What brings you here on a stormy night like this? But my name is Peter." he seemed as though he almost told me more, but declined for some unknown reason.
"Mark Pascal," I murmered. "What are you doing here spying on me like that!" my voice rose to a pitch and I clenched my fists.
"I a truly sorry, I was not mweaning to spy. You seemed like you needed help." With this he brought out some stale bread and some water in a metal canteen and handed them to me.
While before I felt like punching him in the face, now I felt a liking for this boy. The bread and the water felt good on my empty stomach and I ate with noticable deliberatness. He noticed this and asked, "Have you a home?"
I glanced around before answering. By means of the descending sun, I estimated it to be around 5:00 in the evening.
“I must have slept a long time!” I thought to myself absently.
I took my attention back to Peter and answered, “Not really.” His concerned questioning enticed me, and soon I found
myself telling the whole story. I told how I left with my father five years ago to fight the invading Germans with our fellow
Russians. My father was killed in a drunken brawl amongst the men and I taken prisoner of war soon after. I told him of
the conditions I endured in the Hiwis and my regretful vow to fight for Germany
make sure no one but Peter heard. “I’ve escaped. I couldn’t bear to stay any longer so I left. I know they won’t be coming
until the weather gets better but I wanted to get out as soon as possible. Last night was my only chance in three years to
escape from the 716th German Division.”
He smiled at me when I mentioned the Allies not coming soon but declined to say anything until I had finished. Then he
spoke, “Can I trust you? If I told you secrete information only a few know, would you tell? How can I prove you’re not
sent out as a spy to the French Resistance?”
“Trust me?” I wanted to cry. “I’ve been a prisoner of war three years and have I betrayed Russia
The thought of my unashamed oath three years ago haunted me, but I pushed it out of my mind.
“You do not need to reveal any information to me, only allow me to help you. If you are fighting for Allied freedom I will
lay my life on it.” I jumped with renewed zeal after my repast.
“Then follow me.” He stood up and led me through a confusing path between German blockades and large batteries until
we reached a high cliff protruding directly in front of us. Peter did not stop as I did but walked to its base, brought out a
rope from his pocket, and tied it in a lasso. He stepped back and threw it with steady aim. It went whizzing through the air
and pulled tight over a strong metal picket. Then he motioned me to follow his example as he climbed hand over hand to
the top.
When we stopped, we found ourselves under a low arch, overlooking the vast waters. Settling down in what seemed like
a frequented spot, he took a small radio out of his knapsack. I watched in silence as he turned it on and tuned it to BBC
at 21:00 CET. Together we listened in silence.
“Les carottes sont cuites, Les dés sont jetés,” The voice spoke clearly in French.
“The carrots are cooked, the dice have been thrown?” I questioned, wondering if my limited French had deceived me
this time. “What does that mean?”
“Peter only gravely smiled at me and answered somberly. “It means it’s happening soon, soon as in tomorrow morning,
early. Yesterday a message personal was transmitted declaring Paul Verlaine’s poem, Chanson d'Automne, "Bercent
mon coeur d'une langueur monotone."
“Sooth my heart with monotonous languor,” I recited. What is going on?”
He looked at me with sober eyes, as if measuring my trustworthiness. I looked at his sober face and wrinkled my brow.
Then I threw back my head and laughed. Here I was, in the middle of nowhere and yet so close to the Orne River
Estuary and Peter was telling me nonsense and saying it meant something was happening soon.
When I subsided Peter spoke. “I might as well tell you, you already know too much. Although the German
headquarters has been led to believe the weather is too bad for an Allied attack, the weather is much better closer to
the Jedburgh reinforcements, have our own work to make this happen. For the last few days we have been
sabotaging railroads and
message exchanges. Now we are here to help our forces land. It will be a hard struggle, but by God’s sovereign
hand we will win, we will crush these power-driven enemies of God.”
The expression on my face was one of contempt. I, Mark Pascal, knew the power of our enemies more than he.
Surely no god of his could overrule Hitler’s tyrannical power?
That night we were able to catch only a few hours’ sleep in between orders. The excitement of it all proved too
much for me and I slept little. Finally, I believe I fell into a deep slumber when I was awakened by the sound of
battery fire in the distance. Peter had his rifle loaded and poised against the rock canyon.
The air was dense with smoke and the noise of airplanes was deafening. The water continued to splash against
the concrete seawall.
I watched as barges of the 2nd Canadian Armoured Brigade and the 3rd Canadian Infantry Division landed on
way on shore. I glanced over at Peter. His gaze was focused on a young Canadian stepping onto shore.
Then I noticed one of my former comrades of the 716th German Division aiming his machine gun directly at
this new conqueror. Peter’s hands trembled as he pulled the trigger to his rifle, ending the life of yet another Nazi.
By then four prominent tanks had reached their objective line. The opposition was heavy, however and they
were forced to turn back as their infantry hadn’t joined them yet. By the end of that day, only two German Rader
stations remained to be overtaken. The 3rd Canadian division had advanced farther than any other division
of the five beaches, as I later learned.
“What was that?” Peter cocked his head to the side and listened intently. The sun was showing her last rays
before disappearing for the night. In the distance we could hear a cry, and then a soft moan.
“I need to go see if someone’s in trouble. It could be serious!” Peter strapped his rifle on and started
climbing down.
“No!” I grabbed his arm and yanked him under the overhang. For once I was right. I was the older of us
two and I was not going to be a wimp. “You don’t know what’s down there. Thousands of hidden grenades,
lurking Nazis, and it’s getting dark. If you go, you go to your death. You have a family waiting for you.
Don’t go.”
For a moment he stopped and thought. “What would Father say?” He mumbled to himself. Then again,
the low cry was heard and Peter sprang down the cliff. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear…”
I listened intently but couldn’t hear the rest for the dashing waves. The dark began to settle in and the air
was dense and foggy. I shivered and crept closer to the canyon wall. Every sound, every moment I imagined
General Hienz had found my hiding place and I would be betrayed. He, of all men, hated traders and I was one.
With Peter gone, there was nothing I could do, no excuse I could make of why I left late last night. No excuse
for teaming up with an enemy…
Then I heard the shuffle of man’s foot at the canyon wall. I listened in frozen silence as he began climbing the
rocky precipice. I was in for certain. Desperately I glanced around for some way of escape but there was none.
I was to be taken back to the German POW camps or… I could not bear to think what they might do otherwise.
Nazis had no pity on any and I was no exception. A public example was exactly what they needed to keep others
from escaping the way I had done. If I only had died in battle! While I thus thought bitterly a thought popped
into my mind. Surely if there was a God out there, he would have some type of pity on me. Peter often prayed
and I felt certain God would hear him. But me... so many times I had cursed him…
My muscles tensed as I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Mark, I need your help.” I looked into Peter’s worried face
and opened my mouth.
“You made it!” I stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief.
“Sure, but I brought him back.” He pointed to the figure of a man lying on the opposite side of the overhang.
Bring me my bag over there.”
As I came closer I studied the features of the man. His grimy face was pale and he wore a tattered German officer
uniform. Then I looked into his eyes. They were dark and cruel looking.
“Peter! How dare you pick up any man of the street and bring him into our secrete hideout! Don’t you understand?”
I felt like pitching them both off the edge of the cliff but restrained myself.
“Why?” Peter’s reply was unhurt as he busily bandaged the man’s wound.
“He was my old commander, and a nasty cruel one too. You don’t know what he’d do to me if he knew who I was.
And he’ll blame you for helping me escape!” I clenched my teeth as I hissed in his ear.
“Mark,” Peter looked in my face and motioned me to sit next to him. “Why are you so bitter, against God and against
man? Let me tell you a story.
When I was a young boy, my father was a successful German businessman. My family and I enjoyed many worldly
comforts. Well, my father came home one day only to tell us that his partner stole all his money and had run off
with it. The business was lost and my father soon after lost his eyesight due to worry. My family suffered a lot
and I was forced to leave for France
“Who was that man who stole your father’s business? You should seek revenge on him. If I were you I would
pledge my life to make an end of him!”
“Hienz was his name, he later, I believe, became a general in the German army.” All was silent for a moment as
Peter silently began wrapping the wound.
“Peter, how do you do it? I mean, how can you be so fearless?” I gently asked.
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” Peter then looked into
my face. “I can forgive others because He who died for me has forgiven me. I have no fear because I have Him
to watch over me.”
It was that night that I asked something I’d never dreamed of asking before. I looked into
Peter’s bright eyes and spoke in a calm resolved voice. “I too can have His power over fear?”
Peter’s bright eyes and spoke in a calm resolved voice. “I too can have His power over fear?”
“Yes,” said Peter. “Only ask.”
