June 6, 1944

Printer-friendly version


June 6, 1944


Utah Beach, Normandy, France, on the first day of Operation Overlord


“Keep your fucking head down and crawl, Edison,” a voice shouted further up the beach. The tragic benefit, if it could be called that, was that bodies strewn all over acted as a macabre escort to the soldiers still alive. The Captain turned to his right and saw a kid prostrate in the sand; his arms extended to reveal a Rosary in his hands. He couldn’t hear the boy, but the movement of the kid’s fingers on the beads gave proof that he was still alive.

“Make it quick, Private. You heard the man….only dead and about to die are staying here.” The boy turned to him and nodded. He shoved the Rosary into his pocket and grabbed his rifle. A moment later he was sprinting in a zigzag up the beach. He fell about 100 yards further up but rose quickly, giving the Captain a moment of relief in the midst of the hell around him. He went to stand but felt a sharp pain in his neck before everything went black…

* * * * *

“Okay, Phillipa? Marie? Everyone?” Pointing to the top of the camera, the Captain smiled at the group of eager children.

“This is a viewfinder.”

“Veee-oooo-fine-dare…” A little girl at the Captain’s feet giggled while repeating the word.

“That’s right… that’s right,’ the Captain said enthusiastically. A woman walked up slowly. She was dressed in a WAC uniform. She snapped off a salute and spoke.

“Begging your pardon, Captain? You’re wanted at Command.”

“Is this urgent, Sergeant?”

“Not on the double; as soon as you can.”

“Thank you,” the Captain said. “Please explain I’ll be there shortly"
.
“More about the camera, S'il vous plaît?” Marie asked.

“Perhaps tomorrow?” The Captain sighed. Turning around, the Captain noticed another WAC and waved. She walked quickly to the group.

“Lieutenant? Would you escort these girls to the Mess for something to eat?”

“Certainly, Captain,” the woman said.

“Come along girls; let’s go find some lunch….” The woman practically skipped down the path; a brood of little girls trailing happily behind her….

The Captain stood at the back of the large meeting hall. The afternoon had been relaxed; perhaps unfairly so in the middle of a war. Thoughts of the previous days seemed to be blurred, but the indistinct sights and sounds felt like a harbinger of good things, oddly enough. About ten or so personnel sat in the hall.

A WAC officer stepped to a table at the front of the room. Everyone rose to their feet. Picking up a microphone, she spoke.

“As you were,” she said; motioning them to sit down.

“Welcome. I know this assignment may feel odd to all of you but a great deal of planning and time has been put forth to see this operation is a success.” The Captain nodded reflexively.

“When you depart, each of you will be given instructions. Don’t worry about logistics at this time. The campaign is going to be long and hard. Some of you will see quick results. Others may not realize success for a long time. Your job will be to strengthen the reserves of those who are fighting the battle.

A hand was raised nervously. The woman in front waved and smiled.

“Corporal?"

“Is this…. I mean….Did I….did we do….?”

“Something wrong? Quite the contrary. Each of you is here because of the sacrifices you’ve made throughout your service. To say nothing of the ultimate sacrifice.”

The Captain felt an odd sensation. In that moment, the blurry visions seemed to come into focus. Dead soldiers lying on the beach; a place called Utah in a place called Normandy. The waves almost foamed red, but the utter sense of sadness seemed to be swept away like the ebb tide replacing despair with hope. As the blur dissipated, the Captain felt the presence of an older woman. She wore a simple knee-length lilac dress so much unlike the sea of green and khaki in the room.

"Uh...excuse me? Major?"

“Yes, Captain. But here we use names, even with officers. My name is Rita,” she said with a playful smile.”

“Consider this a transfer. You were never in the wrong unit, though. Your assignment was made to make you more capable of understanding and encouraging your charges. Some will wait nearly a lifetime and may never see victory.” She smiled and looked around the room.

The Captain beheld a bright light that began to fill the hallway, and realized that every single soul in the room was a woman. The Captain’s eyes widened in dread; not over what may have occurred, but what might not have in spite of countless years of longing.

“Fear not. This is but a new beginning,” the woman said with a broad sweep of the arm. Every single woman no longer wore khaki or olive drab, but dresses with pastel hues. Almost a new uniform. The Captain hoped at that moment for a mirror but seeing soft hands held in front led to tears of joy.

“You were named Eric, but it is Erica who continues,” the woman said. Years of crying out prayers as a little boy and sleepless shame-filled tearful nights as a teen and young adult in Ohio gave over to hope now finally realized, if only in an ethereal manner.

“Like all of these precious souls, you have been given a second first chance. Godspeed, dear heart. And welcome, thou good and faithful servant.”


Erica Turner of Akron, Ohio, stood in a line to the side of a large transport plane. Women of every age and race and creed queued up for the assignment of every lifetime. She looked down at the card.

“Jimmy Parsons, York, Pennsylvania, 1966”

She sighed, already knowing what Jimmy faced. She raised her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Give me wisdom,” she sighed through a faint smile; know that it would be very hard but not impossible for a child to eventually become Dr. Jamie Parsons; a therapist and transgender specialist in Harrisburg. She felt the light touch of a well-manicured hand. Turning, she found herself looking at a mostly familiar face.

“Captain…. Turner?” The girl was about nineteen, and wore a pastel green dress and a big smile.

“It’s me, Captain. Private…uh….Anthony….uh….. Antonia Bevaqua.”

“Yes….I’m….so happy….happy that you made it,” Erica said, pulling the girl into a hug.

“Isn’t it great? Look who they gave to me!”

“Albert Collavito, Elmyra, New York, 2003,”

the card read, but the date caused Erica to sigh in grateful relief.

“Isn’t this great, Captain?

“Yes it is, Antonia, but one thing?”

“Yes, Captain?” They paused as they reached the top of the stairs to the plane. The Captain smiled said,

“Please? Call me Erica?”



On the beaches of Normandy, the deaths in the thousands and the likelihood of transgender soldiers what they were; the number in my tale, ten or so, is likely a generous estimate. And 1944 was years before Roberta Cowell and Christine Jorgensen found the help that many of their sisters would never know. Having them become angelic women was my way to acknowledge them.

It is to the brave sacrifice of those who fought and died; to those who fought and died while never having the chance to be themselves; and especially to the readers herein, both military and non-military alike, who continue to fight this battle; to them I dedicate this story….I hope my story does this day justice



up
139 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

Another June 6th

I agree, also the same day in 1918 my great grandfather and his fellow Marines, followed General James Harbord against 4 German divisions at a little place called Belleau Wood.

At the end of the day, the Marines lost over 1000 men. Least we forget them and the brave lads who stepped onto those terrible and deadly beaches 30 years later.

++++++++++++
Cartman: A fine day of plundering we had boys. What about yourselves? Here you are lads, plenty of booty to go around. A round of grog for me boys. A round of grog for everyone!

Brings back the memories

My Father went ashore on D-Day+2. He commanded a Scout Car. He stayed over there until Aug '45.
Other than those facts he never spoke about what happened in the intervening 14 months.
This was until he was very ill and close to death. Then he described what he and his comrades found when they entered Bergen-Belsen.
There was no such thing as PTSD in those days even though shell shock was well known.
When I went to work in Germany as a Civilan member of the British Army in the 1970's he made sure that I visited Belsen.

Thanks for posting this. It made me re-read my own WW1 story called Shell Shocked. The 100 year anniversary of the Somme 1 battle is almost upon us. I will remember my relatives who died in it and at Ypres. Three brothers killed in just a few days such is the horror of war.

Samantha

remembering D-day

Interesting twist on D-Day and a way to remember those people who perished in the fight.

J Schade

Sobering

Keep in mind that in 3 years it will be the 75th anniversary of that day. The numbers of survivors who can appear for that momentous ceremony will be few and soon maybe practically none for the 80th.

I remember meeting some Brit WWII veterans at the Imperial War museum and I felt honored just to have met them.

Too bad the living memory of that war is fast fading. Idiots like Trump (nee Hitler) needs to be avoided at all costs.

Owww...

What unnerves me the most is that Drea gets more said in a few paragraphs than I do in fifty or more pages. It's simply not fair. Anyway...brava my dear...

Uh Oh...It's that...

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrat...

again

PKB_003b.jpg

A sweet story, and a

A sweet story, and a different way to remember those that died that June morning.

Karen

as always, brava

well done, Tante.

DogSig.png

I walked those beaches...

wolfjess7's picture

In 1987 I walked those beaches were so many died. I felt the souls of all our fallen brothers on both sides of that horrible day. As a vet I found this needs nothing. It speaks to more than scarfice and bravery.It speaks of new beginnings and rewards to the fallen. Beautiful written. I would only add a tissue warning.

May the peace and happiness of the Goddess keep and protect you
as always your humble outlaw
Jessie Wolf

Pointe du Hoc

When I worked for an army someone told me a story of their father who landed with the Rangers on D-Day. His wife never understood his relecutance to talk about it much less what else he did in the war. When they went together to the anniverary event a few years back, he took her to the same place that so many of his friends died. She took one look at Pointe du Hoc. the beaches , looked at her husband and burst into tears.

++++++++++++
Cartman: A fine day of plundering we had boys. What about yourselves? Here you are lads, plenty of booty to go around. A round of grog for me boys. A round of grog for everyone!

A Friend Of Mine Was There

joannebarbarella's picture

After seeing Saving Private Ryan he said he wanted to crawl into a dark corner so that he did not have to relive it. The only things missing were the smells, which he could not forget.

Let us hope that we do not have to relive such events, even though they bought us the freedoms that we have today.

A Matter of Life and Death

laika's picture

Beautiful mix of grim reality and sweet fantasy; hinting at a God or some machinery of providence that actually cares about transgender people. These Angels, cut down so young in life, getting their wings so they can help others. Nostalgic somehow, reminding me of one of those old movies from the 30s and 40's with afterlife themes, corny by today's standards but kind hearted; About mortals getting second chances or angels interceding to help us poor suckers down here on the worldly plane...

D-Day really was a nightmare, seems like there were no good places to land, just bad or worse, sitting ducks neck deep in water, laden down with gear, wading awkwardly into the jaws of death. But doing it anyway, and starting the beginning of the end of the war, at least in Europe. I sometimes wish I could go back in time and give them just a couple of small modern day missiles to take out those machine gun bunkers. But that's a whole different kind of fantasy. This one you wrote was wonderful, Sis.
Tears, hugs, Veronica

Nice One

So much better than my D-Day story. Consider my hat well and truly doffed.

Ban nothing. Question everything.

Thank you Drea

Pamreed's picture

For reminding me that there was very likely some transgender souls at those landings.
What is sad is for most of them even if they did survive they most likely never had the
chance to be their true selves. It makes me very grateful that I have had the opportunity
to live my life as the woman I always knew I was. May they all rest in peace,

Nicely done

Jamie Lee's picture

A very nice story about only one of many horrific battles during those years.

Others have feelings too.