Upstarts
I thought so too, sir
Then I realized that he was in this just as much as I was, and that nothing I could say
could make him feel any worse than he already did. Nor would it help the situation. So all three
of us dismounted and tried to push the jeep toward land. Futilely. We were in water breast high -
higher, after our feet sank eight inches into the soft sand.
The LCT yawed enough to let the vehicles behind us get past. Before long a Caterpillar
tractor came along the beach and flung us a line so it could haul us and several other derelicts
onto the sand and move us across the beach and onto a little ridge where Joe B. Davis finished
de-waterproofing the vehicle.
Being the driver for an officer is a miserable job at best. You drive him to places neither
of you has ever been, trying to follow his directions as he sits beside you with a map on his
knees, trying to turn it to keep it oriented every time the road curves, and frequently missing
turn-offs until you are well past them, then acting as if it were your fault when you have to go
back. And urging you to hurry.
When you finally get there, he jumps out, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be right back!"
You can't go far away, partly because he might return any moment and partly because
WW II vehicles had no ignition keys, only an on-off switch, so they had to be watched for fear of
theft. You think about taking a nap, but he might return any moment. After about an hour, you
remember that funny noise the engine had been making and think you ought to look under the
hood, but he might return any minute.
Finally, after two hours, you do raise the hood and poke around, and just when you have
unscrewed two of the spark plugs to clean the points, he rushes up, leaps into the front seat, and
cries, "Quick, back to the CP!"
Despite all this, Joe B. Davis remained faithful, bearing all things, believing all things,
hoping all things, enduring all things. He was a good soldier, and I don't know what I would have
done without him.
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