 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
Upstarts
And in a few more days we were on the road again, still waving back at the
cheering French populace. We moved more than 170 miles the first day, with no enemy
in sight, to the vicinity of Fontainbleau, and next day we crossed the Seine river there.
We were disappointed to miss Paris, also on the Seine but several miles downstream.
And after that we made a few more long jumps forward, still with no one to
contest our advance. It looked as if nothing could stop us before we got to Berlin!
But something did.
We outran our supply of gasoline. Other supplies too, but gas was the vital
shortage. You can live for awhile on short food rations, and in a mobile situation like ours
we weren't using much ammunition anyhow, but you can't move tanks with no gasoline,
nor haul howitzers with thirsty trucks.
I didn't quite understand at first; we had been short of ammunition in Normandy,
but that had simply meant we were rationed to so many rounds per howitzer per day.
Actually we had more on hand, and in case of an enemy breakthrough we could have
fired it and explained later. But this was different, as I soon found out. Joe B. Davis and I
were in the jeep when I saw a Sherman tank on the shoulder of the road, and as we started
to go around it, a man stood up in the turret and waved us to a stop.
"Sir, you got any gas? We're stranded."
As a matter of fact, there was a full five gallon can strapped to the side of the jeep.
However, I looked at the tank and remembered having heard what kind of mileage one of
the monsters got. My five gallons wouldn't move it more than a mile or two. And the
jeep's fuel tank was pretty low, too. So I told him no, sorry, and could I call his outfit
when I got to a phone and tell them where he was?
We settled for that, and I hope they eventually sent him enough gas to get home. I
suppose if we were to be stranded somewhere, we could have done a lot worse. Every
district in France has its own native drink. In Normandy it was Calvados (ugh), in
Lorraine, Mirabelle (just as bad), and Burgundy and Bordeaux are famous for their wines.
But here we were, right in the middle of Champagne country!
The bubbly stuff was everywhere, and the price was ridiculously cheap, especially
for soldiers who'd had little opportunity to spend their pay. And of course there were
always cigarettes for bartering.
So the air resounded with the popping of corks and the fizzing of wine as people
leaped to get their canteen cups under the foaming necks of the bottles before any spilled.
I may have tasted champagne before - gingerly, because it was expensive in the States -
but never more than one of those little stemmed champagne glasses would hold. Here we
drank it by the canteen-cupful. The metallic taste of the cups probably robbed the
champagne of its delicate flavor, but the stuff did bubble and tickle our noses, and we
drank it anyhow.
We tried to keep the thirst somewhat under control: somebody had to be sober
enough for guard duty. But although the fire direction center was set up, no one thought
we were going to be doing any shooting, not until we got mobile enough to catch up with
the enemy.
92
|
 |
|