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The Church Prisoner, 1944


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His name was John Steele, but his brothers in arms called him “Big-Ass John,” since he was “kind of a clumsy fella”. He was a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, one of those big tough guys from Illinois. He was full-throated and foul-mouthed, and he liked to joke around. He loved fly-fishing and New Orleans Jazz, and laughing with a cold one in his hand. One fine day, a few years after the outbreak of the war, he was called up to serve and sent to Normandy. His first mission was a daunting one, as the 82nd Airborne Division was going to be dropped behind enemy lines into the village of Sainte-Mère-l’Église, to help liberate the Normans from German occupation. When the night of the mission came, there were stormy skies over France. The wind pulled the aircraft off course, as rain lashed against the windows. The wings shuddered as if they were made of cardboard, and ready to snap off. Damn French weather! The paratroopers were nervous. Were they going to end up dying because of a lousy storm? Would they get shot down by an enemy squadron before they’d even landed? They locked arms and yelled words of encouragement to one another: “We’re gonna smoke those assholes! “

 

The storm passed, and it was time to release the paratroopers. John Steele jumped out into the inky darkness. He opened his parachute and sailed downward. He could see nothing on the ground to guide him. He continued his descent into the blackness when suddenly he saw a light. Figuring it must be a house in Sainte-Mère-l’Église, he tugged on his steering lines to make his way toward the guiding light. But there was ill luck in store for John Steele, who struggled to see out of his mask: the parachute caught on the spire of the village church. The Germans were quickly alerted that an American was hanging from the bell tower. The Nazis found this very funny. It was decided to leave the man hanging and enjoy his embarrassment. John Steele’s squad mates had had better luck, and were all safe and sound having landed in the surrounding fields. But Steele was a prisoner, unable to untangle himself from his parachute. The stupid French coq turned in the wind, rolling the strings into endless knots. The hours trailed by. One, two, three. He had no trouble counting them, for the church bells were deafening to his ears. Eventually, two German soldiers posted outside the church decided to shoot at him like a clay pigeon. Their laughter was shrill in the quiet night air. Bullets whizzed around John’s ears. Here he was, a good Protestant boy from Illinois, about to die because of a church. God sure had a funny way of reminding you he was in charge... Suddenly, the bullets stopped. John could hear nothing but the scraping of the spire as it turned. Had they gone? He couldn’t see anyone.

 

The two German soldiers, Rudolf May and Rudi Escher, had climbed the stairs of the bell tower after forcing open the door of the church. They had decided to take the imbecile prisoner. Without a second thought, they grabbed poor John as he swung like a puppet, cutting his parachute strings and taking him prisoner. Tied to a chair inside the church, John was interrogated. But John Steele did not speak a word of German. The first soldier bellowed at him in an incomprehensible language. “Englisch?” asked the second Nazi, who was of a calmer disposition. John Steele nodded to his pocket. It contained a small piece of paper, in accordance with wartime protocol, indicating that he was a soldier in the 82nd Airborne Division of the American Marine Corps. Perhaps unexpectedly, the Germans left him alive and abandoned him for the night.

 

A few days later, at first light, a hundred of Steele’s comrades liberated the village of Sainte-Mère-l’Église. They killed all the Germans they found, even those who had abandoned their posts. The residents of Sainte-Mère-l’Église welcomed them with open arms. They praised their heroism, and were eager to tell their liberators about the legendary soldier in the church. As the smoke cleared, an old woman approached him with a big smile. “You gave us such a laugh!” she told him. John spoke no more French than he did German, but the old woman’s mirthful expression was plain enough. He burst out laughing with her.

 

Alan Alfredo Geday

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