A lone Soldier's duty

Airman, Oct, 2004 by Orville F. Desjarlais, Jr.

As the morning sun rises above the cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel, a lone Soldier stands among a sea of dead. He breathes in the salt air as he goes about his solemn mission. He has a lot to do in a short amount of time.

Sixty years ago, Ernie Pyle, a war correspondent, stood in the same spot as I stood in June, reflecting on the terrible cost of victory on the beaches of Normandy. His thoughts were dark.

He wrote, "It was a lovely day for strolling along the seashore. Men were sleeping on the sand, some of them sleeping forever. Men were floating in the water, but they didn't know they were in the water, for they were dead.

"The water was full of squishy little jellyfish about the size of your hand. Millions of them. In the center of each of them had a green design exactly like a four-leaf clover. The good-luck emblem. Sure. Hell yes."

The lone Soldier cradles a couple dozen miniature American flags in the crook of his left arm as he plants them, one by one, a foot from pristine white marble headstones. Birds chirp in the distance. Already at each plot are small French flags. It's this man's job to pair them all with U.S. flags. The 172-acre cemetery swallows him up, making him look insignificant. He's only halfway done--4,000 down, 5,386 to go.

There are 9,386 American military laid to rest at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, located a half a world away from home. Many were pilots, gunners, bombardiers. Eighth Air Force suffered half of the Army Air Forces' casualties in World War II--47,000-plus casualties with more than 26,000 dead. In a June 6 speech during the 60th anniversary of D-Day at the Normandy cemetery, President George W. Bush related a story about a former president's visit to Normandy during the 20th anniversary.

"President Eisenhower returned to this place and walked through these rows. He spoke of his job of being a grandfather, and then he said, 'When I look at all these graves, I think of the parents back in the states whose only son is buried here. Because of their sacrifice, they don't have the pleasure of grandchildren. Because of their sacrifice, my grandchildren are growing up in freedom.'"

After planting each flag, the Soldier slowly rises, stands at attention, reflects upon the dead American before him as if he knows him personally, pops a salute, holding it for a second longer than normal and then his right forearm slowly moves down to his side again. He moves to the next grave site. It's slow. Deliberate. He pays no mind to the number of headstones left to pay homage--4,001 down, 5,385 to go.

Immediately after the anniversary, 6,000 folding chairs remained in the middle of the cemetery for a short time before they were removed. These were for the folks who wanted to pay their respects during this year's observance. Speakers included President Bush and French President Jacques Chirac. In attendance were producer/director Steven Spielberg, actor Tom Hanks, war veterans, family, friends and foreigners, which, in this circumstance, were mostly Americans. Media from around the world recorded the event, knowing few World War II veterans will be around to see the next decade.

The retired warriors attending the event were in their early 80s. The Department of Veterans Affairs estimates that 1,000 World War II vets die every day. The ceremony not only honored the dead, but the living. Cardinal Francis George, archbishop of Chicago, put it best when he asked people during a Sunday Mass in Normandy: "Is our reason for living the same as those for their dying?"

By midmorning, reinforcements join the lone Soldier. After all, they have to finish before the next day's events. He and the others finish planting the rest of the flags before noon. Inscribed on the headstones of the World War II dead not identified is: "Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God."

For the lone Soldier that morning, 24 hours before the D-Day observance, he knew not one comrade in arms of the 9,386 dead at the Normandy cemetery. But he acted like he did.

God bless his soul.

--Tech. Sgt. Orville F. Desjarlais Jr.