It was in summer in 1940, the German army
have infiltrated the France’s border. A troop of soldiers could be seen
marching along the country path, with one of them holding a Swastika flag with
pride. Every villager hid in their homes in fear of getting killed by the
German army and their fears turned into reality when they started shooting
unarmed villagers. It was a gruesome massacre. Women and children were shot
mercilessly by the Germs as if they were worth nothing. I, an eighteen- year-
old boy named Alexander, watched in horror as one by one villager got slaughtered
by those monsters under the cover of some bushes. I didn’t dare to say a word
or even make a sound. The carnage was overwhelming and I started imagining the
consequences that I would face if I was discovered. The least form of torture
that crossed my mind was that I would be turned into a slave but that was the
same as receiving a death sentence. I hid there for quite some time and I saw
the endless number of soldiers marching towards Normandy and also the Panzer
tanks with the Nazi symbol driven on the muddy path.
For four consecutive hours I stayed under
cover until the coast was clear. I went back to my house to see if my family
was alright. During my walk to the house, I could see the walls of the houses filled
with holes caused by the bullets from the MP40 rifles that the Germs used as
their main weapon of choice. The high calibre rifle was the second reliable
weapon during the Second World War era after the Thompson gun used by the
Americans. I arrived at my house and I was relieved that it looked unscathed. I
entered my house and whisper in an audible tone to see if there were people in
my house. “Thump, thump”, I could hear thumping sounds coming from the attic so
I went upstairs to check it out. Suddenly, a lifeless body fell on the stairs I
was walking on. I was appalled but when I checked whose body it was. It
appeared to be the dead body of a Germ soldier. When I raised my head to see
who dropped the body, I saw my muscular dad standing above me. I ran to him and
gave him a hug and he did the same. I asked him where was mom and my two
brothers. He said that they were in the attic, traumatized by the events that
had happened. “What actually happened dad? Why were the Germs crossing our
borders? And how did this ignoramus ended up in our house?” I showered him with
a lot of answers. “A war, I supposed. About this guy, he wandered off into our
house so I snapped his neck while he was unaware of my presence”, he said to
me. The word “War” gave me the cold shivers. It was an obvious fact when I
remembered about the marching soldiers and the fleet of Panzer tanks entering
our village. I looked at the dead soldier’s face and felt like giving him a
hard kick to the head but that would be an uncivilised act so I took his MP40
rifle and his sidearm. I also found six grenades in his pouch. Being an
experienced hunter, my father did not worry about me holding firearms but he
told me to be wary of the grenades because I had never used them once. My
father was a World War I veteran and he knew many things associated with the
army. My mom and brothers came down to see what was happening and they cried
when they saw me. I could assume that they thought that I was dead because I
was outside when the massacre happened but I didn’t care about it. It was good
for them to know that I was fine.
My father and I went outside after a
few hours to see if there were survivors. Our neighbour’s house was torn apart
by the grenades and the interior of the house was as black as charcoal. “Louis.
Louis”, I tried to call my neighbour to see if he was in there but then my
father said that he went to Paris this week so he must still be there. We
walked into every house and there were no survivors whatsoever. We found
headless bodies of the men of our village scattered around the village. The
sight was unbearable but my dad had seen this sight before during World War I.
“The Germs are still merciless as they were twenty six years ago” he muttered.
Then, we heard a cry from beneath the cellar of Mr and Mrs Le Font’s house. I
opened the cellar’s door and saw Isabella, the daughter of the couple sitting
in the dark cellar with a gun in her hand. I hold my hand to her and she
grabbed it. I pulled her up and consoled her. She was my childhood friend and
was also one of my classmates in our school and she was a beauty. “What
happened to your parents?” my father asked. “They got killed. They acted as
baits and tried to attract the soldiers that were approaching our house. They
sacrificed themselves for me”, said Isabella in a sad tone of voice. The
situation was critical as the country will be involved in a massive war with
the German nation under the rule of Adolf Hitler, the Third Reich. My father
thought about the possibilities of escaping France and the ominous war so he
told me to tell mom to pack our belongings. “We will go to the coast and find a
boat that will set sail to neutral countries. I have a friend there who owns a
big boat, big enough to carry us to America or Britain”, my dad said. I had no
room to argue with his suggestion so I did as I was told. Isabella followed me
to my house while dad scavenged for anything useful that can be used.
As the night came, everybody was ready
to leave the village and go to the coast. We were lucky that my father found
Old Jean’s seven horses were still alive in their stable. Six of them were used
as our ride while the seventh horse was used as a carrier horse. We rode passed
the countryside at a tremendous speed. Every town and village that we passed
through was abandoned but there were still foods such as bread and fruits left
at the store. We were blessed even though a war was coming. Nonetheless, we
still kept our guard up. Our supplies increased and it could keep us alive for
two months. Twelve days had passed since the attack on our village and we were
approximately five miles from the nearest shore. My father’s friend’s house was
not very far now. We kept on riding our horses but we didn’t forget to stop and
rest our horses. We fed them apples and various fruits that we plucked at an
orchard that we passed by. If there was a stream or billabong, we would bathe
them to keep them cool. Isabella was closed to her horse, Storm. She would pet
her regularly and checked her health.
After several hours, we finally arrived at my
father’s friend’s house. It was not attacked by the Germs because it was
isolated by a thick forest and dangerous bog pit. Only my father knew the way
there. Me and my father approached his house carefully with our guns ready to
shoot if anything went wrong. We knocked on his door and it opened, we quickly
aimed at whoever opened the door and the person quickly raised his hands. It
was my father’s friend, Pierre. We gave a sigh of relief to see that he was
still alive. He looked furious at us for pointing guns at his face but we
explained everything to him, to let him know that we did that for a purpose. He
was shocked to know the truth of what was happening to France at that time. He
lived as a fisherman in isolation for a long time after the First World War
ended so he didn’t interact much with the outside world. He lived alone and
didn’t have any kid. We asked him if his boat was still working and he nodded.
Plus, he said that he installed a new engine that he bought from a naval
factory a month ago so it could sail at fast speed and there were two large drums
filled with enough fuel to sail to America or Canada. Everybody was delighted
and we planned to leave France tomorrow morning. We planned to sail to either
Halifax in Nova Scotia or to New York. The journey may take about three months
but if God wills it, the time taken for us to arrive would be lesser than the
initial estimation. We unloaded all of our stuff from the horses and entered
Pierre’s house. It was a traditional French-style house and it was spacious. It
had been a few days since we last bathe so we decided to bathe there. After an
enjoyable bath, Isabella and my mom went to make dinner and my brothers were
fast asleep. I went outside for a stroll near the shore. The zephyr calmed me
as I tried to get my thoughts together. After the initial attack, I haven’t
seen any Germs but the traces of their destructive behaviour could be seen
everywhere; the town, villages and orchards. Not a single civilian or villagers
survived and if there was, suicide may be their last option to escape from the
war. Suddenly, as I was looking at the English Strait, I saw a large fleet of
boats coming from the North West. A Swastika flag could be seen waving on top
of one of the boat’s pole. “The Germs, they’re here”, I watched in horror as
one by one soldier exited the boats. They were going in the opposite direction from
Pierre’s house but the danger still remained so I ran to inform dad and the
others. The plan has changed and we were going to sail to New York that very
night.
We loaded everything in Pierre’s boat
and we released our horses so that they could go back to being wild horses like
their ancestors. I felt sad releasing my horse but not as sad as Isabella.
After a last kiss, Storm was set free and he ran into the forest. Minutes
later, the boat’s engine ignited. We set sail under the cover of darkness to
avoid from getting caught by the Germs. Heavily equipped with MG42 machine
guns, we were outmatched in terms of firepower so a fire battle with them was a
no-no. “Bang!!!” my rifle suddenly shot a round into the air and alerted the
Germs that were using the beach as a temporary base. The trigger mechanism of
my rifle must have been damaged. The machine-gunner quickly shot several rounds
at the waters and some bullets almost hit our boat but we were lucky that the
darkness act as a cloak to us, making us invisible to their views. Pierre
accelerated the boat and we managed to get out of there unscathed.
For three and a half months out on the
Northern Atlantic Ocean, we faced many problems along the way; storms, rogue
waves and even the burning ray of the sun. Our supplies were almost gone so we
have to fish for food. Pierre was an experienced fisherman and he helped us a
lot in catching the fishes. My relationship with Isabella also blossomed along
the way to New York. Three days later, we were only five nautical miles from
the shore and we could see the Statue of Liberty from our boat. The statue was
a gift from France and my brothers suddenly cry. They missed their country, our
country, but because of the war, we were forced to escape from there. We reached the island of Manhattan early in
the morning and we were shocked to know that America was also involved in the
war; fighting the Japanese empire in the western hemisphere and the Germans in
Europe. Pierre suggested that we all rest for the day after several months of
being in the boat and we all agreed but we didn’t have any money so Pierre, dad
and me decided to look for jobs.
Our life in America at first was terrible. We
worked as labourers and our jobs were tough; carrying heavy loads on top of the
steel frame of a building and even riveting the steel frames to strengthen the
structure. It was a tiring job but our hard work finally paid off. We got
enough money to buy a house and my dad was appointed as the new supervisor at
the construction site because of being the most diligent and reliable worker.
Six years had passed and the war was over. The German and its allies had lost
in the war and Adolf Hitler was said to have committed suicide at his Reich
Chancellery, ending the tyrannical reign of the Third Reich. Even though Europe
was now peaceful, we didn’t want to go back there. Living in America was even
better than in France because it would take years to rebuild the damaged
sustained during the war. Our story of survival was undeniably amazing but we
kept it to ourselves. We had survived the bloody massacre, rode on horses back
to the coast and sailed to America using only a boat. Now, we resided in
Manhattan and earned our American citizenship. Isabella and I were married and
we have two daughters while my brothers migrated to Hollywood in California to
search for a better future there.
