Grable,” Larson pulled a wrinkled photograph from his shirt, barely visible in “Betty the glow of the blue light over the door to the C-47’s cockpit. I get back, gonna “Soon’s call her.” Meade laughed. and a million other GIs.” “You Out the side window the tiny of the ships crossing the Channel and their silvery wakes were gone. Meade spotted a flicker of light though the small window. Likely one of the cow islands, Jersey or , or one of the signal ships the G-2 briefer told them the armada would fly past. Will.” Larson tucked the photo back in his heavy jump suit and tightened his “Soon, chin strap. The leather chin cup scrubbed the stubble into Meade’s chin when he followed suit and buckled his strap. Should have shaved closer. Should have gotten a job as a welder and stayed in the shipyard like his brothers. He ran his tongue around his mouth. It tasted like it was stuffed with moldy rags. He couldn’t work up a bit of spit. Must be the air sickness pills the medic had given him, or just plain fear. No, not fear. Ike had told them had full confidence in our courage.” Meade had the sheet of paper from Ike in his “…he pocket that said so. Still, his stomach churned. Synchronized leaners, all in a row the paratroopers tilted toward the back of the as the pilots pulled up, climbing away from the water. Hope Ike knows what the hell he’s talking about. The radio operator leaned though the cockpit door. The cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth danced as he shouted down the aisle, minutes.” Below, the glitter “Twenty of the moon reflecting from the slid beneath a thick mantle of clouds.
“Betty Grable,” Larson pulled a wrinkled photograph from his shirt, barely visible in the glow of the blue light over the door to the C-47’s cockpit. “Soon’s I get back, gonna call her.” Meade laughed. “You and a million other GIs.” Out the side window the tiny of the ships crossing the Channel and their silvery wakes were gone. Meade spotted a flicker of light though the small window. Likely one of the cow islands, Jersey or , or one of the signal ships the G-2 briefer told them the armada would fly past. “Soon, Will.” Larson tucked the photo back in his heavy jump suit and tightened his chin strap. The leather chin cup scrubbed the stubble into Meade’s chin when he followed suit and buckled his strap. Should have shaved closer. Should have gotten a job as a welder and stayed in the shipyard like his brothers. He ran his tongue around his mouth. It tasted like it was stuffed with moldy rags. He couldn’t work up a bit of spit. Must be the air sickness pills the medic had given him, or just plain fear. No, not fear. Ike had told them “…he had full confidence in our courage.” Meade had the sheet of paper from Ike in his pocket that said so. Still, his stomach churned. Synchronized leaners, all in a row the paratroopers tilted toward the back of the as the pilots pulled up, climbing away from the water. Hope Ike knows what the hell he’s talking about. The radio operator leaned though the cockpit door. The cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth danced as he shouted down the aisle, “Twenty minutes.” Below, the glitter of the moon reflecting from the slid beneath a thick mantle of clouds.
Missing%20Sticks%20web%20V12Aug08.docx