She Brought Him a Bowl of Lush Desire

25 September 1944 An old orchard in the north of Occupied France

The small detachment of soldiers from the 30th Infantry Division trudged their way through scrub forest barely 3 miles from the small village Allied forces had just reclaimed after a furious battle last week. The local villagers had warmly showered their gratitude on them even though the war was far from over. Germans still held positions North and East, although the Invasion Overlord in June had forced retreat. Rain had begun falling, softening their progress across loamy terrain, strengthening the mulchy odor. Led by First Lieutenant, Arnold Vernarelli, a spry, wiry Italian from Baltimore with smoky, dark eyes and a glance that could make you think you offended him, the detachment was fervent, yet battle weary, having over the last many months advanced through Italy and thence into France to force the enemy to relent. Now, as they approached what appeared to be an old orchard with much open field and a slope up to a small hilltop where their intelligence had warned was a machine gun bunker held by a similar number of Germans, Lt. Arnie as his men called him, cautioned them to stay low. They were nearly equally matched at ten but for the muzzle of the MG-42 “Buzz Saw” machine gun above them.

After a brief assessment, Lt. Arnie dispersed several of the men at his command to circle the field for distraction and cover fire from the opposite flank as he led the rest up from this side. No sooner had the dispatched men snuck around the lowest edges of the orchard then the big gun began spitting rounds in seemingly all directions with unearthly noise of terror. All hell had broken loose and so had the sky. Yet, it was perhaps the downpour that helped them.

Mud splattered them with more camouflage than was needed as the belching gun sprayed lead into trunks of old apple and pear trees as the gunner crew above attempted to mow them down. Then the moment came. Lt. Vernarelli saw two of his men cut down on the far side of the orchard and heard the pause of a hot barrel change thus drawing the gunnery crew’s attention just long enough for him to act - a split-second decision that required no hesitation, perhaps instilled from hard years of battle-hardened reflexes. A quick glance to his left assured him his two men were on him for cover and he dashed upward, keeping a line of old trees with the thickest trunks between him and the bunker. It all seemed like a dream with no thought but survival and perhaps revenge for his men.

Arnie heard the small arms fire for the barrel change like a storm and perceived the whipping zips as bullets whisked near him searing the air, some thudding into trees spitting shards of bark. He’d already made it over half a football field when he finally had a clear shot from beneath a stout old apple tree with a gnarly trunk wider than him that he paused behind. He took careful aim and fired. Three enemy soldiers to one side of the main bunker instantly fell, causing the main gunner to swing the barrel of the “Buzzsaw” toward him. Before it could belch, Arnie had a clear shot right up the barrel into the face of the gunner and he took him out. Arnie then leaped ahead to a nearer tree-this one was a pear tree with big red pears another twenty or thirty yards closer to the gun as another gunner seized control of the weapon. Arnie’s men had also advanced tree to tree and the assault was hotter than hellfire. Arnie was close enough for a grenade and he lobbed it hard. He’d always been good at sports, playing ball on the streets of Baltimore as a kid. Pitching hard balls was good training as the grenade found its mark just over and behind the old stone foundation of a ruined building the enemy had turned into a gun position to prevent the villagers from accessing their orchard and control the route from the west.

The blast was succinct. Arnie charged again to another old pear tree with a wide, gnarled trunk, this time leaning around the tree using his .45 Caliber Colt to put a bullet square into the torso of an enemy soldier who had risen to take aim at Sergeant Adams, who had just dived behind a log. Suddenly, the German gun erupted a short burst and heavy rounds tore into the old tree but then stopped suddenly as the MG-42 jammed, and Arnie felt a searing pain in his right side, but ran forward and shot the man in the gunnery window behind the “Buzz gun” as he attempted to fire it again. It was too late. The next German soldier, instead of fumbling with the gun, chose to flee but turned to fire his Luger toward Arnie. That hesitation cost him dearly as Arnie was already firing and caught him in his side as he had raised his arm to shoot. The rain had subsided along with the battle skirmish as Lt. Arnie did what he had to do to secure the position.

The deadly Machine gun was now silent as its remaining four crew abandoned the old foundation and began running down the opposite side toward the thick forest below unaware that someone had anticipated this retreat. Sergeant Adams rolled and charged into the bunker shooting just in case there were others and noted all was clear and shouted the “ALL CLEAR” as the rest of Arnie’s men came running up to the now secured bunker position. Sergeant Adams looked around and noticed Lt. Arnie was nowhere to be seen!

“There!” Corporal Mack Sutton was pointing beyond the bunker as they all peered over the low foundation wall to see four German soldiers with hands held high over their heads in surrender were being led back up the hill by two of their buddies and a stern-faced Lt. Arnie Vernarelli who was pointing his Browning at the enemy with one hand and holding his blood-soaked right side with his other hand twisted around a knotted-up piece of his shirt.

Sergeant Adams ran to assist as the rest of the men set about securing the prisoners and tending to the fallen enemy soldiers according to the Geneva Code of war.

“Uh, you are badly wounded Sir. We need to get you to a Field Unit ASAP.”

“I’ll survive. Think the slugs left me already. Nice work. Let’s secure this and get back to the village.”

*****

Saint Hilaire le Chatel was the village named after the old church at the village center and Olivia worked in the gardens there and helped in the field hospital the Allies had established in the Nunnery. Olivia had classic, high cheeks, full lips and broad dark brows, black like her hair and her expression as she went about her duties was that of great joy to assist the Americans who had given back her freedom. She noticed that the man on the bed nearby was watching her closely with something more than curiosity. He was the one that had arrived two days earlier after the battle she had heard was out in the old orchard on the hill. The villagers had gone out to help remove the glaring evidence of the fight and to bury the dead. They said he had done it. It was he who had led the charge and who had done most of the ugly deeds - the true hero of the day. She had never met such a man and it stirred something within her as she followed his dark eyes watching her. But he had paid dearly for that honor. She had helped dress and tend to the wound in his side where the bullets had entered and left him, leaving ugly gashes the doctor had carefully sewn together. He had slept nearly 30 hours from the morphine. Now he was awake. He had a small book open on his lap that he peered at before glancing back to her.

“Bonjour mademoiselle. I am, um…” Lt. Arnie glanced back at the book. “Je vous suis recconnais-uh, recconnaisant de a mi reparer.” He glanced again at the book. “I don’t think I said that right, Miss.” He closed the book in frustration as Olivia approached and sat on the straight-backed chair near the bedside.

“It is okay,” she admitted with an accent. “I studied English in school.” She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm gently. “You are very…er, brave, I think is the word. Yes, I heard your soldiers talking about what you did.”

“You are very beautiful. Are you sure I am alive or is this Heaven to have such a beautiful Angel tending to me?” Arnie suddenly became aware of her hand on his arm and clasped his other hand upon hers to feel that it was real. She let him hold it a moment before retracting her hand to her lap. She felt herself blushing and got up suddenly as an Army Nurse appeared.

“It is good you are awake, Sir. Headquarters will be sending an interviewer to record your observations of the action you encountered. Olivia, perhaps Lt. Vernarelli might have his appetite back although I suggest only light food or fruit at first. It may be a while for more solid food, Sir,” she continued, turning back to Arnie on the bed. Then, after making a note on the pad on the bedside table, she turned and left the room.

Arnie resumed looking at Olivia who still stood nearby, seemingly transfixed with gazing at him also. He felt the attraction. It was not often he had had the opportunity to be in the presence of such a woman these past many years of relentless warfare.

“I am hungry,” he admitted to her, focusing upon her lips, “for something to eat and for such as I have not felt or tasted for a very long time.” He hoped the message was articulate. She licked her lips and shyly turned aside as she spoke.

“Then I shall go and get you something you can eat, and we shall see if we can satisfy what you have not tasted in a long time.” With that, she promptly turned and hurried out.

Arnie watched her leave with a flourish, noting her faint, floral scent stirred up by the air as she brushed past him on her way to the door. It filled him with a rush of desire. After she left, he glanced again at the pocket language guide and opened it once more, even though at least with Olivia, he probably did not need it as much. He studied it for the next ten minutes until she returned, carrying something under a cloth that looked like a small basket.

Sergeant Adams outside said this would hold a special er-signif, ah, significance.” Her accent “Frenchified” the word, significance. “These came from the very tree where you were wounded, and it is the tree which saved your life. Many of the villagers went to pick them and other fruit which was late because of the German soldiers. I hope you can eat and enjoy them. Then we shall see about what you have missed…” Her last statement was alluring.

Arnie put down the book as she set the covered basket on the bedside table, all the while staring into his eyes as she gently removed the cloth. Arnie watched as the delicate yellow cloth slid away to reveal the plumpest, red pears he had ever seen. Then his heart seemed to jump as she leaned down and softly kissed him on the mouth, whispering, “I thanked the pear tree for saving you to save my life.”

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