I’ve next swig,” Horst calls from behind me as I fumble with the bottle opener on the Barolo.
My fingers are numb from the bouncing steering wheel, thereby slowing down my already alcohol-impaired ability to do anything requiring fine motor skills.
“Damn it, Peter, I’m thirsty!” Horst yells as he kicks my seat from behind.
“I’m opening i….”
BOOOM BOOM BOOOOM BOOOM BOOM BOOOM BOOOOM
Before I can say the word it, a series of explosions rock the beach, spraying sand and dirt into the Kubelwagen from all directions.
Read MoreEven the surely painful, vice-like grip of my right hand attempting to hold on to Camille’s delicate, yet unusually sweaty, left is not enough to keep her within my grasp. The celebratory crowd lurches us in diverging directions through unrelenting waves down the cobblestone central avenue of Marseilles.
“Hold on to me!” Camille screams out.
“I’ll never let you go!” I call back, unable to catch her hand before it slips beyond my reach.
Read MoreAs I reach into my right coat pocket, I declare, “We would like you to be honored along with the others on General MacArthur’s staff, with this small token of thanks from the people of the Philippines.” Slowly, I pull a check in the amount of $50,000 out of my coat, letting it flutter to a standstill in front of General Eisenhower.
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