I thought for sure when the SS guy saw the kid (Norman) under the tank, he was toast. But the SS guy looked young. Maybe he hadn't learned to hate his enemy yet.
It was rather interesting to me how the kid initially couldn't bring himself to fire on the enemy, but after the girl (Emma?) got killed, he couldn't wait to gun them down.
I doubt he was headed back to his typewriter.
I had to laugh at the shit-eatin' grin the kid had when he came out of the bedroom. Gives new meaning to "get some!"
The girl looked rather pleased as well!
A rather shocking scene (which I can fully understand) was the guy who got lit on fire after his tank was hit and he shot himself in the head rather than burn to death.
When I was burned, I only had 20% of my body third degree burned and there were times that I seriously thought that it would be easier to die than to keep on suffering.
Multiple surgeries, skin grafts and the painful sites that they slice the good skin from to GET the graft skin are not at all fun. I can guarantee that.
And the pain meds (good strong stuff like morphine and dliaudid) don't do a damn thing but give you bad dreams It doesn't touch the pain though.
But, if I had the means on hand to actually do it, I probably wouldn't have (and I'd rather not find out).
Anyway, my dad (a B24 nose gunner, S/Sgt) in WW-II 1943 had a similar experience to Norman.
At first, shooting down enemy fighters used to make him sick (literally) even though he knew they were trying to kill him and his crew in the bomber.
Then during a mission, the bomber in front of him got a direct hit in the bomb bay from a Flak-88. The airplane blew in half and pieces of guys blazing on fire without chutes fell out of the wreckage.
His pilot had to make a wild evasive manuver to avoid the debris, then get back into formation.
After all the confusion was over, my dad saw drying streaks of blood and flesh sliding around the sides of his nose turret. After that, he hated the Germans and killed as many as he possibly could. It didn't make him sick anymore.
My dad almost bought the farm a lot of times. Once a piece of flak blasted through the side of the airplane, the shockwave slapped the back of his head (he thought it had hit him directly) and it went out the other side. If his head was a few inches to the rear, it would have blown his head off.
Another time a piece of flak shrapnel hit his turret, blew through the plexiglas, bounced around inside and landed on his leg, leaving a third degree+ burned hole in the top of his leg.
His bomber was shot down a total of three different times (he had to bail out three times - thank God always over Allied territory)
On one parachute landing, his chute filled up with wind and it dragged him along the ground. He hit his head on a large rock, tore off part of his scalp and was unconscious. Another member of his crew thought he was dead, but he woke up and the other guy gave him aide.
And he was a member of the "Lucky Bastard Club". He was the "one out of three" that actually finished all of the required missions and made it home alive.
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