Word: dust
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Enough dust swirled over the tank-churned roads of Normandy to remind ex-Desert Fox Erwin Rommel of Africa. But there the resemblance ended. There was no room among the copses, apple orchards, and hedge-crossed fields of Calvados for the great sweeps of "land battleships" that Rommel had used in the wastes of Libya...
Along the roads of the Manche and Calvados, beside the hawthorne hedges, the farmers of Normandy stand with their families waving at every passing vehicle that throws dust into their faces. In the towns the Tricolor waves from nearly every building, the statues are decorated with American and British flags, and the townspeople take wine and cider to the soldiers who stop their trucks and jeeps in the streets. Seeing these things, you could be carried away by sentiment and say that the oppressed French are welcoming their liberators with tears of joy. But that would not be the whole...
...would be to any good purpose. They were afraid the invaders would be driven into the sea and they would have only death and destruction and the Germans again. Later, when they saw the masses of men and weapons streaming through the countryside and looked up through the dust at the skies full of zebra-striped planes, they decided that the Allies were here to stay and waited to see what kind of people they were...
...offered another way of dying. A man led the four of us to the advanced positions and from there we were ordered to carry a wounded German on a stretcher across a field under Partisan fire, back to the cemetery headquarters. Partisan bullets sang by and kicked up dust around us. We ducked and crawled and at one point had to drop the stretcher and lie flat. But a German paratrooper behind us, carefully taking cover, prodded us on with his submachine gun. We reached the cemetery unscathed. Here, at about n, I was separated from Talbot, Fowler and Slade...
Reporters come in fresh from planes and landing craft, the dust of Normandy still on them. As they sit down at a typewriter, you notice that they look more healthy than the people who have worked in this hotbox since Dday. . . . There are no filing cabinets down here, no desks, just a long table ringed with typewriters. There aren't enough chairs. It's a triumph of cooperation between the American networks that no man has yet been forced to write his copy standing...