One of Us

"The darkest days of World War Two were behind us, but the road ahead was still long and treacherous.

As a United States Marine, I was assigned to a rescue operation in a recently liberated French village. Nazi officers had ruthlessly captured and tortured those villagers who stood up to their occupiers. Now they were gone, but there were rumored to be many makeshift prison cells, locked from the outside, that still contained prisoners, unaware of the liberation of their community.

Once we entered the village we began methodically searching abandoned homes and buildings, looking for the tell-tale reverse locks. We found a few, with no sign of prisoners, and one room whose captive had died. But it was on the fourth floor of a rickety hotel that we had an altogether different experience.

Before our mechanical specialist could finish picking the lock, Lietenant Marsh remarked about the rotting wood in the door and kicked the whole thing in. We entered into silence, with guns cocked, and heard muffled shouts. After a moment, our eyes began to adjust, and we saw more than a dozen men and women sitting on the floor against the wall, mouths gagged and wrists bound. Some hung their heads, others stared up at us with terror in their eyes.

‘You’re free!’ I shouted, ‘Follow us!’ No one moved. ‘Americans!’ I said, pointing at myself and the rest. Sargeant Hollock repeated the call in French. Still no response. Marsh reached down to pull one of them up by the arm and he went ballistic, flailing and slapping. Others nearby did the same to protect their comrade from the perceived threat. Marsh retreated, and we stood and looked at each other for several tense moments.

It was then that Hollock did something completely unexpected. He set down his gun, removed his helmet and all weapons and equipment. I was certainly not the only one confused, but we had learned it was easier not to question this peculiar soldier.

He moved slowly into the huddle of captives, and found an empty space against the wall. Ever so carefully he lowered himself to the ground, put is arms on his knees and hung his head. Those who had been staring at us were now transfixed by his movements, then slowly returned their own heads to a hanging position.

Ten minutes went by, although it could have been only two. He sat in the darkness, doing nothing, saying nothing. But then he turned his head to the man next to him and whispered in French, ‘Look up. We’re free.’ And he did. Then several others looked up, this time with hope and not terror. He untied the ropes on their wrists, and the rags in their mouths. Then Hollock gently raised himself to his feet and held out his hand. One by one the captives took it. Fifteen minutes later we were all walking down the stairs.

At the front door, we reminded our charges to close their eyes so as not to be blinded by their freedom. As they walked past, one of them stopped to say something to me. His voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. 'We are sorry to not come quickly. All who kicked doors and carry guns were Nazi to us. Thank you.'"

"The scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to [Jesus.] Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written: 'The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.'" -Luke 4:17-19