Let Freedom Ring

Let Freedom Ring

by Bikerider

They came from the farmlands of Kansas, the mountains of Tennessee, from big cities, and small towns. They were bound by the thread of honor. The country had been attacked at Pearl Harbor, and many American lives were lost forever. It truly was, “A day that would live in infamy.” They came from every street, every hollow, and every lane, with the idea that they had to keep their families safe, and to keep freedom alive and well at home. As they filed into recruiters offices, induction centers, and military posts nationwide, many wondered if they would make it through. The stories coming from Europe and the Far East were enough to scare even the toughest among them. Their thoughts lingered with their loved ones back home, rather than with the reality of what could happen. This is the story of one volunteer, not the toughest to join up, and not the meekest either. He was just one of the many who helped freedom ring.



“You’re wrong, sergeant,” Tim Riley said to the burly sergeant. “I am eighteen, and, I have a letter to prove it.” He pushed a wrinkled sheet of paper across the desk, his thin fingers still stained with the red clay of Tennessee; his narrow eyes betrayed his lie.

The sergeant’s heavy eyes browsed the sheet of paper, “Why don’t you have your birth certificate, Riley?” He growled.

“My mother lost my birth certificate years ago, she was traveling at the time and doesn’t know the name of the hospital where I was born. It was someplace in Tennessee, that’s all I know.” His brown eyes pleaded with the sergeant, he leaned forward with eagerness.

“Well, that sounds alright to me,” the Sergeant said, smiling for the first time since Riley stepped in front of him. “I suppose things like that happen out in the country.” He stamped Tim’s paperwork and told him to move on to the next line. Tim’s smile lit up his face; he knew he would make it now. He would be a soldier.



Basic training was tough, but like the sergeant told his recruits, “the more sweat in training, the less blood in combat.” Tim vowed to remember that, and worked hard to learn all he could while in combat training. The day he graduated from basic training, Tim stood alone; none of his family was there to see him in his uniform. He knew they were thinking about him, he had written everyday and told his ma what he was doing, and how happy he was to be a soldier. On the trip over to England, the ship rocked and pivoted so much that he was sick most of the way. Everyone was mindful of U-boats, torpedoes, and sharks in the water. Tim took his mind off those things by cleaning his rifle and writing letters. His writing wasn’t good, but he knew his family would understand what he was saying. As the trip across the Atlantic progressed, Tim met a Corporal from Virginia, they didn’t live far from each other so it was natural that they would become friends. They spent a lot of time together on the ship, and when they landed in England they were assigned to a post together to await orders. Tim liked to show Red the faded pictures he carried of his family.

“That there is my ma, Red.” He said, as he pointed a thin finger at the black and white photo. His brown eyes were glued to the pictures as he pointed out family members.

“I was an orphan,” Red told Tim. “I didn’t have no family, just a lot of brother’s and sisters in the orphanage. I don’t have any pictures.” He brushed his short red hair with the palm of his hand and looked off into the distance, there was a sadness in his eyes. “So, I guess it won’t matter what happens to me over here.”

“Don’t you think like that, Red.” Tim’s anger flared up quickly, but it cooled just as fast. “Here, this here’s a picture of my sister, Isabelle, this one is my brother, Tom. You keep them.” He handed two pictures to Red. “Now you have family. I told them all about you in my letters home, and you can write to them too, if you want.” Tim’s thin arm reached around Red’s muscular shoulder, his brown eyes watched as Red’s long fingers grabbed the photo’s and held them up so he could see them better in the dim light of the tent.

“You mean it?” He asked, as he studied the pictures as if he was trying to memorize the faces.

“Yep, sure do, Red,” Tim said as he put the rest of his pictures away. “You can call my family yours, after all, we been like brother’s ever since we met on the ship.” Tim thought he saw a tear well up in Red’s blue eyes as they shook hands and vowed to be brother’s forever.



The bow of the transport dropped down into the frothy water and the crush of men lurched forward. The water was deeper than Tim thought it would be, and he had to work hard to make it to shore. He couldn’t swim so the water scared him, but then, so did the bullets that were dropping men all around him. He looked for Red but couldn’t see him. He forged on, trying to find cover from the withering fire they were receiving. The sound of bullets as they hit the metal hull of the boats was terrifying. Tim sank as low into the sand as he could, thankful that he was so slim. Plumes of sand erupted around him, but he answered the sergeant’s call to, “Follow me.” As the force of men, many of them wounded, moved forward, Tim looked for Red. He thought he caught a glimpse of him as he ran to the dunes for cover. He was happy to see that Red, like himself, had made it across the open expanse of sand to relative safety. He had no idea that the fighting had only just begun. They fought on all day, not stopping, even to eat. Inch by inch they took control of the beach and pushed the German’s back. Hand to hand fighting was common when opposing fighters were too close to use their weapons. Tim’s mind was full of images of dead soldiers, and German soldiers who dropped to the ground after he aimed and fired his rifle at them. He was sure he had killed them, but didn’t want to believe he had. He moved forward with his company. It was a very long day, bloody and murderous, and they were thankful when the sergeant said they were staying put for the night. Tim asked permission to visit Company A to see if he could find Red.

“He’s my brother, Sarge.” Tim lied. “I want to see if he’s okay.”

“Go on, Private.” The Sergeant replied. “Keep your head down, now get going.” The Sergeant slapped him on the back as Tim ran down the beach road.

Tim found a sergeant from Company A, and asked where he could find, Corporal Red Davis.

“He’s in the makeshift infirmary down on the beach.” Tim’s heart sank at the news, he imagined the worst. Making his way to the beach he found the area where the wounded were being held until they could be evacuated. He had trouble identifying Red, even after the medic pointed him out. Red was on a cot, bandages coated in dirt and blood hid half his face, his uniform was wet with blood. Tim noticed something in Red’s hand.

“Hey Red, how’s it going?” Tim asked, hoping Red could hear him.

“I’m not as bad as some, Tim. How are you doing?” Red’s voice was low and strained, barely above a whisper.

“I’m fine, Red.” He said. “Don’t worry about me, you just get better. They told me they’d have you out to the ship soon, you’ll get good care there.” His eyes took in the sight of Red. Tim feared the worse; Red didn’t look like he’d make it.

“They gave me something for the pain, it’s making me sleepy, Tim,” Red said, his eyes strained to stay open, they fluttered, then a tear fell from the corner of his eye, dropping into the sand. “I want to go to sleep Tim, but I’m afraid to.” Red’s voice was slow and quiet.

“Don’t worry, Red. They’ll fix you up good as new, you’ll see.” Red raised his hand and gave something to Tim. “Here, take these,” he said. Tim looked at the blood smeared pictures of Isabelle and Tom. “What are you doing, Red?” Tim asked.

“I won’t need them anymore, Tim. Tell my family I fought hard to keep them safe.” With that, Red’s eyes closed for the last time. His hand fell into the sand. Tim called for a medic and sat next to Red for a long time. When the medic came he checked for a pulse, and then slipped the poncho over Red’s peaceful face. “He’s gone. Did you know him?” The medic asked Tim.

“Yeah, I did, he was my brother.” Tim put the pictures inside Red’s jacket and said, “They’re still your family, Red.”





Three years later, Tim was home with his family. He told them how Red had become part of the family, and how much Red cherished that. Tim’s ma cried when Tim told her the last words Red spoke that night on the beach. Tim gave her a picture of Red, she kept it in a prominent place so people could see it. She told everyone he was her son.

The following morning, Tim walked up to the top of Roan Mountain, the highest peak in the area. Standing at a precipice, Tim looked out into the mist, the blue sky met the mountains in jagged lines. Tim cleared his throat, and with his hands cupped around his mouth, he yelled, “I want everyone to know, Corporal Red Davis, U.S. 1st Infantry Division, died to save his family, and all the families who can hear me. Don’t feel sorrow for Red, but the next time someone is disrespectful to our country, in honor of Red Davis, tell them that because of people like him, America is the place where freedom rings, and it can be heard the world over.” It was certainly heard as it echoed through the valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

*****

Word count, 1768

September 7, 2010



First Prize Winner: Honoring our Veterans Contest, "Let Freedom Ring" 9/22/10.