Reading 18 Platoon, it is hard to keep in mind that its narrator was only 20 years old when dropped into Normandy in 1944. The older Jary, looking back on his experience forty years later, is a much wiser and more reflective figure, but it's still remarkable to watch such a young man, largely untrained and – by his own admission – rather hopeless at school, suddenly placed in command of a platoon of strangers, and quietly informed that his life expectancy stands at roughly three weeks. It is a story that must have been repeated a hundred times across France and Belgium, but not one that is told often or well, so I can see why this volume remains as lauded as it is.
Jary writes with an exceptional eye for detail, revealing just how vividly many of these events are imprinted upon his memory. When his prose turns occasionally poetic, it is usually in service to nature (moonlight on the water as 18 platoon crosses a bridge by night…), and the rest of the narrative is recited in the straightforward language of a field report; elated victory, tragedy, and failure, all in similar, quiet, understated language. The writing is so simple as to be almost dry and disengaged. It takes a while to realise that what you are reading is in fact a meticulous, diligent, frankness. Jary is presenting events as plainly as his recollections can recall, giving his men every ounce of empathy and credit at his disposal, whilst no doubt giving himself too little.
This is a fascinating description of war at the micro level. War as a group of five reconnoitre a farm house in the dead of night. War as an understrength platoon of 19 try to clear a village square. It is an account of glory and horror, yes, but mostly one of professionalism and drudgery. Happenstance and bizarre turns of the ridiculous, play far more significant roles in this narrative, than do the decisions of great generals pawing at maps of Europe.
Essential reading for anyone interested in the topic.