16 hours ago
Thursday, November 5, 2015
We are inside a building on a corner in a town. It looks like Europe in WW2. There are numerous soldiers here. It is a field headquarters or perhaps just a marshalling point. I am collecting a few guys, people I know for a 'covert' mission, meaning don't tell anyone we are leaving. I'm talking to them in German, which is odd because I don't know any German. Or maybe it's more like a movie and I am just along for the ride, riding on the narrator's point of view. There is a tank sitting outside on the street. My 'plan' is to load my guys on it and drive it away.
Next scene we see the tank from above driving at high speed (maybe 35 MPH) across a field. It doesn't look much like a tank, it looks like a bushy tree. Evidently we've camouflaged it. Our view shifts to the rear and we see a large lump of clay has been deposited on some protuberance, and someone has capped it with an old worn, felt cowboy hat. One of my guys is perched on something hanging off of the back of the tank while it speeds across this field.
We come into a town and we are driving down the main drag. There are some cars up ahead going the same direction as we are. There are some trolley tracks running down the center of the street. The pavement there is in pretty good shape, off to the sides, the normal automobile traffic lanes, the pavement is a little broken and lumpy, so the cars are driving down the center where the trolley tracks are. They are a block or two ahead of us when we see an explosion in the midst of them from an artillery shell. Okay then, maybe driving on the train tracks is not such a good idea. The remaining cars move over into the normal traffic lane. When we get to where the explosion was there is no evidence, no hole in the ground, no bits remaining from the destroyed car, just a scorched spot on the ground.
The next morning I am sleeping in an old armchair inside an empty warehouse that still has at least two concrete walls. I wake up when a tank starts pushing it's way through the back wall. I presume it's a tank. Who else would be making the back wall bulge like that and be making those big diesel engine noises? I don't wait to find out but duck under the overturned armchair and carrying it like a turtle carries his shell, scuttle towards the opening where the opposite wall used to be. I duck around the corner, crawl out from under the chair and make my way along the side wall to the back. When I get there I peek around the corner and discover a big, healthy soldier standing there holding a shovel. He hands it to me with a grin.
Now we are inside in a small room with a table and a couple of chairs. I am a small middle-aged guy, a little chubby, with tousled blond hair. Not very heroic looking and doesn't look much like me either. More like Mickey Rooney in general shape. The big soldier is cooking breakfast closeby. He puts some scrambled eggs on my plate.
As always with dream posts, this is only here because I remember it so clearly, and I wanted to see if I could communicate the story.