Quoted from page after dedication:-
"They say that the birds never sing at Dachau. Perhaps they cannot produce their wondrous music in a place that has witnessed such tragedy, such cruelty, such horror. Perhaps God forbids it. Or perhaps, on their own, they are muted by the profound sense of sadness that permeates the very air around Dachau—air that once was filled with the cries of innocents and the lingering smoke of their ashes."
Haven't been to any of those, but when we lived in Germany, there was a blackbird that would be often perched on a roof close by, singing, early at dawn or later in twilight. Else, other than the long park and garden in centre of city, there were only predatory birds, not quite eagles but a tad smaller. In the garden in city centre there were swans, and others.
But then we lived in England, and oh! What variety, what rich pleasure, of birds that alighted in the backyard! Flying from the evergreen tall hedge branches to the grass on earth, chirping, delightful. From entirely lovely robins to magpies, to some so exotic they showed themselves precisely twice during the year, at about equinox.
Then one had to wonder, why was there a dearth of birds around homes in Germany. Did they just eat them all when there was scarcity of food after the wars? But that couldn't be it, birds do fly, they coukd have migrated in, after all!
So the above makes far more sense. Birds too might have this sensitivity to atmosphere beyond physical, and might be unwilling to a light anywhere such horrors were perpetrated, such evil as the extermination camps of the third Reich existed. This was mentioned even in the book one just finished, In Face Of Fear, relating to the landscape for miles around Auschwitz, as observed by the hero in a real story. And not just about birds either.
Which brings tremendous pleasure on yet another level, having noticed what rich variety of birds around where we live, where we often went out for a drive and a meal slightly further, and so on.
................................................................................................
The writing is good, in that it's as if one is listening to the protagonist speak to one, and he's mostly at ease, but more often than not there's humour where one doesn't expect it; and, too, an unexpected awareness of beauty of land and love of family, which might be shared by most but not expected from an eighteen year old boy, at least not in awareness enough to not only admit it but be erudite about it. Then again, such low expectations might merely be a result of a bully jock culture imposed on males in U.S..
What is even more intriguing is how the writing subtly changes, from a longing last look at the serene family farm to the pushing at training with the team, to the taking the majesty of ocean in awed silence, to horror at death scenes in France after arrival at Normandy.
If there was no ghost writer, it's really very well written.
Somewhere beginning at Normandy and more so from Falaise Gap onwards, one has a sense that the story is a little more familiar than mere acquaintance with the WWII events and general reading, but when it comes to Worms, March 21st, 1944, the street battle involving a panzer and a Sherman, the uncanny, ghostly sense of this being familiar suddenly reminds one of having recently read
The Fighting 30th Division: They Called Them Roosevelt's SS; by Martin King, Michael Collins, David Hilborn.
And of course, that must be it, since both are closely connected with Patton. 92nd Battalion that protagonist of this story tells his personal account of, must have been part of, or associated with, 30th Division, which the other was about, from several accounts by various members thereof; that the recognition is ghostly until Worms is due to the very personal vs an overall view, which is the major difference. It's like a hike with a camera vs a Google map, so to speak.
................................................................................................
After its over, the author tells about his writing, and the various members of the battalion who helped, by telling their stories and more.
One would wish he could tell about the dead, Chandler and Silverman and Monique - about their reality, for instance. Or were they composites?
................................................................................................
"Napoleon is quoted as saying that an army marches on its stomach, which conjures up an interestingly comical mental image, but the more I ate, the more I realized what he meant and the more I was willing to give Army life a chance."
"It was amazing how something as simple as a cookie baked in a mother’s oven can comfort a soldier’s soul on an otherwise cold and lonely night."
"Basic training might not have seemed like it was working, because everybody complained so much, but the discipline and effort did transform us over a period of time. We were healthy, fit, organized, alert, and prepared. Now we were ready to go on to the next level."
Since the introduction by the author is about his father, who the story is about, educating him at the age of twelve about Nazi atrocities, one might expect better than the following.
"The soldier looked at me. He was a short fella with a ruddy complexion, high cheekbones, jet-black hair, and the whitest teeth I had ever seen. He spoke with a slight accent of some sort and didn’t look American, but I couldn’t figure what country he was from. “Hey,” he said, coming in my direction. “Charles Spotted Bear. Midland, Texas.”"
"Averitt looked around. “Son of a bitch! How the hell did you get right up behind me without making a sound?”
"Sam Martin smiled and said, “Our people can always sneak up on the paleface.”"
"“It’s true, Averitt,” Spotted Bear said. “We will educate you in our ways. You’ll see.” Averitt scratched his forehead with his middle finger. Spotted Bear turned back to me. “Sam Martin and I are Indians.”
"“Indians?” I asked.
"“Indians.”
"“As in ‘cowboys and Indians,’” smarted Averitt. “But we like ’em anyway.”
"Spotted Bear was a good-natured kid, and he started laughing. “Yeah,” he said, “as in ‘Indians and cowboys.’ When we used to play, the Indians always won.”"
Indian is the falsely stuck label due to Columbus lying, but it's maintained because of a racist and colonialists disparaging attitude towards India. The natives of continent across the pond from Europe are NOT Indian, have no connection with India, and never did.
They are, according to the latest theory so far, likely Siberian or Mongolian tribes that walked across the Bering strait when frozen, millennia ago. But admitting as much by calling them Siberian might lead to acknowledging that they were the original people of the land, so the fraudulent label is convenient.
Going on calling them Indian has the underlying contempt for an ancient, rich and still flourishing, living culture that has withstood assaults of every invasion for millennia, while others that were ancient on par such as Egypt and Persia, were destroyed quite deliberately and completely by the said invaders. So now, going on calling every subjugated people, whose land is taken away from them by invaders, Indian, is the convenient racist fraud that is perpetrated deliberately and quite consciously.
The name India, given by west to india since antiquity, stems from the geography of the land so named - to enter, the only way for west was to cross the river Sindhu - called indus by west - until a few centuries ago when sailships rounded Africa. India has other names that are ancient and indigenous, which have nothing to do with the river, because it's not of paramount importance to the people who were always in India, unlike those that had to cross it.
But above all, the name Indian has nothing to do with any natives of the continent west of Atlantic that stretche's pole to pole. They have names for themselves, and for their land. It's time to use them, and stop being racist.
The young soldiers were not educated enough, but the author could presumably afford a footnote to the effect that despite the misnomer he's decided to keep it for authenticity of their conversation.
The writing is good, in that it's as if one is listening to the protagonist speak to one, and he's mostly at ease, but more often than not there's humour where one doesn't expect it; and, too, an unexpected awareness of beauty of land and love of family, which might be shared by most but not expected from an eighteen year old boy, at least not in awareness enough to not only admit it but be erudite about it. Then again, such low expectations might merely be a result of a bully jock culture imposed on males in U.S..
What is even more intriguing is how the writing subtly changes, from a longing last look at the serene family farm to the pushing at training with the team, to the taking the majesty of ocean in awed silence, to horror at death scenes in France after arrival at Normandy.
If there was no ghost writer, it's really very well written.
Somewhere beginning at Normandy and more so from Falaise Gap onwards, one has a sense that the story is a little more familiar than mere acquaintance with the WWII events and general reading, but when it comes to Worms, March 21st, 1944, the street battle involving a panzer and a Sherman, the uncanny, ghostly sense of this being familiar suddenly reminds one of having recently read
The Fighting 30th Division: They Called Them Roosevelt's SS; by Martin King, Michael Collins, David Hilborn.
And of course, that must be it, since both are closely connected with Patton. 92nd Battalion that protagonist of this story tells his personal account of, must have been part of, or associated with, 30th Division, which the other was about, from several accounts by various members thereof; that the recognition is ghostly until Worms is due to the very personal vs an overall view, which is the major difference. It's like a hike with a camera vs a Google map, so to speak.
................................................................................................
After its over, the author tells about his writing, and the various members of the battalion who helped, by telling their stories and more.
One would wish he could tell about the dead, Chandler and Silverman and Monique - about their reality, for instance. Or were they composites?
................................................................................................
"Napoleon is quoted as saying that an army marches on its stomach, which conjures up an interestingly comical mental image, but the more I ate, the more I realized what he meant and the more I was willing to give Army life a chance."
"It was amazing how something as simple as a cookie baked in a mother’s oven can comfort a soldier’s soul on an otherwise cold and lonely night."
"Basic training might not have seemed like it was working, because everybody complained so much, but the discipline and effort did transform us over a period of time. We were healthy, fit, organized, alert, and prepared. Now we were ready to go on to the next level."
................................................................................................
Since the introduction by the author is about his father, who the story is about, educating him at the age of twelve about Nazi atrocities, one might expect better than the following.
"The soldier looked at me. He was a short fella with a ruddy complexion, high cheekbones, jet-black hair, and the whitest teeth I had ever seen. He spoke with a slight accent of some sort and didn’t look American, but I couldn’t figure what country he was from. “Hey,” he said, coming in my direction. “Charles Spotted Bear. Midland, Texas.”"
"Averitt looked around. “Son of a bitch! How the hell did you get right up behind me without making a sound?”
"Sam Martin smiled and said, “Our people can always sneak up on the paleface.”"
"“It’s true, Averitt,” Spotted Bear said. “We will educate you in our ways. You’ll see.” Averitt scratched his forehead with his middle finger. Spotted Bear turned back to me. “Sam Martin and I are Indians.”
"“Indians?” I asked.
"“Indians.”
"“As in ‘cowboys and Indians,’” smarted Averitt. “But we like ’em anyway.”
"Spotted Bear was a good-natured kid, and he started laughing. “Yeah,” he said, “as in ‘Indians and cowboys.’ When we used to play, the Indians always won.”"
Indian is the falsely stuck label due to Columbus lying, but it's maintained because of a racist and colonialists disparaging attitude towards India. The natives of continent across the pond from Europe are NOT Indian, have no connection with India, and never did.
They are, according to the latest theory so far, likely Siberian or Mongolian tribes that walked across the Bering strait when frozen, millennia ago. But admitting as much by calling them Siberian might lead to acknowledging that they were the original people of the land, so the fraudulent label is convenient.
Going on calling them Indian has the underlying contempt for an ancient, rich and still flourishing, living culture that has withstood assaults of every invasion for millennia, while others that were ancient on par such as Egypt and Persia, were destroyed quite deliberately and completely by the said invaders. So now, going on calling every subjugated people, whose land is taken away from them by invaders, Indian, is the convenient racist fraud that is perpetrated deliberately and quite consciously.
The name India, given by west to india since antiquity, stems from the geography of the land so named - to enter, the only way for west was to cross the river Sindhu - called indus by west - until a few centuries ago when sailships rounded Africa. India has other names that are ancient and indigenous, which have nothing to do with the river, because it's not of paramount importance to the people who were always in India, unlike those that had to cross it.
But above all, the name Indian has nothing to do with any natives of the continent west of Atlantic that stretche's pole to pole. They have names for themselves, and for their land. It's time to use them, and stop being racist.
The young soldiers were not educated enough, but the author could presumably afford a footnote to the effect that despite the misnomer he's decided to keep it for authenticity of their conversation.
................................................................................................
He received the letter at eighteen.
"I remember walking the few feet from the oak tree to the fence that bordered the fields. I could hear her reading, but my eyes and heart became fascinated with the scene laid out before me. Colorful ribbons of scarlet and orange were beginning to stretch themselves across the deepening sky, causing the crops below to shimmer as though they were painted with sparkles of silver, gold, and red. These glistening fields and the rolling hills beyond looked exactly as they had on thousands of other evenings. But somehow they looked different. Somehow they looked more beautiful than I had ever remembered."
"I looked back at my family, who were by now in the first stages of being seated at the table. Papa and my uncles were discussing the politics of the war as Mama, Aunt Mae, and Grandma Amari were bringing some platters of food outside from the kitchen. The teenage cousins, having worked with us in the fields all day, were somewhat quiet, while the younger kids were bustling about, as they did every evening when it was time to eat. As I watched, I came to realize that everything I knew, everything I cared about, was in this one scene."
"“We need one for proof of birth,” the soldier said.
"“Hey, I’m standing right here,” I replied. “Ain’t that proof that I was born?”"
"I guess they eventually believed that I had been born, because they accepted me into the Army."
"The monotony of waiting around for the eventual call to action was becoming rather numbing. Perhaps that’s the way the Army had planned it—get us so bored out of our minds that we would look forward to combat. If so, it was working."
"Besides having military hospitals, Oxford was also home to the famous university, which Averitt, Duthie, and I explored at every opportunity. The setting of the campus was quite peaceful and scholarly, with springtime blossoms in abundance, ivy-covered buildings standing along the edges of well-manicured quads, and old professors slowly walking about pondering important academic issues. The whole atmosphere made me want to pick up a book—any book—and read."
At Oxford they heard General Patton. Author gives most, or all; some excerpts:-
"“Listen, there are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily,” he said. “All because one man went to sleep on the job.” There was no more laughter. “But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did!”"
"Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes, because where we’re going there isn’t a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on KP duty has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the GI shits.”
"“Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. And the quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin,” he growled, gripping the ivory-handled pistol at his side, “I am personally going to shoot that paper-hanging son of a bitch Hitler just like I’d shoot a goddamned snake!”
"We were hooting and applauding. “Now, listen,” he continued, “when a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that! The hell with taking it! I don’t care what your instructors have told you—my men don’t dig foxholes. I don’t want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. We keep moving. And don’t give the enemy time to dig one either."
"“I want you to remember that no poor bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb son-of-a-bitching bastard die for his country. Remember that. And another thing: I don’t want to get any messages saying, ‘We are holding our position.’ We are not holding a goddamned thing! Let the Germans do that! We are advancing constantly, and we are not interested in holding on to anything, except the enemy’s balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose, like shit through a tinhorn!”"
"With a mere wave of his hand, Patton calmed us down. “Now, men, from time to time there will be some complaints that I am pushing my people too hard. Well, I don’t give a good goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Germans we kill. And the more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties on our side. I want you all to remember that."
"We were going crazy, jumping with fists held high, slapping each other on the back, shaking hands, and cheering. I watched the general as he nonchalantly took the leash from the long-since-stunned Red Cross woman seated behind him, nodded to her politely, then led his dog across the stage, down the steps, and back to his waiting vehicle. The band struck up a rousing Sousa march, and all the men began clapping in time with it as Patton and his entourage disappeared into the English countryside.
He received the letter at eighteen.
"I remember walking the few feet from the oak tree to the fence that bordered the fields. I could hear her reading, but my eyes and heart became fascinated with the scene laid out before me. Colorful ribbons of scarlet and orange were beginning to stretch themselves across the deepening sky, causing the crops below to shimmer as though they were painted with sparkles of silver, gold, and red. These glistening fields and the rolling hills beyond looked exactly as they had on thousands of other evenings. But somehow they looked different. Somehow they looked more beautiful than I had ever remembered."
"I looked back at my family, who were by now in the first stages of being seated at the table. Papa and my uncles were discussing the politics of the war as Mama, Aunt Mae, and Grandma Amari were bringing some platters of food outside from the kitchen. The teenage cousins, having worked with us in the fields all day, were somewhat quiet, while the younger kids were bustling about, as they did every evening when it was time to eat. As I watched, I came to realize that everything I knew, everything I cared about, was in this one scene."
................................................................................................
"“We need one for proof of birth,” the soldier said.
"“Hey, I’m standing right here,” I replied. “Ain’t that proof that I was born?”"
"I guess they eventually believed that I had been born, because they accepted me into the Army."
................................................................................................
"I was up next. I took a shot in each arm, passed out, and hit the floor like a rock."
"A nurse came over, gave me a glass of orange juice, and made me sit in a chair until the dizziness went away. I talked to her until all the other boys had completed their shots. It wasn’t that she was all that pretty or anything, or that I was all that dizzy, it’s just that the longer I sat there, the more orange juice she gave me."
There was a written exam.
"I must have scored well on telegraph communications, because they told me that after basic training I would be assigned to the 92nd Signal Battalion. I didn’t understand exactly what that meant, but I was quickly learning that I wasn’t required to understand everything."
"They had served us good food at Fort McClellan and Fort McPherson, but the food here at Camp Crowder was even better: meat, potatoes, gravy, fresh vegetables, hot bread, butter, fruit, and plenty of milk. I suppose that if they expected you to make it through basic training in one piece, they had better feed you some decent food and plenty of it. I didn’t know if I liked being in the Army, but I did enjoy chow time. I must have been especially hungry after all the excitement of arriving at the camp, because I ate like there was no tomorrow. Two helpings of meat loaf. More mashed potatoes and gravy. Another scoop of vegetables. Two more rolls smothered with butter. And more milk. Just keep the milk coming. In fact, I drank so much milk the other boys started to wonder if something was wrong with me. The guy from Kentucky said, “Hey, Bama, you’re gonna make yourself sick. Save some for tomorrow!”"
"Napoleon is quoted as saying that an army marches on its stomach, which conjures up an interestingly comical mental image, but the more I ate, the more I realized what he meant and the more I was willing to give Army life a chance."
"So as long as we were shooting at targets on the shooting range, I was having fun. I didn’t know how I would feel about shooting another man, even if he was considered to be an enemy. Then again, my attitude was that if it’s between him shooting me or me shooting him, then he needs to be ready to meet his Maker, because I’m trained to put a bullet between his eyes now and work it out with a priest later."
"It was amazing how something as simple as a cookie baked in a mother’s oven can comfort a soldier’s soul on an otherwise cold and lonely night."
"Basic training might not have seemed like it was working, because everybody complained so much, but the discipline and effort did transform us over a period of time. We were healthy, fit, organized, alert, and prepared. Now we were ready to go on to the next level."
"Life in Lurgan became more bearable as winter turned to spring and the days became longer. Problem was, they started becoming too long. By the beginning of May, the sun was rising at 3:00 A.M. and not setting until 10:00 P.M. At that point we were using the blankets over our windows to keep the light out, not in."I was up next. I took a shot in each arm, passed out, and hit the floor like a rock."
"A nurse came over, gave me a glass of orange juice, and made me sit in a chair until the dizziness went away. I talked to her until all the other boys had completed their shots. It wasn’t that she was all that pretty or anything, or that I was all that dizzy, it’s just that the longer I sat there, the more orange juice she gave me."
There was a written exam.
"I must have scored well on telegraph communications, because they told me that after basic training I would be assigned to the 92nd Signal Battalion. I didn’t understand exactly what that meant, but I was quickly learning that I wasn’t required to understand everything."
................................................................................................
"They had served us good food at Fort McClellan and Fort McPherson, but the food here at Camp Crowder was even better: meat, potatoes, gravy, fresh vegetables, hot bread, butter, fruit, and plenty of milk. I suppose that if they expected you to make it through basic training in one piece, they had better feed you some decent food and plenty of it. I didn’t know if I liked being in the Army, but I did enjoy chow time. I must have been especially hungry after all the excitement of arriving at the camp, because I ate like there was no tomorrow. Two helpings of meat loaf. More mashed potatoes and gravy. Another scoop of vegetables. Two more rolls smothered with butter. And more milk. Just keep the milk coming. In fact, I drank so much milk the other boys started to wonder if something was wrong with me. The guy from Kentucky said, “Hey, Bama, you’re gonna make yourself sick. Save some for tomorrow!”"
"Napoleon is quoted as saying that an army marches on its stomach, which conjures up an interestingly comical mental image, but the more I ate, the more I realized what he meant and the more I was willing to give Army life a chance."
"So as long as we were shooting at targets on the shooting range, I was having fun. I didn’t know how I would feel about shooting another man, even if he was considered to be an enemy. Then again, my attitude was that if it’s between him shooting me or me shooting him, then he needs to be ready to meet his Maker, because I’m trained to put a bullet between his eyes now and work it out with a priest later."
"It was amazing how something as simple as a cookie baked in a mother’s oven can comfort a soldier’s soul on an otherwise cold and lonely night."
"Basic training might not have seemed like it was working, because everybody complained so much, but the discipline and effort did transform us over a period of time. We were healthy, fit, organized, alert, and prepared. Now we were ready to go on to the next level."
................................................................................................
"I had never seen a ship in real life and therefore didn’t have a point of reference, but this thing definitely looked huge. In fact, the first thing I thought was that it looked much too big and heavy to float.
"When I got to the top of the gangplank and set foot on the ship, I was amazed at how steady it was. It felt just like being on the ground. I guess I expected my weight to cause the ship to shift around in the water. Of course, the only boat I’d been on previous to this had been a little two-man canoe at East Lake Park in Birmingham."
"As I leaned against the railing and watched the scene unfold below me, it crossed my mind that some of these men might not return home alive. I tried not to think about it, but then Averitt said, “You know what? Look at all this shit we have to go through and get ourselves killed all because some little asshole Hitler can’t mind his own damn business!”
"None of the boys knew anything about our route or even where we were actually going, other than to Europe—probably England. But First Sergeant Thomas had told us that we didn’t need to know or even speculate on the trip because, as the saying goes, “Loose lips sink ships,” and though it was great to see everyone come out and see us off, it was possible that there could have been least one or two Nazi informants out in the crowd."
"It was dark now and getting cold, but what we saw was beautiful. Lower Manhattan was gleaming in the night, and just in front of it, just to the left, was the Statue of Liberty."
"It was getting colder as the ship moved out to sea, but despite the frigid temperatures and the strengthening wind, we stayed on deck as long as we could see the twinkling of the ever-decreasing New York skyline on the horizon. For all of us, there was an awesome reality to that moment—the feel of the powerful ship plowing through the darkness of an even more powerful ocean, carrying us into the unknown. The one thing we did know was this: Our destinies awaited us on some distant shore, while America, our home, was quickly disappearing into the cold, wet blackness of night."
"It was easy to find a place at chow that morning. That was the good news. The bad news was that the food tasted like crap. As far as I was concerned, that was yet another reason not to be in the Navy."
"On December 30 we reached a designated rendezvous point about fifty miles east of Boston, where we met up with thirty-five other ships, including the battleship USS Texas, three carriers, twenty destroyers, four tankers, and several British troopships. From there the convoy set out on a course somewhere—we really didn’t know where. Cardini said we were going to England, but just because Cardini said it didn’t make it true.
"I had always heard that the ocean was blue, but this one seemed to have no color at all (if you don’t count gray). What with the gray water, the gray skies, and the gray ships surrounding us, it seemed like we had sailed smack into a black-and-white photograph. Perhaps I was expecting sunny skies shining over a sparkling clear blue sea as dolphins jumped out of the water, twirled, and splashed alongside us, like I’d seen in pirate movies. Then again, never having seen the ocean in person, I’m not sure what I was expecting.
"Despite the lack of color—and dolphins—I did find comfort in the fact that the USS Texas was steaming along right beside us. I had thought that the Anne Arundel was big, but the Texas was one gargantuan boat, and the sight of her so close at hand was comforting. I felt that now I could enjoy the thrill of the waves without having to worry about swimming all the way back to New York in case we flipped over."
"The seas became rough during the first three days of 1944, and the ship was once more doing a lot of heaving up and down, which made most of the guys sick again. I didn’t mind it all that much, especially as long as I was outside watching the approaching waves and the general motion of the ocean. In the distance, across the choppy waters, I could see the other ships in the convoy. They looked small on the massive, undulating ocean, but they seemed to be steaming ahead in formation with great resolve and purpose.
"We started hitting bigger and bigger waves, each lifting the ship like a toy and then sending it crashing down into a valley of water. I was standing at the railing one afternoon when our ship dipped low and got simultaneously hit by a monster wave. It didn’t knock me over because I saw it coming and was holding on pretty tightly, but it did get me soaking wet. And, having had the unwelcome opportunity to make a direct comparison, I can honestly say that the water was much, much colder than my ass. In fact, it was freezing."
They played poker, and did well.
"So we ended up with a pile of money, which we split equally among us. But we really didn’t have any place to spend it. It’s not like the boat had a gift shop."
"The seas smoothed out somewhat over the next few days, but I found it increasingly uncomfortable to spend much time up on deck, because the air seemed to be getting colder with each passing hour. Silverman said it was because we were going north, but I couldn’t figure out his logic. “North?” I asked. “I thought Cardini said we were going to England.”"
While they argued, sergeant Thomas told them to go up.
"“It’s feeling warmer to me. They say we’re passing through some sort of warm southern air current.”
"“Southern” was the only word I needed to hear. I was up on deck in a flash. It wasn’t exactly warm in the “Southern” sense of the word, but it was much more pleasant than it had been before. It was just getting dark, and I could still make out the forms of some of the other ships in the convoy. The full moon was rising over the eastern horizon as the sun was setting to the west, and for a brief time you could see the reflections of both on the water. The seas were calm, and I became fascinated by the wake of the ships as we plowed along. Symmetrical waves split back from the bow of each vessel, little crests of white lining the tops of each as they parted and spread behind the boats. At some point the wakes from different ships would collide. The more dominate ones, the ones from the Texas, would overlap the ones from our ship, creating a small upheaval where they met. And that point of intersection followed alongside us as if it were another tiny vessel struggling to keep up.
"As the sky darkened and the moon rose, I could make out phosphorus forms glowing in the water beneath us, giving the night a look and a feel almost indescribable. There was something immensely powerful yet immensely tranquil about the sea. I felt helpless and small in the vast expanse of water, yet strangely secure in the man-made machine. I could feel a sense of peace and calm when the sea was smooth, yet I could at the same time sense the deadly force possibly lurking just below the surface as we steamed along. I felt as if I could actually look out and see the edges of the world, though the only thing I could really see in any direction was water. Most of all I felt lonely."
"“How about that beautiful full moon?” Hodges asked.
"“What about it?”
"“Quite a sight, ain’t it?”
"“Yeah,” said the sailor, looking around at the sky and sea. “Yep, great submarine weather.”
"The smiles suddenly left our faces, and we peered intently into the night, straining to see any traces of a phantom Nazi sub."
" ... Night had settled quickly in this part of the world. In fact, by the time we disembarked from the train, it was pitch-black. The strange part was that it was three-thirty in the afternoon."
"Straw beds or not, we were accustomed to getting out of the rack before sunrise. Of course, in Lurgan in January, the sun didn’t rise until 10:00 A.M. But that didn’t mean we were allowed to sleep late; it just meant that we spent a great deal of time bumping around in the dark. To make matters worse, the somewhat lazy sun would set again at 3:00 P.M., plunging us back into what seemed like a perpetual nighttime. Operating in a blackout made even the simplest of tasks difficult, especially when there was no moon to illuminate our surroundings. And apparently the Army had ordered the moon out of the sky, because I don’t remember seeing it for the next two months."
"By mid-February the days were finally starting to get a little longer. It felt good to get a few extra hours of daylight, but the fact of the matter was that the sun still wasn’t up until eight in the morning and it was pitch-black by six P.M., so most of what we did continued to be done in the dark."
"I had never seen a ship in real life and therefore didn’t have a point of reference, but this thing definitely looked huge. In fact, the first thing I thought was that it looked much too big and heavy to float.
"When I got to the top of the gangplank and set foot on the ship, I was amazed at how steady it was. It felt just like being on the ground. I guess I expected my weight to cause the ship to shift around in the water. Of course, the only boat I’d been on previous to this had been a little two-man canoe at East Lake Park in Birmingham."
"As I leaned against the railing and watched the scene unfold below me, it crossed my mind that some of these men might not return home alive. I tried not to think about it, but then Averitt said, “You know what? Look at all this shit we have to go through and get ourselves killed all because some little asshole Hitler can’t mind his own damn business!”
"None of the boys knew anything about our route or even where we were actually going, other than to Europe—probably England. But First Sergeant Thomas had told us that we didn’t need to know or even speculate on the trip because, as the saying goes, “Loose lips sink ships,” and though it was great to see everyone come out and see us off, it was possible that there could have been least one or two Nazi informants out in the crowd."
"It was dark now and getting cold, but what we saw was beautiful. Lower Manhattan was gleaming in the night, and just in front of it, just to the left, was the Statue of Liberty."
"It was getting colder as the ship moved out to sea, but despite the frigid temperatures and the strengthening wind, we stayed on deck as long as we could see the twinkling of the ever-decreasing New York skyline on the horizon. For all of us, there was an awesome reality to that moment—the feel of the powerful ship plowing through the darkness of an even more powerful ocean, carrying us into the unknown. The one thing we did know was this: Our destinies awaited us on some distant shore, while America, our home, was quickly disappearing into the cold, wet blackness of night."
"It was easy to find a place at chow that morning. That was the good news. The bad news was that the food tasted like crap. As far as I was concerned, that was yet another reason not to be in the Navy."
"On December 30 we reached a designated rendezvous point about fifty miles east of Boston, where we met up with thirty-five other ships, including the battleship USS Texas, three carriers, twenty destroyers, four tankers, and several British troopships. From there the convoy set out on a course somewhere—we really didn’t know where. Cardini said we were going to England, but just because Cardini said it didn’t make it true.
"I had always heard that the ocean was blue, but this one seemed to have no color at all (if you don’t count gray). What with the gray water, the gray skies, and the gray ships surrounding us, it seemed like we had sailed smack into a black-and-white photograph. Perhaps I was expecting sunny skies shining over a sparkling clear blue sea as dolphins jumped out of the water, twirled, and splashed alongside us, like I’d seen in pirate movies. Then again, never having seen the ocean in person, I’m not sure what I was expecting.
"Despite the lack of color—and dolphins—I did find comfort in the fact that the USS Texas was steaming along right beside us. I had thought that the Anne Arundel was big, but the Texas was one gargantuan boat, and the sight of her so close at hand was comforting. I felt that now I could enjoy the thrill of the waves without having to worry about swimming all the way back to New York in case we flipped over."
"The seas became rough during the first three days of 1944, and the ship was once more doing a lot of heaving up and down, which made most of the guys sick again. I didn’t mind it all that much, especially as long as I was outside watching the approaching waves and the general motion of the ocean. In the distance, across the choppy waters, I could see the other ships in the convoy. They looked small on the massive, undulating ocean, but they seemed to be steaming ahead in formation with great resolve and purpose.
"We started hitting bigger and bigger waves, each lifting the ship like a toy and then sending it crashing down into a valley of water. I was standing at the railing one afternoon when our ship dipped low and got simultaneously hit by a monster wave. It didn’t knock me over because I saw it coming and was holding on pretty tightly, but it did get me soaking wet. And, having had the unwelcome opportunity to make a direct comparison, I can honestly say that the water was much, much colder than my ass. In fact, it was freezing."
They played poker, and did well.
"So we ended up with a pile of money, which we split equally among us. But we really didn’t have any place to spend it. It’s not like the boat had a gift shop."
"The seas smoothed out somewhat over the next few days, but I found it increasingly uncomfortable to spend much time up on deck, because the air seemed to be getting colder with each passing hour. Silverman said it was because we were going north, but I couldn’t figure out his logic. “North?” I asked. “I thought Cardini said we were going to England.”"
While they argued, sergeant Thomas told them to go up.
"“It’s feeling warmer to me. They say we’re passing through some sort of warm southern air current.”
"“Southern” was the only word I needed to hear. I was up on deck in a flash. It wasn’t exactly warm in the “Southern” sense of the word, but it was much more pleasant than it had been before. It was just getting dark, and I could still make out the forms of some of the other ships in the convoy. The full moon was rising over the eastern horizon as the sun was setting to the west, and for a brief time you could see the reflections of both on the water. The seas were calm, and I became fascinated by the wake of the ships as we plowed along. Symmetrical waves split back from the bow of each vessel, little crests of white lining the tops of each as they parted and spread behind the boats. At some point the wakes from different ships would collide. The more dominate ones, the ones from the Texas, would overlap the ones from our ship, creating a small upheaval where they met. And that point of intersection followed alongside us as if it were another tiny vessel struggling to keep up.
"As the sky darkened and the moon rose, I could make out phosphorus forms glowing in the water beneath us, giving the night a look and a feel almost indescribable. There was something immensely powerful yet immensely tranquil about the sea. I felt helpless and small in the vast expanse of water, yet strangely secure in the man-made machine. I could feel a sense of peace and calm when the sea was smooth, yet I could at the same time sense the deadly force possibly lurking just below the surface as we steamed along. I felt as if I could actually look out and see the edges of the world, though the only thing I could really see in any direction was water. Most of all I felt lonely."
"“How about that beautiful full moon?” Hodges asked.
"“What about it?”
"“Quite a sight, ain’t it?”
"“Yeah,” said the sailor, looking around at the sky and sea. “Yep, great submarine weather.”
"The smiles suddenly left our faces, and we peered intently into the night, straining to see any traces of a phantom Nazi sub."
................................................................................................
" ... Night had settled quickly in this part of the world. In fact, by the time we disembarked from the train, it was pitch-black. The strange part was that it was three-thirty in the afternoon."
"Straw beds or not, we were accustomed to getting out of the rack before sunrise. Of course, in Lurgan in January, the sun didn’t rise until 10:00 A.M. But that didn’t mean we were allowed to sleep late; it just meant that we spent a great deal of time bumping around in the dark. To make matters worse, the somewhat lazy sun would set again at 3:00 P.M., plunging us back into what seemed like a perpetual nighttime. Operating in a blackout made even the simplest of tasks difficult, especially when there was no moon to illuminate our surroundings. And apparently the Army had ordered the moon out of the sky, because I don’t remember seeing it for the next two months."
"By mid-February the days were finally starting to get a little longer. It felt good to get a few extra hours of daylight, but the fact of the matter was that the sun still wasn’t up until eight in the morning and it was pitch-black by six P.M., so most of what we did continued to be done in the dark."
"The monotony of waiting around for the eventual call to action was becoming rather numbing. Perhaps that’s the way the Army had planned it—get us so bored out of our minds that we would look forward to combat. If so, it was working."
................................................................................................
"Besides having military hospitals, Oxford was also home to the famous university, which Averitt, Duthie, and I explored at every opportunity. The setting of the campus was quite peaceful and scholarly, with springtime blossoms in abundance, ivy-covered buildings standing along the edges of well-manicured quads, and old professors slowly walking about pondering important academic issues. The whole atmosphere made me want to pick up a book—any book—and read."
................................................................................................
At Oxford they heard General Patton. Author gives most, or all; some excerpts:-
"“Listen, there are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily,” he said. “All because one man went to sleep on the job.” There was no more laughter. “But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did!”"
"Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes, because where we’re going there isn’t a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on KP duty has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the GI shits.”
"“Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. And the quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin,” he growled, gripping the ivory-handled pistol at his side, “I am personally going to shoot that paper-hanging son of a bitch Hitler just like I’d shoot a goddamned snake!”
"We were hooting and applauding. “Now, listen,” he continued, “when a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that! The hell with taking it! I don’t care what your instructors have told you—my men don’t dig foxholes. I don’t want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. We keep moving. And don’t give the enemy time to dig one either."
"“I want you to remember that no poor bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb son-of-a-bitching bastard die for his country. Remember that. And another thing: I don’t want to get any messages saying, ‘We are holding our position.’ We are not holding a goddamned thing! Let the Germans do that! We are advancing constantly, and we are not interested in holding on to anything, except the enemy’s balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose, like shit through a tinhorn!”"
"With a mere wave of his hand, Patton calmed us down. “Now, men, from time to time there will be some complaints that I am pushing my people too hard. Well, I don’t give a good goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Germans we kill. And the more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties on our side. I want you all to remember that."
"We were going crazy, jumping with fists held high, slapping each other on the back, shaking hands, and cheering. I watched the general as he nonchalantly took the leash from the long-since-stunned Red Cross woman seated behind him, nodded to her politely, then led his dog across the stage, down the steps, and back to his waiting vehicle. The band struck up a rousing Sousa march, and all the men began clapping in time with it as Patton and his entourage disappeared into the English countryside.
................................................................................................
"By the time we arrived in Southampton, it had become a staging ground unlike any in military history. Hundreds of thousands of men and untold tons of equipment and supplies had been assembling here for weeks. But now that the invasion, known as Operation Overlord, had begun, the activity and confusion had multiplied. Soldiers, sailors, and officers were everywhere, some busily working to load ships, some sitting, watching, waiting to leave, and some completely lost amid the bustling maze of streets near the water’s edge.
"At the docks dozens of huge ships were being loaded with men, vehicles, weaponry, and heavy equipment. Farther out in the harbor, hundreds of other boats of all sizes awaited their turns. Thousands of blimplike barrage balloons were hovering high over the channel, their vertical steel cables designed to keep enemy aircraft from strafing us. And above it all was the most ominous sight I had ever seen: The normally bright morning sky was dark with a massive fleet of bombers and fighter planes flying outbound from England to France."
"A group of us spent the afternoon exploring Southampton. It was an impressive balance of logistical coordination and mass confusion. New units were arriving by the minute and moving out just as quickly. Fully loaded ships were being towed into the harbor to wait while others were moving toward the docks. We were given no information regarding what was happening at Normandy, whether we were winning or losing. All we knew was that we were next."
"After sunset the sky came alive with V-1 rockets launched by the Germans in France. The missiles missed the port entirely, flying overhead toward the northeast, following the general direction of the river toward the populated areas of town. A British antiaircraft crew stationed at the end of the docks fired repeatedly at the rockets but never actually hit any. When each rocket eventually ran out of fuel, the flame shooting from its tail would disappear and it would arc down and crash. Some of the American gunners were timing the difference between the visible flash and the sound of the explosion in order to calculate the distance away from us the bomb had dropped. According to them, most were falling in open fields north of town."
"Most of us were scared but determined, especially after the speech by General Patton. We knew we were in for a battle, but we were sold on the idea of making the other poor dumb bastards die for their country, as he had advised, so that we could come back home to tell our children and grandchildren all about it."
"Before long the German V-1 rockets reappeared in the sky on their nightly flights from France to Southampton. The gunners on board began firing at them but were missing. Finally they hit one as it flew directly overhead. The bomb exploded, and the concussion from the blast caused the ship to bob around in the water like a toy boat. More rockets screamed toward England as the night progressed. Now, buoyed by the one hit, the gunners were even more aggressive in their pursuit of the missiles. The whole affair was loud and somewhat exciting. Some of the guys watched the proceedings deep into the night."
"We awoke beneath skies once again darkened by Allied planes as the Philip F. Thomas steamed toward France alongside hundreds of other ships. Some boats seemed to be sailing so close together that a determined soldier could have jumped from one to another until he crossed the entire fleet. Gunships, battleships, transport ships, troopships, gigantic and small, fast and lumbering, all covered with soldiers, all making their way to the battle with purpose and pride. For a farm boy from Alabama, it was an impressive sight, seeing this great and historic armada in full stride."
"With Normandy within sight, the ships of the convoy began the long process of slowing to a stop. Some of the sailors were lowering heavy fishnet ropes over the sides of the boat when we heard a series of loud explosions. Three of the ships, drifting to a stop in the Channel, had hit mines. Water, smoke, and debris were sent high into the air as the vessels jerked and recoiled, then convulsed in the water. Huge waves rippling from the explosions tossed nearby boats back and forth, up and down. Two of the stricken ships were a good distance off port side, the other about half a mile starboard, so it was hard to assess the damage from where we were. Each was far enough away not to pose an immediate threat to us. Yet each was close enough to be a sobering reminder that this was no training mission."
"From the landing craft, we could see the immense amount of activity on the beachhead. Groups of soldiers were running in the direction of the smoky cliffs in the distance as trucks, jeeps, and tanks barreled along in the sand, some columns moving away from the water, others toward it. Sporadic gunfire and explosions pierced through the crashing of the waves. Some vehicles lay destroyed and smoldering on the beach. Others were partially submerged in the water, never having made it to shore. Landing craft of all sizes and shapes were unloading soldiers and equipment everywhere and then returning to the vast armada farther out in the Channel to pick up another load. And above it all were the planes."
"The beach was strewn with damaged vehicles and equipment, around which scurried hundreds of functioning vehicles and thousands of men on foot, all seeking higher ground as the tide rolled in. There were no bodies."
"From there we turned inland, up into the highlands of Normandy, then northwest in the direction of Cherbourg, passing through the towns of Isigny-sur-Mer, Carentan, and Ste.-Mère-Eglise. Every town and village was destroyed, in shambles and burning. All along the way, we could hear German artillery firing at the front lines, only to be answered many times over by the Allied warships off the coast. Large craters and dead animals were scattered about everywhere, evidence that we were well within range of both sides."
"We walked ahead into the zone of devastation. Everywhere I looked were strewn the bodies of American soldiers. Some were laid out peacefully, others in grotesque poses with gaping wounds and missing parts. Smoke from the battle still lingered in the air. We were stunned as we walked through the carnage, stepping over the bodies, peering through the haze, quietly proceeding. Amid the silence of the slaughter, it occurred to me that all of us had been trained to fight but none of us had been trained to die."
"By the time we arrived in Southampton, it had become a staging ground unlike any in military history. Hundreds of thousands of men and untold tons of equipment and supplies had been assembling here for weeks. But now that the invasion, known as Operation Overlord, had begun, the activity and confusion had multiplied. Soldiers, sailors, and officers were everywhere, some busily working to load ships, some sitting, watching, waiting to leave, and some completely lost amid the bustling maze of streets near the water’s edge.
"At the docks dozens of huge ships were being loaded with men, vehicles, weaponry, and heavy equipment. Farther out in the harbor, hundreds of other boats of all sizes awaited their turns. Thousands of blimplike barrage balloons were hovering high over the channel, their vertical steel cables designed to keep enemy aircraft from strafing us. And above it all was the most ominous sight I had ever seen: The normally bright morning sky was dark with a massive fleet of bombers and fighter planes flying outbound from England to France."
"A group of us spent the afternoon exploring Southampton. It was an impressive balance of logistical coordination and mass confusion. New units were arriving by the minute and moving out just as quickly. Fully loaded ships were being towed into the harbor to wait while others were moving toward the docks. We were given no information regarding what was happening at Normandy, whether we were winning or losing. All we knew was that we were next."
"After sunset the sky came alive with V-1 rockets launched by the Germans in France. The missiles missed the port entirely, flying overhead toward the northeast, following the general direction of the river toward the populated areas of town. A British antiaircraft crew stationed at the end of the docks fired repeatedly at the rockets but never actually hit any. When each rocket eventually ran out of fuel, the flame shooting from its tail would disappear and it would arc down and crash. Some of the American gunners were timing the difference between the visible flash and the sound of the explosion in order to calculate the distance away from us the bomb had dropped. According to them, most were falling in open fields north of town."
"Most of us were scared but determined, especially after the speech by General Patton. We knew we were in for a battle, but we were sold on the idea of making the other poor dumb bastards die for their country, as he had advised, so that we could come back home to tell our children and grandchildren all about it."
"Before long the German V-1 rockets reappeared in the sky on their nightly flights from France to Southampton. The gunners on board began firing at them but were missing. Finally they hit one as it flew directly overhead. The bomb exploded, and the concussion from the blast caused the ship to bob around in the water like a toy boat. More rockets screamed toward England as the night progressed. Now, buoyed by the one hit, the gunners were even more aggressive in their pursuit of the missiles. The whole affair was loud and somewhat exciting. Some of the guys watched the proceedings deep into the night."
................................................................................................
"We awoke beneath skies once again darkened by Allied planes as the Philip F. Thomas steamed toward France alongside hundreds of other ships. Some boats seemed to be sailing so close together that a determined soldier could have jumped from one to another until he crossed the entire fleet. Gunships, battleships, transport ships, troopships, gigantic and small, fast and lumbering, all covered with soldiers, all making their way to the battle with purpose and pride. For a farm boy from Alabama, it was an impressive sight, seeing this great and historic armada in full stride."
"With Normandy within sight, the ships of the convoy began the long process of slowing to a stop. Some of the sailors were lowering heavy fishnet ropes over the sides of the boat when we heard a series of loud explosions. Three of the ships, drifting to a stop in the Channel, had hit mines. Water, smoke, and debris were sent high into the air as the vessels jerked and recoiled, then convulsed in the water. Huge waves rippling from the explosions tossed nearby boats back and forth, up and down. Two of the stricken ships were a good distance off port side, the other about half a mile starboard, so it was hard to assess the damage from where we were. Each was far enough away not to pose an immediate threat to us. Yet each was close enough to be a sobering reminder that this was no training mission."
"From the landing craft, we could see the immense amount of activity on the beachhead. Groups of soldiers were running in the direction of the smoky cliffs in the distance as trucks, jeeps, and tanks barreled along in the sand, some columns moving away from the water, others toward it. Sporadic gunfire and explosions pierced through the crashing of the waves. Some vehicles lay destroyed and smoldering on the beach. Others were partially submerged in the water, never having made it to shore. Landing craft of all sizes and shapes were unloading soldiers and equipment everywhere and then returning to the vast armada farther out in the Channel to pick up another load. And above it all were the planes."
"The beach was strewn with damaged vehicles and equipment, around which scurried hundreds of functioning vehicles and thousands of men on foot, all seeking higher ground as the tide rolled in. There were no bodies."
"From there we turned inland, up into the highlands of Normandy, then northwest in the direction of Cherbourg, passing through the towns of Isigny-sur-Mer, Carentan, and Ste.-Mère-Eglise. Every town and village was destroyed, in shambles and burning. All along the way, we could hear German artillery firing at the front lines, only to be answered many times over by the Allied warships off the coast. Large craters and dead animals were scattered about everywhere, evidence that we were well within range of both sides."
"We walked ahead into the zone of devastation. Everywhere I looked were strewn the bodies of American soldiers. Some were laid out peacefully, others in grotesque poses with gaping wounds and missing parts. Smoke from the battle still lingered in the air. We were stunned as we walked through the carnage, stepping over the bodies, peering through the haze, quietly proceeding. Amid the silence of the slaughter, it occurred to me that all of us had been trained to fight but none of us had been trained to die."
................................................................................................
"Now that we were surrounded by war, our training back in the States seemed simple and innocent. Technically we knew what to do, but the realities of actual combat—hearing the constant gunfire, feeling the earth shake as artillery shells exploded around us, seeing soldiers and civilians lying dead in smoldering ruins, smelling death and destruction with every shifting of the wind—all these conspired to have a chilling effect. Within twenty-four hours of our arrival in Normandy, we had witnessed devastation beyond anything we’d ever imagined. It was a shock to the system and not something to which a person of reasonable sanity can ever adjust."
"The only thing I knew for sure was that we were catching some hell as we worked to set up telephone lines. German planes would swoop down, drop bombs, and strafe as we ran for cover in every direction. We were constantly on the move, advancing and retreating with the infantry, making sure there were always lines of communication between the front and headquarters. Our job necessarily put us in harm’s way on a continuous basis. Often we were actually in front of the front lines, high in trees, stringing wire while bombs blasted around us. At night the terror continued, with enemy artillery raining down on our position, lighting up the sky while digging huge craters in the earth. The explosions, the rumbling, the threat, and the fear were incessant."
"Cherbourg finally fell toward the end of June. Though the Germans had promised to fight to the bitter end, the advancing American infantry and Allied air and naval bombardment had been too much. The Germans hightailed it, and our infantry took control of the city and the port, giving us a major victory at this early stage of the war.
"That was the good news. The bad news was that the enemy tried to destroy as much of the city as they could before they left, sabotaging supply depots, ammunition warehouses, and fuel lines. As they fled, they planted land mines on the roads leading into town. Our infantry had captured several hundred German prisoners in Cherbourg, but many more had gotten away, meaning that there were now thousands of pissed-off Nazis hiding throughout the French countryside, waiting for a chance to kill us."
"We stayed in Cherbourg for only a couple of days—long enough to set up some phone lines for the occupation forces—before moving south to Barneville. As we passed through villages still smoking from battle, people emerged from the rubble to cheer, toss us flowers, wave flags, and chant “Vive la France!” Some were handing out small glasses of calvados, a potent local drink, of which we gladly partook. It was good to help these people celebrate. Hell, they’d been through a lot."
"All around us we could hear American artillery blasting away at the enemy and, of course, the enemy blasting away at us. The sounds seem to be magnified at night, perhaps because our sense of hearing was heightened by the absolute darkness. It was easy to feel vulnerable in the pitch black, lying on the ground, wound up in a sleeping bag, noises creaking outside the tent, bombs shaking the earth beneath us. On top of it all, I was in the tent with Chandler, who still had the potential of going berserk at any moment.
"Each evening, just after darkness overtook the camp, we would hear the distinctive humming of German bombers, which we called “Bed-Check Charlie,” flying over, searching for our positions. The discipline of total blackout and the ability to perform simple tasks without light was embraced and appreciated. This meant no headlights, no flashlights, no smoking, not even striking a match. One slip could give away our position and cost the lives of hundreds of men."
"Other encounters with the enemy were more deadly. A couple of jeeps from the 92nd hit land mines, killing or severely injuring their occupants. Then, at the end of July, three men from our company—Don Castillo, Leo Rimini, and Charlie Wright—were ambushed and killed while on a patrol. The news hit hard, because we knew these guys, and they were good men. For the rest of us, it was yet another sobering reminder that this was no game and that our time could come at any minute."
"The sun was just beginning to illuminate the sky, and the canopy of planes that had accompanied us across the English Channel was once again aloft, this time reflecting the day’s first golden rays and in a formation so vast that it stretched out far into the horizon. As the morning grew brighter, the sight grew more and more spectacular. Sarge told us there were probably three thousand or more bombers in the sky, paving the way for our breakthrough of enemy lines. Though they were dropping their payloads on targets miles away, we could hear the massive explosions and feel the rumblings underfoot."
"We were walking along a road about a mile outside the demolished town of Périers, struggling to open our K rations for lunch, when we heard American fighter planes coming up over the hills to our right. They swooped down toward us, then began strafing and bombing something on the other side of a small hill just beyond our line of sight. We hit the dirt and took cover. The planes circled for another pass as machine-gun fire went up from the unseen valley. This time, the Americans unloaded an even heavier firestorm on their targets. And the valley grew quiet. They circled once or twice more, then disappeared beyond the hills.
"Captain English sent a scout team up ahead to check out the situation. After a few minutes, they returned and gave us the all clear to proceed.
"As we rounded the bend, we saw dozens of German trucks and jeeps destroyed and burning. Thick, black, acrid smoke billowed high into the air. Hundreds of German soldiers lay dead amid the wreckage.
"“Oh, shit!” each guy said individually as the scene came into view.
"“Oh, shit” was right. These Germans had been lying in wait, probably tipped off by a patrol that had spotted us on the road. They were prepared to ambush us as soon as we rounded the bend. But an American lookout somewhere in the hills had apparently seen the drama unfolding and had alerted the Army Air Corps to come and take them out before we became their prey."
"We moved south through the countryside, ever mindful of dangers apparent and perils hidden. We were no longer exclusively following the roads but were going through fields, across ravines, up hills, over embankments—wherever and whatever it took to reach our objective."
"Most problematic were the hedgerows lining many of the roads and dividing the fields. These weren’t simply rows of hedges as the name might imply but were an intricately tangled weave of bushes and trees, dense and impenetrable, six feet high and four feet thick, into which were burrowed tunnels and fortifications. The Germans would hide like rats inside these shrubbery caves, then spring to attack their victims."
"Finally some guys in an armored division took some heavy pieces of steel and welded them onto the front of a Sherman tank. The tank then blasted its way through the hedgerow, opening a swath and sending Nazis running like roaches. We were told that the vegetation had, for the most part, been cleared of the enemy by the time we arrived. But most of us were still suspicious, keeping a cautious eye out whenever we neared them."
"Now that we were surrounded by war, our training back in the States seemed simple and innocent. Technically we knew what to do, but the realities of actual combat—hearing the constant gunfire, feeling the earth shake as artillery shells exploded around us, seeing soldiers and civilians lying dead in smoldering ruins, smelling death and destruction with every shifting of the wind—all these conspired to have a chilling effect. Within twenty-four hours of our arrival in Normandy, we had witnessed devastation beyond anything we’d ever imagined. It was a shock to the system and not something to which a person of reasonable sanity can ever adjust."
"The only thing I knew for sure was that we were catching some hell as we worked to set up telephone lines. German planes would swoop down, drop bombs, and strafe as we ran for cover in every direction. We were constantly on the move, advancing and retreating with the infantry, making sure there were always lines of communication between the front and headquarters. Our job necessarily put us in harm’s way on a continuous basis. Often we were actually in front of the front lines, high in trees, stringing wire while bombs blasted around us. At night the terror continued, with enemy artillery raining down on our position, lighting up the sky while digging huge craters in the earth. The explosions, the rumbling, the threat, and the fear were incessant."
"Cherbourg finally fell toward the end of June. Though the Germans had promised to fight to the bitter end, the advancing American infantry and Allied air and naval bombardment had been too much. The Germans hightailed it, and our infantry took control of the city and the port, giving us a major victory at this early stage of the war.
"That was the good news. The bad news was that the enemy tried to destroy as much of the city as they could before they left, sabotaging supply depots, ammunition warehouses, and fuel lines. As they fled, they planted land mines on the roads leading into town. Our infantry had captured several hundred German prisoners in Cherbourg, but many more had gotten away, meaning that there were now thousands of pissed-off Nazis hiding throughout the French countryside, waiting for a chance to kill us."
"We stayed in Cherbourg for only a couple of days—long enough to set up some phone lines for the occupation forces—before moving south to Barneville. As we passed through villages still smoking from battle, people emerged from the rubble to cheer, toss us flowers, wave flags, and chant “Vive la France!” Some were handing out small glasses of calvados, a potent local drink, of which we gladly partook. It was good to help these people celebrate. Hell, they’d been through a lot."
"All around us we could hear American artillery blasting away at the enemy and, of course, the enemy blasting away at us. The sounds seem to be magnified at night, perhaps because our sense of hearing was heightened by the absolute darkness. It was easy to feel vulnerable in the pitch black, lying on the ground, wound up in a sleeping bag, noises creaking outside the tent, bombs shaking the earth beneath us. On top of it all, I was in the tent with Chandler, who still had the potential of going berserk at any moment.
"Each evening, just after darkness overtook the camp, we would hear the distinctive humming of German bombers, which we called “Bed-Check Charlie,” flying over, searching for our positions. The discipline of total blackout and the ability to perform simple tasks without light was embraced and appreciated. This meant no headlights, no flashlights, no smoking, not even striking a match. One slip could give away our position and cost the lives of hundreds of men."
"Other encounters with the enemy were more deadly. A couple of jeeps from the 92nd hit land mines, killing or severely injuring their occupants. Then, at the end of July, three men from our company—Don Castillo, Leo Rimini, and Charlie Wright—were ambushed and killed while on a patrol. The news hit hard, because we knew these guys, and they were good men. For the rest of us, it was yet another sobering reminder that this was no game and that our time could come at any minute."
................................................................................................
"The sun was just beginning to illuminate the sky, and the canopy of planes that had accompanied us across the English Channel was once again aloft, this time reflecting the day’s first golden rays and in a formation so vast that it stretched out far into the horizon. As the morning grew brighter, the sight grew more and more spectacular. Sarge told us there were probably three thousand or more bombers in the sky, paving the way for our breakthrough of enemy lines. Though they were dropping their payloads on targets miles away, we could hear the massive explosions and feel the rumblings underfoot."
"We were walking along a road about a mile outside the demolished town of Périers, struggling to open our K rations for lunch, when we heard American fighter planes coming up over the hills to our right. They swooped down toward us, then began strafing and bombing something on the other side of a small hill just beyond our line of sight. We hit the dirt and took cover. The planes circled for another pass as machine-gun fire went up from the unseen valley. This time, the Americans unloaded an even heavier firestorm on their targets. And the valley grew quiet. They circled once or twice more, then disappeared beyond the hills.
"Captain English sent a scout team up ahead to check out the situation. After a few minutes, they returned and gave us the all clear to proceed.
"As we rounded the bend, we saw dozens of German trucks and jeeps destroyed and burning. Thick, black, acrid smoke billowed high into the air. Hundreds of German soldiers lay dead amid the wreckage.
"“Oh, shit!” each guy said individually as the scene came into view.
"“Oh, shit” was right. These Germans had been lying in wait, probably tipped off by a patrol that had spotted us on the road. They were prepared to ambush us as soon as we rounded the bend. But an American lookout somewhere in the hills had apparently seen the drama unfolding and had alerted the Army Air Corps to come and take them out before we became their prey."
"We moved south through the countryside, ever mindful of dangers apparent and perils hidden. We were no longer exclusively following the roads but were going through fields, across ravines, up hills, over embankments—wherever and whatever it took to reach our objective."
"Most problematic were the hedgerows lining many of the roads and dividing the fields. These weren’t simply rows of hedges as the name might imply but were an intricately tangled weave of bushes and trees, dense and impenetrable, six feet high and four feet thick, into which were burrowed tunnels and fortifications. The Germans would hide like rats inside these shrubbery caves, then spring to attack their victims."
"Finally some guys in an armored division took some heavy pieces of steel and welded them onto the front of a Sherman tank. The tank then blasted its way through the hedgerow, opening a swath and sending Nazis running like roaches. We were told that the vegetation had, for the most part, been cleared of the enemy by the time we arrived. But most of us were still suspicious, keeping a cautious eye out whenever we neared them."
................................................................................................
"Averitt, Duthie, Silverman, Cardini, Sam Martin, and I were working in some trees one afternoon in an area outside Laval when a jeep screeched to a halt below. I noticed Tex and Chandler on the ground snap to attention and salute. An officer leaped from the vehicle and looked up in our direction. It was General Patton. He walked briskly to the base of Silverman’s tree.
"“Soldier!” he yelled up.
"“Uh, yes, sir,” Silverman answered, trying to salute but dropping a pair of pliers instead. The tool hit several branches, causing the general to step out of the way as it fell to earth. “Yes, sir, General,” Silverman nervously repeated.
"“Soldier, what the hell are you doing up there?”
"Silverman was hesitant. “Stringing phone line, sir.”
"“Don’t you know you’re a target up there in a tree like a damn monkey?”
"Silverman looked around at the rest of us. We were absolutely still, not wanting to shake any leaves or have the general turn his attention to us. “Yes, sir, General, but—”
"“But what?” Patton had a way of asking a question that made a soldier want to run.
Silverman took a deep breath. “But, sir, the infantry needs the phone lines, sir.”
"“Can’t you see those sons-of-bitching Germans over there?”
"“Yes, sir, General Patton.” Silverman looked into the distance in the direction of the enemy. “I can see them real clear from here, sir.”
"“Well, then?” Patton asked. “Don’t they make you nervous being up there, son?”
"“No, sir,” Silverman answered. “They don’t. But you do.”
"“Ha!” General Patton laughed as he walked briskly back to his jeep. “Hot damn, Signal Battalion!” he roared, slapping his driver on the back. “Got the bravest, craziest sons of bitches in the whole goddamned Army!”"
"Once we hooked up with the Third Army, we saw Patton almost daily as he came up to the front to check on his troops. He would stand holding on to the windshield as his driver sped over the rough terrain, dodging obstacles to get him where he needed to go. Occasionally he would stop and ask how we were doing or just talk to us, telling short stories from his war experiences or giving personalized instructions on how to do something relating to combat. He was a serious character, and he asked a lot from his men, but we could tell that he had a genuine affection for us at the front lines, and we appreciated it. His concern and willingness to put himself in harm’s way made it easier for us to accept the ever-increasing hardships of war."
" ... We slept on the ground, sometimes in tents but more often than not under the stars and flying artillery shells. I decided not to use my sleeping bag because I wanted to be able to run in case of imminent danger and felt a bit too vulnerable tied up in a sack on the ground.
"Whenever possible, we sought shelter in barns or abandoned houses or even under the truck—a practice not encouraged by Captain English—to catch a blink or two of shut-eye. But even on nights when we had five or six hours before we were to move out, it was difficult to sleep. The constant thunder of bombs, occasionally rattling the timbers of whatever housed us, didn’t create the optimal environment for relaxation."
"I was getting good at poker, at least good enough to win from these guys. It’s not as if I could go to the store and spend any money I won, but it was better that it be in my pocket than in theirs. Besides, winning a card game or two helped me feel like I was in control of some small part of my universe as the chaos roared all around."
"Averitt, Duthie, Silverman, Cardini, Sam Martin, and I were working in some trees one afternoon in an area outside Laval when a jeep screeched to a halt below. I noticed Tex and Chandler on the ground snap to attention and salute. An officer leaped from the vehicle and looked up in our direction. It was General Patton. He walked briskly to the base of Silverman’s tree.
"“Soldier!” he yelled up.
"“Uh, yes, sir,” Silverman answered, trying to salute but dropping a pair of pliers instead. The tool hit several branches, causing the general to step out of the way as it fell to earth. “Yes, sir, General,” Silverman nervously repeated.
"“Soldier, what the hell are you doing up there?”
"Silverman was hesitant. “Stringing phone line, sir.”
"“Don’t you know you’re a target up there in a tree like a damn monkey?”
"Silverman looked around at the rest of us. We were absolutely still, not wanting to shake any leaves or have the general turn his attention to us. “Yes, sir, General, but—”
"“But what?” Patton had a way of asking a question that made a soldier want to run.
Silverman took a deep breath. “But, sir, the infantry needs the phone lines, sir.”
"“Can’t you see those sons-of-bitching Germans over there?”
"“Yes, sir, General Patton.” Silverman looked into the distance in the direction of the enemy. “I can see them real clear from here, sir.”
"“Well, then?” Patton asked. “Don’t they make you nervous being up there, son?”
"“No, sir,” Silverman answered. “They don’t. But you do.”
"“Ha!” General Patton laughed as he walked briskly back to his jeep. “Hot damn, Signal Battalion!” he roared, slapping his driver on the back. “Got the bravest, craziest sons of bitches in the whole goddamned Army!”"
"Once we hooked up with the Third Army, we saw Patton almost daily as he came up to the front to check on his troops. He would stand holding on to the windshield as his driver sped over the rough terrain, dodging obstacles to get him where he needed to go. Occasionally he would stop and ask how we were doing or just talk to us, telling short stories from his war experiences or giving personalized instructions on how to do something relating to combat. He was a serious character, and he asked a lot from his men, but we could tell that he had a genuine affection for us at the front lines, and we appreciated it. His concern and willingness to put himself in harm’s way made it easier for us to accept the ever-increasing hardships of war."
" ... We slept on the ground, sometimes in tents but more often than not under the stars and flying artillery shells. I decided not to use my sleeping bag because I wanted to be able to run in case of imminent danger and felt a bit too vulnerable tied up in a sack on the ground.
"Whenever possible, we sought shelter in barns or abandoned houses or even under the truck—a practice not encouraged by Captain English—to catch a blink or two of shut-eye. But even on nights when we had five or six hours before we were to move out, it was difficult to sleep. The constant thunder of bombs, occasionally rattling the timbers of whatever housed us, didn’t create the optimal environment for relaxation."
................................................................................................
"I was getting good at poker, at least good enough to win from these guys. It’s not as if I could go to the store and spend any money I won, but it was better that it be in my pocket than in theirs. Besides, winning a card game or two helped me feel like I was in control of some small part of my universe as the chaos roared all around."
................................................................................................
They were looking forward to Paris, but were told they'd skirt and proceed East, instead.
"The morning was bright and beautiful, and the streets of Fontainebleau were lined with people welcoming us with cheers, hugs, and flags a-waving. A military band was playing some French music, but it still sounded good. Most of the soldiers were riding on the tops and the hoods of vehicles as Tex and the other drivers blasted their horns and did their best to see around us. The tanks, trucks, and jeeps were being covered with flowers tossed by grateful citizens. Averitt, Chandler, Spotted Bear, Silverman, and I hopped from the truck and started walking beside it after we noticed girls in the crowd running into the street to hug and kiss the soldiers. In addition to the quick smooches, they handed us more flowers and bottles of wine."
"Many locals came up to offer us drinks and thank us. Most wanted to tell us what had happened in their town before we had arrived. They told stories of German atrocities that were quite disturbing—local men castrated in public for providing information to the French underground resistance, a woman beheaded for not cooperating with the Gestapo, a Nazi walking through town at sunset with a baby impaled on a bayonet, the Germans dragging the bodies of three American POWs through the streets behind a jeep. The stories went on and on. They would have been hard to believe had it not been for the passion in the townspeople’s voices and the tears in their eyes.
"They embraced us and kissed our hands. They were free again."
"We had the feeling that we had whipped the enemy and that the war would soon be over. But even as we moved deeper into France, I found that I was still haunted by images of what I’d seen in Normandy. I kept thinking of all the boys who had died there, of that one young fallen soldier I’d stopped to see, and of all the others I’d seen dead since then. I would often say a prayer for them and their families, and I would pray that God would keep me and all of my buddies safe."
Mail was important for everyone, privately and shared.
"The letters also brought us into each other’s lives in a more personal way. The birth of a new niece or nephew for one of the guys was greeted with congratulations and reminiscences of our own families. Word from a wife or girlfriend was envied. A joke or funny story was read aloud, shared with the group so that all could, for that one moment, feel connected to something other than the misery surrounding us. In a very real way, good news for one was good news for all. Still, not everything was for public consumption, and it was not uncommon to see a guy wiping a hidden tear as he read or reread a cherished letter from home."
"Despite a prohibition on the disclosure of our whereabouts, I decided to encode a message to Uncle Paul back home. At the end of a rather mundane letter, I said, “Tell all the cousins I said hello, especially Cousin Frances.” After a few weeks, I received an answer from him in which he wrote, “I don’t know who you’re talking about because we don’t have a cousin named Frances.”
They were looking forward to Paris, but were told they'd skirt and proceed East, instead.
"The morning was bright and beautiful, and the streets of Fontainebleau were lined with people welcoming us with cheers, hugs, and flags a-waving. A military band was playing some French music, but it still sounded good. Most of the soldiers were riding on the tops and the hoods of vehicles as Tex and the other drivers blasted their horns and did their best to see around us. The tanks, trucks, and jeeps were being covered with flowers tossed by grateful citizens. Averitt, Chandler, Spotted Bear, Silverman, and I hopped from the truck and started walking beside it after we noticed girls in the crowd running into the street to hug and kiss the soldiers. In addition to the quick smooches, they handed us more flowers and bottles of wine."
"Many locals came up to offer us drinks and thank us. Most wanted to tell us what had happened in their town before we had arrived. They told stories of German atrocities that were quite disturbing—local men castrated in public for providing information to the French underground resistance, a woman beheaded for not cooperating with the Gestapo, a Nazi walking through town at sunset with a baby impaled on a bayonet, the Germans dragging the bodies of three American POWs through the streets behind a jeep. The stories went on and on. They would have been hard to believe had it not been for the passion in the townspeople’s voices and the tears in their eyes.
"They embraced us and kissed our hands. They were free again."
................................................................................................
"We had the feeling that we had whipped the enemy and that the war would soon be over. But even as we moved deeper into France, I found that I was still haunted by images of what I’d seen in Normandy. I kept thinking of all the boys who had died there, of that one young fallen soldier I’d stopped to see, and of all the others I’d seen dead since then. I would often say a prayer for them and their families, and I would pray that God would keep me and all of my buddies safe."
Mail was important for everyone, privately and shared.
"The letters also brought us into each other’s lives in a more personal way. The birth of a new niece or nephew for one of the guys was greeted with congratulations and reminiscences of our own families. Word from a wife or girlfriend was envied. A joke or funny story was read aloud, shared with the group so that all could, for that one moment, feel connected to something other than the misery surrounding us. In a very real way, good news for one was good news for all. Still, not everything was for public consumption, and it was not uncommon to see a guy wiping a hidden tear as he read or reread a cherished letter from home."
"Despite a prohibition on the disclosure of our whereabouts, I decided to encode a message to Uncle Paul back home. At the end of a rather mundane letter, I said, “Tell all the cousins I said hello, especially Cousin Frances.” After a few weeks, I received an answer from him in which he wrote, “I don’t know who you’re talking about because we don’t have a cousin named Frances.”
................................................................................................
They crashed into a WWI foxhole covered with branches and used recently by a German soldier, and carried away things left there, including some phosphorus granades; these soldiers were still boys, and began throwing them on the road as they were travelling on their truck.
"Duthie hurled two into the trees. They exploded one after the other. Not to be outdone, I quickly launched three high into the air. In fact, I launched them too high. They didn’t make it to the woods or the ravine but exploded in the road, sending up three spectacular orbs of shimmering light, smoke, and dirt.
"Before the haze could clear, a jeep sped around the hill in our direction. The jeep had stars on it. And General Patton in it. He flew through the dust, up to our truck, and then past us toward the front of the column.
"“You just about killed Patton,” Duthie said slowly.
"We packed the rest of the phosphorus grenades back in the case and sat quietly."
"We met more and more resistance as we moved closer to the city of Charmes. The Germans didn’t want to give up the town without a fight. Unfortunately for them, fighting was precisely what we had come here to do. After two days of unrestrained hell, the enemy retreated, and we moved in.
"Many civilians had been killed in the final conflict. The place was destroyed and smoldering, but at least it was ours. Allied tanks rolled through the cold, rainy town and blew up any possible enemy positions, while the infantry flushed out the remaining pockets of Nazis hiding here and there."
They met Bob Hope and Bing Crosby through Dinah Shore who knee Paul Averitt, after they attended a USO show, and were privately entertained with jokes for a while until they had to leave.
"We moved out the next morning, deeper into the forest and hills north of Charmes, where we set up a bivouac. The German Luftwaffe was surprisingly bold, flying freely over our position, uncontested yet not attacking us. Then again, we were pretty well hidden among the trees. By midafternoon artillery shells were coming in, striking dangerously close to our camp.
"“These things don’t sound right,” Cardini noted, referring to the distinctive whining noise the German bombs made when they were flying. About that time one exploded about three hundred yards from where we were sitting, sending dirt and rocks and tree parts high in the air.
"Huge artillery guns, hidden in the area, began firing back. Assuming the infantry didn’t know we were among them, Captain radioed HQ to get some clarification and instructions. The incoming shells, he was told, were being fired by the American artillery. And the outgoing shells were being fired by the Germans.
"“Pack up your shit,” Sarge said as he came running through the camp.
"We quickly and quietly moved out along the same path we had taken in until we came across a U.S. infantry patrol. “Where the hell are you guys coming from?” one of the soldiers asked. “Nothing but enemy in that direction.”
"We had somehow managed to set up camp behind enemy lines without getting killed. Of course, we didn’t know where we were, and, more important, the Germans didn’t know where we were. And though ignorance can at times be bliss, it was good to be back on our side of the war."
They crashed into a WWI foxhole covered with branches and used recently by a German soldier, and carried away things left there, including some phosphorus granades; these soldiers were still boys, and began throwing them on the road as they were travelling on their truck.
"Duthie hurled two into the trees. They exploded one after the other. Not to be outdone, I quickly launched three high into the air. In fact, I launched them too high. They didn’t make it to the woods or the ravine but exploded in the road, sending up three spectacular orbs of shimmering light, smoke, and dirt.
"Before the haze could clear, a jeep sped around the hill in our direction. The jeep had stars on it. And General Patton in it. He flew through the dust, up to our truck, and then past us toward the front of the column.
"“You just about killed Patton,” Duthie said slowly.
"We packed the rest of the phosphorus grenades back in the case and sat quietly."
................................................................................................
"We met more and more resistance as we moved closer to the city of Charmes. The Germans didn’t want to give up the town without a fight. Unfortunately for them, fighting was precisely what we had come here to do. After two days of unrestrained hell, the enemy retreated, and we moved in.
"Many civilians had been killed in the final conflict. The place was destroyed and smoldering, but at least it was ours. Allied tanks rolled through the cold, rainy town and blew up any possible enemy positions, while the infantry flushed out the remaining pockets of Nazis hiding here and there."
They met Bob Hope and Bing Crosby through Dinah Shore who knee Paul Averitt, after they attended a USO show, and were privately entertained with jokes for a while until they had to leave.
"We moved out the next morning, deeper into the forest and hills north of Charmes, where we set up a bivouac. The German Luftwaffe was surprisingly bold, flying freely over our position, uncontested yet not attacking us. Then again, we were pretty well hidden among the trees. By midafternoon artillery shells were coming in, striking dangerously close to our camp.
"“These things don’t sound right,” Cardini noted, referring to the distinctive whining noise the German bombs made when they were flying. About that time one exploded about three hundred yards from where we were sitting, sending dirt and rocks and tree parts high in the air.
"Huge artillery guns, hidden in the area, began firing back. Assuming the infantry didn’t know we were among them, Captain radioed HQ to get some clarification and instructions. The incoming shells, he was told, were being fired by the American artillery. And the outgoing shells were being fired by the Germans.
"“Pack up your shit,” Sarge said as he came running through the camp.
"We quickly and quietly moved out along the same path we had taken in until we came across a U.S. infantry patrol. “Where the hell are you guys coming from?” one of the soldiers asked. “Nothing but enemy in that direction.”
"We had somehow managed to set up camp behind enemy lines without getting killed. Of course, we didn’t know where we were, and, more important, the Germans didn’t know where we were. And though ignorance can at times be bliss, it was good to be back on our side of the war."
................................................................................................
"Lunéville, France
"September 20, 1944"
"We pulled within ten miles of Lunéville, a pretty little town in the hill country of eastern France. The Germans had surrounded it and were putting up a vicious fight in order to hold it. But we had too much firepower and were more than willing to unleash it. The infantry blasted through the enemy fortifications and gave the Nazis two options—either get the hell out of town or get killed. The ones who escaped disappeared into the mountains to join other units. We would catch up with them later. In the meantime we had a great deal of work to do, stringing wire all the way from Charmes to here and wherever else the infantry might be—which was everywhere—throughout the region."
They had to deal with a sniper shooting at them from the church belfry and wondered why the artillery didn't take care of it before sending them into town.
"Later that day we set up house in a castle on a hill above the town, generously sharing the expansive grounds with the infantry, seventeen tanks, and most of the XV Corps, including General Haislip and his staff. The complex included servants’ quarters, a greenhouse, a stable, and even a small chapel. The main château had twenty or thirty rooms, the largest and ultimately the most popular of which had a fireplace. Large paintings and tapestries dominated the walls. Between them hung the trophied heads of deer and bears and a few animals I couldn’t name. The place had been hastily evacuated by the Nazis, who left behind such items as cooking utensils, field glasses, and a few dozen bottles of good cognac.
"Since the infantry and the tanks got there before us, we ended up sleeping in the garage."
"They began blasting at first light, knocking us from the best sleep we’d had in ages, shaking dust from the walls of our quarters, and creating a curious rattling sound overhead. I opened my eyes to see the morning’s blue sky above me. The mortars fired again at some target deep in the valley. The timbers shook, and the roof rattled.
"“Tell me that’s not glass up there,” I said to whoever cared to listen.
"“Yep,” replied Averitt, lying on his back a few feet away, staring up. “Yep, it is.”
"The pillow felt too good. I shut my eyes and covered my face with my arm.
"“Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauties of the 92nd Signal Battalion!” Sarge bellowed as he entered the garage. “Welcome back to the war!”"
Sergeant Carapella at switchboard told them the conversation he'd heard between Generals Ike and Patton.
"Sure enough, the place was swimming with generals within twenty-four hours. They met in the large room with the tapestries and the fireplace. I don’t know the nature of the meeting or what they decided. I only know it lasted about four hours, during which time the infantry was guarding the castle and the mortar was pounding away at anything that moved in the distance.
"When the meeting ended, Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, and Haislip walked out on the side where a few of us were standing around with some infantrymen. We dropped our cigarettes, snapped to attention, and saluted. The generals gave a quick salute back, hopped into their waiting vehicles, and sped away. It was hard not to be a bit starstruck.
"“You just saw some history walk by you,” Silverman effused.
"“I’m willing to bet this meeting was completely top secret,” Sarge said, picking up his cigarette from the ground and wiping it off.
"He was right. The meeting had been a secret—except for the ten thousand or so people Carapella had told.
"The generals’ cars were reaching the entrance of the village at the bottom of the hill when an incoming enemy shell struck the front lawn of the castle, digging a large crater and knocking a jeep and two trucks on their sides. We ran to take cover behind a retaining wall as another missile blew up one end of the stables. A third veered to the side of the château and exploded into the greenhouse with a tremendous crash, hurling lethal shards of glass high into the air and across the yard. It seemed like it took a minute or two for all the glass to fall to the ground, while we crouched closer to the wall and covered every vulnerable part of our bodies.
"Our mortars, along with several large artillery guns set up around the grounds, started firing at the enemy with a renewed vigor. Things slowed down after a few hours. But then the Germans started shelling us again. They were shooting from somewhere in the hills, but it was difficult to pinpoint their location. Sarge said they were probably moving their big guns around after each attack, hiding among the trees, waiting for their next opportunity to strike."
"When Hell Freezes Over
"Vosges Mountains, Northeastern France
"November 15, 1944"
"We moved out of Lunéville by mid-November, going north into the Vosges Mountains toward Saarebourg in pursuit of the ever-moving front lines. The weather was turning colder, and the artilleries on both sides were still blasting away day and night with earthshaking power."
They had to deal with a bunch of Germans shooting at them from behind bushes, who turned out to be teenagers, much younger than the eighteen that was draft age for U.S..
................................................................................................
"Ingwiller, France
"December 4, 1944"
"They were saying it was the worst winter Europe had seen in decades. Freezing winds blasted across open fields and howled angrily through the forest. Snow and ice covered the landscape and painted white the windward sides of trees, houses, trucks, and men. Though we were issued ponchos, heavy parkas, and wool socks, there was no true warmth to be had as we marched higher into the swirling snow of the mountains.
"At night we sought any form of shelter we could find—an abandoned farmhouse, a stable, a cave, or a shack. Even a hollow in the ground or a well-placed log could keep the wind and ice off our faces long enough for us to catch a bit of sleep.
"Sometimes the wind would abate and thick, heavy snowflakes would float down through the trees, carefully covering everything—and everyone—on the ground. In the rarest of times, when the shelling stopped for a minute or two, you could hear the frozen crystals softly landing on each other, piling higher and higher. The branches of the giant firs and pines, heavy laden and bending down, occasionally dropped big clumps of snow onto the earth below. If it weren’t for the bitter cold and the terror of war, it would have been a beautiful scene.
"But moments like these never lasted long. Within seconds the bombing and the gunfire would start anew. We would wipe the ice from our hands, shake the snow from our tools, and get back to work. The wind would howl again, sending snowflakes sideways, stinging our faces and making it feel ten times colder than it probably was.
"The only time it wasn’t snowing was when it was raining. And the rain, which seemed colder than the snow, somehow melted it into slush during the day, then froze over again at night.
"The bitter cold, the treacherous roads, and the constant blizzards were making it difficult to get supplies up to the front lines. Guys were running out of everything, including the two most important tools for survival—food and ammunition. Mail got through one day, thanks to a courageous—perhaps crazy—lieutenant who used a precious tank of gas driving his jeep through the snow to bring us greetings from home. In some ways the letters were more appreciated than a hot dinner."
"Lunéville, France
"September 20, 1944"
"We pulled within ten miles of Lunéville, a pretty little town in the hill country of eastern France. The Germans had surrounded it and were putting up a vicious fight in order to hold it. But we had too much firepower and were more than willing to unleash it. The infantry blasted through the enemy fortifications and gave the Nazis two options—either get the hell out of town or get killed. The ones who escaped disappeared into the mountains to join other units. We would catch up with them later. In the meantime we had a great deal of work to do, stringing wire all the way from Charmes to here and wherever else the infantry might be—which was everywhere—throughout the region."
They had to deal with a sniper shooting at them from the church belfry and wondered why the artillery didn't take care of it before sending them into town.
"Later that day we set up house in a castle on a hill above the town, generously sharing the expansive grounds with the infantry, seventeen tanks, and most of the XV Corps, including General Haislip and his staff. The complex included servants’ quarters, a greenhouse, a stable, and even a small chapel. The main château had twenty or thirty rooms, the largest and ultimately the most popular of which had a fireplace. Large paintings and tapestries dominated the walls. Between them hung the trophied heads of deer and bears and a few animals I couldn’t name. The place had been hastily evacuated by the Nazis, who left behind such items as cooking utensils, field glasses, and a few dozen bottles of good cognac.
"Since the infantry and the tanks got there before us, we ended up sleeping in the garage."
"They began blasting at first light, knocking us from the best sleep we’d had in ages, shaking dust from the walls of our quarters, and creating a curious rattling sound overhead. I opened my eyes to see the morning’s blue sky above me. The mortars fired again at some target deep in the valley. The timbers shook, and the roof rattled.
"“Tell me that’s not glass up there,” I said to whoever cared to listen.
"“Yep,” replied Averitt, lying on his back a few feet away, staring up. “Yep, it is.”
"The pillow felt too good. I shut my eyes and covered my face with my arm.
"“Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauties of the 92nd Signal Battalion!” Sarge bellowed as he entered the garage. “Welcome back to the war!”"
Sergeant Carapella at switchboard told them the conversation he'd heard between Generals Ike and Patton.
"Sure enough, the place was swimming with generals within twenty-four hours. They met in the large room with the tapestries and the fireplace. I don’t know the nature of the meeting or what they decided. I only know it lasted about four hours, during which time the infantry was guarding the castle and the mortar was pounding away at anything that moved in the distance.
"When the meeting ended, Eisenhower, Patton, Bradley, and Haislip walked out on the side where a few of us were standing around with some infantrymen. We dropped our cigarettes, snapped to attention, and saluted. The generals gave a quick salute back, hopped into their waiting vehicles, and sped away. It was hard not to be a bit starstruck.
"“You just saw some history walk by you,” Silverman effused.
"“I’m willing to bet this meeting was completely top secret,” Sarge said, picking up his cigarette from the ground and wiping it off.
"He was right. The meeting had been a secret—except for the ten thousand or so people Carapella had told.
"The generals’ cars were reaching the entrance of the village at the bottom of the hill when an incoming enemy shell struck the front lawn of the castle, digging a large crater and knocking a jeep and two trucks on their sides. We ran to take cover behind a retaining wall as another missile blew up one end of the stables. A third veered to the side of the château and exploded into the greenhouse with a tremendous crash, hurling lethal shards of glass high into the air and across the yard. It seemed like it took a minute or two for all the glass to fall to the ground, while we crouched closer to the wall and covered every vulnerable part of our bodies.
"Our mortars, along with several large artillery guns set up around the grounds, started firing at the enemy with a renewed vigor. Things slowed down after a few hours. But then the Germans started shelling us again. They were shooting from somewhere in the hills, but it was difficult to pinpoint their location. Sarge said they were probably moving their big guns around after each attack, hiding among the trees, waiting for their next opportunity to strike."
................................................................................................
................................................................................................
"When Hell Freezes Over
"Vosges Mountains, Northeastern France
"November 15, 1944"
"We moved out of Lunéville by mid-November, going north into the Vosges Mountains toward Saarebourg in pursuit of the ever-moving front lines. The weather was turning colder, and the artilleries on both sides were still blasting away day and night with earthshaking power."
They had to deal with a bunch of Germans shooting at them from behind bushes, who turned out to be teenagers, much younger than the eighteen that was draft age for U.S..
................................................................................................
"Ingwiller, France
"December 4, 1944"
"They were saying it was the worst winter Europe had seen in decades. Freezing winds blasted across open fields and howled angrily through the forest. Snow and ice covered the landscape and painted white the windward sides of trees, houses, trucks, and men. Though we were issued ponchos, heavy parkas, and wool socks, there was no true warmth to be had as we marched higher into the swirling snow of the mountains.
"At night we sought any form of shelter we could find—an abandoned farmhouse, a stable, a cave, or a shack. Even a hollow in the ground or a well-placed log could keep the wind and ice off our faces long enough for us to catch a bit of sleep.
"Sometimes the wind would abate and thick, heavy snowflakes would float down through the trees, carefully covering everything—and everyone—on the ground. In the rarest of times, when the shelling stopped for a minute or two, you could hear the frozen crystals softly landing on each other, piling higher and higher. The branches of the giant firs and pines, heavy laden and bending down, occasionally dropped big clumps of snow onto the earth below. If it weren’t for the bitter cold and the terror of war, it would have been a beautiful scene.
"But moments like these never lasted long. Within seconds the bombing and the gunfire would start anew. We would wipe the ice from our hands, shake the snow from our tools, and get back to work. The wind would howl again, sending snowflakes sideways, stinging our faces and making it feel ten times colder than it probably was.
"The only time it wasn’t snowing was when it was raining. And the rain, which seemed colder than the snow, somehow melted it into slush during the day, then froze over again at night.
"The bitter cold, the treacherous roads, and the constant blizzards were making it difficult to get supplies up to the front lines. Guys were running out of everything, including the two most important tools for survival—food and ammunition. Mail got through one day, thanks to a courageous—perhaps crazy—lieutenant who used a precious tank of gas driving his jeep through the snow to bring us greetings from home. In some ways the letters were more appreciated than a hot dinner."
................................................................................................
................................................................................................
"The Battle of the Bulge
"Near the German Border
"December 15, 1944
"In the second week of December, the Germans launched a massive counteroffensive, flooding into an area from northeastern France to Luxembourg to Belgium, forming something of a protuberance, or westward bulge, in the Allied defenses. The war had been hard fought but successful up until this point. Now it was taking an ominous turn, as the crippling weather conspired with the desperate Nazis in an all-out attempt to break the backs of the advancing Allied forces. The Germans had been saving up for this move, gradually retreating while marshaling everything they had for one powerful and daring blast into the heart of our invasion."
"Captain English told us we were all considered infantry from this point on and that everything else could wait. Sarge came around and issued us extra battle gear, including more cold-weather clothing, extra ammunition, morphine shots, and hand grenades."
They protested saying they'd known soldiers dying because they were wearing grenades when shot, but Sarge insisted, saying they'd need them.
"We were heading north with loaded packs on our backs and hand grenades on our belts, walking beside the trucks, forming a line on either side of the road, as the sleet, snow, and bitter cold pounded us. Every few minutes we would feel the concussion of a blast or hear machine-gun fire and jump facefirst into the freezing slush of ice and mud beneath our boots.
"I was wearing insulated boots, wool socks, two pairs of long johns, a wool lining in my helmet, and gloves, and I had a T-shirt wrapped around my face. Despite it all I was still freezing as I struggled along, my bones aching, my hands stiff, my eyes numb. There was no sun or sky, just swirling snow, solid ice, air too cold to breathe, and bombs. Lots of bombs.
"On December 17, we came across an infantry unit returning from a battle up ahead. They walked slowly and quietly between us. They were bandaged, bleeding, and broken. Some of our guys were bold enough to ask obvious things, like, “How you guys doing?” They would mostly just shake their heads and look down. “Fucking krauts,” one mumbled.
"They weren’t as well outfitted as we for the cold weather. Some had regulation boots, basic-issue coats, and no gloves. Equipment had been lost or destroyed during combat, and fresh supplies, including heavy winter gear, had never reached their positions. How they hadn’t frozen to death, I couldn’t figure.
"One young soldier was walking slowly past me, shivering, hugging himself to keep warm. “Hey, buddy,” I said.
"“Yeah,” he answered, stopping reluctantly.
"“Here,” I said. I took the wool lining from my helmet and gave it to him. He looked at me almost disbelievingly but then reached out his stiff, cracked hand and took it.
"“Thanks, buddy,” he said, looking down at the lining, holding it over his hands to get them warm. “Thanks.”
"Duthie took off his helmet and did the same for another infantryman. Chicago, Silverman, Chandler, Averitt, Spotted Bear, on down the line—even Sarge did the same. “That feels good,” my new friend said, still holding the cloth over his hands.
"“Here,” I said, looking up in Sarge’s direction before pulling two hand grenades from my belt and strapping them to his.
"His eyes widened. “Don’t you need those?” he asked.
"“Nah,” I answered. “You take ’em. You want ’em?”
"“Sure, but—”
"“You take ’em then.” I saw Sarge watching me, but he didn’t say anything.
"“Thanks, buddy,” the young infantryman said, now putting the lining in his helmet and tightening the grenades onto his belt.
"“Let’s keep moving, men, and let these soldiers get to their camp,” Sarge said.
"Rumors started floating around that Germans had infiltrated American lines and were posing as GIs, dressing like us and talking like us and then, when they had the chance, giving away our positions or simply killing us. We didn’t know if it were true or just somebody’s fears run amok, but it seemed reasonable to be extra cautious. Captain told us that use of the code words was of paramount importance.
"As we moved farther along into the combat zone, we saw the bodies of American soldiers covered with ice, their frozen blood spilled onto the snow. Some had huddled together in a futile attempt to keep from dying in the cold. Others looked peacefully asleep as living soldiers, unable to dig foxholes into the hardened earth, used their bodies for cover from which to fire at the enemy. Here, in the bulge, it was simple—kill or be killed.
"Enemy tanks, artillery, and soldiers were everywhere, pouring into the region, arrogantly overrunning ground that, only a few days earlier, had been ours. The bulge was becoming a hemorrhage, and thousands of Americans were being slaughtered in the process.
"The images of the frozen bodies on the battlefield—and the fear that I could be next—would not leave me. Not since Normandy had I felt so afraid and alone. “Hey,” I said as I huddled against the wall of an icy trench with the rest of the guys on a bleak and bitter snowy night, all of us struggling to get maybe one minute of sleep. “Hey,” I repeated.
"“Yeah, what?” Averitt answered.
"“You know that phrase ‘When hell freezes over’?”
"“Yeah. What about it?”
"“Well,” I said. “It did. And we’re in it.”"
................................................................................................
"The Battle of the Bulge
"Near the German Border
"December 15, 1944
"In the second week of December, the Germans launched a massive counteroffensive, flooding into an area from northeastern France to Luxembourg to Belgium, forming something of a protuberance, or westward bulge, in the Allied defenses. The war had been hard fought but successful up until this point. Now it was taking an ominous turn, as the crippling weather conspired with the desperate Nazis in an all-out attempt to break the backs of the advancing Allied forces. The Germans had been saving up for this move, gradually retreating while marshaling everything they had for one powerful and daring blast into the heart of our invasion."
"Captain English told us we were all considered infantry from this point on and that everything else could wait. Sarge came around and issued us extra battle gear, including more cold-weather clothing, extra ammunition, morphine shots, and hand grenades."
They protested saying they'd known soldiers dying because they were wearing grenades when shot, but Sarge insisted, saying they'd need them.
"We were heading north with loaded packs on our backs and hand grenades on our belts, walking beside the trucks, forming a line on either side of the road, as the sleet, snow, and bitter cold pounded us. Every few minutes we would feel the concussion of a blast or hear machine-gun fire and jump facefirst into the freezing slush of ice and mud beneath our boots.
"I was wearing insulated boots, wool socks, two pairs of long johns, a wool lining in my helmet, and gloves, and I had a T-shirt wrapped around my face. Despite it all I was still freezing as I struggled along, my bones aching, my hands stiff, my eyes numb. There was no sun or sky, just swirling snow, solid ice, air too cold to breathe, and bombs. Lots of bombs.
"On December 17, we came across an infantry unit returning from a battle up ahead. They walked slowly and quietly between us. They were bandaged, bleeding, and broken. Some of our guys were bold enough to ask obvious things, like, “How you guys doing?” They would mostly just shake their heads and look down. “Fucking krauts,” one mumbled.
"They weren’t as well outfitted as we for the cold weather. Some had regulation boots, basic-issue coats, and no gloves. Equipment had been lost or destroyed during combat, and fresh supplies, including heavy winter gear, had never reached their positions. How they hadn’t frozen to death, I couldn’t figure.
"One young soldier was walking slowly past me, shivering, hugging himself to keep warm. “Hey, buddy,” I said.
"“Yeah,” he answered, stopping reluctantly.
"“Here,” I said. I took the wool lining from my helmet and gave it to him. He looked at me almost disbelievingly but then reached out his stiff, cracked hand and took it.
"“Thanks, buddy,” he said, looking down at the lining, holding it over his hands to get them warm. “Thanks.”
"Duthie took off his helmet and did the same for another infantryman. Chicago, Silverman, Chandler, Averitt, Spotted Bear, on down the line—even Sarge did the same. “That feels good,” my new friend said, still holding the cloth over his hands.
"“Here,” I said, looking up in Sarge’s direction before pulling two hand grenades from my belt and strapping them to his.
"His eyes widened. “Don’t you need those?” he asked.
"“Nah,” I answered. “You take ’em. You want ’em?”
"“Sure, but—”
"“You take ’em then.” I saw Sarge watching me, but he didn’t say anything.
"“Thanks, buddy,” the young infantryman said, now putting the lining in his helmet and tightening the grenades onto his belt.
"“Let’s keep moving, men, and let these soldiers get to their camp,” Sarge said.
"Rumors started floating around that Germans had infiltrated American lines and were posing as GIs, dressing like us and talking like us and then, when they had the chance, giving away our positions or simply killing us. We didn’t know if it were true or just somebody’s fears run amok, but it seemed reasonable to be extra cautious. Captain told us that use of the code words was of paramount importance.
"As we moved farther along into the combat zone, we saw the bodies of American soldiers covered with ice, their frozen blood spilled onto the snow. Some had huddled together in a futile attempt to keep from dying in the cold. Others looked peacefully asleep as living soldiers, unable to dig foxholes into the hardened earth, used their bodies for cover from which to fire at the enemy. Here, in the bulge, it was simple—kill or be killed.
"Enemy tanks, artillery, and soldiers were everywhere, pouring into the region, arrogantly overrunning ground that, only a few days earlier, had been ours. The bulge was becoming a hemorrhage, and thousands of Americans were being slaughtered in the process.
"The images of the frozen bodies on the battlefield—and the fear that I could be next—would not leave me. Not since Normandy had I felt so afraid and alone. “Hey,” I said as I huddled against the wall of an icy trench with the rest of the guys on a bleak and bitter snowy night, all of us struggling to get maybe one minute of sleep. “Hey,” I repeated.
"“Yeah, what?” Averitt answered.
"“You know that phrase ‘When hell freezes over’?”
"“Yeah. What about it?”
"“Well,” I said. “It did. And we’re in it.”"
................................................................................................
"Captain English received orders that we were to move northwest through the mountains toward Luxembourg. We were walking up a winding, narrow mountain path, following the convoy of trucks through a blizzard when one of the lookouts waved us to a stop. Sarge had us come up alongside the trucks and hunker down. A German Panther unit seemed to be tracking us from a distant ridge, the big guns of the tanks moving in our direction.
"Suddenly, from somewhere below us, American artillery guns began firing, not at us and not at the Panthers but at some unseen target. The German tanks slowly turned their cannons and fired into the steep valley. The Americans returned fire to the now revealed enemy. In an instant, cannons and mortars were shooting from all parts of the mountains to all other parts. Snow was shaking off the trees as the earth quaked beneath. The trucks started up with a rumble, and we took off running as fast as we could. The adrenaline rush was tremendous. Everybody flew past the trucks, and some of the trucks even passed each other. We slowed down only after we had rounded enough turns so that the explosions seemed muffled and distant."
"We had heard that American soldiers in Bastogne were completely surrounded by the enemy and had run out of food and ammunition. Carapella told us that the German commander had sent a courier into the town with a letter demanding the Americans surrender. The American general in charge sent back a response consisting of one word: “Nuts.”
"In defiance of the horrific conditions and unrelenting weather, Patton was moving north to liberate the besieged city. Determined to use every weapon at his disposal, he summoned a chaplain and ordered him to write a prayer to ask God to give us a break in the weather. The padre wrote the prayer, Patton read it, and the clouds parted.
"The clearing skies were soon streaked by Allied fighters, bombers, and supply aircraft as tanks, artillery, and ordnance began rumbling overland toward the battlefields. The battle for the bulge was still raging, but I had seen neither the sun nor the blue of sky in months, and I felt like something big was in the making. It was as if an oppressive evil had descended over us, shrouding us with snow and ice and fog and rain, killing us and handing victory to our enemies. And now God had intervened, opening up the sky and giving us another chance to win."
"Captain English received orders that we were to move northwest through the mountains toward Luxembourg. We were walking up a winding, narrow mountain path, following the convoy of trucks through a blizzard when one of the lookouts waved us to a stop. Sarge had us come up alongside the trucks and hunker down. A German Panther unit seemed to be tracking us from a distant ridge, the big guns of the tanks moving in our direction.
"Suddenly, from somewhere below us, American artillery guns began firing, not at us and not at the Panthers but at some unseen target. The German tanks slowly turned their cannons and fired into the steep valley. The Americans returned fire to the now revealed enemy. In an instant, cannons and mortars were shooting from all parts of the mountains to all other parts. Snow was shaking off the trees as the earth quaked beneath. The trucks started up with a rumble, and we took off running as fast as we could. The adrenaline rush was tremendous. Everybody flew past the trucks, and some of the trucks even passed each other. We slowed down only after we had rounded enough turns so that the explosions seemed muffled and distant."
"We had heard that American soldiers in Bastogne were completely surrounded by the enemy and had run out of food and ammunition. Carapella told us that the German commander had sent a courier into the town with a letter demanding the Americans surrender. The American general in charge sent back a response consisting of one word: “Nuts.”
"In defiance of the horrific conditions and unrelenting weather, Patton was moving north to liberate the besieged city. Determined to use every weapon at his disposal, he summoned a chaplain and ordered him to write a prayer to ask God to give us a break in the weather. The padre wrote the prayer, Patton read it, and the clouds parted.
"The clearing skies were soon streaked by Allied fighters, bombers, and supply aircraft as tanks, artillery, and ordnance began rumbling overland toward the battlefields. The battle for the bulge was still raging, but I had seen neither the sun nor the blue of sky in months, and I felt like something big was in the making. It was as if an oppressive evil had descended over us, shrouding us with snow and ice and fog and rain, killing us and handing victory to our enemies. And now God had intervened, opening up the sky and giving us another chance to win."
................................................................................................
"Monique
"Fénétrange, Alsace-Lorraine
"Christmas Eve, 1944
"The sunshine didn’t last long, but it was enough for the Allies to get reinforcements to the front lines and give our boys a fighting chance. General Haislip sent orders for us to move south to help fill in the gap left by Patton’s advancing infantry. In addition, we were happily reassigned back to our original duties of being a signal battalion."
They took refuge in some abandoned WWI French barracks in not too good shape, using blankets to cover holes and gaps.
"A couple of the mess sergeants had come up from Lunéville with a truckload of hot food so that we could have a Christmas dinner. A few of the guys from Company B helped them serve up turkeys, dressing, potatoes, gravy, beans, and lots of milk. And schnapps. We ate and drank until we couldn’t eat or drink anymore. I didn’t really like the schnapps too much, but I, like most of the guys, drank it like it was water. It was Christmas Eve, and we were far away from the homes we had known so long ago."
"I was very sleepy, but I stayed awake for a little while and listened to the sounds of that night. It was Christmas Eve. And there was no peace on earth."
Lot of them were subsequently taken ill, but not Joe Sacco, the protagonist.
"We heard that French troops were soon to arrive in the area, so we gladly offered them the barracks and went into town to look for lodging with the locals. It didn’t take long to find a family willing to let a few of us set up residence in their cow barn, which turned out to be much warmer and more solidly constructed than our previous quarters."
Auguste Renard and his wife were happy to have them, and the team discovered that Chandler had a grandmother who was from Heidelberg - he was happily chatting away with them in German!
" ... Sarge told us that we had a lot of work to do here and that we didn’t need to worry about the rest of the war. “If General Eisenhower has an important conversation with anybody or makes any major decisions,” he said, “I’m sure Carapella will let you know all about it.”"
Madame Renard was calling on them to help with a breech calving, and Joe being a farm boy, was chief helper; calf finally being born, he was sick, sitting at a distance outside. Monique came over to him to help.
Here on quoting is made impossible.
In short, she was very beautiful, they fell in love, took walks together until the battalion had to leave, and He took a chance while putting up cable to make Carapella connect him, to tell her he loved her. So did she, and they planned on him bringing her to Alabama.
................................................................................................
"Monique
"Fénétrange, Alsace-Lorraine
"Christmas Eve, 1944
"The sunshine didn’t last long, but it was enough for the Allies to get reinforcements to the front lines and give our boys a fighting chance. General Haislip sent orders for us to move south to help fill in the gap left by Patton’s advancing infantry. In addition, we were happily reassigned back to our original duties of being a signal battalion."
They took refuge in some abandoned WWI French barracks in not too good shape, using blankets to cover holes and gaps.
"A couple of the mess sergeants had come up from Lunéville with a truckload of hot food so that we could have a Christmas dinner. A few of the guys from Company B helped them serve up turkeys, dressing, potatoes, gravy, beans, and lots of milk. And schnapps. We ate and drank until we couldn’t eat or drink anymore. I didn’t really like the schnapps too much, but I, like most of the guys, drank it like it was water. It was Christmas Eve, and we were far away from the homes we had known so long ago."
"I was very sleepy, but I stayed awake for a little while and listened to the sounds of that night. It was Christmas Eve. And there was no peace on earth."
Lot of them were subsequently taken ill, but not Joe Sacco, the protagonist.
"We heard that French troops were soon to arrive in the area, so we gladly offered them the barracks and went into town to look for lodging with the locals. It didn’t take long to find a family willing to let a few of us set up residence in their cow barn, which turned out to be much warmer and more solidly constructed than our previous quarters."
Auguste Renard and his wife were happy to have them, and the team discovered that Chandler had a grandmother who was from Heidelberg - he was happily chatting away with them in German!
" ... Sarge told us that we had a lot of work to do here and that we didn’t need to worry about the rest of the war. “If General Eisenhower has an important conversation with anybody or makes any major decisions,” he said, “I’m sure Carapella will let you know all about it.”"
Madame Renard was calling on them to help with a breech calving, and Joe being a farm boy, was chief helper; calf finally being born, he was sick, sitting at a distance outside. Monique came over to him to help.
Here on quoting is made impossible.
In short, she was very beautiful, they fell in love, took walks together until the battalion had to leave, and He took a chance while putting up cable to make Carapella connect him, to tell her he loved her. So did she, and they planned on him bringing her to Alabama.
................................................................................................
................................................................................................
Here on begins the stronger sense of familiarity if one has read
The Fighting 30th Division: They Called Them Roosevelt's SS; by Martin King, Michael Collins, David Hilborn.
With the story of their coming across and carrying off crates of champagne, but much more so with the street battle in Worms involving a panzer and a Sherman. Here, it's suddenly personal, since Chandler is mortally wounded. One wonders if Chandler was a composite character that the author said he used or a precise real one, but either way, it's a guy from this team. So the horror is that much more personal, despite his lack of background except that he was a convict who chose to enlist.
The Fighting 30th Division: They Called Them Roosevelt's SS; by Martin King, Michael Collins, David Hilborn.
With the story of their coming across and carrying off crates of champagne, but much more so with the street battle in Worms involving a panzer and a Sherman. Here, it's suddenly personal, since Chandler is mortally wounded. One wonders if Chandler was a composite character that the author said he used or a precise real one, but either way, it's a guy from this team. So the horror is that much more personal, despite his lack of background except that he was a convict who chose to enlist.
................................................................................................
At Aschaffenburg, a small town, they met unexpected resistance, with not just German forces but citizens too fighting, using pitchforks and knives and fire, rocks, bottles, furniture and homemade bombs. General Haislip ordered a retreat and had tanks with loudspeakers go through town, informing the citizens to surrender or evacuate, pending action by U.S. forces; the town then was pounded by artillery. Sacco and co watched from artillery site until the captain in charge of gunmen asked them what they were up to and informed them they could be killed if there was a dud; then they ran.
Joe and co were happy to feed the German children, since they were innocent victims, often orphaned, and hungry; the guys shared not only chocolates but rations too, despite being told not to - the bosses were wary about shortfall for military - and chocolates had been provided for the men for quick energy in field in case of necessity.
At Bad Brückenau, they came across a site that seemed spooky - looked like town full of old men with hairstyle and moustache copied from their leader, marching with rifles. Then in another town they found two soldiers, twelve year olds with rifles, one dead, another hiding in bushes who ran away. They didn't stop him.
Silverman asked Joe if he'd noticed that they'd seen many soldiers dying, and every one of them called for their mama, in whatever language - not the leaders.
They got tired of being pleasant to Germans who responded only with scowl or dirty looks, and decided to stop smiling at them. At Bamberg they encountered a heavily made up German woman who informed them they wouldn't win the next war. As one of them turned to look st her after she walked through, she was nowhere to be seen.
April 18, 1945
At Erlangen, home to a number of German military hospitals, they'd planned to take hospital patients prisoners, assuming they'ld receive better care thereby.
"Unfortunately, the Nazi SS troops decided to fight to the death."
They did just that, until allied planes arrived and bombed them thoroughly. They went through Nuremberg, a site of complete and total devastation, on their way to Munich. Walking by a field towards Munich, they were encountered by an attack from Germans hiding in trees, with one of the team hitting a landmine and Silverman being shot through chest with several bullets. He died, and Joe mailed his letter and jewellery he'd designed for his fiancee, to her.
Beyond Danube, not blue at all, German soldiers were surrendering en masse.
Then they were ordered, April 28th, to take Dachau, disturbing nothing. They arrived next day at the concentration camp.
................................................................................................
They had never expected the shock of what they saw, dead everywhere they looked, of all ages, emaciated from starvation and murdered finally, even used as target practice; and then they saw the railway cars filled with dead.
They were angry, shocked, crying, retching.
Even after verything they'd seen and encountered after Normandy, this was beyond any he'll they could comprehend.
Averitt shot several rolls and gave a couple for Joe, who had his camera, to shoot. It would be of historical importance, he said.
Crematorium was going on, even as they encountered the S.S. who had stayed on to fight to the end and finish off more inmates of the camp in the process. They were defiant and abusive when captured by U.S. infantry, and killed by the enraged troops, some by the inmates who'd demanded they be handed over.
Then they discovered the medical experiments area. The author gives explicit descriptions.
They ran out and retched.
U.S. forces evacuated the hospital meant only for nazis and admitted the camp inmates in their place, and arrested the German doctors who refused to treat Jews.
They met Russians in Salzburg. They saw an old man on sidewalk being knocked down by a Russian jeep, and not helped. They helped him, and revenge the next day by selling a U.S. military jeep for thirty thousand dollars cash, before reporting it stolen in next street to MP, who brought it back and handed it over.
At Aschaffenburg, a small town, they met unexpected resistance, with not just German forces but citizens too fighting, using pitchforks and knives and fire, rocks, bottles, furniture and homemade bombs. General Haislip ordered a retreat and had tanks with loudspeakers go through town, informing the citizens to surrender or evacuate, pending action by U.S. forces; the town then was pounded by artillery. Sacco and co watched from artillery site until the captain in charge of gunmen asked them what they were up to and informed them they could be killed if there was a dud; then they ran.
Joe and co were happy to feed the German children, since they were innocent victims, often orphaned, and hungry; the guys shared not only chocolates but rations too, despite being told not to - the bosses were wary about shortfall for military - and chocolates had been provided for the men for quick energy in field in case of necessity.
At Bad Brückenau, they came across a site that seemed spooky - looked like town full of old men with hairstyle and moustache copied from their leader, marching with rifles. Then in another town they found two soldiers, twelve year olds with rifles, one dead, another hiding in bushes who ran away. They didn't stop him.
Silverman asked Joe if he'd noticed that they'd seen many soldiers dying, and every one of them called for their mama, in whatever language - not the leaders.
They got tired of being pleasant to Germans who responded only with scowl or dirty looks, and decided to stop smiling at them. At Bamberg they encountered a heavily made up German woman who informed them they wouldn't win the next war. As one of them turned to look st her after she walked through, she was nowhere to be seen.
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April 18, 1945
At Erlangen, home to a number of German military hospitals, they'd planned to take hospital patients prisoners, assuming they'ld receive better care thereby.
"Unfortunately, the Nazi SS troops decided to fight to the death."
They did just that, until allied planes arrived and bombed them thoroughly. They went through Nuremberg, a site of complete and total devastation, on their way to Munich. Walking by a field towards Munich, they were encountered by an attack from Germans hiding in trees, with one of the team hitting a landmine and Silverman being shot through chest with several bullets. He died, and Joe mailed his letter and jewellery he'd designed for his fiancee, to her.
Beyond Danube, not blue at all, German soldiers were surrendering en masse.
Then they were ordered, April 28th, to take Dachau, disturbing nothing. They arrived next day at the concentration camp.
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They had never expected the shock of what they saw, dead everywhere they looked, of all ages, emaciated from starvation and murdered finally, even used as target practice; and then they saw the railway cars filled with dead.
They were angry, shocked, crying, retching.
Even after verything they'd seen and encountered after Normandy, this was beyond any he'll they could comprehend.
Averitt shot several rolls and gave a couple for Joe, who had his camera, to shoot. It would be of historical importance, he said.
Crematorium was going on, even as they encountered the S.S. who had stayed on to fight to the end and finish off more inmates of the camp in the process. They were defiant and abusive when captured by U.S. infantry, and killed by the enraged troops, some by the inmates who'd demanded they be handed over.
Then they discovered the medical experiments area. The author gives explicit descriptions.
They ran out and retched.
U.S. forces evacuated the hospital meant only for nazis and admitted the camp inmates in their place, and arrested the German doctors who refused to treat Jews.
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They met Russians in Salzburg. They saw an old man on sidewalk being knocked down by a Russian jeep, and not helped. They helped him, and revenge the next day by selling a U.S. military jeep for thirty thousand dollars cash, before reporting it stolen in next street to MP, who brought it back and handed it over.
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Joe was finally able to go to Fénétrange, communications had been suspended after the one call, but the house was empty. Madame Renard told him what had happened. Three German soldiers had assaulted her, raped and beat her, and villagers had found her. She'd lived only two days.
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Joe was finally able to go to Fénétrange, communications had been suspended after the one call, but the house was empty. Madame Renard told him what had happened. Three German soldiers had assaulted her, raped and beat her, and villagers had found her. She'd lived only two days.
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February 24, 2020 - April 07, 2020 - April 12, 2020.
February 24, 2020 - April 07, 2020 - April 12, 2020.
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-211199-9
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