Europe
When I reported to Fort Benning in 1942, the first sergeant asked, “What the hell are you doing here, son?” I told him I wanted to become an army officer, and he said, “Well, hang around, and we will see what happens.” Ninety days later after completing Officers’ Candidate School, at age 19 I departed Fort Benning with two gold bars on my uniform!
Off to Camp Croft, South Carolina - what a shock! Instead of learning tactics, weapons training, firing and combat maneuvers, I found myself herding some sixty or so young recruits trying to teach them how to march, make beds, clean latrines, assemble/dissemble weapons, load, aim and fire rifles, machine guns and mortars -- all of this with little previous training of my own. Had it not been for an extremely talented platoon sergeant who pushed me along, it would have been catastrophic. All the while, the company commander never once showed up at any training site or talked with the troops. Thank the powers that be for an old sergeant who did have considerable weapons’ experience. He laid the ground work for my future years as a platoon leader, company commander and battalion commander. One of my best memories of Camp Croft was of 1st Lieutenant Golden who quickly proved that I was not a very good boxer, and that my racquet ball game was not the best either!
Orders soon came for my assignment – to Africa and the 9th Infantry Division which was some hundred miles south of Oran. Thus, in 1943, I became the leader of First Platoon “E” Company, 2nd Battalion, 60th Infantry Regiment, 9th Infantry Division. Sergeant McRay was the platoon leader and had seen considerable combat duty with the 9th already. He had a very positive, soldierly attitude, was very combat knowledgeable and most considerate and caring of his men. The platoon’s and my respect for him was tremendous. The 9th had already seen combat in Africa, had been bloodied and was well acquainted with the hot, sandy days and warm nights. Sgt McRay gave me a rundown on the platoon and then took me to a sandy gully among the sand hills. I started up the side of one hill, but was immediately pulled back by the sergeant. He explained that just over the hill were two bodies, one GI and one German, both killed earlier that day in a fierce fight. Both bodies were probably booby-trapped to explode if disturbed. Welcome to Africa.
A small tent had been pitched for me – and that was my abode for several days and nights. News of an armored division crossing our front brought some excitement, and cross our front the tanks did, with huge clouds of sand and dust thrown about. It was quite an imposing show of strength. Two days later, we were told we were going north up the coast to Oran for rest and recuperation. We were also told we would march that distance, approximately 80 miles, in five nights. Too hot to move during the day, we trudged along the road at night with our rifles and canteens of water – each of us had two fastened to our belts. Soldiers would go to sleep while walking and would often fall into ditches with a wild clatter of rifles, helmets, canteens and other gear. During the day, we would seek such shelter as we could from the sun – there was little shade, and the tents were like ovens. After three nights of walking, we were loaded onto trucks and driven the rest of the way to Oran and its beautiful sandy beaches.
Showers, good food, ice cream, hair cuts and especially the massages by the local massage parlor gals made it like heaven – or so my soldiers told me. The up-scale massage parlors always had an elderly man and/or woman in attendance which probably reduced the venereal disease considerably. After ten days of just enjoying life at the sandy beach area, we were alerted to move via trucks toward a coastal town and the small seaport of Bizerte. Our division was attacking the town, and we were back-up forces. We stopped several miles from Bizerte in an area known as the Sedjeane Valley to search for any German forces. One of our battalions was given the mission of sweeping the area for any enemy. Two of my machine gunners were then attached to that battalion, and I went along to observe and learn tactics. No enemy forces were found, and our troops moved off the road to spend the night.
The next morning, another battalion was given the mission of searching the area again, and I went along to see my two gunners in action. Things went smoothly until mid-afternoon when all hell seemed to break loose. Bursts of enemy fire came from trees, bushes, ditches and all over the area. Our battalion was ill-prepared for the onslaught, and many men broke to run back down our hill. The ground was littered with their rifles. Then a voice called out – ‘rifleman needed over here’. I ran over to the call and found two majors and a lieutenant colonel huddled behind three huge rocks. German rifle fire and artillery was cracking over our heads. I scooped up a rifle and several bandoliers of ammo, grabbed a soldier by the arm and pulled him in the ditch with me thinking he would return fire toward the Germans. But all he did was huddle on the ground and cry! The German fire ceased, and all was quiet except for occasional artillery shells bursting over our heads. Gone were the colonel and the two majors, but not my frightened hole-mate still crying on the bottom of ‘our’ hole. It was now mid-afternoon, and things were quiet!!
Scanning the area, I saw a finger of land the same elevation as mine running off at about a twenty- degree angle. The ridgeline was about 150-200 yards off to the right, but I saw no movement until about four in the afternoon when I noticed a figure in an opening, facing our way. The person approached the opening in the line of bushes, paused, looked down into the valley-deep ravine and then jumped. Though my field glasses, I could see the figure was a German soldier. I aimed my rifle at the opening and spent a couple of hours aiming and firing at the figures jumping. This went on until darkness came. Even though I went through two bandoliers of rifle bullets, there was no return fire by the Germans. Darkness came, and with no light in the sky, the area all around was pitch black. Then from that darkness below, pitiful voices could be heard – “comrade” “helfe” “succor” – these continued to float up from below until the early morning light. The cries were no doubt from the wounded I hit. The thickness of the foliage and brush prevented my seeing any personnel or bodies, but the voices and sounds can still be remembered.
That night was spent dozing and listening for any noises in the brush, looking at the stars in the sky above and wondering what would happen next. Morning finally came and all was quiet. To my surprise, when I scurried down to where the officers had been, there was not a soul in sight. I shook my helpless young companion awake, and we headed down the hill (hopefully) toward our unit. We encountered an old sergeant bringing up three mules, some loaves of bread and cans of water. Weird, weird, weird. We quickly retraced our way down the hill to where our troops had spent the night – still in the same bivouac area. My company commander said little about my absence and experience as if it were commonplace.
We then boarded ships and were transported to Sicily where, early in the evening just as darkness was settling, we docked at the port of Palermo. The German air force then created the best fireworks display I have ever seen with their bombing and strafing of the anti-aircraft ground fire. Fires and explosions were all over the area. One ship that was on fire contributed greatly to the display when its ammunition started exploding with tremendous noise. Early the next morning, we debarked from our ship and marched to a wooded area outside the city to prepare for our combat mission – where ever that might be!
There were three regiments in the 9th Division: the 39th, 47th and my regiment, the 60th. Both the 39th and 47th suffered considerable casualties very early in Sicily. My 60th took casualties, but to a much lesser extent. Our mission was to move down the hilly spine of the mountains at night on foot as stealthily as possible and eventually attack the enemy with surprise. We were to rest by day under cover of trees and shrubs. The 1st Battalion was badly mauled immediately by a German surprise attack with a tremendous artillery barrage which caused many casualties – wounded and killed. The battalion was not combat ready again for weeks. My battalion, the 2nd, made our night moves quite well without any enemy contact, but the men did have many twisted ankles and scratches from tree branches. An occasional scream by a pack mule loaded with cans of water and ammo as it fell down the steep slope was always startling!
We eventually reach our destination – tents, good food, volley ball, soft ball and the Mediterranean Sea within a hundred yards. A couple of weeks later, we were alerted, boarded ships and were off to jolly, old England on the outskirts of Winchester – yes, the cathedral. We were put into a staging area in preparation for the invasion of France. Reorganization of our division was necessary due to the casualties suffered in Sicily. During this reorganization, I became the leader of the 60th’s intelligence and reconnaissance platoon. Why and how it came about, I never knew, but I will always believe that move saved my life. The 60th Infantry Regiment suffered hundreds of casualties in France and Germany. Coming ashore in France four days after D-day, we fought through that country plus Belgium and Germany and then on to Austria where I met the Russians much later in 1945.
