Our Father's Generation

by F. M. Worden

  I could see all kinds of equipment in the water…there were packs, mess kits, canteens, MI rifles and M4 tanks just under the water. I hoped the crews had made it out before they sank. Human body parts were floating and washing up on the shore. The beach was a mess of burned out tanks, halftracks and jeeps. Our infantrymen lay dead in every position you could imagine. I could see the steps being lowered on the side of the LSD. We started to move in a single line down to the beach. We had to wade the last ten yards or so in the water to get on to the beach. Our sergeant was yelling for us to double time up the beach to a path leading up to the top of the cliffs to our front. It was a steep climb.

  Our Sergeant Billy Joe kept pushing and yelling, “Get top, get top.” As soon as we reached the top, the Sergeant spread the platoon out and yelled, “We’ll take five. Smoke’em if you got’em.”

  I took off my pack and took a swig of water from my canteen. I was thirsty after the steep climb. A lot of the guys had slipped and fallen. I had gathered mud and sand on my wet shoes and leggings which made them weigh a ton. I managed to make the top without falling. Even in good shape, I was out of breath. The training in England was not that tough to prepare us for this, although we did a lot of PT while on our stay in England. Lots of push-ups, etc.

  After our five minute rest, we moved thru deep grass. There were dead German and American soldiers lying in the grass everywhere. I passed one, his head was gone, the body was twisted in a grotesque way. For a southwest want-to-be-cowhand, this was one place I didn’t want to be. I’ve many times seen and helped to butcher cattle and slaughter hogs, this was different to see human death. I had never seen this before. God all-mighty it was horrible. The smell of death and blood was in the air everywhere. Gunpowder has a smell of its own and the air reeked of it. The fighting was over just a day ago. It must have been damn tough; it was not a pleasant place to be.

  As we moved along, I saw graves registration men collecting dog tags. I pulled on my neck chain with mine to make sure it was still there. Now my neck hurt from this damn steel pot on my head. The mud had kept collecting on my leggings and shoes, making walking a little more difficult. I had to keep adjusting my rifle sling as it kept biting into my shoulder. My canteen bounced against my butt. This was a dog’s life; no wonder we’re called dog faces.

  In a half mile we reached a dirt road running parallel to the ocean. We were split into two columns on each side of the road. We moved in a southerly direction. I could see smoke in the distance. The sound of artillery was coming from that direction. I knew a battle must be ongoing.

  My buddy Hank was in front of me, our squad Sgt. in front of Hank. All of a sudden the sound of aircraft broke into my thoughts. The next thing I knew I was hugging the ground for all it’s worth. When I looked around everybody else was on the ground, too. Our Platoon Sergeant, Billy Joe, starting yelling for us to get back on the road. “They’re friendlies,” he hollered. Then he yelled, “Fall out, we’ll take a ten minute break here. Smoke-em if you got-em.”

  About this time, we were told our platoon leader Lieutenant Griffin had been killed. He had stepped on a mine. He was with the platoon runner looking for the Company CO. Sgt. Billy Joe was now our platoon leader.

  A jeep came down the road and stopped. An officer in the jeep talked with our Sergeant and then drove off. Our Sergeant told us to chow down. I got out my c-rations and opened a can of peaches. I drank the juice. It was so good I ate the peaches with my fingers. The sergeant came over and sat down with me and my buddy Hank. He asked for our cigarette packs. He knew we didn’t smoke. I tossed him my Camels from the c-rations.

  We were all watching and could hear the P47 fighter planes dropping their bombs and strafing their objectives. I asked the sergeant what was there. He said in the port of Cherbourg the Germans were holding out. “You boys may have to get in the fight. How about it? You ready?”

  “Hell yes,” Hank reported loud and clear. “I’m itching for some action.” Hank was the kind of guy who sharpens his bayonet all the time. He was from Macon, Georgia. He talked with a Southern drawl.

  “Bull shit, Hank, I ain’t ready to fight nobody,” I told the two of them. “When it comes to kill-en people, I can’t tell if I’m up to it. Hank, you were a real tough SOB in New York City when them two sailors wanted to fight.”

  Hank changed the subject, turned on me saying, “Al, what in the hell did you join the infantry for? That’s what we do. Kill people and shoot up things. In New York City, that was different.”

  The Sergeant asked, “What happened in New York?”

  I told him. “Ha-ha, two good looking girls walked pasted and old Hank called to em… ‘How’s about showing two lonely GI’s the city?’ The girls turned around and smiled. Before we could say another word, two sailors jumped in front of us. Hank said in a mean voice, ‘Shove off Swabs.’ The sailors turned on us, fists up ready to fight. ‘Come on ground pounders.’ Hank grabbed me and we walked away. Hank put his arm around my shoulder and said, ‘Who the hell wants to spend a pass in the stockade? There’s more fish in the sea.’ He was right there sure were.”

  “Yeah, Hank, you’re one tough SOB,” I repeated with a big laugh. We three had a big laugh.

  The Sergeant ordered us back on the road. Hank was walking in front of me. What a guy. Hank and I had been together a long time. We met the first day of basic training. He was my bunk buddy and we just fell in with each other. Ya gotta like the guy. He was full of it all the time. He attracted women like flies to honey. He got lots of letters from girls. He was real good looking, kind-da the Clark Gable type. Everywhere he went, girls seemed to be there. In Louisiana, New Jersey, New York City and England this guy was never without a girlfriend for very long. What a smoothie he was. He knew I wasn’t old enough to be in the army, but he never let on. He had just turned nineteen, I had turned seventeen the day we shipped out.

  At a turn in the road, I saw a sign that read {Valognes} and in the distance I could see houses, it must be a French village I surmised. Hank turned back to me and said, “Where’s all the French babes, I hear they’re good in bed. I’m ready to get laid.”

  Our Squad Leader, Buck Sgt. Tommy Smith, was in front of Hank. He yelled back at Hank, “If they ever open your head, all they’ll find is pussies.”

  “Hell yes,” Hank yelled back, “What else is there?”

  The roar of an aircraft engine got all our attention in a hurry and the rattle of machine gun fire drove us face down into the bar ditch alongside the road. When I looked up, I could see the bullets kicking up down the road. The German was right on top of us. When he passed over us, he wasn’t more than fifty feet off the ground. I could have spit on that sucker.

  I heard more aircraft engines. Standing up, I saw two P-47's coming in after this boy. Guns blazing, all three turned out over the Atlantic. Smoke poured from the German, the two American fighters had scored hits. All of a sudden, the German just blew up in a fire ball.

  Hank was up yelling, “Kill that son-of -a bitch, he’s trying to kill me.” I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. Then the laughing was over.

  The German fighter had hit some of our boys. Sgt. Tommy Smith was trying to stand up but his left foot was gone. He was a high school fullback. He was only twenty and made Buck Sgt. because he showed leadership. Jack Grimes had taken one in the back. He lay dead. Never knew what hit him. He had been a band member in high school, a drummer. I could see several more of our boys had been hit. I thought it was one hell of a way to die. They never got one shot at the enemy. Now I was ready for a fight, I wanted to kill. War will change a guy in a hurry. I never thought I’d feel this way, I was mad as hell.

  Hank and I tried to help Tommy off the road. I couldn’t say a word to him. We helped him into the ditch. He never said a word either, he was in complete shock. A medic came and started administering to him. He stopped the bleeding and gave him a shot of morphine. Platoon Sergeant Billy Jo had us move the dead guys off the road. We carried and
put them side by side across a ditch. Some villagers came out to help. Altogether we had five dead and six wounded. Two Medics showed up and took over for the rest of our wounded. I thought at least they’re out of the war for the time being.

  We went back on the road, sadder, but a hell of a lot wiser. We hadn’t gone very far when the officer in the jeep came back. He and our sergeant talked a few minutes. The sergeant ordered all of us to the left side of the road and put us in a patch of trees. “Take five, smoke-em if you got-en,” he yelled.

  Soon, the officer with another came back and got out of the jeep, they came to talk to us. One was a First Lieutenant, the other a Captain. I had never seen either of them before. The Captain told us he had two details for us. We were all going to join the Division fighting to take Cherbourg. He needed ten men for a detail to go take a French farmhouse where some Germans had holed up. He asked, “Anyone here speak German?”

  I watched. No one spoke up. I raised my hand. “Sir, I speak a little German.”

  The Captain asked, “Can you carry on a conversation in German?”

  “Yes, sir. My folks at home spoke a lot of the language. I picked up some.”

  He pointed to me and said, “You, get over here.”

  We were all privates except Billy Jo our platoon sergeant. He was an old career soldier. He said he had been in the Army over twenty years. He looked and acted like it, too. The captain picked nine more men. A buck sergeant came from the jeep and told us to follow him. I motioned for Hank to come on with us. The guy just shook his head, no. He always told me don’t volunteer for anything. Damn that Hank all to hell anyway, to be separated this way, I didn’t like it.

  The sergeant from the jeep took us back up the road a ways, a hundred yards or so and took us into some trees just off the road. He told us to sit down, “We may be here awhile.” This sergeant had on a tanker jacket, and a soft cap, he carried a Tommy gun. The sergeant looked to be about twenty-one. I took off my pack and laid down still cussing old Hank. I thought it was a damn shame to be separated this way. We stayed there for an hour. I looked at my watch, it was one p.m.

  A duce and a half pulled up and the First Lieutenant we had seen before got out of the cab and came over to talk to us. “Listen up you men. I’ve been put in charge of this detail and I want it to go smooth, I want it to go easy, I want to do a good job. Do you all understand?” We all shook our heads, yes. “Who’s the one who speaks German?”

  I raised my hand, “Here, sir.”

  “What’s your name Private?”

  “Al, Sir.”

  “Look, Al, I want to talk these men out of that house. We need to talk to them. You know, interrogate them.”

  “Yes, sir, I know what you mean.”

  He turned to the Sergeant and told him to move us out. The Sergeant ordered us to load on to the truck. He sat on the rear with the Thompson lying across his lap. The Lieutenant got in the cab. Most of the officers rode in the cab.

  There was a lot of traffic on the road and it took awhile for our truck to get turned around. We were traveling in a southwest direction. In about two miles, we turned left onto a dirt road. Dust poured over the back tailgate making our breathing hard and dusting our weapons. The sergeant hurried to the back of the cab and started banging on the back glass of the cab and yelled for the driver to slow down. “We’re suffocating back here you asshole, slow down.”

  We had gone a couple miles. I could see some farmhouses and fields along the way. Finally, we stopped and the order came to dismount. The Lieutenant and Sergeant led us into a thick patch of trees. Two soldiers met us there and informed the officer that all was quiet.

  “We ain’t seen no movement in the last two hours, Lieutenant,” a PFC reported.

  “Good. They must all still be in there.” The officer seemed happy about that. He gave orders, “Sergeant, take five men and watch the back of the house. You two,” he said to the two who had just joined us, “take that side.” He pointed to his left. “You men,” he pointed to three men, “Take the right side. Al and the rest of us will take the front. Remember no shooting unless you have to. You people got that?” All agreed we had. “In ten minutes we’ll start walking. Move out. Remember we need prisoners.” Everybody went their way.

  The Lieutenant took out a cigarette and lit up, took a deep breath and blew a large amount of smoke out. “God, I hope this goes good,” he said out loud. His hands were shaking a bit. We waited the ten minutes. We moved into position.

  He ordered me to call for them to come out. “Tell them they’re surrounded. Come out and no harm will come to them.”

  I called as loud as I could in my best German and repeated his orders. Not a sound came from the house. I called again and said, “It’s no use, we’re bringing up a tank, it will run right thru this house. All of you will die, if you don’t give up and come out.”

  The Lieutenant asked what I had said. He gave me holy hell for saying that about a tank. Before he finished giving me what for, a white flag appeared from the front door. I called again for them to throw out their arms and come on out.

  Slowly, the front door opened and a young woman came out followed by another young girl. An older woman and an older man came out; all had their hands in the air. This was the French farmer and his family, I guessed. The group came right to us. The young woman started pleading for us not to hurt the Germans as one was her husband. I told the Lieutenant what she said. “He’s the father of my baby. Please not to kill him.” I could see by her little round tummy she was pretty far along to being a mother.

  “How many Germans are in there?” The Lieutenant wanted me to ask the French farmer. I did in my best high school French, and asked the question. He told us there were four Germans in his house. I asked if he could get them to come out? “We don’t want to kill them, just ask some questions.” He turned on his heels and went back into the house. Soon he came back and the four Germans followed him out.

  Our Lieutenant was one happy officer about this turn of affairs. All our men surrounded them and disarmed them. We were all damn happy about the situation. Our guys were busy taking souvenirs off the Germans. The French wife ran to and was hugging a young blond guy for all of her might. Just about then, all this happiness came to an end.

  From out of nowhere, the whole lot of us were surrounded by French Partisans. There were about thirty men and five women. ALL HAD GUNS AND ALL THEIR GUNS WERE POINTED AT US. This was damn scary I’ll tell ya.

  The leader stepped forward and ordered all of us to throw down our guns. The sergeant started to swing the Tommy gun around, the leader shoved a pistol in the back of his head. He laid the gun down pronto.

  “These Germans are our prisoners now,” the leader said in no uncertain terms. I protested that we captured them and we needed them for interrogation. I kind of stammered in my French.

  The leader pushed his pistol in my chest and said, “These Germans are the men who killed ten young men in the village yesterday for no reason, now they are ours.”

  I protested again. “We captured them, they’re ours.”

  The leader wasn’t paying any attention to me at all. “This girl is a traitor to France. This entire family is traitors, we should kill them all.” He was steadfast and determined. I could see he meant business. All the French partisans began cheering. The four Germans and the wife were pushed and shoved off into the thick woods south of the farmhouse. We could hear the young wife was begging not to be killed. Two women and three French men went with them. Both women told her, she had made her bed. In just seconds, the gun fire of a machine pistol sealed the fate of the five people. There was nothing we could do.

  The Lieutenant reluctantly told all of us to go load on to the truck. He told me to get on the Jeep with him and the Sergeant. I hopped up on the side of the rear of the jeep with my feet hanging over the rear wheel with my M1 lying on my lap. We went out to the main road and turned south. We had traveled only a short distance when we met several trucks c
oming our way. Our jeep driver pulled over to the right side of the road.

  All I heard was a loud explosion. I was thrown head over heels into the air. I landed some distance from a blown apart jeep. I was lucky to be alive. I couldn’t hear a sound. My M1 was still in my hands. The explosion had taken my hearing. I couldn’t feel my legs and when I tried to stand, they wouldn’t work, so I just lay there for what seemed like hours. I slowly regained my hearing and the feeling in my legs. I then could see my right foot angled off in an unusable direction. Looks like my ankle was broken I thought. The pain hit about this time and a medic found me at the same time. Right away he started cutting my pant legs.

  “Hey! Why are you cutting my pants?”

  “You got blood pouring from both legs.” I hadn’t noticed that before. Cutting away my pants, I could see steel fragments sticking out of both my thighs. God almighty, I was in terrible pain. The medic gave me a shot of morphine. It helped a little. He said he would go find a litter to carry me up to the road. He left and disappeared up on the road. I lay back and looked up at the clear blue French sky and said a prayer, “Thank you, God, for sparing me.”

  A black GI came over to look at me. A convoy of trucks had stopped on the road. He said, “Boy, you sure look in a hell of a way. You were in that jeep over there?” He pointed to the overturned jeep.

  “Yeah, I was in it.”

  “All them boys are dead. I done see-d some boys picking their pockets. Hell-of-a-way to treat the dead.” He acted mad that would be going on. I agreed. He asked if I wanted him to help me up to the road. “No, a medic went to get a litter, I’ll be ok.” I thanked him for his concern. He went back up to his truck. Soon the convoy moved on. What a nice guy he was.

  I lay back again and watched a cloud pass; it hid the sun for a minute or two. What a beautiful day, I said to myself. I saw some GI’s dragging the men from the jeep and laying them side by side. Now that sight made me sick. I could be dead just like them. I had only known them for an hour or so. I threw up and got sicker. I took out my canteen and took a big drink and threw up again. Boy, was I sick all over.