·       The company’s first man was killed. He had both legs severed while on patrol. We could not get him out in

time; so he bled to death. It hit me pretty hard because I had censored a letter of his applying for a job in the

aircraft industry after the war.

·       One night the Jumper called me over to lead my platoon to contact Company G. He said with assurance

that if I followed a compass reading of 85 degrees, I would surely have success. I said, “What if I miss them?”

He said, “Start talking German!” We fell into a foxhole on top of two sleeping G Company members as we

were heading out of their perimeter.

·       The longest night walk I ever had lasted 10 hours. It was done 10 steps at a time. Apparently scouts went

out to check every five minutes. I had an arrangement with Sergeant Mike Hawkins. He would fall asleep and

fall backwards; I would fall asleep and fall forward. We’d meet at about a 30-degree angle with no damage

done. The Jumper’s orderly hit the ground hard, in a deep sleep, about six times that night. By dawn, we had

walked through the German lines without firing a shot.

·       The strangest place we defended was a cemetery on a bare, round hill between two high wooded hills. We

dug in between the gravestones. The first dumb thing that occurred was the regimental commander being driven

in his jeep to the base of the hill. He would then crawl up the hill and shout to the nearest foxhole,

“Everybody OK?” As soon as he got an answer, he’d run down the hill, jump into his jeep and speed away.

Five minutes later, in would come the German artillery. He may have felt better, but we didn’t!

·       The order to evacuate the cemetery came about two in the afternoon—broad daylight! I tried to talk the

Jumper out of it and wait for dark. No luck! So we had one person run out every 15 seconds and collect their

new sleeping bags and K-rations at the bottom of the hill. By this time, I figured we were working for idiots.

·       Another incident occurred when a young field artillery forward observer was introduced to me and said

that he’d been ordered to level some buildings (hiding places) in front of us. The first shell landed about 100

yards beyond the buildings. He ordered the artillery to come down 300 yards. I asked him if that wasn’t a

little too much. He informed me that it was none of my business. The shell landed behind us! He disappeared

to the rear shortly after that.

·       I performed one of my “planned” morale-boosting feats about this same time. We were trying to clear

some German refugee women and children off the battlefield. Escape lay across a 12-inch plank crossing a

narrow ditch. Everyone crossed but a six-year-old girl. Like a big deal, I picked the kid up and fell off the

plank halfway across the stream. She never got wet, but here I was holding this kicking, screaming kid at

arm’s length. The men showed their respect by lining the stream, hooting and hollering and making no move to help.

·       Thanksgiving was particularly remembered for the lack of food. They even ran out of our highly concentrated

K-rations. The Cracker Jack-sized boxes held items like a chocolate bar, fruit bar, a napkin, and four cigarettes.

Under these conditions, we did not feel cigarettes were harmful to our health—unless a sniper saw the glow.

Even in those days, the Army worried about bad press. The day after Thanksgiving we were pulled off the line, trucked to a reserve area and given a meal of creamed turkey, with all the trimmings. Any nutritionist can tell

you that concentrated foods and creamy, whole foods do not mix. The GI’s (“Aztec quick-steps”) developed

about four hours after the banquet. With a column of men on either side of the road, every few minutes a man

would roll his eyes up and say, “Sorry, I’ll catch up when I can,” and fall out to the side of the road to answer

nature’s call.