I was a kid of 18 when I was drafted into the Air Force in Pueblo, Colorado in June of 1943 and sent to Biloxi, MI for basic training. The first thing that hit me was the hot weather with all the humidity. Going through basic training was easy enough since I was in good shape, but trying to survive with the constant heat rash between my legs and cheeks made my life miserable.
Talking to one of the other soldiers from Pueblo, he told me about a program the Army had called ASTP (Army Specialized Training Program) where they send you to college to become an officer and finish your education. I was not as attracted to the education part as I was to see that I could go to school at the University of Connecticut. I took the test and was sent to Storrs, Connecticut, and I thought I died and went to heaven. This was September, and the weather was already cooling down, and my rash went away. The army kept us busy, carrying 20 hours of studies as well as continuing with our training.
It turned out that the program was discontinued in April of 1944, and we were all sent to advanced infantry training at Camp Pickett in Virginia. After a few months of training, I found myself in the 78th Infantry Division, (Lightning Division) on my way to England on a tightly packed Liberty Boat. We ended up in Bournemouth, England where we trained some more, and finally with the invasion stymied at St. Lo in France, it was decided that we would land at LeHavre and cut off the supply lines the Germans were using to resupply their troops around St. Lo.
After some ferocious battles we fought our way into Aachen, Schmidt Dam, Heurtgen Forest, and then we got cut off in the Battle of the Bulge for 3 weeks before we could get more food and supplies. We rationed shells and sent parties out trying to find something to eat after we ran out of K rations.
We kept fighting for another month or two in the bitterest cold winter that Germany had in recorded history with inadequate clothing and ammunition. After one day fighting, when we thought we could get some sleep, we were awakened with the news that the Germans failed to blow up a bridge at Remagen, and we were sent there to secure the crossing. The bridge had survived an attempt by the German engineers to blow it up, and although it was still standing, it was a wreck with debris scattered everywhere and hole in the road. The bridge was about a ? mile long over the Rhine River and I remember crossing it trying not to put my full weight down as I ran across the bridge. The Germans brought every cannon they had trying to blow up the bridge, but it lasted for about 3 days, long enough for the Army to erect a Bailey bridge across the Rhine. The fighting was tough against desperate troops, and it was about 10 days after the crossing when I was wounded and sent back for eventual surgery and recovery to Normandy.
After rehab I was sent back to my unit, but I landed in Paris the day before VE day and ended up staying 3 or 4 days celebrating with the French. After eventually getting back to my unit, the Captain, learning of my exploits in Paris, moved me back to Private First Class from Sergeant, but he compensated me by making me company clerk which got me out of the training the army decided we should all go through to get ready for entering the Pacific campaign. None of us were disappointed to hear of the atom bombs falling on Japan which brought the war to a close.
Years later, when I was on the Board of the Country Club in Pueblo, I came early to one meeting and was sitting having a beer and talking to our Club manager Josef Lichtenburg, I asked him what he did in the German Army during the war. He told me that I had probably never heard of his worst battle... it was the Schmidt Dam! We played cards occasionally over the years at the club, and he was a good friend of mine, but we had been trying to kill each other during that battle.
Everyone that I knew in our company is now dead or in a nursing home, and even my memories of that time are softening and fading.
