Omaha Beach and Beyond by John Robert Slaughter

Author:John Robert Slaughter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Voyageur Press
Published: 2007-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

SHRAPNEL WOUND AT HILL 203

HOW THE ENEMY BECAME MY FRIEND

No one had to tell us that we were now in the combat zone. In the distance ahead, the sharp flashes of light and sound of faraway thunder seemed like an approaching storm. But we all knew what it really was.

At the rest area, our weary and depleted ranks had been replenished somewhat by undertrained replacement soldiers, who brought the company’s strength to about sixty percent of what it had been. Imagine you are a replacement soldier assigned to the 29th Division at the front. You are newly drafted and given six weeks of basic training. You probably are not given the chance to actually fire a weapon. After disembarking a troopship in England or France, you join other replacements. The group is assigned a package and loaded onto trucks. You are aware that you will replace a soldier who has been killed, wounded, or injured in battle.

Arriving at your destination after dark, you are assigned a platoon. You are scared to death, because you know that replacement casualties are extraordinarily high. All of this was easy to see on the faces of these new replacements. And even though we all faced the same possible fate, I felt sorry for them.

The night of July 25, as our weakened column shuffled by a large cow pasture used by XIX Corps heavy field artillery batteries, we saw several 155mm howitzers behind makeshift breastworks. The guns’ short barrels were tilted up, sending death and destruction about three or four miles ahead, straight in the direction we were going.

This was the moment of truth. We were now within enemy artillery range. The late hour made our eyelids heavy, but jolts of adrenaline kept us alert. As our column trudged toward the thunder and light, the firing brought out a lot of bad nerves.

One of the recent replacements, walking a few feet ahead, began to utter strange phrases under his breath. He walked a few feet in silence, and then let out some more odd words. It was clear he was having trouble facing what lay ahead. He raised the volume a decibel for all to hear: “When it gets too tough for the men up front, it’s getting just right for me! I can’t wait to get a goddamned German sonofabitch in my [rifle] sight!”

I thought at first this fellow had gotten into some hard cider. There was an interval of silence, and then he upped the tempo and sobbed, “They march us to the front like prisoners! Why don’t they just shoot us now and be done with it!” The poor fellow then fell into a heap on the dusty road. Lieutenant Morse ordered him loaded on the ammo jeep and evacuated. Before we had received one shot of angry fire, that soldier became a nonbattle casualty.

The reconditioned 116th Infantry Regiment was replacing elements of the 35th Division, whose ranks were as ragged and depleted as ours had been a few days earlier. The transition took place after midnight.

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