Preface
My niece Alice Faye Cunningham, daughter of my sister
Mildred, asked me to write of my experiences in World War II, so that she could
include it in a book about the Reynolds-Cunningham families.
I hesitate because I know very little about proper
sentence structure, much less how to spell all the words that may appear
throughout. I'm just an old retired mechanical engineer that knows a little bit
about things mechanical and nothing about writing.
When I came home on furlough from the hospital, the
community (Plum Creek Methodist Church) held a dinner for me and Cecil
Prentice. During the meeting, I was asked what it was really like in the war.
My answer was - Everything - hurry up and wait,
boredom, hilarity, fear, anxiety, fatigue, cold, wet, rumors, both good &
bad, no letters from home, helpless, upset at things around you and on & on.
Everyone agreed that war is bad. When you advance in the face of the enemy you
realize how helpless you really are. Good luck is better than superiority because
you know someone will be killed.
February 1943 - I graduated from Paola High School
when I was 17 years old, to be 18 in July 1943. At that time the Selective
Service was drafting boys that were 18. I reported to Fort Leavenworth but was
told I was deferred for 1 year because I was working with Dad on the family
farm. I was to report back to Leavenworth the second week of July, 1944.
July 1944 - Right on the day - July 21, 1944, my 19th
birthday, I was sworn in and took the oath of loyalty to the army of the United
States. For the next 2 weeks, I spent taking tests, indoctrination of army
ways, how to salute, when and why etc. I guess the army decided they got a bad
deal when they drafted me because I was made a lowly private - the lowest of
low. My registration No. 37735630.
August 1944 - About August 1st, 1944, I was put on a
troop train to Camp Hood, Texas. The first thing I discovered was that Kansas
may be hot in August but Texas is even hotter. In fact, the drinking water was
even hot. From this point it was up early, chow, calisthenics, marches, how to
field strip & clean the M-1 rifle, Rifle range (target practice), bazooka
practice (shooting at an old junk tank), bivouac, and finally the 25 mile walk
back to camp while carrying full gear. This amounted to about 80 pounds -
including a backpack - a shelter half, tent pins, sleeping bag, steel helmet,
helmet liner, trench tool & rifle. This ended my basic army training about
the middle of December 1944. I was in "pass in review" parade and
given my private first class stripe. I was also given a 10 day furlough.
About January 3rd, 1945 - When I arrived at Fort Mead,
the first thing they did was make me take another physical exam, including a
complete series of shots. They called them "booster" shots. I don't
know where they got the term "booster" because I certainly did not
feel boosted.
About January 7th, 1945 - I boarded ship at night -
New York was blacked out as well as the top deck of the ship. I was shown below
deck to my bottom bunk and given a life jacket. The bunks were three bunks
high, with a ladder at one end. They were about 18 inches apart, barely room to
walk between them. We were told not to go up on deck at night and never without
our life jacket. The ship was a H.J. Kaiser Troop ship. As far as I can
remember it had no name, but rather a number painted in 3 foot high white
numbers on its bow.
The toilet (latrine) had about 20 toilet stools along
one wall & wash basins to match on the other wall. The room was long &
narrow. We left harbor at night, about January 9th, 1945, when some of the guys
detected the ship movement, they became sea sick immediately. They would sit on
one toilet stool and vomit in the other. From this point on across the
Atlantic, life below deck was not pleasant. The smell and stench was almost
unbearable, as a result I and others spent as much time out on deck as
possible. We were in a large convoy of ships. We tried to count them, but soon
discovered it to be impossible because there were ships ahead and behind us as
well as out to the side, and they kept changing position. I think there were
more than 30 ships in the convoy.
About January 17th, 1945 - We landed at LeHarve,
France. The docking facilities had been bombed, so in order to get off the ship
the army engineers built a floating ramp from the side of the ship to where the
dock used to be. It was a gang plank with rope hand rails to a scaffold where
you turn 90o and go down steps to the dock. I was able to negotiate
the gang plank O.K. but when I turned to go down the steps, I missed the first
step. I turned and did a backward somersault over the rope hand rail to the
floating platform about 10 feet below. I landed on my pack on my back. As I was
getting up the sergeant came up and said, "God, soldier, you're supposed
to go up front to get killed, not here!" It seemed everyone was laughing
but me. I saw nothing funny about it!
We boarded trucks with tarps over the top. It was cold
and we were beginning to feel it. We went for about 2 hours when we stopped on
a narrow mountain road. Of course, we all looked out to see another open truck
loaded with dead soldiers stacked like cord wood. Not a word was uttered as the
truck crept by on the narrow passage.
Things got real quiet & sober, and we all agreed
that we were going to the Belgian Bulge as replacements. We crossed the Meuse
River to the town of Givet on the Belgian side of the River. We took our packs
into a big warehouse (I think) and was told we were to get new rifles the next
day. We sure did get new rifles - all packed in crates wrapped with heavy paper
and cosmo line grease. Each rifle had to be field stripped, cleaned &
inspected. The next day, each of us was given a rifle and marched to a rifle
range where we fired them and "zeroed in" the sights. We were then
told, it was your rifle and to take care of it and keep it clean because where
we were going we will need it to work. Things got real quiet and there were no
smiles, just sober faces.
Again, we boarded trucks but went a short distance
(maybe 20 miles) to a completely devastated town. The buildings were all bombed
out with just some walls & chimneys standing. In the distance you could
hear artillery firing - both singly and in barrages. It gave me a funny kind of
feeling, like a story book I was reading. The smell was burning wood with
garlic, really hard to identify. It was not pleasant at all.
We formed a single file and "walked" or
"climbed" around & over rubble a short distance to what used to
be a train station. There on the tracks was a train made up of these funny
little 4 wheeled box cars. I learned later that they are called 40 or 8 cars.
Meaning their hauling capacity is 40 men or 8 horses. We boarded the train with
4 men to the car and sat there all day. That evening the troops from the front
began to arrive. Eight ragged, cold tired men joined us in our car. I believe
one man was a sergeant. He said that they were told not to scare the new guys
with war stories, but we probably had some good stories from the states. We did
our best to tell about the various camps we were from as well as the closest
towns. We also told them about our civilian life. It wasn't long before half of
them were asleep. I immediately became known as "Kansas".
The next day we were told that we were going to Alsace
Lorraine in France to push the Germans (Jerry) out of Colmar. The trip would
take about 3 or 4 days; so make the best of it. The 8 men that joined us rolled
out their blankets, "I'll kill the first guy that wakes me up!" The
sergeant explained that this was to be their rest & recovery (R&R), so
they would try to keep warm & sleep.
At this time all I knew was that these men were
members of the 75 division. They were from different companies D, E, C of the
289th Battalion.
By now I lost track of the date, but I think it was
about February 1st, 1945. It was night when we left the train in some town -
somewhere near Colmar. We went into some building (a barn I think), and given
more bandoleers of bullets, and something I didn't expect - each of us were
given two hand grenades. To me this meant house to house fighting, and that the
Germans were not running. I wasn't thrilled at the thought.
We formed up in a line for the advance against
whatever Colmar had to offer about 6:00am. In front of me was an open field,
about one half mile to what looked like a forest with a church steeple sticking
up above the trees. Suddenly, there was machine gun fire behind us over our
heads. We all fell flat and waited. When I looked back I saw maybe 10 American
tanks shooting over us. This is called "covering fire". The idea is
to keep the Germans so busy hiding that they can't shoot back. I think it
worked. As we neared Colmar one of the tanks shot its cannon at the church
steeple. It completely demolished the steeple; you could hear the bell falling
and hitting things on the way down. About now a horse came galloping at full
speed with his harness flapping out behind. Also, someone started up a
Volkswagen and went out the other side of town - really fast. Suddenly two
Germans came from behind a bunker. They each had a white flag in their left
hands and their mess kit in the right. They admitted to being very hungry. They
also said they had been out of supplies for fighting for about a week. They
were taken to the rear. My squad leader said we could not lower our guard
because of what they said, because some die-hard might try to be a hero.
The first thing I saw when I got into town was a big
Holstein cow lying in the street dead. The walk through town was uneventful. I
did hear some shooting, but not much. When we got to the other side of town we
stopped and company D went past (or through) us, continuing after the Germans.
I was assigned a guard post & to watch for Germans that may be trying to
make a flanking counter attack. I watched all day but saw nothing. The Germans
did lob one or two mortars back into town, but they hit the roofs of building
and were no threat to us in the streets.
I was finally relieved of my guard duty and told to get
some sleep because we were shoving off early in the morning. Near the guard
post was what appeared to be a pen where a horse or calf was kept. It had a
rock all about 3' high on 2 sides and the building on the other 2 sides. It
looked like a pretty good foxhole to me; so I climbed over the wall only to
discover it had been a hog pen. Being and experience Kansas hog farmer, I knew
that one of the corners was where the hogs slept, while at least one of the
others should smell like a hog pen. I found the corner where the hogs slept,
sat down with my back against the wall, ate some c-ration, sipped some water
from my canteen and went to sleep.
I suddenly woke up in what to me seemed like a few
minutes. I was itching and it felt like I was being eaten up. I was crawling
with hog lice. The guard that relieved me told me where to look for the Aid
Station. I found it in a few minutes. One guy was asleep while another was
writing something, probably a letter home. If I got included, I hope the censor
& his folks had a laugh or two over my painful experience. I was lucky; the
medic had DDT powder and a pump just for the purpose of ticks, fleas &
lice. He blew the DDT down my back, around my waist, up both pants legs and
sleeves. Relief was almost immediate. He then told me to stay away from animals
and the local people. I was then surprised to realize that I had been in the
hog pen almost four hours.
We formed up by squads (10 men) to move out about
5:00am. My squad and I walked on a road,
while others on each side – slogged through mud & water from the
rains. It was cold mud. It was miserable. Along the way, I saw two dead GI’s and one
dead German. I was surprised when I
realized he looked very young & small.
He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. To me it meant that the Germans not only were
short of ammunition & food but also good manpower.
We moved along the road about three miles and came to
some little village and Company D. Company E was behind us yet. We moved
through D into a forested area, probably a half to three fourths of a mile. We
stopped and were told to dig fox holes. By noon I had mine deep enough to sit
down in, and with the dirt packed around the outside, I couldn't see out
without getting on my knees. I got back and ate the rest of my c-ration and
sipped a little water. I still had a couple of candy bars with my dirty socks
around my waist. I changed socks, putting on the dirty dry ones which felt warm
and good. The ones I took off, I flattened and put around my waist on top of my
shirt tail, to be used again when dried out. I dug again perhaps another six
inches to a foot deeper. The Squad leader came by and said, "Boy, I'll let
you dig mine next time." He picked up my rifle and said, "Come with
me. We have to report front & center to the Lieutenant." By now I was totally
confused, so I shut up.
When we got to the command post (a tent with a table
and two chairs) the lieutenant was there. After the round of saluting, he asked
me if I was Wm. Reynolds. I said "yes sir" with all authority I
could. "What had I done to get called up?" By now I was sure I was
being court marshaled for something. He laughed and said, “You didn’t do
anything here, but rather what you did at Camp Hood, Texas. It says here on
your ability report that you shot expert on the rifle range and more
importantly you and some others developed the method of squeezing off only
three shots at a time with the Browning automatic rifle”. The Germans look upon
the “BAR” rifle as a machine gun, because it shoots like one. If you hold the
trigger, it will shoot twenty rounds without stopping. Two other men were
assigned to be ammunition carriers for the BAR. They also were to provide
covering fire for me if the BAR jammed or something.
So I went back to my hole carrying a very different
rifle. It weighed almost fifteen pounds with a bipod on the barrel. The
magazine had twenty rounds as compared to my M1 rifle that weighed nine pounds
& the ammunition clip held eight rounds. Soon the two ammo carriers came
over and started digging foxholes by mine. They were told they were not only
riflemen, but a part of the automatic weapons team. We were to stick together
at all times.
About dusk the artillery behind us began firing over head
at the Germans. They kept it up all night and most of the morning. We were told
to form up in single file to march (walk) on a road to a point where we were to
wait for company E. When E arrived, it was late (about 5:00pm). They appeared
to be well prepared, because there was a column of perhaps 25 tanks behind
them. They were joking about how it took that many tanks to herd them (E
company) to the front. The tanks fanned out across a field to the left of the
road. We were told to get on the tanks. We (4 of us) took the last one, hoping
they would run out of tanks before they would get to us. The rest of E and G
companies would scatter out about 100 yards behind and follow the tanks in.
Riding on a tank was a new experience for me. It
rocked fore & aft as the tracks moved over rough muddy ground. After some
distance (maybe a mile), the Germans began lobbing mortars at the tanks. We
decided this was not safe, so we ran into the woods to our right. As I think
back, I believe the Germans must have seen us, because a barrage of mortars
began hitting in the trees all around us. Finally, one hit in a tree behind me.
I was lying down, but a piece of shrapnel hit me on the inside of my right
thigh. When I realized that I was hit, I was numb with no feeling in my leg
except it quivered and drew up against my chest. My squad leader was also hit,
I think he died, because he became quiet and I didn’t hear him again.
I looked at my watch; it was about 6:30pm (I learned
later February 5th 1945). In about 15 or 20 minutes the captain came and said
he’d get a medic. The medic came; he took a quick look and went to work. He
gave me some sulfa pills and water. He then gave me a shot, saying, “This will
make you feel better.” He was right – I began to feel warm and sleepy. From
this point, I slept most of the time. I woke up when the medics put me on a
stretcher and loaded me in an ambulance. When I woke up again I think I was in
the vestibule of a church. There were a number of other wounded guys there.
When I woke up again, I had no clothing on and was lying on a hard, cold table.
They told me to lay still because they were x-raying my wounds. I don’t
remember any doctors or surgery, but I suddenly realized I was in a ward with
200 or more guys in a church – or at least a building with tall stained glass
windows. It may have been a church that the steeple was blown away by our
tanks.
About an hour after I woke up, a nurse came with some
“V” mail and a pencil. She said, “You will write to your parents or wife. You
have a deep flesh wound with no broken bones. The doctor will explain how they
will treat your wound later today”. I didn’t feel like writing any letter, so I
went to sleep. I suddenly awakened looking at the face of an irate nurse
telling me that I hadn’t written my letter home yet. About then the doctor came
by and explained how they planned to treat my wounds. He explained that the
very thing that saved my life could kill me if not treated with penicillin. The
shrapnel took a big wad of about 4 layers of wool clothing and at least half
the mud of France into the wound; so I didn’t bleed to death. But now we must
fight infection by keeping the wound open with five or six drainage tubes, and
massive doses of penicillin. I took 3000 units of penicillin once every three
hours for twenty two days. At that time I began to show signs of allergy, so
they stopped the penicillin shots. By now I had been moved to a hospital in
Nancy, France, then again to Luneville, France. Sometime they closed the wound.
It was now about the latter part of March, 1945. I was
told that I would soon be sent to the evacuation hospital in Marseilles, France
to go by hospital ship ‘Acadia’ to the US. I was able to stand now, so when the
ship went through the strait of Gibraltar, I looked out the port hole to see
the Rock of Gibraltar. I wasn’t sure I saw it because what I saw was a big
mountain. It didn’t look like the picture I’d seen before. The trip across the
Atlantic was really smooth. It was really different from the Troop ship that
bounced & rocked all the way. On the ‘Acadia’ I got the first glass of milk
since leaving home in December 1944.
I think we arrived at Charleston, South Carolina about
April 10th, 1945. I remember hearing that President Roosevelt had died. From the time I was wounded until my arrival
at O’Reilly Hospital in Springfield, Mo, I was not allowed to walk. Every move
I made, I was carried or pushed on a litter clear to my bed at O’Reilly.
My first question to the doctor was, “When do I get to
go home?” His answer to me sounded simple enough. “When we feel you’ve mastered
the crutches or even better, have to use a cane.” So I went to physical therapy
to show them that I could do crutches. Boy was I wrong. I found out they are
not easy to use, but can be dangerous. Going down stairs, they can vault you
out into space and you land at the bottom in a heap. Going up stairs they can
vault you backward with the same result. Crutches are a never ending nuisance –
where do you put them when you sit down to eat or get in a can or go fishing in
a boat? They seem to always be where other people can trip over them. So, I
continued in therapy and mastered the cane.
From the time I left home in December till my arrival
at O’Reilly I got no mail. One day shortly after my arrival, a WAC came in with
a big box of mail, all addressed to me. She said, “I’ve got some advice for you
big boy. Any girl faithful enough to write a letter a day since March, deserves
your most sincere attention.” I took her advice, and that is how Alvera became
my wife. Of course there were several other letters from my sister, Mildred and
some from Mom.
The doc came in and gave me a train ticket & a 30
day furlough. “You should exercise every day and eat all the farm cooking
available.” When I was in Fort Mead I weighed 166 pounds. When I arrived at
O’Reilly I weighed just under 130 #s “You are 135 pounds now, it would be most
helpful if you could put on another 10 or even 15 pounds.” They planned to
operate when I came back from furlough.
While I was home I tried to walk without a cane. I found out that in the home
on a level floor I could walk almost normal as long as I kept my right leg
straight when it was supporting my weight. Outside, where the ground was a
little bit uneven it was a different story. I fell several times while trying
to master the rough terrain. The worst was going down a stairs that had no
bannisters like the old farm house we lived in. I took Alvera to her Paola High
School graduation.
By the end of the thirty day furlough, I was battered
& bruised and my right knee was swelling and hurt. I was ready and willing
to accept anything the hospital had to offer to help me walk. I woke up after the operation to find myself
in a body cast. That is, the cast went from my arm pits to my hips. My right
leg was pulled up 90o with the cast continuing on to my right knee.
They imbedded a 1 inch diameter wood brace between my knee & right chest.
For some reason I found it hard to breathe. At dinner time I couldn’t eat more
than one bite of food. This got the attention of the doctor, because he came
and made some pencil marks on the cast. Almost before the doc left, came a
litter with 3 guys. They told me that I was going back to casting. I thought,
ah boy, they’re going to take this thing off. I was wrong again!
When we got to casting, one of the guys said, “Look
who we got.” Someone said, “Who?”, “The guy that stole two of our towels
yesterday.” They got long forceps and reached up under the cast by my left leg,
grasped the towels one by one, and pulled them out. Boy, was that a relief. I
could breathe freely again & eat.
From this point it was four weeks in the cast,
physical therapy in the form of walking, social dancing and furloughs home and
to Manhattan, Kansas. On one of the furloughs, I went to K-state to take Alvera
to the Home Ecc. Snow Ball and dance. I also got to meet all the girls in her
house, along with the house mother. I learned later that I received complete
approval plus one or two volunteers to take over if she (Alvera) should change
her mind. We were married August 25th, 1946, at the Paola Methodist Church.
Thanks to the GI Education Bill, we graduated from
K-state in 1950 & 1951. Later attending K-state were our children, Bob,
Vivian, Paula and their spouses, all of them earning 5 BS degrees and 2
master’s degrees.
Later while I worked at Zenith TV in Springfield, MO,
Alvera got her master’s degree from Missouri State University and taught there
until I retired in 1990. We came back to the farmstead in Paola, Ks in 1993
