The story of a recruit radioman -- me

by ex-Sgt. Ken Fritz

Leaving Scott Field in early May, 1942 en route west in eager anticipation of a tangle with Tojo. Riding in an old sleeping car tied to a new streamliner we bounced along in mortal fear of being left behind in some ditch along the rails. We arrived at a deserted station in San Bernardino, Calif. Nobody, nobody knew where we were going or how to get there. After dozens of phone calls, An Army six by picked us up and we headed north up some highway, to Muroc Desert or lake who knows? Near the end of creation, dirty, tired and hungry - if the army travels on its stomach; we've lost that war. We were greeted by a Mess Sgt's gruff words, " mess is closed till morning". We were issued two blankets and a cot.

In the morning with a layer of sand covering our blanket, in our hair, eyes and teeth we were still hungry. In this hellhole the good people eat first! Finally we got dry toast and cold coffee. Then we waited, not at all feeling wanted. We saw our first P-38 that had belly-landed and was a mess.

Near noon another six by entered the compound and this is the story I like. The driver said, " The first ten on this truck get to go back to LA." I was the first in that truck! When we got to Grand Central Airport in Glen dale, we were congratulated and told we had just joined the 1st Pursuit Group, which was on the alert to go overseas and for us to keep our damn mouths shut about it.

We met our M/Sgt. Zollars of 71st. radio who took us out to see our new planes (P-38Fs). On crawling up on the wing to look at the radio, a weird feeling came over me. A couple weeks ago we had been ushered into a secret room at Scott Field where hidden in this glass cage was the SCR-522. Super secret for combat aircraft only, not to be touched nor more than looked at in the case. Now this same radio was ours to maintain under wartime conditions. Only the faith our great leaders had in that ability was to keep us from defeat.

At Glendale we were assembled into a group ready to take on the Hun. A great adventure was about to start and it lasted over three years. It has held us together through reunions and is still going strong. There are many who are missing, but they have not been forgotten.

I can come up with many stories of our campaign in England, Africa and Italy if anyone cares to listen, none will be fabrications only true tales of a great group - some tired, and many homesick or just sick. All ended up being closer than brothers.

Glendale to New York City

One amusing thing I remember right from the start of our traveling in troop trains and riding in old Pullman cars was the requirement for sleeping together. I was a little old farm boy, barely out of the barefoot age and so not up on the problems that were prevalent in more high-class populated areas. As a rule farm families were large and houses were small so kids were used to sleeping together with no problems but that the older sibling may hog all the blankets or snore a bit to loud, generally they were too tired to do anything but sleep. This did not seem to be the case in the Army. Riding Pullmans, invariably someone seemed to think this was a no, no and degrading to their moral upbringing, threats of writing to their Senator or just plainly jumping off at the next stop.

I did not hear of anyone complaining on our trip from Glendale to Fort Dix but then these were old soldiers, used to traveling in groups. Plus they were above any abusive thoughts, not only on this trip but also on the Queen Elizabeth and bunking together through the years overseas. Our main concern was getting the war over and going home.

(I am just taking this moment of silence as the destruction of the World Trade center reality soaks in, there has to be a tremendous loss of life. Is this to be another Pearl Harbor?)

A bit on this trip from Glendale. The organization of the train was an amazing feat proving once again how our country can put together about any thing when push comes to shove.

My memory may be off base but there were six trains, each with 16 cars and two coal-fired locomotives following each other across the Unites States. Evidently they had absolute clearance along the way; freight and passenger trains were seen on sidings as our group went by. There were only stops to change engines, when that happened, Army trucks swarmed up to baggage cars, to unload food and drink. It was all very methodical and fast. When the engines were ready so was the loading.

On this car were porters, trying their best to keep those cars neat and clean, boots left in the corridor were found the next morning freshly polished, never did the thought come up to give them any tips but at the end of the trip every car came up with a box full of bills as a thank you.

These were regular Pullman cars, two soldiers in the lower bunk, one in the upper. Later on in the war regular troop transporters used regular army double deck bunks spaces very close together and equipped with safety belts as protection against over eager train engineers.

This trip was in the vicinity of four days, guards were at the doors at every stop to prevent any AWOLs. Rumor had it that two did get off somewhere along the way, this only delayed their trip a bit as they rejoined us in England. Meals were cooked in the baggage car and it was the old story of line up and wait with mess kit and cup, I can’t jog my memory enough to say what the meals consisted of but you can bet it was not served with linen napkins. I faintly remember playing cards as we whiled away time between meals.

These being coal-fired locomotives they sent billowing clouds of smoke back along the cars and of course everybody had to have their windows open in case there happened to be a beautiful blonde near the track. That meant this smoke entered each car and accumulated very liberally on each and every uniform. We were a slovenly group of soldiers that finally reached Fort Dix.

These were the ground crews from all three Squadrons with the exception of the air echelon crews that were flying along with the P-38s across country, plus the ground people from Headquarters.

The stop at Fort Dix was only long enough to bring the group up to full strength with recruits - many still had the store tags of new uniforms. At Dix it was a lot of waiting, gas drills, firearm safety and the firing range and the obstacle course. At the end of each of these courses some of us, looking our wors, had our passport picture taken. I must not forget the medical record had to be updated; they never missed me on that. Last but not least were the two barracks bags they had to be filled to capacity. Not because of the need for clothes but it was necessary they be heavy, as we were going to haul, drag or slide them all the way to the train, off the train, down the tracks to the ferry, off the ferry, through the dock area, up the gang way, down a corridor to an over crowded stateroom that would be our home for the next four days. Now I am being sarcastic.

The day we left, we fell out on the parade at 3:30 in the morning sat with our bags till daylight, hurried through breakfast, and then noon and then an early meal finally around 9:00 we boarded a train to a ferry and ended up near the Brooklyn Navy Yard, through a long shed of some sort, past the French Passenger liner Normandie lying on its side along the dock.

Across the Atlantic to England

The Queen Elizabeth as a troop ship was second to none, and on June 4, 1942, with 14,000 troops on board left New York harbor bound for the British Isles. The last contingent that came up the gangway brought morning papers saying, "German U-boats are blockading New York harbor.” This did not change anything, with a blast from its bass horn, this huge liner was pushed away from the dock and its prow was headed out to sea. With no fanfare it silently glided past the Statue of Liberty as its passengers solemnly watched and wondered if they would ever return,

A corvette and a blimp were our only escort out to the open sea then the speed of this liner and the eyes of the blimp for a bit farther, and then we were alone in that menacing ocean.

To keep our mind away from what might be, lifeboat drill was held and they freely admitted there were not enough boats and rafts for all of us, each was issued a life belt that just did not make me feel secure.

Knowing that I was susceptible to seasickness, I volunteered to do gun guard and was stationed just above the main bridge. It was mighty cold and sometimes the salty spray made it pretty miserable but I did not get sick. I did a four-hour shift every day, and was very much relieved that it was a quiet trip.

I made only one trip to the mess hall because it was such a trying experience that took hours of standing in line. Instead I bought a box of Oreo cookies and a couple oranges and survived the trip just fine.

I tried several times to walk around the whole ship but found it almost impossible because of so many bodies in the way, I am wondering what it was like when they put the total number of troops up to 17,000. It was bearable only because the time on board was so short.

We arrived in the harbor of Greenock Scotland, It was full daylight at midnight and anxious GIs got a bit too noisy and were given the job of cleaning up this large ship. Then early in the morning, the troops were loaded onto small lighters to be shuttled ashore.

We must remember, that this load of American soldiers was the first to land in this country, a large percentage were support people for planes that were also doing a first thing of flying directly from USA to England via Greenland and Iceland. The first that ended into the millions

These young men were sort of afraid, already getting homesick; they were also very brave and very proud. They were called upon to do a job and nobody questioned their ability. England had just lived through the Battle of Britain and was exhausted. Most of their ground forces were fighting in Africa and that left the Home Guard and the RAF to protect the homeland. We soon found out, while they were happy to see us coming to their aid, they did not ever admit all was lost without that aid.

It was different, for most of us this was the first time we had been even away from home let alone on foreign soil. They drank tea instead of coffee; drove on the wrong side of the road and even the way they talked seemed strange. I guess the fact we both were so different brought out the curiosity on both sides and so friendliness developed, soon we were pitching pennies at the crack for money.

It was noticeable that army discipline was different between the two. This was my observation at least; their officer was almost like a god, to ask no questions and obey to the last man. I likely would not have made this statement back then but my thoughts were still the same. An officer demanded and was given the respect due him as a leader, but this enlisted man still had the right to think for himself. Most of the time this did not cause any problem. To sort of clear myself I will add the 1st Fighter group was blessed with competent officers.

If any of us had not owned or ridden a bicycle that was due for a change. Wherever you had to go, distance always seemed far, so in the interest of time and shoe leather some sort of transportation was needed. The bikes were strange, no coaster brakes, no balloon tires and the newer ones did not have fenders. The brake levers on the handlebars caused many trips to the medical office for skinned knees and broken bones. This combined with the blackout situation made each trip exciting.

The desire for a cup of steaming coffee was abruptly thrown aside when being served that molasses-tasting brew 90% cream and thickened with sugar. One serving of that and you were a confirmed tea drinker.

In the good old USA, being a cowboy rated about tops in the working class and sheep or as it was called mutton was classed at near the bottom of rated meats. So what happened? We were continually blessed with mutton stew as a staple, morning, noon and night.

That's enough badmouthing our allies, because they were different we had to accept them as friends and as a rule we did just that especially when the MPs were around.

England

Our stay in England was a story in itself. The train pulled to a stop in this quaint little village of Goxhill and we detrained not in military manner. Air Force ground personnel were not noted for their military prowess. Under duress our NCOs did manage to get us into columns of four and marching down the road. Believe it or not this group looked mighty impressive as we approached the town mayor and a whole lot of plain civilians alerted to welcome us to their city. We marched as if we were on a victory parade with the help of two plain-clothed drummers that just happened along and the cheers that were coming from the heart of war weary people. No kidding we started feeling pretty important.

Our quarters were soon to be very familiar Quonset Huts that dotted the area, with the double entry curtains (for blackout protection). Almost every night we went to sleep hearing what sounded like hail on those tin roofs (fallout from spent anti aircraft fire).

Almost immediately our group was indoctrinated into the limey order of keeping everyone in line, it was very easy to get on the honey wagon detail. With no real sewage disposal system, this detail carried large buckets from the latrine to waiting lorries, There always was a cheering crowd to wish the lucky lads a good day with the stinking job.

One day on the edge of our compound there were several British soldiers digging a hole, we had to investigate. They were from the bomb disposal squad and were trying to retrieve an unexploded bomb from the night before. We left them alone with a nasty job.

On our days off it was to bike into town, just to say we had been there, Fish and chips was the total menu washed down with warm beer.

The locals were very friendly but also very weary of war; older men were listed as home guards, as air raid wardens or fire fighters and watchdogs at night seeing blackout was seriously observed. England at night was darker than dark especially when on guard duty, It was common practice to shine your flashlight in your reliever’s face and also tuck your rifle barrel in his tummy at the same time, with the rifle fully cocked and ready. Guard duty was taken very seriously as a slip could be drastic.

These first months were spent, mostly in getting acquainted with each other and a lot of simple training, ratings were handed out mostly on seniority basis, Pvts, to PFC and up the line, a lot of waiting for our planes to arrive down from Scotland. Then each of began to find our place for the long job ahead.

Another move came in mid-August and while loading on the 40 and 8 cars, a problem arose the NCOs said no bicycles could be taken, now if this would happen in today’s society things would get a bit testy but back then after a lot of quiet bitching the bikes did not go. Oh mine went all right, I stashed it in the homing truck and retrieved it in Africa several months latter with two flat tires and no pump.

Our new station was Ibsley, down on the southern coast near Bournemouth. Our bivouac was in a dense grove of trees up on the hill; the mess hall was half way between, on the way to the field. It was a good walk several times a day till we could afford another round of bicycles.Our cooks were relatively proficient at serving American food but had absolutely no knowledge of how to handle mutton and boiled cabbage, The British cooks were called in to help with the same results, gradually a bit of GI staples of canned Spam and Corned Willie was obtained in large enough quantity to stave off a mutiny.

I must ask here, does anyone know whom the 71st pilot that was playing cat and mouse with a couple Hurricanes or maybe Spits. That flew between two trees and left four feet of wing tip behind? Somebody sure remembers, no other pilot would do any thing stupid like that or then again maybe.

Work at Ibsley doubled as everyone prepared to get every thing tip top to engage the enemy, the missions so far have really only practice for

The real thing, in the radio section, the shortage of test instruments caused problems that had been replaced by American ingenuity, bugs in equipment causing aborts were getting weeded out, this put a strain on everyone plus the inescapable duty of KP and guard duty was not leaving extra time for that new PT training that was expected of everyone to run around the perimeter of the field. It was amazing there was very little bitching almost an exciting mood of actually getting into action.

Out of the blue, I received a three-day pass, and went bike riding no place in particular. Just pedaling and I might add not paying attention to where I was going. As night was approaching, I looked for nights lodging, ending up in a grassy ditch sleeping with my bike. Morning arrived and I admitted that I was lost, with two days pass left I did not panic. I spotted a Beaufighter landing nearby and pedaled that direction. The guard said, “come with me” they would not tell me where I was but put me in their plane with my bike and flew me home. A very embarrassed soldier had to explain where he had been. All road signs had been taken down for fear of an invasion attempt.

I went to Ringwood on a special mission, that little lady waiting at home, wanted some incentive to remain attached. What could be better than a diamond? It depleted my meager savings but anything to keep harmony for a few more months. It was not good enough, a bit later she met up with a sailor stationed in the states, and she was kind enough to spend three cents postage for a “Dear John” letter.

Soon there was that cold feeling in the pit of our stomach, we were going to move again, and all indications were to the North Pole as parkas and heavy socks were handed out, we embarked out of Plymouth and headed north. In Scotland we joined a large convoy and rumors were rampant, a lot of guessing but no real knowledge, all kinds of cold weather gear and we were heading south. From the description of this scow we were on, I don’t think they really figured it would make it all the way to any place.

Boiled potatoes and Kippered Herring all stewed in the same oily grease was the menu three meals a day. The rats that abounded below deck amidst of our hammocks, assured us the ship would not be sunk. I had heard stories of mistreatment of soldiers and it was approaching that level. An awfully lot of time was spent hoping this would be a short voyage.

From England to North Africa

Our troop ship and that was speaking loosely, was called the Mooltan, we came to the conclusion that it was used to haul mules in the first World War but it was, now too dilapidated for such good use and thus we were chosen, I can't say any thing good about that scow other than it did get us there in one piece.

Seasickness seemed to hit us all, and the most comfortable place to find the majority of these loyal troops was laying in the gutters with our head hanging over the side praying for the good lord to put us out of misery. This malady lasted three days and from then on for a couple weeks we did survive. Then just three days before we were supposed to land on hostile shores, every one got seasick again.

During this voyage there was little room to do any strenuous exercise. A lot of time was spent cleaning your equipment or watching members of the convoy, every type of floating ships was out there those little frigates bobbed around like corks I heard remarks that it was just Marines that rode in them as only a Marine was tough enough to take that abuse.

To get to our quarters we had to climb straight down this ladder a long ways below water line and slept on hammocks, in two tiers above the eating benches. We slept fully clothed the whole 17 days. Other than the fact that living accommodations on board were deplorable, it was still understandable. We were at war and just being in the Army put us in the situation where we really did not expect top accommodations. The great majority of us had never been at sea before, not counting the Queen Elizabeth and that was completely different.

On this ship we all felt so vulnerable to every thing, the sea itself, the hostile element in that sea, and the unanswered question as to where we were going. Day after day of boredom, plus the anxiety of expecting some sort of attack from, wherever?

I would say that morale was high, that could be from the fact that we were so innocent to what we might face in the next few days plus the truth was we had never been beaten and did not intend to be. How naïve could we be, preparing to land on a hostile coast, with only false bravery and the thought that we were invincible.

As we passed through the Straitsof Gibraltar it loomed dark and ominous in the distance, while on the other side in Morocco the lights were burning bright, the scene was alive.

What would tomorrow bring? An attack from the air, the sea or two kinds of landings, one a quiet peaceful sort of welcome saviors or the full fury of an enemy bent on throwing us back into the sea.

We awoke to the rumble of large shells from battleships bombarding the coast, what seemed like lightning ashore. A train was cut in half and the engine with a few cars was making a hurried attempt to get the hell out of there. I think he made it ok that time.

The Mooltan was at anchor amidst dozens of other ships in the process of unloading cargo, I couldn’t remember the sequence. We were all on deck and when our group was called to move up to the rail, a full pack of food for several days, two blankets, one shelter half, mess kit, canteen and first aid packet, extra socks very important, a gas mask, a 45 cal. Side arm, a 45 cal. Thompson Sub-machine Gun and 60 rounds of 45 ammo to be used in either and as an after thought I was handed a ten lb. Tin of corned Willie ( that slipped from my hand on the way down the ladder and turned into shark food)

We went over the side, down this rope ladder (a feat in itself) with all our gear, waited till this landing craft was at its high point on the wave then jumped (I was one of the last to land in this craft so my landing was softer as I landed on top.) there was cussing, crying and the smell of vomit and urine.

At this point there was only one thought and that was to get on shore as quick as possible, an attempt to assemble failed and our craft headed for shore on a quiet beach.

Arzew to Tafarouri

On the beach at Arzew, All was quiet and we formed up to march through this village. As we came through the gate of this wall surrounding the city we attracted the attention of a machine gun up on the hillside. It was amazing how fast soldiers could disappear behind anything and out of sight, a soldier along side of me had the trusty old Springfield rifle of World War 1 fame, I suggested he use that and he replied quietly. There’s no firing pin in this rifle. Someone else took care of the problem and we proceeded up the road, once again we were not sure where we were going. The word of, fall out came and that is just what the whole column did, tired, covered with dust and a bit scared.

One man on the edge of the road used his ditty bag as pillow, it stuck out perhaps a foot above his head, and a passing tank crushed his bag but not his head. Too close for comfort.

This was time to change socks again; the first was just after landing to get rid of the salt water. Feet were wet and chaffing, dry socks saved getting blisters and mighty sore feet. The few that ignored that warning suffered latter that day. We bivouacked in a grape orchard that night. Using the honor system for guard duty, two hours on and wake a buddy. Many just went to the next tent and called, "time to go." I got very little sleep that night; the honor system did not work.

Here we had the thrill of being strafed by what we thought were our own planes, these planes had landed at the airport thinking it was in our hands. The French refueled these planes and were sent out to harass the enemy. Namely us, there aim was real bad or maybe the French had decided to change sides again.

Somewhere along the road we commandeered a charcoal burning bus, which saved us several miles of hiking. Our destination now was the Tafaroi Airfield some 30 miles inland. Our task was to set up communications with our planes waiting at Gibraltar.

After arriving at this field, most of us proceeded to set up tents for the evening was approaching, other had chosen another idea and came rolling a big keg of wine. All work ceased in anticipation of a party, that however was blocked by some officer and I will not mention a name, taking a well-aimed stroke with an axe. Causing that pretty red wine to commence soaking into the desert sand.

Discipline in the army was an amazing thing; in civilian situation there might have been trouble, as it was it was meekly passed over. Only saying to themselves they should have waited till dark. All is well, that ends well, that night there was a real sand storm with tents blowing down, if everyone had been drunk it would have been a real mess.

It was quiet at Tafaroui, The French resistance was over and they were to be our allies. Our planes were due to arrive soon, several cargo version of the B-24 have landed, a rumor started immediately that they were loaded with mail, definitely false no mail actually same for a couple months.

Talking about mail, it is said that an army travels on its stomach but mail has an awful lot of influence on morale and the longer the wait, the more one can feel its effect. If it is a letter from a wife or a girl friend that guy is flying on air and to see this soldier not getting any, hurt all of us.

When packages started arriving it was like Manna from heaven, if it was food it was free for all till it was gone, no one was ever left out.

I remember getting a big box of White Owl Cigars, on opening the package and seeing the contents, my first reaction was to hide them and secretly smoke one at a time, secondly I knew better. I lit one up and hardly got the first taste, and then it was like the Johnsonville Brats ad. They came from every direction and then the box was empty, but it felt good to share.

I did make them suffer, by only smoking it too a stub, then chewing that for weeks, till I couldn't stand the smell myself. Bless those guys that same event was repeated many times.

Chateau dun and Constantine

Chateau dun Rhumel is not far from Ain Malila but out on sort of rolling plains and a lot warmer, this field has been cut out of a large wheat field, with the planes widely dispersed as protection against enemy attack. I am going to say right off when the wheat was nearly and the poppies were in full bloom, you couldn’t have found a prettier airfield in the whole of Africa.

There was an Arabian family very close that did all our laundry and furnished us fresh eggs. That same family changed their order of travel, first the mother, then the kids, then the donkey and finally the old master. It was said that the change was made because of the danger of mines along the road.

It was only a short distance into this village, where movies were shown every night after an Evangelist finished his sermon to the needy. It was advisable to go to the service if you wanted a seat.

As our army was not prone to feeding us fresh meat, there was a meat market where you could get choice cut of beef or mutton, if you were not averse to having to share it with a large fly population.

Our bivouac area was on a flood pain of this little creek, this area was well supplied with large frogs and we found there legs were delicious, we also found out that the flood plain could get mighty wet.

It was the eve of Easter Sunday 1943, there had been storm clouds hanging over the mountains to the west all day, while here it was bright and sunny. There had been some mention of silvery streaks on the foothills as the sun was setting but that was forgotten.

As was our habit all the tents in the area were the pup tent variety covering some rather sophisticated lower levels thought up with the idea of permanence. I am speaking of myself but it was pretty much the same in all the dwellings. Somewhere near midnight, we heard a weird trickling between the cardboard linings and the out side; we questioned whether the mice were getting over active.

About that time shouts and laughter was heard in the area and investigation soon let us in on a secret, the area was being flooded, and the creek by now was in full flood stage and spreading. It was time for action, barracks bags equipment and tents came down and there was a mass exodus to the hillside.

Our barracks bags were nearly waterproof but our blankets and the tent were pretty damp and it had started to rain, on the morning sunrise this was a sad group. It was considered safe enough to have bonfires and by putting our blankets on racks we were soon on the way to recovery and able to laugh as only a group of Gis could come up with sick humor.

On the morning sunrise this was a sad group trying to get warm with every thing messed up. Happy Easter. With the total cooperation of every one the mess tent was moved to higher ground and the war continued with no respite.

To back up a bit I must relate to an incident of amusing quality, a group of lads got stuck on a special detail to dig this garbage pit deeper than usual, on an extremely hot day, On this same day the garbage barrels behind the mess tent exploded sending cans and garbage a hundred feet in the air. It seems a bit, of 100 octane airplane gas had gotten mixed with the garbage and this had mysteriously exploded. How could that have happened? Sort of an Act of God.

Then there was the donkey story; how an officer had been detached to some unknown location and being missed so much a little donkey was named to replace him, using the officers name. This donkey being an obedient beast would come running when being called by that name. That was all fine till the officer returned, then things got confusing but amusing. The donkey disappeared or else would not answer the call. Why would anything like that happen? Especially in organized fashion.

We had gotten this new P-38-J10-LO or something like that and try as us master radio men were, the radio would not transmit, Oh we got plenty flack over that. A new airplane of the latest and finest model sitting there like a wall flower. The engineers from Lockheed and bigwigs from Bendix all had suggestions, nothing worked. I hate to say this went on for several weeks, then another plane had a bad propeller and so the wallflower lost its blade. Guess what? Another plane could not transmit and getting a new propeller for both solved the mystery. Who knows what the connection was but as soon as the propeller started turning you could not transmit?

I can go on with another radio story, this happened as one radioman goes on a three day pass to Constantine, on return he was approached by the top sarge and told to get out on the line to a certain plane immediately. The plane was due to fly the next day, on arriving at the site he found the parachute, pilots seat crash bar and armor plate all out on the wing and was told the radio was working fine. These two fine lads had been sent to do a job neither knew anything about. They did a lot of learning that night as they put every thing back in order. The seat and parachute were not important but getting that crash bar and armor plating was a real task.

We had telephone lines running all over the place, everyone wanted to talk with everybody else, we had a new code system for calling different people, it was like a short ring, a long ring and two short rings, new heck we used that same code out on the farm years ago. We also had a problem with the engineer group that maintained the runways and taxi strips, they had a very bad habit of sinking their blade down real deep just where our wires were crossing, a picture of a guard with a Tommy gun made them sit up and take notice.

Radio had been given a nice jeep to get from place to place out on the line; we kept this spotless and were very proud of it. There was another jeep just as good once now it was a broken down heap, because of over loading on the trip into town, broken springs and all was left at out tent with a note. We borrowed your jeep permanently, left ours in payment. That was not very nice, but as usual it was accepted with only a bit of bitching. Darn and dang.

Chateau dun it was a nice location so of course the time for a move was coming up, Jerry was on his last leg in Africa. All this time Jerry had not found this place or was afraid to look for it

The Move to Tunisia and Mateur

The move into Tunisia was made by open truck convoy, through an area that had been hotly contested in a last ditch stand for the Germans being pushed into a corner with no more room for retreat. We moved onto a field, built in a hurry by the engineers in an area just outside of Mateur, I couldn’t remember the name of the hill just to the west that had held up the advance of our army for several days. Just to the North of that hill was a large prisoner of war camp between the two cities of Ferryville and Bizerte; these two cities had been reduced to rubble. By our bombing and street-to-street fighting.

A railroad ran between the runway and plane revetments on one side our Bivouac and service buildings on the other. I mention this because it was ultra modern train running on flanged rubber tires, quiet and very fast. There were several very close misses on that crossing.

I might add here also it was the hottest part of the summer and this heat caused us no end in problems of servicing those planes and the flying of them. Heavy tarps were pulled over

To shade the cockpit and engines, we developed a technique of tuning the radios off frequency on the ground so they would transmit in the cool air, very tricky but it did work most of the time.

An exciting incident happened one bright sunny day that caused several lads hair to change to gray or at least it should have. I don’t know what the problem was but this P-38 decided to crash right in our bivouac area. Coming in very low it snagged the tent pole and snatched the tent out from several occupants. Nobody was hurt in the tent but the pilot was severely injured.

There was a problem of getting fresh eggs at this field and the mess officer tried to accumulate them in order to have enough for every one. Then there were those that thought only of themselves. Under cover of night they stealthily invaded the mess tent and taking only enough eggs for a good meal, to go with some nice T-bone steaks that had been purchased at the local market. Now the story gets a bit far fetched, it was said the CO going by was invited to partake of this gourmet meal. And latter was approached by a very angry Mess Sgt.

Latter in the day a mass meeting was called, and a CO with egg on his face explained how thieves had stolen eggs and gave a warning for it not to happen again. Could this be a true story? It is highly unlikely with such a group of honest unrighteous individuals. But then if you are hungry for eggs, who knows?

It was very seldom that you were able to find anyone from your hometown and so when hearing that a neighbor lad was located over in Ferryville with a Field Artillery outfit I found a reason to go for a visit. Roy was with a group assigned to go to, Bizerte to pickup some school equipment and returns it to a building in this area. The first part was easy, coming back was not bad, the equipment was unloaded and we were invited inside by this motherly looking Nun to have tea and tarts. As I was to enter this lady spotted my wings and the war was on, speaking in French saved me from knowing what she called me. The noise she made backed me off, it seems as if she associated me with the planes that were P-38s that had dropped a bomb on her school, and I did not get any tea and tarts.

Our homing unit was located on another hill with a long winding road to the top, most of the time we could get a ride up but it was a long walk down and as an incentive to stay on the road were these signs. Ach Tung Minen but the temptation was always there to save a lot of steps. As this was the enemy’s last gasp, there was a lot of enemy equipment in the area but common sense told you to not get too close as Jerry was an expert at booby trapping any thing left in the field.

There were no air raids against our field but as the invasion fleet was gathering in the Bay of Bizerte for the go at Sicily, a fleet of Jerries made a last attempt to change things. The exact number of planes was not known to us, but the sideshow that was put on kept every one alert and watching. A Night Fighter outfit was there right from the start catching several in their sights and sending then down in a whirl of color. The anti aircraft tracer fire lit up the horizon in giant fire works, it seemed to last for hours but was actually only a few minutes. We were never informed of the damage or the number of Jerry planes destroyed. However it did give us something to talk about.

Tunis was not very far away, but getting transportation to and from made us shy away from that place, The General that had taken over the EBS was gung ho about spit and polish. He ruled with an iron fist, but did not control the Air Force; there were many problems between the two groups MPs. It was easy to spend a night in the brig for an airman not wearing an under shirt. Only to be released the next morning at guard change. Now us airmen were not a slovenly sort but we went more for the coverall type and only resorted to class A uniform as a last resort. Most of the time it was just easier to stay in camp.

They started sending our belly tanks in plywood crates, and that started a trend in putting sides on our tents, building bunks, and not the least building a real club house and with that came the booze, Wine called vino, red, white and sour, cognac and brandy. Warm Limey beer and just cold American beer (very little of that) that started problems for some, my buddy hit the sauce very heavy, he would come back to the tent snookered to the gills. Remembering to bring a shot of cognac for the morning sober up, more often than not the juice was replaced with water and he spent the day still snookered.

There were grasshoppers or as they called them locust big tobacco chewing things that had to be chased out from our mosquito netting every night or they would chew holes that let the mosquitoes in. They were the malaria carrying type and thus all of us had that yellow tinge to our eyes from taking Ate brine tablets everyday, many still caught that bug any way.

There were also rats around the area, one night I could feel some thing down by my feet, I called Joe my tent mate who put his flashlight on the bugger, then calmly said “just a minute till I get my 45” I moved but fast. Some one came up with the idea of putting cheese by the center pole and do a bit of target practice but that was vetoed as a bit dangerous.

Somewhere along the line a nice little truck was accumulated and received a coat of olive drab, we really didn’t need it but it was good transportation back and forth to town. Also it was sort of a prestige thing getting something from somebody else as long as it was Government Issue. This lasted several months till it was coming off the LST in Sardinia, a Navy hot shot scratched the paint and claimed it as their property, I will bet you a lot of money he kept it for his own use and laughed heartily on how he took those stupid airmen.

Back home on the plains of South Dakota, I used to take long walks just admiring the scenery and to be alone. This was not very wise or advisable in this country, but me not being prone to common sense did just that. Getting on the train Bizerte bound and on arriving, started off walking the streets of this bombed out shell of a city, I even spotted the wreckage of what appeared to be one P-38, There had been rumors that Jerry was using the streets for runways to take off, thus explaining in part the bomb damage. The farther I walked the more my back seemed to itch, I was feeling very insecure, Those few inhabitants that showed themselves did not indicate any form of friendliness. Intending to walk home I headed down the road out of town, feeling a lot better as I left that place behind.

Now I was not silly enough to go alone, oh no I played it safe, carrying my trusty 45 well hidden under my jacket. Never mind I could not hit the side of a barn if I was inside; I also carried a broken bayonet as extra precaution. Safe as a bug in a rug, I walked out of Bizerte, stopping by the PW camp along the road, they all seemed happy to be out of the war and going to the states for confinement. Of course they all had their hands out for cigarettes, by that time my sack of Bull Durham for rolling my own was about depleted. I was heading back to camp a bit smarter but still feeling that getting away for a time was worthwhile.

Of course we always turned to thoughts of women and to the majority of us thoughts was as far as we got, There were nurses from the nearby hospital all off limits to the common GI except from a hospital bed, There were Red Cross Volunteer ladies, to them we were beyond their dignity except when they were passing out doughnuts in the safety of a group. The only alternative was the local population, which beyond the GI issued mattress cover, and a mask on their face did not promote any great happiness.

But what the heck is the matter, we’re fighting a war not socializing. Plus its moving time again as always nobody knows where.

And to Sardinia

We moved over to Sardinia on an LST with all our equipment to the port of Cagliari, which is also the capital of this large island. The dock area had been bombed very hard along with the business section and a large number of civilians were killed. Our planes had first dropped leaflets telling of a planned raid, however they listened to the Germans that told them there was no bombers that could reach their island.

We were located near Monsurotta on an established field steel matting had been laid for a longer runway. That still did not make it desirable in the weeks to come, as it rained constantly. It was directly related to the death of a young pilot, in trying to land on this narrow runway, he varied off into the mud, The nose wheel collapsed and the plane ended up side down, dozens of the ground crew ran to help disconnected the battery and with no sign of fire, lifted the plane high enough to talk to the pilot, who was not injured, at that moment we were driven back by a ranking officer. The plane was dropped down and by the time heavy equipment arrived the pilot had suffocated from the fumes. That might have been accepted procedure but it was mighty hard take, when we were so close to getting this man out safely. Once again war is plan hell.

Our bivouac was located in this farmyard, with our quarters in the barn after we spent several days of cleaning out the stalls, old farm boys handled the job but to the city folks it was considered a stinky mess. In a few days it was fine and out of the rain.

I have written of this before, a little girl holding what appeared to be her sister was seen in the garbage line begging for food. At this time it was observed that this smaller infant was very sick, the medics took over but it was too late and she died. We sort of adopted the older child seeing she was well fed and with a family in Quarta St Elena she was fitted with clothes. We had to leave the island and this incident was almost forgotten, years latter a successful try at locating this young lady now married with children. Making it a very happy ending.

We were in walking distance of this village and became acquainted with a very friendly population, especially anyone with a large wine barrel in the basement. The Dentoni family went out of their way for us, except an older daughter that was grieving for her German boy friend that had to leave in a hurry. By supplying canned tomatoes from us they managed Spaghetti and fried minnows oh golly what a meal, we were to have Christmas dinner with them but unfortunately; we were on the move again.

There were a large group of Yugoslav Prisoners of War, when the Germans retreated; they were on their own. It seemed they had money to buy drinks for us guyxs matter of fact they insisted on several at a time. Some stuff called Grapa, I called it white lightning and on my way home I fell in a mosquito control ditch spent the night wet and muddy, In trying to sneak in quietly of course I was spotted. It was no use trying to explain to anyone that didn’t want to know the truth.

On the road from Cagliari to the field There was a large detour at first nobody knew why, till some stupid Gis cut across and just as they reached the road they seen this sign saying “Achtung Minen” no more cutting across that field. When in doubt, ask.

A bit on that garbage line and the people waiting for a bite to eat, eventually there had to be a guard put on to watch that line, as there were some bad apples that would buck in closer to- the front. Soon every one was taking more than they could eat just to have plenty left for some hungry soul. Even M/Sgt Grattan softened up and was seen, motioning from behind the tent. It was good to see some sort of program was started to feed these good people, before we shipped out closer to where the action was.

Sardinia to Italy

On the move again, by loading bag and baggage plus all equipment on a liberty ship and heading out to sea, my buddy Joe was seen inspecting the welds on deck, when asked what he was looking for, his reply was. x My wife could not boil water when he left, now she is a welder on liberty ships.

There were some 900 passengers on board all needing to go when nature called, the latrine was constructed hanging over the side, open to the wind and the waves our quarters were in or under the equipment, not exactly comfortable but we were now old veterans not used to being pampered. The food was also better than the other sea voyages we’d been on. We felt like tourists as we passed the Isle of Capri and into Naples harbor, here again was the evidence of war with ships large and small sunk, even a hospital ship lying on its side.

I have lost track of time, but it must be awfully close to Christmas, 1943. Jerry has been pushed back a long way but itxs still a long way to go. This will be the second holiday season overseas with no end in sight, mail delivery has been very slow matter of fact therexs been none at all in Sardinia and that has an effect on morale. It had been an every day topic for several weeks, to top that off PX supplies have not been coming either, Ixm down to half a sack of Bull Durham.

Mt. Vesuvius to Foggia

From the Naples harbor we went immediately to the University of Naples for temporary quarters, as this was Christmas Eve and every thing comes to a halt. Let me tell you we are veterans at sleeping on hard floors but the marble floors in this place took first prize in that category. Tired as most of us were there was lots of moaning and groaning that night, Christmas morning came with a blinding fog in the area. The thunder and lightning heard through the night was caused from Mt. Vesuvius getting ready to blow itxs top.

Our breakfast was nothing special and we had not expected it would be, and immediately after eating there was a whistle for fall out troops. Of course first was a go at PT and then they pointed out about 20 of us for a detail, my luck again. We were trucked down to the docks and to a barge load of C rations to be unloaded.

Now our Irish was getting upset but in the interest of the war effort nobody complained to loud till some GI s came by and thanked us for taking their place so they could have the day off. It did not take long for us to find out that they had only just arrived from the states; we were now celebrating our second Christmas away from home and were not happy.

Still there was no spoken word as the unloading progressed, all from the dockside of the barge

This continued at a fast pace till there was a decided pitch to the deck, fearing the barge was leaking every one jumped to shore and all the C rations slipped of into the sea. There was a mass exodus from the area; we had not been picked by name, so making our selves scarce was a prime idea. Next on the agenda was getting something to eat in a strange city on Christmas Day. That was answered quickly, by a family coming out and in the universal sign language, invited us into their home on this holy day.

It was not a fancy meal of spaghetti and hard dark bread washed down with red wine, that in it self was good but the friendly fellowship of what had been enemies holding hands and praying for peace and good will made all of us feel good, as we parted with directions of how to return to the University

Under the cover of darkness we quietly entered and taking our place as if we had never been gone, just in time to see somebody bring loads of packages and letters from home. We suspected this mail had been held up just for this day, but there was no quibbling. Letters were opened and packages of candy were passed around including those unfortunates that did not receive anything. What started as a catastrophe ended as a beautiful day? We are now in Italy, What comes next?

The next day we were unloading our equipment onto truck and as each is loaded we left out of town and through the mountains passing the smoking Mt. Vesuvius, The driver and one in the cab, two armed soldiers, namely my buddy and I riding shotgun up amidst barracks bags and other goodies. I really canxt remember how long the trip took; I do know that it was a mighty cold windy trip, arriving at a field near Foggia, we immediately set up a tent intending to catch up on some sleep, plus trying to get warm. A day or so latter with every one there and New Years Day approaching the night turned ugly. Gale force winds, mixed with snow and rain tore at the tents. The tent pegs pulled lose from the water soaked ground, dropping soggy canvas down on its occupants.

Now under ordinary circumstances this would have caused a panic, but not with this outfit, we merely hunkered down and holding lose ends got through another miserable night. The mess tent had miraculously survived and the cooks were valiantly trying to serve a meal. Frozen turkey had arrived from somewhere, but many parts were spoiled almost half was thrown into garbage, the remains was taken care of with no problem by meat starved GI s. passing the greeting of Happy New Year to everyone. What a gang?

From here on in I will come up with many stories that will cover the next couple years with no special time element. My only wish is that there were more of us left to help me out with the goings on of this gang; I call them a gang they were getting to be more like brothers. Where else could you go with your problems, but to cry on your buddies shoulder, By now many had lost their wives and sweethearts just by the fact that we had been gone too long, parents and loved ones had sickened and died, it was a lonely sort of living but by hanging together we pretended all was ok.

Just after I had passed 30 months overseas, I had a chance for a 30-day furlough, I passed it up. Harry Dean took my place, my reason was I just did not want to go home and then return, Harry was home for 90 days returned in time to go home with me for good.

Others took their furlough and eventually were discharged; others thought they had just seen enough, I don’t know of any that ever went to the Far East. Lots went on to college, which was good for them; I had no regrets, it all worked out well. My time finally came to head for home, I had accumulated 38 months and it was all over but the shouting.

Our second anniversary overseas came and went almost unobserved it was no big deal, however when the third was reached there were rumors of a big celebration to the extent that all the ammunition was called in, I think that was over reacting, There never had been any noisy things that had arms being fired. And this was the same; the cooks really went all out fixing an extra special meal topping it off with a big cake with 2 inches of brown gooey frosting. Of course there had been those that had been at the sauce pretty heavy. One of these fine gentlemen as this fine cake was passed, just fell face forward into this beautiful cake, glasses and all, about all that could be said was “That’s our boy”

Another heavy drinker, fell into the garbage pit and would still be there if it wasn’t for his dog pulling at legs as if calling for help. Ordinarily that dog ignored every one but his master.

Another dog belonged to my tent mate; this dog a small terrier was also a one-man dog and the butt of practical jokes, if caught out alone a good scream sent it running full speed to hide under his masters bed, seeing him coming the tent flap just happened to drop in his path, Any one would think he had been killed by his crying yelps.

This same dog was making a trip out too his masters plane site just as the planes were taxiing for take off, cutting across he evidentially got too close to a spinning propeller. Its collar was torn and laying on the taxi strip, the dog had been thrown out in the field but unhurt, other than his dignity. He never was seen near the flight line after that.

The dog’s owner also had problems with the occupants of this tent, this was related to three of us that had been spending too much time at the local pub, this evening after returning home after a night of to much wine all ended up vomiting around the middle tent pole in unison with each other. This was the straw that broke the camels back; the teetotaler could not handle such a disgraceful goings on and hauled ass, bag and baggage and took his buddy with him.

And in the Hospital

I was feeling ill and after a bit went to our medics, was checked over and sent back to work fit as a fiddle, this odd feeling persisted so tried our medics again and this time, I was angrily told I was malingering, told to cut it out take an aspirin and get back to work. After a couple weeks of this I awoke one morning with aches all over and chills, I was intending to go to our medics again but on the way, I started vomiting violently and I crawled to nearby Headquarters medics and remember getting to the door and someone called “Get him in the ambulance. “ I woke up three days later in the Foggia hospital, the diagnosis was, severe jaundice and Malaria. I spent 30 days recuperating, comforted by three angels of mercy, (my nurses) I spent several hours explaining why I had not reported for sick call. Finally giving up on that I concentrated on getting well and back to work, One highlight of this stay was having a visiting movie star and love of my life, Madeline Carrol hold my hand and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Another was Lt. Brevera a nurse that really cared.

I was only out a couple weeks and had a relapse, could it have been just the desire to be back and be pampered, anyway the doc asked if I was drinking a lot of wine, and not waiting for an answer said. “Keep it up, it will kill you.” I never touched another drop.

One of the patients, in my ward, had the harrowing experience of being a tail gunner in a B-17 that exploded leaving him to float down strapped in his seat to make a soft enough landing that he survived. Another was a man of color that had been attacked beaten, mutilated and left in a ditch to die. Both were put back together and rejoined their outfit.

One experience with the Red Cross, at this hospital was the need for cigarettes and for the lack of 15 cents; I did not get a pack, clearly marked. “Not for sale.” I will refrain from making any more remarks about this organization and its failure to win much support from the average veteran.

I must not forget, a plane of the RAF famous Wellington Whitley was carrying large a block buster bomb, It either crashed or dropped this bomb, not on or really near but the concussion caused the ceiling plaster to fall in our ward. As if we were one person, as that was preparing to fall, every one slid out of bed and underneath and survived dusty but unhurt and able to smile as the nurses with tears in their eyes, ran into our room. The rest of the hospital sustained very little damage.

I missed seeing Lt. Brevera, and found that she was a patient in her own hospital and was recovering from having her appendix removed,

I had several recurrences of Malaria but never enough to be hospitalized; the chills and fever are severe enough to totally incapacitate a person, alternating from hot to cold with profuse sweating, followed by a deep pain in your stomach. This fine doctor said that pain was a warning to leave that rotgut wine alone or else. Now that really was a problem as wine had taken the place of water especially for drinking and doc said that was fine, but that did not mean swimming it.

At this stage of the game we were starting to get American beer and cokes at least once a month but no ice, if we were lucky we could get a pilot to take a bunch of cans in the ammo trays and fly around a bit hoping not to stay to long and have them froze solid, another trick was to bury the cans for a day or so that helped a bit. Still latter they accumulated an old B-17 for booze run over to Cairo Egypt, you had to get your order in early and have cash in advance. By then I had joined the teetotalers and was resisting all offers.

A bit on the water intended for us to drink, where they got it from in the first place? I preferred not to know. The Lister Bag was filled daily adding a generous portion of iodine or something on that order to give it a suspicious odor that even washing in it made you gag.

While still in Naples, we were approach by several Infantry people trying to buy our four buckle overshoes, with the song and dance that they were heading for front line duty, and did not have protection. Now from experience mud got plenty deep wherever we happened to be, but many were soft soaped into parting with this valuable piece of equipment. Six months latter this same outfit was assigned perimeter guard for our fields, they had been doing extensive training for that type of duty. I suppose they eventually went up on the line, with all the equipment they needed.

Every so often we were called to cleanup and look nice for some special awards but when these Presidential Citations came along it was all out spit and polish. Shoes were not used to being polished were hard put to look nice and class Axs dug out of moldy barracks bags were tough to press with heated rocks. At the last moment, Sandy from supply did come up with a complete outfit of suntans, bless his cold heart.

These old Sarges had to go back a long way to remember which foot was right or left and longer yet how to teach guys with two left how to keep in step and stay lined up. When the day arrived believe it or not we looked pretty darn sharp.

Twas the fall of the year and flocks of ducks and geese were flying over, sending me back to the South Dakota wet lands where the fall migration would be in full swing. Our problem was nobody had a shotgun. I reminded them that I was a poor farm boy and 22 shorts were very cheap but never wasted, being proud of the fact that I had never downed a duck with a shotgun, but had brought many home with my rifle. Then I was reminded that I did not have a rifle, my answer was, “all the better, I’ll get a whole mess at once with my Tommy.” I did not have long to wait; a nice vee came over real low, one short burst brought two nice Mallards almost at my feet.

Needless to say, I was just as surprised as anyone, now they had to be prepared for a meal, shooting I could do, cooking I could not.

All ideas came forth, none seemed practical except simple frying, a makeshift frying pan arrived, and that poor excuse for butter was used for oil. Shortly into this frying process, the odor permeating from that pan made us lose our appetite for any duck. To prevent any lasting smell to linger in the tent, it was thrown out the door, the stray dogs were always waiting for a hand out approached that free meal, tucked their tails and ran. Actually it had to be buried for the safety of all concern. I hope someone can explain what happened in the room next door to our communication suite, they were always welding or grinding sort of a weird bunch, this day we were hard at work as always, when there was a horrible blast and looking upward, there was the roof and something that looked like a rocket soaring into space. All this happened in seconds and we moved fast enough to escape the falling debris.

It took a complete remodel job to put that building back in shape, the walls made of what they called Tufa Block, a pit was dug removing the top soil, blocks were cut out of the ground and soaked in what looked like lime and water then dried and installed like brick in a very short time they were dry and the wall solid. Of course they would not stand up in an earthquake. For us it made quick places to work and dry if the roof was tight. It was amazing how it was possible to put up rather substantial buildings of those blocks and belly tank crates for special purposes, namely the village pub. Even the outhouse with its half moon and the public shower got special treatment. Now it also can be told that those brave souls out on plane guard spent many hours out of the wind in these crates.

The Great Safe Robbery

Guess everyone has heard of the Squadron safe robbery but it was so stupid I enjoy telling it over again. After every payday, money left in Soldiers deposit and after three days was taken into the main finance office. The orderly room and the safe very likely left unlocked. Why lock a place that is under surveillance of armed guards? Plus our group was favored to be very respectable folks. I doubt if the safe was locked or at best had only a pad lock, anyway when found at the bottom of an open well, it was open and very empty.

An amazing piece of investigating work soon had a couple unsavory individuals in protective custody, A check of their tents found disturbed soil under their cots where small sums of money was buried.

The whole group was called out on a massive search of the area with a successful find, together with an admission of being asked to aid in this robbery and had declined.

The story was told that after being caged in small crates in the hot sun for a couple days they confessed to this sordid deed. Donxt quote me on this treatment, thatxs just what I heard.

They were sentenced to ten years of hard labor, again that is just what I heard, I do know for a fact that the rest of this money was retrieved from itxs resting place deep in a very deep and smelly latrine by some eager Italian laborers.

And lastly by our CO was counting each soggy bill one at a time. One item I missed was that a dear buddy of mine doing Sgt of the Guard, actually talked with these two on their task of carrying this heavy box out of the area.

One of these men was our parachute rigger noted for being demoted rather than promoted but only for being under the influence of alcohol not the type that could be involved in any thing of that nature. The other I was acquainted with first hand, he had been assigned to radio and was sent to me on the line. He introduced himself as the “Greek” and right off said he had to have a pass to get his bags in Foggia, I sent him to the orderly room and dismissed him from my mind. This man disappeared for maybe three weeks, then showed up and very innocently and wanted to go to work. Again I sent him to the orderly room for reassignment and promptly forgot about it.

Checking the bulletin board, I found it was my turn at Sgt. Of the Guard, and had expected it as routine. A new arrival also a Sgt was assigned Private also on guard and took offence at that, asked me when I had become a Sgt and after naming a date he informed me that he was older and he was going to bump me. I said, “Fine straighten it out with the Officer of the Day” Guess it did not work as I worked my regular shift.

All this started happened near the end of out tour, when replacements started arriving to take the place of regulars taking furloughs. Petty thievery was unheard of all our personal gear was never touched; now it was called a whole new ball game.

Our living conditions had improved to the point of us having running water and wash basin with drains, a heating system that kept us warm, this had been ingenuity at its best and it irritated us when the new people insinuated that thing were not so bad, we had endured many months of tough going and were sort of proud of being veterans.

There had been disappointments as replacements with rank filled in a place you felt was yours especially if they had to turn to you for help. We had lived with many such trials and accepted them in the interest of harmony.

Very near the end of our tour, we were called out for gun inspection, totally unnecessary but again accepted as ordered. All Our ammunition had been called in, but of course there were still rounds out amongst us, It was not strange to see new people looking at these weapons and again nobody gave it a thought as to the possible consequences.

This day of inspection was one of our better days bright and sunny, No one could foresee the tragic end.

The NCO started down the line of men standing at attention stopping at each man, taking his gun opening and closing the bolt, then taking a Tommy Gun, which is temperamental at best, snapped the bolt, a live round had been stuck in the chamber, The gun fired, we were all stunned as this man fell to the ground. ”Cowboy” as he was affectionately called, one of the original group was to finally go home. No one ever blamed anyone for this accident, there was enough blame to go around we lost a buddy and a pal. Death was no stranger to any of us; Pilots we all knew entered their cockpit waved a cheery goodbye and did not return, an empty spot in the field, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. We were soldiers expected to handle these things without emotions. That’s a lot of bull; we were just a bunch of kids trying hard to be tough, no tears from us guys. I can’t even remember “Cowboy's” real name but I will remember him forever.

We were called on to do a job and if I do say so myself we did a good job, whenever and wherever we were sent and stayed with it to the very end, members of the First Fighter Group.

Is this the end of my stories, I have reached the end or maybe just a road block, Capt. Mac never ran out, gee he put together several, the Diary was a honey, then that one finding out what all us guys had been doing with our lives between and now, That sure ain’t all Mac was mixed up in. He was in every good thing over there and has never let us down, Now our top kick, what a guy. It is not hard to pick out a good guy in that bunch and they have stuck with each other for a long time. It is sad but so awfully true, names we have been associated for so many years are gone today, others will follow tomorrow or the next day, no one can pick the time but until the last salute there will be the 1st Fighter Group, remembering the past.

One last dig at someone not attached to our group who ordered the bulldozing of our P38s into the sea. It must have beensomeone way up the chain who turned those beautiful forked tailed Devils into fish bait as a final goodbye.

And Home We Go

The whole thing has come to an end over on this lonely airfield, most of the pilots are gone and the rest of us are marking time, wondering what would be next. I do remember faintly being called in to see the C/O about waiving something or other, getting an extra stripe or two, that was declined as I had no desire to see anything of the Pacific theatre.

The whole thing has come to an end over on this lonely airfield, most of the pilots are gone and the rest of us are marking time, wondering what would be next. I do remember faintly being called in to see the C/O about waiving something or other, getting an extra stripe or two, that was declined as I had no desire to see anything of the Pacific theatre.

Moving day came fast, a couple of us were intending on a quick run across to Rome, but being safety minded I checked the bulletin board and found that early the next morning we were to fly to Naples Replacement Center.

Every one on the list was waiting on the flight line for the war weary B-17 to arrive. As I remember about ten of them showed up, Jimmy Gaines and I paid a lot of attention to each one that landed this was a special trip and we looked for a perfect landing and decided on a certain plane, Jimmy and I were the only Air Force guys of 20 anxious GI s on that plane, being old vets, we were asked to keep those other calm and quiet.

That beautiful silver bomber, taxied to the end of the runway, paused a moment, then 4 engines took a hold, the plane shook all over and sped down the runway, nicely into the air the left outboard engine exploded in smoke and fire. The guys had seen a pile of chutes in the rear; it took a lot of screaming to keep every one in their seats.

As the pilot made a careful right turn and sat that bird down on another field, (thankfully there were plenty in that vicinity) All made a hasty exit, fire truck were there to put out the blaze, another bomber was called into service, that one never even got to the end of the runway, the third one did not look to good either and it almost took a shoe horn to get those guys back on board it did help a bit for us old timers to say this happened all the time and nobody was ever lost.

It was a perfect flight with a sight seeing spin over Naples, On the final approach and already on the ground, nosey me had to be up in the nose bubble and spotted this P-38 landing from the other way on our runway, as he slid by under our wing, we seen both this props were still. I was getting old fast and wondering if I would make it to my next birthday.

Out at the replacement center, 70,000 strong waiting to go home we were asked to say whether we wanted to fly or go home by boat.

Now, I have been flying in my mind since Lindy flew the pond and not long after that actually got in the air myself, any thing that had wings was safe but when given the choice that day, I opted to take a boat, 37 days latter, I stopped at the orderly room and signed on as air crew and left the next day.

A B-17 took 20 of us to Port Leouty, Morroco where, we sat for four days sweltering in the heat as C-54 landed and would not start again in that heat. One poor lad was in deep trouble as his brown envelope had disappeared, it is highly possible he is still there, no one ever left his envelope out of his hands at this stage of the game. The next C-54 just idled as 40 brave souls crawled aboard, sat down in those tin bucket seats and prayed. The next stop was Dakar on the Gold Coast for a mid-night snack and refueling. Taking off out over the Atlantic for a ways all was smooth, The land lovers were settling down after being assured the wings weren’t going to fall off and the exhaust ring was not setting any thing on fire.

It would have been asking to much, to have a perfect flight, everyone was laid out on the floor sleeping, when we hit rough air, that plane was every place but upright, It took a good bit of doing to get everyone back in their seats and belted down, by then the floor was very slippery and very smelly, Once again the air crew lied like hell, saying every thing was normal and nothing to worry about. I was glad it was dark so nobody could see how green my gills were.

The flight quieted down, we crossed the Equator and signed each others Short Snorter Bills, were soon ready to land in Natal, Brazil, South America.

A over night stay, gave us time to do a bit of shopping, I found a pair of bright red boots that fit like a glove and wore like iron. We were getting anxious to move on,

We were split down to 20 men, and were to go the rest of the way in C-47, our next refueling stop was Belem just a little strip cut out of the jungle near the Amazon River delta. In the air again when smoke started filling the cabin, It was a radio power generator in the rear of the fuselage, every one had their nose glued to window gun ports till we got the place aired out, Then we got cheered, every one was calm and behaved well, Army discipline at its best. On to Georgetown British New Guiana, over night stop and on to San Juan, Porto Rica, more fuel, then the final leg into Miami, Florida. Gambling was a great time passer all the way. I sat in the left seat and drove that bird, all the rest were trying to make money in the rear. I seen that great white horseshoe looking beach off Miami and punched the button bringing every one forward to get a look.

We were on American soil, Hot, muggy and loaded with mosquitoes, It was my birthday, July, 30th 1945, 38 months away from home

Our first meal was a treat to behold every thing anyone could ask for in the finest food and ice-cold milk, HOME AT LAST.Then it was to a bank of a hundred telephones and a free call home, Mom and Dad were not expecting this call as a long time ago I had resisted saying I was coming till I was there. Only a short stay then on up to Jacksonville Florida, Another week then on the train to Chicago, no food before we left, a stop at every cross road and getting into Chicago to late to catch the train to Minneapolis, Now as we found ourselves stranded in the railroad yard with no sign of food we were getting upset.

A track worker in overalls sent us to a man with a suit and that guy got us a Military Officer who quickly got us into the terminal for a meal. Then as we were going to have a nine-hour delay, the idea came up to let us roam the streets of Chicago. Almost immediately Army said no, we did not look like soldiers. The Suntans were dirty, sweat stained, and wrinkled but after a bit of arm twisting it was agreed that we could go in a four-block area. Of course we only got out on the street, when a couple young MP s stopped us and wanted to know where our neckties were, the answer by one big Alan Ladd type was, “ the last tie he’d wore had been used to hang a Jerry and the next would be to hang them.” That was fighting words and trouble was brewing fast, Saved by the bell another jeep arrived and calmed boiling waters, and begged us to stay out of trouble.

They poured most of them on the Minneapolis train; six were missing and caught up with us the next day.

Fort Snelling, Minnesota. I started there on September 11th, 1941 and truly expected to get out there today. After waiting most of the day the fickle finger of faith dealt a cruel hand. No it was that brown envelope, I had been classed as essential with my MOS changed to radar mechanic and orders read. 30-day furlough and 10 day delay enroute to Santa Ana, California for rest and reassignment.

Does a soldier rant and rave, throw a fit etc? You can bet your sweet jersey I did, but not where anyone could hear me. By now there only

Myself and Himmelhaver he was going to Wyoming while I stopped at Milbank, South Dakota all the rest of our planeload had dispersed to the four winds. It was very simple the I st Fighter Group had ceased to exist as we had known it, we could only hope that some sort of ghost would bring it back in time.

The train rolled on though the night, crowded to standing room only, I could not sleep so watched out the window as each little city passed by bringing me closer to my parents and the wonder how they might have changed.

It was 2:30 in the morning as I got off the train to meet my brother and several neighbors whose sons were still in uniform and fighting in the Pacific, It was great to be home, but the unknown fear of having to leave so soon again was trying to spoil it all, My mother was fine and so happy, my father was a broken man having suffered several strokes and was in terminal condition with prostate cancer. For two weeks I was on edge, I could not eat those special meals that mother placed in front of me.

A special buddy from Duluth, we separated at Scott Field with the understanding that if letters stopped coming, each would check with the others parents, Georges letters quit coming, his sister answered my letter, George was missing in action on a B-17 flying out over the Pacific, She asked that I go and talk to his mother, One of the hardest things I had ever ventures into, It was good for both of us as we talked and cried through the night.

It was on this visit that the first bomb was dropped, a few days latter the second. It was finally over and almost immediately I started to settle down and enjoy being home. There was still problem most of my friends were gone and I could not handle the teenage drinking crowd.

The local sheriff enlisted my aid in subduing a drunken fellow that had every one in the bar cornered with a broken beer bottle.

He went to jail; I went home to bed and enjoyed the rest of my furlough. Then headed to Santa Ana Air Base that now was a separation center with along line ahead. Now I was in no hurry, the food was great, one of the mess Sgts was my old neighbor, just back from a tour in Alaska, A guy from old 71st had managed to bring his big dog home by boat, that dog had always ignored me over there. This dog gave a woof and almost bowled me over, so happy to see me for a moment, then ignored me again, fickle friends.

Turning in my gear caused a commotion, They were taking our “Ike jackets” and giving us regular blouses, That did not set right with me so I hid mine under the mattress and lied through my teeth, an angry supply guy threatened me but what could he do, I got the largest overcoat in the pile, and went on my merry way. I was very close to being out of the Army, They gave me cash and a railroad ticket to Cheyenne Wyoming, and there I started hitch hiking. Stupid me with over $3,000 in cash in my money belt, Thumbed my way through The Black Hills, and Wall Drug Store, Got a ride with a drunken stare highway executive, had a head on collision at low speed on the brow of a hill, was escorted to the railroad depot and seen that we left town by the state highway Patrol in what looked to me like a cover up,

Finally I was home and free, my brother was now on the draft board, He informed me that I was supposed to sign up for the draft. I ignored that plus several warning letters, finally a friendly visit from the local sheriff asking me to please make that old gal in the office happy.

That gal was not happy when I entered her office and I listened to an assortment of bad language, did sign my name and retreated glad to still have my hair, she was a kooky one.

Every one at home wanted me to go right to work, golly that did not fit my style being idle was ok by me. Then I got trapped into a job with an electrician that lasted some 40 years from wiring farms for the REA, working the Taconite plants of Northern Minnesota and lastly changing Minneapolis, Minnesota’s skyline. Retiring in 1983, I got married to Delores June 22, 1927, Have two children, Leland with three grand kids, His wife Sandy Died a year ago in Oct. from breast cancer. Julianne Krisko, no children, her husband Ben Died of liver disease in June of 2000. I have been a volunteer at the Minneapolis St Paul International Airport Servicemen’s Center for 18 years, seeing to the needs of anyone in uniform or on orders, passing through this area, Open 24 hours with bunks for both men and women.

I first found out about the Reunions, and attended the 1984 gathering at Langley and have been going ever since with the exception of San Antonio, I plan on getting to the next one at Langley.

My memory has been jogged, Mac was at it way back in possibly 1948 or in that vicinity, I was ready to give my shirt to go to that one but I was poor as a church mouse and could not get out of town, I am not sure just when it was started routinely every other year, speaking only of the 71st Squadron.

The only problem with the reunion has been the relentless loss of our buddies and friends, may their souls rest in peace, till we all make that last reunion in the sky.

These last chapters, were an added thought till I think up some more fool things we did along the way,

See you at the Reunion at Langley As ever Ken Fritz