Paratrooper
MY WORLD WAR II STORY
April 15, 1942 ~ December 14, 1946
© 1997 by Edward M. Isbell
507th Parachute Infantry Regiment
INTRODUCTION
My story was taken from memory and notes I kept during four years and eight months in the army during World War II.
It’s just another war story that most any soldier could have experienced. I debated for some time about writing down my experiences while in the service, but I decided to do it when I got interested in finding out all I could about my great-grandfathers ~ James Isbell, who served as Captain in Co. ‘A’ 22nd N.C. regiment, and Lowery Dula, who served in Co. ‘F’ 37th N.C. regiment of the Confederate Army. Lowery was wounded at Frederickburg VA. and was held as a prisoner of war in a hospital in Washington DC. I felt my story would be of interest to my descendants.
As you read "My WWII Story," I would like for you to understand a few things about the airborne units of WWII. They were used most of the time for landings behind enemy lines by parachute and gliders, to help make it possible for the larger units of our invading forces to be successful.
There were times when paratroopers were dropped miles from their drop zone (destination), especially at night in dense fog and smoke from anti-aircraft guns, as it was in the early hours of the invasion of Europe, June 6, 1944 ~ and found themselves fighting alone or in small groups in a strange country and outnumbered many times by the enemy. This is why they had the best training the army had to offer during WWII. Not only were they trained to follow orders, but to think and act on their own initiative when necessary.
I was the communication chief for company ‘E’ 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment, attached to the 82nd Airborne Division. About 1 a.m. on D-Day the plane I was in was hit by flak shortly after we reached the coast of France. We had to leave the plane before reaching our drop zone and landed in an area that was occupied heavily by the enemy.
The flares, along with anti-aircraft shells and rifle fire from the ground, made it impossible to see where you were going to land. I was lucky to have landed on the edge of a flooded field. Even if you weren’t hit on your way down, you could have landed in a flooded field where your legs were stuck in the mud and your head under water, or shot while hanging from barbed wire strung between sharp pointed poles or trees.
If you were lucky enough to survive all this, you tried to determine what direction you should take to rendezvous with your unit. Most of the troopers found themselves in small groups or alone trying to reach their objective and help complete the mission that had been assigned to them.
Many were killed and wounded. Others were captured as I was 5 days later. Even with all the chaos, the airborne landing was a success and helped make it possible for our troops to get a foothold on the beaches shortly after daylight.
Despite all of our preparation and training, I didn’t realize what combat would be like until our plane was hit by flak and we were going out the door into fireworks of flares, flak, bullets and tracers, landing in a place where it was kill or be killed.
There is no way I can explain how I felt. Being frightened is only natural for a soldier in combat, especially his first time. I was just plain terrified until I reached the ground and was free of my chute and loaded my rifle.
Only those who have experienced it can realize the stench and horror of war. I have forgotten many things that happened during the last 50 years. At times it seemed that reality and dreams had become entangled. Time helps, but dreams and nightmares keep returning from time to time and won’t let me forget completely.
As I tried to remember my war experiences it seems I was another person or in a twilight zone. It’s hard for me to believe the things I witnessed during my few days in combat and 11 months as a prisoner of war.
The first two months of POW life were hard for me to accept. For the first time in my life, I was not free.
We were interrogated over and over. We were always hungry and made to walk long distances in all kind of weather. Being bombed, strafed or shelled by our Allies was understandable. We never knew when or where we would get food, water or rest. There were times we wondered if our captors were going to shoot us when grouped together like cattle in a barn or open field. There were times I was sick, and felt death would be a blessing.
The last two months of the war seemed to affect me more mentally and physical than at any other time. There was so much suffering and death. Very little food was to be had. Not only POWs, but women, babies, young children and old men of different nationalities suffered from hunger and the need for warm clothes in sub-zero weather.
Many were Germans trying to escape the Russians. Most of the railroads had been knocked out. The railroad yard at Schwarzenberg, Germany, where our work camp was located, was crowded with box-cars full of suffering human beings.
Knowing that the war was coming to an end, it was hard to understand why Hitler wouldn’t surrender. It would have saved so much suffering, death and destruction. They knew they had lost the war after their big push in Belgium failed in December. Instead, they placed explosives on the bodies of their young boys (Hitler Youth) to blow up Allied tanks.
I’m proud and thankful that I had the opportunity and was able to serve my country and be part of the airborne operation on D-Day. My biggest regret was getting captured and not being able to serve with my unit until the war ended.
~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1
In April, 1942, I enlisted in the Army Airborne at Raleigh NC at the age of 20. On April 15, I was inducted into active service at Fort Jackson SC, where we drew our clothes and basic equipment.
The adjustments we would have to make from civilian life to becoming a soldier were explained to us. A few weeks later they shipped me to Camp Walters TX, for basic and communication training. Camp Walters was near Mineral Wells TX.
I didn't go to town many times while I was there. I worked in the canteen and cafeteria at night to make a little money. The base pay for a private at that time was $21 a month.
Basic training was tough. Bayonet practice was my hardest drill. The rifle we trained with was the 1903 Springfield 30-06 bolt action and weighed 11 pounds with the bayonet attached (a World War 1 rifle).
I had never fired a high-powered rifle until we went to the firing range for target practice. That rifle kicked like a mule. I thought it was going to beat me to death before I learned to hold it the correct way. After the first few days on the range my lip and right cheek looked as if I had been beaten with a hammer. I later qualified as expert rifleman with the 30-06 M-1 semi-automatic rifle (World War II and Korean War rifle)
Camp Walters was located in a dry county. The beer garden was located in a wet county about a half-mile walk from camp.
I was on guard at the beer garden one Saturday night. The ground was completely covered with beer cans. The guards before me had made a path through the cans around the garden. It was early Sunday morning, dark as pitch and so quiet you could hear your heart beat. All of a sudden something hit the cans behind me, making a loud noise. It scared me so bad I yelled, "Halt"!
After getting my flashlight turned on, I spotted a Texas jack rabbit that was more frightened than I was. It was going in circles trying to get out of the cans. The soldier who came to relieve me said he could hear the noise halfway back to camp. I must say it was good to be relieved for four hours. My next two hours on guard would be after daylight.
~~~~~~~~~
By playing tennis, boxing, bowling, swimming and working out at the YMCA in Raleigh before entering the army, I thought I was in shape to take whatever the Army had to offer. I'm sure the time I spent getting in shape helped me through basic training. We trained hard for 14 weeks and I spent much of my spare time working out on the obstacle course, doing push-ups, etc. I was ready for the Airborne, l thought! Ha, Ha.
Those who signed up for the paratroops had to have a thorough physical examination. You had to be in perfect physical condition, not too tall or weigh too much etc. They knew what our mental condition was. A doctor found a varicose vein on the back of my left knee and disqualified me, but after going to the company commander and doing a lot of begging, they let me pass. The vein is still as small as it was then.
On Aug. 1, 1942, I left for Fort Benning GA to take parachute and communication training. It was raining cats and dogs the Sunday morning we arrived. They had us standing outside for over an hour. After our clothes got good and soaked we started close-order drill (march). We had lunch in wet clothes and went back out to run and do push-ups until late in the afternoon.
This was just the beginning of Class 33 and four tough weeks of training. Our drill instructors were merciless. They tried to make it so tough we would ask for a transfer. Their goal was to see if you could take it. If you couldn't they didn't want you in the Airborne. The first week was spent taking calisthenics and learning Judo. That's when I realized my physical condition was not as good as I had thought.
On Tuesday morning of the first week of training we had to help each other out of bed because of stiff joints and sore muscles. The second week was chute-packing and more calisthenics and Judo. The third week we trained on the two 200-foot towers. The chute on one of the towers was already open and was guided up and down by cables. The other tower was called the free tower. When reaching the top, you were cut loose and floated free to land nearby.
There was a 30-foot-high mock tower that had an open door simulating a plane's door. We would jump from the 30-foot tower and ride a cable for 50 yards to the ground at a fast speed. This was teaching us to jump from a plane and land without getting injured. The fourth week we were supposed to make one jump each day for five days at an altitude of 1500 to 2000 feet to qualify. In the early days of parachute training, troopers packed their own chutes.
~~~~~~~~~
Monday, Sept. 7, 1942, I was to make my first jump. We only had three planes available that day for two groups. A group of Canadians was to jump first. The planes were supposed to make three passes over the drop zone to get their correct altitude before anyone jumped.
For some reason, the second plane was much too low when the men in the lead plane started jumping. A Canadian major was the first man out and he floated into the second plane. Its right wing caught his shroud lines and he was swung under the wing and up about 100 feet above the plane. The jolt must have knocked him out as he never used his reserve chute.
Everyone was yelling, "Pull your reserve!" as we watched him fall to his death, hitting the ground not far from us. It was amazing that more men didn't get hit by the plane.
We didn't have to jump that day because of the accident. Most of us were ready to ask for a transfer after seeing the accident. However, on Tuesday we were ready to go. To qualify by Friday, we had to make two jumps in one day.
Tuesday, Sept. 8, 1942, I made my first jump. I could never explain the feeling of going out the door of the C-47, getting the shock from the opening chute, and looking up to see this beautiful white canopy of silk overhead that meant life itself. The quiet peaceful feeling of being free as a bird was indescribable. The only sound was the wind whispering through the shroud lines or a fellow trooper yelling "GERONIMO" as he jumped from the plane above.
Then, all at once, you realized there was something called gravity and the ground started coming up fast. That's when the peaceful feeling disappeared and reality returned. I was oscillating and seemed to be coming in backward. The ground was passing under me at a tremendous speed. I checked my oscillation and got turned around just as I hit the ground.
I was so excited and frightened I don't know how hard I hit, but the landing was a good one. I rolled my chute up, threw it on my shoulders and walked across the jump zone to the waiting trucks with the feeling that I had conquered the world.
I can't remember which day it was that we had rolled up our chutes and were walking over to the trucks when the fellow beside me collapsed. He said his leg hurt. We removed his boot and found he had a compound fracture. He had walked about 50 yards carrying his chute. That was how excited and keyed up we were.
On Wednesday my jump was even more exciting and most unusual. After my chute opened, I was looking down at the view when I realized 1 wasn't losing altitude. Two planes had unloaded their cargo of troopers minutes after I jumped and they were passing me going down. I was moving sideways and at times going up. We had not been told about updrafts, but I knew it was time to do something because I was leaving the jump zone headed toward some power lines and a creek. I pulled on my risers to let air out beneath the chute, hoping that would start my descent, which it did.
When I landed, an officer from jump school told me he had made many jumps, but had never been lucky enough to get caught in an updraft. He told me if it ever happened to me again I should slide back into the seat and enjoy the ride. It never happened again. Thank the Lord it didn't happen on my combat jump.
I made two jumps on Thursday so I could receive my wings and leave on a seven-day furlough on Friday. During this time all troopers were qualified riggers and packed their own chutes. Later this was changed and our chutes were packed for us by riggers. There wasn't time for me to re-pack my chute after jumping on Thursday morning and still have time to get in another jump that afternoon. I was allowed to use a chute left by someone who had refused to jump. I didn't like using a chute I didn't pack, but I wanted to finish my five jumps by Friday. Both jumps that day and the one on Friday went well.
~~~~~~~~~
I left for home on a seven-day furlough after the pinning-on of wings at a presentation Friday afternoon. The trains were so crowded during the war that I had to stand most of the way to Hickory. My sister Jewell came from Lenoir to pick me up. It was good to have a few days at home. I went to Raleigh to see my friends before returning to Fort Benning. The seven days went by fast.
After returning to Fort Benning, I attended the airborne communication school until Oct. 17, 1942. The 507th Parachute Infantry Regiment was activated July 20, 1942. The 507th and the 508th regiments were both trying to fill their quota of men. Most of the men I had trained with were sent to the 508th Regiment and I was sent to the 507th Regiment. The 508th Regiment became part of the 82nd Airborne Division and saw combat a year before our regiment did. To this day they have been stationed at Fort Bragg NC as part of the 82nd Airborne Division.
I was placed in Company F 507th Regiment for a week before being transferred to Company E as communication chief. That carried the rank of sergeant. Captain J. R. Nunn was the commanding officer. I've had the privilege of talking with him at some of the 507th Association reunions the past few years.
First Sergeant Hubert Jordan of F Company usually attends the reunions. I asked him if he remembers pulling me out of bed one morning and throwing the bunk on top of me because I didn't hear the call for reveille. He laughed and said he remembered me, but didn't remember the incident. He was the toughest, but best first sergeant in our regiment. He has mellowed in his old age like the rest of us old soldiers.
The 507th trained from September 1942 until March 1943 in the frying pan area (an area in Alabama across from Fort Benning GA) where we made many jumps, day and night. Training was hard and they never let up on us. Running five miles before breakfast each morning was just a start for the day. When you entered the troops you had to forget walking. We were never allowed to walk during training. It was double-time anywhere you went.
The 82nd Airborne Division needed one more regiment to fill their quota. We were hoping our regiment would be the one to fill the slot. We felt sure they would be the first airborne division to see combat. We wanted to be the one they chose, but the 505th Regiment was chosen. As it happened, the first time that U.S. paratroopers were used in combat was in North Africa on Nov. 8, 1942. The 509th Battalion commanded by Lt. Col. Edson D. Raft was the first to see combat.
I remember it being a beautiful day. Our company had the afternoon off for care and cleaning of our equipment. Chuck Lamson and I were sitting outside our hut when an officer from battalion headquarters came by and asked us if we were interested in making a jump.
He told us they had some new fly boys (pilots) who needed training in jumping paratroopers. He told us that he had chutes that were already packed that we could use. Jumping without equipment sounded like fun and would add to our jump status, so Chuck and I, along with some others, made a planeload (two "sticks" of 10 men each).
On the way to draw our chutes, we decided who would jump in which stick and who would be the jumpmaster of each stick. The stick that got out of the plane the fastest won. Our stick came up with the idea of holding on to the side pockets of the trooper in front and going out on top of each other. The crew chief was going to time each stick. The stick that lost had to buy the beer that night.
I was jumping last man in the first stick. Chuck was in front of me. When Chuck and I got to the door, the pilot was afraid the plane was going to stall and he gunned the motors. The pilots were supposed to get the air speed down to about 100 miles an hour, raise the tail, and hold it there until all the troopers were out.
Chuck got out and I hit the side of the door with my main chute. It fell out of its cover as I went out the door. The apex of the chute hit the tail of the plane and just about knocked me out. I was in a daze, but realized something was wrong. I looked up and the chute was in a streamer. It looked as if it was trying to open, but after I passed some of the men that had jumped ahead of me and they looked as if they were going up instead of down, I knew it was time to pull my reserve chute.
I fed it out and up as we were taught at jump school (our reserves did not have pilot chutes). The reserve chute caught the streamer and wrapped around it. I shook my risers and tried to separate the two chutes with no success. I don't remember anything after looking down and seeing the ground coming up fast.
About 200 feet from the ground my reserve and what was left of the main chute, came open. The landing was hard. It knocked me out for a few seconds (maybe I was already out from fright.). A sprained ankle was the extent of my damage. When the meat wagon (ambulance) got to me, I was getting up. In one hand was the rip cord handle of my reserve (we were taught never to drop one, but slide it up on the wrist). I have the rip cord handle and a piece of the main chute as a souvenir.
I found out later that the suspension lines made an indentation in the tail of the plane. I had also ripped off the rear pocket of Chuck's fatigues. I became a true believer about not volunteering for anything in the Army after that episode.
~~~~~~~~~
I recall that during another jump I floated through a trooper's shroud lines and he was pulling me toward some trees. One of the lines was caught around my reserve chute and two others were around my legs. Not wanting to land in trees was one thing, but getting burnt or cut by his lines was another.
I took out my jump knife and cut the line that was around my reserve. The ones that were around my legs had pulled me upside down and it was hard to reach them. When I did, I cut them one at a time. Each time I cut a line a section of his chute would fly up and he would cuss and yell, "Don't cut any more." We didn't laugh at the time, but after we missed the trees and landed OK, we had a good laugh. There were 28 suspension lines one foot apart, which made the chute 28 feet in circumference, so three sections didn't amount to that much.
Talking about trees, I landed in a tree only once and was lucky not to have been hurt. Just before landing, about 15 feet above the ground, we would jerk our risers down to our chest to help compress the air between the ground and chute to keep from landing so hard. Chuck came up with the idea to use a rope 15 feet long with a weight on the end to use for night jumping. By hanging it down you would know when to give the downward pull just before hitting the ground.
The first time he tried it the weight hit some tree tops and, thinking it was the ground, he gave the downward pull too early and hit the ground hard. He didn't try it again. Now I notice that the airborne uses this method to bring down extra equipment.
Night jumping was frightening to say the least. The door was a black hole with streaks of sparks going by from the plane's exhaust. If it was a dark night, all you could do was hold your breath and hope you landed on the ground and not in trees or waters. You kept straining your eyes trying to see where you were going to land. After you got close to the ground, you could make out trees, power lines or water, but it was too late to do much about it.
Black top roads looked just like a river at night. In order to land in water, you unsnapped your chute, hung on until you were about 15 feet above the water, and then let go, dropping free of your chute. The drop zone in Alabama had a power line on one side and a creek on the other. A black top road also ran near the creek. I heard that a trooper mistook the road for the creek, dropped free and hit the road. It didn't kill him, but both legs were jammed into his hips.
On March 6, 1943, we traveled by rail to Barksdale Field near Shreveport LA and spent several weeks participating in maneuvers with the 3rd Army. This is about the time we began to realize that we were a "maverick," or better yet, a bastard regiment (not assigned to a division). The 505th Regiment had filled out the 82nd Division.
I can't explain how disappointed we were. We were battle-ready and now found we were headed for Nebraska to start more training. It caused a lot of troopers to go AWOL. The stockade was full due to fights and other behavior problems. It seemed at the time our regiment was falling apart.
On March 21, 1943, we traveled by rail to Alliance Air Base, near Alliance NE. The regiment was stationed there from March 23 until Nov. 20, 1943. While we were there, we jumped for air shows, rodeos, blood donation campaigns etc. On July 3, 1943, 250 troopers were picked to jump in Denver CO for a blood donation campaign. This was my first opportunity to be the jumpmaster after attending jumpmaster school.
That morning for breakfast we had greasy sausage and eggs. With the breakfast and the rough ride, many of us got sick. I was seated next to the open door. The crew chief handed out bags for those who needed them and I didn't get mine any too soon. I became numb from the waist up. I think my harness was too tight.
I asked Chuck to help me stand up so I could adjust my straps to get my blood circulating. Lieutenant Howard was afraid we were going to fall out the door. He helped Chuck take me back to the radio compartment. On the way back my reserve chute came partly open. I was all bent over and my arms were around the reserve which kept it from falling out.
Chuck and I tried stuffing it back in its cover, but was stopped by Lieutenant Howard. He told Chuck he would have to jump the first stick in my place since my reserve was not safe.
Before we got to the drop zone, Colonel Millett radioed all the planes that the ground wind was too strong for a safe landing and if anyone didn't want to jump it would be OK. Army regulations prohibited jumps if ground wind was over 35 mph.
However, the colonel didn't want to disappoint over 100,000 spectators. The planes formed a circle so the jump would last longer for the spectators. I looked out the side window. The jump zone looked like a postage stamp in the middle of the parked cars.
With a ground wind of 30 to 35 mph, many of the troopers were injured when they landed on cars. After I saw what happened, I felt better about not being able to make that jump. I don't think I had ever been as lonesome as I was after everyone had jumped. It was like being in a room with a lot of friends, when all of a sudden they vanished and you were left alone. I was still sick, but the numbness had gone by the time the plane landed.
The mock attack on Lowry Field was sponsored by the Denver Kiwanis Club. The admission for the drop was one pint of blood. After the jump we were entertained by the Kiwanis Club, state, and city officials in royal fashion. Every two troopers were sponsored by a VIP and his family for the weekend. Chuck and I were entertained by a state senator and his family.
They had dates for us and they went all out to make sure we had a good time. I was feeling much better late that afternoon. We had a feast at some large amusement park. Everyone wanted to ride the roller-coaster after we had eaten ~ everyone that is except me! I couldn't tell them I would get sick if I got on that thing. A paratrooper getting sick~ no such thing!
So we climbed on and my sickness returned, l managed to find the rest room as soon as I got off. I should have stayed at the hotel in bed the way I felt.
Sunday afternoon we got ready to fly back to Alliance Air Base. I couldn't believe how crowded the plane was. The pilot was upset with the crew chief for letting so many soldiers hitch a ride back to the base. I remember him saying to the crew chief that we were overloaded with 24 troopers and their equipment, but he thought they could make it with a mile runway.
Not many, if any, airports in that day had runways that long. We took off and I didn't get scared until the crew chief asked that everyone move to the front of the plane so the tail could get up. The tail would come up and then go down. It did this many times and we knew the runway was running out. All of us were jammed together in the front with as much equipment as we had time to move. Just as the plane got a few feet in the air we could see a fence and trees go under us. I didn't like flying then and I don't like it now.
We spent many nights training in the sandhills. The summer was hot and winter very cold. There were so many mosquitoes in the tall grass that grew around cattle ponds that they made a dark cloud when disturbed. At night you had to climb in your foxhole and cover it with a shelter-half (one-half of a pup tent that we used to make a sleeping bag). We kept a cigarette lit to keep us from being carried off by the mosquitoes.
~~~~~~~~~
In cold weather we had an army blanket that we lashed inside the shelter-half to make a sleeping bag. At times the temperature would drop below zero in Nebraska. We would dig large bunkers in the sand and line them with hay to keep warm at night. The hay came from a large ranch nearby. The owner gave the Army permission to use what we needed. He also treated us at a barbecue one weekend. There was an old western town located on his ranch that still had original buildings standing, that we used in our training.
We made a jump in the Black Hills of South Dakota on Sunday morning, Oct. 19, 1943, and went into bivouac on the shores of scenic Stockade Lake in Custer State Park for several weeks. It turned out to be quite an experience. It was snowing on the Sunday morning we hit the silk (early chutes were silk, later nylon). Snow was coming down so heavy it was hard to see the ground.
The thing we didn't like about the high country was the thin air. It made our landings much harder than we were used to in Georgia and Alabama where the air was heavy. We always had injuries on jumps, but we had more in Nebraska. Landing was like jumping from a car going 30 miles per hour carrying 80 pounds of equipment.
I was lucky on this jump and hit in a corn field where the ground was soft. I recall one of the officers from another company got his jugular vein cut by the sight on his carbine. He would have bled to death if it had not been for a medic who held the vein together until they got him to the hospital.
Getting to visit old Indian Forts, Wind Cave, Twin Tunnels, and Balanced Rock was much like a vacation for us. We needed this rest before leaving for overseas in November. I don't remember seeing Mount Rushmore while we were there.
~~~~~~~~~
Billie and I took a trip out west in 1987. One evening after visiting Mount Rushmore, we started looking for a campground. It was pretty late when we found one and the area was pitch-black. There was no one around when we pulled into a space beside a lake.
The next morning, I walked down to pay the camp fee and on my way back to the motor home I had the strange feeling of having been there before. Later, Billie and I were walking around the lake and it came to me. The campground was in the area where the 507th had bivouacked 44 years earlier. It had changed some through the years, but the lake looked the same. Of course the campground wasn't there at that time. It brought back many memories.
~~~~~~~~~
Air sickness in rough weather was a problem for me, so Captain Roy Creek, our company commander, hoped to help cure me by having me fly five nights with the 325th Glider Infantry while they were stationed at the air base for training. I alternated between the tow plane and the glider on each flight. After takeoff the gliders were pulled out over the sandhills, and on the way back to the air strip they were cut loose to land near the strip.
One night I was in the tow plane flying over the sandhills. All at once the plane lunged forward picking up speed. At the same time something hit the side. The rope towing the glider had broken and was flapping against the side of the plane. We were about 20 miles out from the airstrip.
We made several passes looking for the glider, but had no luck. The radio operator of the glider reported to the air base that they had been cut loose early and were getting ready to land, but weren't sure of their location. There was only one ranch house in miles of the base and the glider landed just a few feet from its front door.
No one saw the house until they climbed out of the glider. The radio was damaged in the landing and they phoned from the ranch house to let the base know their location. Trucks were sent after the men. They found them all in good shape.
Riding in a "matchbox" (glider) scared me so bad I didn't think of getting sick. I don't remember air sickness bothering me again after those five nights. It was a hard way to get over it. I haven't been in a plane in 50 years and the only reason I would want to fly again is to be able to make one more jump. (I think?).
~~~~~~~~~
Chuck Lamson and I attended jumpmasters' school and made two jumps a day for five days. Our training was hard, although it wasn't all work with no play. Chuck and I spent many weekends in Sydney NE and Denver CO. We were very good friends and had a lot in common. We were both in company headquarters. He was the operations sergeant and I was the communication sergeant. We made an agreement that if we ever got married we would name our first son after the other. Chuck got killed on June 16, 1944, during the invasion. I was the lucky one to get back and have two fine boys. Billie and I named our first son Chuck.
~~~~~~~~~
While stationed in Nebraska, our pass to town was only valid until midnight. If we wanted to stay longer a special pass had to be issued and signed by an officer. I always managed to have a few blank passes just in case I was late getting back to the base. Chuck helped out at times in the orderly room and saw to it we had plenty.
One cold, rainy night it was past midnight by the time I began looking for a ride back to the base. The only way we had to get to and from the base was by bus. A few cars were around, but not many. The bus stopped running at 11 p.m.
I saw a cab coming down the street and flagged it. To my surprise it stopped and I squeezed in. It was so crowded I had to sit on the edge of the seat. The windows were fogged up and it was hard to see in the dark. I was so happy to get the ride I didn't realize at first that the soldiers were officers, but when I did, I thought they were Air Force officers.
About halfway there I realized I needed to fill out a pass. I pulled out the blank pass and I asked the driver if he would turn on the inside light and lend me his pen. Someone handed me a pen and I placed the pass on the side window. After filling it out and signing it with a fake officer's name, I turned to give the pen back.
Guess who? None other than our regimental commanding officer, Colonel Millett. I thanked him for the pen. Everything had been quiet until now. The cabbie turned the light out and someone made a remark and laughed.
It wasn't a laughing matter to me. I knew when we got to the gate the Colonel would probably turn me over to the MPs. I'll never know why the Colonel was riding in a cab when he had his own command car and driver.
Vehicles couldn't enter the base without a proper sticker on the windshield, so we had to get out at the gate.
As we walked towards the gate, Colonel Millett turned to me and wanted to know if I thought the pass would get me by the MPs. I told him it had worked before and I didn't think I would have any trouble. As we passed through the gate the MPs didn't check anyone for their passes. If I had known this was going to happen I wouldn't have needed the fake pass and everything would have been OK.
I'm not sure, but the MP on duty that night may have gotten into more trouble than I did. MPs were supposed to require everyone to show a pass before entering the Air Base.
The following week I began to catch all kind of details and some of them were off-duty hours at regimental headquarters. I asked First Sergeant Thomas what was going on (as if I didn't know). He told me he didn't know all the details, but orders had come down from Regimental Headquarters that I was to be restricted to the base for one week and report to Regimental Headquarters each morning for a week.
Thomas grinned and told me Captain Creek would probably want to know what I had done to get so important at headquarters.
I told Thomas if I were the Captain, I would tell headquarters that he wasn't going to give up a good sergeant like me without an explanation.
Creek didn't mention the pass incident, but one day he stopped me and wanted to know if I was learning anything up at headquarters. He said he had some things he wanted me to do for him if I ever had the time. He had a grin on his face as he trotted off.
~~~~~~~~~
click here to go to the "Paratrooper" index of volumes
click here to go to the Poor Town Book Titles