On one noteworthy combat patrol, Joe Starr and I were the messengers. I do not recall the patrol leader. We had a 3rd temporary (I believe) messenger with us to share the radio chores. The 3rd man had just taken over our radio, Joe had moved along the hedgerow across a gate to our left. I started to follow just as several machine guns let loose across our front. We had found the enemy, only he saw us first and fired first! The German guns raked the gap I was sprinting across. I tripped and fell in the tall grass. Joe, ahead of me, motioned me on. Behind us all the U.S. and German weapons were firing madly. We had, in a few seconds, been cut off from our patrol and we had no radio.
It was essential that we not stay in the middle. So we ate our maps, crawled to a corner of hedgerows, scrambled over and kept going at top speed toward our own lines. One half hour later, as we cautiously moved up a slope looking for a sign that we were near our own line, we were startled by the sound of artillery firing just over the ridge. There is no mistaking the sound of German 88mm artillery and our astonishment turned to dismay. We had been walking deeper into German held territory all that time. How far behind us is our own line? Where is the German infantry and how long can we avoid them? It was late in the day, we had no weapons, no maps, no radio. I finally realized my strap-on knife was broken (snapped in two) and my watch was gone. This must have happened as I vaulted a hedgerow getting out of the fire fight.
So it happened that one evening in October? Nov.? 1944, Joe and Bill were reported “missing in action” to regimental Hdqtrs. I had been seen to fall just as the firing started, so it was assumed I had been hit when I had simply tripped in a timely fashion.
Back in the (battle)field, Joe and I found a draw in the high grass and spent a quiet, dry, comfortable(physically)night waiting for daylight. We knew we were still in deep trouble. Although lost, at least we now could tell in which direction we needed to go to find our own line.
Nevertheless, we also realized there were many booby traps on the U.S. side of the line and we had to assume there were similar goodies to avoid on the German side before we would even get to our own. Early the next morning we carefully moved through the open field, crouching and crawling into a wooded area. Then, very slowly, forded a stream which was part of the line into American held territory. Even more cautiously around the trip wires between trees and we found ourselves in a sector covered by a neighboring company. We were safe! For now! By dusk we were back at F Co. receiving a big welcome. Especially from the chief cook—Charlie Wasulka, who dug out steaks for us. As he observed, he was really worried about where he could get his extra cigarettes if I had not returned!
After this episode, we returned to the patrol routine—at least twice a week—to the German lines or behind them. On occasion we were able to go to Rennes for sightseeing or a movie. At some point the Company started “adopting” a nearby orphanage operated by the Roman Catholic Church in a very nice, large, estate-type home. In mid December, Tommy Thompson, Don Wenning and I obtained some extra radio batteries and flashlight bulbs. Other guys cut a 10 foot evergreen and installed it in the formal dining room. The 3 of us strung the flashlight bulbs on the tree, covered them with colored cellophane and collected small gifts—especially candy—from the troops. We GIs tried to sing Christmas Carols along with the children and nuns. The thanks of the nuns and the laughter of the young children made it a great Christmas. Christmas (1944) at the orphanage was one of those small watershed events in a life. In many ways a traditional celebration of Christ's birth, it was appropriate that the family members were not related by blood. We were members of the larger family of Christ: soldiers from many different states and cities, nuns from various parts of France and the children—each one an orphan.
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