During the last days of November and the first three weeks of December, 1944, the 1st Bn. 143rd Inf., as well as the rest of the 36th went through some of the most difficult periods of the war in France. Going through the Vosges mountains was hell. The enemy resistance intensified, and the weather was miserable. The front line soldier was by this time completely fatigued, with only an occasional one or two day rest from front line combat. The area in the Bennwhir-Mittlewhir were especially bitterly fought day and night. This article is my personal experience on being wounded, hospitalized, recovery and return to Company B, 143rd Infantry.

On 16 December, 1944, all units were alerted for another enemy counterattack, but none came. I was ordered to take out a night recon patrol about 200 yards to our front. The mission was to locate enemy positions in front of B-143. It was a cold, clear night as we moved out. About 150 yards out we noticed some movement to our right at a distance of about 100 yards. It was a German patrol going toward our positions. We went to the prone position quietly and remained still for a few minutes. A few minutes later the German patrol returned to their lines. We continued forward for about another 75 yards and could see a stone retaining wall and stopped within a few yards from it. We could hear the enemy talking, apparently in positions immediately behind the wall. We decided to return to Company B and report what we had seen and heard.

The 17th of December began as a quiet day with only an occasional artillery round fired into our area. The company was ordered to move out and take the low hill directly to our front. My squad was selected to be the point, and we moved out of our defensive positions. The terrain was almost open ground, and we passed by some unoccupied enemy positions that were in the vicinity where we had seen the enemy patrol the night before.

As our squad approached the stone retaining wall, the platoon guide, S/Sgt. Nelson W. Lesieur took the lead, and I followed him. As he stepped up on the wall, a single rifle bullet hit him in the face, killing him instantly. He fell backwards on me, and then we all hit the ground. Then, the enemy opened up with rifle, machine gun, mortar and artillery fire. An attempt was made to move to the left and perhaps try to knock out the machine gun. Ben Palmer, leading the 2nd squad, tried to maneuver to the left, and he motioned for me to try to move to the left also. I crawled a few feet to the left and the machine gun kept firing so low that even crawling I could see there was no chance to make it. By this time the mortar and artillery fire intensified and was zeroing in on us. Everyone took cover in whatever place they could find. PFC Adams and I ran for a large unoccupied enemy position. It was well built, with an overhead cover of logs and dirt. A short time later, I heard the shrill sound of an incoming artillery round. It was a direct hit on top of our position. PFC Adams and I were unconscious for a few minutes. I came out of it first and could barely see because we were covered with dirt and debris from the logs and dirt that had come down from the direct hit. I was numb all over, and I managed to slowly crawl out from under the dirt and logs on top of me. I could not feel any pain and seemed to have no feeling below the waist. I thought that I had lost my legs. I pulled with my hands and slowly pulled the rest of my body from under the debris. I looked over my left shoulder and could see I still had my legs. I managed to pull myself out further and began to get more feeling in my legs. I saw PFC Adams was almost completely buried under all dirt and broken logs. Only his head and part of his left shoulder were visible. I got on my knees and began to pull the broken logs and dirt off his back. I was yelling for the medic and kept digging PFC Adams out from under all the debris. About this time he regained consciousness. I asked him if he was okay, and he just nodded. I could see some blood on his back and legs. About this time the platoon medic came over and helped to get him on his feet. Another member of the platoon came over to help me, and we limped off to the battalion aid station.

When the doctor at the aid station asked what had happened we told him about the direct hit. He had someone attend to Adams and then he asked me where I was hit. I told him I could feel a sharp pain and burning sensation in my lower back. I took off my cartridge belt and pulled down my trousers. Then he cut off my shorts and said "Aha." He said "Hang on," and I felt a sharp pain. He then showed me a slender sliver of shrapnel that he had pulled out, put some disinfectant on the wound and bandaged it. I asked him if that was all and when I could expect to be going back to the company. He kind of laughed and told me that the sliver of shrapnel had gone through the canteen and a clip of M-1 ammo on my belt. Then he told me that the sliver wound was the least of my problems.

"In an hour or so you will be in a lot of pain and will not be able to move. You have a bad case of concussion on your back and shoulders." He then put me on a cot and gave me an injection, and I went out. I regained consciousness in an evac tent hospital and after answering some questions, was tagged and given another shot. I kind of remember a bumpy ride on an ambulance, then I was on a train. I ended up in the General Hospital in Paris. I do not recall much of the first week in the hospital.

One day, I had the most terrible nightmare of my life. I was in a misty wooded area apparently on a patrol. Suddenly, this German soldier was there in front of me. I stepped back and tripped on something and fell backward on my back. The German soldier lunged at me with fixed bayonet and stuck me right in the testicles! The next thing I recall, I was thrashing around on the floor and screaming like a wild man. Some medics came into the room and brought me out of the nightmare and put me back on the bed. The soldier in the room next to me was really shook up. He said "Sarge, I hope you do not have any more, because I have trench foot, and I cannot walk, so please don’t have any more of them." I then realized how close to the edge I was by being on the front line so long.

My treatment at the hospital began shortly thereafter on a daily basis. It consisted of heat treatments and massage of my back and shoulders to get the muscles and nerves back in place. The medics used to kid me about looking like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Finally, I recovered enough to get around to go to the mess hall for meals and walk around the ward. It was surprising to see enlisted men and officers taking turns at serving chow for other patients like me. They were also recovering from wounds and would volunteer to work the chow line, just to have something to do.

By the end of February, I was well enough to return to duty. I was sent to a replacement depot near Paris. After records check and interview, I was told that my next assignment was to some rear echelon outfit. I raised a lot of hell about that. Finally, I got to see the NCO in charge and told him that I wanted to return to my combat unit. He made some choice remarks about my attitude—like if I was fool enough to return to combat and get my butt shot off, then I had asked for it. After a week or so of processing, I began to work my way though the Pipeline back to B-143. At the 36th Replacement, there was no problem about returning to the B-143. I rejoined Company B at Hagenau, France. John Sullivan had taken over as Platoon Sergeant, and we had a Platoon Leader—1st Lt. Brancato. Lt. Brancato and I did not see eye to eye. To begin with he was about 5’2"; I was 5’3" 1/2"! We disagreed on almost everything. Later on, an incident came up and he threatened to have me court marshaled—nothing came out of it, but that is another story. I was glad to be back with my comrades of Company B-143!