The following post is “sort of” an excerpt from my World War II book. My father kept a diary/journal and gave it to me & my sister, Anne, on Christmas 1984. Needless to say, we were both flabbergasted. In all my growing up years as a kid, he rarely spoke of the war, and even when he did, only the humorous parts that I’m sure he embellished over the years.
But this 200+ page, 3-ring binder titled, “A World War II Diary,” was an eye opener.
I read it multiple times and for the benefit of my own kids, I further researched and enhanced it with additional details. Fast forward to October 2005. Casemate Publishers published, “You Can’t Get Much Closer Than This: Combat with the 80th ‘Blue Ridge’ Division in World War II Europe.” A month later, it became the Book of the Month for the Military Book Club. It’s currently in its second printing.
My latest novel, NEVER FORGET, includes several of my dad’s personal experiences and my own, not to mention many of those who fought in the Vietnam War. Note that I was not in Vietnam, though I served with the US Navy in the western Pacific, 1973-77. I’m considered a Vietnam War Era veteran. Although fiction, I based NEVER FORGET on several historical events. I wanted to write a father (WWII) and son (Vietnam War) novel about broken relationships caused by a war and how time helps to heal wounds.
This week’s blog describes an event during WWII where my dad was injured and earned the Bronze Star Medal. I decided to write in first person point-of-view.
“Andy. Andy. Wake up. Time to move. Are you okay? Andy, Andy.”
I slowly opened my eyes in a daze as my buddy and fellow lieutenant, Kad, slapped my face several times.
“What the hell, Kad?”
I saw a smile appear on Kad’s dusty face. Blinking a couple of times, his blurred image showed watery eyes.
“I thought you were dead, Andy. You didn’t answer when I called on the phone, so I came looking for you. The artillery must’ve cut our communication lines. But I think you’re okay.”
“I think so, but my leg hurts like hell.” I didn’t tell him, but I hurt from my stomach to my toes. I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious.
“Well, it ought to.” Kad looked over at my leg; on top of it rested a four-inch beam and part of a roof. I was on the second floor of a building in an OP (Observation Post), helping adjust firing positions for my .81mm mortar section. I had only fired a couple of rounds when apparently enemy artillery hit the house I’d been in.
“A roof caved in with that last Kraut 120mm mortar barrage. Let me get this roof off your leg.”
I swear I heard him cackle a bit, but it must’ve just been him exhaling as he lifted the heavy beam off my leg. I tried to move, but God, it hurt.
“Hang on a minute. Let me help you. Here… here’s a little water. Take a sip first, then we’ll get you up.”
Lt. Saul “Kad” Kadison joined our unit, Company H, 2d Battalion, 317th Infantry Regiment, 80th Division, just a few short weeks earlier in mid-September, right after we successfully crossed the Moselle River. He was from Brooklyn and, like me, an officer. I’d been with the division since training in the California-Arizona desert in November 1943. He’d come the route of the 90-day wonders. We were both mortar platoon leaders in our Heavy Weapons Company.
(Click to enlarge)
I immediately liked Kad and we would become great friends… brothers in arms.
“Easy, now. Easy. Put your arm around my neck and we’ll take it slow.”
I tried to stand, but my leg was so weak and sore it wouldn’t support me. Kad rubbed it briskly for a couple minutes to get the circulation going and bound it tightly with a bandage.
I was finally able to hobble. No bones seemed to be broken, but my leg was bleeding a little.
Our battalion’s mission was to attack the small town of Sivry, France, located smack in the middle of a big valley about one mile from our hill. Behind the town, almost straight up in appearance, were two huge mountains: Mt. Toulon and Mt. St. Jean. In between lay perfectly open terrain, studded with little villages and several small forests.
All of which was under observation by the Germans.
We held one part of the town; the Germans held the rest. There was only one way that we could get out, and it would not be easy—we had to make our way through a minefield.
Kad got all the men together, and I told them we had to make our way to the west edge of town and move out single file. We also had to keep several hundred feet apart because the German artillery and mortar fire was heavy all up and down the valley.
Several of my men were wounded, but luck and the Good Lord were with them. All of them could walk, even though it hurt like hell. The pain in my throbbing leg was severe, but I knew the way back and was the only one there who knew the way through the minefield.
I had to make it, no matter what.
We got to the edge of town and I tried to show the men the route we would take. It was two miles uphill over rolling ground, and it was quickly getting dark. I knew we had to clear the minefield before nightfall or someone would trip a wire and blow himself to bits.
Sergeant John Quinn had to help me walk. I would lead the way out and Kad would feed the men to me at intervals. As we were standing there getting ready to move out, the Krauts began to use us as target practice. Brother, let me tell you, being on the receiving end of target fire is no fun.
We’d sprinkle the wounded in between the other men so that if one of them couldn’t make it, someone else could carry his equipment and help the wounded man.
When Quinn and I were about halfway through the minefield, we heard some rounds coming in that we knew would land too close for comfort. We both dove for a gully. As fate would have it, I landed on my leg and for a minute or two, I lost my senses from the excruciating pain.
When we finally got to the edge of the woods, we both sank down and didn’t say a word for quite some time. We simply didn’t have the strength.
The men straggled in and dropped from sheer exhaustion. It was getting dark fast. I told Sergeant Hubbard to pull the column down the path that ran parallel to Company F’s lines for a few hundred yards and hold it up. Darkness set in, but Kad and a few others had not yet come up.
I sent word up and down Company F’s lines for the men to be on the lookout for my men and not to fire. My leg felt like it was about to fall off, it hurt so bad. But I took the men I had down to where the company was holed up and in a few minutes, Kad came in with the rest of the men. He had gotten lost in the darkness, but came through the minefield without touching a trip wire.
The next morning, October 4, at 3:20 a.m., the Germans attacked Sivry with an estimated full battalion of infantry. At about eight or nine in the morning, we lost communications with Company G, who’d stayed in town to hold off an attack. A few stragglers from Company G got out. They were wrecks of men. With hollow eyes and hollow voices, they pieced together their story.
The Germans had launched a sneak attack with burp guns, grenades, and bayonets. They outnumbered our boys about forty to one. When it had gotten to the point where it was a matter of every man for himself, Lt. Ted Ellsworth, Company G CO, told his guys to get out the best way they could. Apparently, he was still holding out and needed help badly. His CP (Command Post) was in a church in the middle of town, completely surrounded by Germans.
My leg was really swollen now; I couldn’t walk on it at all. Later in the day at the aid station, I ran into the Battalion commander. The Major had a high temperature that later turned into pneumonia. He didn’t want to leave, but he had no strength left. He told me what had happened in Sivry.
Company E had received lots of new replacements. Initially, two rifle platoons made it to the edge of town. It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that the other two rifle platoons reached the rest of the company. When they got to the outskirts and the Kraus turned their guns on them, the men dropped face down into the ground and wouldn’t move. The old timers tried to show the new kids how it was done, but the Germans picked them off. When the situation became hopeless, Battalion ordered us to withdraw. This was about 6:30 p.m. on October 5.
Before I went to the aid station, I had a feeling the doc wouldn’t let me stay with my men, so I called them together and told them I would be gone for a few days and for them to take care of themselves until I got back.
I realized then how close we’d become during the past couple of months. Usually I could get my men together and talk to them for hours on end, but this time I got all chocked up and could only sputter a little.
The men who came out of Sivry with me said, “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
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My dad was evacuated from the front lines and eventually ended up in a hospital in England for rehab. The roof that fell on him severely tore his cartilage. The surgeons repaired it so he could walk again. He returned to his company on December 14, 1944—two days before the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge.
My father’s best friend in the Army, Lt. Saul “Kad” Kadison, didn’t make it home. He drowned while trying to carry supplies across the fast-moving, swollen Sauer River in a rubber raft in early February 1945. They found his body two months later. In all my growing up years, I never knew of Kad until I read the diary—my father never spoke of him. I guess it just hurt too much.
“Pop” survived the war, came home, attended law school (University of Florida) and received his JD. He practiced “country law,” as he liked to tell it, in Gainesville, Florida where my sister, Anne, and I were born and raised. We lost Pop at age 68 to cancer in June 1989.
I don’t think any veteran—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine, or Coast Guard—ever forgets their time in service, especially those who faced combat. While the war was behind them, they could never forget those who didn’t make it home—their own personal heroes.
People sometimes ask me how I came about the title of my WWII book. It’s simple.
When I was a kid, my dad had a “Shadow Box” that my mother had put together for him. It hung on the wall at home; my dad was proud of it, as were the rest of us in the family. Like many young kids who grew up with WWII fathers (and mothers), I asked him about his ribbons one time, specifically the Bronze Star Medal. “Is this your favorite?”
Without hesitation, he pointed to the Combat Infantry Badge. “No. That one is.”
“Why that one and not the Bronze Star?”
“Because being in the infantry… on the front lines… you can’t get much closer than that.”
At the time, I thought he meant closer to the war. But as I grew older, with a family of my own, I now know what he really meant. He was telling me you can’t get much closer to your buddies; you can’t get much closer to your own fears; and you can’t get much closer to God.
Until we meet again,
Andy
Bronze Star Citation
General Order #116 29 Dec 44 [click HERE to read the GO; scroll to second page]
ANDREW Z. ADKINS, JR, 2d Lt, Inf, Army of the United States. For heroic achievement in France on 2 October 1944, in connection with military operations against an enemy of the United States. On 2 October 1944, Lt Adkins led a mortar section platoon in support of a rifle company in an attack on an enemy held town. The objective was successfully attained but the problem of supply was complicated by the fact that the enemy had perfect observation from the high ground behind the town. On his own initiative, Lt Adkins immediately organized a group from his platoon and set out to replenish ammunition stocks under the hazard of enemy artillery and mortar fire. Upon returning safely with the required supplies, he learned that the rifle company was urgently in need of ammunition and rations. With utter disregard for his personal safety and despite pain from a knee injury, Lt Adkins voluntarily, in the face of concentrated enemy fire, secured the supplies, and succeeded in returning safely with them. The outstanding courage, tireless efforts, and sincere devotion to duty displayed by Lt Adkins exemplify the finest traditions of the armed forces of the United States. Entered military service from Florida.
Books mentioned in this blog post:
NEVER FORGET – A Veteran’s Journey for Redemption and Forgiveness (A Novel) [FREE to all veterans and their families]