Beyond Band of Brothers (5 page)

Out I stepped into thin air and the inexorable force of nature took over as gravity carried me downward. It was an exhilarating feeling, but I experienced no sensation of falling. On my initial jump, I almost caught my chute in the high-tension line running through the cornfield that was also our landing field. Having landed safely, I was back up with the other officers until we all made five jumps by evening. We were now airborne qualified and could “blouse our boots,” the traditional mark of an airborne soldier. Colonel Sink ran three or four groups of officers through this system of qualification before the plane had an accident while landing on the field. He determined that this method of qualification was too dangerous, so the remainder of the regiment qualified at Fort Benning. That night the officers congregated at the officers' club to celebrate our newly acquired status as airborne officers. The liquor flowed freely and I received my share of good-natured ribbing because I was a teetotaler.

Every soldier who endures basic training emerges with stories that evolve with passing years. Both Sink and Strayer developed innovative training programs to bolster our morale and to foster unit cohesion. Before the regiment left Toccoa, Colonel Sink directed that a final physical test be conducted to eliminate unsuitable men from the regiment. Companies were rotated through the testing center, with noncommissioned officers from other battalions judging the individual stations. One of the men, Burt Christianson, remembered that the day before the test, Easy Company was primed and ready, confident that the men were now in the best physical conditioning of their young lives. On the day of the test, we began with the obstacle course. Each soldier received ten points if he successfully negotiated the course in three minutes. For every three seconds under three minutes, he earned an extra point.
From the obstacle course, Easy Company marched to the push-up area, where each trooper was required to do thirty push-ups for ten points. For each additional push-up, another point was awarded to the contestant. Many members of the company had placed wagers on Captain Sobel's inability to do thirty push-ups, but he successfully passed this station. Next up was the standing broad jump, also worth ten points with additional points for additional distance.

Sink's decathlon continued with the pull-up station, where each trooper had to do six overhand pull-ups to the chin from a hanging position using a horizontal bar. The next event was to run at a ten-foot wall, leap up to catch the top of it, and then pull oneself over for ten points. This was followed by a duck-walk for fifty yards in thirty-five seconds, a feat that was far more difficult than it sounds. The 100-yard dash was next over a field where the green grass was about four inches high. To obtain the required ten points, you had to cover the ground in thirteen seconds, not too hard except by this point each member of the company was near exhaustion. The final event was the one mile run over a half-mile course. When a soldier reached the turnaround point, he shouted his name and received his time. If you completed the mile in six minutes, you received ten points and another ten points if you made the half-mile in three minutes. The men who received the highest scores in Easy Company in the physical competition were Burt Christenson, Gordon Carson, George Rainer, Carwood Lipton, and Robert Van Klinken. Their collective reward included bragging rights in the company and the opportunity to represent the company in the battalion competition the following day.

Much has also been written about the “Hog and Innards Problem” over Thanksgiving. This sounds gross, but it actually wasn't that bad. The setup for the exercise consisted of stringing barbed wire on top of stakes about eighteen inches high. This ended up being like a net, covering an area approximately twenty feet wide and fifty to sixty feet long. The ground was covered with hog entrails—hearts, livers,
intestines, the works. And then, to make sure you kept your head and butt down, two .30-caliber light machine guns were set up to fire live ammunition over the top of the barbed wire. The barrels of the machine guns rested on 2'' x 4'' supports and the legs of the tripods were sandbagged down. For a basic infantry training exercise, this resembled a real combat atmosphere. We had a real incentive to keep our heads and butts down in the hog guts. I thought it was an excellent exercise, and it's one everyone remembered.

The most grueling exercise Easy Company endured during our time at Toccoa was the field march to Atlanta, a distance of 118 miles, during the period December 1 to December 4, 1942. Some reports say the march was 112 miles, others 115 miles. Who cares? It was a killer! Prior to deploying the regiment to Fort Benning, Colonel Sink had discovered a newspaper article that said the Japanese had conducted a forced march of 100 miles in seventy-two hours down the Malayan Peninsula. Determined to demonstrate that his men could better the Japanese mark, Sink selected 2d Battalion to prove his point while 1st Battalion traveled to Columbus, Georgia, by train and 3d Battalion marched directly to Fort Benning from Atlanta to begin airborne training. Lieutenant Sal Matheson, who had joined battalion staff as adjutant, laid out the course for Major Strayer. The march was conducted during unusually severe weather conditions with full field equipment less rolls. Private First Class Smith remembered that the march started out with the assumption that the battalion had landed in hostile territory and had only its regular war rations and equipment. Approximately 100 miles of the march was made over rough and muddy roads, with temperatures dipping below freezing every day. Of the 586 men who initiated the march, only twelve failed to complete the journey. The elapsed time to complete the entire exercise was seventy-five hours and fifteen minutes according to the battalion's letter of commendation, with the actual marching time of thirty-three hours and thirty minutes.

Seven miles outside the gates of Camp Toccoa, a cold winter rain turned to snow as the battalion began its trek toward Atlanta. The first day out, we covered forty-four miles, followed by forty miles on the second day. My worst memory was the morning of the third day. It had been raining the entire preceding day so that when we camped late that night, we were in mud to the tops of our boots. When we lay down to sleep, we were in the mud. I took my boots off and put them by my head in the mud. During the night the temperature dropped dramatically and the mud froze, so when I awoke, the sleeping bag was frozen in the mud and I was stiff and sore all over. But the worst part was that my boots were frozen stiff and I could hardly get them on, even with the laces loosened all the way. The lesson I learned that morning, and I've never forgotten, was to always get your boots or shoes nice and wide and a little on the long side. Your feet always swell under severe stress.

PFC Robert T. Smith described the field march as “the most miserable experience” he ever had. By the end of the hike, Smith's knees and ankles were so swollen that he could hardly walk for three days afterward. Another of Easy Company's men, Gordon Carson, remembered that those four days were the worst four days he had ever spent. Beginning on Tuesday at 7:30
A
.
M
., the company marched in the cold and rain through the mud and rain in the Georgia back hills. We stopped to eat at 12:15
P
.
M
. and resumed the march an hour later, not stopping until we reached the bivouac area at 8:45
P
.
M
. The wind was so high the men couldn't keep their fires going. Tuesday night, said Carson, “was the most uncomfortable night I ever spent in my life.” Tuesday, Carson was never colder; Wednesday, he was never more tired. I vividly recall seeing Floyd Talbert, one of our best soldiers, slugging along with his machine gun. I can still see the determination on Talbert's face. Later we developed a personal friendship that transcended rank. Talbert was athletic and dedicated. You knew if your life were on the line, he would come through. Another of my 2d Platoon troopers, DeWitt Lowery not only carried his light machine gun, but also the
company's faithful mascot, “Currahee,” in his backpack. Second Battalion had adopted Currahee shortly after the majority of troopers had arrived at Toccoa. He stayed with Easy Company long enough to see all the qualified paratroopers receive their hard-earned wings on graduation day.

Dog and Fox Companies shared equally in Easy's hardships. Private First Class Leonard Hicks of Fox Company remembered the freezing rain that drenched everything and everyone the first day out. As his pain increased, he began hallucinating, claiming that at one point he saw two or three Johnny Rebs watching the battalion as they trudged through the Georgian woods. The miserable weather also affected Fox Company's 1st Sergeant Willie Morris, whose usual enthusiasm was waning as the day progressed. Aided by his buddies, Private Hicks and the remainder of 2d Battalion reached the campus of Oglethorpe University on the evening of the third day.

After “cursing everything the Lord created,” the battalion finally reached Atlanta after an overnight halt at the Oglethorpe campus. It was reported that Lieutenant Colonel Robert L. Wolverton, the commanding officer of 3d Battalion and who would later be killed on D-Day, finished his hike in his stocking feet. By now our march was the subject of every newspaper and radio broadcast. Lieutenant Wally Moore's 3d Platoon of Easy Company crossed the finish line with every man crossing the line unaided, so he led the company parade down Peachtree Street to Five Points in the center of Atlanta. The other platoons objected that Moore had violated the “rules of engagement” by having his men remove the barrels of their machine guns for the hike, but 3d Platoon captured photographic honors anyway. The mayor of Atlanta and other dignitaries greeted us and presented the battalion with a key to the city. Following ceremonies at Five Points, we then marched to the train station, only too eager to board the train for the ride to Columbus.

As I look back on the officers and men who served in Easy Company during the war, my thoughts always return to the corps of soldiers
who survived Toccoa. To this day I keep a list of the Toccoa men by my desk and I look at it every day. Every trooper who joined Easy Company after Toccoa was a replacement. Many of them made fine soldiers, but they were replacements. Toccoa men are special, and they are always the guys I remember first.

The period from our arrival to Fort Benning until our deployment to England was characterized by intense training designed to prepare Easy Company for movement to a combat theater of operations. The 1st Battalion of the 506th PIR preceded our battalion to Fort Benning since we spent three days “marching to Atlanta.” We were followed by 3rd Battalion, which conducted a forced march from Atlanta to Fort Benning. Arriving back at Benning, I recalled the weeks spent in OCS. Not much had changed except the number of soldiers on post and the hectic activity that enveloped the post. Like all companies in the regiment, Easy Company was scheduled to undergo four weeks of airborne training, culminating in jump week, where those soldiers who had not qualified at Toccoa would make the five jumps from a C-47 and earn their coveted jump wings. Supervision of the airborne training was under a highly skilled group of noncommissioned officers, so the men enjoyed
a brief respite from Captain Sobel's direct command. Officers were not so lucky since most of us had completed our five jumps at Toccoa.

The first week at Benning was dedicated to physical training, but the entire 506th PIR was in far better shape than the Regular Army cadre who conducted the physical conditioning. Within two days the cadre recommended the regiment move immediately into the next two phases of training, which in today's army is known as “tower week.” Hours in the suspended harness apparatus gave way to additional training on the thirty-four-foot towers. Once qualified on these stations, each member of the company made practice jumps from Fort Benning's 250-foot towers. Cadre carefully critiqued landing procedures and the ability of individual troopers to maneuver their parachutes during descent. While the men spent their days in the Frying Pan, the area that housed the billets and training areas, officers participated in classroom instruction and weapons familiarity. In between classes and the Frying Pan, officers learned the rudiments of riding a motorcycle, were taught how to swim, and became “acquainted” with horses.

The final two weeks in December found Easy Company on the drop zone. Weather permitting, the men made all five jumps and earned their wings. The fourth jump occurred on Christmas Eve and, following a rare day off for the holiday, the men made their last jump on December 26. Faced with the ultimate moment of truth, only two men in the entire company froze and refused to exit the aircraft. Each trooper now received a certificate declaring that he was a qualified “parachutist” and had earned the right to wear the silver wings of the parachute soldier. To celebrate the occasion, Colonel Sink granted each trooper a well-deserved furlough and told us to behave ourselves and to return on time following the holiday. I spent my ten-day leave at home in Pennsylvania, where I arrived on New Year's Eve. Home was still a wonderful place, but given my experiences over the past several months, I felt a stranger among friends. At times it seemed that the people at home did not even realize there was a war going on.

As might be expected, a number of the newly minted paratroopers
failed to report to duty on time, not unusual considering the rudimentary transportation network in January 1943. To emphasize his displeasure, Colonel Sink called a regimental parade to welcome back the returning troopers. Following his command of “At ease,” Lieutenant Matheson read aloud the names of a trooper from each company who had reported late from furlough. As his name was read, the unfortunate trooper was escorted to the front of the formation by two NCOs armed with semi-machine guns. As the regimental drummer beat a mournful tattoo, the officer ripped off the regimental crest from the soldier's sleeve, tore off his wings, and removed the airborne patch from his hat. Then a jeep pulled up and deposited the disgraced soldier's barracks bag at his feet. In front of the entire regiment, the condemned trooper was forced to unblouse his trousers, remove his airborne boots, and replace them with regular shoes. As the drum continued to beat, the noncommissioned officers escorted the dispirited trooper from the airborne area. This ostentatious display was not lost on those who witnessed the ceremony. To be embarrassed by condemnation to the regular infantry was bad enough, but to be relegated to that branch from the airborne regiment in front of friends and comrades with whom you had served for six months was humiliating as hell.

While some may question Colonel Sink's methods, his message was crystal clear. Sink simply would not tolerate any breach of discipline in the 506th PIR. From my perspective the colonel's punishment did not fit the crime, but he had established a standard that I would not soon forget. Several months later while Easy Company was in England, I served as the battalion athletic officer. When the regimental executive officer called a meeting eight miles from the company barracks, I left in what I considered plenty of time to attend. Since my ride failed to show, I was tardy for the meeting. When asked why I was late, I explained, but the executive officer inquired why I hadn't run instead of waiting for the ride. Like Colonel Sink's “drumming-out ceremony,” the message was clear—no excuses: “Don't tell me it is someone else's fault. Just get the job done!” Following that incident, I always wore a wristwatch until I was discharged from military service after the war.

Upon our return to Georgia, Easy Company and the rest of the 506th marched ten miles across the Chattahoochee River to take up new quarters in the swamps on the Alabama side of Fort Benning. The troops now enjoyed more spacious accommodations in that they had fifteen men to the barracks instead of the twenty to twenty-four men in the barracks during the Fort Benning phase of training on the other side of the river. Here on the Alabama side, we conducted another parachute jump. The focus of this period was on platoon and squad level field exercises. About the same time, Major Strayer finally received his long-deserved promotion to lieutenant colonel.

Our next move was to Camp Mackall, North Carolina, where we arrived in late February 1943. The camp was formerly Camp Hoffman and encompassed 62,000 acres of wilderness in North and South Carolina. Camp Mackall was named for Private John “Tommy” Mackall, a twenty-two-year-old airborne trooper from Wellsville, Ohio. A member of the 82nd Airborne Division, Mackall was the first American paratrooper to be killed in combat in World War II. Following Mackall's death during the invasion of North Africa, the War Department published General Order Number 6, dated February 8, 1943, which officially changed the name of Camp Hoffman to Camp Mackall. Fifty miles from Fort Bragg, North Carolina, Camp Mackall now served as the headquarters and home to the Airborne Command.

At Mackall we conducted four more training jumps, including jumps with full field gear, and spent what seemed an excessive amount of time in the field in preparation for overseas deployment. For much of the time, the weather was considerably worse than it had been during our epic march to Atlanta. With so much time in the field, it was hardly surprising that the men complained about never sleeping in the one-story, heated barracks with mattresses. Now the training was more advanced than previous camps and it centered on platoon and company training, with two- to three-day field problems being the norm. We were drilled mercilessly in specialty arms, with each trooper cross-trained on the other weapons that were organic to a light infantry
company. The current standard operating procedures called for the airborne infantry to jump with everything that they would need for three days of sustained combat. Parachute infantry was still in its infancy and developing tactical doctrine on the fly. Consequently, Easy Company experimented with various equipment loads, breaking down crew-served weapons to each member of the crew. Taking a brief respite from the confines of Mackall, we spent the period from May 23 through 28 around Camden, South Carolina, where we conducted a tactical training exercise.

On a personal note, I officially assumed the duties of company executive officer, a position that I had been holding for three months without title. I had been promoted to first lieutenant the preceding October, so my new position was more in line with my rank. As executive officer, my job was to command the company when Captain Sobel was not around and to take care of company administration. I now had six months' seniority as a 1st lieutenant, so I was eligible for promotion, but that was out of the question since there were no vacancies. What I was anxious to see happen was for Easy Company to cross the ocean and to see some action. I was tired of training in North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama. When this war was over, I wanted to be able to say more than how much I suffered down south.

Now that the men were qualified parachutists and no longer green recruits, Sobel's attempts at intimidation began to recede. There was still an occasional blow-up, such as the time when our company commander was slightly injured during one of the jumps. Returning to the barracks area, Sobel and his first sergeant searched through all the footlockers, clothing, and personal possessions of the men in Easy Company. While the rest of the company remained in the field, Sobel seized all items that he considered contraband. Virtually every soldier had something confiscated. He then published a list identifying the contraband, the offender, and the punishment. When the men returned to the barracks, exhausted, footsore, and dirty after several days in the field,
they found their individual possessions in disarray and some valuable personal items missing. For Private First Class Edward Tipper, this “unauthorized seizure” was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. He had always disliked Captain Sobel, but now that dislike evolved to outright hatred. Surprisingly, he found himself transferred to company headquarters as Sobel's runner. With Tipper's help, Sobel was able to mislay his maps or compass when he needed them most. It was evident that the men were hoping that their commander would screw up to the point that he would be replaced and would not be in command when Easy Company deployed to a combat theater.

The men's concern about their commander's ability to make rational decisions under pressure was certainly understandable. While at Mackall one night, the company conducted a field exercise in which Easy Company established a defensive perimeter in the woods. Our plan was to remain in position, stay very quiet, and let the enemy walk into our area so that we could ambush them. As we waited for the enemy, suddenly a breeze sprang up and the leaves on the trees started to rustle. Sobel sprang to his feet, shouting at the top of his voice, “Here they come! Here they come!” We all thought, “Ye Gods! I am going into combat with this man. He'll get us all killed.”

The men did achieve a degree of retaliation during one exercise, when the medics complained about the absence of realistic training. As a result several men, including Sobel and Lieutenant Jerre Grosse of Dog Company, were designated “casualties” so that the medics could practice bandaging wounds, improvising casts and splints, and evacuating the wounded to the regimental aid station. At night the medics shaved off Gross's mustache and gave Sobel an anesthetic that rendered him unconscious. They then made a small incision simulating an “appendectomy.” When Sobel awoke he was livid, but the medics were nowhere to be found and no soldier in Easy Company would testify to what the medics had done. Consequently no investigation was mounted and the incident became yet another in a long list of Sobel stories that persist to this day.

To pass what little free time they had, Easy Company enjoyed a good joke or played poker whenever the opportunity arose. What baked goods that were received from home were routinely shared with the members of one's squad or platoon. Privates “Popeye” Wynn and Darrell “Shifty” Powers, two Easy Company troopers from 3d Platoon had joined the army together straight from the shipyards at Portsmouth, Virginia. Both were somewhat quiet and withdrawn, but they enjoyed a good laugh as much as their “Yankee” platoon members. Powers recalled one incident when Walter Gordon gave his last cigarette to Floyd Talbert, but then charged him a dime for a match.

By this time, Easy Company had emerged as the strongest company in the regiment and the 506th PIR had become a source of pride to every soldier who wore its regimental patch. One of the popular songs on the radio was called “Geronimo,” and it was rapidly adopted as the paratroopers' song. “Geronimo” became the password that paratroopers were supposed to holler when they jumped, but Sink would have none of it in the 506th. At the time the 506th PIR was the only qualified parachute regiment not assigned to an airborne division, so Sink wanted something to set his regiment apart from the rest of the airborne commands. Consequently, when we exited the aircraft, each trooper was to shout “Currahee” to distance himself from the other regiments with whom we had developed a spirited competition, if not a tolerant scorn. As for myself, I had hoped we would ship out as a separate command to avoid six more months of training as a unit of an airborne division, but that decision would be made at far higher pay grades than where I served. In the interim, Colonel Sink also published a regimental magazine to foster unit pride and cohesion.

Other changes in Easy Company occurred during our stay in Mackall. The initial cadre of noncoms who had supervised our training since Toccoa departed to train a new airborne unit that was being formed. To replace them, Sergeants James Diel, Salty Harris, and Mike Ranney were promoted to staff sergeants. Bill Guarnere, Carwood Lipton, John Martin, Bob Rader, Bob Smith, Buck Taylor, and Murray
Roberts were promoted to sergeants. In addition, a number of Easy Company's officers were transferred to battalion staff, including Lewis Nixon, Clarence Hester, and George Lavenson. As I had grown quite fond of Nixon, I was sad to see him leave Easy Company. Only later on did I discover that Lieutenant Colonel Strayer had learned that Nixon was seeking a transfer to get away from Captain Sobel. After discussing the situation with Major Oliver Horton, his executive officer, the battalion commander decided to bring Nixon to staff and made him intelligence officer even though there was no Table of Organization and Equipment (TO&E) slot for a Battalion S-2. It would prove to be one of Strayer's more inspired decisions.