Bob McCarty Writes

On the occasion of Memorial Day and in honor of all those who paid the ultimate price in service to their country, I decided to publish a series of war stories that hold a special value in my heart, because they were written by my father, Ted, who served as a low-ranking enlisted man in the U.S. Army during World War II. The stories appear in his 1992 autobiography, Some Events in One Life: Mine! Please know he captured these stories as a means to provide his children and theirs context for his participation in one of history’s most harrowing events, World War II, not for any commercial gain. This is part seven of twelve.

I reached up to see if I still had an ear left. I could feel it there so I drew my hand back to see how much blood I was losing. When I took my hand down, there was no blood on it. This surprised me, because I was sure I had been wounded. What had happened? I turned my head and glanced at the tree my head had been against. A small sapling of about one-half to three-quarters of an inch in diameter was growing beside the tree, and this sapling was cut off just above where my head had been. Now, I realized a machine gun bullet had hit the sapling which, in turn, had whacked my ear a good, solid blow.

Enemy artillery rounds were also coming into the area. I was told that during this initial advance, the five man 60-millimeter mortar squad, of which I had been a member for a short time during basic training at Camp Swift, Texas, had been hit by a shell. It had wiped out the entire crew. I still do not know if that was just a rumor or a fact.

Our regiment took the town with the help of the others in our task force. There was a company of engineers, the 771st Tank Destroyer Battalion, the 2nd Armored and two field artillery battalions assisting us.

The initial resistance was overcome by 2:30 p.m. Since we were a relatively “green” combat unit, the Germans later tested us by counterattacking but they were beaten back. When we first took the town, the main body of the Germans retreated but left several snipers behind. It was then I saw my first enemy soldier up fairly close during an attack. However, he saw me first. He was one of those left to snipe at us, and he shot at me from the window of a nearby house. With all the noise and excitement going on, I did not notice what was happening until I saw puffs of dirt being kicked up around my feet. Then I realized I was a target of someone. I turned to see if I could locate the source and saw a German soldier pull his head back from the window of a nearby house. He had fired a quick burst before ducking back out of sight but had missed me. Then a 2nd Armored Division tank drove up.

I flagged the commander who was riding with his head and shoulders out of the turret.

“Hey, there is a sniper in that house over there,” I told him indicating which dwelling.

As I was pointing to the house, he swung his turret gun around and then asked, “Do you want me to take him out? Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Where was he?”

“He was in the window in the center of the second floor,” I replied.

Almost immediately, there was an explosion as a shell penetrated just below the window sill and left smoke pouring from the gaping hole and the remainder of the window just above.

“That should take care of him,” the tank commander said with a grin.

“Good job. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

The tank then drove off.

I thought about how simple it was to dispose of a man’s life because he was an annoyance. Actually, he was more than an annoyance; it was either my life or his. The next time he popped up, he might have killed me. I chose to try to take his life before he could take mine. I don’t know if the sniper was hit, but he never bothered me again.

Shortly after that, I saw one of our company’s riflemen lying in the street. His shirt was pulled up showing he had been hit by a piece of shrapnel. It left a three- or four-inch wound on the right side of his abdomen. It looked as if the fragment had hit a grazing blow and had ripped open the skin but had not penetrated to any depth as near as I could tell. He was not bleeding much.

“McCarty, help me,” he said as he lay there gritting his teeth from the shock and pain.

Before I could reply, a nearby noncom said, “I have already called a medic, and he is on his way.”

There was not much I could have done for him except sprinkle a small bag of sulphur powder on the wound to help prevent infection. This had already been done. We had no antibiotics then so sulphur powder was the Army’s way of instantly caring for any wound.

* * *

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part One

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Two

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Three

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Four

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Five

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Six

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Eight

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Nine

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Ten

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Eleven

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Twelve

Be Sociable, Share!

•