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 three of twelve.

During the second night of relief, a rumor went out that two of our men had been captured at an outpost. They had disappeared during the night and were not see again. I think it was actually two men from the 405th Battalion. This had an even more dramatic and realistic effect on the rest of the men than the shelling. This was real war. A person-to-person war. No holds barred. Sneak night patrols expected.

One street near the center of the village was perpendicular to the front lines. We had to cross it quite often. The Germans had zeroed in on it with a machine gun. Sometimes, they would squeeze off a few rounds for no reason and, other times, they shot when they saw someone trying to cross that intersection. They probably thought of it as a turkey shoot. We called it “Suicide Alley” and were very cautious and quick when crossing it.

After our first relief mission, we had a few days to ourselves in a reserve area. I decided to try to hitchhike down to northern Luxemburg to see if I could locate my brother, Max, who was with a quartermaster group. One of my attempts for a ride found my thumb action directed at a small convoy whose second car, I saw as it drew closer, was flying the fender flags of a two-star general. I lowered my thumb. He didn’t stop or even smile as he went by. How rude!

I didn’t get to Luxemburg, but I did run across a barbwire enclosure where some guards had an American soldier digging a trench. One guard told me that the man had killed a fellow American soldier on purpose and had been sentenced to die by a firing squad. Whether this actually happened or if the guard was feeding me a line, I never knew.

During this trip, I did find a bank of shower stalls in which I took an enjoyable shower. Bathing in a helmet does little to improve one’s self-respect or sociability and only slightly lessens his personal aroma acquired over time.

Our “E” Company’s captain was from Paris, Texas. His name was Capt. John E. Czajkowski. He was a stoutly-built man who stood at least 5 feet, 11 inches. He weighed around 215 pounds or more and was of Polish descent. The man was a calm, methodical person with good temperament and judgment.

When we were on boat headed for Europe, he had called me aside one day and told me, “By the way, McCarty, you will no longer be an assistant to the company clerk, Corporal Lang. You will be my personal messenger. Right now, we do not have one, and we are supposed to have that position filled before we reach the front. Is that alright?”

Is that alright? Of course, I said it was alright. Who was I to think otherwise? It would be my job to get messages to and from our company platoon commanders, battalion or regimental headquarters if the Captain wanted them delivered by courier. He might decide this for various reasons, such as: if the telephone wires were not laid as yet; if they had been lain but were cut by tanks, shell-fire, etc; if the recipient just could not be reached via phone; or if the message was too important to risk being sent via phone.

In time of battle, the expected lifespan of a machine gunner was measured in minutes. Roughly the same time span was listed for the life of a messenger while actively carrying out his duties during combat.

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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 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 Seven

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