When he joined CAP the first time, Compton was in his early 20s. It was during World War II, when German submarines were effortlessly picking off American cargo and transport ships. As a volunteer member of the fledgling CAP — established 1 Dec 41, and originally called the Coastal Patrol — Compton flew missions on numerous aircraft, including a Stinson and Grumman G44 A.

During WWII, the presence of CAP aircraft discouraged enemy submarines from surfacing to recharge their batteries, forcing them out to sea. Those that were spotted were reported by CAP to the military for action, though members of the organization — which was eventually allowed to carry ordnance — were credited with sinking two German U-boats.

CAP’s WWII service also included towing targets for military shooting practice, transporting critical supplies within the country and conducting general aerial reconnaissance. Compton played a key role in accomplishing these missions.

The Distinguished Service Medal is CAP’s highest award for service and is bestowed for “conspicuous performance of outstanding service in a duty of great responsibility where the position held and results obtained reflect upon the accomplishments and prestige of CAP on a national scale.” Compton earned his recognition for his service at CAP Coastal Patrol Base 1 in Atlantic City, NJ. The use of CAP personnel during WWII literally depended on the success of this base, which was given a 90-day trial.

Compton left two Chicago jobs — one as an advertising salesman for the Daily News and one working in a plant that manufactured aircraft parts — to go to the East Coast as a CAP citizen volunteer based, he said, on “a desire to be more actively engaged in the war effort.” There he was part of the flight staff, serving on missions to search for German submarines and providing escorts for American convoys as they sailed along the Eastern seaboard.
The duty was dangerous, Compton recalled. “There was nothing like GPS,” he said, and members used partially sunken American merchant ships, which were plentiful, as a navigational tool.

He showed his great sense of humor when he related CAP aircrews’ struggles to discern between enemy submarines and whales to avoid any ridicule for attacking marine life. And he told about dangerous night duty on base when someone patrolling the perimeter encountered a sentry. “Both you and the sentry needed to know the correct password, or it would mean a ‘tense moment’,” he said.

Compton, who at one time commanded CAP squadrons in both Evanston and Morton Grove, IL, was honored at a ceremony on 18 June, organized by the Illinois Wing’s Palwaukee Composite Squadron and held at the Presbyterian Home where Compton resides. In addition to the entire membership, including a cadet color guard and honor guard, of the Palwaukee squadron, which “adopted” Compton, other guests included Ann Compton, Compton’s daughter and White House correspondent for ABC News; Sen. Mark Kirk (R-IL), Rep. Jan Schakowsky (D-IL), the Rev. Jill Paulson, granddaughter of Gill Robb Wilson, who is credited with founding CAP; and CAP’s national commander, Maj. Gen. Amy S. Courter, and national vice commander, Brig. Gen. Charles Carr.

Compton is one of some 60,000 unsung heroes who volunteered through CAP during its early years to protect the American homeland.

On 20 August 1969, I was a U.S. Army captain assigned to the 236th Medical Detachment (Helicopter Am-bulance) in Da Nang, South Viet Nam as operations officer and a medical evacuation pilot. Our mission en-tailed evacuating wounded and dead Americans, South Korean, South Vietnamese, Australian allies, Vietnamese civilians and, often, enemy soldiers to aid stations and hospitals in our 5,000-square-mile operational area.

From 20-22 August, I had assigned myself as copilot to a field-site crew of four at Landing Zone (LZ) Baldy, approximately 25 miles south of Da Nang. Warrant Officer 1 William A. (Wild Bill) Statt was the aircraft commander, SP5 John N. Seebeth was our medic and SP5 Paul L. Sumrall was the crew chief. I’d barely been in Viet Nam a month, and in our unit for two weeks as a rookie pilot.

What we weren’t aware of was that we were about to be shoved into the middle of a major battle involving four regiments of the U.S. Army’s 196th Light Infantry Brigade, two battalions of the U.S. 7th Marines and batteries of the U.S. 82nd Artillery that provided fire support from four firebases. These Americans were fac-ing 1,500 Communist troops.*

Insecure missions
In those 2 1/2 days of devastating action, our crew evacuated 150 wounded Americans from the Que Son Val-ley on 42 missions, 15 of which were “insecure.” This meant that our ground troops couldn’t guarantee the safety of the LZ because the enemy was in contact and too close, or friendlies were low on ammunition and couldn’t provide appropriate covering fire. On a majority of these insecure missions, helicopter gunships were unavailable to cover our unarmed aircraft because there was too much action requiring their services in other parts of this battleground. So our only alternative was to take our chances and go in alone because most of the wounded wouldn’t have survived if we waited for gunships to arrive.

During late morning of 21 August, our UH-1H (Huey) was shot up by enemy AK-47 rifle fire while exiting another insecure LZ. One of our three patients was wounded for the second time. A burst of enemy fire ripped into a can of oil our crew chief kept under my armored seat, spraying it over my Nomex fire-retardant flight pants. Another round locked me in my shoulder harness when it clipped a wire on the unlocking device attached to the left side of my seat. After depositing our patients at the battalion aid station at LZ Baldy, a replacement bird and a different crew chief were flown down from Phu Bai (a medevac unit north of Da Nang) for our use.

Less than 24 hours later, we were shot up for the second time on another insecure mission. This one involved evacuating an infantry staff sergeant who’d been shot in the back. Seebeth was wounded in the throat as we made our hot-and-hairy tactical approach into the LZ. An AK-47 round tore out his larynx before we’d even landed. As we exited the LZ with our original patient, who’d been literally thrown aboard by two of his comrades under heavy enemy fire, two of our three radios were also shot out.

In the aid station at LZ Baldy, Seebeth kept mouthing the words, “I can’t breathe” as he kicked his legs in frustration. I held his legs and attempted to calm him while Captain George Waters, M.D., performed a tracheotomy without anesthesia. The wound had swollen so fast that it was cutting off his oxygen. Time couldn’t be wasted being concerned about alleviating his pain. Doc Waters immediately initiated an incision. Mercifully, Seebeth quickly lapsed from shock into unconsciousness.

John survived, but endured 12 follow-up operations since then… one of which gave him back a voice. But it’s not the same voice we’d known and grown to love as he provided emergency medical care to thousands of his patients; instead his voice is produced by a plastic Montgomery T-tube that’s inserted into his tracheotomy opening and, when he wants to talk, he must plug an opening on one end with a finger to force air through his mouth.

Crossing paths
Since that first paragraph of Rocky Bleier’s story in 2001 had caught my attention, I decided to do some re-search. I’d heard that Bleier had written an autobiography, “Fighting Back” (with Terry O’Neil). In it, he’d written about his early life, the fact that he’d been drafted into the U.S. Army in 1968 and details concerning his subsequent service in Viet Nam in 1969 where he was severely wounded in both legs. He also provided an inspiring story of how he overcame his wounds and recovered the use of his right foot, which doctors had at one point thought would have to be amputated. This ultimately led to Bleier being a part of four winning National Football League (NFL) Super Bowls as a starting running back with the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1974, 1975, 1978 and 1979.

Both the 1975 and revised/updated 1995 editions of Bleier’s autobiography were out of print, so I contacted an out-of-print book dealer who was able to acquire a copy of the 1975 edition. I sat down to read the entire book as soon as it arrived in 2002.

Before beginning the first chapter, I glanced at the contents and Chapter 7, titled “August 20, 1969,” quickly caught my eye. This is when things became interesting and nearly unbelievable.

On 20 August, Bleier was an M-79 grenadier with the 196th Light Infantry Brigade of the Americal Division. He was wounded twice on that Wednesday near Million Dollar Hill (which gained its name and fame because a million dollars worth of American helicopters were shot down there in one day) that was located east of the infamous village of Hiep Duc. His book described in detail how a “Dust Off” medevac helicopter had pre-viously completed two missions to their location that night evacuating other wounded Company C members. Bleier was next to the last patient crammed into the cargo compartment on this third and final flight to be evacuated to LZ Baldy at 0200 on 21 August. That’s when it hit me.

I went to my military files and pulled out my combat flight records. Then I retrieved a citation for the Distinguished Flying Cross that our entire crew had been awarded for those traumatic 2 1/2 days. Everything fit. Our unit’s lone field-site was at LZ Baldy and I only assigned one flight crew there at a time. Hiep Duc and Million Dollar Hill were in our area of operations. That’s when I recalled our crew landing on the same hilltop three times in one night during that period of time. We were obviously the crew that had evacuated Bleier and his other wounded infantry comrades from that ambush site during this chaotic night.

Ernest Hemingway wrote, “The world (and also combat) breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” Perhaps this is what happened to Rocky Bleier, our flight crew and so many others in Viet Nam. Adversity has a way of introducing you to yourself.

Empathy & guilt
As soldiers, especially medevac crews, doctors, nurses and medics, we were all our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers… and still are to this day on different battlefronts. It was a fact that many of our brothers needed evacuation and immediate medical care during that horrific August 1969 night on Million Dollar Hill in Viet Nam. I’ll always be grateful that our crew was there and able to assist those courageous American warriors.

On this Memorial Day, I’m again reminded of how war changes veterans’ lives forever in painful ways. Those who’ve experienced combat’s physical and psychological pressure cooker know it can be like swimming with piranhas, great white sharks and moray eels in a sea of blood. Surviving in such an atmosphere is often as easy as attempting to perform disappearing magic tricks in front of a firing squad.

When we veterans returned home, and so many of our friends and comrades didn’t, nagging doubts had the ability to creep into our minds about whether we really accomplished everything that we could have done. Survivor’s guilt can overwhelm a combat veteran with an emotional tsunami just because he or she is still alive.

In my own case, I know how it feels to make a judgment error that cost a South Vietnamese lieutenant colonel with seven children his life. My crew could have saved him but, as aircraft commander, I failed to recognize the danger he was in quickly enough. Forget those other 986 missions that ended successfully. That particular incident continues to wend its way through my thoughts almost daily. I finally forgave myself for this personal blunder, many years later, but the survivor’s guilt I internalized for so long etched this mistake deep into my conscience. How quickly and easily war can destroy lives. Just the blink of an eye and their lights are extinguished forever.

A persistent voice in the back of my mind used to whisper a disturbing thought. Why did you survive when so many others didn’t? I don’t know the answer to that question and may never know in this lifetime. That’s one of the reasons I became a writer. I’ve made it a personal goal to ensure that the legacies of courage, duty and dedicated service our military members have provided through over 235 years as a nation don’t die and aren’t swept into the dustbin of history.

Honor
I celebrate my combat survival, and over 27 years of military service on three continents that began at the age of 17, by writing and publishing the truth about the heroism and sacrifices of military personnel that I’ve witnessed. That’s because it’s important to honor all veterans — dead and alive — who’ve served America in time of both war and peace.

Some of our fellow citizens, journalists, college professors and politicians apparently lack understanding about our warrior culture. They often fail to fully appreciate its deep loyalty to comrades, Ramboesque competitive nature, periodic paranoia (generated mostly by reality) and profound sense of service. I feel obligated to help educate them, whenever possible, about this magnificent “band of brothers and sisters.”

A day seldom passes when I don’t recall bloody scenes of young men sprawled on our cargo deck, most whom were barely out of high school, and how they were cut down defending the freedoms of others before their own lives had barely begun. I think of all the milestones they never reached such as graduation from college, marriage, children… and old age with the rest of us. Remembering is a continuous act. I don’t need Memorial Day to remind me. Every day is Memorial Day in my world.

August 20, 1969 was merely another dangerous and dramatic day for so many in our country’s history of sacrifice and service on behalf of others. But it taught me an important lesson. We never know whom our actions might impact in this life or who might touch and influence us in return. And each time Memorial Day rolls around, we can benefit ourselves and others by celebrating, acknowledging and never forgetting those who gave — and are still giving — their all in the fight for freedom around this planet. We forget their strength, courage and dedication at our nation’s peril. Honoring their memories, missions and meritorious achievements is the least we can do for them, now and forever.

*Nolan, Keith, “Hiep Duc ‘Death Valley,’” VFW, (August 2008), p. 39.

I had gone to Italy on a troop ship from Newport News, VA, departing in July 1944, and arriving at Naples, Italy, a couple of weeks later. Mooring in Naples gave the thousands of replacements aboard their first sight of the wreckage caused by war. Our troop ship tied up to a big ship that was on its side, and we off-boarded onto the side of that ship going to the dock. We were marched to a railroad where we boarded a 40-and-8 boxcar that took us on a short ride to Caserta. From there we were marched to a huge replacement camp; it had been Count Ciano’s dairy farm.

The dairy farm was a new kind of camp for us as there were few structures and some big tents. We were broken up into groups and told to pitch pup tents along a line after making a dirt form to keep rain from seeping into the tents. Two to a tent was the drill, and I partnered with a nice fellow I’d met on the ship. This is where we were to sleep and live until we were shipped further. There were mess tents nearby, and each of them fed about 1,000 men.

The food was passable, but the lines took a lot of the day, and so did the lines for cleaning our mess kits.

This camp was made to accommodate replacements for a short period of time, but the invasion of southern France was to take place in August, and it was expected that many replacements would be needed. Alas, it was an easy invasion with few casualties, so few of us were needed in France. Instead, the 5th Army in northern Italy had plenty of casualties, so that was our destination.

A new job
One day I saw a “cook” from our mess packing to leave. I asked him about it, and he said he was going north. I ran over to the mess tent, and volunteered to take his place. The mess sergeant asked me about my skills and I somehow managed to get the job. Although it meant starting at 0400, and working till 2200 or 2300, every third day I could get a pass to Naples. I did my best — which was good enough as there was very little real cooking, mostly a lot of hard pumping to make the gas stoves work.

Heading out
I stayed there until the end of September when I was called to pack and board a boxcar; it took us two days to get to Florence. On the way, two fellows were killed — one was on the roof of a boxcar when we got to a tunnel; the other fell between two cars. It was a slow trip, with lots of pauses near farms with wine for sale. Once we got to Florence we were housed in a pleasant camp with wood-framed pyramid tents, but I was only there a few days.

The next trip was a 6×6 ride up Highway 65, which took me to the 88th Division HQ. We spent one night there dug in on a hill. We had been warned of possible shellfire, and thought it was just a joke on us green doggies. It wasn’t, and several of our new replacements were hit. We had another C ration meal, and then were split up and taken to our new units.

A few of us ended up with the 2nd platoon of H Company of the 350th Infantry Regiment. I was a heavy machine gunner, and this platoon was supposed to have four squads with these water-cooled guns. However, the battalion had just been relieved after a very costly battle for Mount Battaglia in which the battalion was awarded a Presidential Unit Citation, and the CO of G Company received a Medal of Honor. There were not too many survivors, and the ones there were not a happy crew. Sergeant Mazzarella questioned me, and when he heard that I had 16 months on these guns, he appointed me a gunner. I did not quite realize why the survivors did not want the gunner’s job, but they knew the score all too well. Sergeant Mazzarella left that day as he was to be commissioned, and Sergeant Forbes took over.

My replacement days were over all too soon. We got into several scraps in which quite a few of those who had come up with me went back over the pack saddles of mules. Their experiences in combat were short and deadly. A good measure of the KIA/MIA rate was the fact that I was promoted 10 days after I arrived with my platoon.

Through October until the war in Italy ended, we had a steady stream of replacements. We called many of them Camp Blanding Commandos, having only 16 weeks training at Camp Blanding in Florida. The assignment of junior officers was even worse; they were given patrols before they knew where they were.

Winding up
I’ll end with the tale of my brother Joe, who was assigned to the 80th Division during the Battle of the Bulge. After just 13 hours with his outfit he was taken back to an ambulance and spent the rest of the war in a hospital. He survived with a 45% disability.

It is worth noting that the Army Specialized Training Program was broken up in the winter of 1944-45, and those poor ex-students, about 145,000 of them, were fed into the replacement system whether they were reasonably trained or not. That is a story unto itself.

Only 92 miles from Brussels, Bastogne was a busy, picturesque little Belgian town at the center of an open plain, surrounded by birch- and pine-covered hills of the Ardennes. Sitting on the major road junction in the area, its crossroads were vital to allow the German forces to move through the area on to Liege.

The ground conditions were too muddy to allow mass movement of German armored vehicles across the countryside, so Bastogne had to be taken. If held by the Americans it would hinder German communications to the rear and threaten the flank of the 5th Panzer Army.
As history recalls, 743 officers and 10,386 soldiers of the 101st Airborne Division, plus 276 officers and 3,781 soldiers of other units attached to the 101st at that time, held out against overwhelming German odds from 19-26 Dec 44.

This heroic stand by the 101st Airborne Division and the conglomeration of other hastily scraped together American forces halted the German forces long enough for the Allied armies to plan and launch a counterattack. The 101st’s appalling casualty figures of 500 killed, 2,500 wounded, and 400 missing or captured give some idea of the ferocity of the fighting around Bastogne.

The fighting took place in the small villages (often only a few small cottages), and fields and woods encircling Bastogne, which by the end of the battle was almost in total ruins from the heavy shelling.

Visiting Bastogne
The thousands of Americans visiting Bastogne each year find themselves warmly welcomed by the townspeople. Several annual events, parades and exhibitions commemorate the fighting in the Ardennes and Bastogne.

For a full day, self-guided tour of Bastogne, the surrounding area, monuments and museums that commemorate the siege, it’s best to have a rental car, as most visitors come from Brussels. The town and sites are so close together and easy to find that it’s easily done in your own vehicle. Here are some “must-see” sights for Americans in Bastogne.

Place McAuliffe
Your first stop is the paved-stone square in the town center, now a parking lot. Surrounded on two sides by two-story shops and busy streets on the other sides, it’s hard to imagine what this square looked like in 1944. Old photographs show devastated ruins of shattered, snow-covered buildings, and crumbled piles of red bricks when it was the epicenter of the battle.

An olive drab Sherman tank proudly stands guard in one corner. Visitors can read about the tank’s history in a book found in the Information Center. Look for the holes punched in the rear and left side of the tank, evidence of close combat.

The square is now called Place McAuliffe after the 101st Airborne acting divisional commander, Brigadier-General Anthony C. McAuliffe, who led the resolute defense of the town. A bronze bust of McAuliffe with the 101st Airborne crest is mounted on a concrete stand near the tank. Nearby, several bronze plaques list the various units that fought here. One plaque states “In honor of the valiant men of the 10th US Armored Division who gave their lives for freedom in the 1944-1945 Ardennes Campaign and in the Bastogne area.”

Another interesting site in the square is a Liberty Way marker, a four-foot-tall, white concrete obelisk, with a red flaming torch. These markers start at Utah Beach, Normandy, and are found every kilometer along the 899-mile route of Patton’s 3rd Army to Bastogne.

Fifty meters from the tank a circular, glass-sided tourist information center stands on one side of the square; a small, green, fold-out tourist map of Bastogne is available there.

Take some time to browse the books in the Information Center, several of which, written by local historians who lived through the battle, are found nowhere else.

Au Pays d’Ardenne Museum
A three-minute walk across the square is the Musee Au Pays d’Ardennes, or Museum of the Ardennes Countryside (20 rue de Neufchateau), a great warm-up for your tour. Outside is a uniformed model of an American soldier. Flags hang down above the en-trance and the narrow entry hall has dozens of genuine WWII memorabilia for sale.

The small room downstairs is crammed with an amazing variety of military artifacts and weapons picked up from the battlefields around Bastogne or donated by the locals. Other memorabilia graphically tell the “Bulge” story: a shredded American helmet, German helmets riddled with bullet holes, a carved wooden bust of Hitler, Nazi flags, German officers’ hats and soldiers’ caps, medical supplies and battle dressings, cigarette packets, playing cards and more paraphernalia that will bring back memories to veterans of WWII
The historical photos are rarities, and you won’t see them in the books.

Patton Monument
From the museum, take the second road on the right and walk a few hundred meters down the hill until you come to a con-crete wall with the engraving of General George S. Patton’s face, unveiled in 1963 by Patton’s grandson.

Heading out of town, toward the Bastogne Historical center, is the turret of a Sherman tank mounted on a two-foot-high stone platform on the roadside, gun facing away from the town. This denotes the defensive perimeter of the besieged town, a lot closer than you’d think.

Bastogne Historical Center
This irregular wooden shingle- sided museum exhibits professionally designed exhibits and a comprehensive range of Ger-man and allied uniforms, weapons and equipment. Outside sits a Sherman tank and other military vehicles and artillery pieces.

Inside are concentric rings of displays; give yourself at least an hour to walk through this fascinating museum. A self-guided audio tour accompanies the exhibits. Lifelike uniformed wax models of Eisenhower, Bradley, Patton (with Ivory-handled revolvers) and models of almost every allied and German service involved in the Battle of the Bulge are arranged in long curved rows of glass cases.

U.S. uniforms on display include those of a Red Cross nurse, an American tank driver, a GI with anti-tank weapon, an Army mortar man with mortar and ammunition, a machine gunner with weapon and fully loaded ammunition belt, airmen, and soldiers in snow camouflage,
German soldiers are likewise posed in uniform: a grenadier, the standard field gray Wermacht uniform, SS, Fallschirmjager paratroop, a German mortar man, a tank captain, a signals officer, a field marshal, a Luftwaffe pilot and others.

The authentic Bastogne road sign, pitted with bullet holes, is displayed. A comprehensive collection of allied and German weapons includes hand grenades, German and American bazookas and anti-tank rockets, etc.

Other display cases show all sorts of rusted personal items and equipment; eating utensils, pocket knives, dishes, gas masks, soap, a water canteen shredded with bullet holes, US Army Field Ration K Dinner Units, ID tags for wounded soldiers, com-passes, and other artifacts. Lastly, a small theater shows a 30-minute documentary about the Battle of Bastogne.

The museum’s outer walls contain dioramas of painted battle scenes with lifelike model soldiers, tanks, American and German military vehicles.

The Mardasson Monument
A few hundred meters from the Historical Center is the enormous five-pointed-star-shaped concrete monument to the 76,890 U.S. casualties from the Ardennes campaign. Forty feet high and 260 feet across, it looks like an immense temple — a clear indicator of how Belgians honor the sacrifices made by the U.S. forces here.

From the rooftop, reached via a winding staircase, is a great view of Bastogne, only a couple of miles away — the same view had by the German artillery battery that set up on a field just below.

A memorial plaque in the central circle of the monument reads, “The Belgian people remember their American Liberators.” A crypt lies beneath the memorial.

Foy
Going back toward Bastogne, turn right up the N30 at the crossroads and drive a short distance to the small town of Foy (pronounced fwa). There, the 101st Airborne stopped the German forces cold, taking severe losses, before retreating back a few kilometers to the positions they held for the remainder of the siege.

German military cemetery, Recogne
Before you return to Bastogne from Foy, turn right along the N30 then left down a side road signposted “Cimitiere Allemand,” following it a short way to the German military cemetery.

The rough-hewn gray lime-sandstone crosses are roughly aligned, three soldiers buried at each gravesite and three others buried on the other side of each headstone, six to each plot. A total of 6,807 Germans are buried there.

Some poignant sights include inscriptions that simply say “Ein Deutscher Soldat,” (a German soldier). The crosses have birth dates and dates of the soldier’s death written on them. Grenadier Otto Koller, 5.10.26-20.12.44, sadly records an 18-year-old’s demise; the oldest soldier buried there was 52. The headstones with recurring dates indicate several soldiers were killed; days of hard battle with high losses.
On the way to the cemetery is a memorial plaque on the roadside marking where the original American temporary cemetery at Foy was located from 1945-1948. The bodies were repatriated to the U.S. or interred in the two American Military cemeteries in the Ardennes.
•
A visit to Bastogne gives you a different perspective of the Battle of the Bulge. There’s nothing like visiting the town and countryside to bring history to life. There are a number of hotels in Bastogne (for hotel listings visit www.logis.be or www.bastogne.be).

His tank battalion was a separate outfit in General George S. Patton’s 3rd Army, operating most of the time with the 90th Infantry Division. “The 712th is my spearhead,” once remarked Division Commander, General James Van Fleet.

His tank section had taken over the lead when the other section got stuck in the mud off the main dirt road into the French town of St. Suzanne in early August 1944. They had experienced some resistance in that area.

Tank Platoon Sergeant Warren B. Willinger was positioned in the open top hatch of Sparks’ tank with a clear view of the road ahead. Suddenly a German Panzerfaust rocket launcher fired an anti-tank rocket from high up on a ridge over the road. The rocket killed him as it entered the open hatch and exploded inside.

The beginning
Sparks grew up in Abilene, KS, where his father worked for a telephone company, moving to Modesto, CA, in 1937. He registered for the draft at the age of 23, a few months before Pearl Harbor, and had been classified 1-A. He was working in a wholesale grocery business in Modesto at the time. He received his draft notice in January 1942 and was ordered to the Presidio of Monterey for induction. His advanced training was at Fort Riley, KS, where he learned how to ride a horse and take care of it. “We all carried broom sticks in those early days as there was a shortage of rifles at the time,” he remembered with a laugh.

Private Sparks was not too happy doing the scoop-shovel work around the horse barn. “I could think of a whole lot of other things I would rather be doing,” was how he put it. His assignment with the horses didn’t last too long however.

The Army became mechanized in 1942 and, with that horse training experience, the new soldier ended up in an “iron horse” of the 712th Tank Battalion that had formed up at Fort Benning, GA. The unit left for England after extensive training in the States.

In the Army
“I was a gunner at first and later became a driver,” he said. “We had five men in the crew and were equipped with M-4 Sherman tanks with short-barreled 75-millimeter guns. The muzzle velocity was so slow that the projectiles in flight were visi-ble from a position standing directly behind the tank.”

The German tanks had a real edge against the American tanks with their long-barreled 88-millimeter, high-velocity guns. They also used that multi-purpose round in field artillery guns and anti-aircraft guns. The 75mm guns in the Sherman tanks were no match for the German 88s

Sparks lost his second tank in the fighting around St. Suzanne, France; he was awarded a Silver Star for his actions in that battle. When an anti-tank rocket fired from a hill above them entered the open top hatch, the molten slag produced by the rocket’s impact splattered around inside the tank, started a fire and welded the gun-breech closed. Sparks immediately turned on the tank’s fire extinguishing system and put out the fire. After he removed the wounded crewmen, he went back into the tank and moved it off the road to allow the rest of his battalion to continue into town.

A few days later he and another crewmember trucked back to an ordnance outfit to pick up another tank. The first tanks they saw had new long-barreled 76mm, high-velocity guns.

“You can’t have one of those as they are all going to another unit. You can go over to the other tank park and pick out one of those older ones we have fixed up,” said the ordnanceman.

The two tankers went to the other site, took a look at those old patched up “coffins,” and both agreed, “To hell with that,” and left without a tank. They went back and reported what they had seen to their company commander and some time later the 712th got the newer tanks with the 76mm guns.

The end of the war
They were in Suscice, Czechoslovakia, when the war ended and then relocated to Amberg, Germany, for rest and maintenance of their equipment. There he received his Silver Star — pinned on personally by Maj. Gen. James Van Fleet, 90th Infantry Division Commander — before leaving with the others for the States.

Sparks never received a copy of his Silver Star citation for that August 1944 incident; the Military Records Department in Washington, DC, searched for his citation in the 712th Tank Battalion records but found nothing. In 2004, Lloyd asked California Congressman Dennis Cardoza to have Washington check the records of the 90th Division for his citation and there it was found! Sparks received a nicely bound copy of the citation in June 2004, arriving just two months short of 60 years after he was awarded it in 1944 when the world was still at war.

It read: “For gallantry in action on 7 August 1944 in the vicinity of St. Suzanne, France. The tank which Technician Fourth Grade Sparks was driving was set ablaze by a hostile bazooka round. Technician Fourth Grade Sparks immediately crawled onto the back deck and operated the armored vehicle’s fire extinguishing mechanism. He then went back into the smoking turret and removed a wounded comrade from the tank. Despite intense machine gun fire directed at him, he carried the casualty 500 yards to an aid station. Returning over the fire-swept route, he evacuated another wounded crewmember. On his third return, he located the hostile machine gun position for the infantry commander to effect the speedy elimination of the strong point. The gallantry dis-played by Technician Fourth Grade Sparks was in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflects great credit on himself, the 712th Tank Battalion, and the Army of the United States.”

The veteran tanker remarked, “I still have a copy of the history book from our battalion and the one from the 90th Division. I also have Gen. Patton’s ‘Prayer Card’ with my name printed on it.”

Lloyd was discharged in October 1945, went back to Modesto and got his old job back. In 1962 he began working for the California Department of Transportation, retiring in 1980. He presently hangs out at the Merced Senior Community Center (Merced, CA) and shoots a “mean” game of pool.

Bedcheck Charlie had been raiding before the cease-fire finally stopped him. When Charlie flew his single-prop plane at night over Radio Company, the men scrambled out of the huts with their weapons and jumped into foxholes and bunkers around the compound, some manning machine guns. The enemy aviator lobbed grenades in the pitch darkness, hoping to hit men and equipment, his vision impeded by searchlights from the ground. Most of his grenades managed to plow up the rice paddies.

Operation BIG SWITCH
Bruce Bottum was our radio-teletype operator who relayed the progress of the armistice negotiations from Panmunjom to Tokyo, before and during the signing in July. In August he was at Munsan-ni, reporting on Operation Big Switch, the major prisoner exchange. (There would be POW exchanges into 1954.)

These POW exchanges were contentious, to put it gently. As the Chinese and North Korean prisoners approached the exchange area on trucks, they stripped down to their shorts in protest against their American-made clothing and shouted “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!” incessantly, waving small North Korean flags. With fists they broke the windows of the train that would take them back to North Korea, intentionally making their hands bleed on the broken glass.

With their blood they wrote defaming slogans on the sides of the train against the Americans.

Bruce was a witness to this exhibit of fanaticism and rage. One of the American prisoners was a high school acquaintance of his, a downed fighter pilot who was purportedly tied to a tree and had cold water thrown on him in the freezing cold of winter.

Our mission
The mission of the 304th Signal Battalion (headquartered in Seoul) was to supply the 8th Army with radio, wire, photo and crypto support.
Our company, on the site of a WWII Japanese radio station, was the radio-teletype arm of 304th Signal. We slept in Japanese-built wood-and-cement huts and, outside the compound, was a minefield — and lots of raggedy kids, dust, mud, and stink. Originally, Radio Company was in a palace in Seoul, but a fire there in 1951 made it move to Bupyeong. I was assigned to the radio repair shop. My MOS of 1649 (Fixed Station Radio Repairman) was of little use in dealing with the mobile equipment I found.

Our mainstay was the AN/GRC-26, dubbed the “Angry 26.” These walk-in radio-teletype/voice rigs were mounted on deuce-and-a-halves for quick deployment. Radio electronics were based on vacuum tubes. Bristling with antenna posts, our company would have been an easy target from the air, had the Chinese and North Koreans not been pinned down by our forces.

War’s heartbreaks
The heartbreaks of the war must include the plight of the war orphans. Like other units in Korea, Radio Company hosted an orphanage, where the children had food, clothing, a place to live, and as much cheer as we could provide — like Christmas parties in our mess hail.

I am proud to have participated in the rescue of South Korea from the Communists, whose ferocity and determination to deliver South Korea to Kim Il Sung caused enough bloodshed and suffering to still spring tears among those who remember. But after everything is said and done, we must dwell on the importance of our action in Korea.

This is best summarized, I think, in the words of a label for the Korean War that I recently came across: “The substitute for World War III.” I think we can all be proud of the stunning result for the people of the Republic of Korea.

When one mentions combat parachute operations in Europe, the first question is “82nd or 101st?” Actually, the last parachute jump in Europe was made over the Rhine River at Wesel 24 March 1945 by the author’s unit, the 17th Airborne Division, and was the last divisional combat jump in the history of the U.S. Army. The Wilsons wrote this book to remind the world of that fact.

The first part of the book goes over the history of airborne in the U.S. Army and then picks up the story where Wilson enters training. He describes the intensive physical conditioning during the first weeks of training (run everywhere including carrying 90-pound loads over rough ground), which washed out a fourth of his entering class. One of the most important phases of training was learning how to pack a parachute, your parachute, and one to which all trainees gave their complete attention.

The first time Wilson ever rode in a plane was the occasion of his first practice jump, and over the course of the war he notes he took off in a plane 12 times, but never landed in one.

After graduating as a paratrooper, Wilson was assigned to the 464th Parachute Field Artillery Battalion of the 13th Airborne Division at Camp Mackall in North Carolina. His main occupation was as a cook, but he continued to take required parachute jumps. Training continued at Mackall until the 13th left for Europe in February 1945.

Once in Europe, planning for Operation Varsity began. This was an airborne show conceived by General Montgomery to put Allied troops across the Rhine (although both the U.S. First and Third armies had already crossed the river a few days earlier). In any event, Montgomery planned the activities and invited the Allied top brass to observe the operation. Three divisions were supposed to jump: the British 6th Airborne and the American 13th and 17th. However, at the last minute, it was decided to reduce the size of the operation and the 13th was scratched, but its 464th was transferred to the 17th for the jump. The 13th remained one of only two U.S. Army divisions to never see combat in WWII.

The jump went well, and although the troops were told ahead of time to expect a 50% casualty rate, and the airborne flak was very heavy, overall losses were nothing like that. Wilson landed safely, helped assemble pieces of his company’s howitzers and find the ammunition was scattered all over. All in all, it was an interesting, short, one-day operation — if perhaps, not a major contribution to the victory in Europe.
This is an interesting story of what happened to one soldier in WWII, told with sufficient information on the “big picture” to make it very readable.

(Authorhouse, 2005; 229 pp., $18.48 — ISBN 1420854291)

Bruning utilizes oral histories to chronicle the Oregon National Guard’s 2nd Battalion, 162nd Infantry Regiment (2/162) during their mobilization in the summer of 2003, through their deployment to Iraq and homecoming in 2005. More than a war story about an infantry battalion, the book represents an intimate reality for thousands of Army National Guard soldiers fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The whirlwind adventure begins in July 2003, with a phone call alerting the Guardsmen for possible deployment. Geared up for the call, students, craftsmen, and various other professionals trained intensely at their local armories as they mobilized for war. In October, after saying good-bye to their families and friends, the battalion moved to Fort Hood, Texas, where they trained for combat operations that constantly evolved as the Iraq War raged.

Bruning explains that the deployment did not start as many of the soldiers had hoped. They lived in barracks that “had been slated for demolition” and were filled with “rotting food, and mildew covered walls.” The battalion received Humvees, forcing a transition from their current light infantry configuration to motorized infantry, which created last minute changes in tactics and training.

After the battalion arrived in Kuwait, they received different Humvees from those they trained with at Fort Hood. Many were unarmored models with no gun turrets. The soldiers improvised, adding scrap armor to the doors and building plywood walls reinforced with sandbags to protect the gunners. Next, the battalion convoyed into Iraq for their first baptism under fire, coinciding directly with Muqtada Al Sadr’s Shia uprising. For the next year, the Oregonians would participate in some of the fiercest fighting in Baghdad, Najaf, Falujah, and Sadr City, becoming involved in every major operation in Iraqi Freedom II.

Bruning masterfully illustrates that the battalion fought valiantly during their entire stay in Iraq. They often encountered small arms fire, Improvised Explosive Device (IED) ambushes, and car bombs during patrols through their area of responsibility. In June 2004, battalion snipers uncovered a torture compound while observing Iraqi police and Ministry of the Interior personnel beating detainees. The battalion raided the complex and stopped the abuse.

The first major engagement the battalion participated in was the battle for the Jamelia Power Station on August 5th. Attacked by IEDs, Rocket Propelled Grenades (RPG), and various caliber small arms fire, Alpha Company battled enemy insurgents for over 18 hours, killing at least 100 enemy fighters. But fighting would grow more intense as the battalion’s tour continued. During the battle of Najaf, a platoon of volunteers fought Mahdi militia at a six-story hotel nicknamed the Apache Hilton. After a week in direct combat, the Oregonians had killed over 300 enemy militiamen.

During the unit’s tour, they performed countless civil affairs projects to assist the Iraqi citizens. They constructed roads, established schools, and repaired sewer and power lines, as well as numerous other civic projects.

Bruning does not neglect the incredible sacrifice and bravery families and friends of the deployed soldiers exhibited during the deployment. He explains the hardships and stress on those that remained at home as their loved ones went to war. He also shows the horrors they face as they wait and pray for the soldiers’ safe return after hearing of a death through the media. After a triumphant year in combat, the battalion returned home to a heroes welcome. Many would return to their civilian lives while others would return to Iraq for a second tour.

Bruning’s work is the best book written about the Army National Guard since 11 September 2001. Unfortunately, it has a few grammatical errors throughout the text and can be difficult to follow at times, but it is by far the best work written about the National Guard in years. The nation’s citizen-soldiers have been an integral part in the War on Terror, and their sacrifices, as well as those of their families, is vividly brought to life in this work.

(Zenith Press, 2006; 340 pp., $24.95 —ISBN 9780760323946)

The LRRP work was almost always deep in “Indian Country,” so the level of risk was very high. Chambers includes details of missions where lives were lost. Marcy was killed on one of the missions. It is obvious that Chambers respected those who died, and he deeply felt their loss. One of the more emotional incidents was the May 11, 1970 loss of six members of Team Kansas, a radio relay team. There was some satisfaction knowing that another team later killed a group of soldiers from the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) that included several who had been involved with the deaths of Team Kansas. The NVA participation was confirmed by citations involving leave in Hue and diaries found on two of the bodies.

Exact locations and maps are missing, which might be disappointing to some historians, and the text of a fire mission includes a couple of minor errors. The book does give an accurate portrayal of how the LRRP teams operated. The title of the book is a little misleading, as some of the missions described did not take place in the A Shau. The pictures show the LRRPs with a wide variety of clothing and equipment that was typical of the individualists who were drawn to the LRRP work.

The Appendixes are over 60 pages long and contribute much to the book as they detail how certain things were done in the LRRPs, including suggested supply lists; hand signals with Thai, Vietnamese, and English explanations that reflects the work the LRRPs did with troops of other nations on occasion; patrol techniques; and other topics. Hopefully, our military in the future will glance back at this book because it includes some very solid information that the Army seems to forget from one war to the next. The glossary is also very complete and not only helps with the understanding of this book, but might help readers of other books with less considerate authors.

The book should be on a “must read” list of those who want to understand the LRRP operations as practiced in Vietnam. In addition, some sections of the appendixes should be a “lessons learned” by squad and platoon leaders for troops in Iraq and especially the less populated areas like Afghanistan where U.S. troops are committed.

(Ivy Books, 1998; 171 pp., $17.95 — ISBN 0739400886)