STORY NINE

IN THE SERVICE OF UNCLE SAM

OR

KP AND LATRINE DUTY

The Navy Recruiting Center was a busy place. It was early morning and there was already a long line. I waited. Most, but not all of the men in line were young, but few were quite as young as I, for my birthday wasn't due yet for another three months. Finally it was my turn to get in the door and start filling out paperwork. Then, moving along from one station to another, I took a variety of physical and written exams. All went smoothly and I got to the last station where a petty officer asked me to sign the final form. I was just about to do so, and I had asked him to give submarine duty my first preference, when he suddenly said, "Oh, there's just one more thing sailor, would you read me the numbers on these color charts." I looked at the small different colored circles and read the first number - it was correct. Then I turned the page. I couldn't even make out any number in the next chart. The officer shook his head and sighed. "Sorry" he said, "You almost made it, but you can't be color blind in the Navy." That was that; goodbye, submarines.

The next day I checked with the Air Force. I was quickly told I needed at least a high school diploma, which I didn't as yet have, since I was going to finish my third year just about the time of my birthday. That left the Army. They were less particular. Shortly after my birthday, I reported in and together with others, a bussload of civilians, soon to become soldiers arrived at Fort Dix, a well known processing center. There were only a few things that stood out during the relatively short time there. My new army fatigues, daily drills, some additional paperwork and mostly all day long, KP and Latrine duty. It was a quick and direct introduction to army life, no doubt about it. Then, one day we were told to pack our gear in our duffle bag and taken to a depot where we took a troop train to our next destination. It was a hot ride South, and each time another train was scheduled to pass we were shunted to a siding. Finally after some two days and nights, sleeping as best as we could wherever there was enough space, we arrived at our next duty station.

Camp Blanding - an infantry training center. This is where thousands of soldiers took their basic training, and probably most of them remember it well. By the time I got there, the Army had its training program down to a science.

They were serious and they had a lot of background experience both from the invasion of Europe and from the battlefields of the Pacific including Guadalcanal. The cadre were tough and experienced, most of them freshly back from overseas combat. They had one purpose in mind-to save lives, while pressing ahead with the business at hand, killing the enemy. To that end, they were merciless, knowing it was to our good to be made as proficient a soldier as they could make. They drilled us, marched us, gave us experience with a wide variety of the latest light infantry weapons. Among these were the B.A.R., a heavy duty semi-automatic weapon, light and heavy machine guns, where I got a little permanent scar on one of my fingers from a hot ejecting shell when firing it, grenade launchers, bazookas, flame throwers, and light and heavy duty mortars. The trusty M-1 rifle, hand grenades, and similar outfitting were standard fare. We had a lot of live exercises and there was no room for mistakes. Once every so often, that resulted in serious injuries or even a death, but it was a necessary price to pay. The training was very realistic. We were getting good as soldiers too, and were quick in digging ourselves in when needed even to the point where tanks rumbled over our foxholes. We had night problems and patrols, where on some dark nights you couldn't even see your partner as you tried to silently steal your way through the woods. It was on one of these dark nights that I could have hurt someone accidentally, including myself, but as luck would have it, no one got scathe. I was rushing by some heavy brush in one of our night exercises and tripped on my M-1 rifle belt, would you believe it. A shot rang out, since this was a live exercise, as I fell down, but as stated, we all lucked out. Another time, at a live grenade practice about four of us almost got injured, when one of the trainees threw his grenade short of the goal. The sergeant yelled for us to hit the deck and we all went down in a flash so that the grenade fragments missed everyone. One of my most embarrassing incidents was when I was firing a machine gun from a camouflaged machine gun nest, and one of the local inhabitants, a long gray snake suddenly slithered across my outstretched feet. I kept on firing and hoped the snake would ignore me, which it did as it went on its way. I was proud when, as kind of a final test, we were told to attack a mock Japanese village, and a well known battlefield general came to visit our camp especially to watch us in action. I was assigned duty as a flame thrower and we began the exercise. There were live booby traps and live fire over our heads from the village as we approached it, as well as a mine field we soon found out. The squad took care of the booby traps with hand grenades and the rest of the platoon made its way around the mine field by feeling for the mines gently with their bayonets, while others of the company provided covering fire with machine guns and mortars. Soon a way was cleared and we entered the village opening with everything we had. I don't really see how any enemy could have survived the assault or remained alive in their bunkers after having been doused with the flame thrower. I guess the visiting VIP was also impressed and after the exercise said some kind words to us. That event completed our basic training and we were readied for our next assignment.

This was also the time that we got a slight respite from our around the clock training by receiving passes for the first time. A few buddies and I went to St. Augustine which I found totally interesting, and then to Jacksonville, a city that was large, but not as characteristic. At least we got to see a little bit of Florida, other than the marshes and sand banks. We stayed in a local hotel in Jacksonville, where the doorman promptly asked us how many girls we wanted to have visit our rooms. To his surprise we all said none, a response that was probably due to some inexperience, but mostly to the very descriptive and graphic social diseases training films that the army was well stocked with. We took some photos, one of the fellows had a camera, had southern food, which was marketly different from the mess hall, and did some more sightseeing before returning to camp. Later we were to get our next assignments.

I had volunteered for the paratroops and was given three different physical exams and pronounced fit. I thought my assignment would be Fort Bragg, but instead I found myself heading for Fort Knox, Kentucky. It seemed that there was no further need for additional paratroopers just then, since the war in Europe was almost over so that instead I was attached to an armored division. I was assigned to a company that had mainly guard duty as its function, although it was not a military police company. Often that was a very boring chore and at nights, especially during the winters, it was long and draggy as well as bitter cold. I did get to see the famous Fort Knox building where most of the country's gold bullion is supposedly stored, and twice was able to visit Lexington, the home of the Kentucky derby. Since my original preference was closed, the army gave me a chance at an alternate assignment, and I opted for the Ski and Winter Mountain Warfare Troops, or the Tenth Division and was in a matter of a few months, sent to Camp Carson, Colorado.

It was late Spring and the snows had begun to melt There was only mountain training which was carried out not far from camp. We learned how to tie ropes, repel off cliffs and climb chimneys (a climber's term). We hammered spikes, did all kinds of practice on ropes and had an enjoyable time. I was also partially assigned to the motor pool and learned to drive a jeep mostly over the hilly terrain in back of the camp. A few months later, there was a call for drivers that wanted to volunteer for special duty. It consisted of picking up some visiting officers at Lowery Air Force Base and being at their disposal throughout their stay. I got to drive an army sedan and did a little practice driving ahead of time since it was my first time driving a regular car. All went well until that Sunday, when the officers wanted to tour a bit of Colorado and go up to Will Roger's Memorial. Seems like the road got pretty steep after awhile and, I not being thoroughly familiar with the automatic shift on the vehicle tried to climb it in regular drive. Naturally the car started to buck and slow to a crawl to the point where one of the officers riding in the rear said, "Driver, don't you know this car has more than one gear?" He asked that I stop the car and offered to drive it the rest of the way up the mountain, which he in fact did. He and the other officers in the vehicle were good natured however, and never mentioned the incident. They left after a few more days at camp and I drove them back to the field without further event. As a token of thanks they gave me a bottle of whiskey, which I passed on to my buddies. Later that month I learned how to drive a two and a half ton army truck. When I got more proficient, I got permission to take it and a number of buddies up to Pikes Peak one weekend. I had no trouble double clutching it up the peak. We were surprised that it flurried at the top since it was mild and sunny at the base. Later, when it was time to descend the road was so thick with fog, I couldn't see anything, even with the headlights on. The truck wasn't equipped with fog lights. Two of the fellows got out and walked a short distance in front of the truck with special flashlights which we did have, so that I was able to very slowly drive the truck down to an altitude where the fog was less dense and we were able to continue normally.

One day, not long thereafter, I was sent on a detail with the truck and a crew of six workers, all soldiers of course. We were to load a large mound of medium to heavy rocks on the truck and haul them to a ravine where we were to dump them. All went well. It took the crew the whole morning to load the rocks and after a lunch break, we started for the ravine. The drive was about an hour away and we got to the ridge of the ravine where I stopped the truck. Some of the men thought that if I were to backup the truck a few more feet, it would be easier for them to shove the heavy rocks off the truck into the ravine. One of the men motioned me back and I slowly backed up the truck some more. Suddenly, the ground of the rim gave way, probably due to the heavy load in the truck, and the truck started to slide down the steep embankment. All the men that were still on the truck jumped off, but I stayed behind the wheel desperately braking and pulling the hand brake for all it was worth. The truck kept on sliding albeit at a slower pace. Luckily one of the rear wheels got caught under a large rock the crew had pushed out earlier and the truck came to a stop. We quickly unwound the steel cable on the front winch, tied it to a sturdy tree and gunned the motor in four wheel low at the same time as the winch started to wind the cable. Luckily we made it back up the embankment, especially since a lot of our cargo rolled out as the truck was sliding down, and the tailgate was already opened. The company officers decided against a court martial for me since we solved our own problem and no one got hurt.

I loved Colorado and went to visit wherever I could. Denver, Boulder, Pueblo, and cities inbetween and around were greatly admired by me. I liked the mountains and the altitude and promised myself that if the opportunity ever came for me to return, I would. It was almost late fall and the company was readying itself for training at Camp Hale, when word was received that due to the recent surrender of Japan no further training of new ski troops was required. I was asked if I wanted to re-up but I wanted to get back to school instead, even though I had completed my high school requirements through correspondence studies. In a matter of weeks I was honorably discharged and sent on my way home.

Dear reader, as you have no doubt rested very well after the first paragraph of this ho-hum wartime story, you may be possibly interested in relaxing some more this evening by finishing the rest of STORY NINE which will once more lull you into a peaceful and undisturbed sleep. You do have the option to turn to STORY TEN should you really have a troubled night, which I hope is not the case. Thank you.

©1990 Herbert Holzbauer

published @1996 edition S.p.N.LAUB

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