SLIP

Tnx for the heads up -- makes a lot of sense. I'll try to get the habit of doing that. Slow learner.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

Thanks both of you for these explanations. I never thought mules could carry these canons through the mountains. A 90mm would have been an excellent compromise. I figure it would have messed up the Gothic line quite a bit. The question is would such a design have been ready on time? I think the allies expected to rush Italy faster than they actually did and thought the 105mn would be pefect once they would have reached the plains of the PO.

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SKIP

Yeah, they didn't carry them, they dragged the 75s behind them.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

Slower learner? No, that idea is quashed by those two letters that follow your name. Inexperience in the ways of this forum? Yes.

I'll have to look, but I don't think the US Army used mule-packed field pieces in Europe and only limited use in the Pacific, if at all there either.

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Best Regards,
JW

okay, got a better picture now. I was trying to figure out how on earht they could take the whole thing appart , fix it again... Good you helped me out with that enigma. So they were dragged around and almost immediately operational. Makes sense now. The 88 mm must have been quite a counterpart though. Those things were pretty sturdy and even if they were harder to drag around, the Germans had a defensive line which was theoretically prepared in advance. let me guess, they were hidden somewhere on top of a hill so that the allies had to climb and could not reach them with the 75.

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OK, back to Basic at Ft. Sill. Altho later when I got to my line outfit, the 436, we never marched anywhere (always rode in the trucks), during Basic we MARCHED everywhere. 5, 10, 15 miles, with full pack (which was still easier than the Infantry, 'cause we only carried M1 Carbines -- a lot lighter than the Infantry's Garands).

Now I had "3rd degree bilateral pes planus" (doctor talk for real bad flat feet). They never put that down on my induction physical.

[Mini-story:

Upon discharge, at Camp Beale, CA, April 25, 1946, the doc there told us to put down ANYTHING we could think of that gave us trouble during our service -- "never can tell how it might help you." So I told him about my flat feet. He looked at my feet, then my service record, and said, "You're right ... I'm going to recommend a service-connected disability for you on that basis." I could tell the doc was p*ssed that we were getting out and he was still in uniform .

So what became of all that? Well, I got a 16% military disability out of it -- paid my way, along with the GI Bill, all through med school. Of course they finally blew the whistle on many of those borderline cases -- but I had already got my education paid for.]

Back to those long marches during Basic. Altho both my feet were flat, only my left foot gave me trouble. It was tough. Marching, after a few minutes, triggered constant severe pain in the left arch. The pain would last throughout the march no matter how many hours we hiked. How did I manage it? Well, back then you just 'managed' things like that. Took your lumps. No questions.

What made that a little easier was watching the kid across the street in the next training battalion over. His left arm was completely flail -- it just dangled in the wind. His left leg was warped and shorter than his right. He could hardly get around. Would take him a full minute to go 20 feet. Did he get a medical discharge within a few weeks, because of an obvious slip up in the orders? No way. HE WENT THRU ENTIRE BASIC that way. Incredible.

Finally a few years ago I figured out what had happened (I told you I'm a SLOW learner): we were drafted right after D-Day and they were taking anybody in as long as he was still breathing. But the key to this whole thing finally dawned on me: Some local draft board member had a son, or a nephew, who was eminently draftable -- and wanted to save him from serving -- so they picked this polio-crippled kid instead, 'cause they knew he'd never end up in combat.

Also the kid probably felt great about the whole experience -- he was in the Army and doing his share. (Shakespeare: "All the world's a stage ... and we are but players on it.")]

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

SKIP

Yeah, but even if the Yanks were on another hill across a valley the 88s could get you, because of their over-range. At least that's what I recollect George telling me about Italy.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

SLIP

Yeah, that may be ... but then how would they get those 75's up a hill, human power? See if you can check that out in one of your books.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

Incredible. There was something similar under the Napoleonic rule. Among all the drafties, one lucky guy would not be selected to go to the front. The recruiters would organize a public lotery in each village. In fact the local bourgeois would then offer a big sum to the "lucky" bastard who would take the money and go to the front instead of the rich kid.

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Dragged by the mules, like you said? I referring to guns that could be broken down into parts (barrel, wheels, carriage, etc) and attached to the backs of mules on a saddle-like device. I'll need to look at the 10th Mtn more closely.

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Best Regards,
JW

SLIP

Yeah, I was wondering about that possibility too. Don't know which way they did it. Would be good to dig that up.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

OK, another mini-story:

This concerns a guy in Basic, name of Roger Mudd, from Connecticut. When I tried to track him down a few years ago, I ran into Roger Mudd in Connecticut ... but it was the wrong Mudd. That Roger was the famous TV commentator from the '60s on.

Well, my Roger Mudd, as far as I'm concerned should have been more famous .. because he had an exceptional character and personality. He had been a student at Yale, majored in English, and Poetry (ck that out as a background for a combat soldier). Now Rog was a neat guy, good sense of humor, straight arrow, friendly, generous, you-name-it.

So what was his ambition after he finished Basic with us? Well, he was determined to volunteer for the paratroopers. Why would he do that -- shortening his expected military life span by probably a 1000%? According to him, simply this: "Well, I need to find out what makes a paratrooper tick, and the only way to do that is to become one." As far as I know he ended up there, but I lost track of him when the outfit was flown to Europe.

He's a hero to me.

I'll add a pic of him later this evening.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

He's my military hero -- an intellectual, and a poet to boot!

Bill

Attached Images

Roger Mudd (Small).jpg (39.7 KB, 15 views)

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

I've got another hero: Bob Buschen.

Bob was the president of our class of 1943, Richmond Hill High School, Queens, LI, NY. A neat guy -- modest, unassuming, yet a true, quiet leader. Everybody loved him, not only the girls.

Well, he volunteered for the paratroops. First one in our class to be KIA.

God Bless Bob,

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

OK, y'all, here's one of the biggest stories in my tour of duty:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

PRIVATE CHILDERS FROM KENTUCKY

The setting was summer 1944, a short time after D-Day in Normandy, and our artillery outfit was in basic training at Fort Sill, OK. We were fighting the 'good war', against Mussolini, Hirohito, but especially against Adolph Hitler, whose special interest apart from taking over the world, was his "Final Solution" to the Jewish 'problem' -- exterminating every last one of them (including me.)

The other significant setting was that Ted Theobold and I had applied to OCS (Officer's Candidate School) and I had to watch my every behaviour -- any irregularity and you were out, as far as acceptance was concerned. So with that background I will describe what started happening every night as I returned to the barracks from evening pass, after 'lights out.' As I would pass by Private Childer's bunk I would here in a loud stage whisper, "Dirty Jew Bastard!"

After about a week of that I was going nuts -- my natural inclination was to grab hold of him and beat the living s**t out of him, or vice versa (although I was pretty good at doing a job on guys bigger than I, when I entered my rage zone.) However, I had my eye on OCS, and a Second Lt. commission, so I held back. And of course Childers knew that was why I didn't bite the bait. So he continued on for the rest of our 17-week basic training program.

Well, when Basic ended on November 17, 1944, our outfit expected the traditional 2 weeks furlough, to say goodbye in many cases forever, to our family and friends. But what happened instead was -- the entire outfit was flown in by cargo plane directly into Europe. No 2-week furlough. The first time that convention was violated in WWII. Were the top brass in need of extra artillery, pronto? Who knows?

But what I knew for sure, and Private Childers knew for sure was:

as soon as we got into the combat zone the very first shell out of each of our M1 Carbines would be aimed not at the Germans in Europe, but at each other. I knew I would do that, because I knew Childers realized I was ready for that .... he figured, correctly, "Why would Schenker see a difference in a Jew-hater in a German uniform or one in an American uniform?" So I realized that Childers would want to pre-empt me on that one, by firing first. So we were both ready to pre-empt. The bottom line for me was: I was dead either way -- either I let him shoot first, or else I shot first, in which case I'd end up court-martialed and in front of a firing squad for murder.

The resolution of this dilemma? Well, the entire outfit was flown into Europe -- except for two of us, Ted Theobold and me. Why? We both figured it was because our records were still in Washington, awaiting disposition on our applications to OCS. Thus we stayed behind at Fort Sill.

And I never found out what happened to Pvt. Childers, but I know the outfit saw action in the Bulge (which was practically the only time in the ETO that Field Artillery outfits were confronted with hand-to-hand combat.) I have never dwelt on his ultimate fate, never had the desire to, to this day.

But I do have another story, turning on what happened to Ted and me after being left behind. That's coming up next. An interesting story.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

Roger has/had a engaging smile. Looks like he would be fun to be around.

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Best Regards,
JW

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
INCOGNITO IN FORT SILL, OKLAHOMA

So there we were, Ted Theobold and I, in Fort Sill, OK, in December, 1944. By then the rest of our outfit was stuck in the middle of "The Battle Of The Bulge" in the Bastogne Forest in Europe, not an envious location.

And what were we doing? Well, no one seemed to know of our existence -- the new training battalion had come in to camp to replace our outfit that was gone. We apparently were on no one's duty roster. We were never called out for KP, or "cigarette butt cleanup duty," or even morning inspection. We never had to fall in in the morning, never had to go out for calisthenics, nor sit through the "Mickey Mouse" films (educational films warning us, with graphic scenes in hospital wards, of the dangers of tertiary syphilis -- the patient was lying in bed screaming and jumping like a hounddog -- and gonorrhea; you can be sure we took our antibiotics after our sojourns to the ladies of the night), nor long marches and truck trips out to maneuvers with live ammunition in our howitzers.

All that was left for us to do every day was to head down to the mess hall for our three squares a day, and spend the rest of the time at the USO, listening to good music, and ogling the pretty hostesses. While the rest of our outfit was getting shot at!

We finally figured out that Washington had lost our records. We could sit out the rest of the war right here in Fort Sill. Nirvana! We did that gig for 5 weeks, till the middle of December.

Then it finally it dawned on us -- the downside to all this was that we were locked into Camp -- no evening passes and no weekend passes -- because we had no First Sarge to issue our passes, 'cause we had no outfit.

And then the final blow: we weren't going to be able to go on the traditional 2-week Christmas furlough available to most of the GIs who were stateside at the time.

With that realization we bit the bullit and presented ourselves to the First Sergeant, with the story that apparently our records had been lost in Washington and we wanted to go home for Christmas. His immediate response was a harsh "get the h..l out of my office, NOW, or I'll give you KP for a week!"

Outside his office we milled around for a 1/2 hour, then bit the bullit again. We told him, again, "No Sarge, it's for real -- we're from the previous training battalion, that finished up November 17th, and we've just been hanging around doing nothing since."

His eyes narrowed down, looking at us suspiciously, and said, "If you guys are sh...tting me, your a...s will be in a sling pronto. I'm going to call Washington, and find out what really happened to you two. Now get out of my office -- I'll call you back when I get some news."

A half hour later he walked out of the office, quietly this time, and said, "You guys weren't sh..tting me after all. They actually did lose your records in Washington. They're going to issue you new records, and then send you back home for your 2-weeks Christmas furlough. Now get out of here and don't bother me any more!"

And that's how we were 'found' by the Army again, and how I finally ended up in a line outfit, preparing for combat, the 436th Field Artillery Battalion, in Camp Gruber, OK, near Muskogee, in January of 1945.

But first a mini-story about our train trip back to NY.

Bill

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True knowledge leads some from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.

Mr Bill, what was the arty battalion you got seperated from that ended up in near the Ardennes? I'd like follow up on them.

__________________
Best Regards,
JW