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TELL US YOUR STORIES FROM THE WAR. THE TIME "KILROY WAS THERE", YOUR BEST BUDDY, LANDING IN CHERBOURG, SPENDING THE NIGHT IN AN OLD CHATEAU, A HOT MEAL, COMBAT STORIES, ANYTHING WILL DO. JUST EMAIL IT TO US, WE WILL GET IT UP ON THIS PAGE. *****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

...For the life of me I can't recall just why the three of us were patrolling in that particular piece of woods in eastern France on that November, 1944 morning, but more than likely I never knew the reason AT THAT TIME either.

Getting back to our patrol, the three of us were walking along rather nonchalantly through this woods, with only the occasional whine of an artillery shell going overhead to distract our attention, when we stumbled onto three German soldiers sitting beside each other on a log.

They made no effort to go for their weapons nor did we threaten them with ours. We stared at each other for a long while without a word being said by anyone. They were battle hardened soldiers, you could tell by their general demeanor and the look that they had seen a lot of action.

The only thing unusual was that the one in the middle was stark naked and he was a bloody mess. There were small cuts and holes all over his body, some still bleeding. He'd probably been hit with fragments from a shell that had exploded high up in the trees. Other than for the bleeding, he seemed o.k..

The one on the right finally pointed to my canteen and then to the mouth of the wounded soldier and said "Wasser...Wasser". I handed him my canteen and he held it up to his comrade's lips and then handed it back to me without taking a drink himself. I motioned for him and the other one to have some too. They must have been damn thirsty, for they drank it all.

They didn't have any food, so we gave them some K-rations and most of our cigarettes. They had nothing to offer in return. We didn't expect anything though.

For just a few minutes we were just six "KAMERADEN" trapped by a set of circumstances beyond our control, in a place where none of us wanted to be, and at a time when we didn't want to be there. At least for a little while there was "peace and tranquility" between the six of us.

We left them sitting on that log and continued on with our patrol. I have no idea what happened to them after we left.

You might wonder why we were so compassionate when at any time it could have ended in a firefight. It's not that we were so brave or stupid, but the one advantage you have in the infantry is that often you get to see your adversaries "face to face" and the look in their eyes tells you that they have had enough. These three had long since passed that point, and maybe they could see alittle of that in our eyes too.

It's rather ironic that the infantry will often show more compassion for his enemy counterpart.

There is an old saying in the infantry that,"...every person more than half a mile behind your foxhole is a SON OF A BITCH..."

BERYL H. HAUGHT JR.114th Regiment, 1986 from his personal collection *****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

"....your dad, being from New Orleans, loved coffee and chicory. Somehow he always managed to have some in his pack. No matter where we were, he had to have his coffee.

I can still see him DIGGING A HOLE to build a small fire in, so he could reheat his coffee. He made it very hot and very strong. I don't know how they(the Germans) didn't smell it.

The last time I saw your dad alive was in New Orleans in 1957. We met at the Ponchartrain Hotel on St. Charles Avenue....we had coffee.....

JIM GLORIOD, 71st REGIMENT, F-COMPANY, 1997, as told to SGT. CLEM MILLER'S son after his father's passing... *******************************************************************************************


He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion Hall,
Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he had fought in,
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies,
They were heros, every one.

And though sometimes to his neighbors,
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened,
For they knew whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For old Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer,
For a soldier died today.

He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,
Quietly going on his way,
And the world won't note his passing,
Tho' a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories,
From the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier,
goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution,
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise,
And cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow,
Who in times of war and strife,
goes off to serve his contry,
And offers up his life?

The politician's stipend,
And the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.

While the ordinary soldier,
Who offers up his all,
Is paid off with a medal,
And perhaps a pension, small.

It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so long ago,
That our Bob's and Jim's and Johnny's,
Went to battle, but we know.

It was not the politicians,
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom,
That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?

Or would you want a SOLDIER,
who has sworn to defend,
His home, his kin, and country,
And will fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us,
We may need his kind again.

For when countries are in conflict,
Then we find the soldier's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles,
That the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor,
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage,
At the ending of his days.

Perhaps a simple headline,
in the paper that might say:



FROM THE PERSONAL COLLECTION OF KEVIN HARRIS, THE GRAND NEPHEW OF SSGT. ADAM HARRIS ***********************************************************************************************************************************

THE EPINAL CEMETARY IN VOSGES, FRANCE HOLDS THE REMAINS OF 236 MEMBERS OF THE 44th DIVISION, AND A TOTAL OF 5255 U.S. SERVICEMEN'S GRAVES. ************************************************************************************************************************************