The FReeper Foxhole Revisits The War in Europe - Memoirs (1939-1945)

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Mid War Memoirs

Wing Commander Geoffrey Morley-Mower,
RAF reconnaissance pilot
who flew Hurricanes to track Rommel's movement in North Africa

(26 November 1941)

As soon as I was airborne I could see the same scenes of widespread retreat that I saw earlier. The two groups of tanks near the airfield and joined forces and were now fanned out. A large formation of trucks and some 88 mm guns were following them some miles behind. I kept low and skirted the columns. I saw no other aircraft and concentrated on making a detailed situation map of the area. There were a number of smaller groups of enemy vehicles, some stationary, some moving. I wasn’t able to avoid flying directly overhead of the transports, and whenever I did I would see the same reaction: men would throw themselves from their trucks and run. One or two would aim a weapon and fire upwards at me. I saw the occasional mounted machine gun firing in my direction as I passed overhead. I was expecting the familiar white puffs from German light anti-aircraft batteries, but received none. Perhaps it was because they were on the move. Flying low and fast, I didn’t feel at all threatened by the small arms fire. I flew 10 miles north and saw nothing significant, so I turned west, climbing to give myself a broader view of the situation. I had been almost 40 minutes in the area by this time and had done what I thought was a good job. Diving down to my safe height again I saw a perfect target. Five of the German support vehicles were lined up, one behind the other, so all I had to do was rake through the trucks as I flattened out of my dive. They exploded satisfactorily. I didn’t see anyone jump out. I watched the conflagration for a few seconds, then I turned away and headed home.

After landing I switched off and began to unstrap. I slid the hood to the rear and saw the figures running towards me; with my helmet on I couldn’t hear the shouting. By the time I’d reached the ground and had slung the parachute over my shoulder, there were 20 people staring at the airframe and talking excitedly. When I looked, I saw that it had been punctured by hundreds of bullets--the worst area was from behind the cockpit to the tail section. While I was flying, I’d been conscious of my wing tanks and I thought of that as I went to inspect the wings. The tanks were untouched, but there were over 50 bullet holes, all outboard of the tanks toward the tips. Most of the spectators were concentrating on the tail section, which had substantially been destroyed. The technical officer pointed to the wings, “You were lucky not to have your fuel tanks pierced. Do you see those wires? The elevators might have held a bit longer, but look here at your rudder controls--this one has only a few strands left!” I stared at the shredded wires. If I’d attempted a roll as I swept over the airfield, the strain would have been enough to break it off completely. Could I have landed safely without a rudder? No. I suppose the likelihood would have been a loss of control and a crash. I’d had a lucky escape.

Zina Generalova,
Russian woman in the siege of Leningrad

When the bombing started, we had alarm signals or every fifteen or twenty minutes, and it was very hard for me to go to the safe places because being pregnant, I couldn’t run. Very often during the bombings I was in bed, and the bed would be jumping from place to place. We thought that the bombing would stop soon, because in all the newspapers, Russian people were told that we could finish with Hitler in two months. But soon, we heard on the radio that Germans were coming closer and closer to Leningrad. People rushed from small towns into Leningrad because they didn’t want to live under German power. Leningrad became overcrowded, and a lot of people were evacuated to Siberia or other places. Then the Germans surrounded the city and there was no way to escape in any direction. All through September, Leningrad was bombed. We were living in the basement with nineteen other people. It was very, very cold...without light, without water, without heating. That winter was so severe, you cannot imagine. And my husband was becoming so pale with hunger, almost blue; he could not even move anymore. Once a woman told me “What are you doing? Your child will die, so give all the food to your husband and save him. If he survives, he can give you a second baby.” I gave the milk to him once, but then the baby started crying, and I decided that food belonging to the baby must be eaten by her. From the ration cards they gave us, we received 125 grams of bread and 1 pound of meat for a month. Plus each day we were given 1 tablespoon of cereal, and 1 teaspoon of oil. How could people live on that? People were getting so weak, that sometimes if they fell down, they could not get up. I, too, was getting weaker and weaker. I was dying.

By the end of January, people began saying that soon there would be a way out of Leningrad. People would go across Lake Ladoga, which was frozen, and was the only place you could get through the blockade that surrounded the city. We took a train to Lake Ladoga that had a very nice passenger carriage. And it was so warm inside! Every one looked at me and said “You have a baby! How did you save your girl?” When we got to the lake we had to wait until nighttime to cross because the Germans were watching. Also, many trucks full of people were falling into the holes in the ice, because the Germans were bombing the lake. We waited the whole day on the bank. I don’t know how we survived. But when night came we were taken across, and we were safe. My husband and my baby were with the driver, because my husband was already so blue, so sick. When we got to the other side of the lake, hot food was given to us--big loaves of bread. Then we were put into train carriages which were very bad, like the kind used for cattle. When I entered that carriage, I understood that my baby would die. Well, she died on the fourth day. People knocked at the door and asked if there were dead people in this carriage. I covered the baby and gave it to them, and they told me “Mother, take the blanket off. Only bare bodied.” I did as I was told and put the baby on the heap of dead people. My husband told me, “Zina, send me to the hospital. I’m dying.” And so people came and took him to the hospital. I was so weak and tired, that I decided that I would go to our final destination, a small town called Pyatigorsk, and then come back when I was okay and pick him up. But I did not do that. He died at the hospital. People say that such terrible things are forgotten with time. But that cannot be forgotten, never.

August Zorn,
member of the German Reserve Police Battalion 101
who were sent to Poland to liquidate Jews in in the style of the Einsatzgruppen
who took the Jews out to the surrounding forests where they were to be executed by firing squad.
His first victim was a very old man, who could not or would not keep up with his countrymen, because he repeatedly fell and then simply lay there.

I regularly had to lift him up and drag him forward. Thus, I had only reached the execution site when my comrades had already shot their Jews. At the sight of his countrymen who had been shot, my Jew threw himself on the ground and remained lying there. I then cocked my carbine and shot him through the back of the head. Because I was already very upset from the cruel treatment of the Jews during the clearing of the town and was completely in turmoil, I shot too high. The entire back of the skull of my Jew was torn off and the brain exposed. Parts of the skull flew into Sergeant Steinmetz’s face. This was grounds for me, after returning to the truck, to go to the first sergeant and ask for my release. I had become so sick that I simply couldn’t anymore. I was then relieved by the first sergeant.

Tatjana Wassiljewa,
10 year old Russian girl who kept a diary of her experiences

(3 March 1942)

Papa died today. This morning he was ordered to go and see the German command. Mama went with him because he was very weak. I stayed home. It wasn’t long before Mama came back; she was beside herself. She said that they had driven her out of the village headquarters because she had made too much noise. Mama told me the SS man had accused my father of treason and demanded to know where he hid the partisans.

“Father said that was a stupid question.” said Mama. “Because he had hardly been able to move from his bed for months. But the SS man bellowed that he was 100% certain that Father was in league with the partisans. Father stood as tall as he could and said bravely, ‘I am an honest man and I have never lied in my life. But I can assure you that if I really had hidden the partisans, I would never give away their hiding place’. The SS man went bright red and struck Father in the face and across his swollen fingers. I started screaming, ‘Pjotr is my husband! He’s not in league with anyone! He’s dying--look at him! In fact we’re all at the end of our strength.’ Then they threw me out. It’s all over, Tanja. Father will never survive this!”

Mama started to sob. “They’re killing him. It’s all over, all over.” She repeated, glancing out the window. Then she cried, “He’s coming!” and I ran out into the hall to meet him. But as I was opening the door I already heard the clatter of a falling body. Father lay face down on the floor. I wanted to help him up, but he was dead. Papa was determined to come home and he did it right up to the threshold. How ever did he manage it? They had beaten him so badly. Why have I written all of this down? Because it could well be that we all die like Papa and then nobody will know what we had to suffer. Perhaps one day people who are born later, after the war will read this. After all, the war must end sometime.

Vasili Zeitsev,
the Soviet sniper that Heinz Thorwald, head of the German snipers' school tried to kill.
This was the basis for the movie "Enemy At The Gates."

The arrival of the Nazi sniper set us a new task: we had to find him, study his habits and methods, and patiently await the right moment for one, and only one, well-aimed shot. The art of the sniper is distinguished by the fact that whatever experience a lot of people may have, the outcome of an engagement is decided by one sniper. Every time he has to create, to invent, to operate differently. There can be no blue-print for a sniper; a blueprint would be suicide. I knew the style of the Nazi snipers by their fire and camouflage and without any difficulty could tell the experienced snipers from the novices, the cowards from the stubborn, determined enemies. But the character of the head of the school was still a mystery for me. Then something happened. My friend Morozov was killed, and Sheykin wounded, by a rifle with telescopic sights. Morozov and Sheykin had often emerged victorious from the most difficult skirmishes with the enemy. Now there was no doubt. They had come up against the Nazi “super sniper” I was looking for. At dawn I went out with Nikolai Kulikov to the same positions as our comrades had occupied the previous day. Kulikov was also fascinated by this duel. Battle started closely, shells hissed over us, but, glued to our telescopic sights, we kept our eyes on what was happening ahead of us. “There he is! I’ll point him out to you!” suddenly said the political instructor, excitedly. He barely, literally for one second, but carelessly, raised himself above the parapet, but that was enough for the German to hit and wound him. That sort of firing, of course, could only come from an experienced sniper.

Vasili Zeitsev

For a long time I examined the enemy positions, but could not detect his hiding place. From the speed with which he had fired I came to the conclusion that the sniper was somewhere directly ahead of us. I continued to watch. To the left was a tank, out of action, and on the right was a pill-box. Where was he? In the tank? No, an experienced sniper would not take up position there. In the pill box? Not there either--the embrasure was closed. Between the tank and the pill-box, on a stretch of level ground, lay a sheet of iron and a small pile of broken bricks. It had been lying there a long time and we had grown accustomed to its being there. One only had to make a firing slit under the sheet of metal, and then creep up to it during the night. “There’s our viper.” came the quiet voice of Kulikov from his hide-out next to mine. Now came the question of luring even a part of his head into my sights. It was useless trying to do this straight away. Time was needed, but I had been able to study the German’s temperament. He was not going to leave the successful position he had found. We were therefore going to change to change our position.

We worked by night. We were in position by dawn. It grew light quickly and with day-break the battle developed with new intensity. But neither the rumble of guns nor the bursting of shells nor anything else could distract us from the job in hand. The sun rose. Kulikov took a blind shot; we had to rouse the sniper’s curiosity. We had decided to spend the morning waiting, as we might have been given away by the sun on our telescopic sights. After lunch our rifles were in the shade and the sun was shining directly on the German’s position. At the edge of the sheet metal something was glittering: an odd bit of glass or telescopic sights? Kulikov carefully, as only the most experienced can do, began to raise his helmet. The German fired. For a fraction of a second Kulikov rose and screamed. The German believed that he had finally got the Soviet sniper he had been hunting for 4 days, and half raised his head from beneath the sheet of metal. That was what I had been banking on. I took careful aim. The German’s head fell back, and the telescopic sights of his rifle lay motionless, glistening in the sun.

George Wells,
B-25 pilot who holds the record for most bombing missions flown by an American during WWII

In 1943, my crew and I were sent overseas and joined the famous 340th B-25 Bomb Group, one of the three bomb groups in the 47th Bomb Wing. The 340th became known as the “Bridge Busters” for our many pinpoint attacks destroying bridges. Many bombing records were made by our unit.

One of the most notable was when Major Fred Dyer and I established the record for the highest number of bomber missions flown by any US pilot in WWII in one continuous overseas tour. We each flew 102 missions without returning home to the US for a rest. One specific fact that I believe is God related is that I never felt much apprehension in all of my combat experiences. I do not really understand it. My original bombardier, “Red” Reichard, was totally frightened of combat. Whenever he was assigned for the next day, he couldn’t sleep; he perspired, rolled and tossed all night, as he was convinced he would not survive the war. It is amazing that our two philosophies came to play within seconds of each other. On a bombing mission over Anzio, Red Reichard was the lead bombardier in the first flight over the target. I was the lead pilot of the second flight over the target; separation between the two planes was about 50 yards. His plane was hit with an 88 mm shell. The plane exploded and all were killed. Within 2 or 3 seconds, an 88 mm shell went right through one side of my plane’s tail and out the other side. Each of those shells contained a time fuse, as well as a contact fuse on the nose section, which is supposed to explode on contact. His plane exploded; my plane had nothing more than two holes about 6 inches across in the tail section. There was no other damage to the plane and it was completely flyable.

Another bombardier of note in our squadron was Joe Heller, who later became famous when he wrote Catch-22. I received the Silver Star, 2 Distinguished Flying Crosses, the Air Medal with 12 oak-leaf clusters, Joint Services Commendation Medal, European-African-Middle-Eastern Campaign Medal with 7 battle stars, WWII Victory Medal, Air Force Longevity Service Award with 1 silver oak-leaf cluster, and the National Defense Service Medal with 1 bronze star.

Ernest Michel,
Holocaust survivor

I was living in a work camp called Paderborn in northern Germany, cleaning the streets and sewers in town. We were guarded by policemen, but at least we had something to eat and nobody got killed. In February 1943, we were told to get ready because the entire camp was going to be evacuated toward the east. We were put on cattle cars. We spent 5 days and 5 nights in these cars with hardly any food or water, never knowing where we were going. There was no room to sleep or sit down. Several people couldn’t take it and died right in the car; we had to just put them in a corner. Then we came to a place and somebody called out “Oswiecim!”, the Polish word for Auschwitz. There was a peculiar smell in the air. I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was the smell of the gas chambers, but we didn’t know that, of course. We heard noises--dogs barking--and all of a sudden, it became very light. The doors of the car opened up and we heard “Everybody out.” Everywhere there was screaming and yelling: “My son, my father, where are you?” We saw for the first time that we were in a line of 30 or 40 cars, full of old people, young people, children. We were forced into two columns, women on one side, men on the other side. I held on to two of my friends. The screaming and yelling continued as mothers looked for their children, and mothers tried to hold on to their babies. I would never have believed that anything like this could happen to human beings, but this was just the beginning. At the end of the line, an SS man asked us: “How old?” If you were between the ages of 16 and 30, you went to one side. Over 30, you went to the other side. The screaming, the whips, the dogs, that picture will be with me as long as I live. All the girls were gassed that day. But they needed labor, so I was given a chance, together with my other friends, to live. We were taken to a place where they told us to undress. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I was scared for my life.

In the morning we were shorn of hair, then every one of us was tattooed. I was sent to the camp that was used as slave labor for I.G. Farben, a company that was trying to manufacture artificial rubber. We were slaves, but there was a difference between us and the slaves who were brought to America from Africa. They were treated poorly, but at least they were a commodity, so they were given some food. With us it was totally different, because the supply of Jews in Europe was unlimited. The normal food rations in Auschwitz were such that you had approximately half a year until your body gave out--they had figured it out very scientifically. And after that--up the chimney. When you got down to 80, 90 pounds you knew you were about to be taken out and gassed. We didn’t live, we existed. The camp was surrounded by two sets of electrically charged wire. The moment you touched it you were electrocuted. I saw inmates by the hundreds run into that just to get it over with. But I never wanted to. I told myself and the others around me, some of us have got to hang on in order to tell the story of what happened. I was convinced that what was happening was probably one of the worst things that ever happened to any people at any time. To survive under those circumstances took fortitude and a desire to hang on, but it also took plain old dumb luck. And eventually, I got my lucky break. One day I got hit over the head, and I went to the hospital to get taken care of. By some fluke, a man came through the hospital and asked if anyone had good handwriting. Now, in 1939 my father had sent me to take calligraphy lessons. At the time I said “What do I need this for?” And he said “You never know when it could come in handy.” That ended up saving my life.

They sat me down with a logbook and told me what to write: “Weak of body”, “Heart attack”. The Germans kept immaculate records, and of course, nobody was ever gassed. Everybody died of weak body or heart attack. So because I could write neatly I became an official recorder. One of my other duties was to work in the medical area, where Dr. Mengele did his experiments. We were asked to bring in blankets for the women who were being given electric shock in order to find out how much strain a person could take. After the experiments we would bring the women out and put them on the truck that would take them to Birkenau. None of them survived. After a while, death was like breathing to us. Three men attempted to escape and were caught. First, they were tortured, then they were brought to the roll call place. In front of 10,000 inmates, they were brought to the gallows. There was total silence, and one of them shouted out “Don’t forget us!” And then they were killed. At Auschwitz I must have carried more bodies than I can count. But these were men that I had known, and when I saw that they were gone forever, it had a major impact on me. It made me want to live even more. I looked down at them lying there, and I said to them, “You will not be forgotten.”

Hans Goebeler,
German sailor aboard Unterseeboot 505,
which was captured by the Americans

A lookout suddenly shouted the alarm, and a second later there was a gigantic explosion. We had suffered a direct hit by a bomb that nearly tore the boat in half. The airplane that dropped the bomb was itself destroyed by the blast, and it crashed into the ocean next to us. The body of one of the pilots was lying on a part of a wing that was floating nearby, but we didn’t have time to think of him. A lot of people think German U-boat men sank ships without mercy, but if we had a chance, we always tried to help their crews. After all, they are humans too. It was only later in the war, when the airplanes were attacking, that we couldn’t wait around after firing torpedoes. Since the end of the war, I’ve attended some reunions with former enemies. We all cried and hugged each other like brothers. We never hated the Americans; we were just doing our duty, just like the boys on the ships hunting us. The Kapitän gave the order to abandon ship, but the chief petty officer said, “Well, you can do what you want to do, but the technical crew is staying on board to keep her afloat.” Other boats with the same damage might have sunk, but our crew knew what to do, and we did keep her afloat.

Hans Goebeler

That lucky boat, U-505, was the most heavily damaged German submarine ever to get back to base during World War II. We were being depth-charged very closely by some destroyers. All the lights were out, and we had been knocked off our feet by the explosions. They really gave it to us! They fired about 64 depth charges at us. The explosions were the biggest I ever heard. One depth charge was so close it damaged torpedoes stored in the upper deck. Other depth charges jammed our main rudder and diving planes. Soon there was nothing for us to do but surface and abandon ship before she sank for good. The destroyers and planes were giving us hell, firing weapons at our boat. We swam away from the sub as quickly as possible. The planes were shooting the water between us and the boat, chasing us away from U-505. Only the very front of the boat and the top of the conning tower was still above the water. The American skipper must have had some men who were very brave, or very crazy, because they boarded the sub, found the sea strainer cover and closed it. They somehow kept the boat afloat and took it in tow. We were picked up by the destroyers and brought to the carrier, where they locked us in a cage. We were transported to Louisiana and sent to a special POW camp. We worked there in Louisiana on farms and in logging camps until 1945, when we were transferred to Great Britain. We were confined there until December of 1947, when we were finally released.

Oscar Schmoling,
a 16 year old German soldier captured by the Americans

I turned 16 in December of 1943 and was drafted into the Arbeitsdienst, which during the war performed all kinds of jobs, from building barracks to transporting war materials. I was eventually put into an anti-aircraft unit and sent for 6 weeks of training to Linz, Austria. Then I was shipped to Normandy to work in an anti-aircraft unit. We were supposed to replace members who had turned 18 and were to be transferred into the regular army. We arrived outside of Cherbourg on June 4, two days before the invasion. Initially, we just helped doing little things, but after the Americans landed, we blew up our guns and fled into Cherbourg. By that time it didn’t matter what unit we came from--we all became replacements for those who had been killed or wounded. The youngest of us were put to work carrying the wounded to the rear and transporting ammunition to the front. It’s difficult to say what you feel as a 16 year old boy. I didn’t want to be a hero, but I wanted to be strong and do what the others had done. Sometimes I felt like a man, but there were also moments when I felt like a child. One of my brothers had already been killed in Italy. I had another brother in Russia and one in france. My dad had been in WWI, but he was also drafted into the Second World War and served in Poland and Russia. I wanted to be proud, but I could also still feel the child inside me. I didn’t know if I would ever see any of my family again and I even thought I might get killed.

Your attitude would change back and forth. If you had eaten and slept well, you felt more like fighting. But if you were tired, hungry, and thirsty, you thought, “I wish it was over.” I was captured on 23 June 1944. We had just delivered some ammunition to the front. When I came back, planes bombed and strafed us. Everybody was running around. Then their artillery opened up. We never knew exactly where the enemy was. Finally, machine guns and every other kind of weapon you can imagine started firing into our position. We expected the Americans to be in front of us, but they had already encircled us and were coming up from the rear. Our soldiers came in waving white flags and telling us to throw away our weapons. My first thought was, “The war is over. Maybe an armistice has been declared.” There was total confusion. So we threw away our weapons and raised our hands. It all happened so fast. We were marched 3 or 4 miles back to the American rear lines with our hands up. It was hot and we hadn’t had a bath for weeks. We were dirty, hungry and tired. They put us in a big yard, and we were checked for weapons. Some of us lost our watches. I remember one American who was so proud that he had 7 or 8 of our watches on his arm. A rumor circulated that Germans had killed some civilians, and this American officer came up and picked out 10 of us to be shot for revenge. I was one of the 10. He lined us up and told us to face this stone wall. A command was given, and we heard the ammunition being loaded. We knew they were lining up their machine guns. To this day I don’t know whether they were just trying to scare us or whether some higher ranking officer ordered them not to kill us. I just don’t know. But I do know I can’t forget it.

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Late War Memoirs

Private David Webster,
a paratrooper in E Company, 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division on the eve of D-Day
This was the unit immortalized in the book and HBO movie "Band of Brothers"

The engines roared louder. Facing down the aisle, the lieutenant yelled “Look, men, look! It’s the fleet!” I turned stiffly to the window and gasped, “Man, oh man.” 500 feet below, spread out for miles on the moonlit sea, were scores of landing barges, destroyers, cruisers and attack transports. They were bearing the infantry to a dawn assault on the shore of Normandy. My shoulders swung away from the window. I stared at the men opposite me in the racketing, vibrating, oil-reeking, vomit-scented darkness. Our lieutenant staggered erect. “Stand up and hook up!” he shouted. How did we ever get into this? we asked ourselves, and why? A stream of tracer bullets floated up at us, speeded up as they passed the windows, and disappeared with a rattling burrat. Someone threw up and cursed as the pilot took evasive action to avoid another flak nest that had opened fire on the planes ahead. Oh God I prayed. Get me out of here. I don’t want to blow up in the sky and burn to death. I want to die fighting. Let’s jump. Let’s go! “Check your equipment!” the lieutenant shouted. I felt the snap fasteners on my leg straps. They were closed tightly and in place. How about the reserve snaps? Also good. And the bellyband? In place. I knew the chest buckle was snapped, for it had been digging into my ribs ever since I had put on my chute. Burrat! Another machine gun burst crackled around the plane. “Sound off for equipment check!” An 88mm shell burst outside with a quick flash and a metallic bang. The blast tilted the plane, throwing men onto the seats. They clutched their way back up again. The plane dived toward the ground. The pilot twisted and raced back up again. I smelled the smoke and oil and puke and gagged on my supper as it rose in my throat. I shook my head and clamped my teeth shut. I was beyond all hope.

A man’s life and death are decided by forces that he cannot fight. The plane slammed up and down, zigzagged, rattled and roared, threw us from side to side with such violence that several of us fell down again, cursing the pilot. It was all I could do to remain upright and not dissolve into a gutless, gibbering blob of fear. Too weak to stand, I clung to my static line with both hands. I felt like crying, screaming, killing myself. This is a night for murder. I thought. God must have planned it that way. “Close up and stand in the door!” the lieutenant yelled. Left foot forward in a lockstep, each man pushed hard against the man before him. The plane bounced up and down and gasped for altitude. I had forgotten all about everything and everybody but Private David K. Webster, who wanted to get out of this plane more than anything else in the world. I had an insane urge to jump. “Go!” the lieutenant shouted. The line of men surged forward. Two men fell down on the threshold. There was a wild, cursing tangle as others fought to lift them and push them out, and then the line moved again, sucked out the door like a stream of water. I shuffled up, glanced down, and stopped, dumbfounded. All I could see was water, miles and miles of water. But this was D-Day and nobody went back to England, and a lot of infantry riding open barges seasick were depending on us to draw the Germans off the causeways and gun batteries. I grabbed both sides of the door and threw myself at the water.

I fell 100 feet in 3 seconds, straight toward a huge flooded area shining in the moonlight. I thought I was going to fall all the way, and yet I could do was gape at the water. Suddenly a giant snapped a whip with me on the end, and my chute popped open, and I found myself swinging wildly in the wind. Twisted in the fall, my risers were unwinding and spinning me around. They pinned my head down with my chin on the top of my rifle case and prevented me from looking up and checking my canopy. I figured that everything was all right, because at least I was floating free in the great silence that always followed the opening shock. For several seconds I seemed to be suspended in the sky, with no downward motion, and then all at once, the whole body of water whirled and rushed up at me. Jesus. I thought. I’m going to drown. I wrenched desperately at my reserve chute’s snap fasteners as the first step in preparing for a water landing. I didn’t even have time to begin the procedure. We had jumped so low--from about 300 feet, instead of the scheduled 700--that while I was still wrenching at the first strap, I saw the water 20 feet below. I’ve had it. I thought. I reached up, grasped all 4 risers, and yanked down hard, to fill the canopy with air and slow my descent. Just before I hit, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of air. I held my breath, expecting to sink over my head and wondering how I was going to escape from my harness underwater--and hit bottom 3 feet down. My chute billowed away from me in the light wind and collapsed on the surface. Immensely relieved at the safe landing, I undid the reserve and discarded it, yanked loose the bellyband, unsnapped the leg straps and chest buckle, detached my rifle case and let the harness sink into the swamp. I was on my own at last.

The silence ended abruptly with a long, ripping burst--burrrrrrrp!--that made me look around in fright. That’s a German machine gun. I told myself. I dropped to my knees in the cold, black water and passively waited to be killed. So this is what war is really like? I couldn’t believe that someone wanted to kill me. What had I done to them? I wanted to go up to them and tell them that I didn’t want to kill anybody, that I thought the whole war was a lot of malarkey. All I ask of the world is to be left alone. You’ve never seen me before. Why do you want to kill me? I shook my head to make sure it was all real, and it was. The bullets were not in my imagination. They were real, and they were seeking me out to kill me. They wanted to kill me right there in the swamp. Then my courage returned when I noticed that the shooting was all quite far away. I rose from the water, assembled my rifle and loaded it, and rammed on my bayonet. I was ready to go. Lost and lonely, wrestling with the greatest fear of my life, I stood bewildered in the middle of a vast lake and looked for help.

They’ve wrecked the invasion. I thought. Where is the drop zone? Where are the other regiments? 6 regiments jumped tonight, and I am alone in Normandy. I shivered convulsively and started to cry, then thought better of it. At least I can try to get out of this swamp before sunrise. But where will I go? Which way is out? I took the compass from my pocket and looked at it. I shook the compass and cursed, and holding it close, saw that it was filled of water. “Son of a bitch.” I hissed, throwing it away. A wise guy probably made a fortune off those compasses in the States. And now men will die because somebody gypped the government. Suddenly the whole thing struck me as ludicrous; all the preparations and briefings, all the maps and sand tables, and for what? Why had they bothered? Instead of a regiment of over 1500 men carefully assembled on a well-defined drop zone, D-Day was one man alone in an old swamp that the Air corps said didn’t exist. From inland came the strange tolling of a church bell. Invasion, invasion. it seemed to clang to the Germans. The invasion will fail. We’ll be rounded up and butchered by the SS. Now a new noise came--the distant rumble of a massed flight of planes--and my spirits rose. The planes were coming towards me. I followed their progress by the fountains of tracer that splashed up at them. Come on down and we’ll get ‘em together! The bullets lit the planes and the shadowy parachutes and the men tumbling out of them like strings of ball bearings and followed the men to the ground. Sick at my stomach, I watched the men swing helplessly in the heavy fire. I wanted to help them, but there was nothing I could do but watch with mounting anger and hate. “Those freaking Krauts!” I whispered. I wanted to kill them all. I threw away my gas mask and adjusted my bag on my back. The box of .30 caliber ammunition I had carried on the jump was dropped at my feet. Where was the machine gun that would use it now? I took my Hawkins mine from a big pants pocket and threw that away too, for there were no tanks in the flooded area. I had to travel light to reach the Germans before dawn...I was alive, and I intended to stay that way.

Sgt. Thomas Valence,
29th division, 116th regiment, A company
One of just 24 survivors from his company to land in Normandy on D-Day

As we came down the ramp we were in water about knee high and we started to do what we were trained to do, that is, move forward and then crouch and fire. One of the problems was we didn’t know what to fire at. I saw some tracers coming from the concrete emplacement, which to me looked mammoth; I didn’t anticipate any gun emplacements being that big. While I attempted to fire at that, I had no concept of what was going on behind me. There was not much to see in front of me except a few houses. The water kept coming in so rapidly and the fellows that I was with were being hit and put out of order so quickly it became a struggle to stay on one’s feet. What I did was to abandon my equipment, which was very heavy and tended to drag us down. In my case I was wearing 2 bandoleers of ammunition across my chest, plus the ammunition in my belt, plus the hand grenades, gas mask and M-1 rifle with the light pack we had on our backs. We weren’t going to accomplish very much and I remember floundering in the water with my hand up in the air, trying to get my balance when I was first shot. I was shot through the left hand and suffered a broken knuckle and shot through the palm of my hand. I remember feeling nothing but a little sting at the time, but I was aware that I was shot. Next to me a fellow in the water named Private Henry G. Witt was rolling over toward me and I remember him very clearly saying “Sergeant, they’re leaving us here to die like rats!” I don’t know why I remember that statement so clearly; I certainly wasn’t thinking the same thing. I didn’t know whether we were being left or not.

It turns out he either had great perception of what was going on or made a statement that coincidentally was factual because it turns out that subsequent waves did not come in behind us as planned originally. I made my way forward as best I could; my rifle jammed; I remember picking up a carbine and got off a couple rounds. Again, we were shooting at something that seemed inconsequential; there was no way that I was going to knock out a German concrete emplacement with a .30 caliber rifle. I was hit several other times: once in the leg, left leg and thigh, which broke a hip bone, and several other times which were not injurious. I remember specifically being hit in the pack a couple times and my chin strap of my helmet was severed apparently by a bullet. I worked my way up to the beach and staggered up against a wall and sort of collapsed there. As a matter of fact I spent the whole day pretty much in that same position. Eventually the bodies of the other guys washed ashore and I was one live body amongst so many of my friends, all of whom were dead and in many cases, very severely blown to pieces. I don’t recall any troops coming in; essentially my part of the invasion had ended, with everyone wiped out as most of the company was. I’ve wondered over the years about one thing: why we, in A Company, were chosen to be the American equivalent to stormtroopers. Was it because we were so highly trained? Was it because we had such potential? Or was it because we were simply expendable?

Robert Dyas,
of the 15th Air Force faced death in each of his 52 missions in a B-24, but this time was saved by a brave P-38 pilot

It sounded as if we were flying through a heavy hail storm. Some of the spent flak was penetrating our ship’s thin aluminum skin. Bomb-bay doors were again opened, our bombardier yelled “Bombs away!” over the intercom, and what was left of the original formation went into a steep, left-turning dive toward the ground. We were still in the air and still flyable. Flak had penetrated most of the ship...hydraulic fluid was spewed all over the deck as several hydraulic lines had been punctured. Suddenly, directly out of the sun and coming straight at us was a single Me-109 with all guns blazing. Our nose gunner was blasting away with his trigger on continuous fire, but our top turret gun was silent, and he should have been shooting at that crazy Hun. The warning light for fire in the number two engine was flashing rapidly and our engine instruments told us number two was “cooked." The Captain ordered that I “feather” the number two and push the fire extinguisher button for that engine, which I did immediately. While we continued to try and get back into our formation, we found that this was impossible due to the decrease in power caused by the dead engine. As our airspeed and altitude diminished, we found ourselves a sitting duck for the Nazi fighters still attacking us from all directions.

Our gunners were firing continuously from all gun positions, except for the top turret, as we were being raked by machine-gun fire from the Hun. The Hun fighters, which had been dogging us all the way and which had been kept at bay by the accuracy of our gunners, abruptly disappeared. Far in the distance we could see the American fighters coming out of the south. They caught up with the slowly retreating Nazi aircraft as we were approaching the loft peaks of the Alps. Suddenly, a P-38 Lightning peeled off his chase after a Me-109 that he was about to shoot down, when he noticed our crippled B-24. Without a second thought for his very possible air victory, he pulled alongside us and pointed to his radio headset trying to have us obtain radio contact. Captain Jawatte shook his head, indicating that we could not respond, trying to explain what he was going to try to attempt. The pilot of the P-38 threw up both of his hands to gesture that he understood and, shoving his throttle ahead, flew around us. He then took up a position directly in front of us, matched our airspeed, and guided us through the treacherous mountain range. the P-38 had more sophisticated radar and sonar equipment aboard than a B-24 and he was better able to judge how far away those jagged and deadly peaks were. If it were not for the P-38’s courageous pilot leading us through the small openings in the Alps, I am sure we would have crashed into the side of the mountains.

General Johannes Steinhoff,
Luftwaffe ace who shot down 176 planes in his 900 missions and was shot down 12 times before nearly dying in a Me-262 crash

When we fought the RAF, it was almost evenly matched in fighters against fighters, so true dogfights were possible. The British were born fighters--very tough, well trained and very sportive. They were brave and I never fought against better pilots at any time during the war, including the Americans. That was the truest test of men and their machines, and only the best survived. Attacking hundreds of B-17 and B-24 bombers with fighter escorts was not what I considered sportive, although I must admit it had many moments of excitement and sheer terror. The Soviets were disciplined, principled and somewhat intelligent, but not well trained in tactics. They were very brave for the most part, but unlike the British and Americans, they would break off combat after only a few minutes and a couple of rotations. The Soviet pilot was for the most part not a born fighter in the air. In fighting the Soviets, we fought an apparatus, not a human being--that was the difference. There was no flexibility in their tactical orientation, no individual freedom of action, and in that way they were a little stupid. If we shot down the leader of a Soviet group, the rest were simply sitting ducks, waiting to be taken out. We fought as a team from the beginning. We had excellent training schools and great combat leaders from the Spanish Civil war, as well as the early campaigns in Poland and the West. We really learned our trade during the Battle of Britain, and that knowledge saved many German lives. Well, the Soviet pilots did get better. In fact, there were some hotshot pilots formed in the famous Red Banner units, which had some of the best pilots in the world. I fought against them in the Crimea and Caucasus later.

General Johannes Steinhoff

But the hardest thing about the Russian Front was the weather, that damned cold. In many cases we had no operations. The cold would freeze all machinery and moving parts. Sometimes we could not fly because the snow was piled so high that we had no way to remove it. It was very poor weather, and navigation was absolutely impossible. This and the cold were the greatest handicaps. That was absolutely the worst time. The second thing, and probably the most important, was the knowledge that if you were shot down or wounded and became a POW--that is if they did not kill you first--you would have it very bad. There was no mutual respect. You were safe only on your side of the lines. The Soviets did not treat our men very well after they were captured, but then again, the Soviets we captured did not always fare well either, which was unfortunate. At least in fighting against the Americans and British, we understood that there was a similar culture. The Americans and British treated us as gentlemen, as we did our enemy pilots when they were captured. But with the Soviets, this was unheard of. There was no mutual respect. It was a totally different war...

I was shot down 12 times; in the 13th incident I almost died from a crash. I only bailed out once. I never trusted the parachutes; I always landed my damaged planes, hoping not to get bounced on the way down when I lost power. I was wounded only once lightly, but never seriously until my crash. I was taking off in formation on April 18, 1945 for my 900th mission. Our airfield had suffered some damaged over the last several days due to Allied bombing and as my jet was picking up speed, the let undercarriage struck a poorly patched crater. I lost the wheel, and the plane jumped perhaps a meter into the air, so I tried to raise the remaining right wheel. I was too low to abort takeoff, and my speed had not increased enough to facilitate takeoff. I knew as I came toward the end of the runway that I was going to crash. The 262 hit with a great thump, then a fire broke out in the cockpit as it skidded to a stop. I tried to unfasten my belts when an explosion rocked the plane, and I felt an intense heat. My rockets had exploded, and the fuel was burning me alive. I remember jumping out, flames all around me, and I fell down and began to roll. The explosions continued, and the concussion was deafening, knocking me down as I tried to get up and run away. I cannot describe the pain. Even the surgeons had no idea that I would survive, but I tricked them.

Lt. Paul Fussell,
a 19 year-old US Army infantry officer during the Battle of the Bulge, cold and afraid in his foxhole

The Germans attacked all along our Alsace line on New Year's Day, 1945. The Americans retreated everywhere. Whole battalions were wiped out. Many men were captured. Quite a few deserted. The roads were icy and it was snowing much of the time. When the snow let up, the temperature dropped to -20º. Pushed back and back, by January 20th F Company was in the town of Niederbronn-les-Bains, which we abandoned at night for a 9 mile march in a raging snowstorm back to the River Moder. There we set up what we hoped would be a final defensive line between the towns of Mulhausen and Bischoltz. The retreat in the snow and ice was a nightmare: tanks and trucks skidded off the road and had to be abandoned--to the Germans. We had a day or so to slow them down and they pursued us, and at one point someone laid out on the road a number of inverted dinner plates, hoping that when covered with a bit of snow they'd resemble anti-tank mines and cause a brief German delay.

While we were struggling back, our positions along the Moder were being prepared by engineers. The ground being too solid for digging, they used blocks of TNT to blast out 3 and 4 man holes roofed with railroad ties. Three feet of snow quickly covered these emergency emplacements, leaving nothing visible from the front but a dark slit 2 inches high and 10 inches long. Through such a slit for the next 5 days I watched the Germans on the other side of the river getting ready to attack us. The only entrance was through a slippery slide at the rear, which became increasingly nasty because there we had to throw out our excrement, deposited first on a spread-out K-ration carton. To appear outside of the hole in daylight was to be shot instantly. What an attack would mean for us was too frightening to dwell on. We could fire only forward, out of the slit, and only one man could fire at a time. If the German attack were to come during snow or fog, we couldn't fire effectively at all. All the Germans would have to do would be to approach invisibly from a flank and toss in a grenade, either through the slit or the rear entrance. At night one of us was always on guard at the slit. It was terribly cold. The only warmth we had came from burning the K-ration cartons and lighting the little heat tablets we warmed coffee over. We tried various expedients to survive the cold: there was disagreement over whether sleeping with the hands in the crotch or the armpits was the best way to avoid frostbite. On January 25th the attack came. It followed a really terrifying artillery preparation. We cowered at the bottom of the hole, dreading a direct hit, and dreading equally a German attack during the barrage, which would catch us utterly unprepared to repel it. The troops of the 6th SS Mountain Division soon indicated that they were the ones against us. Stimulated by schnapps, shouting slogans and abuse, they swarmed toward us--to be torn to pieces by our machine guns.

But thank God, the axis of the attack was 500 yards to our right, and our hole remained unassaulted. On the right the SS burst through our line, capturing a town behind, from which they were finally ejected after a brutal struggle. These SS men were the best troops we ever fought. They behaved as if they actually believed that their wounds and deaths might make a difference in the outcome of the war. The SS attacks having failed, with corpses left all over our snow-covered hills, in our hole we resumed our quiet life of watchful terror until we were relieved by another battalion. Throughout, our problem had been less how to help win the war than how to survive the cold. The war was being won, actually, by the Russians, who at this moment were moving toward us, even if they were a thousand miles to the east. They seemed not yet likely to appear at any moment coming over the mountains we were facing, wearing fur caps with red stars on the front and brandishing submachine guns. When we were finally back in a town behind the lines, washing and shaving for the first time in weeks, I came down with pneumonia, and with a temperature of 104º was evacuated to a hospital. It was warm and quiet and safe, and I hoped I'd never have to return to the line. But I did, and the winter war went on.

Weika Koenraad,
a young Dutch girl whose town was liberated by the Allies in 1945

I was just a little girl during the Second World War, born in Haarlem Holland, in 1937. The Netherlands was occupied by the Germans in 1940, and the scariest thought in my mind were soldiers, with black shiny boots and a gun; nobody ever smiled, there was nothing to smile about. The games we played as children were war games. We had built a play hospital and I was the nurse. My friends were wounded and brought to the hospital. There were no toys. The most severe winter in decades was the winter in 1944. The southern part of the Netherlands was already free, but the western part which is above the river Rhine was still occupied. Because of the weather, there was nothing more to eat. Everybody was hungry and our daily meal consisted of sugar beets, which we now feed to the hogs, and tulip bulbs. I still remember the taste of tulip bulbs. Suddenly there was spring, and the bad weather was gone, and it was May 1945. Big tanks rolled through the streets and for the very first time I saw people who smiled and waved to us. They were soldiers! It was like a miracle--they were supposed to be scary, and now they were friendly and smiled. They threw chocolate bars and chewing gum into the crowd, something we had never seen or tasted before. Every time I meet somebody who has served in the Second World War, I give him a hug and say, “Thanks to you we are alive.”

Raymond Daum,
US Army photographer who was sent to rescue priceless Beethoven artifacts at various locations in Germany

I served in the Army as a motion picture combat cameraman, assigned to fighting units in the ETO, mainly the ground forces of infantry divisions. In one armored attack about the time of the Battle of the Bulge, I was wounded as I got in the way of German artillery and was whacked by an 88 shell that pierced my helmet as I knelt to reload my camera.

As the Allied armies penetrated deeper into Germany, Göring, who was infamous for his looting of Europe’s artistic treasures, dispatched orders to all museums to disperse their collections so that they would not be looted by the invading armies. One of these historical sites was the Beethoven-Haus in Bonn. This was the birthplace of the composer and had been converted into a museum. The museum collection included 3 pianos owned by Beethoven, several musical instruments and oil portraits important to him in his life. Just months before, German transports had appeared at the museum, where the treasures were loaded and the convoy, headed by Dr. Wildemann, travelled to various rural sites in the Rhineland Province. I caught the scenes in my camera’s viewfinder as we approached each site on Wildemann’s list. Then they would come out--the crates, the trunks, precious art works, and boxes of musical manuscripts. Dr. Wildemann asked me to hand-carry a huge bundle of autographed music manuscripts--the originals and priceless! The manuscripts for the piano sonatas were present, including “Moonlight Sonata” and scores of the Pastoral and 9th Symphonies!

We finally reached Bonn, which was like a ghost town with blocks and blocks of incendiary ruins. In filming inside and outside the museum, I was shown, by the caretaker, the room upstairs where Beethoven was born in 1770. One question we all asked ourselves: How was it possible that this little 200 year old tinder-box-building had survived the severe and prolonged incendiary bombings? The German caretaker’s story was one of the most amazing to come out of the war. Each night, as the incendiary bombs began to fall, he would crawl up to the roof of the house with a garden hose and he would douse the walls and roof all night long until the bombing had ceased, to keep the wood and plaster as wet as possible, for the structure to survive another night. The experience proved that the only glory of war is in the hope of cooperation between the enemies afterward. At Beethoven-Haus, conquerors and the conquered had joined hands to preserve mankind’s priceless heritage and culture. Additional Sources:

fcit.coedu.usf.edu
www.denktag.de
www.yad-vashem.org
www.stukas.freeservers.com
www.fatherryan.org
www.menziesvirtualmuseum.org.au
www.wssob.com
www.valourandhorror.com
timewitnesses.org
www.nzhistory.net.nz
www.skalman.nu
www.vflintham.demon.co.uk
benito.virtualave.net
volkerradke.looplab.org
sbl.salk.edu
www.rrz.uni-hamburg.de
www.arts.auckland.ac.nz
www.ubootwaffe.homestead.com
www.milmag.com
www.afno-is.eu.odedodea.edu
images.amazon.com
www.army.mil
search.eb.com
www.1id.army.mil
www.theatlantic.com
www.mecri.org
www.lexikon-der-wehrmacht.de
www.nt.net
www.cyberus.ca
www.fuerboeck.at
The FReeper Foxhole Remembers The War in Europe - Memoirs (1939-1945) - Oct. 29th, 2003

'This is a collection of WWII memoirs that I think are worth reading because they present WWII in a way no author could ever do. These people were in the places you've read about and personally witnessed the events you've only seen in pictures.

These are their stories, their memories, and their lives. '

-- Brandon Kyle Leniart

"FALL IN" to the FReeper Foxhole!

It's Friday. Good Morning Everyone.

If you want to be added to our ping list, let us know.

If you'd like to drop us a note you can write to:

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Veterans for Constitution Restoration is a non-profit, non-partisan educational and grassroots activist organization.

Actively seeking volunteers to provide this valuable service to Veterans and their families.

Thanks to quietolong for providing this link.

We here at Blue Stars For A Safe Return are working hard to honor all of our military, past and present, and their families. Inlcuding the veterans, and POW/MIA's. I feel that not enough is done to recognize the past efforts of the veterans, and remember those who have never been found.

I realized that our Veterans have no "official" seal, so we created one as part of that recognition. To see what it looks like and the Star that we have dedicated to you, the Veteran, please check out our site.

Veterans Wall of Honor

Blue Stars for a Safe Return

NOW UPDATED THROUGH JULY 31st, 2004

The FReeper Foxhole. America's History. America's Soul

Click on Hagar for
"The FReeper Foxhole Compiled List of Daily Threads"

LINK TO FOXHOLE THREADS INDEXED by PAR35

Good morning Sam. Looks like I'm having some trouble with the fotki server. The pictures may or may not be working at any given time. Slow load too. Hopefully by the time you read this it will be fixed.

I'm off to get some sleep.

Good morning Snippy.

Good morning, Snippy and everyone at the Foxhole.

May 6, 2005

Don't Be Afraid

Read:
Isaiah 12

God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid. -Isaiah 12:2

Bible In One Year: Psalm 76-78

cover I have an ancient leaf blower that I use to clean up our patio. It sputters, rattles, smokes, emits irritating fumes, and is considered by my wife (and probably by my neighbors) to be excessively noisy.

But our old dog is utterly indifferent to the racket. When I start up the blower, she doesn't even raise her head, and only reluctantly moves when I blow leaves or dirt in her direction. That's because she trusts me.

A young man who occasionally mows our yard uses a similar blower, but his is not tolerated by our dog. Years ago, when she was a puppy, he teased her with the machine and she has never forgotten. Now, when the man enters the backyard, we have to put her in the house, because she growls, barks, and snarls at him. Same set of circumstances, but the hands that use the blower make all the difference.

So it is with us. Frightening circumstances are less troublesome if we trust the hands that control them. If our world and our lives were governed by a thoughtless and indifferent force, we would have good reason to fear. But the hands that control the universe-God's hands-are wise and compassionate. We can trust them in spite of our circumstances and not be afraid. -David Roper

When fear and worry test your faith
And anxious thoughts assail,
Remember, God is in control,
And He will never fail. -Sper

God is in control, so we have nothing to fear.

FOR FURTHER STUDY
When Fear Seems Overwhelming
What Can I Do With My Worry?

Good morning

Mornin' everybody!

Wow, this topic looks really good but I don't think I have time to read and absorb till I finish work today!

God is in control, so we have nothing to fear.

God ordained words for me to read today! Thanks!

Last night was my last night teaching at the job I've had for 4 years. I knew God brought me here to this job. I know what He had me here to do. Now, the job has ended and I am waiting for Him to move me to a new location and provide me with a new job! heh - I used to pray to be walking by faith and not by sight. LOL... Lately I've been questioning my sanity at praying that!

However, God's in control. And He has orchestrated things amazingly for me in the last several months (as always.) It is just a really nice reminder to see Him taking charge here by having this particular daily devotional on the first day after "wrapping up" the job! Wow.

Reverent Bump for the Friday Foxhole

Regards

alfa6 ;>}

On This Day In History

Birthdates which occurred on May 06:
0973 Henry II Roman Catholic German king/emperor (1002/14-24)
1501 Marcellus II [Marcello Cervini] Italy, humanist/Pope (1555, 22 days)
1758 Maximilien Robespierre Arras Fr, French revolutionary (1781)
1801 George Sears Greene Brevet Major General (Union volunteers), died in 1899
1806 Chapin Aaron Harris US, founded America Society of Dental Surgeons
1812 Martin Robinson Delaney Charlestown VA, 1st black major in US Medical Corps
1813 Joseph Tarr Copeland Brigadier General (Union volunteers), died in 1893
1825 Joseph Bailey Brevet Major General (Union volunteers), died in 1867
1829 Phoebe Ann Coffin 1st female ordained minister in New England
1843 Grove Karl Gilbert geologist, investigated Lake Bonneville UT
1856 Robert Edwin Peary US, arctic explorer (North Pole-April 6 1909)
1856 Sigmund Freud Freiberg Moravia, cigar smoker, father of psycho-analysis
1868 Wladyslaw Stanislaw Reymont Poland, novelist (Chiopi, Nobel-1924)
1870 Amedos Peter Giannini San Jose CA, founded Bank of America

1888 Russell Stover, candy manufacturer

1895 Rudolph Valentino Castellaneta Italy, sheik/actor/stud muffin (Eagle)
1898 Daniel Gerber Freemont MI, beloved by babies at mealtime
1905 [Bernard] Toots Shor raconteur/restauranteur (Toots Shor)
1907 Weeb Ewbank NFL coach (Baltimore Colts, New York Jets)
1915 Orson Welles Kenosha WI, actor (Citizen Kane, War of the Worlds)
1915 Theodore H White historian/writer (Making of the President)
1916 Adriana Caselotti animation voice (Show White)
1929 John Polk Allen Carnegie OK, CEO (Biosphere 2)
1931 Willie Mays Westfield AL, Hall of Fame baseball centerfielder, "Say Hey Kid" (New York Giants, New York Mets, 660 homeruns, National League MVP 1954)
1934 Richard C Shelby (Representative-D-AL (1979-86)/Senator-D-AL, 1987- )
1945 Bob Seger Dearborn MI, rocker (Silver Bullet Band-Shake Down)
1946 Jim Ramstad (Representative-Rino-MN)
1949 David Cornell Leestma Muskegon MI, USN/astronaut (STS 41-G, 28, 45)
1952 Chiaki Naito-Mukai Tatebayashi Japan, astronaut (STS 65, 95)

1953 Tony Blair British PM (Labour, 1997- )

1954 Sergei Nikolayevich Tresvyatsky Russia, cosmonaut
1959 Aidan Quinn actor (Avalon, Crusoe, Desperately Seeking Susan)
1961 George Clooney Lexington KY, actor/moron (Dr Douglas Ross-ER, Batman, From Dusk till Dawn)
1968 Linnea Marie Fayard Shreveport LA, Miss Louisiana-America (1991-5th)

Deaths which occurred on May 06:
0523 Thrasamunde king of Vandals
1667 Johann Jacob Froberger German singer/organist/composer, dies at 50
1727 Catharina I Latvia tsarina of Russia, dies at about 42
1859 Friedrich Heinrich Alexander explorer/scientist, dies
1862 Henry David Thoreau US writer/pacifist (Walden Pond), dies at 44
1864 Henry Livermore Abbott US Union Brigadier-General, dies in battle
1864 Micah Jenkins Confederate Brigadier-General (friendly fire), dies at 28
1882 Lord Frederick Cavendish assassinated by Fenian Invincibles, in Dublin
1882 Thomas Henry Burke assassinated by Fenian Invincibles, in Dublin
1910 Edward VII King of England (1901-10), dies at 68
1919 Frank Lyman Baum author (Wizard of Oz), dies at 62
1948 43 communist rebels executed in Athens
1987 William J Casey director of CIA (1981-87), dies at 73
1989 Guy Williams actor (Zorro, Lost in Space), dies at 65
1991 Wilfrid Hyde-White British actor (Peyton Place/140+ films), dies at 87
1992 Marlene Dietrich [Maria Losch], actress (Blue Angel), dies in Paris at 90
1994 Haskell "Cool Papa" Sadler blues singer/guitarist, dies at 59
1996 Michael Gerzon mathematician, dies at 50
2002 Otis Blackwell (70), songwriter (“Don't Be Cruel,” “All Shook Up,” “Return to Sender,” and “Great Balls of Fire.”)

GWOT Casualties

Iraq
06-May-2003 1 | US: 0 | UK: 1 | Other: 0
UK Private Andrew Kelly Basra Non-hostile - weapon discharge (accid.)

06-May-2004 2 | US: 2 | UK: 0 | Other: 0
US Staff Sergeant Hesley Box Jr. Baghdad Hostile - hostile fire - car bomb
US Corporal Dustin H. Schrage Al Anbar Province Non-hostile - drowning

Afghanistan
A Good Day

http://icasualties.org/oif/
Data research by Pat Kneisler
Designed and maintained by Michael White

On this day...
1312 Pope Clement V closes Council of Vienna
1476 Emperor Frederik III of Habsburg & duke Charles the Stout arrange marriage of their children
1527 Spanish & German Imperial troops sack Rome; ending the Renaissance
1529 Battle at Gogra: Mogol emperor Babur defeats Afghans & Bengals
1536 King Henry VIII, orders bible be placed in every church
1642 Ville Marie (Montréal) forms
1733 1st international boxing match: Bob Whittaker beats Tito di Carni
1753 French King Louis XV observes transit of Mercury at Mendon Castle
1787 1st Black Masonic Lodge (African #459) forms at Prince Hall, Boston
1794 Haiti, under Toussaint L'Ouverture, revolts against France
1804 Suriname sold to English (until February 1816)
1833 John Deere makes 1st steel plow
1835 1st edition of New York Herald (price 1¢)
1848 Otto Tank ends slavery in Suriname colony
1851 Dr John Gorrie patents a "refrigeration machine"
1851 Linus Yale patents Yale-lock
1853 1st major US rail disaster kills 46 (Norwalk CT)
1861 Arkansas & Tennessee become 9th & 10th states to secede from US
1861 Jefferson Davis approves a bill declaring War between US & Confederacy
1864 Battle of Port Walthall Junction VA
1864 Battle of Wilderness-General Longstreet seriously injured
1864 General Sherman begins advance to Atlanta GA
1877 Chief Crazy Horse surrendered to U.S. troops in Nebraska.
1889 Universal Exposition opens in Paris France; Eiffel Tower completed
1890 Mormon Church renounces polygamy [1006-Truth Restored (Morman pub)]
1895 21st Kentucky Derby: Soup Perkins aboard Halma wins in 2:37½
1896 22nd Kentucky Derby: Willie Simms aboard Ben Brush wins in 2:07.75
1903 Chicago White Sox commit 12 errors against Detroit Tigers
1904 American Lung Association holds its 1st meeting
1907 33rd Kentucky Derby: Andy Minder aboard Pink Star wins in 2:12.6
1910 King George V ascends to British throne
1914 British House of Lords rejects women suffrage
1915 Allies attack Cape Helles, Hellespont
1915 German U-20 sinks Centurion SE of Ireland
1915 Red Sox Babe Ruth pitching debut & 1st homerun, loses to Yankees 4-3 in 15
1919 Paris Peace Conference disposes of German colonies; German East Africa is assigned to Britain & France, German Southwest Africa to South Africa
1929 American League announces it will discontinue MVP award
1935 British King George & Queen Mary celebrates silver jubilee
1937 Dirigible Hindenburg explodes in flames at Lakehurst NJ (36 die) (Oh the humanity!)
1939 65th Kentucky Derby: James Stout aboard Johnstown wins in 2:03.4
1940 Pulitzer prize awarded to John Steinbeck (Grapes of Wrath)
1941 Joseph Stalin became premier of Russia
1942 Corregidor & Philippines surrender to Japanese Armies
1943 British 1st army opened an assault on Tunis.
1944 The Red Army recaptures Sevastopol.
1945 General J Blaskowitz surrenders German troops in Netherlands
1950 Liz Taylor's 1st marriage (Conrad Hilton Jr)

1954 Roger Bannister of Britain breaks 4 minute mile (3:59:4)

1955 West Germany joins NATO
1957 Last broadcast of "I Love Lucy" on CBS-TV
1959 Iceland gunboats shoot at British fishing ships
1960 President Eisenhower signs Civil Rights Act of 1960
1960 Trotsky's murderer Jacques Mornard (Ramón Mercader), freed in México
1961 87th Kentucky Derby: John Sellers aboard Carry Back wins in 2:04

1962 1st nuclear warhead fired from Polaris submarine (Ethan Allen)

1962 Pathet Lao breaks cease fire/conquerors Nam Tha Laos
1966 Most runs scored in 11th inning (9) Phillies score 5 to beat Pirates 8-7
1967 93rd Kentucky Derby: Bobby Ussery on Proud Clarion wins in 2:00.6
1967 Zakir Hussain elected 1st Moslem President of India
1968 Battle between students & troops in Paris France, 1000 injured
1970 Yuchiro Miura of Japan skis down Mount Everest
1972 98th Kentucky Derby: Ron Turcotte aboard Riva Ridge wins in 2:01.8
1974 Bundy victim Roberta Parks disappears from OSU, Corvallis OR
1974 Smallest attendance at Philadelphia's Veterans Stadium (4,149)
1975 Bundy victim Lynette Culver disappears from Pocatello ID
1975 Early warnings provided by REACT (ham radio operators) means only 3 people die in tornado that strikes Omaha NE
1979 Fred Markham set a bicycle speed record of 81.8 kph over 200 meters
1981 US expels Libyan diplomats
1982 Seattle Mariner Gaylord Perry becomes 15th pitcher to win 300 games
1984 Baltimore Oriole Cal Ripken Jr hits for the cycle
1984 José Napoleon Duarte wins El Salvador presidential election
1985 17th Space Shuttle Mission (51-B)-Challenger 7 lands at Edwards Air Force Base
1987 Mario Andretti sets the one-lap speed record at Indianapolis 500 at 218.204 MPH
1987 Niroslav Milhailovic begins 54 hours of telling jokes
1987 PTL's Jim Bakker & Rich Dortch dismissed from Assemblies of God
1989 115th Kentucky Derby: Pat Valenzuela on Sunday Silence wins in 2:05
1994 Chunnel linking England & France officially opens
1994 House passes the assault weapons ban (We're safe at last)
1994 Paula Jones accused President Clinton with making an unwanted sexual advance during a meeting in a hotel room in 1991, when he was governor of Arkansas.
1994 Comedian Bobcat Goldthwait sets fire to the couch on Tonight Show
1996 The body of former CIA director William E. Colby was found washed up on a riverbank in southern Maryland, eight days after he'd disappeared.
1996 Guatemala's leftist guerrillas sign key accord with government of President
1997 Army Staff Sergeant Delmar Simpson gets 25-year sentence for rape
1997 Michael Jackson & Bee Gees inducted into Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
1999 In Iraq the new vacation-resort city of Saddamiat al-Tharthar opened 85 miles west of Baghdad. Nearly every brick was engraved with the initials of Saddam Hussein
2001 American businessman Dennis Tito ended the world's first paid space vacation as he returned to Earth aboard a Russian capsule
2003 Ghazi Hammud, Baath regional chairman in the Kut district, was put in custody. He is No. 32 on the top 55 list
2012 Transit of Venus (Party at Ma's house)

Holidays
Note: Some Holidays are only applicable on a given "day of the week"

Bulgaria : Shepherd's & Herdsman's Day
Denmark : Prayer Day
Lebanon : Martyrs' Day
Zambia : Labour Day (Monday)
National Turn Off Your TV Week (Day 4)
National Correctional Officers Week (Day 5)
National Tourist Appreciation Day
World : No Diet Day
It's Senior Comedians Week!
Just Say No Week (Day 5)
National Military Appreciation Month

Religious Observances
Denmark : Prayer Day
Roman Catholic : Commemoration of St John Before the Latin Gate

Religious History
1432 Flemish artist Jan van Eyck, 61, finished the altarpiece for St. John's Church in Ghent, Belgium. Van Eyck's work is noted for its descriptive realism and intensive color.
1527 Forty thousand mercenaries, hired by Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, sacked the city of Rome, destroying two-thirds of the houses. They butchered clergy and laity alike, and forced Clement VII to flee, disguised as a gardener. It was the end of the golden age of the Renaissance.
1835 Birth of John T. Grape, American Methodist layman. He composed a number of hymn tunes during his life, including ALL TO CHRIST, to which we sing today, "Jesus Paid It All."
1955 Responding to a letter received from a child, English pologist C. S. Lewis wrote: 'God knows quite well how hard we find t to love Him more than anyone or anything else, and He won't be Angry with us as long as we are trying. And He will help us.'
1986 The Rev. Donald E. Pelotte, 41, was ordained in Gallup, New Mexico -- the first American Indian to be made a Roman Catholic ishop in the U.S.

Source: William D. Blake. ALMANAC OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. Minneapolis: Bethany House, 1987.

Thought for the day :
"If at first you don't succeed, try again. Then quit. No use being a fool about it."

Morning everyone.

Good morning ladies. It's Friday!

Serenade to the Big Bird
by Bert Stiles, John W. Howland (Editor)

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0965523861/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-7990942-7680624?%5Fencoding=UTF8&n=283155

Editorial Reviews

Book Description
Classic story of the air war in Europe written by a highly talented author in August 1944 while he was actively participating in the conflict.

From the Publisher
Bert Stiles was a prolific and highly talented writer. While still in college he had several stories published in the Saturday Evening Post, Colliers and other magazines. He was way ahead of his time. He wrote about The United Nations while it was still in the planning stage. He wrote about racial inequities and the environment long before such topics were popular. His college classmate Roland Dickison and Robert Cooper have collected many of his manuscripts and published them in separate publications. When we consider that Bert Stiles died at the young age of twenty three, the magnitude and scope of his writing is truly outstanding.

About the Author
Bert Stiles was a highly talented writer who flew as a pilot with the United States Army Air Corps. He first flew a tour of duty as a co-pilot in heavy bombers with the 91st Bomb Group. After completing his tour of duty he volunteered for another tour of duty in fighter aircraft. He was assigned to a P-51 Squadron. However, he took one month off during the late summer of 1944 and wrote Serenade to the Big Bird. Tragically, three months later he was killed in action on an escort raid to Hanover. His mother recovered the manuscript from his personal effects an acquired a publisher. Serenade to the Big Bird was first published in 1947. Now in its fifth printing, it has become a classic tale of the air war in Europe. Bert Stiles tells the story as it was, while it was happening.
The author is buried in the Ardennes Cemetery near Liege Belgium. One hundred four fallen airmen from the 91st Bomb Group are buried beside Bert Stiles in this military cemetery. Though their lips are stilled, Bert's words live on, and he has become the unofficial spokesman for every one of his fallen comrades.

Morning Snippy.

2012 Transit of Venus (Party at Ma's house)

Can I come?

Don't Be Afraid

Read:Isaiah 12

God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid. -Isaiah 12:2

Bible In One Year: Psalm 76-78

Read:
Isaiah 12