Follow-up from D-Day: Chapter 14 continued

In the middle of August, Lloyds of London offered 5 to 8 odds that V day would come by October 31. If only the weather in France would clear for a week, Paris might fall. London was taking a frightful beating from the Robot bombs. It was worse than the Blitz, and Londoners were fed up with it and hating Germans as never before.

On August 21 there was an Allied invasion in southern France and a breakthrough at St.-Lo, which led quickly to the capture of Paris. This in turn set off waves of emotion as far west as the United States. Understandably the entrance of U.S. and French troops in the enchanted city lifted our hopes for an early end of the war. It also stirred up desires to see Paris. However, I soon checked my regrets at not being among the first in Paris. It sounded wildly romantic. But experience had taught me the price of a visit to Paris. I was not interested in paying that price.

...

It was a summer of medals. The long journey from the wooden soldiers of my childhood to the "sterling" soldier of 1944 was completed. It all started with the Purple Heart. This presented a problem. I was perfectly aware that had the accident occurred in the States or England the only award would have been sulfa, a couple of stitches, and a pat on the head. It was ironic. Why I was awarded it in the first place I had no idea. Why anyone is awarded such a medal for such a reason I couldn't fathom. Can one be proud to wear such a medal or its ribbon? Is one happy or proud about such an event? I took it because others took theirs. I also thought, for reasons that I can't imagine now, that my parents might be pleased.

Another good reason to take it was that rumor had it that the Purple Heart added five points toward discharge. Also, once it has been awarded, can one refuse it?

There were also awards to men who demonstrated heroic actions beyond the call of duty. No one could begrudge this. It was exceptional. But it also prompted thoughts about the general run of fighting soldiers and the great paradox surrounding their actions in combat. The American soldier utterly loathed his job, yet he was one of the great fighting men of all time. How to explain men who will fight among themselves, quarrel with an Allied partner and the "colored" race, but are not angry at the German and yet will go ahead and slaughter the German? Nearly every American soldier was totally ignorant of why he was where he was or why it was necessary for the United States to do what it was doing. If he had any inkling of it, he was unable to verbalize it.

A high degree of motivation is said to be necessary to achieve anything. How can men despising their job do it well? Was it a secret formula, some ability to live within a moment's passage of time with no thought to the hereafter? Theirs was not blind devotion, as was that of the Japanese, whose motivation ought to make them unconquerable. However, for all his fervor for dying, the Japanese was not destroyed. For ten years the German nation had been preparing, living as soldiers. With many of them, soldiering was a national way of life. We were johnnie-come-latelies. Yet constantly and in many ways overwhelmingly the American soldier drove the bitterly fighting Nazi back to Berlin. Why? How?

One is still left with the paradox. These men were almost all drafted against their wishes and hated their work, yet they accepted it; they gripingly got in line. They cooperated. Perhaps that is the key: a willingness to give it a try-a chance to go along with the rest: "If he has to do it, I guess I can do it." Once established in garrison, it seemed to carry over into combat.

I went to France and came back. Others went and didn't. Why? I was lucky. I was not ungrateful to those who may have prayed for me. Perhaps that is why I lived. I did not know. I did not mock those who prayed. I thanked them from my heart. But why me?

In France I lay in a gulley or partial slit trench and waited. For several hours all around me there was death. It was a terrible experience. I thought of the people I loved and of the country I loved. I thought of the kindness I would give were I allowed to live through that morning and afternoon.