I’m limiting who can respond to this thread, because I’m not asking for stories from books, I’m seeking stories you received, first hand, from family members, or others you’ve met over the years.

My dad and all my uncles were WWII vets, but this first story I’m posting was told to me by a man I got to know when I lived near Wickenburg.

Got to know a man in Arizona who flew a P-38 out of an airfield in Burma during WWII. He told me about the “beer truck.” It seems they were able to get beer at the airfield, but had no refrigeration. The newest pilot in the squadron flew the “beer truck.” The armament was removed from the nose of that one plane and the space was loaded with beer. On a mission, that P-38 was protected by all the other pilots and high altitude during the mission, cooled down the beer.

Come back and post as many “first hand” stories as you can share, but how about, just one story per post.

My FIL was 18 when he hit the beaches in Normandy. I have about 12 hours of tape that I got doing an oral history before he died. Most of the stuff I had already heard so it was easy to guide the discussion. If this thread continues I'll relate some more of the stuff from him. So to begin. A lot of stuff is left out of the history books such as the confusion that took place during the invasion. His unit was scheduled as reserves and were to hit the beach in the 8th wave but the cluster fuck that ensued resulted in his boat hitting the beach in the first wave along with a bunch of others not schedule in first wave. He was a squad leader and armed with an M1 Carbine and he said the first thing he did as soon as he found cover was to throw that POS as far back towards the ocean as he could and pick up an M1 Garand from a dead soldier. His favorite weapon was an 03A3 that he carried thru most of the war but he said he always traded it for an M1 when they got into fighting in the towns or villages. During the night of the breakout he was sleeping in a foxhole and woke up to hear a German tank idling on top of his foxhole. Seems the Germans had counterattacked his makeshift units position during the night and they had left him behind during the pullout. He said his worst fears was that the US artillery would target the area and the tank and he would be burned to death in the foxhole. He said that after a while the tank and accompanying infantry moved on and he was able to hook back up with his unit.

In 2014, my dad, my brother and I went to the NRA convention in Indianapolis. We went through all the exhibits and there was an older gentleman at an exhibit for the USS Indianapolis that seemed to be signing books, I figured he must have been a survivor. When my dad and I got on the plane to return home, my dad had seat C, I had seat E, and I noticed the same gentleman in the only row that had a window and aisle seat left.

Turned out he wasn't a survivor from the USS Indianapolis. He was this guy:

Meet The Man Who Photographed the Atomic Bombing of Hiroshima

Fascinating gentleman.

My Great Uncle Jim Takitch served aboard the USS Kidd, a destroyer in the Tin Can Navy. He was injured during a kamikaze attack on the Kidd during the opening battle of Okinawa. I grew up listening to his stories. Every now and again a piece of that Jap plane would migrate closer to the surface of his skin and he would have to go get it removed. He only recently passed away. He was 94 I believe.

My favorite story he and my Great Uncle George would tell is about their chance meeting on some Pacific Island during the war. George was in the Army and his unit was sent to occupy an island after the marines had secured it. They were tasked with building the infrastructure for the main occupation force. While there he got word that his brother's ship, The USS Kidd was anchored. He somehow got his brother Jim to get him onboard were he had his first hot shower in weeks, hot meal, clean clothes, and cigarettes and the like from Jim and his buddies.

That story always amazed me how tWo brothers from a speck-on-the-map coal mining town in Western PA could meet up in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.

If you want to read his, and a bunch of other guy's stories, they are featured in the book "They Say There Was A War". The book is a collection of first hand accounts.

My wife's Uncle Dick was a lieutenant commanding an armored reconnaissance unit in Europe. His unit had entered a French village and were met by members of the French Resistance who turned over a German soldier they had captured. Shortly afterward Ernest Hemingway, who was working as a war correspondent, arrived and struck up a conversation with Uncle Dick. Long story short, Uncle Dick "gave" the German POW to Hemingway who proceeded to march the German around the village square barking, "Left face, right face, about face...". Hemingway was so happy to have his own German that he gave Uncle Dick lunch at the local cafe. When Uncle Dick mentioned that his sister would never believe that he had had lunch with the great man Hemingway offered to write her a letter, which he did. I have seen a photo copy of the letter.

A great uncle was shot in a tank. I was surprised to learn he was buried in France for a couple years during the war before finally being brought back home for burial. I just assumed if you were buried in combat, you stay there.

When I was a young boy, about 12 years old, I did yardwork for a family friend who managed some apartment complexes. When this man spoke, the pitch of his voice rose and fell - it was completely uncontrolled. He told me he was a Marine in WWII, and fought on Saipan, Tinian and Iwo Jima. On Iwo Jima, and was shot through the throat by a sniper, and the bullet severed or damaged one of his vocal chords. He also told me he had to plug the hole in his throat with his finger until a corpsman could attend to him. I've never forgotten that story.

Father was a merchant mariner during WWII because he was deemed 4F due to a heart murmur from having had rheumatic fever as a lad (a not uncommon thing back then). This was what prompted his decision to go to sea in the Merchant Marine in late 1940.

Before the US entered WWII in late 1941, yet after Germany declared war on the other European nations in 1939, Father was sailing back and forth across the north Atlantic. After Germany declared war on the US, the U-boats began upping their game.

In 1942 and early 1943 he had three ships sunk under him. The fourth, sunk in late 1943, was an avgas tanker, and the source of life-long nightmares subdued only by copious amounts of Johnny Walker. That was not the last time he sailed, but was the last ship he had sunk (thank you Bletchley Park!).

He never talked with me about these experiences save when he was very drunk, and even then, he rarely spoke about them.

The stories I recall him telling were these.

In 1942, his ship was docked in Morocco, and he and two shipmates were "fishing" using a box grenades. The problem was the ship was moored to a dock, and the adjacent troop ship had a bunch of senior Army officers on board who took exception to their fun and games. Arrested by the Army, it was eventually decided that the best punishment was to send them back to sea, ASAP. So, Father was declared persona non grata by the US Army and given the old heave ho from Morocco. Years later when we lived in Africa, my parents took our annual R&R to Morocco. Its a lovely country.

Another story I was told involved his ship's support of Operation Shingle, the failed invasion at Anzio. Here the story was about German land-based artillery shelling ships at anchor. The good news was at first the German shells simply punched through the thin merchant ship hulls. That was corrected and soon enough, hits started taking out ships in the anchorage. He described it as terrifying, being shot at by people you could not see, using artillery that was at maximum range making accuracy haphazard. It was sheer chance if you were killed.

The last story I recall involved the Red Cross. On one of the trips where his ship was sunk, he and several shipmates were set ashore in Portsmouth, England, to find another ship heading home. Having lost literally everything including their skivvies, they are partly dressed in donated British navy togs (not complete uniforms). Heading out of the port, they see a Red Cross station where American troops were getting hot coffee and donuts. They queue and when they get to the service counter are told they can't have any, as the coffee and donuts are for American personnel only. They explained about being American merchant sailors but having been on a ship sunk at sea. No dice. Neither cup of coffee nor a donut was handed to them. For the rest of his life, Father never gave a dime to the Red Cross, and steadfastly refused to participate in Red Cross blood donation events.

ETA:

One other story, told not by him, but about him.

Merchant mariners were looked down on by people in uniform. Viewed by some as draft dodging unpatriotic pussies who preferred the huge pay they got (not really, but they were paid somewhat more than military personnel of equal rank (Father said that differential accounted for not being able to shoot back) that the merchies earned, the US Merchant Mariners were denied all forms of veteran's benefits until 1977, when Congress passed a law recognizing their wartime service. He went through the process and was recognized as meeting the eligibility criteria. Like refusing to donate to the Red Cross, he never availed himself of these benefits as a form a personal protest.

Since you said we could relate other stories, here is another one from FIL's living history: During the breakout, my FIL finally got reunited with his unit. He was assigned to a scout squad and they were put out as an early warning post where that night they got overrun by an all out German counter attack. My FIL stated they were all terrified as the attack was very intense accompanied by mortar and machine gun support. The squad broke and ran so my FIL said he followed and as they ran the Germans were catching them. He was exhausted as he fell into a foxhole that held a Browning M1919 .30cal MG with both gunners dead. He was so terrified he grabbed the gun and kept firing it till the barrel melted. Said he couldn't look so he just concentrated on loading and shooting the gun. When it stopped he took off running again. Said he was about to pass out when he ran into his unit coming forward. He said the medical officer next day threatened to court martial him as it seems almost all of Germans had been wounded mostly in the legs instead of killed and he spent all night having to patch them up. For his action he received the Bronze Star, for slowing down the advance giving the Army time to repeal the attack.

Related by family members. My Granny's first husband fought in Europe. The war was over, he was in the back of a truck with a bunch of other guys, heading for the ship to go home.

Someone in the crowd didn't like being on the losing side, opened fire on the trucks. They killed the rather of my oldest aunt and uncle.

quote:

Originally posted by Rev. A. J. Forsyth:
My Great Uncle Jim Takitch served aboard the USS Kidd, a destroyer in the Tin Can Navy. He was injured during a kamikaze attack on the Kidd during the opening battle of Okinawa. I grew up listening to his stories. Every now and again a piece of that Jap plane would migrate closer to the surface of his skin and he would have to go get it removed. He only recently passed away. He was 94 I believe.

My favorite story he and my Great Uncle George would tell is about their chance meeting on some Pacific Island during the war. George was in the Army and his unit was sent to occupy an island after the marines had secured it. They were tasked with building the infrastructure for the main occupation force. While there he got word that his brother's ship, The USS Kidd was anchored. He somehow got his brother Jim to get him onboard were he had his first hot shower in weeks, hot meal, clean clothes, and cigarettes and the like from Jim and his buddies.

That story always amazed me how tWo brothers from a speck-on-the-map coal mining town in Western PA could meet up in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.

If you want to read his, and a bunch of other guy's stories, they are featured in the book "They Say There Was A War". The book is a collection of first hand accounts.

The USS KIDD now is a museum ship in a floating mooring cradel in the Mississippi River located in Baton Rouge,La. have visited it several times and actually met a sailor who as a 16yr old served as the ships barber. His actual age not discovered for some time while deployed . he had photos to back up his story. drill sgt.

While sitting on the front porch visiting with the father of one of my wife’s cousins by marriage, he started talking about being captured during the Battle of the Bulge. I’d only been introduced to him a couple of hours earlier.
He said people would throw potatoes to them as they were marched toward a POW camp somewhere. He said he was so hungry that when I saw some wild parsley (?) along the way, he stripped a handful off and ate it. When they stopped, he asked a buddy if he had gotten some of the wild parsley.
His buddy said no, the men behind you in line saw you eating something green and started stripping the leaves off anything that was green and eating it.
Later that evening, they were bedded down on the foundation of an unfinished building with rebar sticking up from the floor. He had saved half of a potato to eat later. He kept it in a small box that he used as a pillow to keep anyone from stealing it.
During the night a soldier stole someone’s food and as he turned to run he fell impaling himself on a piece of rebar. The soldier cried, asked for forgiveness and called for his mother, but everyone ignored his cries for help because he had tried to steal someone’s food. The soldier finally died about four o’clock that morning.
When I looked over at the old man, big tears were rolling down his leathery face as he quietly said, “I wish I’d given that boy my Piece of a potato, hunger will make you do anything to get something to eat.”
Later that afternoon, the old man’s two sons were building a fire to grill some chickens for dinner when I casually mentioned that I was amazed at all their dad had endured as a POW. Both of them were stunned by what I had just said. Their dad had never told them anything about his wartime experience.
It was so sad that that little old man had kept that bottled up inside all those years.
I felt honored to be the first person he told.

My neighbor's Father was a C47 Pilot.

He made multiple trips over and back on D-day. I didn't know they made more than 1 trip that day.

He said he was shot down twice during the war. One he had to ditch in the Channel.

Told me some other neat stories too.

Rev. A.J. told a story about his great uncle on a destroyer in the PTO. I had two uncles (mom’s side) that served on destroyers in the Pacific. My mom’s sister, Joan, was engaged to a sailor who served on a mine sweeper. My Uncle Tom served on the USS Balch, which had a distinguished record during the war (there’s a Wiki page on the ship). A mine detonated during sweeping operations and my uncle saw the ship break in half and go down with massive loss of life—including his sister’s fiancée. My Aunt Joan ended up marrying a B-17 pilot after the War.

My Dad spent most of the war impregnating females stateside. Hurt his elbow doing it. He made lots of beef for the front lines. Towards the end and a bit after Dad spent a lot of time heaving over the rail while tending donkeys going to China's table.

One Uncle carried D-Day shrapnel to the grave. Another Uncle crewed on bombing missions including skip bomb runs. A dear family friend had a huge D-Day scar from the tip of chin to ear.

Here are some Korea pix

My father served during WWII in on a communications relay site Purto Rico and one of his brothers served in Europe on glider operations . he was able to survive several hard landings and able to walk away and several others were carried off on stretchers he passed at the age 100yrs 1 month 10 days.

At my dad's office growing up there was a little old janitor man Al Zoglio. Tiniest little Italian man with a big smile. He was in every day at 5am. As he got older, I began doing many of the chores he couldn't. It seemed odd to me to be paying this guy for things he could not do. My dad sat me down for about 30 minutes and explained to me how Al had been a marine in WW2.

He had been on 3 Navy ships in the pacific, each had been sunk under him. He went in the water 3 times.

But that alone wasn't horrible enough. See the navy guys didn't want them walking all over the boat. So they would get locked in some part of the hull when the fighting would start. Then they had to shoot their way out of the holds to get out. Many men died from the ricochets but it was the only way out. This happened to him twice. I can't imagine the horror of that.

Al, worked for years, always with a smile and a firm dedication to the task. I figured the would keep him on as long as he wanted and that's just what they did. Every Christmas party, he would get out of his chair and all the secretaries would kiss his cheeks and dance around him. You never saw a smile so big.

That guy was something else.

Had an Uncle on Okinawa. He was in a USMC AA unit and after the island was secure part of the AA unit augmented whatever was assembled for security details. One detail he was sent on was to accompany a Capt. escorting a Japanese officer from one camp to another which was quite a rarity as most had off'd themselves. During the hike the Japanese officer, who spoke very good English, started talking smack about Marines and the U.S. in general. Guess he pushed one too many buttons and the Marine Capt. let him feel why a 1911 was a superior sidearm.

If I had a way to share this I would

quote:

Originally posted by Shaql:
My neighbor's Father was a C47 Pilot.

He made multiple trips over and back on D-day. I didn't know they made more than 1 trip that day.

In addition to the large primary pathfinder, paratrooper, and glider drops early on the morning of D-Day, there were two later air transport missions on the evening of D-Day that brought additional glider reinforcements to the landing zones. There were then four more air transport missions in the morning of D+1 (June 7th), including two with additional glider reinforcements as well as two that airdropped supplies.

So it's entirely possible that he flew more than one transport missions on or around D-Day - one early on D-Day as part of the main airborne operation, and another either on the evening of D-Day or the following morning.