My uncle, on my Mom’s side, was a tail gunner on a B17. His plane was shot down over Germany by a ME 262. A German couple took him in and hid him in their basement until the war ended.

After the war ended he worked as a guard in the Federal Prison System. He was killed in the early 70’s by a prisoner he was escorting. They were in an elevator when somehow the prisoner wrestled his gun away and shot him.

Some of my earliest memories are of my dad's WWII friends stopping by our house for a visit when they were passing through town. I don't know if these were guys he had served with in the Pacific or classmates who had been in the service. However, as I remember, all of them had been injured to some extent. One guy was missing a leg, another had been burned, etc. Before each visit my mother would take me aside and say, "Mr. X is coming for dinner tonight. He has Y injury; don't you say anything". And I didn't.... until she forgot to brief me one night. Dad's buddy had already arrived when I walked in and was introduced. The first thing I noticed was that he was missing his right thumb. It looked like it had been completely sheared off in line with his forefinger. Naturally, the first words out of my mouth were, "What happened to your thumb?". I remember hearing my mother gasp and out of the corner of my eye seeing her tense up. However, this guy was slick; without missing a beat he leaned over and said, "you know, when I was your age I used to suck my thumb and I sucked it so much that I sucked it right off!" My parents never said anything afterward and from that day I never looked at my thumb the same.

While in the service I got to hear two stories of WWII from soldier from the other side. The first was a German Infantryman who told me they always knew when the Americans were going to attack as they observed the Americans always had hot chow delivered prior to the attack. Same man was captured in France and sent to an American run POW camp. He joked about how they smuggled stuff into the camps past the guards. Some of his tips on how they did it have paid off for me over the years.

The second story was from a Japanese aviator, he flew recon in flying boats. His aircraft was damaged by AA fire from a destroyer and he crashed on Okinawa just prior to the invasion. Said he and some other survivors were walking along the beach and another destroyer was patrolling just off shore but they disregarded it as they were nothing to be of any importance only to have the destroyer open up on them with MGs and 20mms. Said he could not believe they were wasting all that ammunition on them. He was later captured and being able to speak English acted as interpreter for rest of the war and thru the occupation.

Have talked with several survivors of the A-bomb at Hiroshima but those stories are for another thread.

My father in law was in the army in the Pacific. He was involved in the invasion of the Philippines at Leyte. He told me his first night on the beach he fell asleep in a foxhole he shared with a dead Japanese soldier.

He was a squad leader and while crossing an airfield a Japanese plane appeared over the trees and released a bomb that hit the runway just in front of them. The bomb skipped over him and his men and continued into the trees where it exploded.

When they finally got a base set up and warm chow going he watched a ragged local approach the cooks asking for food. The cooks told him they would feed him when he brought them the head of a dead Jap. About an hour later he returned with a severed head. He mimed pointing up and when the soldier looked up, he cut his throat. They cooks fed the guy anytime he showed up after that.

He was also involved in the invasion of the island oof Yap. Other stories later.

My grandfather, a father of three before he reluctantly got drafted in 1944, ended up in the 71st Infantry Division, 14th Infantry Regiment.

He did not speak of his time in Europe much, but he did speak of the cathedral in Bayreuth being a sight to see as it was mostly intact in a country that was in ruins. He also said that that winter of 44/45 that they arrived in Europe was the coldest he had ever been.

His unit was also involved in the liberation of the Gunskirchen Lager, a subcamp to the larger Mathausen concentration camp. He also spoke of the local townspeople being forced to come to the camp.

He carried emotional scars from the war the rest of his days.

My grandfather was in an artillery unit in WWII attached to Patton's 3rd Army. He didn't like Patton. Nothing personal, it was that they arrived with long wool overcoats that kept them warm, and Patton had them swap out for Patton jackets that they froze in all winter.

He told me once about how the used to set up the guns in the battery in different patterns. Line, echelon, wedge, circle, and how they would aim them using stakes driven into the grown as a reference. Later in the war they were notified of a visit by a captured German general. He wanted to see this 'automatic' American artillery piece that would rain fire on his positions. He didn't believe it was the full battery firing with that level of precision. He had to observe an actual mission to be convinced.

He shared that the 105 round had several bags of powder connected with a string. The mission would include a 'charge'. You would pull the shell from the case, pull out the bags, cut the string at the appropriate spot on the shell rim and drop the bags back in the case before re-seating the shell. Extra bags were tossed in a pile and burned before leaving the position. The shell also had a ring on it that allowed it to seal to the barrel. It was the breachman's job to look up the tube after each shot to assure a ring didn't get left behind, otherwise you end up with a tube that looks like Bugs Bunny stuck his finger in it. Which leads to.....

The finished a mission and had to hastily depart and reposition. Upon arriving their mission was delayed. One of the guns had a ring stuck in the tube after the last round so they elected to work to remove it before setting up the battery. The guns at this point were still connected to the trucks parked in this field surrounded by woods. As they worked one of the guys walked over to another truck to get a tool. They loaded fast to they just threw everything into any truck, hooked up the guns and left. While he was digging round they heard a vehicle coming down the road at the opposite side of the field. He turned to see who it was and it was a German staff car. The truck he was digging through had a gun connected that just happened to be pointed down that road. Thinking fast he grabbed a 105 round that was lying in the back of the truck, threw it in the breech, and fired the gun. That of course got everyone's attention, especially the officers in the scout car, who immediately surrendered. Apparently they were looking for the American lines and drove right into their position.

He told me once about the Flossenburg concentration camp that they all had to visit. No details, just that they all had to visit one, so no one would ever be able to say it wasn't real. Every US Soldier in Europe was ordered to visit one. He wouldn't say anything more and that was the last thing he said that day.

After VE day they basically became military police. His battery went to warehouses and cataloged all of the military equipment. Once removed they would return to their position and destroy it with a firing mission to stay in practice as they knew they were headed to Japan.

Which they eventually did, but 2/3 of the way over Japan surrendered, so he spent the remainder of his time doing the same thing in Japan, cleaning out warehouses. Upon discharge he was stuck on a ship in San Francisco Bay for 3 months as so many guys were coming back they were overloaded. Once processed he was given a train ticket and that the point he was a civilian and went home.

My father was radio operator / backup waist gunner in the 15th Air Force, 485th Bomb Group, flying in B24s. He was stationed in England, then Italy.

A couple stories he told me:

One mission, as he was sitting at the radio a piece of flack came up through the bottom of the plane, came right up between his legs and just caught the front of his headgear before going out the top. An inch or two difference in path and he would have been dead.

Another time he was scheduled as a fill-in with another crew because their regular was sick. Last minute, the guy was well enough to go and went on that mission. The plane was hit and the crew had to bail out over Germany. The Germans caught them and hung them all.

Those are the only two stories he ever told me. My mother told me he used to wake up in sweats or yelling for quite a few years after the war.

One uncle was machine gunner in the Philippines,
another uncle was a P-38 mechanic in the MTO.
My father was in the 12th Armored Division, recon
squadron. He rarely spoke of it. One story, they were pinned down by German fire, threw smoke grenades to hightail it out. His jeep driver firing his Thompson with his left hand.
another time a sniper bullet grazed his drivers adams apple, another inch or so could have killed them both.
A lot of time was leading convoys back and forth to the front.
98 years old, good health, stuck in his apartment, alone because of you know what.
I call him every day.

My uncle lied about his age to enlist in WWII, my grandfather never quite got over it. We all knew my uncle served as a cook. He passed away a few years ago, they got his official military record for the funeral. He wasn't a cook. He was a paratrooper who jumped on D-Day, was also in a bayonet fight in the Battle of the Bulge - he walked away, the other fellow didn't.

My dad was in the Navy toward the end of WWII, mostly in the Occupational Forces in Japan. He said nothing about the real war, did mention crossing paths with MacArthur on a sidewalk in Tokyo. Then we found pics of my 18 yr old dad in his Navy dungarees standing on a hill, the remains of Hiroshima in the background. He never once would talk about that.

He did mention when things were pretty much over, they could get an early discharge to the inactive reserves based on a point system, a few sailors every week or so. My dad and his Petty Officer had the same points, rank takes priority, the Petty Officer would go home on Friday. Thurs eve the Petty Officer wanted to trade with my dad, stay in a few weeks longer, he was considering being career Navy. My dad left the next morning. Two weeks later the Petty Officer shipped home. Then Korean War started, they activated all the inactive reservists who shipped home as of a certain date forward, which included the Petty Officer but not my dad. Had they not traded, my dad would have been activated and I wouldn't be here.

Helping an older neighbor go through his memorabilia, there was a box of stuff, including a twisted chunk of shiny metal, about four inches long. "I was on the Lucky Louie, that's the shrapnel they took out of my back when the kamikaze hit us."

My uncle was a Captain in the Royal Marines. He landed in France on D+1 and fought across NW Europe, ending up in Kiel on VE Day. He would never talk about it.

My wife’s uncle was captured by the German’s during the Battle of the Bulge. He didn’t talk much about his war experience. However, the one thing that I do remember him saying is that he thought the German people (not Nazis) were more like Americans than the British or French. He based this upon American and German standard of hygiene and the class society. He didn’t really care for our Allies would be a fair statement.

My first real boss, was a Danish merchant marine sailor. At the start of WW2, his ship was sunk/captured (I don’t recall the specifics) by the Nazis and he was sent to Dachau. He was one of only a few people to ever escape from Dachau and had did it like it was an an episode from Hogan’s Heroes. The prisoners created a diversion and he crawled up under the German version of a deuce and a half and rode to freedom out the front gate underneath the truck. He was in the resistance during the balance of the war and immigrated to the United States afterwords and made it to Utah and settled in Cache Valley.

Wow! Some powerful stuff you guys.

My own dad was in the USAAF during the War. He was a college student in engineering when the United States entered WWII. The Air Force kept him stateside. I have distinct memories of family gatherings and all us cousins in rapt attention at our uncles’ war stories. My dad kept quiet. I know he felt like his contribution was less than the other men who went overseas and saw combat.

My dad started out with B-24s. He was a flight mechanic instructor and then a flight engineer involved in flight training for new bomber pilots. Later the Air Force sent him to Boeing in Seattle to learn the B-29, again functioning as flight engineer and instructor.

It wasn’t until the last couple years before he died that he really opened up on his years in the AF. He only made a couple of flights after the War, and hated every minute of them. During pilot training he was instructed to disable flight systems in the aircraft, so pilots could learn to deal with such things as hydraulics failure, engine failure, landing gear malfunction, etc. My dad told me that during the War he made 19 crash landings! I wish you could have known my dad.

In 1944 my grandfather was a carpenter at the Sampson Naval Base on Seneca Lake (near Geneva, NY). He was fluent in German. There was a POW camp nearby that housed German soldiers captured in North Africa. Some were also skilled carpenters and were put to work constructing buildings under my grandfather's supervision. He never let on to them that he spoke German, and would eavesdrop on their conversations. If he heard anything notable he would pass it on to the base commander. Once the POWs were talking about my grandmother (in German) in a not so flattering manner, and grandpa lost his temper and slugged one while swearing at him in German. The cat was out of the bag after that.

TMats, thought I would let you know my monitor is getting a bit blurry. For some reason, I have increasing respect and admiration for the Greatest Generation.

A former coworker was in the 357th FG 363rd FS. He was taking off for a mission in mid-September 1944 with two 108gal paper drop tanks hung on his plane when the engine quit. He dropped the tanks, but the belly scoop of his Mustang caught a set of railroad tracks. His P51B (B6-Q 43-6510) was torn in half behind the cockpit and Norbert cracked his face pretty good on the gunsight but walked away. He told me that after the war the British sent him the bill to fix the RR tracks and for the damage to the Brussels Sprouts which he declined to pay: http://www.americanairmuseum.com/media/9219

My grandfather and his younger brother escaped Poland in the very early 1900’s, the only members of his family to make it to the USA. His brother Bernard enlisted in the Army as soon as he could.
On December 7, 1941 he was a senior enlisted NCO assigned to Schofield Army Barracks in Hawaii.

After the Japanese attack he was returned to the USA to train the influx of new soldiers and create a new unit. He was involved in the Invasion of Italy and was killed in the house to house fighting in some village in Italy. He is buried in the US military cemetery in Italy.

My grandfather also told me about one of his brother’s sons. He was a Polish military officer that was killed in the Katyn Forest by the Russians. The family had secreted a picture of him in the rafters of a barn wrapped in oilcloth to prove he existed. That picture was later smuggled out of Poland in the 60’s.

My Uncle Ben, same side, was a P47 crew chief in the Pacific. He told me how the crews would be flown to some island where they would sleep until the pilots arrived with their planes. The pilots would sleep while the planes were serviced. The crews would then get on the transports and flew to the next island where everything was repeated.

His brother, my Uncle Clarence, was a tanker. He fought across Africa and then thru Europe. He had a really neat Walther PP in a brown leather holster that he removed from a German Medical Officer when they over ran a field hospital. It was an early blued model with all the Nazi markings. Unfortunately, he brought it home in a duffle bag that got wet with salt water. The right side was perfect, the left side was white and somewhat pitted. I did have the opportunity to shoot it but I don’t remember if it was a .32 or .380.

All of my uncles served in the war except my youngest uncle because of age. That was just the way it was then, country first.

My grandfather was very patriotic. When he talked to the male grandkids it was always “When you go in the service” not “If you go”

Not related to me in any way. Just wanted to share her story.

Simone Segouin, mostly known by her codename, Nicole Minet, was only 15 when the Germans invaded. Her first act of rebellion was to steal a bicycle from a German military administration, slicing the tires of all of the other bikes and motorcycles so they couldn't pursue her. She found a pocket of the Resistance and joined the fight, using the stolen bike to deliver messages between Resistance groups.

She was an extremely fast learner and quickly became an expert at tactics and explosives. She led teams of Resistance fighters to capture German troops, set traps, and sabotage German equipment. As the war dragged on, her deeds escalated to derailing German trains, blocking roads, and blowing up bridges, helping to create a German-free path to help the Allied forces retake France from the inside. She was never caught.

Segouin was present at the liberation of Chartres on August 18th, 1944, De Gaulle’s speech to mark the event on 23rd and then the liberation of Paris two days later. She was promoted to lieutenant and awarded several medals, including the Croix de Guerre.

After the war, she studied medicine and became a pediatric nurse. She is still going strong, and this October (2020) will turn 95.

A few stories.

My father joined the USAF in the early sixties. His mentor was a pilot in a B-26. The plane was hit by flak such that one pilot lost the use of his arms and eyes. The other pilot was able to see and use his arms but not his legs. So they flew plane back to base in tandem operation of the controls.

One day in the nineties I was at the Buffalo Gun Center (BGC) in Buffalo, NY. I went for a walk on Harlem Red. An old fellow was pacing around so we fell in together. He said that his grandchildren were irritating him so he went for a walk. He was part of the liberation of Paris. To bed down he chose to sleep under the Eiffel Tower with some wine. A very grateful French woman joined him and he 'took one for team' with her that night under the tower. As he described this he made an upwards punching motion with his fist.

Now the rather sad and mysterious story of my great-uncle Orville. He was drafted by the Army and ordered to the PTO somewhat early in the war. My grandmother was uncertain which island that he was bound for but Guadalcanal seems possible. Her brother was phobic, terrified, of snakes. One night on the troop transport he went topside and never returned. It is uncertain if he fell overboard or was so terrified of snakes that he jumped. I sometimes think of applying for his service records.

My father in law was Iowa's first Big Ten heavy weight wresting champion and won the Olympic trials for 1940 but the Olymplics were cancelled.
There was a call for defensive tactic instructors so he and a couple other wrestlers enlisted in the Coast Guard.
He was assigned to a base on Long Island called Manhattan Beach. The wresting coach from Ohio State was a reserve navy officer recognized him and introduced him to Jack Dempsey who had been put in charge of all physical training for the Navy.
My father in law went to work teaching defensive tactics. After graduation he stayed at the camp, was assigned to a Corvette. DG HASTE in the North Atlantic. he then went to officers school and was assigned to LST 765 and was at the launching at Pittsburg.
My wife and I found a calendar he kept during 1945 with the locations his LST visited and happening along the way.
I will try to scan the pages and post some interesting notes in the calendar.

Back when I was in college I was working as a bank teller. An older gentleman walked up to my window and slid a Polaroid picture to me. The picture was of a 1911A1 broken into three large pieces. He related he was a waist gunner in a B17 during the war. On one mission he took a round from a Messerschmitt that caught him in the holstered pistol. Destroyed the pistol but saved his life.