One of my Great-Uncles was in Pearl Harbor 1941. He was in the Navy on the USS. Ward, and got to be friends with some of the sailors on the Arizona. He wanted to get some pictures of the inside of the Arizona to send home. He lent his camera to one of the sailors he met, and was going to pick it up after going out on patrol December 6th.

My other Great-Uncle was in Burma and was with Merrill's Marauders. The only thing he mentioned was did a lot of walking.

My freshman H.S. football coach, and history teacher was with Company D, 37th Tank Battalion of the 4th Armored Division that relieved Bastogne.

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My other Great-Uncle was in Burma and was with Merrill's Marauders. The only thing he mentioned was did a lot of walking.

There’s a coincidence. I have no idea how many men were part of that unit, but the father of the woman who was my office manager was also in Merrill’s Marauders. It’s been a couple years since I talked to her, but he was still alive last I knew and living in Knoxville, TN.

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Originally posted by TMats:
I have no idea how many men were part of that unit

There were 2,750 members of the 5307th Composite Unit ("Merrill's Marauders") operating in Burma.

In addition to earning a Distinguished Unit Citation, each member of the unit was awarded the Bronze Star.


The 5307th was redesignated the 475th Infantry Regiment, then the 75th Infantry Regiment, and later became the 75th Ranger Regiment, which is the current US Army's sole Ranger regiment today.

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Originally posted by gaf:
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....

On one hand that sounds just gross. On the other hand, such are the realities of war. Please thank him for his service.

I pumped gas part time during college. One day I noticed my coworker taking a lot of baking soda by hand several times a day. When I asked him why he had to do that, he said, “Because some damn German shot me in the gizzard when I was in Italy.”

My father was in Germany the last few months of the war. As the Germans retreated/surrendered they would stick the barrel of their mausers in the dirt and fire a round to destroy them. He took one that had a scope and had it rebarreled with an 03 barrel. According to him an underground German gunsmith did the work. He used the rifle to hunt boar and deer the remaining time he was in Germany. He had pictures of the rifle and some of the boar he killed while in Germany. Before he was sent home he mailed most of it home in pieces then carried the bolt in his socks when he came home. He gave me the rifle while on his deathbed. It was a mess, hadn't been taken care of for quite a while. I tore it down, cleaned it up and refinished the stock, it looked like new when I was done. I snuck it in to him in the hospital so that he could see it, he was just starting hospice. It meant the world to him, he held it and cried. He died 2 days later. I still take it out a couple times a year and kill a ground hog or two in his memory. He also showed me pictures of a German staff car that they confiscated and hid for road trips.

My dad unfortunately passed away in 1971 when I was 20. So I rarely heard him talk about his time in the Marines. But he did tell me he was on the opening wave of Marines who landed on Guadalcanal on Aug. 6, 1942. After the firefight where Joe Basilone won his medal of honor, my dad saw him the next day. He'd cut the sleeve off his uniform shirt so his arm could get some air. He had a blister from his wrist to half way up his bicep from holding the water-cooled 1917 machine gun in the cradle of his arm the night before. My dad was a sergeant in charge of a machine gun squad and was issued a Thompson and a 1911. He said that they later made him turn in the Thompson for a Reising, which he hated and promptly discarded, and found another Thompson. I have his diary from "the 'Canal" and will donate it to the First Marine Division Association when I pass.

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Originally posted by 08 Cayenne:
My father was in Germany the last few months of the war. As the Germans retreated/surrendered they would stick the barrel of their mausers in the dirt and fire a round to destroy them. He took one that had a scope and had it rebarreled with an 03 barrel. According to him an underground German gunsmith did the work. He used the rifle to hunt boar and deer the remaining time he was in Germany. He had pictures of the rifle and some of the boar he killed while in Germany. Before he was sent home he mailed most of it home in pieces then carried the bolt in his socks when he came home. He gave me the rifle while on his deathbed. It was a mess, hadn't been taken care of for quite a while. I tore it down, cleaned it up and refinished the stock, it looked like new when I was done. I snuck it in to him in the hospital so that he could see it, he was just starting hospice. It meant the world to him, he held it and cried. He died 2 days later. I still take it out a couple times a year and kill a ground hog or two in his memory. He also showed me pictures of a German staff car that they confiscated and hid for road trips.

My God, friend. Powerful story. Thank you for sharing it with us.

My grandfather fought at the Bulge with the 101st and was in Bastogne where he earned a silver star. I never got to meet him since he died of cancer when my dad was young, but my dad was always very proud to talk about grandpa. He did a lot of research into his units movements and had some maps made.

There is a darker side of the story, unfortunately. All of his family agreed that the man that came back was not remotely the same as the man that left. It's not talked about much, but I gather that he tended to drink after the war and get very mean when he did. My dad talked a few times about hiding in the bushes outside the house to escape punishment. I wish it was a more unique situation for soldiers coming home.

My Father In Law was in the 113th Calvary during WWII and spent most of his time as a scout behind enemy lines assessing troop strength and relaying that information back to the advancing Allied Forces.

One night a British pilot was shot down and landed in a river between the US and German lines. My FIL snuck down to the river, slipped in and swam over to the wounded pilot and brought him back to the shore and pulled him out and back to safety. He was wounded during the recovery.

The Brit was so thankful that he gave him the only thing he had of any value....his silk parachute. My FIL mailed that parachute back to his wife who made it into a dress. My wife has that dress now.

He received one of his Three Purple Hearts for his efforts. He was a truly amazing and humble man.

My grandfather was a very quiet, humble man who never talked about his service other than a few passing references to the "walking tour of Europe" he took during college. I met several men who served with him at his memorial service about 10 years ago and one of them gave me a copy of this citation:

The President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress, July 9, 1918, takes pleasure in presenting the Silver Star to Staff Sergeant David L. Luikart (ASN: 34793005), United States Army, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action against the enemy while serving with Company L, 302d Infantry Regiment, 94th Infantry Division, in action in Germany, on 6 March 1945. During a fierce enemy counterattack on Lampaden, Germany, Sergeant Luikart constantly exposed himself to intense hostile fire in order to direct return fire on advancing enemy tanks and infantry. Shouting encouragement to his men and inspiring them by his fearless leadership, he disabled an enemy tank with rocket fire, assisted in the rescue of two wounded comrades from a burning room and directed such an aggressive defense of his position that the enemy was forced to withdraw in disorder, suffering heavy casualties. Sergeant Luikart's heroic actions and unflinching devotion to duty are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service.

They also brought some pictures of him during the war and told some incredible stories. It was amazing to me, my dad, and my uncles (none of whom he told and all of whom respected that decision) that this was the same person we knew. He was the mild-mannered town "druggist," not the cigar-chomping soldier they described. He was a great guy.

My paternal grandfather was a WWI veteran. I know he was gassed during the war and survived. For WWII he was in Africa and then accompanied General Clark for their trip up the Italian peninsula. He came home with a few souvenirs—an Italian beretta and his issued 1911. They joined his 1917 that he had brought back from his earlier trip to Europe. My dad had them and then, unfortunately, they were given to my liberal brother who ended up giving them to an uncle who lives in Illinois. I assume they have been melted. Luckily, as an army dependent at Fort Sill, I could walk down to the pistol range and shoot them Nearly daily as I could get two boxes of ammo at no cost to me, a junior high student.

My dad enlisted in the Army in 44 and was trained as an MP. He was assigned to work New York City. He would tell stories about busting soldier heads with his billy club when the bar owners complained about the rowdy drunks. He said it was weird being a private who had never been in combat tangling with fellow soldiers who had spent years fighting the Germans. Dad got into the in-service prep school for West Point. He graduated in the class of 1950. He stayed in until he got his 20 years. He never saw combat as he was tabbed early in his career as an artillery instructor. He was also involved in the testing and development of the processes and procedures for the lance missile. In the early 1960s he also was stationed in southwest Germany where he led an army contingent stationed at a Germany military base. He and his group were the support for a group of marines who were on 24-hour guard duty for some nukes.

I had an uncle from my Mom’s side who became a fighter pilot for the bombers leaving Africa for Italy. His first escort duty was his last.

My wife’s dad was a survivor of Bataan. Never met him. My wife says you would never try waking him up from sleeping. My wife’s mother was previously married to a soldier who died at Normandy. Her mom was informed of the death while she was undergoing basic training. She ended up being sent to Japan and assigned to the motor pool and recalls driving McArther around. She met my wife’s father who was sent there to testify in the war crime trials.

I will contribute, because I am proud of my father and step-father.

My father, I did not know well, due to Mom and him divorcing when I was 3. I would see him summers briefly, but never talked about his service.

After he died, talking with his brother, (uncle) I found out he served in the Army Air Corp in Alaska, as an MP. I have several photos of him in uniform and armed. As an only child, I came into possession of his Backpack,helmet and dogtags !
But, I have no idea which region he was stationed at.

My step-father, would talk with me a lot about the war, when I was young. Never gruesome stuff, but his experiences, and knowledge of the PTO.

He was a corpsman attached to an artillery unit in Leyte, and was there from 1943 to 1946. He would tell me, you had better tuck your pants in your boots when artillery was firing on the beach, or the sand would burn the skin off your ankles due to concussion.

One thing stood out in my mind, was that when the war ended, soldiers didn't just drop their rifles and sail home. My stepfather stayed in Leyte until early 1946. He would tell me about a long pier, where military vechicles where driven off the end into the ocean for several days, as Uncle Sam wasn't going to bring them home. And he always told me how much the Fillipino people hated the Japanese. About how the Japanese machine guns were much better than American MG's.

He had a fantastic scrapbook and souvenirs he brought home from his time in service, from enlistment, to a photo , one of 2 guerilla Fillipino soldiers holding the severed head of a Japanese soldier. Also his medical kit, with stainless operating tools, Japanese translation books, quinine tablets, I think for malaria and much more.

Mom and a busybody aunt cleaned out that room where his stuff was stored right after I got married and left home. Never forgive them for that.

But, I also have my stepfathers dogtags too, so I do have something to cherish from both of them. There is so much more I could write about what my stepfather told me. He would always buy me WWII books, not comics, which were much more common in the 60's than now, most of the books were accounts from soldiers like the ones described in this thread.

His accounting of his sea voyage to Leyte I will never forget.I know when I die, all those stories he told me are gone. My son has shown no desire to listen.

To all who have shared your knowledge here, many thanks. Our deep thanks to those Veterans.

My Uncle Bill enlisted into the Army right after Pearl Harbor. He was assigned to an artillery unit - much to his disliking. At that time, volunteers were being sought for a new unit - ranchers, trappers, loggers, outdoorsmen ... Bill grew up on the family ranch and was accepted into the First Special Service Force - a combined unit of American and Canadian troops.

Bill would readily talk about his experiences, I am sure this helped him deal with many unpleasant memories. After the breakout at Anzio, the 1SSF was in the spearhead to liberate Rome. Bill said they were instructed to not to enter the city, since being the first allied troops into Rome would be a prize reserved for another unit/general. But, since boys will be boys - Bill and some of his buddies commandeered a car of some type and drove into Rome before anyone else (that he knew of - I’m sure many American troops did this). The quest for fermented grape juice and meeting young ladies may have been part of their motivation. He said they were having a grand time when they turned up one street and came face to face with some type of German armored vehicle. Of course, a hasty retreat was in order as the Germans let go a burst from a machine gun - which penetrated the radiator of the car. Bill said they drove like hell until the engine seized, then hoofed it the rest of the way back to their unit.

Another lighter story I recall - (this could have been in Italy or Southern France) Bill said his captain approached him one day and said, “Baker, I have to reprimand you for what you did yesterday (infraction unknown). Before chow, go to the admin tent and get a stripe removed. After you’re done with chow, go back and sew your stripe back on.”

After the war, the 1SSF held a reunion every year - alternating locations between the U.S. and Canada. This was a tough unit and one can only imagine how raucous these events must have been in the early years! Around 2004, Bill asked me if I would be interested in driving him and his wife to the next reunion as they were not able drive that far any more. Sadly, he passed away suddenly a few months beforehand. I miss Bill and wish I had been around him more to hear stories and to get to know him better.

I post this a little reluctantly, as I received this information second hand and it was related to me when I was about 12 years old.
I knew my old man was a WWII Vet but he rarely said anything about his service. If asked, he would just say "I was with Patton in the 3rd Army".
My mother showed me a photo of my dad once. He was standing in front of a tent, shirtless, wearing only combat trousers. Around his waist was a German officers belt with a holstered Luger. Visible off to the side of the photo was the front fork of a Harley. This photo became important because of what I later learned of his service.
It was in the summer because I was at home during the day. A man a little younger than my father came to the door and asked for my father. I told him my father was at work and went and got my mother. The two talked and my mother went to fix him some lemonade. The man introduced himself (I cant recall his name now)
and told me he was my fathers buddy during the war. He asked if I knew what they did during the war. He then told me that he and my father were scouts assigned to an armored reconnaissance unit during the drive across France and Germany. My father and this man worked as a team and rode in a Harley with a side car out in front of their unit. My father carried a scoped 03 and his partner an M1. On the outskirts of a village, they would park the Harley and enter the village with the goal of killing German officers and NCOs as the Germans were trying to retreat to avoid my fathers oncoming armored unit.
The visitor went on to say that my father had killed many Germans with the 03 and that they were often fired upon as they tried to escape back to the Harley. Once clear of the village, they would ride back to the tanks to report on the German strength. This routine went on day after day throughout the campaign.
When the man left our house, I told my mother that I was going to ask my dad about what I heard. My mother swore me to secrecy and forbid me to ever mention it. I kept my word to her.
As an adult, I was working part time in a gun shop and a customer came in and sold us a WWII era 1903. Remembering the story, I borrowed the gun and went to my parents house with it. My father was sitting in our garage tinkering with a lawn mower. I carried in the rifle and pulled it out the case it was in. When my dad saw the gun his entire demeanor changed and his face turned to stone. He reached out for the gun and then opened the bolt and checked the chamber. He then laid it in his lap with both hands on it. I could see from his face he was back in the war. He said nothing for several minutes before handing me back the rifle and turning back to his tinkering. Remembering my promise to my mom, I said nothing to him about what I had heard. A month or so later, he asked if I had bought the 03. When I told him I hadn't, he seemed relieved.
After my father had passed I tried to get his service record to validate the story. But his records were destroyed in a fire at the records center. I know my fathers service affected him and I sometimes wish he had spoken to me about it. But I understood his silence and respected it.

Thank you for resurrecting this thread, jaaron11; some really powerful remembrances the last few days.

My three great Uncles on my dad's side were named Tom, Dick and Harry. (Dad's family had a good sense of humor).

Great Uncle Tom told my dad the story of the wounds on his legs: He was on patrol on an island in the Pacific (don't remember which one) when something exploded in front of him, hitting both legs with shrapnel. He and his squad checked the trees in the area, but couldn't find any enemy close enough to have thrown a grenade. They finally determined that one of them had stepped on a land mine.

I was ten when he told that story. Still remember the sense of awe I had while listening.

TMats, thanks for this thread about the Greatest Generation

My dad did mention one story. He was walking down a sidewalk in Tokyo, Occupational Forces, the door to the hotel quickly swung open, knocked him down, out came MacArthur, with entourage, to get into his car.

A neighbor, Navy pharmacist mate. As I was an Army medic, I asked what his biggest memory was. Swimming. You were a medic, why swimming? The Japs came down the way, blew us out of the water. One minute I was on the ship, the next minute I was swimming.

Grandfather was a ball turret gunner on a B-17 over Germany. Survived 30+ missions.

See my posts in this thread...

https://sigforum.com/eve/forums...0601935/m/8730075374

I wrote in the OP of this thread that my dad and all my uncles were WWII vets (my FIL was a Korea vet). If you don’t mind, I’ll tell you a little about my dad. My dad was in his second year of college as an engineering student when the United States entered WWII. He entered the USAAF in 1942 and was in the service until some time in 1945, like so many others. When we had family get-togethers, like the Fourth of July, and there were several uncles around and all us boys wanted to talk about the War and hear stories, my dad was always silent. He was quiet about his time in service with our immediate family too. I think I know why.

Because dad had started college in engineering, the Army apparently decided he was most valuable stateside. He started out as a flight mechanic’s instructor on B-24s. Later he was sent to Seattle to learn the new B-29. I know he was stationed at Maxwell Field in Alabama as he transitioned out of mechanic’s instruction and became a flight engineer involved in pilot training. Very late in his life he began to tell me a bit about his time the service. I’d love to have more specific information, but many of you are probably aware that there was a fire in 1973 at the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis, MO. The fire caused the loss or damage of 80% of the service records of Army personnel discharged between November of 1912 and January of 1960. The loss of USAF records between 1947 and 1964 was almost as extensive. An effort was undertaken to recover as much as possible from the fire and water damaged records, but I don’t know how successful it was. All that to say, I know dad was stationed at another airfield in the South, but I don’t know which. Nor do I know much about his transition to flying.

I think dad was quiet about his time in service because he didn’t go overseas, while my uncles did. Dad wouldn’t fly after the War. Not long before he died he told me why. During pilot training he was told to disable various systems in the aircraft: hydraulics, electrical, mechanical connections, etc. He told me that he made 19 “crash landings” during the War. You’d have liked my dad.