Subject:  Personal Memior
Date:        2013
By:           by John L. Haithcock

Oh death in life, the days that are no more." - Tennyson In late April and early May of 1996 I made my last of 4 return trips to Germany. It was my intention to find the places that I associated with the 8th Armored. It was a very frustrating undertaking for me, alone and not familiar with that part of Germany, and most of all I had no record or memory of any of the places that I had been. During my few weeks on the half-track, I had, against the orders of the lieutenant, sent home in my letters in a code I had developed the names of the villages I had visited. Although my mother had saved every one of them I accidently lost them in a cleanup after my marriage. I was, therefore, without direction and location in Germany. I began my search in the charming town of Soest which has been totally rebuilt following the heavy artillery shelling in the war. Where ever I went in Soest I encountered friendliness on the lips of every person I met. From there I rode out each day into the country to see if I could locate any familiar landmarks. There was always in my vision the place where I had joined the 8th after their horrible experience at Rhineberg. There was a group of about 26 replacements on the 6by truck so that there was literally standing room only. We had just left the replacement area and every one of us was like the hills of Ireland-green. I can remember the ordeals the men on the six-by endured when we lost our way on the edge of the Ruhr pocket. That is such a long story that there is little time to relate. But those two days were a nightmare. . We finally located our destination very late on that March evening. I remember it was a crossroad. The sight of the house and barn is seared in my memory. The cold wet mud and the stench of the barnyard have not left me all these many years, especially the sight of the American Army kitchen set up there amid it all. The company, I don't remember, had just completed their supper, for it was near darkness. The sergeant apologized to us that there were no left overs and that he had nothing to feed us. No supper! The lieutenant lined us up along the side of the road and pointed us out-you go to that track, you to that one. It was my 'happy' lot to be assigned to the machine gun squad. Remember the famous lines of Longfellow's poem 'The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere - "it was in the year of '75, hardly a man is now alive". Who can remember that famous day and year?' Oh that I could find someone who remembers that day and year that I joined the 8th Armored. Can there be anyone still alive? Unfortunately there are no written records of my journey because my records were destroyed in the St. Louis fire. There was no driver for the halftrack. In answer to the lieutenant's inquiry for anyone who could drive a truck, a thin man--I believe from Kentucky--said he knew how to double clutch a truck on his farm. The lieutenant took the man down the road for a practice run, and we had a track driver! Across Germany, across a pontoon bridge over a swollen river (Weser?) in the black of night with only the hoped for light from the air raid lights on the track he performed a perfect job. Where, oh where, have the memories gone? Where is that driver? Try as I could I could not find any markers around Soest. I feel I was close but never on target. Through reconstructed Hildesheim on to Wolfenbuttel I traveled because I did remember we went through there. And on to a small town in the Harz mountains where we spread out our watch. Going through that town at night proved to be a near disaster. Our halftrack was in the lead. We backed into a corner to command view of the road ahead. A tank followed us. As the tank rounded a corner, two panzerfausts were hurled at us. The house right over our track received one of the rounds and showered us with debris. The second landed in front of the tank. I saw the flare as the men rolled out. How lucky can greenies get? And how lucky that the German firers were such poor shots! No one was hurt. I think the only near casualty was myself when my shovel handle got caught in the fence as I went over. (One was supposed to carry an entrenching tool with him at all times, wasn't he?) There are more things I can recall during our stay there, but I will only write one. Two squads were housed in a small tavern outside the town. It was night and I was handed a loaded bazooka and placed behind a small mound of earth and instructed to guard the road. If I heard the small trigger alarm go off, don't ask questions. Fire at whatever you detect. How true is the old army saying, 'disperse or one mortar round will get you all.' One good German round into that tavern would have gotten a bunch of American soldiers for they were all asleep! There was a stiff breeze and the trigger went off. I jumped on the track and attempted to fire the 50 mm. Heck, I had never seen one before! It jammed. I grabbed the 30 mm. I couldn't fire that because the rounds would go into the 50 cal. mount. With my M-1 at the ready I jumped back behind the mound. By this time the hay loft of the barn where my one 50mm tracer landed was merrily blazing and the tankers were sweeping the wheat field with fire. The blowing wheat looked like someone running across the field. Now that was some blaze! I have never told anyone about the fire because I always feared someone remotely might remember that much of the squad gear was in that barn!! Now I want to mention this incident because when I was driving through this area on my 1996 trip I stopped abruptly because there still stood the small church we had covered that memorable night. And there was the little gasthaus when we had slept (sometimes). The name of the town was and is Benzingerode I went in and asked for a room for the night, which I got. But I did not tell the inn keeper that during the war I slept in that room across the hall. After our experiences in Benzingerode we went through Blankenburg and up into the Harz Mountains. We patrolled a certain area each day to search for stray German soldiers. I certainly wanted to revisit that village to look for someone stored in my memory. But, alas. I could not find that village. We had a visit from a Red Cross truck from which each soldier was given two doughnuts and a cup of coffee. I sat down beside the road on an old log. As I began to eat I noticed a small boy across the road eyeing me. I motioned for him to come over. I gave the boy half of my doughnut and we sat there like on a picnic. Can you imagine the thrill of finding that 'boy' then in his sixties? It was in April when we were there. The weather was variable as in so many mountainous areas-one minute sunshine and the next a snow shower with flakes big as a silver dollar. But it was a pleasant place that must have been a German vacation spot. As we left the Harz we learned from 'The Stars and Stripes' that President Roosevelt was dead and that Harry Truman was now President. Of course we all asked "Truman who?" From there on to Czechoslovakia!

    John L. Haithcock