Maneuvers were over and we of the 49th Armored Infantry Battalion were preparing to move into the luxurious barracks of Camp Polk, Louisiana. The year was 1944, the month May -- and the inevitable scrubbing, cleaning, and policing that always precedes such movements was in full swing. As always -- rumors were a dime a dozen. Most of these were based on wishful thinking or resignation to Fate rather than on official pronouncements of facts. 'How long are going to stay here?' 'Where will we go from here?' 'Overseas?' These and similar questions were on everyone's lips -- and the answers were many -- but none official. 'Ere long, the first warning of what was to follow reached us -- we began to hear about 'P. O. M.' -- Preparation for Overseas Movement. Slowly at first and then with ever increasing speed -- like the gathering winds of a storm -- we were to go through the paces which would make us P. O. M. qualified. Training continued for weeks and the schedule became more and more intensive. Everyone took part -- there was splinting bandaging, litter drills and instructions on how to give morphine, plasma and penicillin. There was the combat village and night infiltration. There were lectures on security and censorship and the arranging of personal affairs -- wills, allotments, etc. Finally every man in our detachment was P. O. M. qualified -- theoretically we were prepared for combat -- but would it work out in practice? The time to find out was at hand.

For several days prior to October 28th, our time was occupied in final inspections and 'dry runs' -- but on that eventful day falling out, completely packed, ready to leave was no dry run -- we headed for our special train waiting on the Camp Polk siding. Excitement prevailed. It was a grand trip -- for during those sixty hours we traveled through much of the beautiful South. Card games and 'galloping dominoes' were the favorite pastimes -- games could be found going on in every car. Those who did not wish to tempt Dame Fortune -- or had tempted her and lost all ' idled away the hours by drinking in the beautiful scenery and by the discussion of the latest rumors. All of us, in spite of trying to be nonchalant and carefree, were tense, restless and anxious for the future to unfold itself. Early on the morning of November 1st, our train came to a final stop at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, our 'P. O. E.' -- -- Port of Embarkation. The newness of everything was in the air and no one seemed to know what to do or where to go -- that is, no one except the staff of Camp Kilmer who lost no time in starting us through the methodical processing of that camp. We were herded through the physical inspections, clothes and equipment were checked by experts and new gas masks were issued, fitted and tested in a gas chamber. Then we gave typhus shots to the men of our battalion -- and to each other. The processing over, all of us got a twelve hour pass. Those of us who lived in the vicinity were able to visit home to take final leave of our loved ones, while the rest of us spent a glorious night in that great city -- New York.

Then another climactic moment -- everyone restricted to the camp, which we all knew meant that we would probably leave within forty-eight hours. A new crop of rumors arose from thin air. We all were fairly certain that we were headed for the ETO -- but where? England, France, Ireland or Italy? The next day we were alerted to leave Camp Kilmer at 1930. That night we struggled with our packs, aid kits and duffel bogs and marched down to the train which was to bring us to the docks. AG. I. band was on hand, and the snappy music made us all feel better. Again we were off, the train moving slowly at first and then gradually picking up speed. The ride was not a long one, for we were hardly settled when the train arrived at its destination - a ferry ship. Again we struggled with all our equipment and boarded the ferry which took us to the dock where our troopship was waiting. Another band was on this dock and also the Red Cross Girls with their coffee and doughnuts -- God Bless them! All of us were literally drinking in this last bit of America -- as though trying to build up a reserve for the future, for we knew it would be a long, long time before we would ever see the 'Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave'.

As we filed up the gangplank of the HMTS Samaria, we were a quiet, thoughtful group for we knew that big and serious things were ahead. The Detachment was assigned to compartment P3 on B Deck. It was obvious at first glance that the luxurious compartments of this once proud queen of the seas had been sacrificed for the more practical and economic of troops being carried to the wars. The bunks were five high -- and there was no wasted space. No time was lost in 'hitting the sack', for we were all tired and any place to rest our weary bones was more than welcome. The next morning we were issued life belts -- which we never left out of reach -- and assigned emergency stations on deck. We hoped that neither would be actually used, but one must be prepared when crossing waters infested by enemy submarines. We were still at dock side -- but later in the day the unmistakable rumble and rocking of a boat in motion could be felt. Everyone rushed for the decks to take a last look at the Great Lady -- the Statue of Liberty. As she dwindled into the distance the sea became somewhat rougher and before we knew it, the New York skyline melted away. Soon we were joined by other ships which were to be part of the convoy. In spite of the Samaria's size, many of us spent most of the time hanging over the rail -- it was easy to see we were not born sailors. After the first three days everything became routine -- boat drill, chow, sleep and the never ending games of chance. It was a thrilling and inspiring sight to stand on deck and see the thirty-odd other ships in our convoy -- all under the watchful eyes of the speedy, but potent, little Destroyer Escorts which were darting about protecting their flock. We were at sea fourteen days, and when land came into view once more, all of us had become more or less accustomed to the rocking, swaying and pitching. The word that land was in view brought crowds of G.I.s to the decks again -- and most of us stayed to look at this new land as the Samaria slowly proceeded up the harbor to Southampton. Our ship anchored in the harbor overnight and then proceeded to the dock the next day. As we came down the gangplank and first set foot on English soil we were again greeted by the ever present Red Cross Girls and their ever welcome hot coffee and doughnuts.

We boarded an English train and traveled to Tidworth which was to be our 'home' for the next six weeks. We of the 49th were at Pennings Camp where we lived in pyramidal tents in the midst of a veritable quagmire. Seven men were assigned to a tent, and when we first entered them they were cold, impersonal affairs. Cots were available to sleep on and each tent was equipped with a cone shaped stove that devoured fuel -- which was scarce -- but threw little heat. The first night was the worst, for it was dark and rainy and we were all too tired to attempt to make the quarters more liveable. However, in the days that followed, G. I. ingenuity came to the fore and all of our tents were soon quite comfortable and snug. Here at Pennings Camp we were to receive the rest of our equipment and go through the last minute preparations so necessary to an outfit that would soon go into actual battle. Many of us worked at nearby General Hospitals so as to become familiar with the injuries we were bound to see before long. All of us had a pass to London, and went there to see the results of the 'blitz', view such places as Buckingham Palace, Westminister Abbey, etc, and to see for ourselves if all we had heard about Piccadilly was true. A PX was opened at Pennings Camp and here we received our first taste of rationing as well as the intricacies of English money. At first cigarettes were short, but as time went on they became more plentiful. Thanksgiving Day was noteable because we had roast turkey on the menu -- and, even if many of us did develop G. I. s afterwards, it was a swell meal. Christmas was upon us before we knew it and though all possible was done to make the day a happy one -- stuffed turkey (no G. I. s this time), special religious services, carol singing and movies -- few of us could really find the true Christmas spirit in our hearts. But one thing saved the day. A group of orphans from Salisbury were our guests at dinner and at the movie which followed. To say that they enjoyed themselves would be an understatement and certainly they made our Christmas most enjoyable and happy. All this proved that the Chinese saying is correct: 'Happiness is like perfume - you can't spread it around without getting some on yourself'.

As the New Year came around we again found ourselves packing and preparing to move to the Continent. Even the kitchens were broken down and packed; so our New Years Day dinner was 'C' rations -- a very appropriate way to start off the year 1945, as we were to soon find out. On January 2nd our vehicles left in convoy for Southampton and we followed by train. The vehicles crossed the Channel on a Liberty Ship while we were ferried across on the Polish Liner Jan Sobieski. We were brought to Le Harve, where our ship had to weave in and out around the sunken hulls of once great sea-going vessels. The docks were a shambles, and we finally tied up alongside of what was left of one of them. We then transferred to LSCT barges which brought us directly to the sandy beaches. It was getting dark and we stumbled over empty shell casings and into bomb craters. Trucks were waiting and they took us inland to Totes, France. We spent the night in an old chateau, the windows of which were blown out, and there were only shutters to keep out the cold, damp wind. In the next few days our vehicles caught up to us and we were issued additional clothing and equipment. Again we were off, this time to a wooded area just outside of Rheims, where we set up our pup-tents. Snow had fallen and it was bitter cold - we were now beginning to experience the real rigors of winter warfare. From Rheims we proceeded to Louvigny, France, a well-battered village which before the war had a few hundred inhabitants but now only a mere handful were left. Our quarters and Aid Station were set up in the first floor of a house which had the entire second floor shelled out. After a few days we had made the place comfortable, and well that we did, for we stayed in this little village three weeks. Our next move was northward to the other end of the Western front -- across Luxembourg, through Belgium and into Holland. Our first night in Sibbe, Holland, was spent in an apple orchard and it was here that we were to see and hear for the first time that devilish instrument of war known as the V-1 bomb. The next day our Aid Station and quarters were set up in a school house. More days were spent in waiting for the inevitable -- orders to move to the front and we all knew each move brought us just a little closer. After so many days, weeks and months of anxiety and tension, a calmness born of confidence settled over the men as they waited patiently for the final test -- -- COMBAT!

On February 21st we again packed and moved to Posterholt, Holland, which is on the West bank of the Roer River. This was the climax of our training program, for at long last we were committed to battle. The Battalion Aid Station was set up in the basement of a Dutch creamery -- a scant three-hundred yards behind the front lines. During our eight days there -- though action was spotty and never very intense -- we treated and evacuated our first battle casualties. Our plan of medical support worked to perfection and frequently casualties were treated and evacuated from our Aid Station in as little as thirty minutes from the time they were wounded. Each company had five Aid Men assigned to it, Headquarters Company four and Service Company one. These Aid Men were first to reach and treat a casualty and they worked side by side with their comrades in arms -- the linemen. Given first aid, the casualty was then evacuated to the Aid Station by the Mobile Aid Group where further necessary treatment was given -- more sedation, plasma, reenforcing dressings, etc. -- a medical record made on the 'EMT' -- Emergency Medical Tag, and then he was evacuated to the supporting Clearing Station usually located some one to four miles behind us. The Aid Station was run by the remaining thirteen members of the Detachment. The system worked so well that individuals and the Detachment were constantly receiving the praise of officers and enlisted men alike. It was on February 26th that Pvt. William Kauffman, Aid Man for Company A, was wounded in action at Posterholt, Holland, while he was trying to reach a wounded soldier of his platoon.

Our next assignment was to be much more difficult, for from Posterholt we moved to Aldekerk, in Germany - the first stop in our drive to clean out the famed Wesel Pocket. As our column moved into Linfort, unexpected resistance was met, and, in the momentary confusion that followed, casualties were sent back in half-tracks, without notification. As a result the Aid Station group was suddenly swamped with wounded men and we had no Aid Station. In a matter of minutes two civilian homes were taken over and the Aid Station was functioning smoothly -- thanks to long weeks of training for just such an emergency. In three hours we treated sixty-odd casualties and evacuated them back to the Clearing Station. Two of these casualties were Pfc. Michael M. Holzman and Pfc. Glenn C. Parmelee -- both Aid Men from Company B of the 49th. Later that day the Aid Station group was split in two, one section going ahead to set up an Aid Station at Linfort, the other remaining behind to treat any casualties that might occur in the meantime. As soon as the forward Aid Station was operating, the rear Aid Station closed up shop and joined the rest of the group. This leap-frogging meant that the Aid Station was at all times as close to the front lines as was consistent with common sense. Casualties kept coming in and among them was Tec 5 Raymond H. Kurtz, an Aid Man who was serving with Company A. All three men -- Holzman, Parmelee and Kurtz -- continued to treat wounded linemen after being wounded themselves and, in fact Holzman and Parmelee treated each other before being evacuated to the Aid Station by the Mobile Aid Group. As the 49th relentlessly squeezed in the sides of the Wesel pocket and advanced through Rheinberg, the Aid Station followed close behind -- this time setting up in the basement of a German Hospital. Fighting was ferocious as the Nazis tried to stem the tide of our advance and, accordingly, more casualties occured, were treated and evacuated through our Aid Station. Another medic was among them -- this time it was Pfc. Lloyd K. Seifert an Aid Man for Company C. The Wesel Pocket all but cleaned out, our Battalion was ordered back to Venlo, Holland, for a rest and to reorganize. On the way our column was strafed by German Planes.

At Venlo we lived in private homes with the Hollanders, and all of us increased the already high regard we had for these wonderful people. Here men and equipment evacuated or lost in battle were replaced. For all of us it was a pleasant three weeks featured by visits to nearby places of interest. Surely every man in the Detachment remembers that forty-eight hour pass to Liege and those of us who were fortunate enough to attend the Lily Pons -- Andre Kastelanetz concert will never forget that spectacle. It was at Venlo that the first formation for the presentation of Battle Awards was held, and several of our boys were the recipients of decorations for the marvelous work they had done on the field of battle. During our stay here Pvt. Frank Lekosky was evacuated, he had been Aid Man for Headquarters Company.

On March 26th we again loaded our equipment and started off for Germany. A few hours later we entered a very misty area which proved to be synthetic mist used for air security. Out of the mist a massive network of steel appeared - it was a bridge across the Rhine River constructed by American Engineers. At 0625, March 27th, 1945, the Medical Detachment crossed the historic Rhine River just south of Wesel. We continued on a narrow, winding, shell-pocked road lined with crumbled shells of buildings until we reached Heinkenskirth where we stayed in a large farm house over night. The following day we moved on toward Dorsten, and although the city was still under heavy mortar and artillery fire, the medics moved in and established an Aid Station - once again in the basement of a German Hospital. Three days later our Battalion moved -- in tactical convoy -- through Schullen-Kolonie, Gladbeck and Nordkirchen. This was the move toward Paderborn which was designed to complete that now famous ring which formed the Ruhr Pocket. It was while on this mission that our column was attacked, in the vicinity of Neuhaus -- and once again the medics hastily set up an Aid Station in a farm house. The Germans fought desperately to prevent the closing of this 'ring of steel' and, as a result, casualties came in throughout that day and night. It was during this engagement -- on April 2nd -- that Pfc. Charlie W. Schrum was killed in action -- shot by a German sniper as he was treating a wounded buddy. Charlie was one of the new boys who came to us while we were in Venlo -- but during our short association we had all learned to like and respect him. He had the admiration and undying affection of every man in Company B where he was serving as an Aid Man. The Ruhr Pocket was now closed, for the Third Armored Division had come up from the Southwest and we had completed the northern boundary.

Our next mission called for us to double back and help reduce the size of the Ruhr Pocket. This brought us to Geseke and Ostinghausen. It was at Ostinghausen that Tec 5 James E. Shipe, our dental technician, was evacuated because of illness. Our Battalion continued on through Werle and then to Hemmerde -- and, as always, the medics were close behind, ever ready to render medical care to our comrades. On April 8th, Corporal William R. Anderson, Aid Man with Company A, was killed in action. Like Schrum, Anderson was one of our new men and we had had little opportunity to know him very well. But the men of Company A are loud in their praise of his courage and skill and words of commendation have come from every enlisted man and officer in his company. The following day, while at West Onner, Pfc Milan J. Bagel, Aid Man in Company B, was wounded in action and was evacuated. As the attack continued we moved into Unna where we were relieved.

Again turning Eastward, we traveled to Derenberg where we took over a large house for the Aid Station and living quarters for the Aid Station group. It was here that we met Bill, an English 'RAMP' -- Recaptured Allied Military Personnel -- a character none of us will ever forget. At Derenberg the enemy counter attacked and many casualties were brought to our Aid Station. In order to better serve our Battalion, a branch Aid Station was set up in a seed warehouse in Bohnshausen for two days. It was at Derenberg that S/Sgt. Wavern H. Hill was evacuated because of illness. When this phase of the action was completed the Aid Station was again consolidated at Derenberg. Six days later we followed our advancing Battalion into Blankenburg, and there set up in a large apartment building.

With the taking of Blankenburg the combat days in the ETO for the 49th Armored Infantry Battalion were over. Though there was still some fighting going on in other sectors, we were assigned to do occupation duty in the Harz Mountains. Units of our Battalion were located in Rubeland, Wernigerode, Hasselfelde and Elbingrode. The Aid Station was in the latter town. While the infantrymen were busy patrolling and cleaning out isolated pockets in the dense forests, we of the Medical Detachment were not idle. In addition to the usual duties of maintaining the health of the command, we were responsible for the sanitation of the entire area and the supervision of all German medical installations which consisted of some sixty hospitals. Probably the biggest job was screening every German military patient in these hospitals -- to weed out those who were recovered and able to be sent to PW cages. We also had to supervise the operation (from a medical view point) of 'DP' - Displaced Personnel --, camps in the area.

Along about this time radio reports indicated that V-E Day was at hand. Like the rest of the world, we waited tensely for that great day to arrive. In the meantime we were ordered to Uslar -- again as occupation troops -- where finally official word of the end of hostilities in Europe was received. Surprisingly, the word of Germany's complete defeat was met with the coolness of those who realized that the job was only half done.

At Uslar the Detachment resumed its duties of daily sickcall and the supervision of sanitation and medical care in the area. Once again our syringes and needles were dug out and immunizations brought up to date. As always we were accused of being sadists -- but we were used to that by now.

On June 4th we again packed our vehicles and headed East -- this time to Rokycany, Czechoslovakia, where we continued our duties as occupation troops. The trip took two days, and our one night on the road was spent in a wheat field, sleeping under starlit skies. As this narrative is written we find ourselves stationed in a Czechoslovakian Army barracks leading the life of garrison soldiers. Naturally the question on everyone's mind is -- 'what next?' The narrator feels he is typical of every man in the Detachment -- he wants home -- more than anything else in this world.

The 49th Armored Infantry Battalion is part of Combat Command 'B- of the Eighth Armored Division - 'The Thundering Herd'. During the entire time we spent in combat we were assigned to the Ninth American Army. During these hard days of battle against a stubborn, wily enemy, our Detachment treated, not only 49th A. I. B. casualties, but also casualties from no less that seventeen other units. To say the least, ours was a big assignment. When we were ordered to Rokycany we left the Ninth Army and joined General Pation's Third American Army.

Our main objective has been achieved. The men of this Detachment have done their job to date and have done it well. Our record speaks for itself. We pray to God that we will never again have to answer to the call of 'MEDIC', or hear the angry roar of the guns of war; but -- if the occasion ever arises, we will be there to do our job -- -- To preserve life, not to destroy it!