Third Infantry Division – Page 5

Hand-to-Hand Combat at Cleurie Quarry

“It looms like the King’s Mountain in the Revolutionary War.”

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 37

Early October, 1944. Murphy is now the last one standing of his original unit. The Third Division is driving into the Vosges mountain chain, which is the chief obstacle lying between the Allies and the Rhine. From his autobiography To Hell and Back:

Rain, cold, and the threat of early snow slow the advance. The terrain favors the Germans: dense forests hide snipers and machine guns, and the enemy holds the steep slopes with artillery, mortars, and night patrols that slip into American lines. Murphy keeps his bayonet sharp and close.

Their next objective is a quarry near Cleurie. On the map it is small, but in battle it dominates the road ahead. Set high on a near-vertical slope, protected by tunnels and covered by interlocking machine-gun fire, it is ordered held to the last German. Repeated American assaults fail, and the regiment digs in while command searches for a new plan. At night the lines are so close that Murphy hears enemy voices in the dark. Burned out and emotionally spent, he avoids forming new friendships; he thinks only of keeping his remaining men alive.

*The German’s fortified position at the Cleurie quarry controlled the region*. Photo: Dogface soldiers

One gray morning the battalion commander and his executive officer visit the front to see what is stopping the advance. They select four men to guide them up the hillside. Restless and unable to sleep, Murphy grabs grenades and a carbine and follows.

As he rounds a boulder, two German grenades explode and a machine gun opens up. The ambush is poorly planned: the Germans strike the enlisted men first, giving the officers time to roll into a shallow depression. Concentrating on killing the officers, the attackers fail to guard their flank.

*German prisoners of war file out of the quarry after their defeat*. *Photo: Dogface soldiers collection*

Murphy steps out from behind a rock. The gunner swings his weapon toward him, but the barrel catches on a branch and the burst goes wide. Murphy throws a grenade and fires. Two Germans fall before the grenade even detonates. He tosses two more grenades, killing or disabling most of the ambushers. A squat German tries to flee, waddling downhill. Murphy hesitates—he looks absurd, almost comical—but the man is armed. Murphy fires and drops him.

Murphy safeties his carbine and turns to the battalion commander, who remains cool as the October morning. Brushing dirt from his uniform, the officer says, “Those grenades aren’t a bad idea. Next time I’ll bring my own.”

*A howitzer crew in action*. *Photo: Dogface soldiers collection*

“We pick up our wounded and start down the hill. A single feeling possesses me. It is one of complete and utter weariness.”

Ch. 38: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/07/09/what-do-combat-engineers-do/

Slinging Donuts in French Towns

Serving soldiers coming off the front lines

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 36

Late September, 1944. Flo and Liz were back on duty, serving donuts to soldiers rotating off the front lines and into rest camps. They were supported by a crew of “donut boys,” who pitched a tent that housed the donut making machines. The men were regular soldiers assigned to special service units. They tended the equipment and made donuts. Some of the temporary attachments to the donut detail were soldiers in need of limited duty and sometimes Medal of Honor recipients waiting for reassignment.

*Flo and Liz with the donut making crew*

Once the fresh donuts were ready, they were packed into the clubmobile—or whatever vehicle was available—and the women drove them out to towns and camps where they set up a serving line. They made stops in Faucogney, Luxeuil-les-Bains, Remiremont, St. Nabord, and rest camps across the region.

Flo noted in her diary that she and Liz had taken a rare break: “Went into Luxeuil for bath in Thermis house. Wonderful.” In the 1940s, many European towns still operated communal bathhouses, a tradition that faded with the rise of private bathrooms but has seen a modern revival—especially in Germany.

One day brought a welcome surprise: a letter from Flo’s fiancé, Gene. Grateful to the APO for delivering it, she made them a batch of fudge. That evening, she wrote, “Gene came out to area tonite and surprised me. He’s up about 20 min.” The next day, she simply noted: “(date with Gene).”

News arrived that the rest of their original crew, Jingles and Dottie, wouldn’t be returning. For now, it was just Flo and Liz. They were mostly sleeping in the clubmobile, though occasionally they stayed with French families. Flo continued to meticulously record the military units they served.

Flo’s diary September 25-October 2, 1944 (pinch out to read)

At one event, Flo wrote, “Gen. O’Daniel spoke, also greeted us.” General John “Iron Mike” O’Daniel, commander of the Third Infantry Division, led his troops from the beaches of Anzio through France and Germany, and into Austria. Admired by his men, he was rarely far from the front and was known for his hands-on leadership in battle. Unlike some other army commanders, he appreciated the Red Cross clubmobilers.

Ch. 37: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/07/04/hand-to-hand-combat-at-cleurie-quarry/

Prelude to Another Grim Winter

Which of us will be alive when the new leaves return

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 35

Late September, 1944. Murphy has been wounded in a mortar attack. From his autobiography To Hell and Back:

After a few days in the hospital, Murphy gets a new pair of shoes and returns to the lines. It is late September, and drizzly rains sweep over the hilly, wooded country they are moving through. Keeping warm at night has already become a problem.

*Foot soldiers marching through a French town. Photo: Dogface soldiers collection*

The leaves have begun to turn. Gold and red flare sharply against the dark evergreens, and the camouflage crews start mixing new paint to match the changing colors of the forest. It is the prelude to another long, grim winter.

The men plod up the wet roads doggedly, each one wondering, however vaguely, who among them will still be alive when new leaves return to the trees. The Germans fall back stubbornly but steadily. Yet each day their resistance stiffens, their retreats shorten. As the enemy forces withdraw toward the fortified positions of the Vosges Mountains, they lash back with fierce counterattacks. Murphy’s regiment is on the threshold of some of its hardest fighting of the war.

One morning, as a chilled, misty dawn spreads across the landscape, the men wait for the signal to assault a hill known only by a number. Artillery pounds the ridge in a steady barrage. They lie on their backs, shivering in the growing gray light.

*Tank destroyers of the 601st TD Battalion move through Lons-le-Saunier in pursuit of the retreating enemy.* *Photo: Dogface soldiers collection.*

Near Murphy, a sergeant checks a .50-caliber machine gun set in a deep, round emplacement ringed with sandbags. The weapon, stationary for now, will cover the advance, and if needed, the retreat. Satisfied with the gun’s readiness, the sergeant leans back on his elbows. Drops of water cling to his mop of wavy black hair. He is an extraordinarily handsome man, with fine features and broad shoulders—exactly the sort a Hollywood producer might cast as a soldier. Among the troops, a man like that is instantly labeled a lady-killer.

A cannon booms from the rear. The men hear its projectile flutter through the air with an odd, hesitant wobble, as if reluctant to plow into the cold earth. To experienced ears, that sound signals a defective shell—one that might explode anywhere. Murphy shouts for his men to get down and hits the dirt just before the crash comes.

The blast feels as though it lands directly on top of them. When silence follows, he mentally checks each part of his body for the burning sting of a wound. Finding none, he rises to his feet. The new men shakily pat their clothing, searching for blood. He knows the feeling well—only the uninitiated are shocked that a shell could land so close without killing everyone in its path.

Murphy glances toward the machine-gun pit. The sergeant still reclines where he was, but another soldier is twisting a tourniquet around his leg. The sergeant’s left foot has been sheared off neatly above the shoe top. His face shows no panic, no pain. He lights a cigarette with steady hands and draws calmly on it.

Then his eyes close, his face tightens, and the pain finally hits.

Ch.36: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/06/29/slinging-donuts-in-french-towns/

Flo and Liz a Crew of Two

Where are they now? A recap

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 34

After living in tents for the summer of 1944 at a training camp for the Third Infantry Division in Italy, the American Red Cross clubmobile workers made it to France. They scrambled to catch up with the fast moving war and their boys in the front lines.

Flo (my mother, Florence Wick) and her coworker Liz Elliott traveled north from southern France trying to get to a place where they could go back to work serving donuts and coffee to the troops.

*Flo captioned this “Lizzie’s sketches of ‘Life of a Donut Gal in France’*“

They had been a crew of four, but Isabella Hughes and Dottie Shands stayed in Marseille. They expect to join Flo and Liz, but for the time being Flo and Liz are a crew of two living mostly in the clubmobile. Frequent rain has turned roads and fields to muddy sludge.

*Liz and Flo and the clubmobile they lived in*

They were originally assigned to the Third Division, but after a major evicted them, they moved in with the 6^th Corps artillery unit near Vesoul for a time. Then they were allowed back in to the division as three regimental rest camps were opened.

Flo has met up with her fiancé Gene several times and she corresponds with him through the APO mail, although she complains often in her diary of “no mail.” He is with the 36^th Engineers, the crew that rebuilds bombed out bridges and roads. But they are also forced into combat when foot soldiers are needed.

September 19-24 Flo’s diary (pinch out to read)

“Good to be back at work,” wrote Flo in her diary, after the Red Cross women had been allowed back into the Third Division.

“Gene way up on lines. No mail.”

“Served 30^th Inf. Rest camp & 3^rd Div band. Boys tired. Fun with band.”

On Sept. 21 she wrote, “ Served co. of 756 tank Bn. They had hard luck—several lost in Bn.”

Sept. 22: “Served in same area with many other div. Still no word from Gene. Jerry planes over town. Quite exciting.”

Sept. 24: “Served 1^st Bn of 15^th up in next town. Raining hard…dinner at 15^th C.P.”

This is Audie Murphy’s unit and must be where they met. He remembered Flo served him donuts somewhere in France.

Ch. 35: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/06/24/prelude-to-another-grim-winter/

Return to Ch. 1: https://mollymartin.blog/2024/11/04/my-mother-and-audie-murphy/

Catching Up to the 3rd Division

Flo and Liz Get Too Close to the Front Lines

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 32

The war was moving north fast, and the Red Cross personnel had to move fast to catch up. Isabella and Dottie had stayed in Marseilles, so Flo and Liz were on their own. They snagged a car, driving from Aix-en-Provence to Grenoble, and on to the QM area near Quingey, just south of the town of Besançon. Flo wrote, “Should not have come up, but Bill let us stay.”

I think she is saying they are too close to the front lines. Bill is probably Bill Shay, whose photo is pasted in the album titled Bill Shay ARC, maybe their boss. In letters and interviews, the clubmobilers complained that their ARC bosses were of little help. The women were generally tasked with figuring things out on their own.

Flo also noted, “Moved same evening to area beyond town. Liz and Bill came late, so slept in Major Goodwin’s bedroll.”

That might be the theme of Liz’s drawing.

*Liz’s drawings of clubmobile life are pasted throughout Flo’s album*

The next day, Sept. 10, Flo wrote, “Shopped in Quingey for pans to cook for boys. Saw 36^th Div. gals. Slept under trailer tarp. Very comfortable. Cooked for donut crew.”

On Monday, Sept. 11 she wrote: “Moved near Besancon. Put up pyramidal tent (full of holes). Saw Frank Gates.”

(Gates is the ARC man who took them to Rome on the amphib jeep June 5. That seems to long ago!)

“(Gates) didn’t like our being around. Liz and I spent night under tarp with (donut making) machines. Made hot choc. For us all.

Sept. 12, Flo wrote, “Slept in tent on our German stretchers. Ord. gave us two cars—sedan & Ger. Jeep. Saw 36^th E in town…” She doesn’t mention that she saw her fiance, Gene, who was with the 36th Engineers.

Sept. 13. Raining. “Spent wet night. Had fried chicken. Very good. Liz is KP & Flo is mess sgt.”

Sept. 14. “Frank Gates says Maj. Basilla wants us to get out, so we moved up to 6^th Corps artillery unit.”

It seems like this means that Major Basilla was kicking them out of the Third Division. Some of the commanding officers were opposed to having the clubmobilers near the army. Gen. Mark Clark had been their advocate and protector in the beginning, but he was no longer there.

She wrote: “Spent night in French summer home. Wonderful beds. Both of us blue & orphans.”

Friday, Sept. 15 Flo wrote, “Left for Vesoul w/6^th Corps artillery. Moved into small inn in Villers de Sac with Liz. Wonderful beds & kitchen to cook meals in. Fun. Drove down to QM in Ger. Jeep.

Sept. 16. “Cooking for 6^th Corps donut gang. Madame Susan good to us. Fried 3 chickens & cut ‘em up myself. 11 for dinner. Danced in inn to phono. Raining hard.”

Flo was very proud of herself for cutting up chicken and cooking meals. She had never been a cook. At home, she had worked at a job and her mother had done all the cooking. From the notes in her diary, it seems like she was getting in to her domestic side.

Ch. 33: https://mollymartin.blog/?p=4213

Evidence of Nazi War Crimes Mounts

Catching up with the Third Division

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 31

September 8, 1944. After several days in the small town of Aix-en-Provence, the Red Cross crew drove north in an effort to catch up to the Third Division. They stopped in Grenoble where they stayed for a night in what Flo called, “a lovely hotel, taken by 7^th Army.” She noted: “Boy from Ballard (A Seattle neighborhood) gave me cinnamon rolls.” She described Grenoble as “lovely and modern—very mountainous.”

Flo also pasted on this page of her album a newspaper story quoting Sgt. Louis Roberts about Nazi brutality endured by the French. Sgt. Roberts must be a Yakima native. From the Yakima Herald:

Atrocities Are Reported

Sgt. Roberts Avers France Bled White

Sgt. Louis Roberts who has been staying recently with a French family, has thus been able to get a better understanding of condition in France than most of the Americans and has the added advantage of speaking the language.

“It is hard to fathom how Germany bled France of resources,” he says. “From one little sector each month the people had to send 13 ½ tons of shoes, 10,000 head of cattle, tons of butter, milk, wood and other things plus a monthly payment of five million francs. It is incredible how much a small region could ever supply so much. These people have been thrifty and economical enough to endure this war.

“Being deprived of food and clothing did not bother the French so much as the brutal measures the Germans took. Often children had to suffer the loss of limbs so parents would take pity on them and disclose vital information about the F.F.I. (French Forces of the Interior. The French resistance) One town north of here was taken by the F.F.I. The Germans warned the patriots that if one shot were fired after 11 o’clock they would retaliate. The warning was not heeded and the Germans retook the town and set all the houses afire along the main street.

“Numerous incidents are constantly told about how the Germans would shoot our wounded prisoners. Women would cover the bodies of dead aviators or allied soldiers with flowers which would be scattered by the Germans who were on guard. If some persons would linger over the body of one of our soldiers to pray they would be driven away at the point of bayonets.

“These French are very sorry, indeed, that all of us cannot understand the language. Each of them has some grewsome story to tell, not necessarily how they suffered but how the rest, or all of France, has to suffer. I have seen results of such brutality and I feel even more sorry for the French still in German territory. I could write a book on what I have heard and seen.

Yesterday I went to mass—a special mass for the liberation of the town. The church was beautifully decorated with numerous flags and stretched out up over the altar was a huge banner ‘Honor and Glory to the Americans.’ The choir and music were also beautiful. It was like Easter at home.”

Sgt. Roberts and Miss Florence Wick, Yakima Red Cross worker, are in the same town and see each other at times. He adds that “even though people are bombed out of their homes they are most happy to be liberated.”

Ch.32: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/06/09/catching-up-to-the-3rd-division/

Mortar Attack!

We crash into Besançon and fight until morning

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 30

September 5, 1944. From Murphy’s autobiography To Hell and Back:

In a short while they are back in the thick of battle. The forward units knife through German lines, leaving pockets of resistance for the mopping-up crews. The noise of combat rises from every direction.

The swift advance has drained their energy and their supplies. Hungry and exhausted, they collapse along a roadside to wait for orders. Artillery thunders over their heads. They lie on their backs, listening to the shells crash forward into the hills.

Murphy and his crew seize an opportunity when a German supply truck rattles into view. They ambush it and find it loaded with bread and cognac. For a brief, stolen moment they eat, drink, and sing, the battle seeming almost far away.

*The town of Besancon from its citadel. You can see the bombed bridges.* *Photo: Dogface soldiers.org*

That night they crash into Besançon and fight until morning. Within a few days the city is secured, and once again the pursuit of the retreating Germans begins.

Murphy’s platoon brings up the rear when a roadblock stops the company. Mortar shells begin peppering the earth. Murphy pauses to speak to a small group of soldiers, several of them nervously pale replacements, waiting for the fire to ease.

Nearly killed by a mortar shell

A mortar shell drops in almost without sound. It is practically under Murphy’s boots before he registers its arrival. He has just enough time to think, This is it, before the blast knocks him unconscious.

When he comes to, he is sitting beside a crater with the shattered remains of a carbine in his hands. His head throbs, his eyes burn, and he cannot hear. The acrid, greasy taste of burned powder coats his tongue.

He runs his hands down his legs, methodically checking. Both limbs are there. But the heel of his right shoe is gone, and his fingers come away sticky with blood.

A voice filters dimly into his fogged brain: “Are you all right, Sergeant?” He wipes the tears from his stinging eyes and looks around. The sergeant who spoke and the young recruit beside him are dead. Three others are wounded. All had been farther from the shell than he was.

When a mortar detonates on contact with the ground, its fragments shoot upward and outward in a cone. Murphy had been standing close to the base of that cone and caught only the lightest edge of the fragmentation. Had he been three feet farther away, he knows he would not be alive.

During World War II, concussions resulting from mortar attacks were a significant source of traumatic brain injury (TBI). Soldiers experienced symptoms like headaches, dizziness, poor concentration, and memory problems following exposure to blasts, even without visible head injuries. The term “shell shock” was originally used in WWI to describe these symptoms, but was later replaced with terms like “post-concussion neurosis” in WWII. Head injuries from mortars contributed to a significant percentage of medically treated wounds during the war.

Murphy spends a few days in the hospital, not because of his brain injury, but because his foot was wounded. Then he’s back in the lines.

Ch.31: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/06/04/evidence-of-nazi-war-crimes/

The Red Cross Lands in France

In a letter home, Flo tells of arrival

My Mother and Audie Murphy ch. 29

Late August, 1944. Support staff, including the American Red Cross women, were required to wait till the end of August to follow the troops into Southern France. They sailed from Italy on the USS Joseph T. Dickman, the same ship that had carried many of the men, landing on the same beach near St. Tropez. The ARC women attached to the Third Infantry Division were the first to reach France.

They were billeted for a week in a small town, Aix-en-Provence, where they stayed in what Flo called “a quaint but comfortable hotel.”

*Aix-en-Provence. Pictures of the “quaint” hotel where they stayed, on right.*

Flo’s letter home was published in the local Yakima newspaper:

Word From Florence Wick

Mrs. Gerda Wick, mother of Florence Wick, who is serving with the ARC in France has received a very interesting letter from her daughter. Florence writes:

“We came to France by boat. There were about 25 of us clubmobile girls, and we are waiting now in a lovely, quiet little southern French town until we can rejoin our various divisions. We landed in the same fashion as our troops had done previously, although, of course, we had the advantage of not being under fire.

“This part of southern France reminds me of Washington. There are fine trees and mountains and lovely valley gardens. The people are very nice, clean and polite. Their own soldiers are fighting as well as the civilians, and the spirit is wonderful.

“The war is moving so fast that we cannot keep up with it ourselves. When we can rejoin our units is unknown, but we miss them badly and want to get up there as soon as possible. Meanwhile, we are staying in a quaint but comfortable hotel, and enjoying white sheets and soft mattresses.

“The French can even make army K rations taste different, and their table service is wonderful. A separate plate for everything, and interesting sauces camouflaging our corned beef, Spam, etc. Their interior fighting forces, such as civilians underground, etc. have done a wonderful job and “fighting French” means just what it says.

*Flo’s road map of France was put to good use by ARC clubmobilers*

“The fruit here is very good—all varieties of melons, excellent tomatoes which they can fix a dozen different ways, and grapes.

“The thing that makes these French towns so different from ours is the complete lack of frame buildings. Everything is stone or stucco with tile roofs. That was true in Italy also. France is unbelievably clean and peaceful looking. There are, of course, smashed buildings, burned up and overturned Jerry equipment and shells lying around here and there to remind one of war, but they don’t seem real, somehow.

“The clubmobile girls were the first ARC girls in France and we are quite thrilled by it all particularly as there are hundreds who want to get over here and must stay on in Italy for a time.

“Please greet everyone for me.”

Ch.30: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/05/30/mortar-attack/

Nazis Trapped at Montelimar

Dead and Dying Include Hundreds of Horses

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 28

Late August, 1944. From Murphy’s autobiography To Hell and Back:

Smarting under the wrongs and indignities endured during the years of German occupation, members of the French underground emerge from hiding and strike. Entire towns are already liberated by the FFI—the French Forces of the Interior—waiting only for the Americans to arrive. The Maquis join the advancing troops as guides, offering information on enemy strongholds and hidden defenses.

*Advancing on Montelimar*. *Photo: Dogface soldiers collection*

The German dead lie buried in abandoned foxholes, hastily covered with the same soil they once held in captivity. When it rains, their boots stick grotesquely from the mud.

Meanwhile, the Third Army drives relentlessly across middle France. When contact is made, the Germans in a vast section of the country will be caught in a trap. For three days the Americans move forward in trucks, meeting only scattered resistance—roadblocks, ambushes, and small pockets of determined defenders. After the slow, grinding months in Italy, this rapid advance feels almost unreal.

The men are exhilarated. Nothing lifts a soldier’s morale like progress. They have long believed that the only road home lies through the Siegfried Line, and every mile up the Rhône Valley feels like another mile closer to America.

The Germans react unpredictably. In one place, twenty thousand surrender to a single American platoon. In another, a few dozen fight with desperate ferocity, clawing for every inch of ground.

*Wreckage of the German retreat*. *Photo: Dogface soldiers collection*

By August 23, 1944, the swift, circling maneuvers of divisional units have trapped a large enemy force at Montélimar, a key communications hub. The Germans would gladly abandon the town if only they could escape north. As the American ring closes around them, they counterattack fiercely—an entire regiment hurling itself against Murphy’s battalion. Artillery and mortar fire break the assault, holding the line amid smoke and shattered trees.

On the outskirts of Montélimar, a massive German convoy is caught by American guns. In their panic to flee, the vehicles jam the road two and three abreast. Artillery zeroes in, and the destruction defies belief.

Hundreds of horses, evidently stolen from French farmers, lie among the wreckage. They stand or fall with torn flesh, gazing at the soldiers with unblinking, bewildered eyes, whinnying softly as life drains from them. The men, hardened by years of battle, find themselves strangely shaken. They are used to the sight of dead and wounded men, but these suffering animals stir something deeper, a sorrow for innocence trapped in the machinery of war.

*Horses were among the dead*. Photo: Dogface soldiers collection

One of Murphy’s men, a Texan, gently approaches a horse and shoots him behind the ear.

“I’ve known horses all my life,” he says, “and there’s not one dirty, mean thing about them. They’re too decent to blast each other’s guts out like we’re doing. Makes you ashamed to belong to the human race.”

Ch.29: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/05/25/red-cross-lands-in-france/

A Demon Enters My Body

His best friend dies: Murph loses his cool

Ch. 26 My Mother and Audie Murphy

D-Day in Southern France. August 15, 1944

They jump from the landing craft and wade through the swirling surf. From the hills above, German guns begin to crack. Shells burst among them. Medics move instantly, sleeves rolled, already tending to the fallen.

An explosion erupts on the left. When the smoke clears, the remains of a soldier lie scattered—he has stepped on a mine. A medic kneels beside him briefly, then signals to the litter bearers that there is nothing to carry.

Ahead lies a strip of scrub and tangled grass. The men advance toward it with cautious, deliberate steps, as though walking on eggshells. The entire beach is mined, every footstep a gamble.

Landing at Red Beach. Photo: Dogface soldiers collection

They reach the edge of a green meadow. Beyond it stretch vineyards and scattered farmhouses, each one potentially harboring an unseen gun crew. Murphy drops into a drainage ditch and pushes forward, mud sucking at his boots as he moves.

They kill two Germans and capture six.

The thin shell of resistance at the beachhead collapses quickly, and the company advances inland. Three wooded hills rise to their right. From the center hill, a concrete pillbox juts outward, its cannon angled toward the beach. Intelligence marks this hill as a major strongpoint, and Murphy’s company receives the order to neutralize it.

Under a punishing sun, the men climb in sweat-soaked uniforms. Murphy’s platoon leads, and he brings up the rear. Suddenly automatic fire sweeps down from the hill.

Murphy’s two comrades are killed. He is alone and the Germans have discovered his position.

Then Murphy engages in acts of heroism that earn him one of his many medals. He duels with the enemy until his ammunition is exhausted. Then he seizes a machine gun and rakes the foxholes. Still under fire, he is joined by a comrade, his best buddy in the squad.

The surviving Germans wave a white cloth in surrender. Murphy’s friend rises casually from cover, believing the danger has passed. A hidden machine gun opens at once. He topples backward into the hole, barely whispering Murphy’s name before dying. Murphy freezes in shock, caught between the bodies of his friend and the Germans he has killed.

He checks for a pulse. There is none. He calls for medics, but the hill roars with gunfire. No one can reach him.

Grief and disbelief overwhelm him. He refuses to accept the death. With quiet, deliberate care, he lifts his friend from the hole and lays him beneath a cork tree, as though fresh air alone might restore life. How he avoids being shot while doing this remains inexplicable.

A machine gun shifts toward him. Murphy reacts instantly, diving back into the hole, throwing a grenade, and then rushing forward. The grenade has done its work. Both German gunners are dead. Murphy takes their weapon, checks it, and begins climbing the hill again.

He wrote: “I remember the experience as I do a nightmare. A demon seems to have entered my body. My brain is coldly alert and logical. I do not think of the danger to myself. My whole being is concentrated on killing. Later the men pinned down in the vineyard tell me that I shout pleas and curses at them because they do not come up and join me.”

He reaches the gun crew responsible and kills them before they even know he is there. He keeps firing until their bodies stop moving.

Resistance on the hill collapses. The company advances and reorganizes on the crest. Murphy stands apart, trembling, stunned by the sudden weakness that overtakes him. When the company moves on, he returns alone to his friend’s body.

He gathers his personal effects, looks once more at the photograph of the little girl with pigtails, then places the pack beneath his friend’s head like a pillow. He sits beside him and weeps without restraint.

As time passes, the rage drains away. The enemy becomes again simply the enemy—not monsters, not personal. The war resumes its relentless form: a series of brutal tasks carried out by flesh and will. Murphy accepts this, as he has every day since the war began.

And he rises, wipes his face, and walks back over the hill to rejoin the company.

Quotes are from From Murphy’s autobiography To Hell and Back

Ch. 27: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/05/15/flo-and-her-crew-sail-to-france/

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