Category: World War II

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 6th 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 36th 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 30th Inf. Rest camp & 3rd Div band. Boys tired. Fun with band.”

Flo working in the field

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 1st Bn of 15th up in next town. Raining hard…dinner at 15th 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/

Flo Eats Eggplant

And my brother Don schools me about emojis

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 33

My three younger brothers and I all listened to our mother’s stories about the war and her two years as a Red Cross clubmobile worker in Europe. Of course, we each have different memories of her tales. I don’t remember her telling about the first time she tasted eggplant, but my brother Don does. I asked him to write about what he remembers. Here is his story.

Don Martin Remembers

2022. Recently my sister decided to start using emojis in her text messages. She is in her mid-70s and is not particularly a maven of popular culture, so her understanding of this youth-driven vernacular is limited. How do old people like us decipher the coded meanings of subtle facial expressions or the specific colours of hearts, for example? I try to keep up on these things, but I don’t pretend to understand the nuances. One day, however, she sent me a text with a string of eggplant emojis and I was confused.

“Molly, do you know what an eggplant emoji means?” I asked.

“Doesn’t it just mean eggplant? I like eggplants.”

“Oh, dear. I hope you aren’t sending eggplant emojis out indiscriminately. You really should google these things first.”

“I need to google emojis? So, what does it mean?”

I explained that the eggplant is now commonly used in sexting to represent male genitalia. To which she howled with laughter. But it started a whole conversation between us, (mostly about eggplants). I recounted a memory of the first time our mother prepared this berry of the nightshade family for dinner.

It was the summer of 1959. Molly had just turned ten years old. I was seven. We lived in the all-white suburbs of a moderately-sized farming community in central Washington state. Our neighbourhood was like the little boxes on the hillside described by Malvina Reynolds in her song about ticky tacky post-war American life. The low-slung houses were close together and we were close to the families next door most with children our age. Our backyards were still unfenced so we kids had a block-long grassy playing field. The moms chatted as they hung their laundry out to dry in the desert air and the dads planned fishing trips over bottles of beer.

I remember we had a concrete patio off the back stoop large enough to accommodate a picnic table, a set of lawn chairs, and a charcoal barbeque. The table had a hole in the middle for an umbrella that provided shade on blazing summer afternoons. For this particular dinner Mom decided to cook outside. I remember she had a small prep table with a cutting board, two shallow bowls and the big square electric frying pan she used for nearly everything. I think Dad was grilling hamburgers or chicken, the aromas of which enticed the Yaden kids to come over and see what we were having.

On the patio in Yakima about 1955. Don (L) Molly (R), Tim on Dad’s lap

The Martins had always been a very meat-and-potatoes kind of family. Vegetables in our diet were limited to canned green beans and creamed corn. Sure, we had fresh tomatoes and cucumbers in the summer, but never had we eaten something as exotic as an eggplant. You didn’t see it in regular grocery stores back then. Too ethnic I guess. I’m not sure where Mom found it, maybe at one of the roadside vegetable stands run by Italian farmers in the Valley.

I loved to help mom cook, so when I saw her bringing the rest of the food out to the patio I left the other kids and ran over. The Yaden twins followed. 

“What is that?” screamed Susan Yaden pointing at the large purple thing on the cutting board.

“That is an eggplant,” mom said. “We’re going to try something I had for the first time many years ago in France.”

“Ew,” giggled Susan’s sister Janet, and they both ran off.

I, too, was a little scared, but intrigued. I asked what I could do to help. As Mom peeled the eggplant and sliced it into half-inch rounds, she had me beat two eggs in one bowl. The other bowl was filled with cracker crumbs. She showed me how to dip the slices in the eggwash and coat both sides with the crumbs. Then she fried them in batches until they were golden brown.

“This is how a family I stayed with in France taught me to fix eggplant,” Mom explained. “I’d never eaten it before either.” She looked up from the sizzling slices and stared wistfully into the distance. “It was when I was in the Red Cross, sweetie, during the war. The other doughnut gals and I were driving north to catch up with the army and we had almost no food with us. We decided to stop at a farm house and ask for an egg or a little bread. Of course, we would pay them for it because we knew they probably didn’t have much food either.” 

I brought her attention back to the present. “Mom, It think it might be time to turn them over. They look pretty brown,” I advised, still listening intently. 

“Yes. There. Don’t they look good? Crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle.” She was deep in thought for a minute or two. “The French people were so happy to see us because they knew it meant the war might be over soon. This family made us a wonderful dinner and let us sleep there that night. It’s one of my fondest memories of that horrible time. Okay call your brothers and sister over. I think everything is ready.” 

That is how I was introduced to eggplant. The vegetable. I can’t remember if everybody liked it, but Molly and I did. I remember feeling very sophisticated and a little closer to Mom. 

Ch. 34: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/06/19/flo-and-liz-a-crew-of-two/

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.

Bill Shay ARC

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 36th 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.

Flo’s diary

Sept. 12, Flo wrote, “Slept in tent on our German stretchers. Ord. gave us two cars—sedan & Ger. Jeep. Saw 36th 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 6th 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/6th 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 6th 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.”

Liz and Flo plucking French chickens

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 7th Army.” She noted: “Boy from Ballard (A Seattle neighborhood) gave me cinnamon rolls.” She described Grenoble as “lovely and modern—very mountainous.”

From Flo’s album
From Flo’s diary

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.

FFI fighters. Photo: NARA

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/

Flo and Her Crew Sail to France

She reunites with her fiance Gene on Red Beach

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 27

August 26-30, 1944

Finally, the time had come for the American Red Cross workers to follow the boys to France. Flo wrote in her diary:

Saturday, August 26, “Leaving for France with other clubmobile gals on Liberty tomorrow. Finished packing, changing money, sending home packages. No mail yet.”

Flo’s diary

Sunday, August 27

“3 mos. In Italy. Came aboard Jos. T. Dickman APA enroute to France with 25 clubmobile gals. Have one comp. on C deck together. Good food. Dance on top deck with phon.”

August 28

“On board ship. Fun with Lt. Scharff. Dancing in moonlight on deck. Very hot in compartment.”

USS Joseph T. Dickman

August 29

“Still on ship—last day. No dance while at sea. Spent time with Lt. Scharff.”

(I don’t know who Lt. Scharff was. Flo did correspond with friends after the war, but there’s no indication she ever saw or corresponded with Lt. Scharff again.)

Wednesday August 30

Up at 5:00 a.m. for breakfast, but left ship after 8 o’clock. Landed on beach where 3rd made assault. Many ships in convoy. 36th E on beach; found Gene & saw Co. G. Wonderful to see him. Drove to Aix (Aix-en-Provence) with R.C. man & Dottie late in afternoon. Stayed at Thermes Hotel. Quaint place.

August 31

Cannot go up with Div. yet. Will be staying in Aix for a while and working in office. No work today, tho. Walked around town—very nice place—people clean and shops interesting. Prices high. No vehicles as yet. Miss Gene.

Sunday September 3

Down to Red Beach to see about car. Saw Gene.

September 4

With 36 E

36 E is the 36th Engineers, Flo’s fiancé, Gene’s unit. 

Ch. 28: https://mollymartin.blog/?p=4065

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.

Map of the invasion. Photo: NARA

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/

Ready to Leave Poor Italy

In a letter home, Flo writes of the strain of waiting

My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 25

August 24, 1944. “We are in the process of waiting right now and it is very much of a strain, particularly since “our boys” are fighting and we worry so much about them. War is hell when you “sweat out” an invasion and it becomes pretty grim when you hear that someone you knew well and liked a great deal has been wounded or killed. We hope to be with them before too long. 

“I have just started to comprehend Italian and will soon have to struggle with French, but I’m sure I’ll like it much better.

“I’ve gained at least 5 pounds, I am nut brown from outdoor life and feel excellent. The last two days I’ve had a sore throat and am now horse as a crow, but fine otherwise. 

“Paris fell last evening. No word from Gene,” wrote Flo in her diary August 23.

“My “Love life” is taking time off, too, as the boyfriend is having a little argument with the Jerries right now. I hope he will “come back” but there is always the tragic possibility that he won’t, along with hundreds of others. 

“The war advances are encouraging, though to us, not as encouraging as to the folks back home. I am afraid it will still be quite some time, but about that no one can tell for sure.

“It is as hot here as it must be at home in August. We didn’t mind it when we were in the country, but in the city it is very enervating and we notice it considerably. 

“I love my job and I am fond of my coworkers, so I’ve never been sorry I came over. In fact, I feel as if I’ve really been doing something. 

“Waiting around is hard, but we have even a bigger job ahead of us, as well as new scenes and new adventures.

“I will be just as glad to leave Italy – it has been fun here, but the people are very disillusioning– their whole standard of living is so far, far below what I expected and they seem to have no leaders, no particular ambition or initiative. Like much of Europe now, it is dirty and poor. We have very little to do with the natives and I am more often pitying them than not, but that is wearing. The poor children – there is no health standard and very little good food – the next generation will really suffer. 

“Ruth (her sister), If you get a chance, please tell Mom to send me some combs – long ones. They have nothing but cheap short ones in the PX here and I’m destitute. Some Italian stole my two pair of dress shoes, so I’m completely dependent on those horrible black oxfords. Only one package has reached me from home as yet.” 

Ch. 26: https://mollymartin.blog/2025/05/12/3rd-divisions-first-day-in-france/