THE LAST FULL MEASURE
by
Kevin Corrigan

Dear Ed:

You asked me to tell you about my officers. Here's a case I was planning to save until I saw you. His name was Harold D. Wilson. On graduation from Officer Candidate School he came to our outfit and took over the third platoon. He had gone to West Point for eight months but had not qualified in one subject, so they dismissed him. He went into the Army as an enlisted man in the AA. But he felt that he had let down the man who had sponsored his appointment, as well as his family, by not getting a commission. He wanted to be an infantry soldier and a combat man so he got himself into Infantry OCS at Fort Benning.

Although he was twenty-one, Wilson looked about seventeen or eighteen, had blond hair, baby-blue eyes, and about as much of a beard as yours truly. His voice was high and his enunciation clear. When he intoned "Column right, MARCH" in his high treble voice you had to smile and shake your head. He was very precise and GI. He was soon to fall heir to the name of "Little Boy Blue," and the name did him well. I liked him, but the thought of this almost ridiculous little character leading a platoon of men into combat was too much.

When we first came over, we took up mainly defensive positions, and he was careful in his preparations. In our first attack I didn't see him during the main assault, but after it was over, my squad was off by itself to the left flank. We were crowded into three old kraut holes. Jerry laid a terrific barrage on us and then started to counterattack. Because of the terrain and thick woods we couldn't see over 20 yards.

I thought it was the end.

Then Wilson came bouncing down the road paying no attention to the artillery. "'What's going on here, you men?" he asked.

We explained the situation, which was obvious. He grabbed a burp gun I had picked up and started popping away single shot. Six of us were crowded into two small holes, so he said, "We'll have to improve this position by joining these holes. One of us will dig while the other two fire. We'll just sort of dig and fight here."

It was the right thing, but I wasn't thinking much about improving positions at the moment. I wondered what the hell he was doing there, anyway. It was the worst possible place to be at the moment and we weren't even in his platoon. It did make the men feel better to have an officer with them, but I thought he was crazy to be there. He had a piece of shrapnel in his leg from earlier in the day, but he didn't pay any attention to that. After we broke up the counterattack, we got the two holes together, and despite his wound he stayed there all night and pulled his guard. The impression of "Little Boy Blue" was undergoing quite a change.

As you know, we were on the defensive in that sector during the winter and our position on the hill grew worse as the entire line ebbed and flowed to the right and left of us. We sweat it out on the hill for about a week, expecting to be pushed off any time. Wilson kept saying, " We'll keep busy up here if it's doing nothing but melting snow to wash our feet." It sounded pretty silly, but he was right, for it was necessary to keep the men busy.

Wilson was always willing to take prisoners. Once while leading his men, and paying no attention to the enemy fire, he saw a Heinie behind a tree. He yelled, "I see you there hiding behind that tree. Come out, I see you."

One day in February the whole company marched into a couple of German machine guns, and one platoon was immediately cut up. It was before dawn and we stayed pinned down till dawn, when the very dangerous false report got around that we were supposed to pull out.

The men were on the verge of panic. Up stands Wilson and ignores the enemy fire and runs all over the place; gets protection on the flanks and gets the rest of the company and tells them they're going to attack with him. Everything is pretty active with heavy mortar and machine-gun fire, but he's running around to the platoons, shouting, "Here, here, you men, where are you going? You come right back here! Over there, Sergeant. Bring those men by you up here. Were to attack these woods." His way from the first to the third is barred by a stream of machine-gun fire. He simply hurdles it.

He got things organized and by a miracle wasn't killed. He was hit in the face and leg by a Panzer- faust shell, but as usual, if a wound didn't kill him it couldn't stop him. He led the company into a smashing assault which led the division. Do you get the picture? This gentle guy with no fear. Quick to make decisions and quick to carry them out. He always fought "by the book." Once the company was moving through the attack and he stopped. "You men there. Pick those boards up. We may have to use them later." Always quick to search the dead. "Better look this man over -he may have something we need." Death didn't bother him, but he always had time for a kind word to the wounded.

Wilson became company exec, so he wasn't supposed to lead assaults any more. But one day we were going to attack a town at the bottom of a thickly wooded hill. He couldn't bear to stay behind, so he told our platoon leader, "Beck, I'll go to the bottom of the hill with you, but then I'll have to go back." We moved slowly through the woods, Beck getting maximum use from his scouts. Jerry started to mortar hell out of us. Wilson said, "Beck, we're going to have to move faster; it's costing us lives staying here." About that time Beck was killed, so Wilson took over. We started moving fast and the artillery and mortar fire falling behind us was terrific, but it was behind us.

We cut some barbed wire and moved as skirmishers through the woods. The underbrush was thick, and control was an almost impossible problem, but an effort was made through yelling, which, although it might not have been too effective for control, was good against the Heinies. As we approached the pillboxes, we started to receive fire and had to slow down, so the platoon following behind us came up into us to mess things up even more. We got to the edge of the woods and came upon a jungle of barbed wire. Jerry was laying down fairly intense grazing machine-gun fire. One gun was about 30 yards to the front and another off to the left. The flash was clear as hell.

Wilson had us lay down a base of fire. "Crawl right up there. Make some noise, you men - show them you're up here shooting at them. Show them you're dough boys!" After a while we silenced the machine guns. I don't know if we hit them or scared them. At any rate our rifle fire was effective. But because of the terrifically thick wire that was undoubtedly mined, Wilson decided to attack around the right. "All right you men. Everybody up. We're going around to the right. Come now, let's go.

We went through the woods far enough to satisfy him; then he said, "All right, we're going out of these woods. Keep right on going across the clearing" As soon as we get out of the woods, of course some machine guns opened up on us. "That's all right, men, we'll go right across here in short rushes. Everybody up. Let's go now-short rushes." The men started some rushes. "Here, here, we can do better than that. Now give me some good rushes. You there, soldier, that wasn't a rush at all - that was just a flop. Now you get right up and give me a nice rush."

Mind you, this isn't an umpire on maneuvers-this is a leader in combat. All the time he was standing up directing the thing. Why he wasn't killed I'll never know. Across the clearing was a tank trap. "Now let's see who's going to be the first man to the ditch. Once we got into the ditch - it was about 12 feet deep - he yelled, "All right now, we'll just dig each other right up out of here. Buddy up and help each other out of here."

Next we crossed a railroad track. During this time we were being fired at from a basement window. We spotted the window and poured an intense volume fire through it, then started bouncing the rounds off the edges of the window. By the time a few of us were across the track, a white something, cautiously appeared. One of the gunners, a corporal, came across the street and of course Wilson wouldn't let anyone shoot him.

Watching us keep coming despite his fire scared this Kraut badly. He said his buddies were too scared to come out. The boys were ready to go over and dig them out, but Wilson said we would take them prisoners, so we had the corporal yell across the street and the other two finally came over quite shaken. These men were from a fresh regiment that, less than a week before, had almost broken our regimental line, but now the M-l rifle had taken the fight out of them.

We got into the house and cleared it, then Wilson told me to come along with him while he cleared the basement. I asked him if he didn't think it was better to drop a couple of grenades down the stairs first. "No, we won't mess it up. We'll go down there." Down he went, and luckily there was no one there. The reason he had wanted to take the house was to be able to use the basement protection against artillery.

When we got back upstairs we had two wounded men on our hands. There was a guy sniping at us with a machine-carbine from one of the by-passed pillboxes. He was becoming too effective, so Wilson took two men upstairs to see if they could get him. By that time Wilson had a bullet hole through his helmet but luckily only a scratch on his forehead. He went to the window and started yelling to some men who were still on the other side of the railroad, telling them to come over in five minute intervals. Then he stepped back from the window and said he was hit. He said to the two men with him, "Now don't worry. I'll be all right." He started to fade, so he had them slap his face - as if that could do any good! But he wasn't the type to accept death without a fight. When he realized that he had lost, he said, "God, help me through this" (and I'm sure He did). Then he kicked a heavy oak table across the room and was dead. There was another lieutenant in the house who took over, but the leader was dead and our spirit died with him.

General Orders - 274th Honor Roll