Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
With 5th Army beachhead forces, Italy – (by wireless)
This is a little series of vignettes about four frontline sergeants. They’re just little scenes that came along in conversation as we lay on an Italian hillside chatting one day. The four men are platoon sergeants of the 45th Division of the Allied 5th Army on the Anzio beachhead.
Sgt. Samuel Day of Covington, Kentucky, is a big guy. He weighed 257 pounds when he came into combat in January, and he still weighs 240 despite all the K-rations he’s eaten.
Sgt. Day would be hard on his feet in any circumstances. But when you get into a trench-foot world, 240 pounds is a lot of aggravation for sore dogs.
We get to discussing trench foot, and Sgt. Day told about an incident that happened to him. It seems his feet got in pretty bad shape during their last recent tour in the foxholes, so he went to the frontline medics for ointment or something.
The medics’ solution for his troubles was simple. With a straight face, they told him, “Keep your feet dry and stay off of them for two weeks!”
Sgt. Day went back to his watery foxhole, still sore-footed but unable to keep from chuckling over the irony of this advice. Their prescription for trench foot takes its place in history alongside W. C. Fields’ sure cure for insomnia – get lots of sleep!
Under weeds in ditch
Sgt. Eugene Bender of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, is the company first sergeant. He is short and curly-headed, and has a thin black mustache. When I saw him, he was sitting on a C-ration box, getting a between-battles haircut from a soldier barber.
The sergeant asked:
You don’t write news stories, do you?
I told him no, that I just sort of tried to write what it was like over here, and didn’t even especially look for hero stories, since there were so many guys who were heroes without there being any stories to it.
The sergeant said:
That’s good. Hero stories are all right, but they don’t give people at home the whole picture. You read a story in America of something terrific a guy does over here, and his folks think that happens to him every day.
Now take me. Once I was on patrol and was behind the German lines for 36 hours. We lay all day covered up with weeds in a ditch so close to Germans we could have reached out and touched them. When we finally got back, they had given us up for lost.
Now if you just wrote that story and nothing else, people would think that’s what I did all the time.
Riding waves in foxhole
Sgt. Vincent Mainente is from Astoria, Long Island, and of Italian extraction. He isn’t voluble like most Italian-Americans, but friendly in a quiet and reserved way.
Sgt. Mainente used to be a steam-heat inspector for the Pennsylvania Railroad, and he says:
I sure could use some of that steam heat in my foxhole these days.
We were just lying around on the ground talking, when one of the other boys said:
Vince, tell him about your raft.
“What do you mean, raft?” I asked. So Sgt. Mainente told me.
It seems the bottom of his foxhole was covered with water, like everybody else’s. So the sergeant saved up empty wooden C-ration boxes, and one night he nailed them together and made a raft to float on top of the water in his foxhole.
From all I could gather, it wasn’t 100% successful in keeping him dry, but at least there wasn’t any harm in trying.
Just can’t take it
Sgt. Michael Adams is from Akron, Ohio. He used to work for a truck company. He has been with the regiment ever since it came overseas last spring.
Sgt. Adams seems a little older than the others; his hair is beginning to slip back in front, and you can tell by his manner of speech that he thinks deeply about things.
We got to talking about soldiers who crack up in battle or before the ones who hang back or who think they’re sick and report in to the medics as exhaustion cases.
I personally have great sympathy for battle neurosis cases, but some of the soldiers themselves don’t have. For example, Sgt. Adams was telling how some of the replacements after only a few hours under fire, will go to the company commander and say:
Captain, I can’t take it. I just can’t take it.
That makes Sgt. Adams’ blood boil. He said to me:
They can’t take it? What, what the hell do they think the rest of us stay here for, because we like it?
And it’s that spirit, I guess, that wins wars.