The Pittsburgh Press (January 30, 1943)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
A forward airdrome in French North Africa – (Jan. 29)
There is nothing lighthearted about the imminence of death at the moment it is upon a man, but the next morning it can be very funny. It is worth a small fortune to be around an American camp on the morning after an aerial attack. Soldier comics have fertile ground then, and they go to work in the old vaudeville fashion of getting a laugh by making fun of yourself.
The other morning, I sat in a tent with a dozen airplane mechanics and heard Sgt. Claude Coggey of Richmond, Virginia, speak. The sergeant said:
I hear there’s one man who says he was not scared last night. I want to meet that man and shake his hand. Then I’ll knock him down for being a damned liar.
Me, I was never so scared in my life. As soon as those bombs started dropping, I started hunting a chaplain. Boy, I needed some morale-building. A big one came whistling down. I dived into the nearest trench and landed right on top of a chaplain. Pretty soon I had an idea. I said, “Chaplain, are you with me?” He said, “Brother, I’m ahead of you.” So, we went whisht out of the ditch and took off for the mountains.
Anybody who says a scared man can’t make 50 miles an hour uphill doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Me and the chaplain can prove it. Now and then we’d slow down to about 30 miles an hour and listen for a plane, and then speed up again. But in the moonlight the Jerries picked us out and came down shooting. I dived into an irrigation ditch full of water and went right to the bottom. After a while I said “Chaplain, you still with me?” And he said, “With you, hell, I’m under you.”
It never occurred to me till this morning what damned fools we were to get out of that ditch and run in the moonlight. It won’t happen again. After this, from 6 p.m. on, my address will be the top of that farthest mountain peak.
The reactions of the American soldiers to their first bad bombings have been exactly what you would expect of them. They take it in a way to make you proud. The following figures aren’t literal for any certain camp or particular bombing, but just my own generalization, which I believe a real survey would authenticate. Say you’ve got a camp of 5,000 men, and they go through a dive-bombing and machine-gun strafing. One man out of that 5,000 will break completely and go berserk. He may never recover. Perhaps 25 will momentarily lose their heads and start dashing around foolishly. A couple of hundred will decide to change trenches when the bombs seem too close, forgetting that the safest place is the hole where you are. The 4,774 others will stay right in their trenches, thoroughly scared, but in full possession of themselves. They’ll do exactly the right thing. The moment it’s over they’ll be out with shovels and tools helping to put out fires, working just as calmly as they would in the safety of broad daylight.
Our bombings here have proved that deep trenches are fully satisfactory as shelters. I’ve just seen a crater you could put a Ford car in, within 40 feet of an open trench full of men. An uprooted palm tree fell across the trench, and the men were covered with flying dirt, but not one was scratched. Their tents were mangled. One boy had just received a two-pound tin box of candy from his girl. Shrapnel slashed it wide open.
During the melee some running soldiers found one guy dead drunk in a ditch. He was sound asleep and snoring away. It was so funny they paused in their flight to laugh and envy him. Some men didn’t hear the alert and had to dive into trenches in their underwear and bare feet. One boy showed me his steel helmet with bullet holes front and back. I foolishly asked:
Did you have it on?
Obviously, he hadn’t.
Where German machine-gun bullets hit the ground around their tents, soldiers described the result as looking like snake holes. At first the boys would search for pieces of shrapnel as souvenirs to take home, but within a few days, shrapnel was so common they didn’t bother to pick it up.
To top it all off, every morning at sunrise you can see the dirt flying and the trenches going a little deeper.