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More in the way of a warning than a foreword, this preparation for what follows does not endeavor to make excuses or explanations.
If it accomplishes anything, that accomplishment will be the setting of a mood, a mood which will transport the civilian reader -- the family, friends, wife, girl -- either up or down to the level of life, language included, maintained by the men while they were soldiers of the ordnance company. While the story may help officers and men share their ETO experiences with those who were back in the States, if they so desire, that is not its purpose. These men, these officers, all are very proud of their organization which they cursed a hundred times a day. They are jealously aware of its reputation as part of what the army itself has seen fit to term "the fastest moving and working ordnance maintenance battalion in the U. S. Army." That, they can remember easily, for it is a broad and sweeping description. So the purpose of this tale, which the writer has tried to prevent becoming a history in everything except accuracy of names, dates and places, is to renew the amazement of men and officers that they ever did amount to anything. It is to remind them of characteristics of the company which the years may dim: Its dislike for things military, the fierce insistance [insistence] of the men that they were "misplaced civilians," not soldiers; the excellent showing they always made in parades. The personnel's admitted fear of the enemy and the many boasts of how fast each would run if a Heinie soldier ever got near; the acts of bravery performed when the enemy did get near -- and nasty. The ridiculous things men did, the confusion and taking of wrong roads on night marches; the repairs made under the most impossible conditions, even on the march and under fire, the parts replaced on combat vehicles when there just were no parts. While this story does not expose any private affair which might harm any soldier concerned, it does not hide the fact that there were such things as affairs with girls of five different countries to the credit of various names to be found on the roster. Five, count them. These ordnancemen were good at everything. Records mention no City Hall, no Silver Spurs, no Underground Balloon Corps, "Col." Ayers commanding. No Brown Noses, no Honest Joe LeBlanc, no Crimson Stern Redner. In the army's records, you'll never come across the deep bass voice of Harmon E. Smith saying, "B'gawd, she's a run-nin' sonofabitch!" But whatever Harmon worked on turned out to be one sooner or later. Records don't mention these things, but the story attempts to preserve their memory. Thus, in short, it's really for you jerks who were all in the same boat for so long a time that this is written. As you look it over, sitting on your dead posteriors in your civilian clothes, if it reminds you of things you were beginning to forget, your seven bucks and this paper were not wasted. The things you did are worth remembering. |