Mr.+Schild's+World+War+II+Narrative+Essay

=  __**World War II Narrative Essay Project**__   = =  //The Fighting T-Patchers//   =  The Italian January sun is shining and the sky is a cobalt blue as my pen meets the paper addressed to my sweetheart back home. “Dear Irene” I write starting, my latest letter to the gal I met just before shipping out for Africa. Ever since that fateful day, I have written to her telling her my adventures in the good ole US army 36th division. The “T-patchers”, as we like to call ourselves, because of the blue arrowhead shaped t-patch that rests on our left shoulders. Well, at least I’m able to write this letter to Irene outside in the sunshine without interruption from the other guys in the division. Sometimes these guys tease me for writing this gal so often, but I have a good feeling about her. Ralph Bono was the harshest of the guys. He is from Greenburg, Pennsylvania. He is always giving me a rough time, saying, “why would a beautiful gal like Irene be interested in a sorry Pollock like you?” as he coughed under his breath because he knew that Irene and I are two peas in a pod. Then there is Francis Kraft, from New York City, the city slicker that always has a story to tell about getting into some type of trouble with a pretty dame.



 Back to that letter now,  “Dear Irene, we are in a pleasant countryside village now. The boys and I are just enjoying some sunshine in the cool crisp winter air; it’s nice to feel the sun on your face once and while. We just got relieved from our latest action on the front lines. We made another beachhead at Salerno and fought our way to Foggia. Finally, we caught a break, and someone at battalion said “Hey, let’s give those t-patchers a rest, and let some other poor son of gun push the Germans back towards Rome.” So the guys are in high spirits as we shoot the breeze instead of Germans for a change. I hope all is well back in Grand Rapids. Hopefully, you are staying out of trouble and not taking rides home with strangers anymore. Take care and God Bless!  Faithfully yours,  John R. Godlewski.”



Just as I finish addressing Irene’s letter, I hear our sergeant call out, “Yo t-patchers, grab your gear, the 36th is moving out!” “Are kidding me?” I said to myself. We’re just getting accustom to hot chow and warm beds! I grab my gear, throw it onto a deuce and half truck, and sat down to enjoy the ride along these meandering and rugged Italian roads. After several hours and a sore backside, we arrive at the foot of some mountain called Monte Cassino. Francis is already saying, “I heard there is an actual casino on top of Monte Cassino.” Of course, being the good Catholic boy of the group, I let Francis and the boys know that the only thing at the top of that mountain was an abbey full of monks that don’t know how to play poker or blackjack!



 Under the cover of clouds and an approaching storm, our squad is briefed, supplied, and given orders to march up the mountain and take the abbey from the entrenched Germans up there. The Monte Cassino is of great significance to the Allies; it is the last major obstacle between the whole US 5th army and the city of Rome. If we are able to take control of the mountain, then it will be easy sailing to Rome and northern Italy. As we begin our march, Ralph mentions, “if this cloudy and rainy weather continues, you can kiss air support goodbye from those P-51 Mustang tank busters.” During the first hour of our initial march, we run into no real resistance heading up the mountain. Francis is yakking up about this gal he is writing to when all hell breaks out. Howitzer artillery shells are exploding one after another then the MG-42 machine guns open up. I drop to the ground taking cover; as I lay there on the cold wet Italian soil I can see the flash of the tracer bullets whizzing by my head.



 What I see here is the most awesome display of firepower I have ever seen; the Howitzers and MG-42s cut men down like white pine trees. Lying there on the ground, I’m looking around for the other guys in the squad. I see Ralph in front of me taking cover behind a large boulder, but I can’t see Francis. I yell to Ralph, “where’s Francis?” as we return fire towards the bursts of MG-42 fire. “I have no idea,” he says as we struggle to keep our head down and return fire. “We gotta get out of here before they over run us”, I say to Ralph. In between rifle rounds and bursts of machine gun fire, I hear a soldier crying out in pain for help. Someone in our squad is hit and needs a medic. At first, I couldn’t figure out where the moaning and cries are coming from in the chaos and fog of the firefight. Suddenly, it is clear, and his voice stood out in my mind; it was Francis. We are pinned down by machine fire and cannot find him. His cries for help slowly grow weaker and quieter as a second squad comes up from the rear to provide us some suppressing fire. Our sergeant shouts to the squad, “pull back and make your way down the mountain.” “We can’t go now; we gotta find Francis. He’s wounded!” I declare to our sergeant. “Pull back now John, that’s an order”, he shouts. We have no other choice; we have to pull back or we’ll be killed or captured.



As we head down that mountain, the only thing running through my mind is Francis up there. His voice is still ringing in my head as we reach the assembly area at the foot of the mountain. It tears you up inside, and there is nothing you can do to relieve the pain and anguish you feel. I start digging a fox hole in that hard, cold, rocky soil. Ralph sits there, staring blankly toward the mountain. As I dig, I hear the faint sound of planes in the distance, and looking up, we could see the streams from the B-24 Mitchells heading northward towards mountain. Ralph and I sat in our fox holes watching silently as the bombers set the mountain on fire.



 The sun rose today with the new hope that we will rise to the top of the mountain, and we will be one more mountain top closer to going home. With the mountain still smoking and smoldering from yesterday’s bombardment, we are given orders to take the mountain once again. Ralph and I grab additional ammo and move out with the rest of the squad. We didn’t get too far before we hit the German line. It starts with the Howitzer shells exploding all around us, then the MG-42s open up with deadly precision. As we look for cover, I hear Ralph shouting “those son of guns are popping up like daisies.” I reply saying, “what were those bombers hitting yesterday?” The firefight mirrors the previous attempt to take the mountain, and it ends with us pulling back to our original positions at the base of the mountain. Ralph and I stand, now staring at the mountain, “how many times are we going to do this?” Ralph says to me. “Don’t know, but we better get some reinforcements, or there will be nothing left of the 36th” I reply.



 Three months of painful hard bloody fighting continue until we finally beat those Germans off that mountain. I don’t think anyone will ever know what it takes to seize that mountain. We are throwing everything we have at the Germans at Monte Cassino, and they return with everyone they have too. No one expects this battle to wage on for long; it is taking a toll on us boys in the 36th. Not a day goes by without me hearing Francis’s cries for help, and that is something I will carry with me forever. Just before we finally capture Monte Cassino, I ask the Lord “if somehow you allow me to make it through this bloody war, I promise I will live my remaining years on earth in peace.” I hope that I will be able to see an end to this war; then I’ll be able to see Irene and begin that peaceful life without war.



 Now it is time for me to write Irene again, and to get lost in the pleasant thoughts of spring time along the banks of the Grand River.  “Dear Irene, it's spring time in Italy. It isn’t like spring back in Michigan, but it sure beats those cold wintry nights we had earlier this year. I never knew that it could get so cold in Italy until we moved into the mountains south of Rome. I hope all is fine with you. How is your job at the American Seating Company going? Hope you’re not working the 3rd shift late at night! Things over here couldn’t be finer; we finally broke the backs of the Germans, and we have an open flat road ahead of us to Rome. I think the tide of the war is shifting in our favor! Well, the boys and I are on the move once again, so I’ll say good bye now. Take care and God Bless!  Faithfully yours,  John R. Godlewski.”