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Joe B. Davis
And they did. They dug me the deepest, roomiest slit trench that I had ever seen.
Practically a bedroom. It had a timber and earth roof a foot thick. It seemed a little excessive at
the time, but it proved useful. I am a sound sleeper, but even so, nothing short of that thick,
soundproof roof would have enabled me to sleep through what the engineers later assured me
was the heaviest enemy artillery barrage of the war. Apparently that was partially true, because
next morning I found fresh fragments from 150 mm artillery shells on that roof, and was doubly
glad it had been there.
At dusk - around 2300 hours [11 p. m.] - we got a storm of fire from the tree line about a
hundred yards in front of us: rifle and burp-gun fire and the occasional cough of a mortar. The
engineers were all up and firing back with rifles, carbines, and submachine guns, so I cranked
my field telephone and directed some artillery fire at the woods. The engineers called it a
German counter-attack, but I always thought a counter-attack involved soldiers charging forward
with fixed bayonets, and on this occasion I never saw so much as a German helmet. I think it was
only a demonstration intended to conceal the fact that they were withdrawing. [Parthian shot?]
Anyhow, the engineers were impressed with the artillery fire, and after while the
"counter-attack" died down and we got a few hour's sleep before breakfast. The engineers, like
everyone else, had powdered eggs for breakfast, a poor substitute for the real thing. And on this
particular morning, T/5
Joe B. Davis had not had a chance to work his magic touch and procure
fresh eggs in the shell.
So far as I know, Joe B. Davis never learned but one word of French, and he pronounced
it "oof," but he made himself understood, especially if he had a pack of cigarettes in his hand.
Every man got an automatic issue of a carton of cigarettes a week. Joe B. Davis did not smoke at
all, and I never used more than half of my ration, so we always had good trading material,
tobacco being both expensive and hard to find in France in those days. Joe B. Davis's ability as a
procurer of eggs was one of several characteristics that made him invaluable.
Another of this good soldier's virtues was that he had a touching if unjustified confidence
in my judgment and ability - aside from my weird taste in vegetables. I know that if I had
awakened him in the middle of a dark night and said, "Let's go, Davis, we have to drive to
Berlin," he would have pulled on his boots and started up the jeep without question, except
perhaps to ask if I had enough maps to get us there or if he should take an extra can of gasoline.
He might be afraid to eat artichokes, he was intrepid when it counted. He was cool under
fire, and he was not afraid of strange roads in the dark. That was good, because we did lots of
wandering around at night, and in the combat zone, strict blackout was required. Even glowing
cigarettes had to be shielded. And vehicles had to be driven with no lights other than the little
"cat eye" lights which look like the quotation marks on a typewriter and are useful to show an
outsider that the vehicle is there, but cast no light on the surrounding terrain.
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