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Upstarts
How can one drive under such circumstances?
Carefully, and very, very slowly. Possibly up to 5 mph on a good wide road with bright
moonlight, but mostly much less. The windshield of the jeep was folded down over the hood and
covered with a canvas slip-cover to keep reflections from attracting the attention of enemy
aircraft, so Joe B. Davis would lean forward over the steering wheel and strain his eyes for some
sort of clue as to what was ahead. I would crouch beside him, trying to do half the looking for
him. If it was too dark, I would get out and walk ahead, carrying something white for him to
guide on. I always had to do this when we turned off the road into a field or grove, where there
might be stumps, sink-holes, or soldiers sleeping on the ground.
I never saw Joe B. Davis show any symptoms of fear except once. That was about three
weeks before the artichoke episode. One morning I was having communications problems with
the FOs and LnOs and eventually got tired of telling the Div Arty S-2 that I did not know where
our infantry was, so I got in the jeep and we drove up toward where I thought some of them
might be. We drove slowly, but did not see anyone. Having made the mistake of driving right up
to the front lines once during maneuvers, I knew not to do that again when real bullets might be
fired, so I had Joe B. Davis drive off the road and into a little grove of trees to park while I
walked on forward.
I went along the road, pausing from time to time to look over the hedgerows at either side
for signs of infantry in the adjacent fields. Nobody. Only the occasional bloated corpse of a cow
killed by artillery.
I began to feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise up to help me look. I had been lonely
before in my lifetime, but never quite that lonely. I wanted to see some human figure, hear some
human voice. At that point even a German voice might have been welcome.
Then, looking over a hedgerow, I saw another hedgerow off to my left, at the far end of a
sizable field, and a helmet bobbing along above it. Then I saw more helmets along the same
hedgerow. They looked like American helmets, but at that distance they could have been
German; the silhouettes are similar.
My map said there was another road over there, parallel to the one I was on. By now I
was sure those were GI helmets, and I considered crossing the field to join them. Then I
reconsidered. They might not recognize my
helmet. And besides, I knew by now that many of
those innocent-looking fields were covered by German machine guns or seeded with German
mines. I had better get over to that road some other way.
I walked back to the jeep, half-expecting to find Joe B. Davis snatching a nap while he
could. But he was up and standing near the jeep, holding his carbine in both hands, moving his
head from side to side like a bluejay. His actions exactly mirrored my own feelings. I knew how
glad he was to see me - perhaps as glad as I was to see him!
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