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Upstarts
I opened the door a crack and strained my ears for the sound of distant gunfire,
but all I could hear was the crackle of the fire in the stove and the sizzle of the Coleman
lantern. The frigid blast of outside air made me close the door hastily, but the drop in
room temperature helped keep us awake.
At 0200 (2:00 a.m.) we still had not heard anything. We were all still awake, kind
of, but my bladder was protesting all that coffee I had drunk, so I opened the door again
and stepped out into the courtyard of the farmhouse. I stood there, the cold hurting my
chest when I breathed, trying to accustom my eyes to the velvety black of the night. I was
tempted to go no farther, but to do my business right there on the ground and get back
inside quickly. But that wouldn't have been sanitary. Or aesthetic. I knew where the
latrine was, not forty steps away, and I prided myself on my ability to find my way in the
dark. Already I could distinguish the darker blobs in the courtyard that I knew were
vehicles. So I stepped out, slowly and cautiously, across the icy yard. I got to the latrine,
accomplished my purpose, and started back, still moving deliberately.
Four steps short of the door to the house, I was stopped by an excruciating pain in
my left eye, accompanied by a flash like a Roman candle. I had caught the pointed tip of
an anti-decapitator in the center of my eyeball. Later I found that it was lucky I had been
moving so slowly, for it might have pierced the cornea and blinded me permanently.
However, I was in no mood to be grateful right then. Holding my hand over the injured
eye, I managed to get back indoors, and even recovered enough to help with the firing at
daybreak, when the enemy suddenly discovered our troops on the objective, and all hell
broke loose.
We fired enough to make up for the night's waiting, helping to break up the
enemy counterattacks, and our two infantry battalions were able to hold the position. The
weird attack was a resounding success, and General Bixby did not have to justify any
lack of artillery support.
However, I was not around to celebrate. I went on sick call after breakfast. Doc
Davis looked at my eye, gave me hell for not waking him up when it happened, and put
me in the ambulance.
I don't remember any of the details - I suspect he gave me something for the pain
which knocked me out - but I have a vague impression of being at the Division clearing
station, being put into another ambulance along with a lot of men suffering from trench
foot or frostbite, and being unloaded at the field hospital.
I think I was there two days. The hospital was in tents, and the beds were canvas
cots, so the place was neither warm nor very comfortable. Of course they were doing
their best with what they had, and the place was jammed. They were trying to take care of
a tremendous influx of battle casualties, sending the worst cases to some hospital farther
in the rear with more adequate facilities and sending the milder ones back to duty as soon
as they could, to make room for more.
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