 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
Upstarts
The battalion gas officer and was in charge of that training. He passed around the
sniff sets and explained which gas smelled like geraniums, which like garlic, and which
like new mown hay. He taught them how and why to put on masks. Also that you never
put anything but the mask and its accessories into the canvas carrier, which fitted
uncomfortably under your left armpit. And particularly that the first thing you do when
someone yells "Gas!" is to hold your breath.
One day a captain with a clipboard came from Division headquarters to check on
how training was progressing. He asked the class, "What's the first thing you do when
you hear the command 'Gas!'?" and singled out a stupid-looking recruit to answer.
I relaxed. This recruit looked stupid, but he was one of the brightest. In fact, he
had been a student at West Point until he failed an advanced math course.
“Sir," he said, "You take off your helmet and hold it between your knees.
Then you reach over and unsnap your mask carrier, take out the face-piece ... "
I closed my eyes and held my breath. The man was reciting almost verbatim from
the field manual, but he was leaving out the key answer to the catch question. When I
looked again, he had progressed to the point where he was about to put the helmet back
on over the mask, when he paused and a cunning look came over his face. " ... and all the
time you're doing this," he finished, "you hold your breath."
I released my own breath. The inspector made a little mark on his check list and
turned to Fauble. "Lieutenant, you have obviously done a fine job of instructing.”
Fauble
thanked him and recommended the recruit for a three day pass.
We carried those god-forsaken masks through dozens of field exercises and
maneuvers; we cared for them, cursed them, and abused them. Before going overseas, we
were issued a newer model, which was lighter weight and more convenient to carry - but
not much. And just before the invasion we were issued detector arm bands which turned
red in the presence of poison gas - at least so we were told. The gas NCOs were also
given sticks of chalk which made a blue mark that turned red when gas was around.
Still studying the coffee-stained message about the "unconfirmed, repeat
unconfirmed report,”
I remembered the mad scramble when someone yelled "Gas!"
aboard the Frank R. Stockton, described in Chapter 1.
Then my mind raced on to the events of the night of D+5.
All three firing batteries were ashore by then, but we were still trying to dry out,
get used to combat noises, and get over being trigger-happy. Col Costain was getting us
ready to make a night move into a new position, where we could all be together and
support an attack in a new direction. We were supposed to start moving at midnight, and
about eleven o'clock (2300 hours) we got a radio message from the 343rd FA Bn. It was
in code, and something was wrong, because we couldn't decode it into anything that
made sense.
218
|
 |
|