Attack at Anzio
My Mother and Audie Murphy ch. 12
Malaria returns and Murphy confronts “Old Army” authority
January, 1944. Simulated combat. “For three days we storm a dummy beachhead…we leap from landing craft and, falling, crawling, firing, advance upon assigned objectives.
“Then, abruptly the maneuvers cease. We are put on a strict alert, confined to the company area and, except for a final inspection of equipment, given a day of rest. We know the signs. ‘Tomorrow’ is on everybody’s lips. Chaplains hold special services. There is much letter writing. We still have no idea of our destination.”
Murphy is sick again with malaria. Refusing to complain, worried that it will seem he’s trying to avoid combat, he’s finally turned in by a man in his squad. With a temperature of 105, he’s sent to a hospital in Naples.
Then, after less than a week in hospital, Murphy is among a boatload of replacements headed for Anzio. Murphy can’t wait to rejoin his squad. He has missed the first several days of the Anzio attack.
Ignoring orders to stay in camp, he walks toward the front. In a farmhouse where the command post has been set up, he learns that several men in his squad have been killed or maimed. Just as he feared, the Nazis have devastated his group, soldiers who have become like family after surviving the hell of war together.
“As we hike inland, jeeps drawing trailerloads of corpses pass us. The bodies, stacked like wood, are covered with shelter-halves. But arms and legs bobble grotesquely over the sides of the vehicles. Evidently graves registration lacks either time or mattress covers in which to sack the bodies.”
They stop at divisional headquarters where Murphy again is confronted by “old army” authority.
“A sergeant spots me. He is a regular army man who throws his weight around plenty. He boils at the irreverence for authority on the part of wartime soldiers. I try unsuccessfully to duck him.
‘Hey, you.’
‘Speaking to me?’
‘Who do you think I’m talking to. Unload your pack. I’ve got a detail for you.’
‘Sorry Mac. I’m going up to my outfit.’
‘The hell you are. This is an order.’
‘Oh, go bury your head in the sand.’
‘In the old army — ‘
‘To hell with the old army.’
‘I’ll report you,’ he screams. ‘You’ll get the book.’
‘Report me. Then come up to the front and get me.’
‘What’s your name?’ he rages.
That is all I need to know. ‘George S Eisenhower Bradley. Rank: acting private. Serial number: one billion two and a half.’
‘Let me see your papers.’
‘Aw go to hell.’
“Slinging my carbine on my shoulder, I start up a road marked by an arrow and blue diamond, which is the code symbol of my regiment.”
That night, on the way to Cisterna, Murphy leads another reconnaissance patrol behind enemy lines. They discover that the Germans are moving tanks in. Not a good sign.
“I find (the lieutenant’s) dugout and slide in. He fastens a shelter-half over the entrance and strikes a match to a candle. Mud covers him from head to foot, and he looks as though he has not slept in a week. It is a deep hole. The bottom is sticky with ooze; water seeps in from the sides. Poles, grass, and sod form the roof. Bandoleers of cartridges and a case of grenades lie in a corner.”
Home for the foreseeable future will be a foxhole on the front lines.
Quotes are from Audie Murphy’s autobiography “To Hell and Back”
Ch. 13: https://medium.com/@tradeswomn/bivouacked-flo-arrives-in-italy-7b8ac10fdf0a
