How We Won The War
or,Ya Gotta be kiddin'! You Got Away with That?!
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
I SCRAPED BY…ALMOST NAKED! Prior to being transferred to the infantry I was in the Air Corps stationed at Peyote, Texas at the Rattlesnake Army Air Base. It was a dream job. Our small group processed the film generated by fighter pilots “shooting” 16mm film of B-17s and B-24s when they practiced air combat with P47s. We all wore coveralls. Being a “cool guy,” I had mine tailored so they fit well around my waist. I did not like all the flopping around that comes with coveralls! I bleached them so much that they were very light green, not the old ugly Army green! All of a sudden I am transferred to the infantry to Camp Howzey, near Paris, Texas. We went through all the regular basic training the infantry guys go through in an abbreviated form, one of which was crawling with your rifle --as we have all done --under barbed wire with explosives going off around you while machine-guns shot live ammunition with the tracers over our heads. To make matters worse, the ground was hard and full of pebbles. To make it messy for us, it was wetted down so we were crawling through mud and pebbles with bullets flying over! I did my duty, crawling perfectly and got up triumphantly with nary a scratch. My coveralls of course were caked in mud and pebbles. So, being “innovative and brilliant” I got out my trusty bayonet and began scraping the mud and the pebbles off my chest down to my crotch, and down to my thighs. To my dismay and alarm I saw I was scraping my coveralls off! I had bleached them so much to make them nice, soft and sexy, that the weakened fabric literally came off with the mud. Here I am standing there with all the guys guffawing with laughter, with one-half of my underwear showing --the front half! The two sleeves were attached at the back. The “trousers” were attached at the rear end and my chest was exposed. The captain, hearing the ruckus, came running over. He remarked with all kinds of expletives, “What the hell is wrong with you, Pefinis?” "Sir,” I explained, “Apparently my uniform fabric was very weak and it just came off.” "Damn,” he said, “I can't have you looking like that marching through these small towns. Go back with me in my jeep. You won't scare any civilians if they can't see that mess! We'll be a mockery for the whole Army. Also, take some rope and tie all the parts of those coveralls together so at least they'll stay on!” "Yes Sir!” I said. Then, to myself, “Hell, I'm going to ride back while these poor guys are going to have to march 20 miles back.” I actually did “tie one on.” I tied a lot on. Rope tied together each sleeve and the trousers. Man, I was a ropey, mud flecked mess! But, I was elated --apparently elated too much, I guess. When the captain saw my expression, he changed his mind and said, “Oh, no, I a m not going to do that Pefinis, you look too happy.” He then turned to the Sergeant and said, “Make sure when this guy goes through these towns you put a bunch of guys around him so he won't embarrass us.” Damn, I thought, I thought I had managed to “scrape” by, not having to march those 20 miles! By the time we got back to the camp, the kitchen had closed. We were ravenous --starving! But, no food --except the food I hated --stewed tomatoes, was available. Man we--I --chowed down on those delicious can't-get-enough-of-them-stewed-tomatoes! MISSION WITH A STRANGE LIEUTENANT It was Easter morning in April 1945. Someone suggested we put a flower in our helmets to celebrate which we did. We were back away from the front sort of lolling around. A new first lieutenant had just joined our company. He was with Eisenhower's headquarters at SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters American Expeditionary Forces). Lt. Big Shot was a handsome guy and he knew it. He bragged about what a tough job he had at SHAEF --yeah, we thought, “In Paris, with SHAEF, right! Now that is one tough job.” His ambition though was to get a Combat Infantry Badge which was and is today one of the most coveted medals an infantryman can earn and wear. It is about 4 inches long, about ½ inch wide, with an embossed silver rifle in a blue background. We had gotten the word out that the small hill in front of us was full of SS troupers (SS was the abbreviated way of identifying the elite guard that evolved as the “Protective Echelon” for the Nazi Party. In German SS means Schutzstaffel. Our not having been told to go there we just let them stay there. Well, Lt. Bigshot decided he wanted to become a hero. So with our flowers in our helmets he volunteered us to “wipe out those damn SS troupers.” Our Top Sergeant spoke to him in a nice way, saying that he did not think it was such a good idea. The lieutenant persisted though, so what do you do? We took off going up toward the hill. It was densely wooded. We were being quiet as hell, watching every shadow, rifles at ready. Our BAR guy, Josh, a wizened, Daniel Boone type from Kentucky, hated being in the Army and anyone in authority, particularly officers. He was, though, a good soldier whom we all respected. As we got halfway up the hill, negotiating all the trees, making almost no noise, the Lieutenant shouts out for the world to hear something like “Come out you sons-of-bitches. We're ready for you!” We looked at him like he had lost his frigging mind! Everybody dropped to the ground, the chorus of whispered words telling him to be quiet --including, “SHUT UP, Lieutenant!” He replied, saying “What's wrong with you men? I thought you were soldiers! Why are you so damn afraid? Let's go get those bastards.” Josh, our ol' Kentucky buddy, the BAR man, went right up to him and whispered, “Lieutenant, you're going to shut that F
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
Books on the shelves at book stores and libraries about war, abound with stories about people in combat being shot, killed by grenades, machine gun fire or bombs. This book is different. It tells the stories of how civilians turned warriors lived and coped in this strange, and different environment. It describes their fear yet nonchalant attitude as they went about soldiering. Most only a few years out of high school, were eager to experience this new life. Like it or not they were living in close quarters with people from different places of different attitudes and philosophies. Whether "Yankee"or "Southerner" they were part of a smorgasbord of men disciplined to act as a unit each dependent on the other for survival. The vignettes of daily life are depicted, shaving using the water from the last metal can, the rinse can in the chow line. Having to try to pee in your helmet - no time for a piss call - as the truck jostled and bounced you around as it sped toward its destination. Dieing for a cigarette so much so that one took one of the pages from a letter from home made it into a cylinder licked the edges and crammed it with leaves picked up from the ground, and lit it. Then there are the moments of living - of what takes place each day It is an Easter morning everything is very peaceful, your squad is behind the lines. Wonderful! You are lying face down in the grass on a hill top writing a letter to your folks; the sun so warm and soothing. Suddenly this reverie is shattered by the bark- like command of a Lieutenant. "Get up and move out!" "What the hell is this son-of--a-bitch yelling about?", you mutter to yourself. s. Any item there was ours to take. My watch repairer friend in civilian life ,scrounged for watches rifling thru every drawer in all the bed rooms. He acquired, "looted" hundreds of them. These are the stories.
About the Author
Charles Pefinis' experience in combat is rather strange. . Rare are the moments where he recollects terrifying moments. He came back from the war almost oblivious of those situations. For 65 years he remembered events that were either inexplicable, humorous or religious. The latter he has often said stemmed from his maternal grandmother. She was so unbelievably religious. Each summer when visiting his cousin in Birmingham they'd go to the Greek church almost every day. She could recite all the prayers even chanting the psalms. There is no doubt that her prayers saved his life on several occasions. Charles is a born salesman. As a teenager in Atlanta, he together with some friends sold football colors at the Georgia Tech games. He bought the supplies wholesale, they put together the pieces, made a framed board of old sheets and sold the heck out of them. He'd net $20 to $50 each game, $200 to $500 in today's dollars. At Tech, he excelled in marketing and sales courses.He was Corporate Branch manager for SCM Corporation in Baltimore braking many records. In 1972 he formed his own compnay NBSS Inc. and in 1984 Premium Office Products, Inc. both since acquired by large companies. . At dinner one night after we had seen the movie, "Saving Private Ryan" I asked him if his experience as a combat infantryman helped him as a salesman. "Damn right!" he said. "Nothing focusses your mind better than combat. You had to use your brain. You missed nothing! ' You were always thinking . always! Your mind played chess but with humans as pawns. Selling is a lot like that, you're always patrolling for prospects. You walk and think how to outwit and defeat your competitor how to guide your prospect and "capturing" him in as your "prisoner."