Italy 1943-45

In the latter part of 1944, our battalion of anti-aircraft guns and radar was deployed to secure the city of Firenze (Florence), Italy. My medical detachment headquarters unit was very comfortably ensconced in the home of a wealthy fascist. Scuttlebutt had it that this house belonged to some countess. I recall, vaguely, that a very slim but well dressed women smoking a cigarette in a long stem-holder appeared one day. She spoke Italian to one of our men and was never seen again.

Our Colonel took over Count Ciano's (Mussolini's son-in-law) home for his battalion headquarters. It had been used for the same purpose by an infantry division's general staff and was about one block south of my first aid station. All very wealthy Italians were Fascists (or so we assumed), and fearing possible adverse treatment, took their personal belongings and fled before the Allied Forces.

We were delighted to find that we had hot running water and a large ornate bathtub in the Countess's bathroom. Obviously, every one wanted to take a hot bath. None of us had showered or taken a real bath in several months. It did not seem to matter because we virtually all smelled the same. Besides, the cold Italian mountain air was not especially conducive to bathing outdoors.

Of course, as Captain, the first tub was filled for me. Sgt. Pezzula was next. I tested the temperature of the water and found it to be just right. Anticipating this delightful indulgence, I eased myself gracefully into the warm tub, and probably exclaimed a few “Ahs” and “Woos” - and promptly lost consciousness.

Fortunately, Sergeant Pezzula pulled me out and slapped me on the back until I regained consciousness. He held me above the water line. It was frightening. The reason for the loss of consciousness was the sudden drop in blood pressure with the loss of blood circulating to the brain. The blood vessels of the skin dilated in the hot water and pooled all the blood to the surface of my body. For months, we had become acclimated to the cold Italian mountainous climate. This unexpected but normal physiology should have been anticipated. Well, subsequently the men took their hot baths more slowly and with caution.

Getting back to the war, our battalion was not very busy shooting down enemy aircraft. The Luftwaffe had practically disappeared. Not that any of us were unhappy about that. Apparently, in the latter part of 1944, the residual German Air Force was occupied fighting the allies in the Scandinavian countries and Germany, and the counter-attacking Russians. The destruction of their factories by the Allied bombers had also decreased the number of enemy aircraft being produced.

Therefore, we were quite contented living in this beautiful historic city, as we followed the progress of the American and Allied divisions on our maps. We drank toasts to the fighting division commanders at mess in the evening and visited the sights or shops of Florence during the daytime. Our guns, men and radar were always at the ready.

I continued to make my rounds to the various gun sites to be certain that my first aid men were sharp and had their supplies ready for any medical emergency. It was not our fault that there were not any enemy aircraft attacking us. We were ready. The war was progressing well.

However, our colonel was not very happy because we were not in the middle of the fray. Moreover, he said so to the 5th Army headquarters people with all the stars on their shoulders. We were happy being just a small “non-moving” dot on their war maps at headquarters. I believe that it was in October or November 1944 when he came back from a fateful meeting from general headquarters and called all the officers of the battalion together after that evening mess.

We were sitting around chatting about some historic sight or shopping discovery we had made that day in Florence, when we were called to attention as he entered the room.

He happily announced that he had some great news.

Just like in the movies, he announced, “Gentlemen, we are getting back into action. Our battalion has been converted to combat engineers!”

Well, I do not know what he expected, but nobody yelled out, “Hurrah! Hurrah!” We all just side-glanced at each other and quietly sat down. With genuine excitement in his voice, the colonel continued, “Tomorrow, the quartermaster will start collecting our equipment, and the following day we will convoy to blah, blah, blah area for training, etc. etc.”

As he spoke, I came up with visions of our men being blown to hell taking out or planting land mines, building bridges for the tanks to pass over before the infantry and other heroic images that will bring medals or memorials. That is what combat engineers did for their pay.

I also had some other very personal thoughts.

A few months before, the army came out with the “point system” which limited one's service overseas. An officer or enlisted man was credited with one point for every six-month period of overseas duty. Six points or three years were required to return to the States. A gold stripe was patched to your right sleeve for every period served. I already had earned five. Therefore, I figured that I was set to go home in four months, roughly, in the early part of February 1945. Now I knew how the “Fly Boys” felt flying their last few missions. Of course, I was just a Doc, but still...

In short order, we were moved out to an engineering training area that had a small river running through it. The men of the battalion were taught how to assemble “Bailey Bridges.” These were steel bridges of considerable strength and variable length that were meant to be constructed quickly with large “erector set” -like pieces and fastened with nuts and bolts. Of paramount importance was the speed of construction, assuming of course, that construction may have to be done under enemy fire. The “combat” portion of the battalion was trained to handle heavy machine guns, mortars, bazookas, and apply infantry tactics to protect the bridge-builders. They also had communication devices to stay in touch with our artillery stationed further back.

Now it was getting close to the end of January. Our bridge-makers were becoming more proficient every day, and I was rehearsing in my daydreams what I would say to my wife whom I had not seen in three years. I had to laugh to myself when I thought of my not taking my helmet off, because I lost quite a bit of hair since I last saw her.

Then, our battalion received its first combat order.

We were to construct a bridge over a blown-out gap in an Apennine Mountain road. It was within enemy artillery range. This road led down to the German occupied city of Bologna. The 5th Army had decided to continue its advance northward to finish the conquest of ltaly. The date was February 1st or 2nd, 1945.

Since an entire company of men would be needed to work on this project in enemy territory, I brought my entire headquarters medical team and ambulances to stand by at the edge of this activity.

The small section of missing road that needed bridging was at a protruding curve in the mountain. It was neatly removed by German artillery that had zeroed in on that section of real estate. The mountain pass was useless for forward Allied progress. I opened my office for the “practice of medicine” about 100 yards this side of the gap in the road, just around the curve.

It was terribly cold. We always had a little fire going (except at night) under an overhang of the mountain. When I was not busy fixing cuts and bruises, I would sit with my back to the mountain and watch German ski troops in white cover suits skiing down the adjacent mountain. Obviously, they could see our men putting up a bridge, but they held their fire until the bridge was almost finished. Then with just three artillery salvos, they undid the day's work. Our company commander was aware of their tactics and removed the men back to safety as soon as possible after the bridge was near completion or as the light began to fade.

After sweating out three days and nights of building and re-building this bridge, the company commanding officer realized the futility of the project. All efforts at giving our Air Force exact coordinates of the location of the enemy artillery failed. We finally returned to base. Very fortunately, because of the insight of the company commander, we had no casualties. During the course of the third night we slowly returned down the mountain to our base headquarters. The fifty caliber machine gunners who were perched on a higher spot on the mountain, ahead of the mountain gap, followed as rear guard. My medical detachment was in the middle of the convoy.

When we arrived back at headquarters, my orders had been cut and readied for me to return to the States.

	I do not recall the name of this river, but we had to practice Bailey Bridge-building night and day until completion time satisfied the colonel.
		Completed practice bridge
			Old established Bailey Bridge