This is one of the leading pages in “OUR DAY”, a diary from my father’s unit: 102nd Infantry Division, 405th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion, HQ Company.

 

MEDIC!

Until an Infantry outfit gets into a fight someplace, the attached medics are invariably the butt of a good percentage of the doughboy’s jokes. They were always accused of “having it easy”, because they weren’t carrying a rifle or mortar —although we knew they were riding the end of every column with ten or fifteen pounds of aid-kits. I don’t know how it all started or why these ideas persisted, but we all agree that after seeing them in combat, there is little levity pointed at them now.

Though it was something of a shock to many, we learned in battle that the medic is not altogether impervious to shrapnel and armour-piercing ammunition. It was also discovered that enemy snipers found time to put holes in their arms and legs. This business of ambling up and down the front lines with nothing but a little Red Cross arm-band for protection made a profound impression on all who saw the aid-men in action — and moreover, in our hearts is a feeling of sincere admiration and genuine gratitude for them.

But of all the wonderful qualities found in them, the way they dedicated themselves to our care is somehow the most indescribable discovery of all. In the midst of any battle, when that “personal concern” — or, should it be called fear — that creeps into every man’s being and when his thoughts revert to nothing but his individual protection, it is an awful sight to find the medics crawling through the mud looking for a fallen friend and doing “business as usual”.

It will be eternally impossible to express or repay the Medics for their incomparable service and comradship, and we will remember forever those who died caring for us.

Pvt. Flahive, Francis M., KIA at Prummern,
Germany, 22 November 1944.

T/5 Farni, Robert F., WIA at Geronweiler,
Germany, 29 November 1944, DOW, 9 December 1944

Pfc. Oliver, Bernard J., DOW, 24 February 1945