East Anglia — Home of U.S. Air Bases

Imagine living in the peaceful tapestry of farmland in East Anglia, in England's southeast corner. Winding roads, stone walls, sheep and cattle grazing. Buildings that are a couple hundred years old are considered new.

England is at war with Germany, and an invasion by the Germans is likely. They don’t invade, however. The Americans do.

The peaceful country quiet is shattered by the roar of thousands of engines. The vibrations of those engines caused everything is the homes to rattle and jingle. The Americans have arrived.

The yellowed-in base in the center is Ridgewell, home of the 381^st BG,

the setting I selected for my WWII series to release in 2016.

Forty-four Bomber Groups and fifteen Fighter Groups settled in, usually just three to five miles apart. On average, an American base can be found every eight miles in a province about forty miles by eighty miles, the size of Vermont. They came to East Anglia because of considerable open spaces and level terrain. Additionally, they are comparatively close to the European mainland.

The airplanes didn’t come on their own. So did thousands of young American men. They’re friendly, girl-crazy, brash and loud. Their manners are informal; they commit the social taboo of approaching strangers to chat. From a relatively young nation, they lack the history and traditions of England.

The British have been suffering from war deprivation for years, and the young Americans bring fun and liven up their dreary lives. The Americans possess never-ending supplies of chocolate, cigarettes, Coca-Cola, and chewing gum. “Got any gum, chum?”

Early in the mornings, wave after wave of four-engine bombers takes off from the midst of this farmland. In good weather, the planes take off in thirty second intervals; in bad weather, the interval is one minute. They climb heavenward in predetermined flight patterns to their assembly altitude and home in on the Bomb Group’s radio beacon. Assembly takes about an hour—a prolonged wake-up call.

With so many planes taking off in such close proximity, accidents happen. Any deviation in course, rate of climb, or airspeed can put airplanes heavily loaded with bombs and fuel on collision courses. They are flying were no air traffic control and they are under radio silence. In-flight accidents during assembly claimed five percent of aircraft lost during the war. Each bomber held nine or ten men. The wreckage all rained down on the English farmland and homes.

 

The British never forgot the young men who came to help after England had stood alone against the Axis for so long.

Memorial wreath commemorating the 70^th anniversary of

the 24 killed in a bomb loading accident,

laid by Ridgewell residents and museum volunteers.

"All the Light We Cannot See"

Here is a World War II novel that is mesmerizing. Two children: a French girl who loses her sight at age six, and a German orphan who’s a mechanical genius.

When France is occupied by the Germans, Marie-Laure’s father, a museum locksmith, takes her to Saint-Malo, to the home of his Uncle Etienne. Etienne has suffered from agoraphobia since World War I and hasn’t left his house in twenty years. Years earlier, he and his brother, Marie-Laure’s grandfather, broadcast science lessons for children on one of Etienne’s radio transmitters.

Werner and his sister Jutta heard the broadcasts in Zollverein, Germany. Their father died in the mines, and mining is all Werner can look forward to. He built the radio they listen to, and he records all the questions he has about life. After he repairs the radio of a wealthy man in town, he is “invited” to test for the National Political Institutes of Education. It is Werner’s opportunity to break free of the mining town and expand his education.

Marie-Laure’s father is called back to the museum. He leaves, and is arrested. Werner realizes his school teaches more political indoctrination than he can bear. Werner’s friend Frederick tells him, “Your problem is that you still believe you own your life.” He has to figure out he’s a mere cog in the Nazi machinery.

The story switches back and forth between the two characters, and jumps forward and backward in time. The time travel to 1944 and back to 1942 or earlier can be confusing. It seems a strange literary device to use. One thing for sure, it does not help to predict the outcome.

Throughout the novel, there is a fabulous, legendary diamond. It was removed from the museum. Did Marie-Laure’s father have it? Someone is searching for it. War isn’t the only danger.

The story details the deprived conditions of occupied France and the strictly control the Germans maintain over their own civilians. After the disappearance of Marie-Laure’s father, Etienne agrees to broadcast coded messages for the resistance. Marie-Laure is the courier.

As a German Wehrmacht soldier, Werner is sent to Saint-Malo to track radio. Yes, he and Marie-Laure meet, but the circumstances are wholly unexpected. So is the ending. I did not want it to end as it did. But this is a war story. War does terrible things.

Anthony Doerr’s prose is lyrical. Phrases like “The sea glides far below, spattered with countless chevrons of whitecaps,” pulled me in. The characters are appealing. When I had to set the book aside, my constant question was, “What’s going to happen next?”

All the Light We Cannot See is well worth reading.

Dogs of War

Dogs were active participants in World War II, many as combatants, helping their masters spot enemies, delivering messages and orders under fire, locating the wounded, or guarding against infiltrators and saboteurs. Other dogs served as mascots, an important role for morale, comic relief, and companionable friend. They served with airmen, marines, sailors, and soldiers.

A working dog and his/her handler spent 8-12 weeks training. Their jobs included: sentry duty, scout dogs, wire laying, pack and pull dogs, mine detection, messenger dogs, and sled dogs.

The top two preferred breeds were German Shepherds for their keen nose, power, courage, adaptability and trainability; and Doberman Pinschers, for their nervous energy, speed, power, keen nose, tractability and exceptional agility. Dobermans were the second most desired breed for scouting and sentry duty. Also accepted were Collies, Belgian Sheep Dogs, Eskimo, Alaskan Malamute, and Siberian Husky. The Eskimos, Malamutes, and Siberian Huskies were used for sledge or pack use only.

Chips, a German Shepherd Sentry Dog serving in Europe, was the first canine in military history to be awarded the Silver Star for heroism and Purple Heart for wounds received in combat, but his medals were revoked by the War Department because medals were meant for humans, not dogs.

The Doberman Pinscher Club of America obtained a large proportion of the dogs enrolled with the Marine Corps. The majority of the first dogs shipped overseas (the 1st War Dog Platoon) were Doberman Pinschers; the remainder were German Shepherds. For a dog to be accepted into the Corps, it had to be one to five years old, of either gender, 25 inches high, and a minimum of fifty pounds. All dogs were tested to make sure that they were not gun-shy or timid. Marine Corps dogs were confined to scout dogs and messenger dogs.

 The 3rd Marine War Dog Platoon helped liberate Guam from the Japanese. The Marine Doberman Pincers and their handlers served as sentries, messengers and scouts. Twenty-five war dogs gave their lives in the liberation of Guam and were buried there in a War Dog Cemetery with name markers.

On one night, Rex (a Doberman Pinscher) alerted to the presence of Japs in the vicinity. At daybreak, the Japanese attacked. They lost their element of surprise, because the dog had already warned of their presence. Elsewhere, Jack (another Doberman) frequently alerted on a tree near a command post. When it became light enough, a B.A.R. man shot a Japanese sniper out of the tree. This sniper could have done real damage, but thanks to Jack, the sniper was eliminated.

When hostilities ended, war dogs were returned to their civilian owners after they had undergone a complete demilitarizing process.

Conscientious Objector Wins Medal of Honor

            When I was in the Seventh-Day Adventist school system, I read an SDA-published biography about Desmond Doss, an Adventist Conscientious Objector who won the Medal of Honor. A movie is now in the works, Hackshaw Ridge, directed by Mel Gibson and starring Andrew Garfield as Doss. Who was he, and what did he do?

            Throughout his military training, he had been subjected to the ridicule and hate his fellow soldiers. He came close to being court martialed or discharged as unfit for military service.

            On May 5, 1945, he saved 100 men on Okinawa, according to an army estimate. Doss didn’t believe the number could be so high. “Couldn’t be. It couldn't have been more than 50. I wouldn’t have had the time to save 100 men.” 

In deference to him, the army split the difference when it came time to write up the citation for his Medal of Honor was written.

The citation reads:

He was a company aid man when the 1st Battalion assaulted a jagged escarpment 400 feet (120 m) high. As our troops gained the summit, a heavy concentration of artillery, mortar and machine gun fire crashed into them, inflicting approximately 75 casualties and driving the others back. Pfc. Doss refused to seek cover and remained in the fire-swept area with the many stricken, carrying all 75 casualties one-by-one to the edge of the escarpment and there lowering them on a rope-supported litter down the face of a cliff to friendly hands.

On May 2, he exposed himself to heavy rifle and mortar fire in rescuing a wounded man 200 yards (180 m) forward of the lines on the same escarpment; and 2 days later he treated 4 men who had been cut down while assaulting a strongly defended cave, advancing through a shower of grenades to within 8 yards (7.3 m) of enemy forces in a cave’s mouth, where he dressed his comrades’ wounds before making 4 separate trips under fire to evacuate them to safety.

On May 5, he unhesitatingly braved enemy shelling and small arms fire to assist an artillery officer. He applied bandages, moved his patient to a spot that offered protection from small arms fire and, while artillery and mortar shells fell close by, painstakingly administered plasma. Later that day, when an American was severely wounded by fire from a cave, Pfc. Doss crawled to him where he had fallen 25 feet (7.6 m) from the enemy position, rendered aid, and carried him 100 yards (91 m) to safety while continually exposed to enemy fire.

On May 21, in a night attack on high ground near Shuri, he remained in exposed territory while the rest of his company took cover, fearlessly risking the chance that he would be mistaken for an infiltrating Japanese and giving aid to the injured until he was himself seriously wounded in the legs by the explosion of a grenade. Rather than call another aid man from cover, he cared for his own injuries and waited 5 hours before litter bearers reached him and started carrying him to cover.

The trio was caught in an enemy tank attack and Pfc. Doss, seeing a more critically wounded man nearby, crawled off the litter; and directed the bearers to give their first attention to the other man. Awaiting the litter bearers’ return, he was again struck, by a sniper bullet while being carried off the field by a comrade, this time suffering a compound fracture of 1 arm.

With magnificent fortitude he bound a rifle stock to his shattered arm as a splint and then crawled 300 yards (270 m) over rough terrain to the aid station.

Through his outstanding bravery and unflinching determination in the face of desperately dangerous conditions Pfc. Doss saved the lives of many soldiers. His name became a symbol throughout the 77th Infantry Division for outstanding gallantry far above and beyond the call of duty.

Aboard the hospital ship off the coast of Okinawa, Doss realized he’d lost his Bible. His wife had given it to him on their wedding day. It brought him solace through months of combat at Guam, Leyte, and Okinawa. Now it was lost somewhere on the top of the Maeda Escarpment. He asked someone, “Please get word back to my men.  I’ve lost my Bible.”

On October 12, 1945, President Harry S Truman hung the Medal of Honor around the neck of Corporal Desmond T. Doss. He told him, “I would rather have this Medal than to be the President.”

He got a surprise when he returned home. His request to find his Bible had been heeded. His men, who once derided the young Christian who refused to compromise, had returned to the rocky Maeda Escarpment and searched until they found, and mailed home, Desmond's Bible.