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Harold Storey ‘43 actually graduated in December, 1942. Two years later he was in Europe involved in one of the strategic battles of World War II, The Battle of the Bulge.
Storey’s account of combat during the worst winter on record up to that time is featured in Tom Brokaw’s book, “An Album of Memories – Personal Histories from the Greatest Generation.”
Originally from Armuchee, Ga., Storey was very active at UGA serving as President of the Baptist Student Union; Vice-President of the Religious Council, Treasurer of the Economics Society and a Captain in the Army R.O.T.C. In addition to this he was a member of Alpha Tau Omega fraternity, Demosthenian, Scabbard and Blade, the V.R.A. Cabinet and the Junior Cabinet. He also made the Dean’s List.
Storey wrote to friends describing his experiences beginning in the late fall of 1944. Storey explains in Brokaw’s book that the letter, which is below, was written to partly express his gratitude for life, for his faith and for the measure of peace that he has experienced.
Storey was later hospitalized in Salisbury, England for four months. For his combat service, he was awarded the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the Silver Star, and the Purple Heart. He currently resides in Rome, GA.
Storey’s Letter
“Having finally entered and cleared out Metz about November 18, we started to a destination which we passionately dreaded – the German border and the Siegfried Line. Snow was already falling, an enemy in itself because of ease of observation as well as the difficulty of finding a warm enough place to try to sleep some. But the big thing was that we knew that the Germans would defend their border more vigorously than many of the French places during the late summer. (I think they thought their own border just couldn’t be breached.)
“On December 16 battalion and regimental senior officers came to the forward positions to find those of us who were company commanders and tell us personally that our intelligence had discovered German Panzer divisions had been amassed, apparently to attack our front or that of the Soviets. Of course we were all surprised to know they had such capability – and honestly hoped the strike would be to the East!
“That very night the Germans launched an attack which would result in the involvement of more than 600,000 American troops, the largest single battle in American history. We were just inside the German border in the Saar Valley, and during the night we got orders to climb on any vehicle headed north, destination somewhere, and see that headlights were turned on, follow the vehicles ahead, bumper to bumper. It was one of Patton’s miracles that we arrived in the middle of Luxembourg, 100 miles away, not long after dawn, slipping and sliding in deeper and deeper snow. Rumors were rampant as we were told that Germans had filtered into our ranks in American uniforms, that many of our weapons had been captured and that many atrocities were being committed.
“The next few days, cloudy and bitterly cold, were a nightmare of danger in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Casualties from artillery, tanks firing through the trees, and rifle fire, burp guns and trench foot kept depleting our ranks as were trying to push back that part of the ‘bulge.’
“It was hard to decide which was the #1 enemy – Germans or weather. Snow and low clouds impeded our movement and had prevented any support from the air. On Christmas Eve, the eighth day of these conditions, the skies became blue, and I stood by a snow-laden fir tree and thanked God that I could hear and eventually see a steady line of planes above! (Patton claimed that this was answer to his own prayers. I wonder how God filters profane prayer.) The planes kept up the next few days and apparently did enough damage to effectively turn the tide.
“Christmas Day – weather beautiful and setting idyllic, with snow on every branch of planted fir trees 10 – 15 feet all in rows with firebreak avenues every hundred yards or so. I was deeply depressed as I tried to offer some encouragement for these weary folks and we approached the forward slope of the mountain, knowing there would be good observation where the trees played out on the approach to the Sauer River, along which there were mostly damaged and abandoned bed and breakfasts and small inns. As I stood at the edge of a little road waiting for the rest of my folks to get oriented and catch up using more than one firebreak, Pfc. Castle approached me. He was a replacement medic who had endeared himself to all of us. He wanted to do anything he could – cheerfully – including trudging back a mile or so to bring 5-gallon cans of water when we got messages that water was available. This time he asked my permission to go back to where he had seen two wounded Germans, an officer and an enlisted man, and try to “fix up” their wounds. At first I told him I’d rather he not go alone, that I really should not be there alone (we tried to abide by the rule about getting separated). He indicated the direction. Said it was not far and he would hurry. I relented with great appreciation for the compassion of this young kid and felt it appropriate for Christmas. His commitment was to people, not just friends. I became more anxious for us to proceed (mid-afternoon now and darkness came very early) and one of my platoon leaders found me and asked about Castle. I told him what had transpired and said I thought I could find him. After searching down a couple of rows, I did find him. His hand was under the wounded arm of one of the two still alive Germans, and he had died from a bullet through his helmet and his head. My emotions nearly tore me apart! Of course I would shoot the squirming and begging men – as they expected. As I cocked my carbine and pointed it at the captain, I still was thinking about the day and my family and the fact there was not much celebration here. Somehow I thought that if I did survive I would never want to remember that I killed two helpless people on Christmas and would not want my family to know that I had done such a thing. It was really mostly selfish, with some compassion. And I knew it would not be a fitting tribute to the short and beautiful life Castle had lived. (I did not know where he was from and have never been able to find his family since, though just this past July I was able to get his serial number. Difficult for strangers to get family information through Army records – rightly so). We never discovered who had killed him, possibly someone hiding nearby even as I found him.
“By now we thought the war or winter would never end, troops dwindled to weakened strengths. But on January 22, it was over for me. A mortar shell hit a tree limb about 18 inches from my head, killed the two artillery people who had come to discuss the situation after we had spotted enemy movement on the next hill. We were all wearing hooded white jackets with white trousers, my face felt numb and I realized I could not hear with my right ear. I didn’t realize what my situation was until blood, delayed by the bitter cold, began dripping from my neck down onto the white clothing as I was crouched down trying to see how badly a fourth friend had been wounded in the face. Soon two people were pulling me up to give me prescribed sulfa tablets and then began dragging me toward a small track in the snow. Shortly a jeep came, I was helped into a seat and we proceeded down a steep hill. The jeep slid off the little road and stuck in the snow. It was about to get dark, and it wasn’t long until they got enough people to push and pull and get us on the way down the hill to an aid station at the little Catholic church in Diekirch.
“From there to Luxembourg City (a convent) and after a number of days and surgery to Paris in a boxcar with litters stacked three to a side, a woodstove for heat, for more surgery and a few days. The hospital in Luxembourg gave out of pajamas on the day we were taken down to the rail siding to a tent, so I traveled in bandages and very scratchy captured German blankets. (I bet none of my readers has traveled to Paris naked!) All along the way there were gentle and caring chaplains and doctors, many times asking ‘Are you afraid to die?’ I finally learned to say that I wasn’t really afraid, but that didn’t mean I wanted to!”
