Axel Boilesen and World War II

 

By Axel Boilesen, December 1996

Several months ago while visiting at our friend Dorothy McVicker's home she and Betty suggested that I write a brief account about my military service. This is an attempt to fulfill that request.

I have avoided thinking about or talking about that 2 years, 3 1/2 month period of my life largely because of its lack of realism, its lack of clarity in some respects, and ultra-clear memories and emotions in other respects.

At the time of my entry in the military I had an agricultural deferment to operate the farm. I do not remember the decision making process connected with the deferment - -but I'm certain it was never discussed. All I do remember is one morrning when finishing the milking I turned to my Dad and said "I want to join the Army" to which he replied "Son, I am not surprised. When would you like to sign up?" I told him "today would be fine."

Pop, Axel and Mom

 

When I look back at it 50 years later the briefness of that decision and the lack of my mother's involvment is strange. She had the most to lose by my going to war but I had no thought but that she would support my decision.

 

Axel holding nephew and niece Russell and Leila Stevens on the Sunday before going into the Army.

 

Camp Roberts, California

My military dream was to fly a P-38 which occasionally we would see fly over and so when I volunteered I indicated a preference for the Army Air Corp. Upon taking my physical I was told my depth of perception eye test would not allow me to ever be a pilot and I was sent to basic training at Camp Roberts, California in the Field Artillery branch of the Army.

 

 

As I reflect back this was a big change for someone who had been spending 10 hours a day doing field work and essentially isolated a majority of the time.

Two examples illustrate the change. First, at the induction station at Fort Crook on that first night, cots were set up for hundreds of recruits in one large room. At the time of lights out we were told in very descriptive language who we were, our family lineage and a few threats if we did not follow orders. It was not a "Good night, John-Boy" closing for the day. The second example was more shocking and was a regular pay-day ritual. Imagine the requirement for all to assemble totally buck naked in one large room and pass the medical review team one by one (apparently for the purpose of checking for venereal disease.) The saying as I remember it was "Eyes right, foreskins tight and assholes to the rear."

The change in privacy was never questioned but did require adjustments. Regarding basic training, in retrospect, I have very positive feelings. When inducted my weight was listed at 150 pounds and height 6' 0". At Camp Roberts the barracks were single story frame structures each housing 50 to 60 men. We had single bunk beds and a foot locker at the toe of the bed. Inspections were scheduled and unscheduled and we soon learned that demerits were a common occurrence, but generally reasonable.

A Sergent Thompson, from the midwest, was our platoon leader and was a gentleman I respected. Looking back I must have been more quiet and reticent than the average because I do not recall close friendships or bonds in basic training, or for that matter all through my military service. Sure, I had a lot of temporary friends that I liked to be with, but realizing I was in a replacement category much of my military service, unconsciously, I believe, I avoided developing really close friendships. Who knows, it may have been for the best in the prevention of heartaches later on.

 

Basic Training, Field Artillery

Back to basic training - the physical training was demanding but I was used to hard work and kept up quite well except for some of the calisthenics, wall climbing and gymnastic skills. The forced marches, river runs and endurance tests were activities that I could feel improvement in week by week.

The artillery training was with 105mm howitzers and the commands proceeded as follows: Battery adjust (which was to get at your position); Shell H.E. (which was of the high explosive type, other types of shells included incendiary or smoke shells); Charge 5 (which indictated the number of packets of powder in bags); Fuse quick (or it may be a delay fuse or other time setting); Based Deflection "X" degrees right or left (which was a reference to the back setting of the range pole set up in the original alignment); Up or Down "X" degrees (which was reference to the level setting on the howitzer instrument mechanism); Followed by the command to fire one round or more. At each command a crew member had specific responsibilities regarding the preparation and loading of the shell, inserting the powder, closing the breach block, adjusting the alignment and elevation of the barrel and finally the pulling of the lanyard to fire the round.

I do not remember the weight of the 105mm shells but in Europe we had 155mm artillery pieces which each shell weighed about 95 pounds. They were more modern than what was used in basic training but were similar in function and were pulled by half-track power units. The range was in the vicinity of 3 miles to 12 miles and therefore were not intended for direct fire combat. The limited mobility and lack of armor protection placed the artillery in more of a supporting role.

Basic training included getting a knowledge of the equipment, practice in the operation but very limited use of live ammunition. Our training in the use of the carbine allowed for more actual firing on the range and I was proud to get an "Expert" scoring. Other memorable duties included K-P, latrine duty, guard duty and picking up cigarette butts. I remember a 3 day stretch of K-P duty for getting in a half-hour late from a pass. The potato peeling, pan washing, etc., was not so bad but I detested the requirement of rewashing the windows or looking busy when there was nothing more to do.

One of the things I especially enjoyed about basic training was going to the P-X each evening and buying a pint of ice cream. This was a tradition among several of my friends and it was part of my body and health training.

An unpleasant memory in basic was the witnessing of a senseless beating in a chow line outside the mess hall. I have no idea what prompted it but someone talked back to a bully type soldier, who thought he was king of the camp and he literally beat him up with non one interfering. With my rural upbringing this behavior bothered me greatly. I now realize this would not be unusual today but at the time, even in an army camp, it was a rare occurrence.

In summary regarding my basic training it was a positive experience and I feel the mission was accomplished. I came out of it probably in the best physical condition of my life, my hair was curly, I weighed about 180 pounds and I was proud to come home to see Betty and my family.

 

Fort Mead, Maryland

All travel between camps in the States was by train and in some cases the entire passenger car would be reserved for military personnel.

My next assignment was to report to Fort Mead, Maryland, where I spent 3 or 4 months. Part of the time was devoted to infantry training and more to the unloading of bombs and ammunition from railroad cars to be placed in ships for shipment overseas. Another activity I remember was the repeated checking of our clothes, gas mask, mess gear, blankets, duffel bag, etc., on the open parade ground in preparation for shipment overseas. The only reasoning I can see for this was an a drill for following orders and not questioning assignments regardless of how unimportant these orders might be. I do not think it would be an exaggeration to say we did this 40 or 50 times in a two month period.

 

Off to England

On May 11, 1944 we boarded a troop ship USS America with over 5000 on board and landed in England 10 days later. I was placed in a replacement camp with no information regarding where or what type of unit I would be assigned to. Training consisted of long marches, bayonet drills, and whatever could be done without the benefit of artillery hardware. Air raid sirens frequently sounded but no bombing or strafing ever occurred at the camp.

During the early morning hours and all during D-Day June 6, 1944, American bombers and fighter planes filled the sky leaving England and returning from Normandy. We knew the invasion had taken place but reports were sketchy.

Photo postcard sent from France

 

France, August 1944

Replacements were coming in and leaving daily and it became a wait-wait exercise. After about 60 days of this a notice came out asking for volunteers in the paratroop corps. A friend of mine and I decided we would sign up which was strange considering I had never been in a plane. Before anything could be acted on we were ordered to move out and were loaded on a ship to cross the English Channel and as we approached the coast of France we were lowered to landing crafts and upon landing on Utah Beach were loaded on trucks and taken to our individual companies.

I became a part of the 945th Field Artillery Battalion in the Third Army but at what location I will never know. For years after the war I felt critical about the army's lack of information to the troops regarding location and missions. It was as though, be where we want you to be, go where ordered and do what you are told to do - no questions asked. Looking back there may have been some of this but I realize now much of that was by necessity -- assembly beyond your own individual squad was rare -- and I certainly could have been more inquisitive and assertive in finding out this information. It apparently was not that important to me at that time.

 

The Reality of War

Very soon after joining the 945th I found out what war was all about and it has haunted me over the years. I do not know if I can express it in a meaningful manner but the emotional shock was followed more dramatically in the months that followed.

It was late afternoon in a partially wooded area. Our battery of 155mm Howitzer (Rifle type) was arranged in a semi-circle pattern. There were 155mm long Toms in a similiar pattern about 1/4 miles behind us and the larger unit farther back in the distance. The details are not important but we knew that we were a part of a spearhead in progress.

At about dusk we were told there was a mess truck in the wooded area where we could pick up C-rations and K-rations along with something to drink. When I got within 100 feet of the truck there were 3 dead Germans and after looking at them as the enemy off to one side by a fence row were 3 dead Americans. The futility and realism of war suddenly came over me which was topped off, on my walk back to the fox hole I had started, by the body of another German with his eyelids wide open. I was frightened and sad that these killings had taken place only hours earlier.

During the night we would rotate our guard duty and a common function of our artillery unit was the firing of single rounds periodically called harassing fire missions.

One advantage of the artillery was that we did not have to move as long as our target was within range so we were often in one location for several days and if so we could have a hot meal. Occasionally we would be pulled back for a few days rest, regroup, and the best of all, mail-call. I was and always will be thankful to Betty and my family for the letters they wrote. The uncertainties of the war were hard on everyone and by this time, or soon after, three of my cousins had already been killed.

It must have been shortly before Thanksgiving we were told that General George Patton would be in the area. I remember seeing him riding in an open jeep, on a road several hundred yards from our artillery station, with his ivory handled pistols strapped to his side. The visit was brief and uneventful.

The rains slowed down the movement and I remember being thankful for overshoes on Thanksgiving Day. We did not have sleeping bags but would fabricate one with wool blankets and pup tent canvas and twine. Everyone was in the same boat and I don't recall any serious complaining. If we were in one place long enough we would receive copies of the Stars and Stripes.

 

The Battle of the Bulge

The Battle of the Bulge took place from December 16, 1944 through January 31, 1945. Our unit was located somewhere near Metz when we got word of heavy losses in the area of Bastogne.

We were loaded in half-tracks when the company commander told us replacements were needed in the Armored infantry and he proceeded to read off names of all those being reassigned. One of those called was seated next to me and he broke down crying. I asked if it would be okay for me to take his place which was immediately done. I often wondered what happened to him and he has probably wondered the same about me. I knew nothing about him except that I thought he was much younger.

Axel's writing on the back of the picture: "Scheider & myself with a small pup. June 11, 1945 Burgel Germany"

 

We were told we would receive a couple weeks of infantry training but within three days were on the front line with the 6th Armored Division, had switched our carbines for M-1 rifles, hand grenades and had thrown away our gas masks. I remember one of the three days in route was Christmas Day 1944 and we were served a nice dinner at Metz.

Axel's writing on the back of the picture: "Myself with trusty M1 and our squads track named Christine by the driver from Missouri. Picture taken June 11, 1945. Pretty blurred but I'll send it anyway."

 

 

Another haunting memory that has stayed with me includes visions of the destruction and loss of lives in the Bastonge area. Strafing, mortar shelling, and tank battles were still taking place but fortunately the main carnage was about over when I got there. The memory I mentioned was seeing open rack trucks loaded with frozen bodies piled like cord wood hauling them away and the disgusting scene of seeing our own tanks going out of their way to run over the bodies of Germans. I am sure there were many areas of the war where masses of military equipment were destroyed but this was the most I had witnessed.

The armored infantry troops moved either by half-track armored personnel carriers or by walking. These troops were generally accompanied by or preceded by tanks. I remember some night moves in wooded areas that seemed to take all night. We held on to the soldier's ammunition belt ahead of us and on some occasions the line would be broken and it may be minutes or hours before the line would be connected again to advance further. Naturally there was no talking or verbal commands. Our stay in the Battle of the Bulge was perhaps three weeks, the most frightening for me I believe was outpost duty when alone and having to challenge or report any sightings. Compared with the regular infantry we had the luxury of tank support in almost all instances.

Our Division crossed the Roer river on a pontoon bridge built by the Engineers Corps and several weeks later crossed the Rhine a the city of Mainz after two days on the west bank. After crossing the Rhine resistance was intermittent and risk taking was high to make rapid advances. I saw tanks destroyed by the German 88mm Panzers that air support or other strrategies may have avoided. This is speculative as I did not know the big picture but my sense was that miles advanced per day took on too much importance.

 

Off to Hospital

In April I became ill with acute hepatitis. The airport at Frankfort was now under American control and they flew me and many others by DC-3 to Hospital between Paris and Versailles. My first plane ride was on a stretcher. My eyes and face had a yellow cast and one of the the first things the doctor did was cut off my high school class ring as I had an infection from a minor cut. He inserted a flat rubber strip through the tip of my finger to act as a drain. A day or so after I entered hospital the news came that Franklin D. Roosevel had died and that was April 12, 1945.

 

Back to my Company

On the day the European war was over, May 7, 1945 I was able to get a pass to go to Paris and within a short time I started my trip back to my company. Travel was by train and for much of the distance wooden box cars were used (called 40 and 8s, supposedly for 40 men or 8 horses during WWI). I was reminded of those recently when seeing the movie "Schindler's List". Some of the time we would take turns riding on top and for the final leg of the trip we were picked up by trucks and routed to the various units.

 

Paris snapshot, May 7 1945

 

A familiar face - My neighbor from Cotesfield, Nebraska

A nice surprise was in store for me just before being picked up by the company trucks to return to my unit. While going through the chow line a familiar voice said "Hello neighbor." It was Leonard Vlach who had been our neighbor on the farm and he was the first and only familiar face I saw while in the military. Leonard was the last person I would guess to end up as a cook in the army. We met in the evening while he was baking pineapple upside-down sheet cake and I stayed there two or three days which was nice.

When I arrived back at the Sixth Armored Division we were in a part of old Poland and it was there that I saw the first Russian troops. Before going to hospital I had been acting squad leader for several weeks and during my absence they had filled that position with a corporal and awarded him a bronze star medal. This was alittle disappointing to me as I would have liked to have had the promotion.

 

 

During our stay at this location, we were relatively close to one of the Death Camps and one day anyone who wanted to visit could go. For some reason I declined and although I often regretted not going, the decision not to go was probably for the best.

 

Home to the U.S.

We soon made our way back to the coast of France and after weeks of counting points and listening to rumors of whether or not we would be sent to the Pacific, we were loaded on a French Liberty Ship and were headed on a 14 day journey to the United States. The bad part about the trip was that it was overloaded with troops. You could hardly turn over because of the way the bunks were stacked and the weather was bad resulting in sea sickness for several days.

The good things about the trip were that we were going home and the song being sung when we left the US "Over there, Over there, You won't be back till it's over, over there" could be erased. Also, there were quiet times when the porpoises would follow the ship in formation with great sunsets; and you can imagine the excitement when the announcement was made that the atomic bomb and been dropped and a couple of days later that the Japanese had surrendered. I can still remember the relief that the was actually over.

When we arrived in New York on August 14, 1945 and sailed past the Statue of Liberty, there was a band greeting our return. Everyone possible was on the top deck and on the port side of the ship causing it to list. The French Captain announced over the loud speaker in broken English, "Please move to the other side of the ship, it is extremely dangerous" and enough people moved to reduce the tilting effect.

August 14, 1945

 

We were all given about 30 days leave which was great. For the balance of my military time I was in a camp in Texas guarding prisoners two hours on and four hours off round the clock. This continued for about three months until my discharge at Camp Fannin, Texas on December 20, 1945.

 

Army Discharge, December 20, 1945

My discharge lists my organization as Co. C 9th Armored Infantry Bn. 6th Armored Division. Battles and campaigns included the Ardennes, Rhineland, Central Europe GO33, WD45. Decorations and citations include the Combat Infantryman Badge, American Theatre Campaign Medal, EAME Campaign Medal with 3 bronze-stars, World War II Victory Medal and Good Conduct Medal plus bronze star medals.

Taking the time to sit down and write this has helped me put a number of things in perspective. Two and half years out of a lifetime seems like an insignificant amount but to many their military time has become the most important facet of their lives.

Fortunately, it does not carry this importance to me but it did teach me to value life more dearly, to appreciate the comforts of a warm house and a good bed, and perhaps even more the love of Betty and our family.

Reminiscing causes me to think again of parents and the hours of worry and prayer they must have felt during the war. I feel certain they knew this concern was appreciated but it would have been nice to have told them so. As a parent now I can only imagine how I would feel.

Before leaving Germany I had a large Nazi flag that I had picked up going through homes near the Rhine river. I sent it home and was told later that when my mother received it she promptly burned it in the trash barrel in the back yard. I never asked her about it and she never mentioned it but looking back it was not a very considerate thing for me to send. Knowing my mother there was no debate in her mind about what action to take.

Axel holding Leila and Russell with niece Janice Boilesen on his shoulders at his parent's Cotesfield farm

 

I could have been more descriptive in elaborating on strafing, artillery and mortar attacks which were the more serious threats on my life. Fortunately, I was never involved in hand to hand combat. I was never in a position of having to be a hero but am proud to have always followed orders.

The military has taken serious criticism over the years and I may have been a party to some of this but when I think of what our country built up to resist the Germans and Japanese forces in World War II I am amazed. Just the logistics of these operations in so many parts of the world and so far away form the U.S. is unbelievable (and without a computer in every foxhole which some would believe is necessary today).

Without sounding overly patriotic I have to conclude that I am proud of my military service but will always loathe the idea of war.

 

 

Axel's cousin Dwain R. Rasmussen on left next to Axel while both were on leave in Cotesfield prior to their deployments in Europe. Dwain's B-17 went down in the English Channel on January 9, 1945. He was S/Sgt 385th Bombardment Group 551st Squad 8th Air Force England and flew over 25 missions. Dwain was the son of Rasmus Jensen Rasmussen and Axelina Boilesen Rasmussen.

 

Dwain Rasmussen Draft Card Registration - Dwain's number called up in October 1942

 

 

Axel Boilesen Draft Card Registration

 

 

Axel's cousin Eudell R. Nielsen (b. June 2, 1922) was killed in action in Italy on November 4, 1943. Pfc. Nielsen was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Ray Nielsen. He went overseas in March 1943 with Company F, 168th Infantry, 34th Division, and was stationed in North Africa before going to Italy. Eudell's mother Josephine A. Jensen Nielsen (b. Dannevirke, NE August 25, 1898) was the sister of Axel's mother.

 

 

Howard County Herald, December 8, 1943

 

 

V-Mail sent to parents May 23, 1944 prior to joining the 945th Field Artillery Battalion of the Third Army in France.