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Lieutenant Jim Flowers and the battle for Hill 122 This is the story of Jim Flowers, a brash young lieutenant from Dallas whose courage and sacrifice helped turn the tide in one of the bloodiest battles of the Normandy campaign. Flowers' story, along with that of the battle for Hill 122, is taught to French schoolchildren. Yet it is virtually unknown in the United States. |
Chapter 20
Michael Vona's story
"Hand to hand combat." That’s me. I was hand to hand. I had a pistol at my head. And it went "click." And we fought. The guy scratched me all up. See, these things you hate to say but you’ve got to say it because you want to know. He really gave me a good wallop. Besides, I was hit with a grenade.
Now, when this guy, we started going hand to hand – after he put this pistol, that luger, but I guess he was out of ammunition – so we’re fighting; you ought to see the words I was using. He scratched me all up. Now if you want to know the language I used, I can’t say on account of my wife is here, you know what I mean? And there was a medic on this side, on the left of me. Now on that left side there were quite a few guys in holes. But I don’t know if Dzienis was there.
My buddy [Abe] Taylor, I saw him fly out of the tank. But I didn’t know whether he got hurt or not; he’s the only guy I saw come out. He was actually up in front near the wall. And then when I got hit with the grenade, that’s when we started, the guy started beating me up but then he put the pistol to my head.
Now, when I saw all these infantry guys go down, I’m saying to myself afterward, "What the hell are they doing over here?" Before we attacked, on our left hand side, how is it that nobody looked down that road? Didn’t we have reconnaissance? And we were fighting the SS I think.
So him and I, we really had it out, you ought to have seen the words I was using. But that pistol, when that didn’t go off, I grabbed ahold of him, and he was scratching me. And I was whacking him. I’m hollering, "Shoot the son" … you know, SOB and all that crap, "F" and all those words.
[Clarence] Morrison was the driver. I was the assistant driver. I used to drive heavy equipment when I was a civilian. I would drive the tank some of the time.
I used to play the harmonica. I mean, you can laugh it off at times, but it’s hard, it’s there all the time, I don’t care what anybody says.
I don’t know who shot the German. There was a medic there, it could have been him. But I saw a bunch of guys – later on, as darkness came – there were Germans walking up and down. Now, the guy that I was fighting with, he’s on top of me; I jumped in a hole and I pulled him in the hole on top of me. Morrison was in a corner of the hole; he was hurt in the eye. I talked to him and he was all right, and I was smoking, with the German over me. He was still alive. He was still groaning. I thought later I should have given him his last rites.
I said, "I’ve got to see what this guy’s got." I put my hands in his pocket. I see English money. I said this bastard took it from the English. Then I waited until it got dark. I said, "Morrison, we’ve got to get out of here." Because I saw these guys walking back and forth … but we had a cover over the foxhole.
I got his luger, and I’m looking for ammunition; he hasn’t got anything. All he had was a bayonet. And I gave that to Morrison. I said, "Morrison, we’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to take a shot. Either we get it or we don’t." I figured he was a little shot, too. But I was shitting my pants, too, you know what I mean, like everybody else was. Then I heard somebody starting to cry. You can’t blame that, I mean.
It was [Ed] Dzienis. Dzienis was directly across from me. The poor kid, I mean I was a kid myself, I was 24. But Dzienis wasn’t a type like me. I was a runaround. Not a runaround, I was a good boy, you know what I mean, for my age. But I had more freedom I guess; he was like a mama’s boy. But he was a nice kid, believe me. So I crawled up to him. I said, "Dzienis, I can’t take you back. You stay here, they’ll probably pick you up, or I’ll try to get somebody." As we came back, the tank that was against the wall, that was Flowers’ it was still burning. I said to Morrison, "Let’s start walking toward" – I mean not walking, we’re lying down, and you’re crawling, and he’s got that bayonet – so we start hearing noises. I said, "Uh-oh. Let’s not go near there." There were a lot of people talking. There was light from the tank. Now we get to the wall. I said, "Morrison, there’s only one thing we’ve got to do. We’ve got to get over this goddamn wall." We don’t know what’s over the wall. They could shoot us. You lose direction. I thought it was the Germans on that side, too. But it wasn’t. Morrison ran into an American guy. But when he went forward, I went to the left, and I passed out, because I’d lost too much blood. That German, what a wallop he gave me in the head. And not only that, I was scratched. It took them I don’t know how many months to clean that all up. I’ve still got a hunk of steel in me from the grenade, in my chest. I’m saving that for the next war. In fact, they treated me for shock, see. And then, when I was in the hospital, I was really sick. They operated on me three times. But then, in those days they didn’t give a damn – well, that’s the way war is – they sent me back. They should never have sent me back. That’s my theory now. I don’t give a damn what anybody says. They sent me back to the line, which I didn’t belong. Here I am driving other people’s tanks. Hey, let’s face it, how much can I take? So I got sick, I said, ‘Aw, the hell with it.’ I didn’t say that, I just got sick, I thought I’m going back, I’m not gonna take it any more.
I was on a ship. No, wait a minute, before, when they sent me back to England, Jesus, I woke up, there were Germans carrying me. I said, "Where am I?" They were prisoners of war, but I thought I was captured. I was in the water. Then they put me on an LST and out I go again. Then I wake up in a special room, they had me strapped up, with another German. Then they came down, they gave me cigarettes, I was smoking them. When they took me off the ship, I was out again. I had a million tags on me. This is the God’s truth. If you saw all these tags and shots they must have given me … in fact, I got up at 8 o’clock this morning, I didn’t even shave, we had breakfast a quarter after nine. I used to shave all the time. Sometimes you look at it, you say, "Jesus," you know, it’s really funny, but it isn’t. I mean, your dad never told you, just like I never told my son.
Hey Jim, why didn’t they check on the left hand side? They should have checked more, as far as I’m concerned. Where was reconnaissance? We went into a death trap, that’s what it was. But that was the only way to stop it – you know how they do things. In other words you’re the guinea pig, you’re the small guy, you do what the big guy says, it’s like a colonel stopped me one day and he asked me, we had coveralls, we had different uniforms than the infantry, so I had coveralls and I had no helmet. So we’re walking up the hill, we’re fooling around, I’m looking for the kitchen, I’m hungry, I’m sick and tired of eating K rations – when you went to the bathroom you were pooping nails, you know what I mean? Spikes. This colonel stopped us, and he wanted to know where was the helmet. He wanted our name. He said, "You know, I could send you to jail."
He said, "Where’s your dog tag?"
I said, "I’m Jewish. I’m not gonna wear a dogtag. If you want to take us to jail, you can." The hell, I get out [of combat], right?
It happened that there were a couple of 88s, but when you hear them, you’re safe. It’s when you don’t hear them. So the colonel and his driver hear them. He turns the jeep around so fast and he took off. And here I was sitting on the ground – rather it was a dirt road – laughing like a sonofagun. I told him I was Jewish; I wasn’t, I was Italian.
Abe [Taylor] lived right here, fifteen, twenty minutes away, in Warren. I was ashamed to go see his parents, honestly. I felt bad to say I saw their son, you know what I mean? I didn’t actually see him on the ground or anything like that.
I was 21 when I went in. They caught me right away. I know the guy, too, that put me in. I wanted to choke him. I knew him very well.
I got married in 1946. I’ve got a son, he’ll be 49 next week.
I knew Anna before the war, we had known each other, what, seven years? I didn’t want to get married [before I went in], suppose something happens to me, it isn’t right. Like [Kenneth] Titman, he was married, oh, he was worried, he told me.
Titman was always quiet, and he was always by himself. He was worrying about his wife, I guess, and kids. I don’t know how many kids he had, though. Just like [Paul] Farrell. I know Farrell had one.
New England was all mills, they made shoes, all the wool for these factories. I had a chauffeur’s license. I used to drive 18-wheelers. I used to drive a chain drive, see, you don’t remember those things. I could drive an 18-wheel or anything, in those days they had canvas trailers. Then your dump trucks, you take the Sterling, that was just like a tank, you could hit anything and you wouldn’t even get a scratch. That’s the way they made them in those days.
My dad grew up in Hoboken, right across the street from Frank Sinatra. And my grandfather’s buried in Newburgh. He was working for the railroad, him and his brother, they were working on the tracks. So as the train was coming, it sucked them right in and killed them. I didn’t know my grandfather.
When the tank was hit, Titman said something, and I just jumped out. In fact, I left my sub Thompson. I had taken my stock off, to use it as a pistol. There were 20 rounds in the clip, and I had the clips welded, in other words I had 40 rounds. I kept it in the tank, right next to me, and sonofagun I jump out without it. And I wasn’t going to go back in and get it. That’s when I got the grenade. But I didn’t feel nothing, see, you don’t feel nothing.
Morrison was driving and I was using the .30. I could see these kids and I’m shooting away like a sonofagun, and that’s when I heard the noise, that’s all. I still don’t remember hearing Titman.
I got hit by the grenade as soon as I got out. I didn’t see it, but it probably exploded ten or thirteen feet from me. I don’t know what kind of grenade it was. When they took the steel out of me it was like razor blades. But most of the shrapnel came out okay. The only thing, they were worrying about my face where he scratched the hell out of me. But I’m lucky, when he put the pistol to my head – oh, wait a minute – he puts the pistol, and I grab ahold of him, but it clicks. So I’m fighting and I’m swearing, he was scratching me, and I’ve got him by the neck. I’ve got one hand trying to hold where the pistol was, and I’ve got him by the neck – as small as I was, I was 129 pounds, but he wasn’t that much bigger. He had a helmet on, but I think it came off because we were fighting. I don’t remember if he had blond hair, black hair, blue eyes, or purple hair. I figured I wasn’t gonna last anyway. That’s the way you think. But I was surprised to see Morrison there.
I said, "Morrison?" He didn’t say a word. So I started to talk to him afterwards. Then I got this damn German down. I said, "I’ll get you, you sonofabitch, and you’ll stay right on top of me." Because afterwards, they were coming back up and down, and they were shooting. I don’t know how they missed the kid from Worcester, like I said, he was crying.
Before we went, Abe said to me, "Mickey, saddle up. This is it." And I said in Italian, "Oom-gatz, saddle up." I hung out with certain guys. You didn’t know all of the platoon, because you didn’t hang out with them. Just like the first 25 miles in basic training, I carried the company flag. I got a pass for that. I said to [Frank] Perry, "Come on, Frank, let’s go," boom, we went to Phenix City, we were shooting pool. Oh, Jeez, they had kids over there, 12-year-old prostitutes. They were paying all the churches off to keep their mouth shut. I went swimming bare-ass, me and Frankie, in the Mississippi River, goddamn cottonmouths over there. There are snakes. I would never sleep on the ground. We went on maneuvers in Tennessee, I slept on the top of the tank.
Hey, Jim, were you with us the day we drank prune juice on maneuvers, and we all had the runs?
It’s hard to remember, though. Sometimes it comes to you. You’ve got to remember the good and the bad.
When I was a youngster, I went to school, but I’d been out to the West, I’d been all over. I finished high school. I could have gone to college. URI was cheap in those days. There was some kind of a plan they had, for the poor like. But I wanted to go with my buddy, Haffa. Everybody had nicknames, Haffa Buck. Haffa Buck and I went as far as Billings, Montana. I went up to Yellowstone National Park, that was nice. I went by train.You get in the boxcars. Nobody bothered you. They only go five, ten miles an hour, you go through the Red River Canyon, you can just jump on it. We’d sleep just lying down on the side of the road, going into a diner or something, you work for a few days washing dishes, go to the Salvation Army. You’d find ways.
When you’d go out in the West those days, they all carried guns. They’d kill you. I went into a drugstore and it says, "No Indians, no blacks" – being Italian, I used to get tan, they threw me out. I didn’t open my mouth.
My mother was born in America. My father came here when he was only a year or a year and a half old. They went to school as far as the eighth grade. In World War I, one of my uncles on my mother’s side joins the Italian army. He gets killed. Here’s my father in the American army. Of course they didn’t know each other then.
Like I say, ask Flowers, I mean, let’s face it, why didn’t they check this stuff? This is my theory. We went in there like stoops, that’s the way I look at it. That’s the way I feel, in my heart. When I see these kids go, I mean, I could have gone, too. I’m lucky that thing he didn’t have nothing left in there. I should never have gone back because I wasn’t a well man.
He had the luger right to my temple. And it clicks. I mean, it’s no joke, you know what I mean?
I was in a private room in a general hospital, and I was in a bed, all tied up. In shock. When I woke up again, I don’t know how many times I passed out, on account of I lost all that blood. Then when I woke up on the ship, when the Germans took me there, remember, I thought they had me as their prisoner. What the hell do I know? Then I pass out again. I remember they were putting me on an LST, that’s all. There was four of them carrying me in.
After they sent me back to the outfit, I got sick. I went berserk. I got the jitters, because I had too much of it. I’d seen too much. I still get medication. And the doctors at the hospital, they knew that I’d be back, believe it or not. I stayed four months in the VA hospital when I came back again.
The VA knew I’d be back when they read my records. Because I was in shock a lot, on board ship, it had to be a hospital ship, and I was in, what do you call it, a straitjacket, I’ll be honest with you, and I’m wondering, what the heck am I doing in this thing? Then I got a guy next to me, he’s a kraut. So this girl comes in, and she gives me a package, and it’s got oranges, candy, and then there was a carton of cigarettes, guess where it’s from. Some outfit in Cleveland, an undertaker. I said, aw, you’ve got to be kidding. After that I must have passed out again. Then as they were taking me off, I passed out again. But then when I got in the general hospital, I’m in a room all by myself, and they’ve got me tied up, with all these damn things, and my arms and all that crap. Straps right across to hold me there. They had blood going into me, and they were giving me more goddamn shots. I said, "What are you doing to me?" Then once I got up they put me in a ward. They put you in tents. I was fartin’ around, I’d jump over the wall and go to a bar.
When they sent me back to the line, I remember going back on a ship, a lieutenant says, "Vona?"
I said, "Yeah."
He gave me a rifle.
I said, "What the heck am I gonna do with this?"
He says, "You’ve got to have something."
So he walked away. Plunk. I threw it away. It was bigger than me. I could never shoot a rifle. Imagine them putting me in the infantry.
Then they put me in different outfits. Like [Tony] D’Arpino, I drove for him one time. And some other guys, they were tired, I mean naturally you get tired, you get fatigued. That’s what it is. I drove for [Lieutenant Charles] Lombardi for a while.
I knew I wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to say anything. Then one day I said, "I just can’t take it," and I just laid down. I started shaking. My mind went berserk on me. I didn’t know what’s happening. See, you think of what you did before, and what you received, you know what you got. But I always regretted that I never got something better than being a Pfc. Because I did a lot. More than a lot of guys.
I even told Abe – he said, "Mike, don’t tell them I did this." He wanted to give me his dog tags. I said, "Throw the goddamn things away, will you?" He was scared, I mean. I said, "What the hell are you gonna give them to me?" He wanted to put them on me.
This was a few days before [Hill 122], because it was around where they used to kill – in other words, if you were Jewish – he was a hell of a guy, believe me, what a nice guy. It was going around, if you were Jewish, Boom, that was it. That was what they were saying. I didn’t see any of that. But you believe it, you know what I mean?
I don’t know if he did throw the dog tags away. But he was a good sergeant. He took orders, and he gave orders, nice orders, in other words, he wasn’t a bastard. He was a regular guy. He treated you as a human being. Titman, he was more of a jittery guy, and I used to kid with him, fooling around. I didn’t hang out with Morrison or the other kid. They stayed by themselves. Morrison was from Indiana, I think. And the other kid was from Connecticut. I think Bridgeport.
I go by Taylor’s neighborhood all the time, I go down to Bristol. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Bristol. That’s where they have that big parade, the Fourth of July, a lot of New York outfits come up here.
I still have nightmares. That’s why now, I sleep alone, my wife sleeps alone. With her condition and my condition, moving around. It’s unbelievable, but you live with it. You can’t cry about it. It’s hard. But I’ll go down to the VA and have some fun. Or I’ll walk, I do a lot of walking. I’ve got to start losing weight. I take blood pressure pills, hypertension.
Taylor was tall, and skinny. He was a good egg. He was good to everybody. Him and I, we used to kid each other. We could say anything, even though he was Jewish. He would call me a guinea, a wop, come on. And I could call him other things.
When his father first came here, he was a tailor, that’s how he got his name. That I remember now. It was his father, when he first came here, that’s the way he told me. Because they couldn’t talk English.
But like I said, your friends you remember, and my friends were all killed. There’s nothing I could do, but me, I’m lucky I’m alive.
To me, war is hell. You don’t know until you see it. At the beginning you think it’s a game. But once you’re in combat you throw the book away. What they taught you in the service, forget it. You’re on your own. Your officers would take their bars off. It’s true. What the heck, if they see the bars they’re gonna shoot him first. I mean, it’s no joke, they teach you one way, but then you go out there and it’s different.
Contents
Chapter 21, Myron Kiballa's story