Reveille came early on that chilly morning of 22 November 1943. We were deep in the Apennine Mountain region of Italy. I crawled out of my bedroll and sat there gathering my bearings. The farthest peaks, although obscured by a thick morning haze, were visibly snow covered. It was an eerily beautiful mountain vista.
I stared into the distance and began to rethink the past days' battles. After landing and gaining a foothold in Sicily on 10 July 1943, we continued to fight our way up the Italian boot. In the best tradition of Canadian Infantry, we "closed with and destroyed the enemy" where and when we encountered him.
We were now at Castel di Sangro near the top of Sangro Heights. As I reflected on recent events I realized that I had not only faced my fears head on and conquered them, but I remained in awe of the manner in which each man had acquitted himself.
More in awe still, when I consider how, what had been a rag-tag bunch of civilian volunteers predominantly from Maritime Canada, had worked and trained so hard, to become a tight, well-oiled, and cohesive fighting unit. A fierce pride welled up inside me when I thought of the men under my command. In every instance, they had performed admirably, with courage, bravery, and resilience, the hallmarks of the Canadian soldier.
That is not to say we didn't suffer casualties and defeats. We did, but once blooded, we fought on with a vengeance and success. More trials would come, but my confidence in my platoon in particular, boded well for future actions against the enemy. I hoped that my leadership was worthy of their sacrifice and that it instilled a sense of confidence in them.
I forced my mind to the morning proceedings. I washed and shaved and choked down a can of bully beef. I was to attend an orders group at 0800 hours with the Operations Officer at "B" Company's command post. The rumour mill ran rampant but the morning briefing would detail the regiment's future objectives.
I felt excited as I left my bivouac area and headed to the command post but that old familiar feeling of my gut trying to digest itself reared its ugly head. That feeling was once described to me by a young lieutenant I had once met in an Officers' Mess in the small Italian seaport town of Locri.
We told the lies that soldiers tell over a few pints, but we also touched upon some real truths, truths that only men who have seen combat discuss when they choose to talk of such things. We had each alluded to our fear before an operation and he had likened his to a worm eating its way into his innermost being. I thought again how that was such an apt description as I struggled to control the fear and anxiety welling up inside me now. I had seen it before and expected to see it many times again before this was over.
Touching tribute Mike....you did a great job...you are really proud of your Uncle, but he would be just as proud of you....