Marvin Eskildsen’s Memories of World War II
I was drafted in March 1942 and was sent to Fort Des Moines where we were given a battery of test. We were also given the option of which branch of the service we wanted to go into. I wanted to go into the Air Corps (what it was called at that time), but did not think I could qualify, so chose mechanized Cavalry. After a few days the order came for me to report to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri for basic training. How lucky can I be – that is Air Corps! Our pay was $21.00 a month!
During the six weeks we were there, we were given more test. It was here that we had to learn how to handle a gun, like “Present Arms” and “Order Arms” except that we had no guns! We had to learn that with broomsticks. They did not have guns enough when we were there.
After we completed the basic training, all were sent to different air bases. Some went for general duty and some were already qualified for special jobs depending on what they did in civil life. The rest of us were sent to Chanute Field, Illinois to go to school for air plane mechanics. That consisted of different phases, including engines, hydraulics, electrical, propeller, etc. A few months later when we completed that, some in our class had to remain in Chanute to go to specialist schools. Some had to take engines, some propellers, etc, I had to take instrument repair, which is what I did for the rest of the war. I finished school in October 1942.
When I completed this, I was sent to Pendleton, Oregon, where I was assigned to an aircraft mobile repair squadron. We had no airplanes, just the equipment to repair for them.
The train ride thru the mountains was very impressive. The scenery was absolutely beautiful. Often you can see one end of the train, sometimes both ends at the same time. And sometimes when you look out of the window, you can look straight down for what looks like a mile. That is when you want to move across the aisle to the other side of the car where you feel more safe!
From Pendleton, we went to Pueblo, Colorado where we made wood boxes to crate all of our tools and equipment. So, we were here for only a few weeks. From Oregon we were shipped to Camp Shanks, New York. We were there for only a few days. While there one could get a one-day pass, so some of us went to see the Empire State Building and of course to the top as far as they let us. It was fun.
We left the U.S. on June 1, 1943 on the Queen Mary and arrived near Port Glasgo, Scotland on June 6. Because it was too fast to be in a convoy, it always sailed by itself. It zig-zagged all the way so that German submarines could not get it in line of fire (so they say). But I was scared on account of that long phosphorous trail it left behind, as far back as the sea met with the sky. There were so many troops on the ship that many, including me, had to stay on deck for 24 hours, then go down into a crowded cabin below and they would come up for 24 hours. There were 4 or 5 men (I do not remember) in a cabin for two. I much preferred the deck, even tho it was pretty misty most of the time. The air was fresh up there. Taking a shower was certainly not very pleasant, because it was with salt water, and you could hardly get the soap washed off. About all it did was to get rid of body odor. You never really felt clean after you finished.
When we got off the ship, there was a Scottish band waiting to march us to the train depot. Did you ever march in a bag-pipe band? We did—like a herd of cattle walking in a line.
On the evening of June 7th from there we went to a replacement depot about 20 miles north London, England, where we stayed for about three months. I went into London a few times and really liked it. However, parts of it were completely demolished by bombs. We have to keep in mind that England had already been at war with Germany since 1939, so their cities were bombed before we got there, and are still being bombed. They had several air-raid alerts during the time I was in the city. All the civilians ran to a bomb shelter or into the subway. And many of the American G.I.’s stayed out and those in the subway came out to see! It was crazy- but funny.
Apparently, there was no opening for instrument repairmen, so they sent me to a school for gyro directional indicator at an R.A.F. (Royal Air Force) base near Bristol, England. This was much different than ours, and would never work in our planes, but it was interesting to learn how it worked. I liked it there and could have stayed all thru the war! There were six Americans in that class of 12 students, none of us knew each other, as we came from different places. The others in our class were from Australia, Canada, Rhodesia. As you may expect our class discussion sometimes wondered off to other subjects.
Every morning and night we had to march in formation from our barracks to school and back. When we left the barracks, we had to form a flight on the street in front of it. So, there would be a flight for each barracks. (There are other classes there also.) The person with the highest rank has to be in charge of his flight, which means he must march them. We, Americans were placed in all different barracks – I do not know why. Anyway, I had to be the flight leader for our barracks, I was only a buck sergeant. (You know, a 3 striper) but sure wished I was a private. Anytime we march past a commissioned officer, we damm sure better call your flight to attention and salute, but if he was a non-commissioned officer, it would be very embarrassing if you did, and that was the problem—I did not know their insignias very well. The British not only expect, but demand that you respect their rank.
British sergeants do not associate with those of lower ranks as much as we do and have a mess hall of their own. So during the week we ate in style! As we go along the serving line, A WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) served food on our plates for us, then we go to a small table with a white table cloth and the silverware already set. When you finish, just get up and leave the plate on the table. But we, Americans (all were sergeants except one, but we loaned him our blouses at meal time) being more polite, took our plates back to the end of the room.
From Saturday to Monday they do not have classes, so we spent the week-end in Bristol. That city was bombed heavily. Whole blocks were completely wiped out.
Shortly after I returned from school, we were transferred to an air base about 90 miles north of London. This was an 8th Air Force Base and we had B-17 bombers. I finally got to do what I was trained for – instrument repair. Many of these planes came back with flack damage from anti-aircraft shell or German fighter planes or both. Some had only 3 engines running. It is amazing how beat up they can be and still fly. There were always a group of ambulances waiting for the return to carry the wounded and the dead crewman away. It was very sad to see, just as sad is to see an empty spot where one or more did not come back. That is about 10 men lost per plane.
In January 1944, I was transferred to the 9th A.F. in southern England, near Christchurch. They sent one man from each shop and we were the cadre for a new squadron being activated. Many nights down here the German bombers flew over us (while only a few times when I was in the 8th A.F.) The first few nights we ran into bomb shelters but after a while it begins to wear you out. Then you stay in your tent, and when they fly over you just kind of melt right down into your cot. Only once did they drop bombs near us. The flack falling back to the ground was enough to scare a person to death. They bombed either Christchurch or South Hampton nearly every night and we could feel the ground rumble.
It is here in southern England that troops and equipment were being prepared for “D-Day” when ever it might be. No wonder we are getting bombed.
After a while our equipment and men began to arrive. Many of the men had just came from the U.S. I was very happy with my piece of equipment. It was a large semi-trailer with a generator in it. It had everything to over haul and test all the instruments; panels for testing the electrical instruments, the vacuum pump, chamber for the altimeter, instruments using gyroscopes the water and mercury manometers-everything. Just level the trailer and go to work! One or two at a time. I got 8 good men. Thank goodness, one was a watch maker in civilian life. They did not teach us watch-making at Chanute.
There were two other semi-trailers. One was the machine shop and the other for technical supply. All the other shops were in the tents, even the commander’s office. Of course, they were not set up here. We are not operating yet. Just getting prepared for “D-Day”.
We instrument men bought a radio and I kept it tuned to a German station most of the time. That was where the best music came from. They tried to make us home sick.
About every where I went in England you see barrage balloons. They are large balloons very high in the air and held by cable or rope, I do not know. The purpose of these were to prevent German airplanes from flying too low. We Americans used to joke that they were to keep England from sinking.
Also, they used search lights to spot German airplanes at night. It was interesting to watch. It is a powerful beam of light and once it spots a plane (which appears to be a white cross floating in the air) it is never let out of sight. As the plane flies on, another light is spotted on it. It has the appearance of long poles holding the plane up in the air, moving it from one to the next. You can see the red tracer bullets being fired at it, but I never saw one shot down. Of course, I was happy about that until at least it got past me! I am not saying they never got hit, because some of our B17s came back from missions pretty well shot up and some of the crew wounded or even killed.
We were attached to a group that had P-47 Thunderbolts. This plane has a single engine, a radial 2800 hp, and had eight .5-inch machine guns with 425 rounds per gun. It could also carry a bomb under each wing and one under its belly. On the night of June 5, 1944, everybody was a painter (or a painter’s helper). We painted black and white stripes on the planes so that all our troops and pilots could easily distinguish between the Allies and Germans in the confusion which would be the next day.
The next few days the sky was full of airplanes all day long. Big bombers, fighter bombers, gliders (towed by airplanes). It was unbelievable! The gliders filled with troops were released and landed inland from the beach. At the same time, the assault troops were landing on the beach, but of course we could not see them. But we were glued to our radio.
On the night of July 2, we got on an LST at South Hampton and it took several hours to get our shop trailers loaded. The drop ramp on the boat was to steep and the trailers hung up in the center, so he had to throw sand bags under the wheels. There must have been hundreds of ships in our convoy. Every where you looked there were ships. About everyone on our ship got sick and so did I, finally, even tho the water was calm, we arrived at Omaha Beach in Normandy on the night of July 3rd. We went in on high tide and when the water receded, it must have been a quarter of a mile behind us, anyway, we landed in a bad spot, because the ramp was too steep for the semi’s. A bulldozer pushed enough sand to the end of the ramp that the trucks and jeeps could get out, then they raised the ramp and closed the doors and we had to wait for high tide before backing out and moving to a different spot. I stayed with the trailer and we finally got them off about noon on July 4th.
That morning a Jerry flew over us along the beach but did not drop bombs. Apparently, he was taking pictures. Every gun on every boat along the beach opened up on him, but he got away from us.
There were hundreds of LSTs and LCTS along the beach unloading and hundreds more sunk or half sunk all around us. And those Ducks, the small boats with wheels used to carry the troops from ships in water to shore. Probably thousand of them laying all over. There were all kinds of soldier equipment laying in the sand. It was a horrible sight.
After getting our trailers off, we rendezvoused in a field back away from the beach about a mile, where we took all the water-proofing compound off our vehicles. Heavy artillery guns were all around us firing away. Needless to say, I was scared! The next day or so (I do not remember) we went to an air strip named A3. The engineers were not quite finished building it when we got there. The front line was about a mile away and we could hear rifle and machine gun fire. The heavy guns were amongst and all around us, pounding away. Our work uniform at that time was a coverall and when we stood in the doorway of our trailer, the coverall would puff out like a balloon whenever one of those big guns fired off.
We set our shops under trees where we could then cover them with camouflage netting. Then dig fox holes near our tents and shops. The Jerries’ flew over us nearly every night (very seldom in daytime), looking for the front lines, which they really bombed and strafed. Don’t think we were not scared! They also dropped flares, which was just as scary. Our field lit up like broad daylight. They were probably taking pictures, but how did we know? The gunners shot them out as quick as possible. We were bombed once in a while here and that was by one of our own planes a B17. Accidents do happen, I guess. It got two or three of our planes and killed some men. I will never understand why the Germans did not bother us.
There is one good thing about those flares—it is easy to find your fox hole! As you can expect, we used no lights or nearly none. That would be a dead give away for the enemy. If you happen to be away from the living area and come back after dark it is so easy to go into some one else tent instead of your own. It happened all the time. There were five men in each tent, if I remember right.
Our planes soon began to fly missions. Sometimes they carried regular bombs, sometimes incendiary, depending on the target. We in the instrument shop split into two shifts, five for day time and four for night.
Water was hauled in by truck and there was so much chlorine in it that you could not hardly drink it. Cider, which is what all the civilians people ever drank, tasted so much better. So, we just put cider in our canteens. Sometimes later our C.O. found out about it and ordered that only water will be put in our canteens. So, we got another canteen from the supply clerk and filled it with water. When ever we expected an inspection, we carried the one with water and of course, hid the other one. But by now inspections were extremely rare. Anyway, as I look back now, I would bet that he had cider in his canteen! I never heard of anyone being disciplined.
We did use the water for baths – out of our helmets. We get a helmet full of water and first our teeth, then our face, then continued on with the rest of our body. There is a name for this kind of bath, they call it a “whore’s bath.” Most of the fellows used water the same temperature as came from the truck, but I know the welders pretty good, so took my helmets full of water to their shop (tent) to heat with a torch.
The mission of our planes was to give close ground support for the infantry, so they were going and coming continually. As soon as they landed, they were serviced and reloaded and were off again. Of course, those that were damaged (and many times they were) had to be repaired. Every now and then some would get hit by a flack or shell fire.
Although we could not see it, there was a big battle going on in and around St. Lo, which was about ten miles from us. We could see the bombers dropping bombs on it. Day after day.
The fields around here are very small and instead of wire fences, they are surrounded by trees and bushes which must have been there for centuries. The ground is higher than the field. Any way these make perfect shields for the infantry. It is here that I found two German helmets which I sent home. I never look at them any more because it makes me feel sad. They may have been there against their will, the same as many of us. Some are luckier than others.
After about 2 ½ or 3 months here, we moved through St. Lo. to an air base near Paris. St. Lo. was just one big pile of rubble. Bulldozers had to make a path through the city. The odor of rotting flesh was unbearable. It made me sick. There were many civilians along the roadsides, but how many I wonder are there under all that mess.
At some camps where people lived nearby, children would come with tin cans to get what we did not eat as we emptied our mess kits in the garbage can. I think that about every one of us had some leftovers in our kits—on purpose.
All the buildings in Europe are made of stone, even farm buildings, so consequently they make good protection from rifle fire. Many were crumbled by artillery. I can see that in a war, the civilians suffer probably more than soldiers. We at least have tents to live in and have food every day. Those that live must have to live like animals.
I always talk about our planes, but the British are flying probably as many missions as we do, maybe more. We did mostly during the day and the British mostly at night. Also, we had other planes there than the B-17s and the P-47s. I am talking only of the ones I have worked with.
Before I go any further with this story, I must admit that I have forgotten many dates, places and events, so I am very lucky that my brother and a cousin of ours saved some letters I had sent them during the war. They brought back memories which I had completely forgotten about.
From A-3, our next stop was on to German field near Paris. As we passed through the city, crowds of people along both sides of the street threw flowers on our trucks. The base was not too far from the city, so I got to come back and do some sight-seeing a couple times. I loved it.
We were here for only two weeks, then moved to an air base left by the Germans near Rheims, France. There was not much activity here either, so we stayed for only about two weeks also. Long enough that we could go into the city a couple times to do some sight-seeing. Among other places, I went to see the Cathedral. It was beautiful. I liked those little tables under the awning on the sidewalk where you can sit and enjoy a glass of wine!
As we moved from base to base sometimes the C.O. would let one or two G.I. trucks take us into a city for a few hours, if it was not too far away. I do not remember where (could be in Paris) 4 or 5 of us went into a very nice night club one evening. We bought a bottle of wine (had to pool our money to pay for it) and just relaxed, listened to the music, watch people and tell stories. After some time, I needed to go to the bathroom. It was downstairs, which led to a fairly large but plain room with a long slanting trough built into the wall on one side. As I was using it, a lady who was very well dressed came down the stairs and came walking through the room. "Oh my God, what did I do wrong” I thought to myself, as my natural reflexes took over and I just kept looking at the wall. As she got to me she said, “Don’t be so modest” and kept on walking to the end where there was a door to another room. The women’s room, I suppose. Modesty? Mine dropped to zero!
From Rheims, we moved to St. Trond, Belgium. I call it that because that was its name when we were there. I have learned that since then, its name changed to St. Truiden. St. Trond is a French name and it had been that name always; my wife tells me. The people of Belgium speak two different languages. The Walloons speak French and the Flemmish speak Dutch. The Flemmish have larger families and as time goes on, are more and more demanding, even to the point of changing names of towns and streets. So, to keep peace in my family, it is still St. Trond.
Any way, it was around October 9, 1944 when I came here. We had concrete runways although many bombs had been dropped on them. But again, the engineers had them repaired in good shape. Near here is where the finale battle took place – the Battle of the Bulge. As you can expect, we were plenty busy here.
The winter of 1944-45 was one of the coldest Europe ever had and between that and snow, there were days when the planes could not fly. We were even freezing in our tents. We put our coveralls in our cots with us, so they would be warm in the morning. One of our roommates solved that problem by bringing in a bucket of napalm (a jelly-like substance that looks like melted rubber and gasoline mixed together- the same stuff as in incendiary bombs). Then he lit a wad of newspapers and tossed it in the bucket. We had darn good heat, but the some and odor was a bit more than we could stand. In fact, we had to open the tent door. We only did this once.
At this place, we had something new to contend with. The V1 buzz bomb. These were flying bombs driven by a pulse jet engine which made a deep sputtering sound like if it was going to quit. They weigh 5000 pounds and are 25 feet long and has a wing span of 17 feet. They cruise at 360 mph. At 2500 ft. They zig zagged all the time as if the rudder was over correcting. It left a trail of fire behind. These were the very first jets any of us ever saw. When they flew over, our tent vibrated and for the first few days, we would be in our fox holes before the vibration quit! But they came about every half hour or so, day and night and it began to wear us out. So, instead, we just stayed in bed and melt like a hunk of lard in a hot pan when they flew over.
These bombs were launched in Germany and targeted for London, but were not very accurate, which made it so scary. The Engine is programed to cut out over the target (London), then it falls. None fell on our base, but a couple came down within hearing distance.
After some time (I do not remember how long), a newer model, the V2, which was much larger and faster than the V1 started to come over us. It was actually a rocket. It had a speed of 3440 mph and carried 2150-pound war head. It flew much higher by the time you heard it, it was long gone. But it left a long trail of fire behind that you could easily see; the sound came later. The V2 had a true jet engine, which unlike the V1 drove the rocket to the point of impact. The V2 was not as scary as V1s for the reason you could not hear them coming.
The “V” stands for a German word meaning “revenge weapon” which is exactly what Hitler wanted to do to the people of England. By now, it was getting more difficult for the German airplanes to get to England.
On Christmas Eve, 1944, we were called out of bed about midnight for an alert. A paratroop attack was expected, and we prepared to destroy our shops by fire. I had to post some guards around the perimeter and in doing so, dropped the front end of the jeep in a bomb crater. The men had to lift the front end up getting back out. The lights on all vehicles are painted black except for a slit about an inch high and about five or six inches long. In the dark, a small stone on the ground casts a large shadow. There happened to be a bomb crater in this shadow. After about 3 or 4 hours, I think everyone, except those posted around the perimeter, had drifted around the mess tent! The paratroopers never came.
Werner Von Braum was one of the youngest German scientists. He was the father of the Vs! He came to USA in '45 and worked on our NASA, first in space and on the moon.
New Year’s Day, 1945 turned out to be very beautiful. The sun was bright and not a cloud in the sky. A perfect day for flying. It was about 10 a.m. and we were working as usual when we heard some planes in the air, but paid no attention, or even looked at them, for they sounded like mustangs. All of a sudden, I heard their machine gun fire and our anti-aircraft guns. I froze stiff where I was as they were already coming directly towards us. I remember saying “Good Bye, Mom” to myself. The noise was terrifying. Bullets that hit the frozen ground ricocheted every which direction. After the first five planes went over, I came to my senses, only to see five more coming in. I made a dive into a small trench about six inches wide and the same depth around a dump containing 100 octane gasoline which was the nearest depression in the ground to me. Instantly I knew that was not the place to be, so got up to go to my fox hole. I had gone about three or four steps when a couple more planes were coming in like a bat out of hell. So, I instinctively jumped into the same kind of a trench which was around a stack of 60 octane gasoline cans that I was passing over, I completed my journey to my fox hole, only to find it was already full of men! But by this time the first five were coming towards us again.
We made our hole large enough for four men because normally we would not all be in the shop at the same time. Some of our planes got off the ground, so at the same time I was trying to squeeze myself down in the fox hole, I saw some dog fights, of course, the anti-aircraft were still firing at them. I saw two of their planes fall and one made a belly landing. One pilot parachuted down. I don’t know how many people who work on the flight line got wounded or killed or how many planes were lost. I knew one in the shop area who got killed. Most of the shops, including mine, were hit. I can assure you one thing this is more fun to watch on TV or the movies than live! Our mechanics fixed that FW-190 that belly landed so it could fly but were not allowed to fly it.
One day in March, ’45 the first Sergeant told me that I should take a furlough. I hadn’t had one since I left the U.S. and certainly did not feel like taking one now. He insisted that I go, just tell him where I wanted to go. Since I was not even dreaming of a furlough, I was caught off guard. He suggested Paris or French Riviera or where I wanted. I ruled out French Riviera because I figured that half of the army would be there. An R&R (rest and relaxation). After thinking about it for some time, I said “how about England” fully expecting a negative answer. To my surprise, he said it was o.k. I knew some people in Neneaton who I met when I was in England and they have been sending me letters. So, on March 16, I left on a seven-day furlough. It took a week to go and the same to come back, so I was gone three weeks! I went by train to Le Havre, France, where I got on a Liberty Ship to South Hampton, England. Then a train to Nuneaton. I enjoyed that trip. But I was gone almost too long.
Before I arrived back, my outfit had moved to an air base near Duren, Germany. I had to find out where they were, then find a ride in a military truck or jeep (I don’t remember).
We crossed the German border at Aecken and could see that it was very heavily fortified. The city was reduced to a pile of rubble. We were at Duren for only a couple weeks, then moved on to Kassel. To get here, we had to cross the Rhine river on a pontoon bridge, which was certainly an experience. The bridge had been caved in by bombs.
This was another German airbase, about 16 miles from Kassel, but we could not go in to town. No Fraternization – remember? Here we lived in large concrete barracks which were heated by steam, the best living we had since landing in Normandy July 1944. They were divided into small rooms and had a wash room and a shower on each floor. None of the other buildings except one hanger were damaged. The Germans even left a dozen airplanes here, some of which were on flying status. Germany was starving for fuel. We saw many tanks along the roads and in the fields that were out of gas. Anyway, I think it was here (could be at Duren) that saw the first jet airplane. It was being dismantled and crated to be sent back to U.S. It had not been in combat.
According to my calculation, it was while we were here when the war ended. June 6, 1945 – VE Day. By 4:00 p.m., there was not a single fellow working on the flight-line or in their shops. Everyone came back to our barracks. Our means of celebration was very limited because we could not go off base. Several fellows came in our room and we popped some corn on some alcohol burners, one of the fellows made. Some of the fellows who happened to have a bottle of German liquor or had foresight enough to bring some from Belgium got drunk.
For the first time, we did not draw our black-out curtains when it became dark, and this place looked like a city. A number of fellows on the field did manage to get ahold of a bunch of signal flares and flare guns, and it sure looked like a Fourth of July celebration. Red, green and white flares were fired into the air all around. It really was a pretty fireworks display. No rifles or side-arms were fired for the simple reason that we had to turn them in during the afternoon.
This war in Europe ended just two years after I landed in Scotland. June 6, 1943 to June 6, 1945.
To determine who gets to come home first, they developed a point system, which consists of grade, time in service, time spent overseas, etc. Those of us fewer points remained in Germany until our turn to go home. Those who had the least number of points were to go to Burma for the war with Japan. My assistant was in that group and would have been their shop chief. But that was ended before they got there.
Our motor pool sergeant was among the first to go home and since we had no planes anymore, I had to take his job. We had to remain in Germany as part of the occupation forces and stayed for only a few weeks.
Then we went to the small city of Berneck, in the Bavarian Alps. This was the most beautiful county I have ever seen. It lays in a valley with a small river flowing through the center of it. The hotel was built over the river from one side to the other. Word was that Adolf Hitler stayed here sometimes. Our headquarters and most of the unit got to live in there, but we in the motor pool lived in a school house a short distance away, but still along the river. We had the school yard for our vehicles. Actually, this was a better deal for us, because there was a brewery just outside of the school yard. Well, in our building was a lab room, a perfect place to keep a keg of beer hidden! Whenever one got empty, a couple of the fellows rolled the empty to the brewery and rolled a full one back. Whenever a stranger (anyone who lived in the hotel) wanted to know what was in that room, we didn’t know - we never found the key.
One day I had to furnish a jeep and driver to transport an officer to an airstrip (A-70) in France. I wanted to go along as assistant driver. It would be a 5-day trip and I thought maybe we could come back by the way of Brussels. I had met a girl there while stationed at St. Trond. The First Sergeant nixed the idea. I knew someone in Headquarters who I thought could get my name on that travel order and he did. So, on August 15, we began our journey. After taking that officer to this place, we went to Brussels and had a good visit with my girl and her family. I think we got back about a day late. We lost a lot of time waiting in line to cross the Rhine River as the traffic was heavy on that pontoon bridge. The First Sergeant was not too happy about me. What the hell, I was!
After a few weeks here, we were sent to Bremerhaven, Germany. It was really torn up by bombs. I don’t remember what happened to most of the squadron, but some, including me, were put in charge of crews of about 10 German P.O.W.s (prisoner of war). Our job was to clean out a huge warehouse that had been bombed. All the men in my crew were friendly and we got along very well together. Since I don’t smoke, I gave them my cigarettes. One, who was an electrician, fixed my radio which had not been working for a long time.
This turned out to be my last job. It was my turn to come home. I was sent to LeHavre, France, where I boarded an LST, I think, most certainly not Queen Mary. It sort of bobbed over the waves like a cork, sprinkling water behind when the back-end goes over the top of the waves.
We landed here on November 16, 1945, nearly 2 ½ years after I left.
On August 26, 1950, I was recalled to active duty for one year for the Korean Conflict. Since I had enlisted in the Air Force Reserve when I was discharged in 1945. I kept my rank of Master Sergeant. After reporting to Chanute Field, Illinois for new uniforms, etc., I was sent to Hill AFB Ogden, Utah, where I spent the whole year rebuilding and calibrating aircraft instruments. Hill was a depot repair base. Being the senior NCO, I was the chief of our barracks, so it was also my duty to assign men to duties such as latrine cleanup, etc. for each day. Boy, how some would howl when they found their name on the list.
Our work hours were the same as the civil service personnel, including Saturday and Sunday free. But that was spoiled by the Saturday inspections. We had stand-by inspections 3 Saturdays a month. The forth one was free. These are where each man stands beside his bed (at attention) while the inspector inspects him and his area. We chiefs got our inspection outside on the sidewalk, when we first salute him, then remain at attention while he inspects us. Often, they have a clerk with them to write down what citations he finds. Anyway, we then lead the inspector(s) to the barracks and call them to attention as he enters. Then we follow him up one side of the aisle and down the other of both floors, looking for a wrinkle in the blanket, shoes not in proper order or not shiny enough, anything not perfect. And lastly, my room. That was one good thing about this place, the barracks chiefs had their own private room. As can be expected, my room was always perfect, or else they did not look very hard! I found that the lower rank the inspector is, the more they find wrong. Once a year, the base commander personally inspects, so we had him once. That was the only time we were told that we had a fine barracks.
I thought that all AF bases were the same and planned to leave when the year was up. A few days before the year was up, I had to report to the CO, he ASKED me to re-list.
I took my discharge on August 21, 1951. I regretted that decision when I found out later the other bases did not have those inspections. As time went on I missed it more and more until finely April of 1957 I tried to re-enlist. I was out too long, but could join the AF Reserves, which I did. In that, we had to attend meetings in Sioux City one night a week and take a 2-week tour of active duty every year. I remained in the Reserves until Feb. 1970, when I transferred to the 185th Air National Guards. I remained with them until 20 July 1979, three days before my 60th birthday- the mandatory date of retirement.
At the retirement ceremony, I was awarded a bronze statue with a plaque acknowledging my 32 ½ years of service.
Among the citation and ribbons awarded to me during my career are: Presidential Unit Citation, ETO (European Theater of Operation) with 4 Bronze Stars, Armed Service Reserve Medal with a Gold Hour Glass, Good Conduct Medal, National Defense Service Medal with a Bronze Star, Air Reserve Forces Meritorious Service Medal with an Oak Leaf Cluster.
As I look back and think of those we left behind. What was their last words or thoughts? They are the ones who deserve the medals, not us. We are here only because of those who can not come back. They made a path for us to go on though. Even though I did not know any of them, I saw what they did, I will always remember that.
This story would not be complete unless I tell about how I met my wife. It all started when I was stationed at St. Trond. A buddy and I got a 2-day pass to go to Brussels. The first thing we did was find a hotel and check in, then looked for places of interest. At one place, there were two nice looking girls across the street, so we went over to talk to them. Right off the bat we were in trouble because they could not speak English and off course we could not speak French. But we had fun trying. We had one of those little booklets to translate a few words from English to French, which helped a little. We did understand they were sisters. (That was what they told us). We really wanted to know them better, so we told them we could not find that hotel and asked if they could show us where it was. They did not know either! It was quite far away because those in center of the city cost a fortune. There was a policeman not too far away, so we all asked him. They walked with us to be sure we could find it, which gave us a lot more time to get to know each other. They found out later that we already knew where it was. I don’t remember which one of us slipped out tongue, but they did not get mad. Later, we found out they were not sisters! So now the score is even. I forgot, but their names were not their real names either, but we never found out until another time. We went to a nice restaurant and had wine with our dinner in the evening and got to know each other better even though we could not understand much better than when we first met. But we all had a lot of fun.
We did come back to Brussels a couple of times to visit them at home. Then that time from Germany. My buddy who was with me before, was one of those sent to fight the Japanese. I never heard from him.
I flew back to Brussels in July 1955 and we got married on August 5. All weddings must be done in civil court by the Burgo-Master, and as we stood at the front of his huge desk, I whispered to my wife (to be) that I won’t be able to understand him. “Never mind” she said, “whenever he looks up at you, just say “oui” (yes, in English), so I did. When he got up and shook our hands, then I knew it was finished. Of course, her family and some relatives were with us. This was in a castle built several centuries ago but kept up beautifully. We did go to a church afterwards to be married again, but that was optional. The reception at her parent’s home lasted all afternoon and half the night. From Brussels, we went to Paris, Luxenbourgh and Bastoque (in the Ardennes) where we saw a huge star shaped monument built by the Belgians in Memory of American Soldiers who died there, at the “Battle of the Bulge”, end of December 1944. It was the last major offensive by German General Von Rundstedt. There when asked to surrender, General McAcliffe said his historical “NUTS”!
All the names of the dead soldiers are engraved on the walls (one wall per state) of the memorial. From the top, you can see the battle fields.
We came back here to home near Oto, Iowa at the end of September 1955.
Written By:
Marvin Eskildsen
As he recalls his time served in
World War II
Obituary:
Oto, Iowa - Marvin M. Eskildsen, 95, of Oto, Iowa died Monday, November 24, 2014, at Maple Heights Nursing Home in Mapleton, Iowa. Services will be Friday, November 28, 2014, at 2:00 p.m. at the Armstrong Funeral Home in Mapleton. Pastor Karen Handke will officiate. There will be no visitation or prayer service.
Marvin Matt Eskildsen was born July 23, 1919, to Matt and Lillian (Kent) Eskildsen on a farm north of Danbury, Iowa. He attended the public school in Danbury until the family moved to Oto, Iowa when he was in the 9th grade. He graduated from Oto High School in 1937.
Marvin was drafted into the Army in March of 1942. After basic training, he was sent to airplane mechanic school in Chanute, Illinois. After completing that, he remained there to specialize in aircraft instrument repair and testing.
On June 1, 1943, he was sent on the Queen Mary to Port Glasgo, Scotland. His first assignment in England was to be a B-17 Bomber Group as an instrument specialist. After a few months, he was transferred to a newly activated service squadron for P-47 Fighter Airplanes in southern England and placed in charge of the instrument repair shop.
The night before D-day, he helped paint the black and white “invasion stripes” on the airplanes, not having the faintest idea that the invasion of France was to begin a few hours later.
During the night of July 3, his squadron landed on Omaha Beach. Their mission was to support the ground troops, and moved along with them on through France, Belgium, and Germany. During this time, he was promoted to the rank of Master Sergeant. He was in Europe for nearly two and one-half years.
Recalled to active duty for one year during the Korean Conflict, he was stationed in Hill Air Force Base, Ogden, Utah. Later on, he enlisted in the 185th Air National Guard and remained with them until July 1979, completing 32 and one-half years of military service.
Medals awarded were the European-Theater-of-Operation with four Bronze Stars, Presidential Unit Citation, Meritorious Service Plaque, Armed Forces Reserve Medal/Hour Glass Device, Air Force Longevity Medal/Oakleaf Cluster, Good Conduct Medal, and four overseas bars.
Marvin was married to Helene Crucifix in Brussels, Belgium on August 5, 1955. He met his wife while on leave-from-duty while stationed at Saint Trond, Belgium.
He worked for Hamann-Sauser, Case IH Dealer in Anthon for about 20 years as a mechanic and for the town of Oto for about 5 years.
Survivors include his wife Helene; and his son and his wife, John and Barb Eskildsen, all of rural Oto, Iowa; one brother, Alvin Eskildsen of Correctionville, Iowa; and one sister, Betty Anderson of Buffalo, Minnesota.
He was preceded in death by his parents; and two sisters, Elaine and Pauline.
Source: Danbury Review, December 3, 2014
