Combat Medic
Nonfiction, None Needed
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There was a lieutenant that came up that day—a replacement—and he had about two or three soldiers with him in a weapons carrier. Germans was shelling that crossroads, so they jumped out, and some of them was taking cover and running. He said, “Aw, it won’t get you unless it’s got your name on it. What are you guys running for?” Well, one came in, and it did have his name on it, and about two more people that was with him got killed at that intersection. It was his first day on the front, and he never fired a shot and had never been in combat that day. It was too bad that he lost his life for lack of foresight in getting out of that thing and getting in a culvert or under some kind of protection, which he didn’t do. That night a bunch of civilians came in who had survived the shelling. Most of them had already left town and moved out, but these people for some reason stayed, and they started coming into the basement. Well, they went on the south side of the building, and they had women and children. And there was some more soldiers on the east side of the building. That only left the north and west side. That’s where the Germans had their guns set, and I knew that’s where the shells would be coming from, but I had no place else to go but to squeeze right up against the wall on that one. That night the people over there had a church or whatever. They were praying or talking to the Lord, and they did that for about fifteen minutes. It was soothing to my nerves to hear them pray. I was thinking, “Lord, have mercy, here I am twenty-four years old and thinking about myself and look at those little children over there about ten years old and younger having to go through this just the same as I am.” It made me realize there were a lot of people suffering in this war besides the soldiers that was on the front. That night around 11 or 11:30 I heard one coming in, and he was a doozy because he was whistling and pulling that air, and I heard it thud right outside the building where I was at. I drew up and tensed up, but nothing happened, so I thought, “Well, either it went over or it’s a dud.” The next day when the sun was shining and it lightened up a little bit, we ventured outside. The day before when I went into that building, I seen a dead German laying there at the back of the building. His leg had been blowed off about the knee, and it was laying there beside him. When I went out that morning, someone had picked his leg up and set it on his chest, and there was a chicken--a Rhode Island Red--that was standing on his chest up next to his throat pecking at his eyeballs. It was a bad scene. I looked around and there was that shell that had come in the night before that I had heard hit. What it had did was hit back in the mud about thirty yards from the building, and it slid up towards the building. It didn’t explode due to the fact that the detonator was cone shaped. When it hit in that mud, it slid but didn’t touch anything to cause it to explode. If it had hit that building, I don’t know what would have been left of it. I went ahead walking around a little bit and was looking at how much damage it had done and which buildings was left standing, and I seen a GI just sitting on his feet with one leg folded up. I walked up there, and his head had just dropped over. There was a black hole right between his eyes. A sniper had got him. I looked over and he had his dog tags. I pulled them out and looked at them. It said he was from Anderson, Indiana, but I don’t remember his name. His rifle was laying across his knee, and like I said, he didn’t even fall over when he was shot. I sat down beside him for a few minutes, and I guess I was having a little prayer. I knew he didn’t have no family there, or his family didn’t know what happened to him. I sat there for I don’t know how long having a little meditation between me and him and my Lord. I looked at the north, and there was a church steeple some distance away. Evidently, the sniper had been in the church building and had shot him. Things started getting tougher then. We started getting ready to move out. I loaded all my stuff up in the ambulance and got ready and fell in behind the convoy and then we was making a push again.
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About the Book
Combat Medic shares Corporal Vernon L. Parker’s first-person account of World War II. Parker, like many other young men drafted in WWII, was transported from a simple, hard-working life in rural America in 1942 to a complex, stressful environment that would forever change his life. Nothing could have prepared him for the experiences he encountered as a combat medic and ambulance driver with the Third Army, led by “Blood and Guts” General George S. Patton, Jr. Parker was part of the D-Day invasion. After landing at Normandy, he spent more than ten months on the front lines, supporting the armored divisions through five major campaigns in France, Luxembourg, and Germany. A gifted storyteller, Parker presents a self-deprecating narrative filled with keen insights and colorful descriptions of day-to-day life with fellow infantrymen, officers, civilians, and enemy soldiers. As his saga unfolds, it describes the transformation of a naïve and cocky country boy into a battle-weary survivor struggling to maintain his dignity, compassion, and humanity. In Combat Medic, Parker demonstrates a startling recall of events from decades ago, including detailed descriptions of people, places, and even conversations—indicating just how much of an impact those war years had on him.
About the Author
A native of rural Kentucky, Vernon L. Parker was a medic in General Patton’s Third Army. He was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor for his actions as the Allies were making preparations to cross the Rhine River and were under heavy fire. After the war, he and his wife Fredia were blessed with three children and six grandchildren. Vernon recorded these wartime experiences shortly before his passing in 2008.