A true veterans day story

In 1985, when I was low man on the totem pole at the Post, I was sent to Seabrook to interview a man who had finally (and belatedly) received a Silver Star from the US Army for his courage at Normandy on D-Day.  The gentleman was in poor health, and had a nurse caring for him, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He recounted to me what had happened that morning in June of 1944:

“By the time we got past the beach, there were only six of us in a group. We kept tossing grenades and climbing, finally getting past the cliffs. We found ourselves in some farmland, divided by ditches. About 100 yards ahead, to our right, was a bunker with a machine gun in it. We knew that bunker had to be taken out.  When some artillery created a momentary diversion, we charged out of the ditch – but at the same time some Germans appeared at our left and opened fire, and some more directly ahead. Suddenly we were surrounded, and out in the open. I saw the corporal in front of me get hit. I grabbed him and started dragging him back to the ditch we had just come out of, but some more Germans had come in there right behind us. There was nowhere for us to go!”

“Wow, what did you do?” I asked. I will never forget what happened next:

His face became strained, and he seemed very uncomfortable. He looked down, and a low-sounding moan came from him. It was an emotional moment, so I kept quiet. Finally, after several minutes, he composed himself and looked up. “I actually shit in my pants.”

“Sir, I can understand how in the middle of a battle, and being shot at, anyone might lose control. It’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“No, no” he interrupted, “Just now. I’ve just shit in my pants. Call the nurse.”

Yes, the old fellow had dropped a load. I didn’t mention that in my story, but I have never forgotten it.

I guess it proves that veterans are regular people too, even the heroes.