| War Stories Home | Bombers | Skull | Patrol | My Lai | Vienna |
| Our experience of war, as civilians, comes from stories. These stories can take many forms: news reports, novels, movies, political speeches, personal reminiscences for example. I’ve collected a few stories here which offer, I hope, a range of some of the experiences possible in war. There is a story from Vietnam and links to material about My Lai. There is a story from World War II. And there is a story about life in Vienna after World War I. I hope that these stories help offer more facets to what is often a very simplistic narrative of good guys and bad guys, heroes and examples of bravery and sacrifice (something like a medieval saint’s life without God as the central figure). |
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My grandfather’s stories My grandfather fought in World War I. He was a corporal in the Army, and only had a few stories to tell about his experiences when I was little. When he joined the Army he joined with with best friends and buddies, all served side by side in the same unit together. He was wounded twice. Once was while he was on patrol. A bomb exploded and he saw the head of his best friend disappear in a poof and he himself felt an impact on his flank. He knew he’d been hit also. He jumped into a crater and dropped his pants. He saw his canteen on the ground with a hole in it and knew what he felt running down his leg was just water. That was how they found him, standing in a shell crater, his pants down around his ankles, laughing. I was always amazed as a child at the size of the hole in his flank where the shrapnel had been dug out. The other time he was wounded he was shot through the big toe by a machine gun. There was no bone left in the toe, it just flapped and wobbled when he showed it to me. He’d captured a luger off of a German officer, his booty was stolen by one of the medics. The only time I heard my grandfather laugh about the war was when he was talking with another veteran. I went up and asked him what was so funny and my grandfather smiled and said, we were talking about when my sergeant got shot. I wasn’t understanding what was so funny. My grandfather said, he was going to get us all killed. It took me a while to realize what had happened. My grandfather also had stories of when he worked in the steel mills before and after the war. Once, he told about when a furnace exploded and filled the floor with several inches of molten steel. No one survived who was standing there. I still imagine trying to stand when my feet are covered in something hotter than fire. Another story was about how they could always find someone to work in the pickle room. This was a place in the mill where acid was used to remove scale from steel. The fumes were corrosive and, as he put it, you only lived a year or two working in the pickle room. Still they could always find someone to do the job. I asked him how and he said they promised money for the wife and the kids. I couldn’t imagine doing that. I don’t think my grandfather ever understood my feelings about the Vietnam war, how it was so wrong. |
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