Remembering Wounds in War.

I often forget what day of the week it is, where I left my cell phone or even when I’m supposed to pick up the kids, and where.  One thing old soldiers never seem to forget is the day that they were wounded in battle.  Several years back, BOOTPRINTS author and 90th Infantry Division soldier, Hobert Winebrenner, shared with me about the time he was shot by the Germans in September 1944, during World War II.

“The next day, we assaulted the hills surrounding the city of Algrange (France),” Winebrenner explained. “It was always tough to expel an embedded enemy from good ground and this occasion proved no different. Well entrenched, they challenged each of our steps, hit us with everything they had—artillery, mortars, machine guns and small arms. But, we continued to force the issue. Several casualties soon dotted the tangled slopes.

“While I worked up through some brush, an enemy round likewise ripped into me. The bullet pierced the meaty part of my inner left leg and exited just below my butt cheek. I knew immediately that I’d been shot, but was afraid to look. I felt pain in that whole area and initially feared the worst. When I finally mustered the courage to glance down, I was almost relieved to see blood flowing from a hole in my leg. I expanded the tear in my pants to witness the flesh peel away from the wound in layers, like when slicing a raw steak. I could stick a finger in both the ‘in’ and ‘out.’

“I’d describe the bullet hole as ‘clean.’ Strictly a ‘meat wound,’ it severed no arteries or bones. On others, I’d seen larger, almost gaping holes. This was nothing like that. But, it still hurt like hell!

“The stock on my M1 was shattered at nearly the same instance. Either separate bullets hit my gun and me or the same round first ricocheted off my weapon, then passed through my leg. Whichever the case, I believe the shell to have been well spent by the time it found its target—me.

“I carefully rolled, crawled and scooted my way back down the hill. Once clear, I hobbled to our aid station.  Multiple litters beat me there. My wound wasn’t life threatening, so I grabbed a piece of dirt, grit my teeth, bore the pain and waited for my turn.

“One of Doc Bulger’s boys soon paid me visit. He probed both ends of the wound, filled each with sulfa powder, then wrapped a bandage around the entire leg. Under the circumstances, that’s about all he could do.”

One Response to “Remembering Wounds in War”

1. Tristan says:

   October 2, 2011 at 5:32 pm

   Great article Mike, as usual. It just gave us a little of how bitter and terrible it should have been for them. Lest we forget!
   I wish you all the best,
   Tristan

   Reply