stahel

Martin Stahel, Company C ~

I was born in Javornik, Czechoslovakia, November 24, 1923. A small village, 1000 population, near the Slovakia's border. All my schooling was in Czechoslovakia, broken up by the occupation of my country by Germany in World War II. I had five years of elementary, three years of city school, two-and-a-half years of "Gymnaska" (prepatory for university).

I was drafted while living in Ionia, Michigan, late 1943. I entered the army at Fort Sheridan, near Chicago. I knew that sooner or later I would be called, it was my duty so I obeyed. I spent two or three weeks at Fort Sheridan, where I took both physical and IQ tests. I had no problems physically, but because of my inadequate English I scored fairly low. I chose to go to the ski troops, but they didn't need any more men at that time so I went to the infantry. From Ft. Sheridan I was shipped to Camp Walters in Texas. I had the regulat seventeen week training, did well, scored third highest on the rifle range and qualified Sharpshooter. I remained in camp two weeks after every other trainee was shipped out, then I was sent to Ft. Meade in Maryland. About a month later I was sent to Camp Myles Standish, where I left for England on the troopship USS Mt. Vernon. It took four-and-a-half days to sail to Liverpool, then by rail to some army camp in central England for three days, then on to Leicester, a larger city near Camp Scraptoft, my final destination and the 325th Glider Infantry, 82nd Airborne training camp. I have no idea why I was selected for the airborne, but I suspect it was because of my records of basic training.

I was flabbergasted, having heard of the paratroopers but I had no knowledge of gliders! I don't think I would have volunteered for the glider infantry. I had no problems with the glider training, I rather liked the diversity. The field training was no problem, except the occasional forced marches. We learned about the gliders... how they were towed, how to die down the equipment. But when the soldiers... those returning from the Normandy campaign... began trickling in about the middle of July and began sharing their stories about the glider landings, myself and the other green replacements began to have doubts about the gliders!

At Camp Scraptoft we were bivouacked in squad tents, eight men to a tent. Two of them were veterans that had made it through North Africa, Sicily, Salerno-Italy and Normandy. They were Corporal Abeytor, a part Indian from Colorado and Pfc. Holsaple from Kentucky or West Virginia. Of the remaining six; Spring from New Jersey, Dill from Wisconsin, Byers (I don't remember where he was from); Hardy from California, myself and I'm sorry, I don't remember the name of the sixth. Ken Hardy, the squad leader, was my closest buddy. SSgt. Johnson was our Platoon Sergeant. He was a veteran of all the previous engagements. He was older, almost thirty, and did not mix much with the other members of the platoon, especially the greenhorns! 2nd Lt. Terrace was an easy-going, hell raising type. Except for 1st Lt. Smith and Captain Pierce, both very respected and liked, we did not have too much personal contact with the officers. First Sergeant Harwood was older too. I did not know him much either, he too was a veteran and like the other battle-experienced men did not mix much with the replacements.

At Camp Scraptoft the training consisted of long marches and maneuvers in the English countryside, learning to become familiar with the other weapons we did not have in basic training. After the Netherlands campaign we were stationed in Soissone, France, from where we left to go to the Battle of the Bulge. Camp life was nothing special... fall out for breakfast, the usual calisthentics, some duties such as K.P., play football. Mostly goofing off, card games, go to town on pass. I went to Reims once to celebrate my 21st birthday. Some got passes to Paris. But mainly, we just relaxed and got acquainted with the replacements. Soissone was a former French Army camp. I remember most the latrines, no stools, just a ceramic plate about two feet square, a six-inch hole and two recessed footprints to plant your feet in while squatting. Very unusual!

Preparing for the mission into the Netherland, being restricted into camp was most important, since the Airborne's training and duty was to be able to go into action on short notice. I was curious what the situation waiting for me and my buddies might be, but the excitement did not give us much time to think. I only hoped that we would not crash-land or be shot down! Operation Market-Garden was my first "baptism by fire." I remember seeing the enemy unexpectedly and firing when we realized they were the krauts. I remember seeing the man I shot at go down. We dug foxholes for the long, sleepless night, the Germans body still there when daylight came. Then came the artillery shelling, I was thankful for the foxhole that offered protection from counter-attack. After the Battle of Mook Plain, we were relieved by British Infantry, leaving some of our dead on the battlefield. We spent several days resting in Nijmagen, then moved to positions only a few hundred yards from the German border. We held that position for a couple of weeks, with exceptions of two to three days of rest in areas a few miles back of the line and the constant but sporadic bombing and shelling.

During the Battle of the Bulge a lot happened in the eight or nine days before I was wounded December 25-16. It all began with orders on the evening of December 17 to be ready to move out very early, at 0600, the following morning. We were to leave all unneccessary possesions in our duffle bag and take only field equipment. Ammunition was hastily distributed. All we knew was that the krauts were raising hell! Before daylight we were loaded into trucks, I guess about twenty or thirty guys to a truck. We rode most of the day, usually in a light drizzle with no cover for protection. Finally we were unloaded and continued on foot, now in the dark towards the flashes of artillery in the distance. It was very tiresome after the long ride, standing room only, in the open trucks. Finally C COmpany reached the edge of a treeline on a long hill with no name. In the morning we saw the clouds reaching down to the tops of the pine trees. There was no action except us laying some mines that same night. Throughout the day the distant clatter and noise was heard, made by the armored German divisions we had been told of. Then came an assault by the tanks and their supporting infantry. However, they were repulsed. We could count about a half-dozen Tiger tanks disabled and left burning. That night we were ordered to new positions near Manhay, where I was wounded. [editors note: On the night of 26 December a German assault swept over Company C's outposts. Manning an advance foxhole by himself, Martin held his ground until he was shot through the throat. He managed to make it back to his own lines where the medics saved his life].

After the war I worked in a furniture factory in Holland, Michigan. I married and had three children. I built and operated a summer resort in Michigan's upper peninsula, then started and ran the Artisan's Furniture business in Kalamazoo, Michigan. I can't say that the service changed me. However, it certainly matured me and made me grateful for EARNING my citizenship.