John F. Mickey was American, he was 35 in 1944 and lived in Michigan. He did enlisted in september 1943, he thought he could do some "job" in this war. When he enlisted he was not expected for that kind of life : the long separation from loved one, the horror of war, and even hunger and thirst. All along the fightings he took notes, and many years later he decided to write about sixty pages. John F. Mickey passed away in 1989. With his son's permission, his memories are told there. It is the experience of a "common" man who believed in some human valours, and who fight for them from the beaches of Normandy to the Hurtgen forest, in Germany, where he had been wounded.
(John F. Mickey's memories - 1944/1945)

Gas alarm
Most of us rid of shovels and gas masks. None of us needed any heavy souvenirs to add to the weight. This warm afternoon we the company stop in an open field where a truck is waiting. We are told to strip. The truck drivers unload things for us to put on. We are told that it will protect us against any gasses used. The long jons, sox and cuffed gloves are a dirty grey colour. Everything is stiff, the long jons could stand up alone. It feels tacky and it is smelly. The captain yells out : “any of you guys want to put this on? I will be damned if I will ”. Nobody wanted this protection. Suddenly a shot is heard one man is injured. We all look toward the oak tree and every man fires. The leaves came down like feathers and there is a loud “thump” as the sniper hits the ground. It was a Japanese woman engaged in her profession for Hitler. We heard of this but this was our first experience.
We came into a wooded area where the Germans had been and vacated. By the rubbish left behind we knew they were there for several days. They left behind boxes of wood tip bullets of the caliber of their rifles. From prisoners taken we learned that the wood bullets were meant to splinter wounding but not killing us. It was thought that it would slow us down trying to assist someone in removing splinters. This type of bullet was only effective at close range so it was abandoned. There was an noxious odour about the German troops. We could smell it in the warm months wherever they had been. I never knew what it was, it could have been some insecticide.
On a warm August night I was ordered to contact a platoon to investigate a problem there. I had no difficulty finding them. I heard men yelling “gas!”. Most of us abandoned our awkward gas mask long ago, so did I, I did not have one. When I approached the platoon leader I said I did not smell anything unusual, and asked if any man suffered any ill effects. The sergeant said the man dug in farthest on the line started yelling, and it was passed on by others. We walked to the last man and both of us could smell geraniums. Recalling the gas drill in basic training we searched around, and found a large patch of geranium flowers twenty yards away. Everyone took a deep breath and relaxed.
Saint-Quentin
In a small city named saint-Quentin, we came to a three steeple church. It was constructed mostly of stone and was built on a hill. There were thirty steps from the street to the front doors. Ed Miller and I went around the church on the cement walk when a lone German plane came over strafing us. I felt a burning of the tip of my nose, the bullet hit the stone wall ricochet and rolled before me. I picked it up put it in my pocket, it was still hot to hold. The plane circled around and came back. I was in the back of the church at the eight foot heavy door I tried to open to take cover. A priest met me, I asked if there were any “Boche” soldier, he shook his head and in broken English said 1200 civilians taking cover. He clasped both hands, looked up and said “merci”, I knew that word. When the rest of the company came around it was decided we would stay there back the church for that night. We began to dig near the hedge row. It was dark as we were digging in. I thought it was very unusual that we were digging up the same size roots. Not until I brought up a large piece did we realize that we were digging up a skeleton. The small pieces were the rib bones, the large bone the arm. “Jesus, let’s stop here” Eddie said. We climbed up to the top of the six feet hedge row and we could see the street and the two or three storey apartments homes. No one knew that Ed and I left to break into the nearest building. We take rest comfortably in the beds. There were feather filled pillows, a nice bottom and a top cover. Early at day break we saw that our quilt was pink. I was heating a cup of water for coffee. I made an ideal stove to hold the cup using the rib bones criss-cross, and fast heat with the ventilation. Early that day we were told that it was an abandoned cemetery the monastery used years ago.

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