The Wyandotte news-herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1943-1963, 1944-11-09

IndC mace people
want to be guided >
by him. 1k%
"After my own -
father, he came Ernie Pyle
next" a sergeant told me.
"He always looked after u.s." a
soldier said. He'd go to bat for us
every time"
"I've never known him to do
anything unfair" another one said.
was at the foot of the mule trail
the night they brought Captain
Waskow down. The moon was near
ly full, and you could see far up
the trail, and even part way across
the valley below. Soldiers made
shadows as they walked.
Dead men had been coming
down the mountain all evening,
dashed onto the backs Of mules.
They came lying belly down
across the wooden packssddles,
their heads hanging down on
the left side of the mules, their
stiffened legs sticking out awk-
wardly from the other side, bob
bling up and down as the mules
walked.
The italian mule SINNERS were
afraid to walk beside dead men, so
Americans had to lead the mules
down that night. Even the Ameri-
cans were reluctant to unlaSh and
lift off the bodies, when they got to
the bottom, so an officer had to do
it himself and ask others to help.
The first one came down early in
the morning. They slid him down
from the mule, and stood him on
his feet for a moment while they
got a new grip. In the half light he
might have been merely sick man
standing there leaning on the 9TH
ers. Then they laid him on the
ground in the shadow of the low
stone wall alongside the road.
I don't know who that first one
was. You feel small in the presence
of dead men, and you don't ask
silly questions.
We left him there beside the
road, that first one, and We all
went back into the cOwshed and
sat on water cans or lay on the
straw, waiting for the next
batch of mules.
Somebody said the dead soldier
had been dead for four days, and
then nobody said anything more
about it. We talked soldier talk for
an hour or more; the dead man
lay all alone, outside in the shadow
of the wall.
Then q soldier came into the
cowshed and said there were
some more bodies outside. We
went out into the road. Four
mules stood there in the moon
light, in the road where the trail
came down the mountain. The
soldiers who led them stood
there waiting.
This one is Captain Waskow,"
one of them said quietly.
One soldier came and looked
down, and ne said out loud:
Damn it,"
That's all he said, and then he
walked away.
Another one came, and he said,
Damn 1t to hell anyway" He
looked down for a few last moments
and then turned and left.
Another man came. think he was
an officer. It was hard to tell Of
ficers from men in the dim light,
for all were bearded and grimy. The
man looked down into the dead cap
tain's face and then spoke directly
to him, as though he were alive:
I'm sorry, old man."
Then a soldier came and stood
beside the officer and bent over, and
he too spoke to his dead captain,
not in a whisper but awfully ten
derby, and he said:
II sure am sorry, sir"
Then the first man squatted
down, and he reached down and
took the dead hand, and he sat
there for full five minutes holding
the dead hand in his own and look
ing intently into the dead face. And
he never uttered a sound all the
time he sat there.
Finally he put the hand down.
He reached up and gently
Strengthened the points of the
captains shirt collar, and then
he sort Of re-arranged the tat
tered edges Of the uniform
around the wound, and then he
got up and walked away down
the read In the moonlight, all
alone.
The rest Of rs went back into
the cowshed, leaving the five
dead men lying in line end to
end In the shadow Of the low
stone wall We lay down on the
straw in the cowshed, and pref
ty soon we were all asleep.
Sgt. Bill Mauldin appears to us
over here to be the finest cartoon
ist the war has produced. And that's
not merely because his cartoons are
funny, but because they are also
terrible grim and real.