Frederick John Patterson, the brother of my mother, was born on May 15, 1920 in the coal country of western Pennsylvania.  His early life was hard.  As a child, he hitch-hiked seven miles to school every day.  It was especially difficult during the winter months, as he often lacked adequate clothing.  But Fred persevered and managed to finish high school, a feat at which many of his contemporaries failed.

After high school Fred got a job as a conveyor loader at the McIntire Coal mine, the same place his father worked.  Most of his earnings had to go to family support, as Depression times were hard and the family had three other children; Tete, Peggy (my mother), and Jim still in school.

Fred did manage to scrape together fifty dollars to purchase a 1930 Model A Ford in 1939.  Every young man is proud of his first car and Fred was no exception.  He drove up in front of his home to show off to Tete, my mother, and Jim, who were in the front yard.  Cars are for driving and it didn’t take long for one of his two younger sisters to suggest, “How about taking us for a ride?”

Jim jumped into the rumble seat with a friend from next door named Raymond Fairbanks.  Tete and my mother piled into the front seat and off they went.  Soon they were seven miles out of town, near the coal mines where Fred and his father worked—going faster than they ought.

Suddenly, the right front tire blew out on a sharp curve.  Fred managed to keep the car on the road and no one was hurt.  But now he had a flat tire and no spare.  Nearby was an old gas station.  Fred coaxed the car to the station, where an attendant gave him the grim news.  A blow-out patch would cost fifty cents.  Labor to repair the tire was a quarter, bringing the cost of getting his car back on the road to a whopping seventy-five cents!  Unfortunately, Fred had only fifty cents on his person.  Jim and Raymond were flat broke.  Tete and my mother perused their purses and managed to come up with the deficit between them.  Saved!  The repair made, they simply went home.  This was one of those adventures that conveniently went unmentioned to their parents.

By early 1941 the war in Europe had been going on for over a year.  There was genuine concern in America that our nation would soon be sucked into the caldron.  In response, many young men began to answer the call to the colors and entered the military service.  Fred wanted to join the army and serve in Hawaii with a friend, but in those days a man did not reach majority age until twenty-one.  Fred was just short and his father would not sign the papers allowing him to go.

Then came the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.  Fred again wanted to join.  This time he had his mother Josephine in his corner.  By then he was twenty-one and could have gone regardless of his father’s wishes.  Still, his father held out and Fred complied.  Finally, in March, 1942 his father relented and Fred joined the United States Army.

After basic training he would up being assigned to Company L, of the 3^rd Battalion, of the 179^th Infantry Regiment, of the 45^th Division of the United States Army.  He began training with his unit at Camp Pickett, Virginia.  The 179^th Infantry Regiment consisted mostly of men from Oklahoma, about a third of Indian descent.  Collectively, they were known as “The Crazy Okies.”  To bring the regiment to its full strength of 3,500 men, a few non-Okies such as Fred were sprinkled in.  Like all other regiments, the 179^th had several non-combat components.  There were cooks, clerical, supply, and medical personnel.  The 179^th Regimental Combat Team, consisting of about 3,000 men, was the pure fighting component of the 179^th Infantry Regiment.

After training in several camps, the 179^th was finally deemed combat ready.  Fred boarded the troopship U.S.S. Florence Nightingale on June 8, 1943 and departed into the unknown from Hampton Roads Harbor, Virginia.  Because of the need for secrecy, only the few who needed to know, knew where they were heading.

The convoy headed east across the Atlantic Ocean.  On the way, they had several brushes with German U-Boats.  From the deck of his ship Fred saw one U-Boat forced to the surface, where it was quickly blasted to smithereens by escorting destroyers.

Fred’s convoy steamed into Mers El Kibir Bay near Oran, Algeria on June 22.  There they remained, kept aboard ship, until late afternoon on the 24^th when the fleet again raised anchor and headed east along the North African coast.  At 2am on the 25^th they conducted a practice invasion near La Sidia, Algeria.  It was a good thing this was practice, for the navy landed the men at the wrong beaches, missing the marked landing points by as much as three miles.  The troops clogged the roads needed to bring in supplies and inadequate security measures were taken against possible enemy counter-attacks.  General George Patton, commander of the 7^th Army, of which Fred’s 45th Division was a part, was not pleased.  He rode up and down the clogged roads, cursing everyone within earshot.  The next few days were devoted to whipping the men back into shape after the long sea voyage.  They ran obstacle courses, did long forced marches, and practiced house to house street fighting.

On July 5 they returned to their ships and headed off “to the real thing.”  But where?  The fleet headed east again along the African coast and then gradually pulled northward.  That evening, Fred finally learned where he was going when the ship’s address system came on.

“Well men, this is it.  We’re heading for Sicily.”  Each unit was then briefed on its objectives.

At two minutes before a moonless midnight on July 9, the invasion fleet slipped into the transport area, 1800 yards off the southwest coast of Sicily.  All engines stopped, not wanting to alert the waiting enemy on shore.  Aboard the ships men checked and re-checked their equipment.

Suddenly the big fifteen-inch guns of the British battleships HMS Nelson and HMS King George V opened up with shore bombardment from far behind them.  Fred could see the flashes from the guns on the horizon.  A few seconds later came the booming sounds.  Overhead, threesomes of shells arched across the sky, trailing white heat, which faded at the apex.  A few seconds later, the whole sky above the landing area flashed brilliantly.  A thunderous roar reverberated across the waters to the men on the ships.  It was a moment of awful beauty.  Fred was glad to not be involved in the “awful” part of it.

The command came, “Lay into the boats.”  Fred climbed over the rail, down the rope nets, and stepped aboard his rocking landing craft.  What was awaiting him and his buddies once they came ashore?  Would he live to see the daylight?

At 3:45am the formed-up landing craft began churning for the beach.  At 4:03am, with the first hint of dawn in the eastern sky, Fred’s 179^th Regiment, Colonel Robert B. Hutchins commanding, became the first unit to hit the shore of Hitler’s Fortress Europe.

As quickly as possible, the men raced across the open beaches for better cover inland.  Surprisingly, resistance was light.  Many of the Italian defenders, wanting only to live, sprang from their concealed positions and threw up their hands in surrender.  Those who did fire on the Americans paid swiftly with their lives.

Third Battalion’s objective on the first day was to seize the high ground 1000 yards from the beach, speed up highway 115, and take Vittoria.  Within minutes they took the high ground and began racing up the highway.  They met their first stiff resistance at Vittoria, which was held partially by German forces.  After hard street fighting, the city capitulated at 2:40pm, the first major city in Sicily to fall to the allies.  By the end of the first day, Fred’s Battalion had accomplished all of its objectives with a minimum of casualties.

The following day Fred was involved in the taking Comiso Airport.  Because the airfield was vitally important, the Germans defended it with their best troops in the area.  After sharp fighting, the airfield fell at 4:10pm.  With the airfield came a booty of 120 German planes and large stacks of 250 and 500 pound bombs.  The Germans had lost their best staging area for attacks on the invasion fleet and the Americans gained an airfield from which to harass the Germans.

The next day elements of the Hermann Goering Panzer Division tried to re-take Comiso.  Fred was at a forward outpost to the north side of the airfield.  He had just emerged from his foxhole early that morning when he heard planes flying overhead and looked up to see paratroopers descending.  Thinking they were Americans, he began yelling “over here!”  Too late Fred realized that they were Germans.  He dashed for his rifle, which lay in his foxhole.  On top of Fred’s rifle was his foxhole mate.

“Get off my gun!” he yelled, but the other soldier was too scared to comply.  Just then, a German soldier came up and fired his machine pistol into the dirt in front of Fred.  Dirt kicked into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.  Fred couldn’t get to his rifle and the German was pointing his weapon at him.  There was nothing to do but surrender.  And so Fred and five other Americans were taken prisoner.  Later, when Fred had time to think about it, he realized that had he gotten to his rifle, the German would have fired something different than a warning shot.  His foxhole buddy had probably saved his life.

To be continued next Thursday.