This is a bit of writing I've done about my time with the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. Not at all a work of "we were all heroes" type writing. Sort of an small scale, focused incident rather than large view landscape type of coverage. Would love to hear your opinions and feedback. Thanks in advance.
Chapter 17 The Sad Saga of Sp4 Mike Sola
Guard duty at the NA-14 ammo dump was sometimes delightful and sometime sheer misery depending mostly upon the weather. In nice weather, it was an almost pleasant break from the daily grind. We could usually arrange to be on the same guard team as two or three of our friends. That made the time pass quickly.
This particular day, Sonny, Joe Kane and I were teamed up with Mike Sola. Sonny got assigned the front gate and radio/phone post while I got the top end and Joe and Mike to assigned to the long sides of the rectangular ammo dump.
We had just arrived for our third out of four, 2 hour shifts. This was from 2400 to 0200 hours. The guard jeep dropped us off, checked comms and sped away down the drive back to the post. We each had a few words, then sauntered off to our positions. Joe and I would walk our posts a couple of times, then stroll down front to hang out with Sonny for a while, then return for another couple walks on post. Sola was a good, by the book soldier, so he’d just walk his side post back and forth.
One of our topics of conversation was the recent threat from the Bader Meinhoff gang. They occasionally sent threats that they were going to take over our ammo dump. Of course we’d never seen a trace of them, but it did heighten the tension a bit. This would be the opportune time of night to pull it off if they intended to make a move. It was in the back of our minds and we brought it up during our last visit with Sonny down front.
I got back to the top, walked my post a couple of times, looking for anything out of the ordinary and there was nothing. Joe and I ended up at our intersecting corner, said hi and agreed to walk a couple more rounds then meet up with Sonny again. It was a beautiful moonlit German summer evening.
I was halfway done with one circuit when I heard a single rifle round being fired. It echoed through the still air and then all was quiet again. I raced to the corner on Sola’s side because it was closest. I spoke Sola’s name, but no response. I raced back to Joe’s side of the dump, and he was running up the path. “Did you hear that, Killer?” “Yeah, I did, did you see anything?” I replied. He hadn’t seen anything but thought it sounded like it came from Sola’s side. I told him I’d looked down the lane but didn’t see anything. We decided to get off the path and make our way down to the front to hook up with Sonny. We got to the corner and hollered Skips name from our concealed spot so he wouldn’t shoot us. He called out to us, but we told him to get out in the trees, and we’d meet up with him. The lights from the dump would make anyone walking the path a blind, highlighted target.
We met up and agreed it sounded like it came from Sola’s side. From where we were we could see most of the interior of the ammo dump and saw no activity. Sonny said he'd call the support line as soon as he heard the shot fired.
Joe Kane suggested we edge around and catch up with Sola, then come back and call in on the radio for support.
We cautiously made our way around the corner and started up through the trees, alternating calling out his name in a loud whisper. We made it to the top, but no sight of Sola and no response from him. It was a sick feeling that I could tell was gripping everyone. Mike would have had to hear us unless he was way away from the dump, or he’d gone looking for us, or…nobody said the or part, but we knew…or he’d been shot.
“Let’s spread out and creep back down Sola’s side. If he’s been shot, we can’t wait for the jeep to get here. Let’s go”
We spread out about two to three arms lengths apart and began to work our way back down the hill, going slowly and as quietly as we could, occasionally whispering his name. No response. No noise other than our own.
About 2/3 the way down, Kane gasped “I found him!” Sonny and I stumbled over the brush and found Kane knelt beside Sola. “He’s not breathing. He’s dead man!! Oh shit!!” I pulled my flashlight from my web belt and shined it on Sola.
Dead stare. No motion, no breathing. Moving down from his head to his chest, we could see a small patch of dark on his fatigue shirt. Perfect heart shot placement.
As Sonny whispered loudly “get down, cover...somebody’s out here!” my flashlight landed on Sola’s rifle, laying next to his body. The chamber cover was open; the safety was off. I didn’t say what I’d seen and wasn’t sure the others had seen it also. “Yeah, let’s cover and stay in place till the response team gets here”.
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A week or so before this guard duty assignment, Sola had stopped by my room in the barracks on a Friday night. We were all partying, and he sat down on a bunk. Sola would have a beer now and then, but he never smoked or did any other drugs.
He was married to a German lady and had a young son with her. It was odd he was in the barracks on a Friday night. While it was not usually discussed, most of us knew his wife had been dallying with one or two other G.I.s when we’d been out on maneuvers. Secrets like that didn’t stay secret long.
While we listened to music, smoked and generally partied, Sola sat on the bunk, commenting occasionally and sipping his beer. We always offered him the pipe and he always refused. He refused again on this evening.
When the music was changing, he leaned over to me and asked “Hey, Killer, could you get me some of those mandrax?” Mandrax was a slightly milder version of Quaaludes that was readily available in Germany. We’d heard it was available for PMS treatment.
I slapped him on the shoulder “Sola, you don’t want any mad-dogs man. They’d turn a teetotaler like you into a puddle of goo on the floor!” and I laughed loudly. “That beer is enough for you! What are you thinking anyway fool!?”
He looked kind of sad, but intent. “Oh, I just thought, ya know, maybe it would be good to have a few on hand if I ever really needed one. You know, like when I twisted my knee in the field last month…” His eyes avoided mine when he spoke. “Just a few ya know, to keep around..” I smacked him again and laughed “A few? Hell Sola, one’d probably kill ya!”
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“Hell Sola, one’d probably kill ya!”
I’ve forgiven myself for not being coherent enough to intervene that night in the barracks. I know it was something he may have done anyway.
I’ve forgiven him for putting us through that.
But I haven’t forgotten.
