Ordinary Heroes: Untold Stories of World War II

Nonfiction book

The Project

I co-authored this 330-page narrative account of World War II after interviewing more than sixty veterans and conducting extensive research. Every fact, location, and event needed to be verified. At the end of the process, interview materials were archived and donated to the Veterans History Project at the Library of Congress.

About the Book

Sixty-four heroes. One story. This extraordinary account explores one of history’s greatest conflicts: World War II. Told through the eyes of its participants, Ordinary Heroes is a compelling collection of true stories woven into a single narrative spanning the entire war — from the waters of Pearl Harbor to the sands of Normandy to the mountains of Okinawa.

The result of more than sixty interviews, this is a story about ordinary men and women whose families struggled to survive the Great Depression, who grew up on farms and in the small towns of rural America. When called upon to serve they rose to the challenge, casting their old lives aside to become soldiers. In war they witnessed the best and the worst of humanity. They experienced beauty and terror, joy and heartbreak. Those who survived returned home profoundly changed.

War leaves its mark on the best of people, and the extraordinary individuals within these pages are no exception. They did not turn their backs when history needed them most, but rather met the challenge head on. In doing so they brought peace to a world at war.

Excerpts

From Chapter 7: The Long Winter

Martin scrambled through the icy mess of shell craters and debris, keeping his head low in an effort to avoid the bullets hissing past. He was going the wrong way. As everyone else steadily retreated, he ran toward the enemy into the hellish wasteland between the front lines.

He dropped to his knees next to a wounded GI. Another medic was already there, administering aid to the thrashing man. Beside him, lying crumpled and bloody in the snow, was a makeshift litter fashioned out of two field jackets zipped together. Most of their medical equipment was long gone, captured or destroyed in the retreat, so they did what they could. Martin helped drag the man onto the jackets, but it was too late. He wasn’t unconscious; he was gone. The other medic swore and dashed away.

Martin frowned. How many is it now? How many have died in these woods? He couldn’t keep count.

Another mortar round burst, spewing earth and snow into the air. A soldier fell screaming to the ground nearby. Dodging gunfire, Martin sprinted to the fallen man and slid feet first into the snow beside him, kicking up a heap of bloody dirt and ice.

Martin looked at the man’s face with shock. It was his best friend, Tennessee. He was badly hurt, his chest heaving with great shuddering breaths. Blood oozed from the tattered shirt covering his stomach, and he winced at Martin’s touch.

“Martin?” he wheezed painfully.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Pull me up.” Tennessee’s eyes were focused on something out of reach, and he seemed to be searching the sky with his gaze. He tried to lift an arm, tried to grasp Martin’s hand, but he couldn’t find the strength. “Pull me up so I can see the trees.”

“Alright, Tennessee.” Martin choked on the words. “Here we go.” His voice was a whisper as he tucked his arms beneath the dying man and lifted him onto his lap.

“Trees…” Tennessee sputtered feebly, “Look at the trees.”

Martin craned his neck, following his friend’s eyes, and time itself seemed to melt away. For a beautiful instant the war was invisible. The chaos pulled back like a curtain and in its place serenity bloomed. The forest lay silent and inviting beneath a blanket of white, its trees stretching like fingers toward the heavens. A breeze billowed through the canopy above, tossing the branches in gentle waves as powdery snow flitted and glistened in the air. But the moment was fleeting. With a shudder, Tennessee went limp in his arms and was gone. A tear rolled down Martin’s cheek as the wails of battle came rushing back all at once.

He lowered his friend into the snow. Nineteen years old. He loved the hills and the trees, and now he was with them.

A man screamed nearby. Martin moved on.