CROSSROADS

A TEENAGE SOLDIER IN WORLD WAR IIBy CHARLES SAMUEL BETTS

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Charles Samuel Betts
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-6760-5

Chapter One

It was a cold winter day, and Charles Bettendorf was all alone. He was just nineteen, and now, he was about to be sent overseas. How did he get to this point in his life? He tried to ponder this. Flashing memories came to his mind. He was seeing himself going to his mail box and getting an official letter. It said, "The United States Government". He hastily opened it fearing what it was. It was a draft notice. His name was on it. He was to report to Camp Robinson, Little Rock, Arkansas. The physical, the acceptance, the train trip to Camp Stewart, Georgia, all followed. He could go no further. His mind was distracted by thoughts of what he was facing. He couldn't focus his thinking. His thoughts seemed to scatter driven by his fear. He had been trained as an infantryman, and now, he was being sent to the Pacific to fight the Japs. All during his training, he had heard how brutal the Jap soldier was. His ability to fight in the jungle was frightening. Suddenly, there was a loud shout and a slamming of the door. A Sergeant was calling out names and announcing the following men were to report to a barge for loading. Bettendorf was the first name called. He was at Camp Stoneman, California, which was at the upper beaches of San Francisco Bay. It was about three p.m. and it would take three hours to get to the boat docks in San Francisco. Bettendorf had not heard a word from the Sergeant after his name had been called. He felt numb. He got slowly to his feet and turned in a daze to pack his duffle bag. It was hard to lift his arms, and he struggled. The Sergeant was shouting orders and demanding the men to hurry. He stumbled out of the barracks and slowly formed up into the squad, that was to be marched to the barge. He was numb, and he was on automatic. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and follow the man in front of him.

His mind started working, and he found himself sitting on his duffle bag. He was looking around. The barge was being pushed by a tug boat. It was moving slowly. The bay was calm, and he could hear the lapping of the water as the barge was pushed slowly forward. As it progressed, the sun slowly sank in the west. It was getting dark when the barge was pushed to the pier where the troopship was moored. There were only black out lights that lit up the pier. The men were ordered onto the pier and told to lay down their duffle bags. Charles sat wearily on his bag and began to feel lost. It was the pain of the loss of the familiar. He was leaving the United States for how long? This question rolled back and forth in his mind. There was no answer. As he looked around, he could see the outlines of buildings. Out in the bay he could make out the outline of an island. He wondered, "What is its name?" In the midst of this revelry, he heard a harsh barking command. He was told his ship was on the other side of a big warehouse. This ship was a Dutch freighter converted into a troopship. Its name was the "Flying Dutchman". There was something foreboding about this ship. The approaching fog enveloped the ship and gave it a ghostlike appearance. He wondered if this ship was to be his grave. When he reached the other side of the pier, he immediately went up the gang plank. He was told to go down into the cargo hole of the ship and find his bunk. There was a stuffy odor in this cargo area, so here he was to bunk for 50 nights.

As he searched for a bunk, he became aware of the structure of this previous cargo hole. There were tiers of bunks stacked in fours. The top bunk allowed only 18 inches before it reached the ceiling. These bunks were off to the left of the stair case. They extended the length of the cargo hole. To the right were the latrine and the showers. There was no privacy. He tested the water in the latrine and found that it was salt water. He put his duffle bag on the nearest bunk. He had no inclination to sleep there. He left and went to the top deck. There was a cool breeze blowing, and he felt refreshed. As he stood by the rail of the ship, he saw and heard much activity on the pier below. Men were lifting the ropes and chains that held the ship fast to the pier. There was much shouting of orders, and he heard the starting of the engines. The boat started moving forward and rubbed against the side of the pier. When it cleared the pier, a tug boat appeared and began maneuvering the boat into the main shipping channel of the bay. At this point, he became aware that the pilot had come aboard. The tug boat pulled away, and the ship picked up speed. He could feel the power of the ship and the confidence of the pilot. As the speed increased, he passed the island (Alcatraz). All of the buildings lining the shore were dark. He looked forward and could see the dim outline of a huge bridge. It was the Golden Gate Bridge. It seemed the ship moved all too rapidly as it approached the bridge. He knew that the Pacific Ocean lay beyond this bridge. Quickly he looked up and saw the ship was exactly under the bridge. There were some cars going over the bridge. He wondered if they had black out lights. As the bridge receded, he saw an empty black space. He looked down at the water and realized that the ship had entered an ocean of large swells. The Flying Dutchman had started to roll and pitch. At first, this didn't bother him as he was too involved with his feelings connected with his leaving his home and his country. He was thinking of Camp Stewart. It was a camp in a remote part of Georgia, near Hinesville, Georgia. At first, he was supposed to be trained in anti-aircraft artillery. As the need for this decreased, the training became basic infantry training. His thoughts were interrupted by the swells six to eight feet high. Soon he was retching and vomiting over the rail. He was not alone as many of his comrades were in the same condition. This seasickness was to last throughout the night and into the next day. During this time, he began to ask himself, why had he not developed any buddies. He felt all alone. He had been in the Army since May, and here it was mid-November.

As he explored this, memories came into focus. His first memory was of his experiences in grade school. He was two years ahead of his age in grade school. He had been advanced two grade levels as he had performed higher than his grade level. His classmates felt he was too young for them. His mind had matured, but his body had not. To make it worse, he was not athletically endowed. He tried to compete but was not successful. He had wanted to develop friends, but the only people interested in him were the ones that had the same problems. He reacted to this by being as smart as he could be. This was a very lonely solution. His mother had come from a wealthy family and constantly reminded him that he was better than most people because of his background. This gave him no comfort. All it did was encourage him to feel he was better than others when he really knew he was not. With this thought, he became aware that he was very hungry. It was then that he learned that food was only served two times a day. Breakfast started at 6:30 a.m., and it took until 11:00 a.m. to feed the 1200 enlisted men. The second meal started at 2:00 p.m. and lasted to 7:00 p.m. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 6:30 p.m. He rushed to the chow line and was among the last to be fed.

When he returned to the main deck, he saw the last rim of the sun sink below the waves. The surface of the sea darkened and...