NAME: Justin T. McCarthy
ASN: O-1294881
PLACE OF BIRTH: East Orange, NJ
DATE OF BIRTH:
DATES OF SERVICE: 00 Mar 1942 - 30 May 1945
UNIT ASSIGNED:
Demolitions Platoon, Headquarters, 2nd Battalion, 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment
C Company, 509th PIB
B Company, 509th PIB
CAMPAIGNS: Naples-Foggia, Anzio, Rome-Arno, Southern France, Ardennes-Alsace, Rhineland
AWARDS: Parachutist Badge with two combat jump stars, Combat Infantryman Badge, Silver Star Medal, Purple Heart Medal, French Croix de Guerre w/Silver Star, EAME Campaign Medal with arrowhead and five campaign stars, WWII Victory Medal, Distinguished (Presidential) Unit Citation with two oak leaf clusters
SUMMARY OF SERVICE:
1941 - Home of Record: 312 S. Clinton St, E. Orange, N.J.
1941 - Saleman in the rug section of a department store in Newark, NJ
24 Feb 1941 - Enlisted
Graduated Officer Candidate School
Graduated from the Parachute School
13 Dec 1942 - Married Lillian Neafsey McCarthy
14 Sep 1943 - 1st Lt. Justin T. McCarthy O-1294881, Demolitions Platoon Leader, 2nd Bn, 509th PIR, Participated in Operation GIANT III the airborne invasion of Avellino, Italy
By Lieut. Justen T. Mc Carthy (As told to Richard Tregaskis)
It was my first combat jump, and it was a night jump, and we were going to land near Avellino where intelligence said there was a pot-full of Germans – but my biggest worry was a prosaic thing called a parabundle. Maybe I should have had more high toned thoughts, about life of death, but in that plane heading for Italy, I spent most of my time worrying about getting those 15 men on the ground in the right place-----and that parabundle. The bundle was one of those wicker jobs filled with axes, ammunition and other stuff we‟d need, and it was hard to handle. It weighed about 250 pounds and it was bulky. I kept looking at the open door of the plane, which was plenty small (we were in a C-53, the Douglas with the small door) and thinking that if the bundle turned in the prop blast, it would get stuck, and then we‟d never get out of the darned plane. I decided the thing to do was to put my foot against it, give it a heave and follow it right out of the ship, when we got to the DZ (Dropping Zone).
Maybe it was a good thing I had that parabundle, and a lot of other things to worry about. That way, I didn‟t have as much to think about, as the fifteen men sitting there in the plane, in the little moonlight that filtered through the door----waiting for the time to come. They couldn‟t even talk much because of the noise of the motors. Some of the boys yelled a little conversation at each other now and then----a few wise cracks to ease the tension. It was a certain sergeant, whose name I won‟t mention, who made the best crack. It‟s the only one I remember. He said: “I can see my wife now, sitting there with my insurance policy in one hand and a new Ford catalogue in the other.”
I thought about Lillian, my wife, then, and that it was just nine months since we got married. I‟d taken time off just before I got through jump school to go up to Newark and propose to her, and she‟d accepted. So we got married December 13, and now it was September 13, and here I was on my way into Italy, while she was probably working back there in Mt. Sinai hospital in Yonkers, where she‟s a dietician. I thought she‟d sure be surprised if she could see me now, or if she knew what I was doing.
Just about that time we went by a mountain, on the Italian coast, and I got worried. I thought I recognized it as a check point where we should make a turn, and the pilot kept straight on. I was worrying about that when I saw two planes go by one behind the other in the moonlight. I thought they were night fighters and got worried about that; but they were DC-3‟s like ours and they were turning. We HAD missed our check point. We went back down the coast, the three planes in our element, and I looked at my watch and saw that it was getting on towards 12 midnight, when we were supposed to drop. We still hadn‟t had the twenty minute warning from the pilot, so I sent the crew chief up to the cockpit to ask what was happening. The pilot sent back word that he had not passed the 20 minute warning yet----that he was a little behind schedule. And a few minutes later we got the word, the warning. I told all the men to fasten their chest straps; they‟d undone them because they are tight and uncombortable on a long plane ride. Then I checked all the buckles myself and went back and sat on the parabundle looking out the door. The bright moonlight was so clear that I could see the other ships of our element flying along, and with a little more light I could have recognized people.
We were coming near the DZ, and we all knew it. The men got restless and some of them stood up, getting ready to hook up their static lines. Looking out the door I could see that we were flying into a valley where the mountains were just straight up. It was so narrow, our element were flying practically wing tip to wing tip. Then the red light came on, indicating we should get ready, and I told the men “Stand up and hook up.”, the words that make a Paratrooper‟s heart go faster. They hooked their static lines on the wire that runs down the top of the cabin, getting ready for that slow shuffle that takes them out into the prop blast and the free air.
I had the crew chief help me get the basket into the door, and then I hooked up. The green light came on and I kicked the basket out and followed it out the door into the noise and whamming air of the prop-blast. The parabundle chute ripped out and my chute opened with a helluva crack. The harness was loose because in a mixup I had somebody else‟s chute, and if your chute is loose it can knock you cold. The opening shock rattled my bones and seemed ready to cut me in two. I grabbed the lift-webbs and looked up to check the cute----two normal reactions after you leave the ship. I tried to count the other cutes in the air but I couldn‟t; they were strung out one behind the other.
I looked down and listened for firing and saw how rugged the ground was; I could see steep rocks and see we were falling into a valley. It was a long jump and you could look around and see the woods and big rocky patches clearly in the moonlight. I saw a white streak and knew it was a river. I realized I was oscillating a little but I didn‟t mind. I was too busy listening for firing and looking for flashes on the ground. Then I got to the point, lower down, where you seem to stop floating and the ground starts moving up fast at you, and I saw I was going to land in the river. I didn't mind that: I thought I might get wet but that would be all right. And then I saw that the place was just jagged rock. I said to myself “Oh hell, I‟m going to break a leg.” And then I hit with a crash and knocked myself as cold as a mackerel.
(END OF FIRST INSTALLMENT) VIA COURIER TO ALGIERS VIA AIRMAIL TO INTERNATIONAL NEWS SERVICE NETWORK
By Lieut. Justen T. Mc Carthy (as told to Richard Trgaskis, International News Service Staff Correspondent)
When I came to, in that dry river bed, the place was as quiet as a stone. There were no planes in the sky, and no chutes that I could see on the ground. The first thing I did was to reach back, pull out my pistol, and cock it. That was one thing we'd been drilled on, because parachutists have been shot while they're getting out of their harness. But there was no firing, and still no sound or motion, while I got rid of my reserve chute, the small chest pack, and unbuckled my harness. It had been a kidney punch from a rock that had knocked me cold when I hit. I'd come in backwards and fallen hard. I'd been carrying clips for my carbine on the back of my belt, and they were bent from the impact so I couldn't use them. But outside of being a little bruised, I wasn't hurt.
After a little looking around, I spotted a chute lying at the top of a hill. I worked my way up to it and found it was the parabundle chute. It had malfunctioned and the bundle and everything in it, were broken all to hell. I started walking up the valley looking for my men, just guessing which direction to go. Usually you line up your men by following the direction the planes are flying. But this time when I came to---it must have been four or five minutes after I hit---all the planes had gone.
I was pretty nerved up, being all alone, and expected to hear a shot any minute. All of a sudden I heard a click, like metal against metal, and saw a man moving in the bushes. I dropped to one knee, and he jumped behind a stump and leveled his rifle at me. He challenged and I gave him the countersign. It was one of my men. A few minutes later we found the whole stick of men from the ship---14 more. We started working west, because I figured we had landed to the east of our DZ. After we'd gone about a mile, we ran into Maj. Dudley, (Maj. William R. Dudley, Riverside Drive, Vancouver, Wash.) with a plane-load of men, and we joined forces.
We could hear firing going on to the west, but had no idea what it was. There was no firing near us. We moved on very carefully. It was pretty heavily wooded terrain, as well as being hilly. We looked at every bush, expecting a battalion or at least a company of Germans to come out. Then I saw something move in the bushes. I put up my hand and stopped the column, and we got into position, spread out in a fan shape. I took out a hand grenade and started for the bushes, figuring there must be about 888 jerries in there. I got up to the bushes and saw some eyes looking out at me. I pointed my carbine at them and motioned the people to come out. They were Italian men, women and children, refugees, and they came out with their hands up. Some of the women got down and kneeled and cried, and I guess they were asking us for mercy. They thought we were Germans. I showed them the American flag on my sleeve, and they said “Americano”, and jumped up and threw their arms around us and started kissing our hands and faces and our clothes. One big Italian got a bear hug on me and hung on and started kissing my cheeks. I couldn‟t get him off and I didn't want to hit him. But the people were making so much noise---they thought we were part of a large American force and got pretty excited---that we had to quiet them down. Finally we got them quiet enough so I could ask them how far it was to Avellino. I knew how to say that much in Italian: “Quanti kilometric Avellino.” Some of them said 25 kilometers, and some said 30 or 32 or 40. And then, as they usually do, they started arguing about who was right. But they indicated the general direction, at least, and Maj. Dudley told us to head that way.
We noticed that some of the Italians had picked up our chutes, and were trying to hide them. They figured this was stealing and wanted to cover it up, but it was just what we wanted: to get the chutes off the ground and hidden so there would be no trace of our having landed. I told the Italians to get all the chutes they could find and take them to their houses or bury them, but to give them back later on because we would need them for "la Guerra." After that there was a general stampede to get the chutes. And Italians were running all over the place, in the woods and the valleys, holding chutes in their arms. It was pretty funny to see them as busy as that at three o'clock in the morning, as if they'd struck gold out in the hills.
We moved on in the direction of Avellino, and had one more false alarm. I was at the point, then, with the leading element as I had been before, and we saw bushes moving in the moonlight. We set up a line and moved in on them. But it turned out that six cows were making all the trouble. We headed down a road and after what seemed a long while we came to a bunch of buildings. It was the edge of a town, but it was Cassano, not Avellino. There we met Capt. Tomasik (Capt. Edmund J. Tomasik of 15 Roosevelt St., New Bedford, Mass.) the supply officer, with about 20 men. That brought the total of our little army to about 50.
All of a sudden a machine gun opened up from the left near the rear of the column. It was a jerry; you can always spot them by the rapid rate of fire. I saw the red line of tracer bullets from this fellow and it looked as if he were firing solid tracer. There was a wall at the edge of the road and I had my men take cover there. Then the major told us to get off the road and down into a field, where it would be safer; and we did. But the firing stopped and we moved on, thinking that probably somebody at the rear of the column had taken care of the sniper.
We went on into the town, and the natives started coming out of their houses, laughing and weeping for joy, and bringing us bread and water and fruit. They figured a big bunch of American troops had come and the war was over. They didn't know we were paratroopers. One of the Italians said he would guide us to some high ground where we‟d be able to set up a position. Private Alongi (PFC Jack Alongi of 498 Manistique Ave., Detroit, Mich.) did the parleying, and we started up the hill. Some of the men dropped off and stayed behind in the town---about eight or ten of them. Some of them had sprained ankles from the jump and some were just tired from the long hike and wanted to stay where the food was good. But most of us ploughed on up that hill, although it was terrifically steep and we were worn out. We knew if we stayed in the town, jerry might catch us there in the morning with an artillery concentration, and it would be a death trap. So we got up to the top of the hill, somewhere around four o'clock and began digging in. We got a little sleep, in our foxholes, and then it was daylight, and we could hear firing down in the town---machine-guns and rifles, and a B.A.R. (Browning automatic rifle). Looking down, we could see that the jerries had an armored car moving up and down the main street, and a party of men were going into the houses, searching. They were looking for us; and there were little shooting scrapes as they found some of our men hiding in the houses. We knew then that our job had begun.
END OF SECOND INSTALLMENT Tregaskis BY COURIER TO ALGIERS AIRMAIL TO INTERNATIONAL NEWS SERVICE NEW YORK
By Lieut. Justen T. Mc Carthy (As told to Richard Tregaskis, International New Service Staff Correspondent)
We didn't fire on the Germans in the town from our hill position; even though we could see their tanks and men moving up and down the streets. Maj. Dudley (Maj. William R. Dudley of Vancouver, Wash.) decided we should sit tight, because men who got lost in the jump the night before, of our outfit were joining us by twos and threes, and it seemed likely that by nightfall we would have a fairly large force. Then we would be able to move and do some damage. About ten of our men, part of those who had remained behind in the town when we climbed the hill the night before, never did rejoin us. We heard later that some of them were captured, and some killed, in fighting with the Germans down there. I know I heard one of our weapons, a B.A.R. (Browning Automatic Rifle) among the firing. One of the men who did get away from the Germans in the town and reached our hill, was Jeanes (PFC Guy W. Jeanes, of San Augustine, Tex.) He had been caught at a waterhole that morning by a bunch of Germans, and had killed two of them and made a clean getaway.
During the day more of the paratroopers drifted in from the hills, by ones and twos and threes. They had been looking around for other paratroops during the night; the main problem of the jump being as usual to get sizeable bunches of men together. The town was fairly quiet the rest of that day: no gunfire, but some enemy trucks passing through the streets, many of them going north, away from the front. About noontime the Italians brought us some food---loaves of bread, and a delicious cheese. And Capt. Tomasik (Capt. Edmund J. Tomasik of 15 Roosevelt St., New Bedford, Mass) the supply officer, found some of the parabundles he'd been looking for during the night. Some of them contained food; but unfortunately we couldn't have retrieved them without giving away our position. They were dangling from some trees, out in the open.
At about five o‟clock one of our out posts reported he'd spotted some Germans, apparently setting up a heavy machine gun, thrity or forty feet from his foxhole. Maj. Dudley decided we should pull out and move to another place, and wait a little longer for more of our outfit to join up with us. My little bunch of men covered the withdrawal, but there was no contact with the enemy. After about two hours of walking, we were passing a house when an Italian came out and started parleying with Alongi (PFC Jack Alongi, of 488 Manistique Ave., Detroit, Mich.), who speaks the lingo, and the Italian said he could guide us to a place where we‟d be safe and could operate. He led us about 10 or 11 kilometers to a heavily wooded mountainside where a little stream trickled cool water, and where the cover was so thick there was little likelyhood the enemy could spot us with aerial observation.
We sank down there and rested one whole day. The men were tired and hungry. We had only about three days rations; because we had left behind the parabundle full of food---it was too heavy to carry. The Italians brought us bread and cheese again, but in small amounts; by the time you divided it, each man had a piece about as big as a thimble. The Italians brought us news, too---usually good news about the Americans advancing, ---but they couldn't agree on their stories. Some said the Americans were in this town or that, or this or that many kilometers away; and then they would get into arguments amongst themselves about just what the situation was. The Italians also brought us notes, from other paratroopers who wanted to find us and join forces, and Maj. Dudley would in such cases send back a note with the Italian, saying something like "The bearer is to be trusted. He will bring you to my area." That way we added a few more me to our outfit.
The major found an Italian who offered to guide us to a bridge where there was a lot of enemy traffic---where we might do a lot of damage and hold up their communications by a little demolition. We had about 25 pounds of TNT, and the major decided we should go after the bridge. Maj. Dudley went out on a reconnaissance with the Italian, to take a look at the bridge. Three others went along: Capt. Tomasik, Sgt. Buchanan (Joseph L. Buchanan of Rayville, Tex.) and Alongi. They went out and reached a spot where they could look down on the town of Montello, which was near the bridge; from there they could see the draw leading to the bridge, and the German traffic on the road. That evening we got ready for the job. My men were tired---my outfit had brought up the rear in the march to the new area and arrive last---but when the major asked if they wanted to go along on the trip to the bridge, they volunteered in a group.
So we waited for the moon to come up, until about 10:30. Even then it was so dark in the heavy cover of the mountains, that some of the men held hands to avoid getting lost. The Italian had said he could lead us to the bridge in an hour; but that was a slight underestimate. He kept getting lost himself; and then he would stop us, and go ahead and look for the right path and come back; and once we reversed our direction completely. The trip took us four hours instead of one. The Italian had said he would give us warning before we reached the vicinity of the bridge, so we could size up the situation and get everything set. But actually he led us right smack up to the bridge; we burst out above it without any warning. And it was the wrong bridge. But it was a bridge, on the main German artery, anyhow. And we had a beautiful field of fire, looking right down on the highway. We saw several vehicles go by; trucks. And then an armored car came down, went to the center of the bridge, and halted.
Evidently there were sentries on the bridge, in a little house at one end of it. We were out in the point (of troops) again, and close enough so we could hear the armored car driver talking with some others on the bridge. One of my men who speaks German said the driver called out: "You stay here, I'm going up the hill." Then the armored car pulled off the bridge. But it didn't go up the hill. We could see it parked at the side of the road, under some trees. The major came down to the point to ask why we hadn't gone on right down to the bridge, and I told him about the armored car. He told us to go on down and have a look, so Jeanes (PFC Jeanes) and I sneaked right down to the house. We could see the car---it was a half-track vehicle---pulled up under the tree in the moonlight. There was no one in it. The crew had evidently gone into the house. We started up the hill again, and by this time our feet were really shot. Every step was a painful effort. We'd chopped our feet down into the toes of our shoes so much coming down hillsides that they were raw. We had to cross a patch where there was no vegetation to get back to the rest of the people on the hillside. We reached that and were just sneaking across it in the bright moonlight, when we heard two motorcycles coming down the road. We froze right where we were; and our hearts did too. But the riders didn't see us. They passed right over the bridge and the sound of their motors disappeared. Then we heard the armored car start up and move out. We decided then that the coast was clear. We would take our chances with the men in the house---if there any left. We contacted a runner from the major and told him we were all set to go. Corp. Jeanes still carried his pack full of TNT. He'd been lugging that bundle ever since we jumped. Now at last we had a chance to use it.
END OF THIRD INSTALLMENT Tregaskis
By Lieut. Justen T. McCarthy (As told to Richard Tregaskis, International News Service Staff Correspondent)
We were all set for the job, but I wondered about those [Germans] in the house as we moved down the lower part of the bank. Still, if anyone moved in the house, or came down the road, one of my men would see him. I had assigned two men to guard each end of the bridge, with tommy-guns. They would fire if the armored car came back, or if the sentries, in that house at the end of the bridge, opened the door. And we had protection from above. Maj. Dudley (Maj. William R. Dudley of Vancouver, Wash.) had set up three groups of our troopers on the high ground, where they could cover us with fire. That at least was comforting. We had carefully worked out all our plans. Jeanes (PFC Guy W. Jeanes of San Augustine, Tex.) was to get out on the bridge surface with his pack-full of TNT, and five others were to hand him bags which they would fill from the bank, with earth. The bags would be used for tamping the explosive. And the men at the ends of the bridge would supply protection. I was to supervise. That was the theory.
We climbed down the bank into the gully by the bridge and crossed it and flattened ourselves against the walls---Jeanes and the men who would fill the sandbags and I. The sandbag fillers started to work, clawing dirt from the bank and stuffing it in the musette bags and the rain capes which were to serve as substitutes for the usual tidy burlap item---unreasonable facsimiles. Jeanes jumped up on the edge of the bridge and out to the middle and climbed over onto the pavement. He began looking hurriedly around for the best place to plant his charge. I climbed up onto the edge of the bridge. I was to take the sandbags from the working party and hand them over to Jeanes. Jeanes took off his pack with the demolition kit in it. He ripped the fuses out and began to work placing the charge. Just then one of our groups started firing from the top of the hill. A little German jeep was coming down the road on the side of the bridge where the house stood, and our men had opened up on it. The jeep pulled over to the side of the road while those red tracers slanted down towards them, and jumped out into the bushes. Jeanes froze still in the road where he'd been working. The pavement was white concrete and he was indelible against it. The firing was still angling down from the hill, and now it was being answered. I ducked my head down behind the parapet.
I motioned the men filling the sandbags to hurry as fast as they could. I took the bags they filed and threw them over the wall of the bridge. Another German car came up and started spraying machine gun fire at us. And then everything seemed to break lose. There were tracers everywhere, white and red ones, angling everywhere, glancing off the concrete wall of the bridge, ricocheting into the trees. The Germans opened up from the windows of the house, and the bullets bounded down the white concrete road where Jeanes was lying. Concrete fragments splattered me from the wall of the bridge, where bullets were marching up and down, ripping pieces loose. Tracers zoomed down at an angle from higher ground somewhere and smacked into the bridge across the road and ricocheted right back over my shoulder. I didn‟t know whether Jeanes had finished placing and tamping his charges or not. All the sandbags had been handed over the wall, but when I looked over I just saw Jeanes lying there still on the white pavement. I wondered if he had been hit.
Our two guards at one end of the bridge jumped down and started running up the stream. We weren't going to leave till the guards at both ends of the bridge had left, but the firing was still pouring down onto the bridge and cascading around from one side to the other and out into the open. Jeanes got up and vaulted over the wall and said something that sounded like "Let's go!" I jumped down into the stream bed and started running down the creek. I thought he hadn't finished planting the charge and I was about to stick my head over the wall to see when I heard the other two guards from the other end of the bridge splashing up the stream. It was a good thing I hadn't stuck my head up at that moment and taken time to look because I might have had my head blown off. Jeanes had planted the charge all right and it was just about to go. When I heard all the men going I jumped down into the stream too and started splashing along behind them. The water was getting deeper and deeper and then, "Wham!" everything blew up and got light and warm behind me, with a helluva crash and blast. I thought it was a grenade going off and thought things were getting really tough. But it was the bridge blowing.
We turned out of the stream and started scrambling up the steep bank---trying to. It was so steep we couldn't make it so some of the others boosted me and I got up on top of it and pulled the next man up with a rifle. We pulled them all up with rifles, holding the barrel and lifting while the man down below hung onto the stock. One of the men suddenly realized the rifle we were using was loaded and ready to fire. "For God's sake don't pull the trigger," he yelled, "the safety isn't on." We all got up and got around sort of corner where we could work our way to Lieut. Sherman's bunch of men (Lieut. Richard Sherman of Council Bluffs, Iowa.) They were in the base of a high tension tower, where they were partly protected by the steel-work. Just then we heard the sound of an automobile engine on the road. It was a big jerry truck. Lieut. Sherman took out a grenade and I got ready to duck: he would have to lob it over a high steel crossbar to get it onto the street, and I was afraid it would bounce and fall back. But the grenade got out all right---at just about the same moment that the jerry truck ran into the hole, which the demolition had blown, with a tremendous crash. We opened up with everything on the truck---M-ones, tommy guns and carbines, and threw grenades. I went right up and down the length of the truck with my carbine, shooting as fast as I could, and that truck was really riddled. We saw the door open in the moonlight, but nobody got out. I think everybody inside must have been killed or wounded.
The men on the high ground were still firing into the house when we began our climb up to join them. But jerry had been quieted down considerably. And one of our scouts saw a Heinie truck come in the morning and take six dead and two wounded from the house. We also succeeded in holding up traffic for a considerable time. That road was the only supply route the Germans had to Montecorvino and Giffone; and the Italians told us that a mile-long column of German trucks was held up in just that one night. But the worst part of that night's job, for us, was still coming. It was the long hike, up hill, back to our mountain area. We were still heading for that place, and were quite a distance away, when daylight came. But we were so dog tired that we just stopped and lay down where we were, and didn‟t care what happened. That little fracas of ours had happened on the morning of the 19th. For the next few days, we just stayed around our area, so pooped out and so hungry that we could just about move.
The Italians kept on bringing us bread and cheese now and then, but in such small amounts that we never had enough to even faintly satisfy hunger. The Italians also brought us cheerful news, every day, about how close the Americans were getting. We debated about whether to try to go back to the lines or not, and decided not to because the Fifth Army, we thought, would be right up with us soon.
On the 21st we bought a cow from the Italians, and they cooked one leg of it for us, with potatoes and macaroni. We gave the rest of the cow back to the Italians because we had planned to try to reach our lines that day. But we changed our plans---and were able to get some of the cow back. The Italians let the meal cook all day, and in the morning we had the broth, with the meat in the afternoon. But when you divided that animal sixty ways, there was only a piece about the size of an ink bottle for each man; not very satisfactory.
The Italians brought cheeses now and then, and bread, but there was only a little speck for each of us. We also suffered from lack of cigarettes on the fifth or sixth day, acutely. Some of the men had such a craving that they smoked leaves rolled up in toilet paper; and after all the toilet paper was gone, leaves rolled up in the yellow sheets of a message book.
On the night of the 24th we heard pretty good information that the Americans were getting close, so Maj. Dudley sent out Lieut. Sherman with a patrol to contact the American lines and tell them that we were coming through. Lieut. Sherman also told that particular division that we were out of cigarettes, and so they sent five cartons of butts with matches back with the Italian who had guided Sherman through. I'll never forget the day when those cigarettes arrived in camp. There were three or four men huddled around a fire in the center of camp, and each of them was given a package. They lit up and walk through the area, smoking, and the other men couldn't believe their eyes. When they heard that cigarettes had arrived, there was a mad dash for the camp fire. If there had been an enemy machine gun there it would have been wiped out by force of numbers. The place was like a bargain counter in a department store. I thought it was interesting that many of the men complained that the cigarette smoke made them dizzy. They'd been so long without smoking that they were like kids trying their first cigarettes.
We had to hike about 15 miles to get back to the lines, the next day, and it was rough. When I got there my feet were like raw hamburger. Blood was just oozing out of my shoes. And we were all hungry, as well as being footsore, of course. But the American division was all set for us, with American food! --- and honest to goodness coffee! We soon got over being hungry, although it took awhile to gain back the weight we'd lost.
It took a little longer to get over being jumpy. When you've been living right in the middle of enemy territory as we had your nerves get increasingly worse. And we had been out there a good long time, nearly two weeks all told. People who visited our camp, back in safe territory, used to joke about our sentries. Every time there would be a creak or a twig would snap, all the M-ones in the vicinity would snap up to ready position. Yes, an experience like that certainly leaves some effect. But it's nice to look back on, anyhow.
ENDIT
23 Nov 1943 - 1st Lt. Justin T. McCarthy O-1294881, 2nd Bn, 509th PIR, GO 94 - HQ Fifth Army - Award of Silver Star. Listed on page 383 in the book Stand in the Door Charles H. Doyle and Terrell Stewart
10 Apr 1944 - 1st Lt. Justin T. McCarthy O-1294881, C Co, 509th PIB, GO 5 - The following named Officers and Enlisted Men of Companies indicated having fulfilled all requirements as set forth in Par #3. a&b, Section I, WD Circular #269, dated 27 October 1943, are hereby announced as Combat Infantrymen and are entitled to wear the badge as specified in WD Circular above.
24 Jul 1944 - 2nd Lt. J. T. McCarthy O-1294881, C Co 509th PIB, Platoon Leader, Listed on jump manifest for Operation DRAGOON (RUGBY), Bn Plane 37, C Co Plane 8 1
15 Aug 1944 - 2nd Lt. J. T. McCarthy O-1294881, C Co 509th PIB, Platoon Leader participates in Operation DRAGOON (RUGBY) the airborne invasion of Southern France
26 Sep 1944 - 1st Lt. Justin T. McCarthy O-1294881, 509th PIB, GO 7 - French Army B - Award of Croix de Guerre w/Silver Star. Listed on page 386 in the book Stand in the Door by Charles H. Doyle and Terrell Stewart
00 Sep 1944 - 1st Lt. Justin McCarthy O-1294881, B Co, 509th PIB, Executive Officer listed on pages 104, 114, 117, 118 in the book First Airborne Task Force by Michel De Trez
19 Feb 1945 - Transferred to I Company 508th PIR
21 May 1945 - Transferred to Reception Station, Newark, NJ
father of the late Raymond McCarthy
Justin was a manager with Bell Telephone for 30 years
30 May 2000 - Wife passed away
15 Oct 2018 - Passed away at 99 yoa
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