Surviving the Night

My Guest Author is Patrick Halash, son of World War II hero who served with my Father. Their brief encounter on the battlefield came full circle just a few years ago when the Halash family contacted my Father after filing his battle account on the Library of Congress website. For the first time in over 70 years, my Father was able to sleep through the night of December 2nd with no flashbacks, all because he knew he made a difference that night in the life of one man – Leo Halash. Two heroes survived the night!

Here is Patrick’s account

My dad is a WW2 American War Hero who was wounded in action on December 2nd 1944.  He survived that fateful day in a large part due to the quick thinking and brave actions of another WW2 American War Hero named Robert Ward. The fact that Robert Ward helped my dad on that day came to light during a lucky web browsing session by me as I searched for information about December 2nd 1944 Flossdorf Germany on google.  I saw my dad’s name as I read various posts by WW2 veterans that described their memories of that day.  The post that mention my dad’s name was written by Robert Ward.  Mr. Ward heard my dad calling for help after he was shot in the knee as US forces were advancing on the small town of Flossdorf Germany.  I have attached a couple brief quotes from Robert Ward’s account of the events of that day. 

“I crawled ahead.  It was light now and there was heavy fire.  Our troops were pinned down by the road. “Lieutenant Lovell’s hard hit,” I shouted.  The word went down the line.  Someone would get there when they could. There were other cries for help.  One was close by.  “Medic.  Medic.”  A beet field was behind me.  Someone was in the beet field.  F Company had launched their attack on our left.  The soldier was from F Company.  He was lying in the flat field.  His helmet was sticking up among the beet tops and every time he moved a sniper bullet would zip through the beet tops beside him. I bellied my way to him and lay beside him.  A bullet had torn a hole through his leg.  I bandaged his wound and had him take his wound tablets.  I pulled his belt tight around his leg, then dug like a badger to make a trench deep enough to get him below ground level.  That done, I jabbed his rifle in the dirt, bayonet down, butt up.  The trench wasn’t big enough for Halash and myself, and a sniper was still active.  I crawled away, head on, and hoped my helmet would keep me covered.”  R B W

“I gave him his pills and I bandaged his wound. If I had not put the belt on his leg, he would have bled to death. But time was critical. If the tourniquet was on for too long, he would lose his leg. It had been raining so I was able to take the claw-looking tool and dig into the soft ground. I don’t remember the first time I saw Leo Halash, but I sure remember the last time. When it was all over I looked through the list of casualties and didn’t find his name listed among the dead. So I knew he survived.” He said, “For over seventy years I have had flashbacks on December 2. I see Frank Svoboda. I see Lieutenant Lovell lying on the ground – wounded – and his detached boot with his foot still in it. I see others who lost their lives. I see a soldier in the field and hear him call for help. I hear the enemy fire all around.” A tear escaped and he continued, “But now I have been given a good flashback. After seventy years, I can now see life – that of Leo Halash. I thank God that I was there that day and that Leo survived and had a good family. That’s a good flashback!” R B W as told to his daughter

Some war veterans do not like to talk about their battlefield experiences and others seem to excel at it.  My dad did not like to discuss his WW2 experiences with us seven children or even his beloved wife.  My mom is still with us some 71 years after the battle of Flossdorf and she told us one story about an encounter that my dad had with a German soldier the night that he was wounded. 

My mom remembers that my dad told her that during the night my dad laid in that cold wet ditch that Robert Ward dug to protect him from all of the barrage of bullets, he was approached by a German soldier.  Both soldiers panicked and drew their weapons.  Neither man really wanted to shoot each other but would if their own life was in danger.  My dad yelled out “kompan” which is the Polish word for “comrade”.  As fate would have it, both of my dad’s parents immigrated from Poland so he was fluent in Polish and the German soldier turned out to be a 17 year old Polish boy that was forced into the army after Germany overran Poland  The boy was lost, hungry, cold to the bone, and scared to death (kind of like my dad).  Each soldier tried to get the other to come join their fellow soldiers for the attention they both needed but in the end the German soldier decided to keep moving to find the other members of his platoon.  My dad survived the night and was picked up by American forces the following morning.   

My dad was also emphatic about not letting the surgeons amputate his mangled leg.  Instead of spending approximately two months in the hospital he spent about two years.  He endured at least five operations to save his leg even though it was clear he would never be able to bend his knee at all.  I recall seeing about a dozen 3 by 5 inch scars on his thighs and back where the doctors removed patches of skin in order to cover the knee cap area that was not able to be salvaged after the bullet wound.  My dad never complained about the pain or discomfort of his injury and always down played the severity when corresponding with his family back in Michigan.  He did not want his mom, dad and six siblings to worry about him. 

My dad was the kind of WW2 war hero that simply chose to not discuss the horrors of war and was also the very best dad in the world to me and my six siblings. 

                       By:        Patrick Halash   12/17/2020