Most kids when they grow up want to be an
actor, or a songwriter, or an author. I’ve been lucky enough to be all of those
things at one time or another. But all I really ever wanted to be was a soldier. And my dream came true. I was a soldier. I am a soldier. I am Audie Murphy. But I almost didn’t even make it into the
army. They said I was too short, underweight, and
underage. But after the attack on Pearl Harbor, I had
to enlist. My sister signed a paper saying I was born
a year earlier than I really was, making me 18, but the Marines still didn’t like the
look of me - and neither did the paratroopers. The Army finally took me though, and shipped
me off to North Africa with the 15th Infantry and from there to the invasion of Italy. We arrive in Sicily on July 10th, 1943 and
by the time we get there, the beach is already taken, the battle moved on. We land and advance forward, past the beach,
and across an open field. We’re crossing a railroad track when a machine
gun opens fire on us. Two of our guys go down before we can take
the machine gun out. My first taste of combat - and death. The next day, I join a patrol scouting ahead
of the company. We flush out two Italian officers and they
flee on horseback. Without a second thought I drop to one knee
and fire: One. Two. Both officers fall. My first kills. In September, we land near Salerno. The Italians have officially surrendered,
but there are still pockets of resistance on the path to Rome. Our orders are to attack some mountains where
Germans are hiding near Mignano where - Lungo, Rotondo, and Hill 193. We take the first two without too many issues,
but Hill 193, that’s a challenge. At dawn, my squad spots a combat patrol of
seven Germans stumbling their way up to us. We have a machine gun of our own now, and
wait until the very last second before opening fire. Three get it in the belly, convincing the
other four to drop their guns and surrender. One of our guys escorts the prisoners back
to headquarters, but the three shot soldiers aren’t dead yet. They might be the enemy, but they’re still
human beings and it isn’t right to just leave them out here. Mortars and machine guns blast all around
us as we drag the bleeding men to a quarry. Rain falls all night and into the next morning. Dawn is breaking when two of the Germans succumb
to their wounds. The rain stops, the clouds part, and that
afternoon, the third one dies. The next day, we get our orders to move on. The mountains have been taken; Mignano is
secured. Mid-November finds us near Naples, where we
get two hot meals a day and a cot to sleep on. Feels like a luxury hotel. We also start training for - well, what exactly,
we don’t know. We get amphibious assault training and hear
that we’re heading to Rome. The waiting around starts to get to us. Some guys fight, some drink, many do their
share of both. As for me, I come down with a bout of malaria
and spend a week in the hospital sweating it out. Some vacation this turned out to be. January 29th, 1944 and I’m back with my
outfit in Anzio after getting over the malaria, but I missed the landing. It was a massacre, and I should have been
there with my brothers as they stormed the beach. My C.O. tells me we’re down to thirty-four
men and that I’ve been promoted to staff sergeant. I’ll never understand why I was lucky and
so many weren’t. No time to dwell on it though. I’m sent on a reconnaissance mission, sneaking
across tomorrow’s battlefield through enemy lines. Crawling on my hands and knees, hiding in
the ploughed fields, I cross the lines and take stock: they’re digging in for defensive
action, sneaking in five... no, six tanks, and unloading a lot of supplies. I make it back in the middle of the night
and give my report. The longer we wait, the stronger their position
will be so we attack that afternoon. My company is ordered to clear a highway where
the Germans are entrenched and the bullets immediately start to fly.. One of our scouts is hit by a 20mm bullet
that’s meant for armored vehicles, not men, and it blows him to pieces. German shelling cuts us off from the rear. A sniper fires at me and barely misses, I
drop for cover in a shallow ditch. An explosion throws me into the air and knocks
me out. When I come to, the sniper has stopped, whether
he moved on or was killed, I can’t say. Our tanks finally show up and give the krauts
a taste of their own medicine. As they roll forward, a pocket of German soldiers
lose their nerve. They scatter and we pick them off as they
run, one by one. We get nine of them, but our little shooting
gallery just gave away our spot. A machine gun sends bullets our way and we
drop to the ground. The tanks keep advancing and we’re giving
as good as we get, but right before dusk we’re forced to give up and retreat. For three days we keep this up, pushing forward,
then retreating, never gaining an inch of ground. I see an old friend lose a leg, another turned
into just a torso. Then the rain comes, filling our foxholes
ankle-deep with water. It’s a stalemate. By February, my squad has been moved back
to Anzio. We use a ruined house as a base for sending
out patrols. I’m in an upstairs room of the house on
March 2nd when I spot a German tank through my binoculars. Then another. And another. I call for artillery, estimating their positions
as best I can. We hit one. Its crew bails and runs - So I lift my rifle
and pick one off while the rest of the tanks retreat. The damaged one remains but I know the Germans
will retrieve it, fix it, and send it right back at us. So that night, I crawl out alone and lob a
grenade into it, then get to destroying the treads. It’s loud work, and it’s not long before
I have to run back under a hail of bullets. But it worked - the damaged tank is still
there the next morning. For this, I’m awarded the Bronze Star with
“V” device. By May, we’ve been able to resupply and
get reinforcements - and so have the Germans, but if we can break through and reunite with
our troops coming from the south, it’s all over and Rome is ours. The enemy knows this too and they’re fighting
like a cornered animal. Our company’s first task is to cut the railroad
south of Cisterna. The Germans are dug in along the tracks with
machine guns. Crossing the track means sliding down a slope,
sprinting over, and clambering up the opposite side. Two platoons get across and now it’s our
turn. I wave my men across. Momentum is key, and four soldiers make it
because they never stop moving. But the fifth makes a mistake. He pauses to get his bearings, just for a
second, but it’s enough time for the Germans to zero in and just like that, he’s gone. Four more get across safely, then me. On the other side, the krauts work to separate
us, keep us from re-combining our forces. One sergeant... I’ve never seen anything like it, he charges
right at them with a submachine gun. He’s hit, he falls...and then he gets right
back up and continues charging. Twice more he’s hit, and twice more he gets
up and keeps going. He gets ten Germans to surrender, and after
that he pushed on another sixty yards before they finally stopped him for good. He gained enough ground to take us all forward. As we’re marching on the row of houses where
the enemy is holed up, our tanks join the fray. They blast the buildings, sending the Germans
scattering, right into our line of fire. They’re retreating now and we beat them
back so far that when we stop to rest, it’s by their abandoned foxholes. But soon the artillery is turned on us. Trees explode, shrapnel whizzes by, and we
dive in the foxholes for cover. One of my men who’s been with me since North
Africa tumbles in after. He’s been hit, just under his left shoulder
blade. It doesn’t look too bad, he’s barely bleeding,
but he can’t hold a canteen. I tell him to stay strong and that I’ll
be back soon. I run to get the medic, but by the time we
return he’s already dead. The shelling stops, and we continue our march. Days and nights of marching, only stopping
to find cover during the artillery barrages. The worst of it comes during a march up a
highway. Five planes dive at us, strafing and dropping
bombs. But these weren’t Germans. They were our own guys. Friendly fire. Human error that caused over a hundred casualties. The survivors limp the rest of the way to
Rome. The country is ours now. The Germans are out of Italy. Sixty-one men, myself included, receive the
Combat Infantryman Badge. I also receive a Bronze Oak Leaf Cluster for
my Bronze Star. But there’s no time to rest. We’ve got the Germans on the run. It’s time to go to France. August 15th. The Yellow Beach near Ramatuelle. We’re still wading ashore when the German
guns start cracking in the hills. On the beach one of our guys is ripped apart
by a landmine. They’re all over the place. Most of us make it across and reach a meadow
with some scattered farmhouses in the distance. Beyond them, is a wooded hill with a cannon
pillbox. Our objective is to neutralize it. As we advance, automatic fire bursts from
the woods. We scramble for cover. I round the corner of a farmhouse with two
others - they’re both hit, and then the Germans start after me. I roll into a nearby ditch, moving forward
along it and keeping low. I round a bend and run smack into two Germans. They hesitate, but I don’t. I fire, killing both. Further along, I come upon a group of Germans
in a foxhole - but there’s too many and I have to retreat back to the farmhouse. We’re outgunned and outmanned. One of our light machine gun squads are pinned
down, and they refuse to move. I grab their gun myself and drag it back up
the ditch. I take the gun into the open field and set
up where I can fire uphill while lying flat on my stomach. Anyone who wants a clear shot at me has to
pop up from their foxhole. They finally do and I let them have it. I don’t stop firing until there’s silence. I go up to investigate. The foxholes are full of dead men; anyone
who moves gets another burst from my gun. An enemy machine gun starts firing and I run
back to the ditch. My best friend, Lattie Tipton, is there and
I’m glad to see him. He’s shot two himself today, though not
before one of them clipped a piece of his ear off. We scramble up a gully and spot the other
machine gun in a farmhouse. There’s a foxhole just in front of it and
we make a run for it, but the hole is occupied by two Germans. We kill them both and duck in just as the
machine gun opens up on us. We return fire and lob grenades. The gun goes silent. We wait, unsure if they’re dead or just
reloading. Finally, there’s a German voice shouting
from the farmhouse - a white handkerchief is waving. The sign of surrender. I don’t trust it, but for some reason, Lattie
does. He climbs up out of the hole and it’s just
what they had been waiting for. The machine-gun roars to life. Lattie falls right on top of me. I’m pinned under my best friend. He doesn’t say anything. I feel his breathing slow, and then stop. Something comes over me. I’ve been shot at, strafed by planes, had
bombs dropped on me, but for the first time in this war, for maybe the first time in my
life, I feel true rage. I get out from under Lattie and stand up. I throw a grenade at a nearby machine gun
pit. It explodes and I run towards them ready to
shoot any survivors, but there’s no need, the grenade has done its job. I take their machine gun - it’s not as damaged
as they are. I start up the hill, searching for the gun
crew that killed my best friend. They’ve moved and are training their sights
downhill. They probably think they took care of both
of us. They’re about to learn how wrong they were.This
is for Lattie. I take aim and fire. Again. And again. And again. I keep firing until even the death twitches
stop. I take the rest of the hill by storm - six
dead, two wounded, eleven captured. It barely even registers, like a dream. As our boys continue to march forward, I go
back to my friend and sit by his side. The fog of war fades and I bawl like a baby. But I can’t spend too long. This war must go on and I need to keep going,
make it all worth it, make it mean something. It must have meant something to the brass
at least, because they give me the Distinguished Service Cross. It’s hard to feel like I deserve it though,
and later I gave the Cross to Lattie’s daughter, the real hero that day. I was just lucky. My luck would soon run out though. September 15th, we’re outside of Besancon
and I’m walking to headquarters when enemy mortars start to fall. I hunker down alongside a group of soldiers
- a bunch of replacements. Feels like they keep getting younger and younger. We don’t even hear the shell that hits us. When I come to my ears are ringing and one
of the new recruits is killed, and had I been standing three feet closer, I would’ve been
too. Instead, I suffer a heel wound that gets me
a few days in the hospital and a Purple Heart.. January 1945. Winter has settled in and I’ve been promoted
to Second Lieutenant. I rejoin my platoon after a bullet from a
sniper left me laid up again this time for a couple months. We’re in the Colmar Pocket, 850 square miles
of forests, meadows, villages - and German strength. After running into heavy tank and artillery
fire, we wait in the woods for reinforcements in holes that shelling has blown into the
frozen earth. A bit of good luck, since the ground is too
frozen for us to dig. The next day, we are joined by three tanks
of our own. We make it to the edge of the woods, and once
again the Germans throw everything they’ve got at us. Two of our tanks are destroyed by artillery. I see their crews leaping out, each man a
ball of flame. The third tank’s gun refuses to work. But instead of giving up, it continues forward,
putting itself between the burning men and the enemy fire. They stack the bodies on top and return, passing
us with the grisly cargo of charred bodies. More tanks arrive, and we head back into battle. It rages all day, and we gain 600 yard before
stopping for the night. I receive orders to lead the company to the
town of Holtzwihr, dig in, and hold steady while another unit does the attacking. And we need to be there by dawn. No time for rest, we need to start moving
now. It’s still dark when we reach our position
and try to dig in, but underneath the snow and ice, the earth is rock-hard. We finally give up and just try to keep warm. Dawn breaks and the other unit has yet to
arrive. I contact headquarters - the attack is going
to be delayed but otherwise, no change in orders. I check out the terrain: we’re on the edge
of the woods, but just beyond are flat open fields; I can see the village clearly, a mile
away. On our side, two tank destroyers have arrived
in the night, parked on a road leading to the village, across the way, a machine-gun
squad has set up, but our right flank is exposed - the unit assigned there still hasn’t shown
up. In the afternoon, six German tanks rumble
out along with a couple hundred Germans in winter camouflage. “Get ready!” I yell. One of our destroyers moves forward...and
slides into a ditch. It’s stuck and the crew abandons it. I grab a map and get on the field telephone,
making them aware of the situation. We can’t wait for reinforcements - the fight
begins now. I order artillery just as the enemy sends
their own. Our machine-gun squad is taken out. The second tank destroyer is hit and its crew
forced to abandon. As we start the counterattack, the first of
our artillery lands... behind the enemy. I stay on the phone and adjust the coordinates. The tanks are pinning us down with machine-gun
fire. I have to put them out of commission or else
we’re done for. I order the men to pull out; I’ll remain
behind to keep giving coordinates until we do some damage. Our artillery keeps landing as the men fall
back. I grab my carbine and fire at the approaching
enemy infantry now only 200 yards away. I run out of bullets. It’s my turn to fall back now, but as I
turn to do so, I see it - the burning tank destroyer with a machine gun still on its
turret. Looks like it’s undamaged, and there’s
ammunition too. It’s a long shot, but I have to do what
I can. Taking the field telephone with me, I drag
myself to the top of the destroyer. A quick check confirms that the machine gun
is in working order. Here we go. I give a new set of coordinates over the phone,
just as a shell lands near me. I brace myself, reeling from the impact, but
maintain my position. I feed a belt into the machine gun and as
the smoke clears I pull the trigger. Germans scatter, confused where it’s coming
from, not suspecting that a man would be crazy enough to be firing from a flaming destroyer. I tear through them - bodies falling on top
of one another. Our artillery is starting to land on target
and the enemy finally starts to fall back. I keep firing the machine gun until I’m
out of ammo. One last barrage from the enemy knocks out
my phone line and that’s my cue to leave. I hop off the destroyer, having taken down
fifty Germans, and head down the road. My right leg is bleeding - who knows where
that came from - but I pay it no mind. I don’t stop walking until I reach my men
in the rear. The time to strike back is now - the enemy
is scattered and on the run. This is the best chance we’ve got. I rally my guys and head back to the forest
where we spread out among the trees. And then the shooting starts. There’s some krauts behind a small hill
that’ll be tough to get to. I get on my belly and crawl forward, but a
shot hits right next to my face that halts me. One of my guys slithers forward, lobs a grenade,
and the explosion gives us time to advance. We move to new positions, but the Germans
don’t expect that. They had been readying for a direct assault
and a hand-to-hand fight, and when we see a few helmets rise to meet us, we fire and
throw grenades. We charge over the hill - seven dead Germans
lie before us. We keep pushing forward the rest of the day
and finally stop at nightfall. I get my leg treated and that wound earns
me a Bronze Oak Leaf Cluster for my Purple Heart. It wasn’t just the business with the tank
destroyer, but getting my men back to fighting that day and advancing our position that gets
me the Medal of Honor, the highest US military decoration. But no medal can ever make up for what we
lost that day. We went out that morning with 128 men, and
ended the day with less than forty. I still have a long war after that but eventually
I’m made a first lieutenant and moved away from the front. I get a few days leave, so I take a train
to the south of France. I wake up as we pull into a small town. I hear church bells. Accordion music. All sorts of noise coming from the village. I open up a window and ask a sergeant on the
platform what all the fuss is about. “The Germans surrendered” he says. “The war in Europe is over.” I reach my hotel, and while the other soldiers
celebrate, I take my first real hot bath in years and try to mentally prepare for the
rest of my life. I’ll be going home soon and I’ll have
to adjust to a life that doesn’t require me to sleep among corpses, or lob a grenade
at every snap of a twig. I’ll have to learn to live again, and it’ll
be my toughest job yet. But I know I can do it, because I’m a soldier. The most decorated soldier in the US Army. I’ll never give up. Because I... Am Audie Murphy.
