He was shortly relieved.
Other replacement officers had also failed. Christenson said of one, “Indecision was his middle name. . . . In combat his mind became completely disoriented, and he froze. We, the N.C.O.s of the platoon, took over and got the job done; and never did he complain, for he realized his inability to command under pressure.”
Webster wrote about a platoon leader in the Nuenen fight:
“I never saw him in the fracas. He never came to the front. He failed to live up to his responsibilities; the old men in the platoon never forgave him. For an enlisted man to fail in a grave situation was bad, but for an officer, who was supposed to lead his men, it was inexcusable.”
Malarkey related that in that fight, Guarnere “was giving hell to some officer who had his head buried in the sand, telling him he was supposed to be leading the platoon. . . . The same officer was later seen at an aid station shot through the hand, suspected of being self-inflicted.”
A combination of new officers and men who had not been trained up to the standard of the original Currahee group, the rigors of constant pounding by artillery and the danger of night patrols was taking a toll on Easy. The conditions exacerbated the situation.
Paul Fussell has described the two stages of rationalization
a combat soldier goes through—it can’t happen to me, then it can happen to me, unless I’m more careful—
followed by a stage of “accurate perception: it is going to happen to me, and only my not being there [on the front lines] is going to prevent it.”2 Some men never get to the perception; for others, it comes almost at once. When it does come to a member of a rifle company in the front line, it is almost impossible to make him stay there and do his duty. His motivation has to be internal. Comradeship is by far the strongest motivator—not wanting to let his buddies down, in the positive sense, not wanting to appear a coward in front of the men he loves and respects above all others in the negative sense.
Discipline won’t do it, because discipline relies on punishment, and there is no punishment the army can inflict on a front-line soldier worse than putting him into the front line.3
2. Paul Fussell, Wartime, 282.
3. Except certain death. The Wehrmacht in Normandy, for example, had German sergeants standing behind foreign conscripts. A Pole in the Wehrmacht at Omaha Beach managed to be taken prisoner. At his interrogation, he was asked how the front-line troops stood up to the air and naval pounding. “Your bombs were very persuasive,” he replied,
“but the sergeant behind me with a pistol in his hand was more so.” But the American Army didn’t do things that way.
One reason for this is what Glenn Gray calls “the tyranny of the present” in a foxhole. The past and, more important, the future do not exist. He explains that there is “more time for thinking and more loneliness in foxholes at the front than in secure homes, and time is measured in other ways than by clocks and calendars.”4 To the soldier under fire who has reached his limit, even the most horrible army jail looks appealing. What matters is living through the next minute.
Gray speculates that this is why soldiers will go to such extraordinary lengths to get souvenirs. At Brecourt Manor, Malarkey ran out into a field being raked by machine-gun fire to get what he thought was a Luger from a dead German. In Holland, on October 5, as Webster was limping back to the rear, in an open field under fire from a German 88, he spotted “a German camouflaged poncho, an ideal souvenir.” He stopped to “scoop it up.” Gray explains the phenomenon: “Primarily, souvenirs appeared to give the soldier some assurance of his future beyond the destructive environment of the present. They represented a promise that he might survive.” It is almost impossible to think of anything but survival in a life-threatening situation, which accounts for the opposite phenomenon to souvenir-grabbing—
the soldier’s casual attitude toward his own possessions, his indifferent attitude toward money. “In campaigns of extreme hazard,” Gray writes, “soldiers learn more often than civilians ever do that everything external is replaceable, while life is not.”5