Der Ami, Yeh, that's the word "combat" medic. The one thing my Dad said was good about the job was that he had his own jeep. At the end of the war when everyone knew it was over but for the formalities, he always drove in somebody elses tracks. He said when they went for the wounded they picked up everybody, Americans, Brits, Germans and Italians everybody they could and being in a tank division the burns were the worst.
My uncle ended his war in a burning tank and was badly injured before he escaped.
He never truly recovered, as he literally couldn’t talk about it and became an alcoholic, which led to his early death at 60.
My Dad was a turret gunner on an A-20G Havoc. I have his flight diary, and it’s full of casual descriptions like “heavy flak damage” or “one man lost”. No details, just the cold, hard truth.
