Issues with Army Issue:
From Coffee & China to Bras & Booze

Issues with Army Issue: From Coffee & China to Bras & Booze
The next three stories are grouped together for several reasons. Three of the stories, China or Enamel, Lick One, Two?, and Contraband, take place in Frankford, Germany. Court-Martial over Combs was included with the other because it represents the same theme of camp life. Each story also reveals something about George Polich’s relationship to the soldiers around him and everyday life in the army. These stories give an insight into George’s character and camp happenings on the Western Front. Each story also adds something to a developing sense of George’s character.
Not only did George’s character play a large role in his experience during the war but so did the character of his troops. Below he describes them:

All of these troops were regular army troops, “no draftee”, with an average education of 4th grade, who joined that army to get three meals a day, shoes and a bed. They were not the brightest but they were the best. They never questioned what their job was; they just went and did it. They respected command only if the leadership was good.

During this time George made strong bonds with the men. Steve Trujillo, the First Sergeant in each of these stories, named his first son after George and George named his first son after Steve. So, although war presents many challenges and adversities, it also presents opportunities for the growth of one’s self and one’s relationships with others.

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China or Enamel

I had just been transferred into the new battery because their First Sergeant was always drunk and the Captain was suffering from battle fatigue. Shortly after arriving, I went to the Mess Hall for some coffee. It was just like many other mess halls, it was a sturdy but somewhat worn-down canvas tent with large picnic tables for dining. In the hall, I was greeted by a line of men standing at attention.

“Could I have a cup of coffee, please?” repeating the order I had given at many restaurants. The Mess Sergeant, Steve Trujillo, left our company and shortly after returned with my coffee. But this cup of coffee was not a normal cup of army coffee. The cup he handed to me was a boutique cup, made of the finest china in Ireland. Nothing like the army issued blue enamel that the other men were using. It became almost instantly evident that Trujillo was trying to impress his new commanding officer. Unfortunately for him, I was far from impressed. “Is this cup army issue?” I asked him calmly.

“No, sir, it’s not.” He said, sounding anxious.

“Why aren’t I being served in army issue?” To that his reply seemed to get stuck in his throat.

“Take this back and bring me a cup of coffee in army issue.” My order was clear and so was his response; he was flustered. But he came back quick, toting a good old army issue blue enamel cup. He never tried to make special accommodations for me again. I was part of the army just like he was and was to be treated as such.

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Lick One, Two?

“Sit down.” I told the Mess Sergeant, Steve Trujillo. He was hesitant at first. We had met only five minutes ago and those short minutes had not been the most agreeable. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.” He sat down. He was huge, built big and tall and strong. To get him talking, I asked him questions about his past; where was he from? what had he done before the war? It turned out that he was a Pueblo Indian and a professional wrestler, explaining his build. I said “Can you lick anybody in this battery? Anybody?”

“Yeah. I think I could.” He responded, clearly unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“Can you lick two of them?”Just to make sure I had the right idea.

“I think so, sir.” He said, now clearly stumbling for a direction.

“Okay. Then, tomorrow you are First Sergeant.” I said, now that I was sure of my decision.

“Oh! I don’t know anything about being First Sergeant, Sir” By this point flabbergasted.

So, I started to repeat an earlier part of our conversation.

“Can you lick one?”

“Yeah.”

“Two?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you have to know. The clerks will do the paperwork. You will be the First Sergeant.”

That was the end of that discussion and the beginning of the best First Sergeant of all the units I served with.

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Contraband

There was a lull in fire missions so I asked to be exempt for a short time. The next day, my First Sergeant Trujillo and I told the troops to prepare to move out. We took them to a school yard and told them to form a circle with the trucks, backs facing in. The troops had no idea what was going down. But, Trujillo and I knew.

“Everything out of the truck. Everything.” Now, they knew. They had seen how I handle being presented with a china cup and the look on their faces was pure fury. “Separate it; non-issue in the middle of the circle and army issue by the trucks.” I said. They had never been treated this way and they hated my guts for it.

They started separating the piles. Mattresses, women’s clothing, china, pictures, booze. It was all loot, stuff that they had collected along the way, but none of it was combat related. When they had finished separating, I had them put what was army issue back in the trucks. What was left in the middle was a huge pile, close to five feet high and with enough “treasures” to fill two truck loads.

I made them leave it all. It wasn’t army issue so it didn’t belong in army trucks. They may have hated me, but they learned what came along with having me as their Captain.

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Court-Martial over Combs

I was in the barracks trying to find some bit of comfort when I got a call to come up to the Mess Hall. It was meal time and the soldiers were lined up waiting to get served their share of chow. We were now on British rations and there had been a bulletin stating that you would eat whatever you took on your plate. This was because we were moving too fast and the supply trucks, carrying our food, gasoline and ammunition, couldn’t keep up. So rations got smaller and with their shrinking size came shrinking appeal. The British Soldiers could hunt off the land. Killing a turkey or a deer for a meal was within regulations but we American troops were banned from such activities. Hence, we were left with the army’s supposedly nutritional chow.

When I arrived at the line I was met by the Colonel. He informed me that a solider by the name of Combs had gone through the line, had chow put on his plate and then attempted to throw it in the trash can at the end of the line. The Colonel had stopped Combs and ordered him to eat the food he had been given. Combs retorted with a hearty “I don’t want to eat that.” The Colonel repeated that that was an order not a suggestion and Combs repeated that he wasn’t going to eat it. I had been called by the Colonel to give a direct order to Combs to eat the food he had been given.

Now, Combs wasn’t the brightest soldier but it didn’t take an artillery specialist to see why he didn’t want to eat the chow. I looked at the food and saw that it was just fat. Nothing but a big chunk of fat. “You tell him to eat that.” said the Colonel, now giving orders to me.

“Colonel, I’m not going to tell him to eat that.” I said, not being able to imagine making anyone eat that.

“All right then. You are court-martialed.” That apparently being his previous threat to Combs.

“I don’t care. I am not going to make that man eat that fat.” I retorted, resolved in my decision.

“Combs, you don’t have to eat that.” Showing him with my eyes and words that he had my support. The Colonel was furious and started rambling about my court-martial.

Well, Combs proceeded back to the barracks where the soldiers gave a hearty chorus of cheers for Captain Polich, a pleasant change from their previous opinion of me.

As far as the threatened court-martial goes, nothing ever came of it. There comes a time when you have to choose. You can be polite at a social event. But when it comes to being protective of your life or somebody else’s then you call it as it is. Those higher up than me weren’t willing to give something up that kept the men safe. I may have been rude in the Mess Hall occasionally but on the field my whole focus was on getting the job done and keeping the men safe. Safety versus politeness. In a time of war safety wins.