If You Survive: From Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge to the End of World War II, One American Officer's Riveting True Story

If You Survive: From Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge to the End of World War II, One American Officer's Riveting True Story

by George Wilson

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Overview

If You Survive: From Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge to the End of World War II, One American Officer's Riveting True Story by George Wilson

"If you survive your first day, I'll promote you."

So promised George Wilson's World War II commanding officer in the hedgerows of Normandy -- and it was to be a promise dramatically fulfilled. From July, 1944, to the closing days of the war, from the first penetration of the Siegfried Line to the Nazis' last desperate charge in the Battle of the Bulge, Wilson fought in the thickest of the action, helping take the small towns of northern France and Belgium building by building.

Of all the men and officers who started out in Company F of the 4th Infantry Division with him, Wilson was the only one who finished. In the end, he felt not like a conqueror or a victor, but an exhausted survivor, left with nothing but his life -- and his emotions.

If You Survive

One of the great first-person accounts of the making of a combat veteran, in the last, most violent months of World War II.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780804100038
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 05/28/1987
Edition description: REISSUE
Pages: 288
Sales rank: 222,351
Product dimensions: 4.20(w) x 6.80(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

George Wilson (1921–2005) was a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army during World War II. He wrote about that experience in his book If You Survive, which is now required reading at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.

Read an Excerpt

I
 
INDOCTRINATION
 
Even though America was heavily engaged in World War II in the fall of 1942, I felt safe in enrolling in college because the Marines and the Navy had turned me down. I wore glasses. They were still being very selective, and anyone who wore glasses was an automatic reject. However, the Army was not the least bit disturbed by my slight visual impairment and on September 19, 1942, drafted me as a raw recruit—just a week before classes opened at Michigan State, where I had been awarded a football scholarship.
 
A group of us were inducted at Fort Custer, Michigan, where we were issued uniforms and long-needled shots, sat through films on venereal disease, and took a lengthy IQ test. Two days later we boarded a train with blinds drawn and were on our way to parts unknown. Rumors as to our destination quickly began, but no one guessed correctly. After two days, the train finally stopped, and some of us sneaked a peek through the blinds to discover we were in Macon, Georgia.
 
Camp Wheeler was to be my home for the next five months. The camp was a few miles outside Macon and, by a long coincidence, happened to be only about 135 miles from my birthplace in the hills of northern Georgia. We were immediately screened for assignment by sergeants who seemed to know all about us. I requested the Army Air Force but was denied. The sergeant informed me my basic training would be with a special battalion of men who were considered to have officer potential. At this point the Army really had very little knowledge of our abilities, except for whatever the IQ test was worth.
 
For the next seven weeks we struggled through a basic infantry course, with the usual KP and guard duties, with lectures on fundamentals such as military courtesy, some weapons training and actual firing on the rifle range, bayonet drill, and hand-to-hand combat. Everything was very strange and new to me. I had never been away from home for more than a week and was totally ignorant of the Army. At first I didn’t know a corporal from a sergeant, and officers seemed like gods to me because everybody, including the sergeants, jumped to rigid attention when they appeared.
 
For reasons quite unknown to me, I was picked immediately as an acting squad leader over twelve men. Possibly this was because of my athletic background or maybe because, to them, I appeared eager to learn how to be a soldier.
 
The second half of basic was in communications. We were trained in the use of field phones, laying wire, using codes and code devices, and message center operation. The training was interesting and our lieutenant was an excellent instructor.
 
Near the end of basic we were told we could apply for Officer Candidate School (OCS), and seventy-eight of the men in my company signed up. Then we found it was not quite as simple to get accepted as it at first appeared. We were required to go before a board of six officers chaired by a colonel. They really gave us the third degree. We were asked all sorts of questions, some very personal. Our military bearing and quickness of response seemed as important as the correctness of our answers. It seemed as though they deliberately tried to get us confused, and apparently in many cases they succeeded in doing so, for they eliminated sixty-one and passed only seventeen for admittance to OCS.
 
At the end of basic training the seventeen of us from my company along with some others from the rest of the battalion were moved about a mile across camp to Noncommissioned Officers School. This was the final step before OCS. It was a very tough, intensive four-week course, and only five of us passed and were promoted to corporal and made eligible for OCS.
 
At last we were sent across the state to the Infantry School at Fort Benning. For the next three months the training was most concentrated and intense. We worked day and night in both classroom and field. It was a damn good, rough, tough, cram course on weapons, tactics, map reading, close order drill, field maneuvers, and basic infantry training.
 
“Some of the men could not take the rugged physical program or the mental strain of the classes, and so they flunked out and were quietly transferred. Only two of my original group survived to get commissions. Somehow I made it, and on May 8, 1943, I was duly commissioned a second lieutenant in the Army of the United States. By Act of Congress we were now officers and gentlemen. Some called us “Ninety-Day Wonders.”
 
My first assignment as an officer was to Camp Croft, South Carolina, as a basic training instructor. Then, only a month later, a group of us were picked out and dispatched to Camp Hood, Texas, to help start up a newly conceived seven-week crash course for the basic infantry training of college students. After this basic, they would be returned to college—and thus Uncle Sam would not call on the country’s future brains as cannon fodder, short of dire emergency.
 
This experimental program never really got off the ground; only eight hundred men or so were trained in six whole months, by enough instructors to cadre an entire division of many thousands. Most of the time we instructors were bored silly and exhausted by the effort of trying to find something to occupy our time. Having no students, the instructors practiced instructing each other. After a while, even the brass gave up on the futile effort. So we played horseshoes, volleyball, and found similar pastimes for six months. My own training regiment did not receive a single college man to train. Finally, three days before Christmas in 1943, thirty of the officers from my regiment were sent to the Eighty-sixth Division, then on maneuvers in the swamps of Louisiana.
 
We struggled through the mud and rain and ice of the swamps until February 1944, and learned very little—other than how to exist in such terrible conditions. The weather was worse than any I had ever been through in Michigan.
 
Next we moved into nearby Camp Livingston, Louisiana, and resumed regular garrison training. The Army brass decided, however, that the Eighty-sixth Division was not fit for combat as a unit and began to break it up. Almost every day we received orders to ship out a few more men and officers as overseas replacements. It became quite a tough job choosing the men for the list, and each unit commander naturally tried to hang on to his best men. Finally, in April, 1944, my own turn came, and I was ordered to Camp Shanks, New York, with seven days leave at home en route.
 
 
At Camp Shanks we received all of our overseas shots, and a few days later we were on our way to England in a huge convoy of about one hundred ships, an awesome sight for this young man. After twelve days in the North Atlantic bucking through a tremendous storm that left most of us seasick—and a little jumpy from two submarine alerts during which our destroyer escorts dropped quite a few depth charges—we arrived safely at Liverpool, England, about April 20, 1944.
 
The first stop was Camp Warminster, a British Army base camp near Bristol. The base was overflowing with American infantry replacements, officers and men bound for combat divisions to replace battle casualties. We at once began some very limited training, mostly to keep us busy. Weapons were carefully cleaned and inspected daily. We also played a lot of ping-pong, and I had the fun of pitching a little baseball.
 
When D day—June 6, 1944—finally arrived, we watched its progress on a big operations map in the officers’ quarters. From this very distant, very safe position, it was hard to imagine the real fighting. Then, late that evening, we began to get a few of the wounded paratroopers and some who had landed in the Channel. They were from the Eighty-second Airborne, and we crowded around to hear their excited on-the-scene stories of the fighting. Many of them were on the way back to their units the very next day.
 
Soon replacements were needed, and we were on our way to an assembly area near Plymouth. Security was very tight, and we could only learn that we would be leaving shortly for France. The next day as I looked into the anxious faces of the officers around me on board the Canadian Landing Craft Infantry (LCI) leaving the crowded harbor at Plymouth it struck me suddenly: This is it. We were headed directly into the war. Now, near the end of June 1944, our allies had slowly gained a foothold in Normandy, France.
 
Underway, each of the officers aboard seemed to be quietly facing his own personal battle with reality. It still seems a foolish mistake to have had the entire load on our LCI be all officers. The loss of a boatload of junior-grade combat officers would make very big problems for the people tasked with the manning of combat units.
 
Now the words of the port commander leapt back vividly. “You are going to Normandy as replacements.” This could only mean that the position each of us was being sent to fill had become vacant because the other officer was killed in action (KIA), wounded in action (WIA), missing in action (MIA), or a nonbattle casualty (NBC). All sorts of dismal thoughts chased one another across my mind.
 

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If You Survive 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 33 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Just finished this book and was amazed by the great details and it explained how the life of a world war two infantry officer was. I would recommend it for people who lik ww2 stories or for ppl who are just interested in the history of are fathers in the war. Great read
Pastor_Ron More than 1 year ago
This is the personal history of a WWII combat officer. From the drive out of Normandy through to Germany he tells what he went through and saw first hand. It tells how and why casualties were so high among front line junior officers. He never rose above the rank of first Lt and most of the time George Wilson commanded his company in combat as his fellow officers and friends fell one by one. A well written and brutally honest story.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A strong account of the infantry's war in Europe. Certainly worth your time if interested in the soldier's view of life and death at the front.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Gives so much insight into what life was like during WWII, from an American officer's P.O.V. Definitely worth the read; felt as if I was personally part of storyline.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Enjoyable story. Well written.
JDR80 More than 1 year ago
Very detailed accounts and easy to follow. Not as technical as so many others and gives a very good glimpse into the lives of a front line soldier in WWII. Would highly recommend this book to anyone.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Although the writing is a bit stiff and emotionally flat, George Wilson manages to recount his experience in the European Theater during WWII with startling accuracy. A good and quick read. I recommend this book.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I love reading war novels. They seem to inspire me in some way. 'If You Survive' is a truly remarkable story about courage, bravery, and one one man's true experiences during World War 2.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Very good day to day events, hard for us to visualize this war!
Guest More than 1 year ago
It's during 1941-1945. George Wilson, the author, basically talks about himself and his company in the book. It tells of the Wilson's bravery during battle and how most of his men in his company in the beginning and end got abolished and he was one of the only sole survivors.
Guest More than 1 year ago
this was a great book. kudos to george wilson on such a well written memerior (sp) of his action in WWII.....it actually kept my interest! overall = great book
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book had to be the best book about ww2 that I have read. The real life accounts were very vivid in every detail of the battle
Guest More than 1 year ago
as a reader I think this book is veary much to the point. In fact My father knows the author veary well. They worked together in the state of mich. this story makes me think about the heard time all men in the infantry had.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Quite plain. Author needed adverbs. No visuals
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Niecey1015 More than 1 year ago
This is such a great book! I love WWII and Holocaust Era stories and books (though they were at the same time I like to say them separately since they were very different) and this book was amazing! I was 15 when my dad gave this book to read. I read it so often and so much he had to hide it from me and then eventually threw it away. I am now 26 and I purchased it again and it still holds my heart as the best book I have ever read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago