CircleTheWagons.net

BY Nick Dial

“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.”

-John Stuart Mill

If there ever was a quote that defines “the greatest generation,” this perhaps is it. For many, the reference in this quote, “better men than himself” may refer to broad range of people. For me, this represented much of my family, but especially my Uncle, June Bastian, as I spent much time interacting with him growing up.  Born in 1982, I was blessed with being brought into this world by an older father of 48. My father was born in 1934, in the midst of the Great Depression.  Growing up  in this era instilled my father with a foundation of true grit and self-reliance. As a result, I was exposed to traditional American values; a hard work ethic and a deep love for the United States. As I grew older, that love turned into appreciation as I learned the sacrifices made to keep this land free. Like millions of other Americans, my family has an intimate relationship with defending this nation. My father was drafted into the army in 1959 at the age of 25, but carried out his duty faithfully. He won first place in his company of 250 men for shooting the M1 Garand, achieving rifleman medal of “expert.” He excelled in his duties, and I am proud of his service. My father, uncles, sister, and cousins have all worn the uniform of this nation, spanning every branch of service. This has provided me with core values that have become the binding fabric that builds up my character. Our elders before us have lived amazing lives, and truly put their life upon the alter of freedom, so that you and I may stand here today as free Americans.

During WWII, My Uncle Jack was a Seabee in the Navy serving in the Pacific Theater. My great-grandfather also served as a seaman in this same theater.
My Uncle Orville was a Colonel in the Army air corps/Air force from 1937-1957. He participated in the Nuremberg War Trials and spoke with Luftwaffe Commander Herman Goering the night before his suicide. Orville later became commander of Sherman Air force Base after the war. My Uncle June was a paratrooper, and fought in the Battle of the Bulge, later becoming a POW after being wounded and surrounded by German forces. For those fortunate enough to be graced by the passion of such people, it leaves a lasting impression, and creates a hunger for wanting more. For me, this journey really began at the age of 14, and I am a better man for it.

(Top left, Lt. Colonel Orville Tangen, U.S. Air Force)

 (Immediate right, Specialist 4th Class Dallas C. Dial, U.S. Army)

 I was a young teenager, sitting at the computer desk. My Uncle June had come into town, and was in the next room. I was playing a combat video game, and the sound of machine gun fire was coming through the speakers. This caught the attention of my uncle, and he speaking saying, “war’s no game, and machine gun fire is no fun.” He had seriousness in his voice that demanded my attention. My Uncle never spoke about the war. It was something he chose not to discuss. The fact he started to talk about it took me by surprise, and I immediately gave him my full attention. As the years went by, I saw him more often during family visits to his farm. The older he became, the more he began to sharing his wartime experiences. Toward the end of his life, he began to become much more open about the war. I was an adult now, and while on fishing trips I listened attentively as he described his experiences as a soldier. This is where it really began to sink in on a personal level. As he explained stories about his brothers –in- arms and close friends  killed in combat, tears filled his eyes, and for the first time I saw real pain behind these memories. There is nothing more sobering then seeing an old  man cry over the shedding of blood spilled on the battlefield. As the saying goes, for the soldier there are two wars, the war on the outside and the war within. For the many that were laid to rest six decades ago, their war ended. However, for the WWII vets who came home and tried to move on with their lives, the war was still very real and very much alive. Many were still fighting this war, and I witnessed this fight in the tears of my uncle.

It’s a special thing to be privileged enough to hear these people’s experiences. Many have taken these opportunities for granted, however, time is running out. The Rosy the Riveters, the Woman’s Army Core (WAAC), and the men who served in every capacity of the war effort all have amazing experiences to share regarding the fight for freedom and the shaping of the America we enjoy today. More than 1000 per day are leaving us and returning home. More than ever it’s time to embrace those still with us and document their life stories to pass on to our children. When you see a WII vet, go out of your way to thank them for their sacrifice. While in a department store, I saw an old man with a hat that said “WWII Vet.” I walked up and thanked him for his service. The old man lit up and was very happy that I took the time to do this. He later told me he was in the Bataan Death March, and was lucky to have survived. Show them gratitude and thank them for what they did. Give these heroes a proper farewell for laying the foundation for a better life for us and our children. They have amazing life stories to share, and my Uncle June’s story is no exception.

June’s Story

June signed up in 1943 to become a paratrooper. He was assigned to the 513^th parachute regiment as a demolitions expert. He was deployed to the Ardennes Rhineland and fought in the Battle of the Bulge.  His company of 288 men was tasked with destroying a bridge to aid in the movement 38,000 American troops. As his company moved in the dead of night, an intense fight erupted between them and the Germans. Unable to move, they took a beating from the enemy. Of the 38,000 American troops, only 11,000 survived. June’s company had been battered. June had been wounded in battle, and they were encircled by the German Panzer divisions and troops. Of 288 men in his company, he was one of only 25 survivors. Knowing they had no other choice, they were ordered to throw their weapons down and surrender. The Germans moved in, and they were taken prisoner on Christmas Day 1944.

The U.S. government had no knowledge of June’s status, and issued a “missing in action” notification to his parents. June’s mother however never lost faith, writing to him every day, even while missing in action. They were moved to a prisoner of war camp in Limberg. Interestingly, the German officer who captured them was educated in Minnesota, and spoke excellent English. Life in the camp was hard. The focus was just to stay alive and exist. They had to sleep on hay covered ground and were provided no blankets. They had to rely on each others body heat to stay warm throughout the night. It was so crowded, men could hardly move without bumping into one another or climbing over each other. Another Problem was the bugs. Flea’s lice and other insects began to take their toll on the prisoners. When they awoke in the morning, their shirts would be covered in blood from the lice. The only food they received for the day was bread that came everyday at 4:00 PM. If you weren’t there when it arrived, you received nothing until the next day. The German prisoners would call out for a hundred men for work duty, often during the 4:00pm bread line. This caused some prisoners to hesitate, and were moved at rifle point. Some of the prisoners who hesitated were shot on the spot by the guards. The working conditions were hard, in freezing weather, and prisoners lacked adequate clothing or food. The men talked of escape, and this hope kept them alive.

As the American lines grew closer, the Germans began to prepare to abandon the camp. The prisoners noticed that the Germans were loading food in the back of trucks. That night, the Germans loaded 87 prisoners into an 8ftx40ft boxcar, and began to move them by train. The prisoners were so tightly packed, they could hardly move. The train did not go far before stopping in an Attempt to evade American P-47’s. The train stopped in a tunnel and waited for 48 hours. This put great strain on the prisoners, especially because the train was powered with coal, and black smoke from the engine filled the tunnel causing them to choke and fight for air. They were given nothing to eat or drink during this time, and the prisoners were forced to urinate and defecate among each other in the car. June managed to keep up some strength by nibbling from a piece of cheese he had hidden. The train finally began to move again, but soon came under attack from American P-38 Lightening s. The Germans had failed to mark the rain with “POW” and the planes were unaware that it was full of prisoners. The strafing from the air was intense, killing and wounding many prisoners in the attack. Men were forced to use the dead around them as shields to protect them from the incoming fire. The prisoners managed to break free from the cars, and began to take of their shirts. They used their bare backs to create more visibility, and formed “POW” with their bodies for the planes to see. The P-38’s spotted the human lettering, and tipped their wings in recognition. During the air raid there was much chaos, allowing June and two of his companions to escape by running into the marshes to evade the German guards. They asked other if they wanted to come, however they refused in fear of being found and shot by the German guards. As the Germans came out form their cover to round up the prisoners, June and his companions laid in the water of the marsh hiding from the searching German Guards.

Once the area was clear, they decide to try and reach the American lines. They walked during the night, and hid during the day. June stated “we knew they would look around rivers and streams, after all, you need water. So in the day we would hide in the middle of open fields, they never suspected someone to hide there.” Now gone for six days from camp, they took refuge in the trees. One time the Germans came so close they covered up with leaves, and remained in the woods for two days. June said “It was so cold lying under those leaves. The Germans looked all around for us but did not see us. So we got away, that was the only time I was really scared.”  They again attempted to move toward the American lines. While in route, they came across eight French soldiers who had been prisoners for eight years. They were in rags, and wore rags around their feet for shoes. Not speaking any English, they were afraid of being taken for the enemy and carried a white flag. They allowed them to join their trio, and made their way back to American lines. June stated that it felt so good to get deloused for the lice it was almost as good as having something to eat. By the time June arrived at American lines, he was so malnourished that he spent months in the hospital recovering.

My uncle moved on with life marrying my aunt, Pauline. They settled down on a quiet farm in Colville Washington, and had nine wonderful children. Growing up, I had the privilege of spending time with them at the farm, and have some much cherished childhood memories as a result. In his old age, my Uncle suffered from declining health. This hit him hard, but like any survivor, he pushed through and carried on. The last time I spent with him on the farm was great. We sat on the back balcony, and talked casually overlooking the beautiful country side. Before leaving the farm, my uncle was on his way to a doctor’s visit. While leaving myself, I felt compelled to turn around and tell him that I loved him before he left. He replied “I love you too.”

We were headed back home to Arizona, and made it to California when the news came. June had passed on and gone home. We turned the car around, and made the trip back to Washington State for the funeral. The amount of family that showed was massive, and worthy of any family reunion that ever took place. The funeral service was beautiful, and the amount of people who showed up from the community of the town was impressive. It was obvious this man touched many lives, and was very loved by those in the community around him. I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with emotion. My grandfather had passed away before I was old enough to remember him. My uncle June was the closest person I had to a grandfather, and was a fine one at that. He loved children, and the way he touched my life as a child was nothing short of magical. As I stood there over his casket, my heavy heart lightened. He was at peace, and the emotion I saw in his eyes when talking about the war would no longer be a factor. The war he had been waging within was over and no longer had to carry the heavy burden of those horrific memories. I bent down, kissed his forehead and said goodbye. “Thank you for what you did for us June, we miss you dearly, and we love you.”