Dad was in the Army Air Corps, stationed in the Pacific. He enlisted in early 1944 and his job was to go into an area or land on an island with a bulldozer and cut out an airstrip.
He was in the occupation forces after the conflict was over. He had an older brother who participated in the D-day invasion and the brother he lost at Iwo.
Dad never talked much about any combat. He did tell stories about the occupation and other non-combat adventures.
He mustered out in ‘46 and joined the Air Force at the beginning of hostilities in Korea. He was given the same job there. He told about being rolled out the back of a cargo plane, sitting on a pony dozer with an M1 carbine strapped to his chest. It was paletized and rigged to a parachute. He said that they would drop him in and support him with a platoon of paratroopers.
That’s the only story about combat he ever told, other than nearly freezing his feet off in the winter.
His outfit rotated back to the states and he split time between Berry Field, which is now Nashville Airport, and McGee Tyson AFB in East Tennessee.
Mom has his medals. I worked for the man who was his CO in Korea and back stateside. Col. Cole told me that my old man was one more fighting man. Then he just shook his head and smiled.
None of them EVER said much about combat!