Letter from Steve Urick, World War II, Arlington Heights, shared by Ron Urick

Steve Urick, from Arlington Heights, spent his war in the European Theater. This letter, which his son, Ron Urick, shared, originally appeared in Paddock Publications in January 1945. We've excerpted the riveting part about Steve's experiences in Anzio, Italy.

ANZIO - We would load with tons of supplies, mostly ammo, drive onto the LST at Naples, and arrive at Anzio overnight. I'll never forget that first trip. We were all green at the job. As we pulled into shore I could see those shells dropping where we went to dock. We had our motor running and warmed up, foot on the clutch, ready to make the dash when the doors opened and runway let down. I could feel my knees shaking.

Anzio - what a morose, dismal-looking place. The miserable cold, rain and mud added to the gloomy atmosphere. At that time our troops weren't sure they could hold the beachhead. They could neither advance nor retreat. There didn't seem to be anyone in town except for an occasional MP hiding in shelter of shells and ruin. Everything seemed to be so mixed up and no one knew where anything was.

I wasn't up on the news, and hadn't the slightest idea how large the beachhead was, so when I was misdirected that the dump I was looking for was on a 'certain road', I kept on going until a shouting MP, who crawled out of a hole, bawled me out for being too near the front!

That's the way it was all of the time. At first I was too dumb to be afraid. I didn't know the difference between our shells and Jerry's, but I soon learned. What a rapid change that life was compared to what I had been used to. Everyone lived below ground, including our trucks. We had basement excavations alongside the trucks where we would sleep. Even the ammo was bunked up. It was hard to relax - I don't believe I had one night's sleep there. In order to sleep a person has to relax, and that was hard to do with the Anzio express (280 mm railroad gun) coming over all night long, plus a battery of our guns right next door. Then the Jerry sandman would come over dropping his sand in the form of bombs. He wasn't particular where he threw them, relying on playing the percentages to get a few of us.

One morning I crawled out of my hole to find three craters on all sides of me within 200 yards. Another time I got the crazy notion I didn't like my dugout, so I went into the town itself, and found a building where the walls were three feet thick. I thought I'd be safe - but what a night! That was one of the two nights the Krauts threw over 4/10 shells, one hitting the building next to me. After that experience my dugout was good enough for me.

We carried all of our equipment with us, doing our own cooking. We had the same rations packed by Jewel Tea of Barrington, Illinois. I kept going back and forth hauling supplies for four months. Every time we'd pull out of the harbor I would get a feeling of relief, only to come back again and find less of the town remaining. The only place we gained ground was in the cemeteries. When the 'push' started we kept supplying the swift-moving front.

That's when I saw the most gruesome sights I ever hope to see. There were dead Krauts all over the roads. We had to weave in and out of all the bodies. It was more important to keep the Krauts on the run than take time to bury the dead.

We saw the cheering crowds in Rome the second day. That was the time we got word our truck group served its purpose.