During WWII the officer corps of the U.S. Army expanded from about 16,000 on duty regulars to over 700,000. A few of the new officers came from the National Guard and ROTC, but the vasts majority were like my father, Anton Pritchard. They were plucked out of civilian life and given some intense but rudimentary training; in Anton's case the artillery officer training course which took nine months in peacetime was compressed to thirteen weeks. They were then thrown into new situations to do the best they could.
The following letter (slightly abridged) was written about three months after Anton had completed officer candidate school and joined the 212th Armored Field Artillery Battalion, part of the Sixth Armored Division, in the Mojave Desert of California. It describes the stresses he felt during the period of intense training which the division was going through.
An artillery battalion at this point included just over 700 soldiers. It was made up of three firing batteries, plus a service battery and a headquarters battery.
From 2nd
Lieutenant Anton Pritchard, in the Mojave Desert, California, to his parents, Arnold
and Fanny Pritchard, in North Providence, Rhode Island, January 16, 1943
Dear Mom and Pop:
Where I
am right now as far as letters are concerned, I confess I know not. What I’ve said to who, or when it was said,
beats me. Tho’ I’m sure of this, --- you
haven’t heard too much from me, -- explainable, during the last three weeks or
so, by the fact that we have spent very little time here at the base camp.
-------------------------
You will understand, I know, that
it is quite impossible to do any writing in the field. In this the men are a little more fortunate
than I, since once in a rare while they can sit down and dash off a line or two
perched on a half-track hood. The
privilege is more or less denied me, because part of my job is to see to it
that they don’t sit on half-track hoods and write letters. “Improvement of your gun position is never
completed” say the manuals. So, I flit
through the (llegible) bushes “gettin these guys on the ball!”
The
last manouver, (sic) Monday thru yesterday, beat the blazes out of me – boy, -- this
is a rugged life. If we weren’t given
the two and three day semi-rest periods back here at base camp – we’d all
be corpses ere long. I am getting much
more used to it, of course, than I was, but I still must learn a pile about
personal expedients, let alone the multitudinous details connected with
operation of the battery before I can sit back and relax a bit. It is a tremendous job, this, --- by far the biggest I have ever tackled,
-- if it is done thoroughly and conscientiously, that is. Perhaps I am being too conscientious, don’t
know how to relax and take things in my stride, am too thin-skinned about
certain matters. Others don’t take their
jobs so seriously, goldbrick flagrantly and worry or bother little.
The most bothersome part of this life is the
unsettled, unsystematized disorder of it all.
Leon[1]
will verify this, -- don’t misunderstand, - a very large percentage of it is
completely incapable of being any other but the way it is. For instance, I have had three battalion
commanders since joining this outfit, each with his own pet set of formulas for
running the show (the last, who took over last Monday, has had us standing on
our ears since he grasped the reins – personally, as a man I dislike him, --
but am reserving judgment on his
capabilities).[2] Get any idea of what I’m trying to get
at? Organization is the
word! There ain’t but little of it, --
one day you’re authorized 4 decontaminating sprays, the next you only can have
3, first you drive “peeps” with the top up, then they order you to drive with
the tops down, -- a bunch of shoes come in,
no one knows why or where they came from or who asked for ‘em, then an
inspector comes around and asks why the Hell you’ve got so many shoes! (I never saw such a place for mysterious
appearances and disappearances of all manner of goods and gadgets). A million men have got to be instructed in a
million things and – Oh blazes! So on ad
infinitum. This is about the eighteenth
time that I’ve tried to explain, to a small degree, what a vast, complex,
intricate affair an army is – I’ll probably never stop trying and probably
never quite succeed in explaining the complexities of the Army.
A week
ago I was made battery executive, which as I told you is the next job to the
B.C.[3] In the field, I am in command of the firing
battery at the battery position; and in camp, it is my responsibility that they
are trained as a firing battery, i.e. as cannoneers (in other words anything that has to do with
the guns and their serving is my job).
The manuals say (again) “The production of an efficient firing battery
is the executive’s primary job” (unquote).
With this go two (there are more than two – but the rest only take about
8 hours a day to keep abreast of, so I won’t mention them) other jobs, very
detailed, irritating jobs. One “Supply”
(Oh what a headache is there, my countrymen!)
and the other Supervision of the Battery Office. These are dandies believe me!
Yesterday was the first time that I’ve had
any time to indulge in any of the Supervision of the Battery Office business
and many were the unpleasant surprises that greeted my unpracticed
investigating eye. Take the filing
system – I don’t claim to be an expert on the subject – but I saw enough of
that file to realize that it is of no earthly use to any one in its present
messed-up condition. Many have been the
days since I saw anything so completely buggered as that is – not an iota of
sense or reason could I discover in it.
What does it mean? It means that
I have to set up a filing system and then teach someone how to run it. When?
God knows, not me.
Have I
been going on – Lord!
……………………………………………………………………
To my
little sleeping bag. Gotta get up at
two to check the guard – damn it!
Love to
all, --
Anton
[1]
Anton’s younger brother, serving in the Army Signal Corps.
[2]
Lieutenant Colonel Phillip H. Pope, who commanded the 212th Armored
Field Artillery Battalion for the rest of the war. Anton’s opinion of Colonel Pope rose
considerably over time, especially after serving under him in combat.
[3]
Battery Commander.
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