A Second Opinion 

by Jack McGrath Med. 511 PIR
On February 5, 1945 I was on duty at the north end of the Paranque bridge with Sgt. Damans’s light machine gun squad. Paranque is a southern suburb of Manila on the island of Luzon. We had been catching  hell  from dual Japanese 20mm "Ack-Ack" guns positioned in Nicholas Field.  There was also incoming heavy artillery, which was probably positioned in the area of Ft. McKinley, about three miles from Nicholas Field.
After one such incident, the cry for "Medic" was heard. I responded and within a few seconds I arrived on the scene, having to run only 50 yards or so.  The incoming firing had hit in the area of C-511th PIR men. In a pool of blood, was Sgt. John D. Futch lying on a concrete sidewalk. It was high noon and the sidewalk was hot, causing the blood to congeal almost immediately. The blood looked to be 1/4 to ½ inch thick and was already turning brown. I knelt in the blood and opened Futch’s fatigue jacket and pants. He had three big holes in his body, one below the throat, another at the solar plexus and a third just above the pubic bone. Without a question, I knew Sgt. Futch was dead. A Captain came running over toward me (I did not know him by name) and said, "There are lots of shells coming in, let’s get out of here." He then looked at me and asked, "How is that man?" I replied, "He’s dead." Just then Futch made a gurgling sound, the so-called "death rattle" - I had heard it before. The Captain then looked at me as if I didn’t know business and stated, "Take the man to the Battalion Aid Station."

When I stood up, two pie-shaped circles of congealed blood came up with my knees. I placed Futch in a "Fireman’s Carry" across my shoulders. I hadn’t gone very far, perhaps five to ten yards, when I could feel Futch’s blood running down my back. As I proceeded toward the Aid Station, I felt it running down my legs and as I continued on, I felt it going into my boots. Each step caused it to squeak and bubble. I don’t recall how far I had to go, but it seemed that the blood never seamed to stop flowing. When I arrived at the Aid Station, there were three or four medics there and Captain Spendlove, the 1st Battalion Surgeon. Spendlove looked at Sgt. Futch and then at me, much in the same manner as the C-511th Captain had earlier done. He then said, "Why in hell did you bring him here, couldn’t you tell he was dead?" I could only answer, "I did know he was dead Sir, but I had been ordered to bring him here."

Captain Spendlove, by stating that Sgt. Futch was dead, had given a second opinion confirming my earlier diagnosis. The C-511th Captain would never know, so much for being right.

On the way back to the Paranque bridge, I proceeded down to the stream under it.   There I stripped down and tried to wash my clothes, boots and myself.  I was only partially successful. War is a bloody business.

 

Typing and editing provided by Leo Kocher - 511

Courtesy of "WINDS ALOFT" Quarterly publication of the 511th Parachute Infantry Association