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General Patton's WW II Speech

Discussion in 'Veteran's Forum' started by GreenBeret1631, Jan 5, 2006.

  1. GreenBeret1631

    GreenBeret1631

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    An "Oldie but "Goodie!"

    Gen. George Patton

    The Speech

    Somewhere in England

    June 5th, 1944

    The big camp buzzed with a tension. For hundreds of eager rookies, newly arrived from the states, it was a great day in their lives. This day marked their first taste of the "real thing". Now they were not merely puppets in brown uniforms. They were not going through the motions of soldiering with three thousand miles of ocean between them and English soil. They were actually in the heart of England itself. They were waiting for the arrival of that legendary figure, Lieutenant General George S. Patton, Jr. Old "Blood and Guts" himself, about whom many a colorful chapter would be written for the school boys of tomorrow. Patton of the brisk, purposeful stride. Patton of the harsh, compelling voice, the lurid vocabulary, the grim and indomitable spirit that carried him and his Army to glory in Africa and Sicily. They called him "America's Fightingest General". He was no desk commando. He was the man who was sent for when the going got rough and a fighter was needed. He was the most hated and feared American of all on the part of the German Army.

    Patton was coming and the stage was being set. He would address a move which might have a far reaching effect on the global war that, at the moment, was a TOP-SECRET in the files in Washington, D.C.

    The men saw the camp turn out "en masse" for the first time and in full uniform, too. Today their marching was not lackadaisical. It was serious and the men felt the difference. From the lieutenants in charge of the companies on down in rank they felt the difference.

    In long columns they marched down the hill from the barracks. They counted cadence while marching. They turned off to the left, up the rise and so on down into the roped off field where the General was to speak. Gold braid and stripes were everywhere. Soon, company by company, the hillside was a solid mass of brown. It was a beautiful fresh English morning. The tall trees lined the road and swayed gently in the breeze. Across the field, a British farmer calmly tilled his soil. High upon a nearby hill a group of British soldiers huddled together, waiting for the coming of the General. Military Police were everywhere wearing their white leggings, belts, and helmets. They were brisk and grim. The twittering of the birds in the trees could be heard above the dull murmur of the crowd and soft, white clouds floated lazily overhead as the men settled themselves and lit cigarettes.

    On the special platform near the speakers stand, Colonels and Majors were a dime a dozen. Behind the platform stood General Patton's "Guard of Honor"; all specially chosen men. At their right was a band playing rousing marches while the crowd waited and on the platform a nervous sergeant repeatedly tested the loudspeaker. The moment grew near and the necks began to crane to view the tiny winding road that led to Stourport-on-Severn. A captain stepped to the microphone. "When the General arrives," he said sonorously, "the band will play the Generals March and you will all stand at attention."

    By now the rumor had gotten around that Lieutenant General Simpson, Commanding General of the Fourth Army, was to be with General Patton. The men stirred expectantly. Two of the big boys in one day!

    At last, the long black car, shining resplendently in the bright sun, roared up the road, preceded by a jeep full of Military Police. A dead hush fell over the hillside. There he was! Impeccably dressed. With knee high, brown, gleaming boots, shiny helmet, and his Colt .45 Peacemaker swinging in its holster on his right side.

    Patton strode down the incline and then straight to the stiff backed "Guard of Honor". He looked them up and down. He peered intently into their faces and surveyed their backs. He moved through the ranks of the statuesque band like an avenging wraith and, apparently satisfied, mounted the platform with Lieutenant General Simpson and Major General Cook, the Corps Commander, at his side.

    Major General Cook then introduced Lieutenant General Simpson, whose Army was still in America, preparing for their part in the war.

    "We are here", said General Simpson, "to listen to the words of a great man. A man who will lead you all into whatever you may face with heroism, ability, and foresight. A man who has proven himself amid shot and shell. My greatest hope is that some day soon, I will have my own Army fighting with his, side by side."

    General Patton arose and strode swiftly to the microphone. The men snapped to their feet and stood silently. Patton surveyed the sea of brown with a grim look. "Be seated", he said. The words were not a request, but a command. The General's voice rose high and clear.

    "Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bull****. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American."

    The General paused and looked over the crowd. "You are not all going to die," he said slowly. "Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men. Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen."

    "All through your Army careers, you men have *****ed about what you call "chicken **** drilling". That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a ****** for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German son-of-an-*******-***** is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of ****!" The men roared in agreement.
     
  2. GreenBeret1631

    GreenBeret1631

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    Part 2):

    Patton's grim expression did not change. "There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily", he roared into the microphone, "All because one man went to sleep on the job". He paused and the men grew silent. "But they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did". The General clutched the microphone tightly, his jaw out-thrust, and he continued, "An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse ****. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about ****ing!"

    The men slapped their legs and rolled in glee. This was Patton as the men had imagined him to be, and in rare form, too. He hadn't let them down. He was all that he was cracked up to be, and more. He had IT!

    "We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world", Patton bellowed. He lowered his head and shook it pensively. Suddenly he snapped erect, faced the men belligerently and thundered, "Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-*****es we're going up against. By God, I do". The men clapped and howled delightedly. There would be many a barracks tale about the "Old Man's" choice phrases. They would become part and parcel of Third Army's history and they would become the bible of their slang.

    "My men don't surrender", Patton continued, "I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back. That's not just bull **** either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!"

    Patton stopped and the crowd waited. He continued more quietly, "All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, "Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands". But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, *******it, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. ****s'."

    Patton paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the *******ed cowards and we will have a nation of brave men. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, "Fixing the wire, Sir". I asked, "Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?" He answered, "Yes Sir, but the *******ed wire has to be fixed". I asked, "Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?" And he answered, "No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!" Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds. And you should have seen those trucks on the rode to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-*****ing roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts. Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable."

    The General paused and stared challengingly over the silent ocean of men. One could have heard a pin drop anywhere on that vast hillside. The only sound was the stirring of the breeze in the leaves of the bordering trees and the busy chirping of the birds in the branches of the trees at the General's left.

    "Don't forget," Patton barked, "you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the *******ed Germans. Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the *******ed Third Army again and that son-of-a-****ing-***** Patton'."

    "We want to get the hell over there", Patton continued, "The quicker we clean up this *******ed mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing Japs and clean out their nest, too. Before the *******ed Marines get all of the credit."

    The men roared approval and cheered delightedly. This statement had real significance behind it. Much more than met the eye and the men instinctively sensed the fact. They knew that they themselves were going to play a very great part in the making of world history. They were being told as much right now. Deep sincerity and seriousness lay behind the General's colorful words. The men knew and understood it. They loved the way he put it, too, as only he could.

    Patton continued quietly, "Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin", he yelled, "I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-***** Hitler. Just like I'd shoot a snake!"

    "When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-*****es, we're going to rip out their living *******ed guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy Hun **********s by the bushel-****ing-basket. War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!"

    "I don't want to get any messages saying, "I am holding my position." We are not holding a *******ed thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living **** out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like **** through a tin horn!"

    "From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good ******* about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that."

    The General paused. His eagle like eyes swept over the hillside. He said with pride, "There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, "Well, your Granddaddy shoveled **** in Louisiana." No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, "Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-*******ed-***** named Georgie Patton!"
     

  3. reconvic

    reconvic Recon Marine

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    CHESTY PULLER


    Everyone Needs a Hero

    Story by Staff Sgt. Kurt M. Sutton


    HQMC, Washington

    Marine Magazine, August 1998

    Another fresh-faced kid entered the Virginia Military Institute in 1917. In August 1918, he dropped out and enlisted in the Marine Corps, hoping to join the fighting in Europe during the World War. He never saw combat. Instead he was appointed a Marine Reserve lieutenant, only to be placed on the inactive list 10 days later due to post-war drawdowns. Determined to be a Marine, he rejoined the Corps as an enlisted man, hoping this time to take part in the fighting in Haiti.

    Born June 26, 1898, in West Point, Va., the young man grew up hunting and listening to tales of the Civil War told by his relatives. He also had a heavy appetite for reading, pouring through count-less books of military tales and history.

    Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller would go on to earn five Navy Crosses, the nation’s second highest award for valor, and spend 37 years in the Corps, retiring at the rank of lieutenant general.

    Jungle Combat

    Puller’s service in Haiti allowed him to cut his "battle teeth," leading patrols and engaging the Caco rebels in more than 40 engagements. He witnessed Haitian discipline during drill and patrols, observations which no doubt influenced his own distinct style of leadership.

    After Haiti, Puller was again commissioned a second lieutenant. In 1930, he and his Marines found new action patrolling the jungles of Nicaragua with Guardia Nacional troops against rebels led by Augusto Cesar Sandino. His actions there earned him his first Navy Cross.

    Puller’s growing reputation gained him a seat at the Army Infantry School at Fort Benning, Ga. During one of his classes, which was peppered with future notable Army and Marine Corps generals, Puller engaged in a heated discussion on volumes of fire with the instructor. One of his most famous quotes came from that discussion, culminating with Puller yelling, "You can’t hurt ‘em if you can’t hit ‘em."

    In July of 1932, Puller returned to Nicaragua, where the newspapers heralded his arrival with the headline: "Marines Bring Back the Tiger of Segovia to Fight Sandino." Sandino welcomed the news by putting a bounty of 5,000 pesos on Puller’s head. Puller earned his second Navy Cross during this tour in Nicaragua and was known thereafter as the "Tiger of the Mountains."

    To say that "Chesty" was already a Marine Corps legend might be too strong. Certainly, he was very well known. A San Francisco newspaper dated Feb. 11, 1933, was headlined Most Decorated Marine Will Go to Shanghai."

    In early 1933, Puller joined the China Marines at the American Legation in Peiping. He served mainly as the commander of the "Horse Marines," a unit of 50 men who rode magnificent Manchurian ponies on patrol and parade duties. While there, he had the opportunity to observe the Japanese infantry in training and to learn the sport of polo.

    After several more tours, including sea duty, he was reassigned to China as commander of the 4th Marine Regiment until August 1942.

    Another War

    Returning to battle in October 1942, Puller, now a lieutenant colonel, commanded 1st Battalion, 7th Marines during the battle for Guadalcanal. Nearly 1,400 Japanese were killed and 17 truckloads of equipment taken while Puller’s battalion defended a mile-long front against an estimated 3,000 attackers. Puller was awarded his third Navy Cross.

    During the fighting, Puller could often be seen at the front leading his Marines. He often disregarded enemy fire while others chose to duck and cover. At one point, a grenade landed within eight feet of Puller. While others hit the ground, Puller is alleged to have said, "Oh, that. It’s a dud."

    Shortly after the battle for the ‘Canal,’ Puller became the executive officer of the 7th Marine Regiment. In January 1944, on the island of New Britian, he took command of two battalions whose commanding officers had been taken out of the fight, reorganized them while under heavy machine-gun and mortar fire, and led the Marines in an attack against the enemy’s heavily fortified position. These actions earned Puller a fourth Navy Cross.

    As commander of the 1st Marine Regiment, he led his Marines in one of the bloodiest battles of the war on Peleliu during September and October 1944. King Ross remembers Puller vividly.

    "I was a radio operator on Peleliu with the 3rd Battalion. During the battle, we’d captured a Japanese machine gun. He walked up to us and asked ‘What the hell is that?’ We told him, and he asked us if we could get him one," recalled the 71-year-old Ross. "Two days later we got him his machine gun.

    "We had all heard that he had issued an order that all officers would eat after the enlisted. We got the idea that he never forgot that he was a sergeant. That’s why we all would have gone to hell with him if he’d asked us," said Ross, "and we just about did!"

    In the battle for Peleliu, Puller’s regiment sustained a 56 percent casualty rate while going up against the toughest section of the island, a series of hills, caves, and jungle known as "Bloody Nose." Puller’s battered and bloodied 1st Marines had to be removed from the fight and replaced by the 7th Marines.

    In his speech notes from 1978, retired Brig. Gen. Edwin Simmons, director emeritus, Marine Corps Historical Division, described seeing ‘Chesty’ for the first time when Puller came to talk to officers candidates at Quantico, Va., in 1942.

    "This was the man we were going to hear speak ... not very tall, he stood with a kind of stiffness with his chest thrown out, hence his nickname ‘Chesty.’ His face was yellow-brown from the sun and atabrine, the anti-malaria drug that was used then. His face looked, as someone has said, as though it were carved out of teakwood. There was a lantern jaw, a mouth like the proverbial steel trap, and small, piercing eyes that drilled right through you and never seemed to blink."

    Puller was then 44 years old. The four-time Navy Cross recipient would not see combat again during World War II; instead, he was assigned back to the United States in November 1944.

    He was sent to Camp Pendleton, Calif., in August 1950 to take command of his old unit, the 1st Marines, which was gearing up for Korea.

    Cold Hell

    Puller landed with the 1st Marines at Inchon, Korea, in September 1950. Aboard his landing craft was Lt. Carl L. Sitter, who would earn the Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest award for valor, for his actions during Nov. 29-30, 1950, at Hagaruri.

    "I was on his landing craft that day. I’d been given responsibility for the headquarters section and later acted as liaison with the 5th Marine Regiment. Sometime after we were at Tent Camp 2, I had to go to his tent to talk to him. When I went inside, it was dark, and it took my eyes awhile to adjust. When they did, I noticed him sitting on the ground snapping in with his pistol; he was pointing it right at me.

    "He was ramrod straight with a stubby pipe in his mouth all the time. He was approachable. He’d often say ‘Hello son, how are you doing?’ when he came across a Marine."

    While "attacking in a different direction" at the Frozen Chosin Reservoir Dec. 5-10, 1950, Puller earned his fifth and final Navy Cross. Ten Chinese Divisions had been sent to annihilate them, but the Marines smashed seven of the divisions during their retrograde to the sea. Facing attack from all sides, including two massive enemy attacks on the rear guard, Puller’s direct leadership ensured all casualties were evacuated, all salvageable equipment was brought out, and ensured there was enough time for the column to reach its destination.

    In addition to the Navy Cross for his actions during the breakout, he was awarded the Army’s equivalent — the Distinguished Service Cross. In January 1951, Puller was promoted to brigadier general and appointed as assistant commander of the 1st Marine Division.

    Promoted to major general in September 1953, Puller assumed command of the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune in July 1954. It was here he suffered what was originally described as a mild stroke. After many examinations, Puller was declared fit for duty by his military doctors aboard the base.

    But Puller’s state of health remained a controversial subject and led to his forced retirement. Thwarting tradition, he had a sergeant major who had worked for him in more glorious days, pin on his third star before he retired Nov. 1, 1955.

    His 14 personal decorations, excluding those from foreign governments, certainly are part of Puller’s enduring lore, but perhaps the stories of his leadership, courage, honor, and fighting ability are his most important legacy. They serve as reminders and inspiration to generations of Marines that leading by example is the most important trait we can possess.

    Lewis B. "Chesty" Puller died Oct. 11, 1971, at the age of 73.
     
  4. BikerRN

    BikerRN

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    My Dad, would be 95 if still alive, was at Pelalui and Okinawa.

    I've been reading up on some of what he went through, stories about Pelalui and Okinawa, and it amazes the crap out of me. He was in the Army, but stepped in the wrong line at Fort Sam Houston and ended up in the Pacific with the Marines. To hear him tell it, he wasn't a hero, but I found out that he was awarded 3 Bronze Stars with V's and was put in for a Silver Star as well.

    I'm just wondering if there is any way I can get the After Action Battle Reports and Award Recommendations? Who would I contact for such a thing? It would be a great thing to have for Family History.

    Thank you in advance and thank you to all those serving and those that have served.
     
  5. DriBak

    DriBak GUNS UP Millennium Member

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    BikerRN, try here https://www.hrc.army.mil/site/active/index2.asp
    It would not hurt to try your local Veterarns Outreach center, look in white pages of your local phone book under" Veteran's" most courthouses have a Veteran's office, if not contact your local VA hospital and ask to speak to a social worker.
    I also am "biker" 03 FXSTDI and and an RN
    deucetorres@gmail.com
     
  6. BikerRN

    BikerRN

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    Thank you for your help. I'm working ER now, but looking to go into Home Health for a change.

    I used to ride an '03 FXD that I suited to make my own. Hardbags, solo seat, windsheid and hiway pegs. Now I ride a Ducati Multistrada. It too is a V-Twin, but after learning to ride years ago I finally discovered that I like to go fast and scrape hard stuff. :)

    Since you are in West Texas we will probably pass each other on the road someday, if we haven't already. I'm in southern AZ. Take care, ride safe and thanks again for your help.

    Biker
     
  7. Glolt20-91

    Glolt20-91

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    During the mid 80s I met a fellow who was a tank platoon leader in Patton's 3rd. I was amazed at the allegiance he showed toward Patton and those guys didn't want to stop in Berlin; they wanted to go all the way to Moscow.

    If egos could be put aside, I've always wondered how different world history would be if Patton and MacArthur had been able to hook up; both were visionary leaders. :)

    Great posts!

    Adios,
    Bob