Leapfrog

I remember early in the invasion of France playing leapfrog. That’s what I called advancing through an area previously taken by our troops and attacking beyond their lines. We were advancing through a small French town, and right on the road was a dead American soldier. I knew he had to be at least nineteen years old, but he looked so much younger. He had orange red hair lying there across his rifle, with his helmet atilt, showing his full face with the ever-present dust on his lips and eyelids, a sure sign that he was dead. His uniform was spotless, with no sign of blood. What a terrible waste. We all silently marched forward past this reminder of what might be ahead. The reason I remember him so clearly, was because he was the first American GI that I saw who was killed in action.