We started out routing the enemy. We overran some of their positions and started taking prisoners with our fixed bayonets. From that point, we were spearheading, advancing our positions, with our artillery behind us and shells going off everywhere. Our unit was doing okay until we ran into some Germans manning a machine gun in the bend of the road. I was trying to take cover from the small branches of a tree. My rifle had jammed and I had borrowed one from our bazooka man when I felt a terrible pain in my right arm. I knew I had been hit. Fortunately, a medic was nearby. He cut my clothing to take a look, put on a tourniquet and gave me a shot of morphine which eased my pain. From that point, one of my buddies assisted me in going back several yards to find a jeep. On our way we had to fall in the ditch of the road to try to dodge flak from exploding shells from the Germans as they were trying to stop our advance. By the time we found a jeep I wanted another shot of morphine, which thankfully I got. I don’t remember entering a field tent hospital until I was asked that evening to visit the operating room. They asked me if I could move any of my fingers, which I couldn’t. They then sedated me and I woke up the next morning without most of my right arm. A doctor visited me that morning and told me he had to do what he did.
We honor you, Wilmer Hancock Jr.