My father drove a gasoline truck on the Russian Front. He joined the Wehrmacht at the age of 17. He was wounded at Stalingrad (that probably saved his life, since he was evacuated back to Germany instead of dying in a Russian prison camp) He was raked with a "grease gun" submachine gun. He took 3 slugs (arm; belly; leg). While he languished in a hospital near the Ardennes Forest, the Battle of the Bulge occurred (again saving his life, since the Infantry was used by the Panzer brigades as track lubricant) Shortly thereafter, the American Army captured the hospital. The Americans treated the German wounded well and gave my father enough milk, eggs and meat to allow his belly wound to finally heal. He also learned some English, which helped us some 12 years later when we emigrated to the United States.

My Step Dad was distantly related to Winston Churchill through his (Churchill's) mother's side of the family. He was one of the North Carolina Weathers (poor farmers). He didn't speak much about his war experiences. He went into Europe at Omaha Beach, three days after D-Day (after having spent several months on the Salisbury Plain of England within sight of Stonehenge, preparing for the invasion push) As he tells it, he "walked" to Brussels from France after his landing, and then "walked across Europe 3 or 4 times" back and forth between Belgium and Germany. He said that he and a friend were the first (and probably the only) Americans to enter Prague. It seems that his friend had "liberated" a working Zundap motorcycle and asked Ralph if he wanted to "go for a ride?" They went into Prague not knowing that it had been ceded to the Russian troops. The Russians welcomed the two adventurers with plenty of Vodka and cries of "Tovarich!" When they returned to their unit, late the next day, and were facing mild disciplinary action, nobody would believe that they actually entered the Russian zone and weren't beaten up or killed. I also remember that my Step Dad used to say, "I am small (5'6") and I was a lot skinnier back then. When I saw those huge Germans I picked up and abandoned "grease gun" and started collecting grenades. I had them hanging all over me, on my belt and on my jacket. The other guys called me 'the grenade kit', but I never had to do any hand to hand combat with any of those big Germans!"