On Sunday, April 8, 1945, at 11:30 a.m., Philip Sr. and Ethyl Larimore were attending a worship service at St. Luke’s United Methodist Church in Memphis. As the pastor prayed, Philip felt his wife startle.[1]

At first, he wondered if she had dozed off. He looked at her and noticed she had broken out in a sweat and was trembling. After their eyes met, he recognized the fear in her face. Then Ethyl stood and walked rapidly out to the vestibule, pulling a handkerchief from her purse.

Philip followed her to the foyer, where he found her seated on a bench, crying uncontrollably. He sat down and embraced his crying wife, not knowing what else to do.

After a moment, her sobs turned to moaning and then quiet weeping. She was able to mutter the words, “While the pastor was praying, I heard a gunshot.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Philip said, tightening his arm around her.

“Not here. In Germany. Junior’s been shot. I know it.”

It was precisely 6:30 p.m. in Germany—the moment Phil had taken a German bullet to the leg.

Philip Sr. believed his wife. He just did not know if his son was dead or alive.

~~~~~

At 1850 hours, Colonel McGarr’s Jeep skidded to a halt. He and two other men jumped out and ran up to the Love Company CP.

“Update!” McGarr demanded.

“The TOT worked,” Lieutenant Fitterman reported. “The enemy line was destroyed. Our guys are mopping up.”

“Casualties?” he asked.

“Several wounded. Phil is MIA, but it hasn’t been safe to look for him, sir.”

“Follow me!” McGarr commanded. The colonel spun on his heels with Fitterman and two of McGarr’s men, a medic and a radioman, trailing. “I’m going to find him!”

Headlights off, the Jeep moved slowly in the increasing darkness, the sounds of small arms fire, grenades, and machine guns erupting in spurts from the forest and pastures in front of them. As they came to the edge of the woods, there was just enough light to see that the clearing appeared empty. Smoke, the smell of gunpowder, and the stink of burned flesh clung to the ground. The men moved forward, carefully checking the German bodies to be sure there were no wounded or fakers that could shoot them in the back after they passed.

“Where’d you last see him?” McGarr whispered.

“Just up here, sir,” Fitterman answered. His heart sank as he passed several craters, still smoking from a recent shelling, each containing parts of men who’d been blown apart.

As the men moved slowly forward, Colonel McGarr moved up beside Fitterman. How many colonels would do that? Abe thought. But he and McGarr’s men were used to this. Abe knew Phil had a great admiration for McGarr. The two had fought together since Anzio—413 days of one bloody battle after another. Phil was one of McGarr’s longest-lived company commanders. It was no surprise the colonel would be out here looking for him. Abe prayed—hope against hope—that they’d find his body, or at least body parts and his dog tags.

“There!” The colonel ran forward in a crouch. In a shallow ditch lay the half-buried body of a GI, his American boots sticking out of a covering of mud, dirt, and bits of grass.

McGarr threw down his rifle and began to gently dig with his hands. “It’s Larimore!” he exclaimed. “God Almighty! He’s alive! Medic!”

As the medic ran up, McGarr told his radioman, “Get a stretcher! Get my Jeep! Now!”

McGarr and Fitterman quickly uncovered Phil. McGarr sat on the ground and gently lifted Phil’s head and placed it in his lap. “Larimore, can you hear me?” he said softly.

Phil slowly nodded. “Colonel, that you?”

“Damn right, it’s me!”

He stroked Phil’s hair back from his blanched face. “I’m ordering you to live, damn it. Don’t die on my watch, son!”

A slight smile creased Phil’s face. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, lapsing back into unconsciousness.[2]

TO BE CONTINUED.

~~~~~

The entire series:

• April 8, 1945 (Part 1) — Phil severely wounded one month before the end of the war
• April 8, 1945 (Part 2) — Phil severely wounded one month before the end of the war
• April 8, 1945 (Part 3) — Phil severely wounded one month before the end of the war
• April 9, 1945 (Part 4) — Phil severely wounded one month before the end of the war
• April 9, 1945 (Part 5) — Phil severely wounded one month before the end of the war
• April 10, 1945 (Part 6) — Phil Larimore the man that bullets could not stop

~~~~~

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[1] Larimore, At First Light, 262.

[2] Larimore, Ibid, 262-264.

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Learn more about my book about my father’s heroics and exploits at Amazon’s First Light page here. You can also read more of my WWII blogs here as well!

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