In September, I had the honor and privilege of speaking about my latest book, The Lost Soldier, at the National World War II Museum. The facility is amazing and the staff is packed with talented people, including Jason Dawsey, historian-in-residence, who joined me on stage to talk about the book.

The timing was just as perfect: September marked the 75th anniversary of the beginning of the Huertgen Forest battle - a battle that would ultimately last six months, involve 125,000 American soldiers, and cause some 30,000 casualties.

Pete Lynn of Kings Mountain, North Carolina, was one of those casualties. His story is told in The Lost Soldier.

C-Span covered the event, and you can see it here.

Signed copies of The Lost Soldier: The Ordeal of a World War II GI from the Home Front to the Huertgen Forest are now available from the National World War II Museum! Click here for details.
 
Based in downtown New Orleans, the National World War II Museum is an absolute treasure. Housed in five pavilions that sprawl across a six-acre campus, the museum bulges with historical exhibits, a period dinner theater, and restaurants. I believe it is the best museum of its kind anywhere. You could spend days while perusing everything the museum has to offer. Not to mention the fact that New Orleans itself is a great city.
 
I’ve had the pleasure of visiting the museum on several occasions. On one of those visits, I was humbled to meet a man who won the Congressional Medal of Honor during the Normandy Campaign. Afterward, he toured the museum in a wheelchair while his grandson pushed him through the various exhibits. It was moving for me; certainly it was for the old soldier as he saw depictions of those dark days that he endured, with his grandson at his side.
 
It is an incredible honor to see The Lost Soldier featured by the museum’s gift shop. It is also fitting, for every day the museum honors the generation that fought and won World War II. Pete Lynn, who served in the 28th Infantry Division in Europe, is a prime example of that generation. Drafted at the age of 32 in March 1944, he left his family behind to do his duty. He made the ultimate sacrifice that November in the dark, horrific Huertgen Forest.

​For more details, visit here.

Shopping for Father's Day or other special occasion? Or do you just need a new book to read? I'm excited to announce that the publisher of Stuart's Tarheels: James B. Gordon and his North Carolina Cavalry is running a special website promotion through June 30, in honor of the company's 40th anniversary. All orders will be discounted by 25%.

You can find Stuart's Tarheels here - and be sure to check out the other great books on the site while you are there.

To enjoy this special savings, use the website coupon code ANN2019.

​D.H. Hill hated any and all things Yankee. His writings are littered with anti-Yankee statements. Even the word problems he created for an algebra textbook leaned decidedly against those who hailed from north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Anything that supported his world view was worth repeating. In the December 1866 (No. II, Vol. II, p. 147-148) issue of his magazine, The Land We Love, he published a story that South Carolina cavalry general Wade Hampton apparently told him:

“From a well-known cavalry officer, we get the next incident,” Hill wrote. “The day after the great battle of Spottsylvania C.H., General Lee was standing near his lines, conversing with two of his officers, one of whom was known to be not only a hard fighter but a hard swearer, but also a cordial hater of the yankees. After a silence of some moments, the latter officer, looking at the yankees with a dark scowl on his face, exclaimed most emphatically, ‘I wish they were all dead.’ General Lee, with the grace and manner peculiar to himself, replied, ‘how can you say so, General. Now I wish they were all at home, attending to their own business, leaving us to do the same.’ He then moved off, when the first speaker waiting until he was out of earshot, turned to his companion and in the most earnest tone said, ‘I would not say so before General Lee, but I wish they were all dead and in hell!’ When this ‘amendment’ to the wish was afterwards repeated to General Lee, in spite of his goodness, he could not refrain from laughing heartily at the speech, which was so characteristic of one of his favorite officers.” 

Where did this hate come from? It is a topic I am exploring in my research into the life of General Hill.

In the spring of 1864, Major General D.H. Hill volunteered to serve on the staff of Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard as an aide-de-camp. Beauregard trusted Hill's judgment and put him to work in the trenches outside of Petersburg, Virginia. Hill was frequently in the front lines as he advised other commanders, adjusted defenses, and briefly commanded a division. Such duty introduced the Davidson, N.C. resident to the the dangers of siege warfare. In the trenches of Petersburg, a man could die by simply exposing himself to the enemy. Famous for his fearlessness on other battlefields, Hill knew better than to be reckless at Petersburg, but everybody did not share that sentiment. After the war, Hill wrote the following, referring to himself in the third person:

"Upon another occasion, while the writer was looking through a port-hole on a part of the lines where the hostile works were not fifty yards apart, his hat blue [sic] off and fell into the open space between the two lines. A hat was a consideration in those days, but no amount of money would have induced me to have gone after my lost slouch. A soldier offered to get it — I protested, but he was off and soon returned with the hat. ‘How did you get it?’ ‘Oh! I crawled on my hands and knees — the Yankees shot at me six or eight times, but they did not hit me and it’s all right.’ I have not infrequently seen men raise their hands over the breastworks saying that they ‘were feeling for a furlough.’”

From ‘The Haversack,’ The Land We Love V (September 1867), 422.

Maj. Gen. D.H. Hill was not at Gettysburg, but many of the men who served under him did fight in that battle. One of Hill's comrades and artillerymen, Thomas H. Carter, was one. In a letter he wrote to Hill in 1885, he described his memories of the famous July 3 attack remembered today (incorrectly) as Pickett's Charge. Carter had a ringside seat for the charge, so it was still etched indelibly in Carter's mind despite the passage of over twenty years:

"I consider the charge & capture of the works at Seven Pines by your command," Carter wrote, "under all the circumstances, the most difficult & dangerous that I saw during the war, except the charge of Pickett's Division at Gettysburg. I had the honor to witness this charge, at Gettysburg, almost in full, having but a few long range guns at work, and I can say in all sincerity, that I believe there is nothing in all the annals of war to equal it. The distance was nearly, or quite, a mile over an entirely open and ascending ground to a crest actually ablaze with the fire of infantry & artillery! And yet the line went up-up-up, & disappeared in the cloud of smoke left by the now silenced & captured cannon, having carried their whole front! I declare to you, that even now, after the lapse of nearly a quarter of a century, I cannot recall the scene of this unparalleled feat of arms without the choking sensation in my throat and the tears in my eyes. My heart will be as cold as death can make it when it fails to kindle at the recollction of the scene & the thrill of joy & pride when I heard through the cloud the unimitable & immortal Confederate cheer on the heights of Gettysburg! But alas! They were not supported. Flesh & blood could do no more & soon a scattered few came back thro' the same cloud of smoke they had entered so gallantly a short time before, and all was lost save honor!" (Source: Thomas H. Carter to DHH, July 1, 1885, D.H. Hill Papers, #32032, Library of Virginia, Richmond.)

And like Thomas Carter, we still remember Gettysburg, and many other battles like it, over 150 years later - because that terrible Civil War still has meaning today.

I've had the privilege of visiting Chicago often over the years. It is a great city, with its amazing restaurants ... beautiful sights ... fascinating museums ... massive buildings .... and much more. It's pretty hard to beat a trip to Wrigley on a summer afternoon to see the Cubs, or a meal at Harry Caray's.

I must admit, however, that January is not my favorite time to visit Chicago - but my most recent trip was an exception. Yes, the year was barely three weeks old. It was gray. The thermometer hovered in the twenties and thirties. Snow still lay on the ground, and another snow storm threatened while I was in the city. People walked the streets in fur-lined parkas.

But the trip was still great, because I got to appear on Author's Voice.

The Author's Voice is a streaming interview program that is produced and broadcast from the Windy City. The program has hosted many wonderful authors over the years, and it was my honor to be on the program for a second time. 

Here's a link to this year's program, in which we discuss The Lost Soldier. Enjoy! 

https://youtu.be/whpZdPum5PM 

I was honored to be a guest in the latest episode (Episode 12) of Carl White’s Life in the Carolinas podcast.

Carl White is an Emmy-nominated and award-winning author, syndicated columnist and TV show host based in North Carolina. His podcast, which shares some entertaining and fascinating stories about people and places from across the Carolinas, is available on iTunes, Google Play, Sticher, Spotify, and also the Life in the Carolinas website.

I enjoyed my conversation with Carl, and the chance to talk more about my new book, The Lost Soldier. 

Here's a direct link to the website podcast. Enjoy!

Over the last several days, American flags have waved at half-staff across our country.

On December 7, it was in memory of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, which took place seventy-seven years ago.
 
American flags also stood at half-mast in memory of World War II veteran and President George H.W. Bush, who died on November 30.
 
Which sparked memories. As a youngster, I lived two doors down from a Pearl Harbor survivor. That fateful Sunday morning, my neighbor stood watch on the USS Pennsylvania, and thus had a ringside seat for the attack. From his perch in the ship's crow’s nest, he could easily see enemy planes buzzing Battleship Row a short distance across the harbor.

In the 1970s, with my neighbor's help, I completed my maiden historical project during elementary school: I wrote a paper about Pearl Harbor, and at my request my gentle neighbor came to our class to share his experiences. I've never forgotten it, or him.
 
The passing of President Bush further reminded me how veterans of World War II once surrounded all of us. My elementary school principal fought on Iwo Jima. A fellow church member piloted a landing craft to the Normandy beaches on D-Day. Another flew bombers over occupied Europe. Yet another man I knew rode in a tank destroyer across Europe. I'm sure there were more such veterans and I just never knew it.
 
Those men and women set examples of how to live and serve that I try to follow every day.

​Remembering Pete Lynn. 74 years ago today, November 2, Pete was killed in action in the Huertgen Forest while serving with Company B, 112th Infantry Regiment, 28th Infantry Division. Here’s a brief excerpt from my book, The Lost Soldier, about that terrible day:
 
A light rain started falling in in the early morning darkness of November 2, 1944. Like an amanuensis, a soupy mist settled on trees, buildings, and foxholes. The dampness made it feel colder than it actually was, though the temperature was already near freezing. “It was pretty miserable outside,” a German landser recalled.

Gradually it grew light enough to see, but the sun stayed veiled behind clouds the color of dirty cotton. Soldiers stirred. Those selected to attack first rose first. Other companies, like Pete’s Company B and Company K, would not jump off until later so it was 7:30 a.m. before these men shimmied groggily out of their sleeping bags. After eating a hot breakfast, the soldiers packed their belongings. 

Col. Peterson woke early in his Germeter attic. One of his first tasks was to establish a sandbagged observation post for assistant division commander Davis. “I was to meet him at a specified point west of Germeter at a specified time on the morning of the attack to lead him to his CP,” Peterson later wrote. Dutifully, Peterson went to the appointed spot. When Davis did not appear, Peterson “deemed it necessary to get on with problems coincident with the attack.” It was the right call, but Davis later chewed Peterson out for missing their rendezvous. It was an inauspicious start to the operation.

American guns shattered the morning stillness at 8:00 a.m. For the next hour, the massed artillery of the V and VII Corps fired four thousand preparatory rounds while the 28th Infantry Division loosed 7,313 of its own shells toward known and suspected enemy positions. Cota described it as a “fierce concentration of fire” that increased in volume, as the deafening artillery shifted to nearer targets at 8:45 a.m. From the woods west of Germeter the 112th’s heavy guns — from the 707th Tank Battalion’s Assault Gun Platoon, Company B, 630th Tank Destroyer Battalion, the 112th’s Antitank Company, and Company B, 86th Chemical Mortar Battalion — added their steel voices. Lt. Gunther Schmidt, a member of the 272nd Volksgrenadier Division, endured the bombardment from a vantage point near Schmidt. “There was a lot of confusion in the street, horses reared; we heard screams from the men that were hit,” he wrote.

Col. Peterson and his artillery officers watched the bombardment from his headquarters attic. As of this day, his regiment contained 3,239 soldiers, thanks to the arrival of replacements; in the street and among the houses below, the men of his 2nd battalion waited nervously. This was the line of departure. At 8:45 a.m., tanks from the 707th Tank Battalion rolled up behind the soldiers and idled their engines. The eastward view from the attic and street was normally good: open fields, marked by shell craters and the occasional fence, stretched between Germeter and Vossenack. Distant ridges framed the scene, but the shelling obstructed the view. “Schmidt, in the valley ahead, was hardly visible for the smoke of its burning houses and the thick white dust that lingered over each air-blast and shell-burst,” wrote New York Times reporter Harold Denny. “What one could see at Schmidt was only broken walls and naked chimneys and in the foreground the hulks of two burned-out German tanks.” Looking left, toward Huertgen, Denny saw more “tall chimneys, about all that is left of towns and other hamlets.”

At 9:00 a.m., the attack began.....