PFC Wilson is Gone, But Not Forgotten

By JIM PURCELL

I write about the 4^th Battalion, 41^st Infantry Regiment a great deal. I was with the battalion for 18 months between 1986-1988, and it was where I made corporal, and later sergeant. The battalion was a home, not only for me but for many of us, and I try to do justice to that.

   In this case, I would like to remember a fallen comrade, gone too soon: George M. Wilson, a young infantryman who perished one snowy day below icy waters in Bavaria, Federal Republic of Germany.

   For the soldiers, NCOs and officers of the 4^th Battalion, 41^st Infantry Regiment, 2^nd Armored Division (Forward), training was a regular part of life. I was assigned to HHC and served in the S-2. The battalion was in the field enough that I used to think everyone was actually assigned to the field, but we got a chance to visit garrison once in a while.

   PFC George M. Wilson, who was assigned to Alpha Company in the battalion, was a lot like the rest of us. In those days, before the Internet and state-of-the-art telecommunications, home seemed very far away from Northern Germany. Soldiers had their friends, who were like family, and their unit.

   George was a Bradley driver, which was something of great importance to any 11M unit. Though I did not know George back then, I know that Bradley drivers thought of their vehicles as their own property. That was right, given that a driver spent so much time with their Bradley that there was nothing they did not know about it.

PFC George M. Wilson was a Bradley driver in  the 2AD (FWD)

   According to George’s fellow Alpha Company comrade, then PFC Rollin S. Church, who was the RTO for 3^rd Platoon when George was in 2^nd Platoon, a whole crop of young infantrymen arrived to the battalion in January 1986, fresh from Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia. 

Among that new crop of soldiers was Rollin and George. Rollin and George were friends who experienced those early days together, along with fellow Alpha Company, 2^nd Platoon soldier John Simon.

   John recalled how George complained in letters to his parents about the Bradley, but was devoted to his unit and his vehicle nonetheless. After more than three decades, John also remembers June 26, 1965 as his late friend’s birthday.

   Rollin said that when George, an Indianapolis, Indiana native, arrived to Northern Germany it was an adjustment, as it was for many of us. For me, coming from Fort Bragg, North Carolina, I think it was the weather that took some getting used to. I am likewise sure I am not the only one. Many soldiers were also very young and were enjoying real freedom from their old hometowns and families for perhaps the first time, as well.

The Hohenfels Training Area

   At that time, LTC William T. Voessler was the battalion commander and Captain Steven Hughes was in-charge of the company. I recall CPT Hughes from my interactions with him at the Battalion Staff. He was a confident, competent and experienced company commander who knew his business and soldiers.

   In early March, 1987, the battalion’s Bradley crews were tasked with qualifying on gunnery exercises in Grafenwoehr. That is a tense time, because one of the measures for any crew was their ability to work as a team, under pressure, and put lead on target. Following gunnery exercises, the “Fix Bayonets” battalion rail-headed to the Hohenfels Training Area, where unit readiness was measured by teams there, along with unit leaders.

   In Hohenfels, which was first operated by the U.S. Army in 1945, following World War II, units maneuvered as they might have in a wartime situation. By design, units at all levels were tested to ensure they could do three things: shoot, move and communicate.

   Rollin recalled that the company’s Bradleys were in a defensive position on the day that George died. Back then, the Bradley was just being fielded and many soldiers were just getting used to the new infantry vehicle. He recalled that it was a frozen day and his company was set up along a valley. Bradleys moved along the valley’s bottom to travel from one place to another. The cold was penetrating, and it was true even of water that formed in a sinkhole on the bottom of the valley, which went unseen by anyone and was not posted on any map anywhere.

   “George’s Bradley traveled over the sinkhole and it submerged to the point where only a foot or so of the turret was exposed,” Rollin said. In fact, it was him that called in the Medevac to the battalion for help. Battalion medics, who were well regarded by everyone for their competence and dedication, tried to save the young infantryman’s life as best they could. They tried to gain entrance to the submerged vehicle so they could get him out of the driver’s compartment. But, all the want and commitment in the world could not get George out of that Bradley in time to save his young life.

   When remembering George, John characterized him as “a brother.” John did not get a chance to see his friend before George passed, as John was in a field hospital for an operation. “I haven’t forgotten about George, though,” he concluded.

George M. Wilson

   When I think about the battalion back then, it seemed like so many of us were between 18 and 21 years old, just beginning life. I was 21 then. I would not have my daughters until I was 23. I would not graduate college until I was 30. I had my first grandchild at 51. And, for all the good and bad of life, everyone in the battalion got more of it than George.  So, I think remembering a young man, who had so much to give, is the right thing to do.

   When this was going on, I was at the Battalion Tactical Operations Center, so those of us who were there heard the radio traffic. We prayed. And, myself and my brothers there were and felt utterly useless to help. We heard about heroic efforts to save PFC Wilson, particularly from our battalion medics, some of whom dove into frozen waters to try and save him.  And, as hope faded, I thought the cold became even colder. I felt farther from home than ever before. No one talked for a long time at the TOC. It was a moment that seemed to go on a very long time. Inevitably, reality took shape again. Yet, it was not the reality that had existed before we lost one of our own. 

   I had other friends who knew George, but I would never put someone ‘on the record’ without asking their permission. Yet, it is with some knowledge of those friends he left behind that I say he was both loved and missed.

   Rollin remembers the company devastated after his death. I recall seeing the Bradley that George died in at the railhead, as my unit readied to depart Hohenfels. It had a certain sad energy about it, as I remember. The battalion had lost one of its own.

   Though George M. Wilson never did get a chance to really live his life, he will always be remembered by his family and the soldiers he served with, who remember George not as some random soldier who perished but as “one of us” now and for the rest of our lives.

   It is a lot to ask American kids to travel around the world, sometimes under very difficult circumstances, and serve their country. George was one of those who answered the call and, very sadly, paid the ultimate price in serving his country. Still, America was built upon young people – kids really – volunteering for military service. 

   For George and the rest of those who died in the line of duty, I can only say, ‘Thank you. God bless, may you rest in peace.’