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Veteran recalls days that followed D-Day
Born in 1922 at Arcadia, Kan., Joe Sloniker now of Nevada, Mo., helped his dad on the farm and learned his carpentry trade. He quit school after seventh grade to work full time.
When he was 18 years old, some guys came from 203rd Anti-aircraft SW National Guard and talked to him about enlisting. He did, and he spent a year at Camp Huber, Texas, where he learned the basics of serving in the Army.
He got out a year later, in September 1943 -- and was drafted in October of 1943.
He was sent to Leavenworth, Kan., for induction for a couple of days, of which he spent 18 hours on kitchen duty. The next stop was Lawton, Okla., at Ft. Sill, where he was trained in communications. On a leave, he got married. After basic training, he was sent to Camp Roberts, Calif. He drove the communication truck, which hauled communication equipment and the people manning it.
More training was given at Ft. Lewis, Wash., with maneuvers in Bend, Ore. In April, he was sent to New York for a couple of days where he and about 9,000 other soldiers were loaded on the New Amster-dam, which was a Holland luxury liner. Another ocean liner, Queen Mary, was loaded at the same time which could have held up to 20,000.
When they arrived in Glasgow, Scotland. five days later, the Queen Mary was already there and unloading. They were sent to Southampton, England.
"They had balloons all over England so it wouldn't sink into the ocean," Sloniker quipped of his arrival with thousands of U.S. troops.
While he was there, he was taught to waterproof trucks so we could drive in water up to our necks in case we unloaded in water.
June 5, 1943, at 2 p.m., Sloniker was loaded on LST landing vessels and started across the channel. Traveling slowly across the choppy water, they got to Normandy Beach Head about 3 or 4 p.m.
"That night was one of the worst I've ever spent," Sloniker said. "I didn't know where I was or what was going to happen."
What happened was one of the most deadly and fierce battles of all time at which one in 18 men would die of the more than 170,000 soldiers of the assault wave. "I'd rather not talk about it," Sloniker said grimly.
Part of his grisly experiences on the day after D-day plus many more days included seeing entire cities leveled and having to drive over bricks and rubble five to six feet deep knowing that there were dead Germans underneath. He drove across France, Holland and Luxemburg. No matter the weather or what, their "home" was a pup tent.
In the Argonne Forest in Northern France his Lieutenant took him to the front lines as a forward observer.
The lieutenant went back and he stayed there with his radio for four nights and five days. "I could hear the Germans walking in the 14 inches of frozen snow."
His food for this time was one chocolate bar. He was able to walk back to his group the fifth night.
"The day before Easter 1944, I told the cook that there was a big hog out there. Let's butcher it." They did, dug a big hole and cooked it. "It tasted good."
Sloniker remembers C Rations, dried eggs, dried potatoes and dried milk.
They crossed the Rhine River on Easter Sunday on a pontoon bridge with the communication trucks swaying along. Sometime before they got to Germany, Sloniker was sitting on a command car and a bullet went between the soles on his shoe. "Shirttail Charlie was bombing. I dove into a foxhole right by our command car. Johnny Robinson fell in on top of me -- and he was killed."
Christmas was spent in Germany. On May 12, 1945, Sloniker was about 18 miles outside Berline and given the order to cross the Elbe River when the news came that the war was over.
Sloniker smiled and said, "I was glad of that, however, my lieutenant was driving a jeep along the river the next day and a land mine blew up the truck and killed him." He immediately was assigned the duty of transporting and delivering Prisoners of War. He stayed there until July 4, 1945; then was sent to Limoges, France, until October, when he was released to come home.
He loaded onto the David C. Shanks ship which was so small that they could only stay on their bunk for eight hours then had to change so others could lie down. About 3.000 people were aboard. One day away from Rock of Gibralter when a bearing or something went out and they traveled across the Atlantic Ocean for 20 days at 2 knots per hour. Since it was autumn, the sea was choppy and stormy. One night only nine out of the 3,000 ate supper. "I was a pretty good sailor and never got sick, but I didn't sleep in the bunk, I slept on the top deck in the fresh air," Sloniker said.
Arriving in New York, they were treated to steak and ice cream. "Something we hadn't seen for awhile," Sloniker said.
That night, they got on a train for St. Louis where he was discharged. He got home Oct. 20, 1945, to see his wife; and his baby daughter, who had been born Nov. 2, 1944.
He began civilian work by helping build houses in Carthage, Mo. Later, he went into construction work in Kansas City. He hung all the doors in the new Research Hospital, was superintendent of building at the Gates Drug Center in Iola, Kan., a warehouse in Joplin, and the Civic Center at Baker University in Kansas.
A son and another daughter were added to the family, and he spent three years overseeing the building of the Armour Processing Plant in Mason City, Iowa.
In 1979, he purchased a farm in Vernon County and drove back and forth to Kansas City to work five days a week. When Ford Motor Company did construction change-overs for the new cars, he spent 37 hours there without sleep.
After all of Joe Sloniker's service to our country and work as a private citizen, he's finally getting to something he wants to do -- go fishing at Stockton Lake.