On this day in 1943, my uncle Bill was at Camp Roberts, in California. He just received his first letter from home the day before. He has yet to start basic training, although he was recently reclassified and moved to the 79th Infantry Battalion (US Army) as a rifleman. Given his poor eyesight he is hoping to get reclassified according to his skills and abilities.
Meanwhile, on this same day at 4:00AM, his cousin Renate Schellhorn, is in Leipzig, which is being bombed by the Allies. However, on this day, they missed the air-raid sirens and barely made it to the shelters before the heavy iron doors shut behind them.
As the heavy iron door slammed shut behind us, an air mine exploded in our immediate vicinity, as we later found out. All I remember is that the lights went out immediately, we were thrown to the floor and gasped for air in the pitch-black cellar. Nobody actually screamed. But the tremendous air pressure pressed the dust from the briquettes stored everywhere into our lungs, and we coughed and gasped wildly. We were not standing in the place our father had indicated, we did not have the damp washcloths over our faces, as we had practiced so well beforehand.
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