Fosston, northern Minnesota, my hometown, I was 20 years old when I received the registered letter from Uncle Sam and then I was off to Basic Training in Fort Hood, Texas. They soon molded me into a Foot Soldier for the Infantry, and I experienced a horrible tragedy while there. Next, I was on a troop ship and a miserable ride across the Pond to Bamberg, Germany, and my new home. A Company of the elite 15th infantry and all its history. I was one of the 26 young men in the 2nd Platoon and we were from all parts of American and of different nationalities. We were a Band of Brothers, just following orders on Uncle's mundane training and marking the days off our calendars. Maneuvers in the boondocks, wandering around for miles and then dig foxholes, and take cat naps in them. And then spend days cleaning our gear, getting ready for the Saturday morning inspection, Border Guard, and the Alerts.... was this practice or did the Cold war suddenly become another Pearl Harbor? And Holts, our mascot in the 2nd Platoon, with his bad attitude being forced to work for Uncle and his hyena laugh. Hohelfels twice a year for intense training, the Wild Pigs and then the Trek back to A Company. Six weeks of leave at different times, from Oslo to Rome. East and West Berlin and talking to the people that went through WW2. And it was déjà vu that I went TDY in the Post Band. Then it was another rough ride back across the Pond and finally it was 260 miles hitchhiking back home. The two-year adventure and the intermission in my life was one I will never forget, and it make me really appreciate that I was born in America.