If a couple of American artillery shells had landed in different spots, Dale Bowlin’s battery might have killed a few more Germans, or at least chased them out of their concrete bunker. And later that day, Bowlin would have bled to death.
Of course, if another American artillery shell had landed in a different spot, Bowlin would have two legs.
“I’ve done that ‘what-if’ thousands of times,” Bowlin said. “So many things could have happened … and with so many of them, I could have bled to death.”
After so much supposition, Bowlin recently made a trip back to a spot on that battlefield where he could finally encounter one very concrete reality: that bunker.
After he was severely wounded by an American shell more than 70 years ago, the forward artillery observer dragged himself to the fortified German position.
That was the last time he saw the battered bunker — until last month.
“I’ve always wondered where that bunker or pillbox was,” the Vancouver veteran said a few days ago. “A friend in France who is active in re-enacting — they run around in World War II uniforms and restore World War II vehicles — told me that he found the pillbox I had crawled to.”
It gave Bowlin another reason to book his 17th, and likely his last, visit to Europe. Bowlin and fellow veterans of the U.S. Army’s 70th Infantry Division have been visiting that region of France and Germany every other year since the 1980s, retracing their advance that liberated a string of towns and villages in France.
Bowlin made a dozen or so of those trips with his wife, Phyllis, before her death in 2009. This time, Bowlin was accompanied by Heidi Freeman, a family friend from Vancouver, and granddaughter Elyse Dane and her husband, James Dane, who live in Montana.
Liberators welcomed
With eight other 70th Division veterans and their friends and family members, there were about 40 people on the trip. It coincided with France’s celebration of the 70th anniversary of the war’s conclusion.
“The mayors of six towns and villages hosted us,” Bowlin said.
The trip to the spot where his life changed came courtesy of the French re-enactment group. Bowlin’s party rode a restored WWII half-ton truck about 6 miles into the heavily wooded area near the French-German border, about 20 miles from Saarbrucken, Germany.
“It was a bit emotional after so many years to actually see the spot where my life took a new and dramatic turn,” Bowlin said.
One of the turning points on Feb. 21, 1945, was a German ambush. Bowlin and three other GIs were taken prisoner. They were being led to the rear when an American 105mm artillery shell exploded nearby. A fragment hit the back of Bowlin’s left knee and severed the artery.
“I discovered blood filling my left pant leg.” When he tried to use his belt as a tourniquet, the buckle broke. He crawled about 75 yards to the bunker, then passed out as he was looking up at two German soldiers.
Bowlin woke up in a German hospital. A doctor amputated Bowlin’s left leg, and he spent about two months in German custody before French troops liberated the area.
Back to the bunker
In June, re-enactors driving vintage WWII vehicles took the 70th Division group back into those woods. Freeman borrowed some of their gear for the occasion.
“I saw a WWII helmet sitting there and thought, ‘Are you kidding me?’ I grabbed it,” Freeman said.
Freeman and Elyse Dane hiked to the bunker while Bowlin stayed with the truck.
“The terrain was a little challenging for my artificial leg,” he said.
Bowlin wouldn’t swear that it was the exact same bunker he saw as he was passing out. But it certainly was in the right area, and seeing it from his seat in the truck was enough to close the circle for Bowlin.
Freeman saw it from a different perspective. She crawled inside the bunker and then peered through a firing slit.
“It was an eerie feeling,” Freeman said, “knowing the men who had been in there were trying to kill our soldiers.”
She considered what those German soldiers must have been thinking 70 years ago as they saw her friend crawl toward them. Since it was February, “He probably was leaving a blood trail in the snow,” Freeman said. “And the last thing he sees is the enemy, coming out and looking at him.
“I’ve heard his story many times, and to be in the actual vicinity where it happened was overwhelming,” she said.
These days, Bowlin said he often considers what one of those German soldiers, who left the safety of the bunker to get a wounded American to an aid station, might be thinking now.
“If he could ever meet me and see the man I am,” Bowlin said, “I hope he would feel the risk he took was worthwhile.”
