It was almost 65 years ago when George Batchelor, who grew up in Warren County and lives in Tallulah, La., was a soldier on the front lines in World War II in France, Belgium and Germany. Several years ago, he wrote some of his reminiscences of the war. This is the second and final story based on his wartime experiences.

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He was by himself, running across an open field to attack the Germans who had dug in on a hill. George Batchelor had ordered his men to follow, but no one did. Finally, three came and then the others — reluctantly.

Batcheor was commander of a platoon in Fox Company during World War II. Gen. George S. Patton had given orders of where they were to be that day.

He doesn’t remember if it was in Belgium or Germany, but Batchelor recalls that it was miserably cold, but finally the snow had stopped and the sun was shining.

The Germans who were shelling the road were slowly retreating. They were dug in at the crest of a hill before which stretched an open field. Batchelor ordered his men to halt, for to cross that field would be certain suicide as they would be little more than sitting ducks.

Several hundred yards in the rear was the captain who sent word that Batchelor’s men must keep advancing at all costs. Despite protests, the captain persisted, and Batchelor was in a dilemma until he heard a tank coming. He ran up to the commander, explained the situation, and it was agreed that the tank gunner would fire while the men with fixed bayonets would charge. Maybe the Germans would panic.

Batchelor told his men the plans. When he left his foxhole, all were to follow him and run to the base of the hill. The tank commander would cease firing, and the men would use their bayonets to rout the enemy. His men didn’t follow at first but, when they did and reached the hill, they discovered that the Germans had fled, leaving a machine gun in place.

“If the Germans had not panicked and run,” Batchelor said, “I would not be here today.”

Though they had the enemy on the run, the men halted at dark, afraid of a counterattack. They were far ahead of the rest of the company, so while waiting they saw a white flag and out walked 60 German soldiers, mostly teenagers and old men. Batchelor and his seven men disarmed them and marched them to camp.

Another event he recalls was a daylight reconnaissance in February 1945 near the Siegfried Line when the captain ordered him to lead a patrol in thick woods. He was told to pick five men, and they were to gather all the information they could, look for enemy installations, and see what the Germans were up to.

No one would volunteer, so Batchelor picked five men and a scout who refused, saying that snipers always shot the first man who showed up; he would rather be court-martialed. When the captain was told, he ordered the private to act as scout but, again, he refused. The captain also got no volunteers so, bewildered and confused, he turned to Batchelor: “Sergeant, lead your men,” so he had the task of leading the men and also scouting.

“We were walking slowly in the snow into the thick woods and, suddenly, I caught movement on my right flank,” he said. There were 15 or 20 Germans, dressed in white uniforms, walking rapidly down a trail about 130 yards away, paralleling the one he was on. Batchelor realized they would pass within only a few feet of him, where he had lain in the snow. His men were 30 yards in the rear and didn’t know the situation.

“What must I do — fight, die or surrender?” he pondered, but he didn’t have to make a decision for there was a fork in the road and the Germans went the other way.

“I was one relieved, but scared, soldier,” he said. “The experience that day aged me considerably.”

It was only a few weeks after this that George Batchelor was wounded by a piece of shrapnel that went through his body. (The episode was related in Part I of this story last Sunday). When he was wounded, someone called for a medic who bandaged the wound to stop the bleeding and gave him a shot to stop the pain. With the help of another soldier, he managed to walk up a hill to catch a ride to an aid station. He was so weak that a Catholic priest gave him last rites.

Batchelor and several others were put in an ambulance, but when the Germans began shelling the road he and several others managed to get out and take refuge in a ditch. Finally the driver got them back in the vehicle and took them out of danger.

From the muddy ditch, Batchelor wound up in a castle in Luxembourg where a doctor removed pieces of shrapnel, bone and tendon. The shrapnel had nicked part of his lung and cut the supraspinatus tendon. He was told to exercise his arm for five minutes every hour if he ever wanted to use it again.

His next stop was at a hospital in Paris and then in Chelterham, England. Through physical therapy, his arm improved so that he could move it about a foot up and down.

When VE day came, all who could walk were given passes to go to town and join in “the wildest and happiest celebration I have ever seen.” After the war ended, he was ordered to New York for a hospital stay, then to Memphis and finally to Daytona Beach for convalescence and rehabilitation. He took courses in photography and salesmanship and was given a pass to come home to see his parents, friends and neighbors.

George Batchelor was discharged Oct. 19, 1945, after having been in hospitals for eight months. He received numerous awards and honors for his service, including the Purple Heart. Doctors continued to keep tabs on his progress while he was a student majoring in accounting at John B. Stetson Univeristy in Florida.

“I was receiving 100 percent disability,” he said, “but when I was able to raise my arm over my head, they cut my pension to 20 percent.”

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After several years at Stetson Batchelor came home, and he and his mother operated a gift and book store on Washington Street in Vicksburg. He married Peggy Callahan, and they moved to Tallulah about 1951 where he was in the insurance business. They had four children — George “Bubba” Jr., Helen, Michael and Mary. After Peggy’s death, he married Nell Brulte of Tallulah, a widow with three boys — Kevin, Gregory and Mark.

He and Nell live in Tallulah and, with the combined households and their friends, she said, “There has been a lot of traffic through this house.”

Gordon Cotton is an author and historian who lives in Vicksburg.