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"I don't know why I just got choked up there," he said, wiping
his nose with a handkerchief. "I'm normally not that way."
I
hadn't even noticed his emotion. There were no tears in his eyes.
His voice didn't crack. If he hadn't mentioned it, I never would
have known he missed a beat. I could tell during our hour-long
interview this was the norm for him. He doesn't have a weak bone in
his body.
Lynn Aas is a 94-year-old World War II veteran. He served during
the Battle of the Bulge as a combat infantry rifleman and is a
Bronze Star and Purple Heart recipient. He attended the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology for engineering. He is an
educated accountant and has a law degree. He served as a member of
Legislature. He was a devoted husband and is a father to four boys.
Simply put, he is inspiring.
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February 18, 2016 - U.S. Army Private 1st Class (Sep.) Lynn Aas,
17th Airborne Division combat infantry rifleman, poses for a photo
at the Dakota Territory Air Museum in Minot, ND. Aas served during
the Battle of the Bulge and was awarded the Bronze Star and Purple
Heart for his sacrifices. (U.S. Air Force photo by Senior Airman
Apryl Hall)
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As we sat down to talk in the unheated air museum hangar,
I apologized for how cold it was. It was February in Minot,
North Dakota so the room temperature was uncomfortable.
Wasting no time at all, Lynn replied, "I've been colder,"
with a knowing smile on his face. Slightly embarrassed by my
own ignorance, I instantly knew it was going to be a
fantastic interview.
Lynn began his story by telling
me how the bombings of Pearl Harbor inspired him to leave
college and enlist in the U.S. Army in order to do his part.
"I think everybody actually felt it was their duty,
obligation and desire to serve their country," Lynn said.
"After Pearl Harbor, the loyalty of everybody was strong and
we wanted to find a solution."
Shipped off to Macon,
Georgia for basic training, it was there Lynn was given the
job of infantry rifleman, a job he said he became quite good
at while hunting in the North Dakota countryside his entire
life. Even though he was an excellent shot, he told me the
thought of being a rifleman didn't thrill him.
"It
wasn't easy, but I accepted what was given to me, and I
don't think I ever complained to anybody about it," Lynn
said. "Nobody liked combat. War is hell. I can't say I liked
it, but I was an expert shot and was trained beyond my
years, beyond my assignment."
By this time in the
interview, I realized I had started bouncing my legs and
rubbing my hands together to stay warm. That hangar felt
like it was getting colder by the minute. Then Lynn began
talking about the Battle of the Bulge. I instantly forgot
about the temperature.
"Staying alive is something
you learn real fast," Lynn said. "You learn how to duck
bullets, you learn how to dodge the various artillery that
came in, and you learn how to survive in deep snow. My
mission became survival you might say, plus watching out for
my buddies."
As Lynn recalled those brutal 45 days in
combat near Bastogne, Belgium, he spoke with ease. He
described how terrible the weather was with blizzard-like
conditions and no shelter to protect them from it. He named
each soldier he had been paired up with throughout battle.
He remembered each date of each movement his unit made,
something I was especially impressed with. As if I wasn't
already hooked, Lynn then started on the difficult topics.
The day of January 7, 1945 was particularly hard, beginning
with Lynn trying to console his foxhole partner.
"He
was scared to death and fearful," Lynn recalled. "He said to
me, 'I know I'll be killed,' and I tried to encourage him.
At 11 that morning I was laying alongside him, and I watched
the artillery [men] come walking toward us in a German
pattern. I said, 'Let's get out of here, it's getting too
hot!' and he said, 'Any place is good enough, it isn't going
to make any difference.' Well I moved, and he got killed."
Not wasting any time, Lynn jumped right in to the story
of that same evening, when he had another close call.
"We were retreating and as I was moving away, the
machine gun started shooting in my direction," he said. "I
ducked in a trail that was made by wheels. The ground was
frozen and I could see the machine gun tracers over my
shoulder, but they were not reaching me."
Lynn said a
soldier, who was taking cover just a few yards behind him,
got up to make a run for it and was shot just above him. The
soldier's lifeless body fell on the hard ground next to
Lynn. For just a flash of a moment, he paused in his story
and as I sat staring at him, it dawned on me. He thought he
was going to lose his life that night. He thought he would
be next.
"I was frozen in that position for some
time," Lynn said. "I don't exactly recall everything that
happened, but a big storm came and I got out of there. I did
survive."
We were about 40 minutes into the interview
by now and I didn't even feel the cold anymore. Listening to
these stories, I realized I didn't deserve to be
uncomfortable. I didn't have the right to complain about a
little cold. This man was sitting in the same frigid room,
reliving some of the most horrific moments anyone has to
experience in a lifetime, and he was doing it with grace.
The gold, heart-shaped medal hanging off his 70-year-old
military jacket by a purple ribbon caught my eye. I was
eager to hear that story.
"On March 25th, during the
day it was rather peaceful, but come evening the Germans
opened up with their artillery," Lynn remembered. "I was
laying in the foxhole and one of them hit me. I could feel I
was hit and the blood started flowing, so I got out of there
and got back to the first aid station. They bedded me down
and took care of me."
While telling the story, Lynn
pointed to a small hole in the left arm of his jacket. My
eyes fixated on the hole, amazed. After all this man went
through, he came out of it with just that one small hole.
The hole that ultimately sent him back home to safety, one
of five in his 55-man unit who survived the Bulge.
We
transitioned the topic to post war, but my interest didn't
fade. After the war, Lynn went back to college at the
University of North Dakota, but he mentioned he was having a
hard time coping with what he now knows is Post Traumatic
Stress Syndrome. He remembers having a particularly bad day,
which caused him to miss an exam at school. He approached
the Dean, who had served in World War I, hoping he would
understand and allow him to make up the test. No such luck.
"He looked at me and said, 'You've gone through some
difficult times, but it's time to move forward,'" Lynn said,
smiling as he remembered the Dean's tough words. "So I
decided yeah, I have to move forward. It wasn't always easy,
but that's the way it went."
I stopped the interview
there. I had been searching for a chink in Lynn's armor for
over an hour now. I clearly wasn't going to find it. This
man, like so many others from the Greatest Generation, is
the epitome of a warrior. As he sat across from me 70 years
later, giving me a detailed play-by-play, I finally reached
a realization. I didn't need to hear anymore. My mind was
made up. At 94-years-old, this man is the strongest person I
have ever met, for he survived a frozen hell.
By U.S. Air Force Senior Airman Apryl Hall
Provided
through DVIDS
Copyright 2016
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