My father spent WW11 in Nazi occupied Holland. Immigrated to this country with the family when he was sixteen. Then, without speaking enough English to argue about it, he was drafted for Korea. On the boat bound for Japan, he volunteered to work in the galley just for something to do. There he became friendly with the captain running the mess hall.
When he got incountry, he was put in a foxhole on the side of Old Baldy where he spent his time taking potshots at the Norks on the opposite hill and repelling the Chinese.
One day, they set up a mobile kitchen for the front line guys so they could have a hot meal. Dad was in line when he heard someone yell out "Is that you Dutch?"
He looked up to see that captain from the ship. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Vell dis is vhere day put me"
"Well we'll see about that"
A week or so later Dad got his orders to transfer to the rear to work in the kitchens where he spent the rest of his time there.
The thing is, shortly after, the Chinese struck in full force and overran the area where he used to be. Wiping out most of his former unit.
He told me once that I probably owed my very existence to one certain captain from New York.
