 Recorded Books presents At First Light, a true World War II story of a hero, his bravery and an amazing horse, by Walt Laramore and Mike Yorkie. Narrated by me, George Guadel. From Sergeant James Dunnigan, the third Able Company, U.S. 30th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division, reenacted. The veterans from World War II were so appreciative of us being there, especially the 30th Infantry Veterans. A few actually cried when they found out we were portraying them. I asked an elderly veteran, are you all right? His response was, I'm crying because I thought myself and all the guys I knew along with the regiment had been forgotten about. It makes me happy to know I haven't been forgotten. He just kind of smiled after that. So did I. From Walt Laramore. A note to the reader. I've written forty books over the years, and until the publication of At First Light, my books almost never included any potentially offensive words, especially the four letter variety. With this book about my father, Philip B. Laramore Jr., however, I wanted to recreate as realistic a story as possible, quoting him and his fellow soldiers as accurately as possible. Thus, At First Light contains some profanity, which is used judiciously and in the right context. If you have an aversion to swearing and profanity or believe such a language is not suitable, then this book might not be for you. However, there is no sexualized content or descriptions of sexuality in At First Light. A note of clarity. Whenever the terms thirtieth or thirtieth infantry are used, I'm referring to the thirtieth infantry regiment and not the thirtieth infantry division, which was also called the Old Hickory Division. Please note that any complete dates with the month, day, and year are as accurate as we can determine and correlate to the events described in this book. In the interest of telling as detailed and full account as possible, scenes and dialogue have been enriched based on reasonable assumptions given time, place, and circumstances, but always within the context of the moment. Prologue. From British Field Marshal Archibald Wavell, who lived from 1883 to 1950. I do feel strongly that the infantry arm does not receive either the respect or the treatment to which its importance and its exploits entitle it. This may possibly be understandable, though misguided, in peace. It is intolerable in war. So let us always write infantry with a capital I and think of them with a deep admiration they deserve. As he crept forward inside a cold, dark forest, Lieutenant Philip B. Laramor Jr. and his men darted from tree to tree, stooping low, fingers poised on their M1-garrant rifles while using their other hands to saddle to one another. Laramor found the unexpected lull unnerving as he peeked around a massive tree trunk for enemy movement. After surviving almost 14 months of intense combat, the company commander worried continuously that one lead pill could explode inside his body at any second and take his life so close to the end of the war. With the Russians bearing down on Berlin and the Allies steadily advancing across Germany, the Yanks soldiers had heard the scuttlebutt that the German army could surrender any day. Laramor, filled with cautious optimism, was no longer saying if I live but rather frequently thinking of home and plans for the future. But Laramor also heard the rumours that Germany's dictator Adolf Hitler had ordered fanatical Last Man Stands to give the German forces time to mount final defenses in larger cities so that the high command could retreat into Austria. The result was stiff resistance from desperate German soldiers, which was turning into a significant military problem. The latest snag was a firefight in a heavily wooded forest bordering the German village of Rotelhausen on this chilly spring evening of April 8, 1945. German snipers, nestled in towering furs, were picking off his men one at a time. Machine-gun nests hidden behind a camouflage of evergreen boughs were keeping the GIs pinned down. Simultaneously, well-disguised artillery was firing projectiles into the canopy of a hundred-foot-tall evergreens, timed to burst and rain-splintered wood and white-hot shrapnel under the soldiers below. Laramor was keenly aware that death lurked in every direction. Even though he was only twenty years old, Laramor was considered an old man on the battlefield because he'd been part of the 30th Infantry Regiment since arriving on the Anzio Beachhead in Italy in February 1944, part of the 3rd Infantry Division. Sample complete. Ready to continue?