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From the Introduction
"The old soldier absently gazed out of the window of his well-appointed, wood paneled office that overlooked Grand Traverse Bay. Looking at nothing in particular, he remained transfixed in a silent, trance-like state. I could tell by the look in his eyes and the pained expression on his face that he was back on the battlefield. He could once again hear the ominous sounds of incoming German 88 artillery; the earth-shattering explosions that rained down deadly shrapnel, rock, and dirt on his foxhole; and the anguished cries of the wounded. He could once again see the lifeless bodies of his buddies and fellow comrades-in-arms strewn about in haphazard disarray. He could once again smell the pungent odor of death. As he softly sighed, I realized that these fleeting remembrances of a long-ago time were still vivid and disturbing .... Whatever the reason or motivation, Staff Sergeant Melvin K. Nielson was suddenly back on the front lines --- once more answering the call to duty. Only this time, he didn't have to wait for a slow-moving troop transport ship to bring him back home. He shifted slightly in his chair, looked directly at me and said, "Now where were we?"
From page 38
"What am I doing here?" Melvin thought to himself as he looked down from the top of the sixty-six foot high ski jump at the Grayling Winter Sports Park. He was terrified as he looked out over the cars and people below. He could back out, he supposed, and climb back down using the steps, but his buddies who had already jumped were waiting below, with all eyes fixed on the soon-to-be ski jumper. He would never live it down if he chickened out --- he had to jump!
He quickly tried to remember the last-minute instructions the ski instructor had given him. "When your skis reach the end of the jump, lean your body well forward to sail, otherwise the wind will push you back." Wait a minute, he never told me what would happen if I didn't lean forward. "I guess some things are better left unsaid," he thought, but it was going to be hard to force himself to lean forward because it looked like you would land on your head by doing so. Melvin's mind was racing, the adrenaline was pumping, and his very soul was desperately trying to referee a fierce debate going on within his body. His mind was saying, "Do it, you chicken," and his nerve endings, which were going to bear the consequences if this stunt went bad, were urging, "Use the stairs, you fool." Saving face won out and down he went. He wanted to close his eyes and hope for the best, but decided that he better at least try to lean forward when his skis reached the end of the jump. It was not pretty and he landed in a crumpled heap, but he survived with his pride intact and his nerve endings only slightly bruised.
.EXCERPTS FROM MAN FROM GRAYLING
