He led a reconnaissance team during a mission near Phú Lộc, Vietnam, in 1967. During the engagement, Capers sustained multiple wounds while directing his men and coordinating their evacuation under intense enemy fire. His actions were instrumental in saving the lives of every member of his team.
Pity it took so long to get it to him! (Almost 60 years!!) But that’s the problem with the Blue Max. In that sometimes you get it ASAP & other times it’s almost too late. I say that it’s just pure BS and a few officers need a blow torch pointed at them. Grumpy
His name is Vincent Speranza. Like other members of the Greatest Generation, he was full of grit. He joined the Army after graduating from high school in 1943. As an inexperienced 19-year-old, he was assigned to H Company, 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne. Shortly after completing training, Vince was shipped out to Bastogne, Belgium, as a machine gunner.
Here, he shortly found himself in the thick of battle, in a foxhole, during the dead of winter. He and his unit were freezing, hungry, scared and short on supplies and ammunition. To top it all off, they were surrounded by German troops. What could be worse?
“The first eight days we got pounded by German artillery,” Speranza recalled. “But this was the 101st. They could not get past [us]. They never set one foot in Bastogne.” On the second day, his friend Joe Willis was wounded, taking shrapnel in both legs. He was pulled back to a makeshift combat hospital inside a mostly destroyed church. Vince tracked him down and asked if there was anything he could do for his friend.
The answer was simple — Joe wanted a beer. Vince told him he was crazy! It would be impossible to get beer anywhere, as the city was destroyed and the 101st was surrounded by Germans. The supply chain was shut down, and they were constantly taking artillery fire nonstop.
What remained of the town was bombarded. But Joe wanted a beer. He needed a beer to take his mind off the war.
Members of the 101st marching in Bastogne.
Beer Run Bravery
If ever there were a medal for most courageous beer run, Speranza would have earned it! Moving through town in the cover of darkness, Vince went from blown-out tavern to blown-out tavern, searching until he found a working tap.
At the third tavern, Vince pulled on a tap and beer came flowing out. What would he use to transport his found treasure? Speranza filled his helmet — the same one used as a makeshift shovel and porta-potty in the foxhole — with all the beer he could handle and returned to the hospital.
Mission accomplished! Vince triumphantly poured beer from his helmet for Joe and the other wounded men around him. When the beer ran out, they asked him to go for more. So, what did Vince do? He made a second dangerous beer run. Surely, he was deserving of a second medal for such heroic actions.
The streets of Bastogne as they appeared in 1945,
when Speranza made his beer run.
Dangers of War
As he returned to the hospital the second time, Vince was confronted by a Major demanding to know what he was doing. Vince sheepishly said, “Giving aid and comfort to the wounded” was the paratrooper’s simple answer. A truer statement never uttered!
After an ass chewing about the dangers of giving beer to men with gut and chest wounds, Vince put his helmet back on, beer pouring down his uniform, and headed out. While that could have been the end of the story, the story continued for 65 years when Vince returned to Bastogne for an anniversary celebration.
Vince Speranza in front of the namesake beer he inspired.
Vince Speranza showing where he was in Bastogne during a visit.
Airborne Beer
When Vince returned 65 years later for an anniversary, tour guides asked him what unit he was with. When he told them the 501, the guides knew exactly where to take Vince. “You would have been dug in right here.” Vince looked around, acknowledged them, and looked at the filled-in trench. It was very emotional for Vince, as you can imagine.
Wanting to forget the ravages of war he experienced, he started telling other stories to lighten his mood. He eventually got to his beer run story, and the tour guides were shocked and stunned. “You’re the Guy?! We thought that was a made-up story! You’re famous!” At this point, the tour guides called the waiter over!
“Waiter, 4 Airborne beers, please!” Imagine Vince’s surprise when the waiter appears, with four bottles of beer on his tray, with a label of an American paratrooper carrying his helmet full of beer. And to top it off, the bottles of beer were served with ceramic cups shaped like an American GI’s helmet.
Airborne beer is brewed by Brasserie de Bouillon in Bastogne, Belgium. Now you know the rest of the story. Vince Speranza died August 2nd, 2023, at the ripe old age of 98. You can be sure he arrived in heaven with a helmet full of beer for all his Army buddies.
Bill was a happy, jovial man. He was a patient of mine for many years. He always came to the clinic in the company of his sweet wife, who clearly adored him. Bill looked like a professional grandfather. He was also my friend.
Bill was a gifted woodworker. He loved football, golf, and dancing with his wife. Within 15 minutes of meeting him, you knew where he stood with Jesus. Bill was a man of powerful faith. He loved people, and people loved him. In sum, Bill was as American as it gets.
A soldier with the U.S. Seventh Army armed with M1A1 Thompson moves across a field in Southern France. Image: NARA
I knew Bill in his golden years, when he was seasoned, shall we say. However, back in 1944, Bill was not somebody’s affectionate grandfather. 81 years ago, Bill was a hard-charging young infantryman with the 104th Infantry Division — the Timberwolves. Adolf Hitler had enslaved Europe. Bill and his mates were going to make that right.
War
Bill landed in Europe along with the rest of his division on 7 July 1944 — 31 days after D-Day. By then, the landing areas were well and truly secured, purchased with the blood of thousands of Allied troops. However, there yet remained a breathtaking amount of fighting to be done to wrest Europe back from the madman. Bill was a part of all of that.
With German shells screaming overhead, American soldiers seek shelter behind a tank outside of Geich, Germany. The near soldier is armed with an M1A1 Thompson. Image: NARA
Combat in WWII aged a young man quickly. Bill moved into Belgium in October of 1944 and then advanced as part of the offensive to clear the Scheldt Estuary. By month’s end they were in Aachen, Germany. Once in Germany, the Germans fought like lions to stop them.
That’s the sort of overview you might find in a history book. However, Bill was one of those vets who was willing to talk. Whenever I saw him in the clinic, I asked for a fresh war story. His mind was as sharp as his wit, and I got my share.
A Grunt’s Life
Three months into the overarching offensive, the 104th had already suffered tremendous casualties. Despite being only 19 years old, Bill was by then a seasoned veteran. With multiple combat patrols under his belt, Bill was expected to help keep the new guys alive when things popped off.
Like most American infantrymen, Bill carried an M1 rifle. He explained that there was only one M1. The M1 Carbine was the carbine, and the M1 Thompson was the Thompson. However, to the grunts who used it, the M1 Garand was always just the M1. He admired the rifle for its power and accuracy. However, it wasn’t the optimal tool for certain applications.
The author’s friend, Bill the “Tommygunner.” He may look like a professional grandfather here, but in World War II he was a hard-charging American soldier. Image: Courtesy of Family
Bill got tagged to lead a night patrol behind enemy lines at one point to gather intelligence. He and his buddies taped down their equipment so that it wouldn’t rattle. He approached a gunner assigned to one of their 37mm antitank guns about swapping out his M1 for a Thompson just for this mission. The Thompson was boat anchor heavy, but it offered inimitable close-range firepower.
Bill explained that their 37mm AT guns were worthless in the face of German armor, so the antitank man rarely saw the front lines. He agreed to the temporary swap. Once the night patrol was complete, Bill just never gave the gun back. Don’t feel bad about that. Bill didn’t. The AT gunner was likely pleased not to have to carry the thing anymore. Bill, however, loved his Tommy gun. He used it for the rest of the war.
The Weapon
This was an M1A1 with the charging handle on the side. It came with five 20-round magazines and no web gear. Bill just carried his spare magazines in the pockets of his field jacket along with a bunch of loose ammo.
The Thompson submachine gun that the author’s friend carried for most of his time in combat during World War II was technically stolen, but the previous owner didn’t much care.
I once asked him if just having 100 rounds stoked and ready to go was ever a problem in combat. He said not really. He liked the fact that the Thompson and his M1911A1 pistol both used the same ammunition. He said that whenever he had a free second, even under fire, he would drop down behind a handy tree and thumb a few rounds into his magazines. Most of his engagements were brief enough that he could keep his mags topped off. This practice carried him throughout his time in combat.
War Stories
I asked Bill his opinion of the Thompson in action. I have fired a few, and, of course, I watch movies. He said that, at close range, the Thompson hit harder than anything else on the battlefield. A decent burst of those big thumb-sized .45 ACP slugs would reliably do the deed.
The guys who wrested control of Festung Europa from the Nazis were just kids. However, they were called upon to do some very hard things.
He related one incident wherein he was in the back of an armored halftrack barreling through a well-defended German village. Rounds were flying everywhere, and chaos reigned. A young German shoulder jumped up with what looked like a panzerfaust. Bill indexed his Thompson and caught him squarely in the chest with a burst that bowled the young man over as though he had been struck by a car.
His most moving tale orbited around a mission conducted at the very end of the war. They had a new platoon leader who needed some combat time before the shooting stopped.
The war was all but over, and everybody knew it. However, the brass claimed they needed a couple of prisoners. Bill said that their hearts really weren’t in it.
Bill’s best friend was a Jewish kid from New York named Sol — short for Solomon. They had been inseparable ever since they landed in France. That’s the nature of military service. These two young men, one from New York and the other from Mississippi, had absolutely nothing in common before the war.
After a little time under fire, however, they were closer than brothers. Bill and Sol were the most experienced veterans on the patrol. It was their job to secure the prisoners and get the lieutenant back safely.
The patrol moved into a little German village and snatched a couple of prisoners without too much difficulty. It seemed that nobody really wanted to be the last casualties of the Second World War. At their farthest point forward, Bill and Sol were in the lead crouching behind the edge of a large brick building. The LT said it was time to turn around and go back.
For reasons Bill said he has never understood, Sol stood up to take a look around the corner. Bill moved to stop him, but it was too late.
During Bill’s last engagement of the war, he used his Thompson to kill a German soldier armed with an MP40. This man had just shot his best friend in a close-range street fight.
Unknown to them all, a German landser was also approaching around the opposite corner and came face-to-face with Sol. The Kraut stitched Bill’s friend in the chest with a burst from his MP40 SMG. Bill, for his part, stepped around the corner and killed the man with a similar burst from his Thompson. The Americans then all retreated into the building.
For a brief moment, Sol seemed fine. He was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, but just seemed more surprised than anything else. Then he fell back against the wall, slid to the floor, and died. The deed was done. Bill was powerless to stop it.
The Aftermath
The American patrol rushed out the back of the building with the two German prisoners in the lead. As they ran through the back garden they hit a tripwire that detonated an antipersonnel mine. Both of their prisoners were killed. Bill and his patrol, sans Sol, made it safely back to American lines. The war ended scant days later. Bill came home with three Bronze Stars and Purple Heart.
Bill said he liked the fact that he only had to keep track of one type of ammunition to feed both his pistol and his SMG.
Bill tracked down Sol’s parents after the war in New York and told them what a great friend he had been. Then he returned home.
Like so many of those amazing heroes, after having seen so much death and pain, all he wanted to do was make the world better. He died at age 95 with kids, grandkids, and great grandkids aplenty having done just that. Along the way, he blessed me as well.
Special thanks to www.WorldWarSupply.com for the cool replica gear used in preparation of our photos.
