There was a hill up ahead and they said it would be the last one, but I didn't believe it, it was the Austrian Alps or something like that. Co. B 142 Inf had already crossed the Danube (which was muddy) and was heading further into Austria, when on 5 May 1945, word was passed down that Army Group G was giving up and for all units to stop in place. I don't remember any wild excitement, just quiet reverence mixed with some disbelief. I think just then that home was utmost in everyone's mind and of course the big questions was how long it would take to get there. It had been a long journey from the hot drill grounds of Camp Bowie, Texas to the snow-capped mountains of Austria; Camp Blanding, Camp Edwards, Statin Island, Oran, Salerno, Anzio, St. Raphael, Lyons, Remiremont, Selastat, and many more. More disbelief set in when I realized I had made it all the way and I sorrowed for my comrades that had fallen by the wayside. On 8 May 1945 my platoon went on up into the hills to accept the surrender of a German Camp. We approached the camp in a jeep convoy and as no one fired at us we knew it must be for real. As we took over the camp and posted guards, one of those crazy things happened. The boys were getting some souvenirs and one boy, examining an automatic pistol, accidentally shot himself in a very private part of his body, this was a terrible thing to be the last casualty and have it happen this way. In a few weeks I bid farewell to Capt. David Sisco and Co. B at some little town in south Germany, and was transferred to an armored unit to go home. I had enough points to fly home and was sent back to Southern France to catch a B-17 to Casablanca, then to Miama. This was the greatest day.