BAR Combat: Fighting With The Iconic Weapon of WWII
From Teen Draftee to Combat Veteran: Ernest Mogor’s Harrowing World War II Journey with the Iconic BAR
When the nation calls upon its youth, they step forward into the unknown, trading the comfort of home for the harrowing uncertainties of the battlefield. Ernest Mogor was just a nineteen-year-old kid from New Jersey when he found himself thrust into the heart of World War II, carrying a heavy Browning automatic rifle and facing the terrifying realities of European combat.
Surviving the catastrophic first-day crossing of the Sauer River where fellow buddies perished beneath artillery fire, he spent three grueling months dodging sniper bullets, probing for deadly landmines with a bayonet, and witnessing the sheer devastation of war-torn towns.
His extraordinary journey includes a miraculous near-miss with death on the banks of the Rhine River, where a sniper’s bullet missed his femoral artery by a mere half-inch, granting him a lifetime of memories and profound gratitude. What wisdom does a ninety-eight-year-old veteran share about sacrifice, survival, and the enduring bond of brotherhood? Check out the full post in the comments section to dive into the full story.
The call to arms during World War II did not arrive with a gentle knock; it shook the foundations of families across America, summoning ordinary teenagers from peaceful classrooms into the chaotic, brutal theater of global conflict. For Ernest Mogor, a young man born in New Brunswick, New Jersey, and raised as the baby of the family, the war initially felt like a distant headline. While his older brother Bill served proudly in the United States Navy, Ernest attended high school believing he was safely insulated from the storm raging overseas. However, the relentless progression of the conflict shattered that sense of security. Before he fully grasped the magnitude of what lay ahead, he was drafted into the United States Army. Although he initially hoped to follow his brother’s footsteps into the Navy, a medical examination revealed he was colorblind, closing that door immediately. Given a choice that felt like none at all, he accepted his assignment to the Army in 1944, stepping onto a path that would test the absolute limits of his endurance, courage, and faith.
The transformation from a civilian teenager to an active-duty soldier began with the grueling rigors of basic training. Issued an M1 rifle for the first time, Ernest recalled feeling overwhelmed by its weight, wondering how he would ever manage it in the field. Yet, through repetitive physical conditioning, obstacle courses, and rigorous field drills under barbed wire, his body adapted, and the weapon began to feel like a natural extension of himself. The military machine was meticulously designed to build young men up, hardening them physically and mentally so they could withstand the psychological and physical shocks of frontline battle. Little did Ernest know, the weapon that defined his basic training was about to undergo a dramatic change once he arrived in the European theater of operations. Upon reaching the front lines, the Army replaced his familiar M1 rifle with a weapon that would become legendary in the annals of military history: the Browning Automatic Rifle, universally known as the BAR.
When Ernest was first handed the BAR, his immediate reaction was sheer disbelief and intimidation. Weighing considerably more and firing at a much higher capacity than standard rifles, it looked formidable and heavy. Yet, that initial apprehension quickly morphed into a fierce bond of trust. Unlike the M1 rifle, which required a separate trigger pull for each shot, the BAR held a twenty-round magazine on the bottom. By pulling the trigger and holding it down, a soldier could unleash all twenty rounds in rapid, devastating succession. In the unforgiving crucible of combat, that heavy firepower became his ultimate security blanket. It was a weapon that could suppress enemy positions instantly and, most importantly, save a soldier’s life when seconds meant the difference between survival and catastrophe.
That survival instinct was tested in the most harrowing way imaginable on Ernest’s very first day in combat. Arriving at the Sauer River, his unit faced the terrifying task of crossing hostile waters under relentless enemy gunfire and heavy artillery bombardment. Soldiers piled into flat-bottom boats, ten men to a vessel, with no traditional mechanical propulsion available. Stripped of standard equipment for paddling, Ernest and his comrades had to improvise instantly, using the heavy wooden butts of their rifles as makeshift oars to push across the turbulent water. The air crackled with the terrifying sounds of incoming artillery shells and screaming shrapnel, a chaotic symphony of destruction that smelled sharply of cordite and fear.
Among the men in those boats was Joey Gulo, a nineteen-year-old buddy who had shared the same youthful anxieties and hopes. Tragically, Joey never made it across the river. An enemy artillery shell struck his flat-bottom boat directly, sending the vessel and most of its occupants down into the dark waters below. Stranded in the middle of the river amidst sinking boats and exploding shells, Ernest experienced a profound moment of existential dread, questioning his very presence in such a nightmare. Praying fervently for his life, he miraculously managed to paddle across the river, escaping the fate of his fallen peers but carrying the heavy emotional burden of their loss for the rest of his days.
Once across the Sauer River, the relentless advance continued through a scarred and battered European landscape. The tactical reality of the campaign often required moving through towns that had already been heavily leveled by preceding artillery barrages, allowing advancing infantry to push forward rapidly. Yet, clearing those towns remained a perilous task. German snipers and entrenched defenders lurked in ruined buildings, waiting for any sign of movement. To counter hidden snipers whose positions could not be precisely located, Ernest and his platoon utilized a terrifying but effective tactic known as the line of fire. Entire squads would stand up simultaneously, aiming their rifles toward suspected enemy positions and unleashing a coordinated volley of gunfire. Though they might not see the specific target, the sheer volume of lead forced the enemy to duck, suppress their fire, and frequently surrender, saving American lives while maintaining momentum.
Beyond the urban ruins, the landscape presented another insidious hazard: landmines. These concealed explosives transformed peaceful agricultural fields and roadsides into deadly minefields. Soldiers were thoroughly trained in the painstaking art of mine detection, crawling on their hands and knees to probe the earth gingerly with their bayonets. When a bayonet struck metal or wood, it signaled a hidden landmine, prompting the soldiers to carefully mark its location so trailing troops could navigate safely around it. Despite these precautions, the unseen dangers claimed many lives. The upward trajectory of standard landmines meant that stepping on one triggered an explosion directed upward, causing catastrophic injuries. Witnessing the sudden devastation left by these hidden traps reinforced the constant, omnipresent threat of death that shadowed every single step forward.
The grueling pace of combat continued for approximately three months, a blur of relentless movement, freezing weather, and constant vigilance, until the day Ernest’s luck was violently tested once again near the Rhine River. Sheltered inside a building while preparing for a major river crossing, Ernest prepared to relieve his buddy, Harry, who was standing outside on guard duty. Stepping out to take over the post, the two young soldiers exchanged quiet words before a sudden, deafening bang shattered the relative calm. An enemy sniper, positioned high up a mountain near a picturesque castle overlooking the river, had fired a high-powered round across the valley. The bullet struck Harry in the leg, and continuing its upward trajectory, tore through the cap of Harry’s leg and struck Ernest directly in the groin.
The impact knocked Ernest to the ground; his steel helmet flew off his head, and his rifle dropped from his grasp. In a bizarre twist of physiological shock, he felt no immediate pain. His entire body went completely numb. He knew he had been hit, but the precise severity remained shrouded by the initial rush of adrenaline and numbness. As medics were frantically called to the scene, a medical examination at the battalion aid station revealed just how razor-thin his margin of survival had been. The bullet had missed his femoral artery by a mere half-inch. Had the trajectory shifted even slightly, he would have bled out within moments and perished on that cold European floor. Instead, he was stabilized, transferred to a field hospital in France for extended medical care, and eventually evacuated back home to the United States as his active combat days came to a close.
The road to recovery was long and arduous. Confined to a hospital bed for months, Ernest struggled with basic mobility, unable to straighten his leg or stand without agonizing effort. It took weeks of gradual physical rehabilitation before he could finally stand, walk short distances, and prepare for the emotional transition back to civilian life. Yet, as the decades rolled on, that narrow miss with death took on a profound philosophical and spiritual meaning. Reflecting on his survival decades later at the age of ninety-eight, Ernest viewed his extended lease on life not merely as a stroke of biological luck, but as a divine gift orchestrated by a higher power. Having lost close friends like Joey Gulo on the very first day of combat, he carried an enduring sense of humility and gratitude, believing that the man upstairs had kept him alive for a reason.
Looking back on his service, Ernest Mogor harbored no bitterness about the unexpected turns his life had taken. When his country called upon its generation during a time of immense global peril, he answered without hesitation, fully aware of the grave risks involved. He understood that the sacrifices made by him and his comrades were the invisible pillars upholding the freedom of the nation. Standing proudly as a veteran of the Greatest Generation, his story remains a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the enduring bonds of military brotherhood, and the profound cost of the peace and freedom enjoyed today.
