Both of my parents (deceased) were in the Army during WWII. They had seven children, of which only two enlisted in the armed forces (we both joined the NAVY, and my sister was eventually commissioned in '96). Both of them were children of the Great Depression. My dad enlisted from Texas A&M in '43?, my mom later. He was in the 363 Special Engineering Battalion(?)which was part of the Persian Gulf Service Command, part of the Lend - Lease pipeline to Russia. He was stationed in the Egypt- Sinai area and only told a very few stories about what it was like over there.
My mom was a member of the WAC, attached to the USAAF, attached to the medical corps. She was mostly stationed in Texas. She had experiences with Nazi officer P.O.Ws. that were hilarious to hear. Her maiden name was German, and I would expect displayed on her uniform, yet, those arrogant Nazis didn't seem to expect her to understand them when they insulted her. Long story short... don't insult the person with the cheek swab or hypodermic needle!
After they were both gone, among the stuff my mom had squirreled away were letters home from my dad and his brother, as well as a photo album and several trays of slides my dad took while he was over there. My brother got the letters (and let me read them) and I got the photos/slides. I later found out that the troop ship my dad rode over there was the SS Hermitage- an Italian liner impounded for the duration.
Since they were both veterans, they got separate gravesites at the DFW National Cemetery. My mom outranked my dad, even though he served longer (I guess promotion was better in the WACs) . An eerie thing happened one time when I went to visit their grave sites. I noticed that groundskeepers had left rubber marks on my dad's headstone while maintaining the lawn. When I went to the obverse side of his headstone to get the plot number so that I could report it, I got chills down my spine. After I had searched the internet to find out what unit my dad had served in, I had finally discovered that unit. The plot number on my dad's gravesite was 363! The same as the unit he had served in during WWII!
Like others, I wish they had told us of their experiences over there and in this country during that great upheaval.