104 INF. 415 BAT. G Co. ETO For background information, page numbers in the 104 INF Division History, TIMBERWOLF TRACKS, are indicated.
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Pursuant to my progeny's request for an account of my participation in the military services during WW II, I offer the following kaleidoscope of recollections from a memory somewhat shrouded in the mists of time. Much of it was repressed over the intervening years; I had not wanted to talk about it. But, however traumatic the experience probably was at the time, some fifty odd years has now ameliorated that feeling to a considerable extent. Recently I have been doing a great deal of reading about this world wide conflict. Many excellent accounts and commentaries have recently been published, probably purposefully, to coincide with the fiftieth anniversary of its ending. My purpose, in so doing, is to determine where my infinitessably small part fitted into the totality and perhaps derive some meaning from the experience. The summing, (integrating), of all the infinitesimals, is what brought about the eventual outcome of this confligration.
My tale shall begin in the fall of 1941, when I was enrolled in the music conservatory at Oberlin College as a freshman majoring in voice, for which I had been awarded a scholarship. The memorable moment was, of course, that Sunday in December when I had come back from my choir job in Cleveland and heard over the radio the news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. I don't think I realized then how irreparably altered my future would be.
During the coming year Lewis, my younger brother, was called up and he opted for the ASTP(the Army Specialized Training Program). Jack, my older brother had already been in the Army Air Corps two years and had decided on a career in the military. That left me the sole male in the family at home and exempt from being drafted for the time being. At the time I felt a bit guilty about this. During the summer I worked in a machine tool factory engaged in the fabrication of various tank parts. I made a good buck working overtime at milling machines turning out bushings for tank treads.
By the time I arrived back on campus, I had decided that the concentration on music alone was too intellectually confining and altered my status to a physics major with a music minor. I was also attracted by the idea of continuing my education in the ASTP ( Army Specialized Training Program) so I enlisted in the reserves early in the first term. This also assuaged somewhat my guilt about my draft status.
Near the end of the spring semester I recieved orders to report to an army base near Covington Ky.. There I was duly processed and shipped to Camp Wolters,Texas for two months of basic military training. From whence I was sent to Lehigh University, three months, then to Rutgers University, three months, the subject under study being advanced electrical engineering. At the end of the semester at Rutgers the downsizing of the ASTP began. I surmised that more cannon fodder was needed than brains. I found myself on the way to joining the 104th Infantry as a rifleman at Camp Carson Colorado.
There those of us from the ASTP program were labeled 'quiz kids' and underwent an intensive and arduous four months of training in the martial arts and infantry tactics as applied in modern warfare. The quiz kids were not expected to stand the gaff and become real foot soldiers (Too brainy, don't you know), and as a cosequence were ridden hard. We not only weathered the rigors of the training, but also, within a month, or so, of the 104th's entry into combat, the quiz kids were running the outfit, by promotions through the Noncom levels and battle field commissions. Apparently having brains, as a lowly foot slogging infantry man, was not necessarily a detriment.
The 104th Infantry Division received orders to transfer to Camp Kilmer New Jersey from Camp Carson in mid August. It appeared as though our intensive training with the division was about to be put to the test and that our participation in the war would take place in the ETO (European Theater of Operations). After three boring days in the crammed coaches of the train in which we were packed, we arrived at Camp Kilmer in New Jersey where processing for shipment overseas began. It was a four or five day procedure, and I managed to wrangle a half day pass to New York City somewhere in that time. I saw a bit of the citadel for the first time and shacked up with an Oberlin sweetheart. I just barely managed to make it back before roll call the following morning.
After many a 'hurry up and wait' and the final issue of battle gear, we finally were loaded on to busses and were driven to New York Harbor. On the ride in I was actually a little excited at the prospect of a voyage on the high seas, the submarine threat notwithstanding. At the harbor pier we plodded up the gang plank into a ship christened the 'Cristobal'. The USAT 'Cristobal' was a prewar Caribbean vacation cruise ship and was not very large. As a consequence, she did not ride particularly smooth in the rough seas of the first few days.
Attempting to make myself comfortable in a hammock of the extremely crowded and odiferous hold of the ship was more than I could manage. I found it much more to my liking up on deck, and hunkered down with my bed gear on one of the open but roofed over afterdecks. Also, as luck would have it, the ship's library was just inside and, in which, I found a compendium of Joseph Conrad novels and Tolstoy's War and Peace. The latter seemed quite appropriate in view of the coming experience. Between long chow lines, sleep, drills, calisthenics, and training sessions, I devoured these gems. In my reflective moments about our destination, the question of what my behavior might be in a combat situation didn't come up very often or trouble me very much as I recall. Though I had seen the great war film "All Quiet on the Western Front," had done some reading and experienced the simulated combat conditions in training, they would, in fact, turn out to be quite tame compared to the reality. 'Maybe it will be all over before we get there. Huh? Maybe?'
It was about dusk when the ship anchored off shore. From over the side we loaded into LCM's.(Landing Craft Medium) It was drizzling. The occasion had a very somber aspect to it. The LCM grounded about 100 ft. from the beach. We waded in from the craft, three feet of water at the start. It was very quiet, nobody talked.` As we trudged up the embankment, my thoughts turned to WWI and General Pershing's declaration, "Lafayette we are here". On the other side of the bluff we loaded into trucks and off we went to our bivouac area. My first sight of badly damaged towns, at least what could be seen in the dim light, was sobering. Revealed at dawn, the apple orchard in which we set up our pup tents turned out to be quite charming.
The division was given the assignment, among others, of organizing truck companies for the purpose of speeding needed supplies to the British and American Army units, which were, at this time, rapidly moving across France toward Germany and dogging the heals of the retreating Wehrmacht. To the 415th Regiment was delegated the responsibility of guarding vital army installations, such as transport and storage facilities, to forestall looting and possible sabotage. The mission for G Co. was to guard the rails. Being a Pfc., I was put in charge of a detail of six men, (mere Pvt.'s), to ride shot gun on freight trains running to Paris from the Cherberg area. The trip took two or three days. We made two trips. The rate at which we moved depended on the condition of the rails, and the cautious traverse through heavily bombed areas. The pace was never very brisk.
The duties consisted, mainly, of patrolling up and down the train when it was at a standstill. We remained in the caboose when moving. We encountered no saboteurs, looters, nor enemy attempts to wreck the train as was thought possible.The stay over in Paris before returning, unfortunately, was very short; over night at most. We were confined to the rail yard area by MP's. However, I almost had an affair with a French girl on the second train. We allowed some French civilian hitchhikers aboard on the way in to Paris, among whom was the girl. In spite of the her drab attire, which was understandable considering the conditions in northern France at the time, she was not unattractive. There was not enough privacy to bring things to fruition, but she gave me her address in Paris. However, I was unable to get past the MPs at the yards so I flunked out there.
Then came the inevitable, the directive to move to the front. The division was attached to the British 2nd Corps and we were to relieve and or reinforce certain British units in Belgium and Holland. This assignment was no doubt engineered by our intrepid division commander, General Terry Allen, who desired nothing more than to demonstrate his ability to handle an Infantry Division in direct combat with the enemy. This talent had been amply and convincingly demonstrated in his command of the 1st Division, (The Big Red), in North Africa and Sicily under General Patton. From what I recently read in a biography of General Patton, I gather they had a falling apart and General Allen returned stateside to train a new division.
The trip by truck from Normandy was long and arduous. We literally disgorged from the trucks into a large flat open area near a pine forest. Here we bivouacked and spent the next two days tooling up in preparation for 'combat duty', as it was designated.
During the day we were treated to aerial combat scenes between P-40s, P-47s and enemy aircraft. We also were able to see buzz bombs flying to the north east and the maneuvers made by the P-47s to shoot them down. The biggest show was the appearance of the new German jet fighter-bomber and the futile attempts by the P-40's to shoot it down. It was no contest; the jet was far too fast. This display was a disquieting reminder of a fact we already knew, that we soon would be facing some weaponry superior to our own.
A day or two later we marched out to relieve some Canadian Units northwest of Wuerstwexel, whereupon we dug in next to an artillery battery. The sound of gunfire from now on would be a constant accompaniment. Distinguishing between friendly and enemy fire would become important, as we later came to learn.
A day or so later we made a rather wearisome approach march, following F Company (F Co.). to Audenbosch, where we had our first significant encounter with the Werhmacht. Occupying the town necessitated eliminating pockets of sniper and harassing fire. What amazed me at this point was the behavior of the inhabitants. In spite of the high explosives and gunfire a, block or so back down the street, they were out sweeping up battle debris in front of their respective dwellings just behind us. F Co. was evolved in the fire fight ahead of us.
When we finally reached the other end of town it was getting dark. Our company, G Co., fanned out to the left front to establish defensive positions against possible counter attacks. Our platoon Sargent was about to assign me my foxhole location when all hell broke loose, or so it seemed. The screaming whine of incoming and blasting '88' artillery shells had me hugging the ground in no time flat, shovel off my pack and digging. Fortunately, I was in a furrow so I initially had some protection from the shrapnel flying around. Never the less, that was the quickest I ever dug a fox hole on my belly that I can recall. It was the first sustained period of fright of my combat experience. Though it seemed forever at the time, the barrage let up in about an hour or so. Throughout the night and the next day, subsequent barrages were shorter and sporadic. One did not dare stray too far from one's foxhole. There were of course quite a few casualties.
Dawn revealed the nature of our position. We had dug into the edge of a very large beet field with the town we had taken immediately to our right rear. To the right was a road with a few stray buildings along it, badly damaged. The area around us was, also, heavily pock marked with shell holes. I was surprised and a little uneasy at the number of unexploded shells sticking up out of the ground. After half a day and they hadn't detonated we concluded they were duds. It was thought that perhaps they might have been armed with delayed action fuses. (We wondered who was working for us on the assembly line for those shells in Germany.) We had an excellent field of fire over a flat area 500 yards, or so, to the distant buildings at our front. So during the day, between barrages ,we improved on our emplacement. Since the sky was overcast and rain likely, I commandeered a door from one of the ruins, near by, and roofed over my, by then, more spacious quarters. I further shoveled another foot of earth on top of the door. And, oh yes, I also found a small rug to lay on the floor. As an added touch, a little fire place at the back of the foxhole was constructed for my can of Sterno to warm up cans of C Rations. I was quite willing and prepared to wait out the rest of the war right there.
I had not, as yet, an occasion to fire my trusty M1, (Rifle). Peering with the naked eye over the rim at the entrance to my foxhole, toward the distant buildings to our front, hardly provided a clearly visible target. I didn't have a sniper's rifle with a scope. We were sure that there had to be an artillery spotter therein somewhere, directing fire on us and others. During the second day there appeared to be a duel between our artillery and theirs. We must have won, because by the end of the second day, shelling in our sector had ceased.The next day we were again on an approach march to renew the attack on the Werhmacht in our assigned sector. It was raining, and already, I was missing my little home away from home.
We came up just short of the Mark river,where sporadic shelling had us digging in again, this time in the rain and muck. Our platoon was positioned in a cabbage field. It was impossible to go more than a foot or so deep before one came to water. No elaborate foxholes this time. They were little more than very soggy slit trenches. The view from them, through the cabbage heads in the mist and the rain, was a bit eerie. It was a miserable situation and very depressing.
The next day, or so, we were subjected to the noise of what sounded like a fierce battle at the river to our right front. Being situated back where we were, nothing much could be seen. We later learned that elements of the the 1st Battalion had crossed the river at dawn in boats, after a perfunctory artillery bombardment of supposed enemy positions. Having gotten across into flat area between the river and the fifty foot high dike running roughly parallel to the river in that region, they were savagely attacked, (effectively ambushed), by German armored and infantry units. They suffered considerable casualties and were forced to withdraw whatever they could back across the river. All of which took considerable doing. See pg. 79 of "Tracks". This action seemed like a case of over confidence and, or, a real tactical blunder; a little of both probably. Anyway, it was obvious that the intent of German command was to hold the line at the Mark river. The drive to the Maas river from this point was not going to be easy.
The plan, now, was a renewed attack on a much broader front after concentrated and protracted artillery barrages. F Co. to our left and we, G Co., at midnight, moved up to the boats placed near to the river's edge earlier by Army engineers. They provided a pilot for each craft. The solid roar of the artillery air and ground bursts just across the river, was deafening and awe inspiring. (The question in my mind was how could any living thing survive under such fire?). In any event it was reassuring. Our chances of survival on the other side of the river seemed to improve with every shell burst.
When the barrage ceased we shouldered the boats, trudged to the shore,launched and rowed across the river. Since it wasn't more than 75 feet wide, we beached on the other side in short order, scrambled out of the boats and up the river bank. Because of the overcast skies, it was so dark one could barely make out a hand in front of one's face. I felt some trepidation during the crossing and the landing; but the adrenalin was more up up than the fear. At least it seemed so to me.
There was some machine gun fire off to our left immediately after we landed; but the sound of two grenades exploding in quick succession and some rifle fire ended that. Furtively, working our way up the incline, we came to a couple of burning buildings They weren't raging fires as of yet, but they provided some light. As we passed the buildings to the road on top of the dike, grenades were tossed into likely spots, such as bunkers, doors and windows. Soon shouts of "Kamarad" were heard and a goodly number of the enemy appeared, with their hands up, out of cellars and bunkers. They were rounded up and escorted back down to the river. Some of them looked rather shaken up, a condition commonly referred to as shell-shock.
When I finally arrived back up on the dike road, I found a large group of the company huddled against a burned out German tank. There seemed to be some confusion as to what was to be done next. I began to feel considerable trepidation as I went among them looking for members of my squad. This behavior violated the cardinal rule to never bunch up in an attack. A few mortar shells well placed would have been disastrous. A lieutenant and a platoon Sargent showed up and scattered us along the river side of the dike. As dawn broke, G Co. formed up into its three platoons. With our platoon, the 3rd., in the lead, we began our new assignment; which was to sweep out any of the enemy remaining in the area between the dike and the river upstream.
We moved forward in the usual approach march formation, two columns well apart and spaced out. Our squad headed the column on the right, the river side. I was the third in line after the point man. Initially, there was no enemy fire of any kind as we moved through the area. While we advanced, it was comforting to hear the freight trains overhead. ( The sound of heavy artillery shells passing over into enemy positions on the other side of the dike).
A gruesome sight greeted us when we came upon the area, where previously, units of the 1st Battalion had been battered. Quite a few bodies were strewn about in various attitudes. The scene was unsettling to say the least. They had been subjected to direct fire from enemy tanks up on the dike road above. Fox-holes were no protection, as was evident from the bodies blown half in and out. And we thought we had it bad in our baptism of fire back at Oudenbosch? As far as I could see there was no comparison.
Somewhat sobered by this, we moved on. We were directed to a small mesa abutting the dike. On it adjacent to the road was a farm building with trees around it. As we came up to the bottom of the slope, from near the top, a panzerfaust was fired at us. It detonated in front of the point man. We hit the ground and, as what became a habit with me, I went down with my rifle in a firing position. An enemy soldier jumped up from where he had launched the missile and began running to the farmhouse. I squeezed off two shots and he dropped to the ground and laid motionless. For some reason, I was the only one to fire his weapon. Later, while a small detachment was up making sure the house was clear of the enemy, the Captain wanted to know who fired and shot the Jerry. I owned up to the fact, somewhat fearful that I done the wrong thing, that he wanted instead, a prisoner for interrogation. When I asked, "Shouldn't I have?". His reply was, "You did fine. Its comforting to know I have at least one man in the company who is alert and aggressive." I was informed by one of the members of the house search detachment that the 'kraut' I felled had two bullet holes in his chest and was quite dead. I really didn't want to hear about it. But at the same time, remembering the scene we recently passed through, I didn't feel too badly about having killed that particular human being. ('After all isn't this a part of what war is all about?')
We moved on toward the end of the area where the river turned in close to the dike and another farm stead with trees about it. At about 400 yards out, we encountered canon and machine gun fire from, what appeared to be, a medium tank or armored vehicle. Since it was fairly well masked by the house and trees, it was difficult to make an accurate determination without binoculars. We of course hit the ground. The firing was of short duration; nobody was hit. They must have been lousy marksmen. After a short wait, the three of us on the point bolted back to to the low ridge behind us; where we found the rest of the company digging in along the ridge running from the dike to the river. Since night would soon be upon us, it was decided to remain there for the night. "Discretion before valor", as they say. As soon as I had dug my foxhole and eaten a ration. I went to sleep. I was exhausted. The past eighteen hours or so of wide awake activity had probably been sustained by a high adrenalin level.
In the morning I was awakened by my squad leader, Sargent Lowe. I was apparently a 'you, you and you volunteer' for patrol duty. Our mission was to seek and make contact with F Co., supposedly, somewhere on our left rear flank. The Captain was unable to 'raise' them on his 'walky-talky'. We got over the dike and down on to the low land on the other side without incident. We proceeded north east keeping as low as possible. Standaarbuiten a several kilometers to our left could be seen undergoing heavy bombardment. We hadn't gone more than a mile or so, when we were subjected to small arms fire. As the snap of bullets going by increased, a mortar exploded to our left rear, then one to our front. We were being zeroed in for a mortar barrage. Sgt. Lowe, who was leading us, pivoted and shouted, "Lets get the fuck out of here!" No difficulty following that order.
So back we scrambled, zigzagging as we ran. And none too soon as the as the spot we vacated erupted with mortar bursts. That mortar crew knew its business. When we returned to the company area, I went with Sgt. Lowe to report to the Captain. I was curious to know why we hadn't called for artillery or mortar fire on the enemy strong point in front of us and holding up our advance. Evidently, there were too many much higher priority targets for the artillery to bother with our little fracas. Also, we did not have a mortar squad attached to us and none was available at the at the moment. I went back to my foxhole and slept some more.
Late that afternoon I was again designated for a patrol to take place after dark. The mission was to sneak up close to the farm stead, making our way along the river bank. This maneuver was to bring us close to the rear of the buildings, and reveal the nature of the opposing force there. Sgt. Lowe was given a 'walky-talky' over which to report whatever we could discern about the disposition of weapons and personnel. It was well after dark when we started out. About midway to our destination our movement must have been detected. A dozen or so 88's came in and across the river close by. Needless to say we hit the soggy bank and laid there for a time.
After a while, when it seemed the volley was the extent of the enemy effort to 'wipe us out', as Sgt. Lowe put it, we went on, crouching to keep as low a profile as possible. Eventually, we came to a 5 or 6 foot wide drainage channel feeding out from the vicinity of the farm to the river. We crept along the edge of that toward the farm for about 100 yards where we encountered thick high underbrush. There we stopped, and Sgt. Lowe ordered us to dig in. Whereupon,we did so, shoveling as quietly as possible and awaited daylight.
Dawn came and revealed the farm stead only about 75 yards away. Through a gap in the the brush and the small trees, I could see the second story windows of the house and a portion of the roof of the attached barns. I was certain Sgt. Lowe couldn't see any more than I could. I Kept my eye on those two windows in case a sniper or machine gunner showed. There we were all by our lonesome, the piddling four of us, facing the enemy far too close for comfort. To say the least I was a bit uneasy. What the hell do we do now? At the most, we could only remain hunkered down until dark, hope that we wouldn't be spotted, and return to the ridge the way we came.
About mid morning, Sgt. Lowe crawled over to my foxhole and informed me that he had arranged, over the 'walky-talky' for machine gun and rifle fire over our heads into the farm commencing in 10 minutes, and that we were to run like hell straight over the flat back to the ridge. "Jesus Christ!!#^**!" I muttered to myself, as I wormed over to the other two to relay the message. When the firing began, we scampered at top speed back to the ridge. The canon of the armored vehicle fired several rounds at us. Being buttoned up, the gunner's visibility probably wasn't very good. The shots were wide of their mark. One of them plopped into the ground ten feet or so to my right front, but didn't explode. Either, it was a dud or just an armor piercing shell. If it had been a fragmentation shell, I would not be here to tell this tale. To say that my heart was in my mouth during that sprint, would be putting it mildly.
When I returned to my foxhole, I got in and promptly went to sleep. I was awakened later by the sound of mortars being fired. Looking at the farm stead I saw it bracketed by two explosions, a pause, then more dead on. The place erupted in flames, and I suspect the armored vehicle, what ever it was, hot footed it out of there. While awaiting orders to move out, I learned that our company commander, Capt. Craig had been killed by a sniper's bullet, as he was directing mortar fire on the farm. One of the platoon leaders, I think it was 1st Lieutenant Millinor, took over command of the company. He later attained the rank of Captain and lost his life in the drive to the Roer river.
Subsequently, a jeep, with some big brass in it, pulled abreast to us up on the dike road as though there were no war going around us at all. It turns out that this little fracas of ours had long since been by passed by the rest of the division. We were considerably behind the front lines as they now existed. Needless to say we moved out, with alacrity, down the dike road, past the burning farm stead. As we proceeded toward the Maas river, we came upon an extensive and awesome scene of smashed burnt out enemy tanks, armored vehicles, and many dead bodies of enemy infantry strewn about on the side of a hill. Evidently, an enemy counter attack had been subjected to murderous artillery, antitank fire, and possibly aircraft attacks. That even- ing, somewhere near the river, we billeted in a small village.
The next day, rumor had it that we were slated to go back to a rest camp. We trek- ked a bit to rejoin our battalion, where upon, we boarded trucks. After about a three or four hour drive we arrived at an encampment where we had two days of bathing (hot showers), hot chow, mail, catching up on correspondence, and of course sleep. Maybe a weeks leave to Paris would be next, 'huh, maybe?' That dream was quashed, on the third day, with the news of our assignment to the First Army and a new combat mission at the Aachen front.
It was another long grueling ride. We bivouacked in the rain, just south of Aachen, in sight of dragon teeth tank barriers and the first line of battered pill boxes of the famed Siegfried Line. The next day we went through and relieved elements of the First Division at their front. The Hürtgen forest region was hilly with large tracts of pine timber trees interspersed with grassy meadows here and there. Pill boxes were situated at critical terrain features to provide an optimum field of fire against attacking forces. The sector assigned to G Co. consisted of two large pill boxes, One reasonably intact, which served as the Company headquarters, the other, on top of the hill badly beaten up, with a burned out Sherman tank along side of it. The latter two were exposed to direct enemy fire. Down a bit from the hilltop was a line of foxholes to which individually each of us was assigned. It was nice to not have to dig again. On the high ground at the edge of the pine tract and to the right of the company sector, was a well camouflaged out post that had to be manned 24 hours a day. It was no more than an oversized foxhole with a crude blind. There was, also, an outpost in the wreck of a pill box on the hilltop, manned only at night.
With one attack called off we remained in place for five days or so. Except for an occasional mortar round, (just out of pure orneriness I suppose), things were pretty quiet. One round landed on top of the intact pill box, in which at the time, I was cleaning my rifle. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The blast reverberated throughout the confines of the structure which seemed to amplify the effect. Being in one of these things under heavy fire couldn't have been much fun.
Aside from from turns at the outposts, there was not much to do. The duty tours at the outposts consisted of a four hour stretch with a buddy in the blind at the edge of the woods, and overnight with six buddies and a two hour watch stretch in the wreck of a pill box at the top of the hill. Time hung heavily in our wait for the next major attack on the Werhmacht. We tried not to think about it. Hot chow was brought to us only in the evening, after dark. Otherwise we subsisted on K and C Rations. To relieve the boredom I began to smoke the cigarettes from the little packet in the K Ration. My foxhole, my home away from home, provided me with ample time for contemplation. In one of these musings, I decided that when I returned to school after the war I would concentrate on physics as my major rather than music, provided of course that I survived in one piece.
On the day of the big push, in the early morning, we were treated to the sight of flight after flight of bombers overhead going for targets inside enemy territory. Later the area resounded with the roar of preparatory artillery barrages on both sides of our front. In our sector it seemed rather light; probably, because there were no clearly discernible targets in the forest, I reasoned. Not withstanding, we moved out on the attack at H hour, past the wrecked pill box and tank, down the slope on the other side of the hill to another large timber tract. Before starting, I had volunteered to be the point man, but not because I was a brave idiot. I had made the observation that when shelling was called in on an advancing column, it was always behind the point man. I reasoned that my chances of survival in the ensuing the small arms fire was much greater than in the shell fire. The very thought of the latter struck terror to my heart. The initial small arms fire is quite often inaccurate due to nervousness in the first moments of combat.
We encountered no enemy fire as we entered the woods. I came upon German helmet on the ground and, feeling angry, gave it a hard solid kick. I was made to realize later by Dean Svec that it was a stupid thing to do. If it had been mined I would have been a dead GI duck or severely maimed, the thing I most feared, not death. Weaving through the underbrush I arrived eventually at the other edge of the woods. Here I paused and looked down and across a good sized meadow sloping to another pine timber tract. I didn't like the looks of it, but what the hell else could I do with the company pressing behind me? Muttering to myself, "You volunteered for this job stupid!", I lit a cigarette and sauntered out into the meadow. The Krauts observing this seeming nonchalant behavior must have reacted with amused wonder. (" Was ein dumbkopf diese ist?") Out about 50 yards or so, I glanced back and saw the lead men of of the company's four columns (the two Platoons committed to the attack) coming out of woods. At that moment a couple of machine guns opened fire from somewhere at the bottom of the slope. With bullets overhead and about me I dove into a near by shell hole. I remained hunched down there until the firing had ceased, and wondered when the shelling would commence. Since nothing was happening after a half hour or so, I cautiously peered over the rim of the shell hole. I could not see a damned thing through the tall grass. However, there was a good sized tree stump a few feet forward and to the right of the shell hole. So I crawled out to the stump to attempt a look at a little higher elevation. My movement must have been observed because I soon heard the snap of snipers bullets over and about me. I immediately scrambled back to the shell hole and began to wonder where the hell the company was. There hadn't been any return fire from their quarter.
After another hour or so and no shelling, feeling a bit lonely and, certainly, no longer desirous of fighting the Werhmacht on my own, I decided I had better get the hell out of the pasture and back to the company, wherever they might be. 'Had I been abandoned to wage the war all by myself?' I didn't crawl, I literally wormed my way back to where I had come out of the woods. When I was finally well into the trees, I stood up and, "Glory be!", there was the whole company digging foxholes in defensive positions. Only one man had been wounded but not seriously.
I reported to the company commander who seemed glad that I hadn't been cut down, as he put it, and was able to make it back to the company. It was then I learned that the company's mission was only to make contact with the enemy, establish a position to threaten their sector and keep them committed in front of us. I returned to my platoon and the Sargent assigned me a spot for my foxhole. In view of the growth towering above us, it was deemed advisable to build a thick roof out of branches and earth for protection against shrapnel that would probably rain down from tree bursts.
It was dark when I settled in. Not being assigned watch duty that night, I warmed a can of C Ration ate it and promptly went to sleep. I was awakened somewhat later by a barrage of artillery 88's in our sector. The area was being swept by their fire. I laid there apprehensively listening as the shell bursts, successively, came nearer, one close by, then receding. Breathing a sigh of relief at the latter I went back to sleep. Another similar bombardment occurred again before dawn. I surmised that Jerry was a little nervous that, perhaps, we were going to launch one of our 'notorious' night attacks.
In the morning the damage was assessed as follows: the forest floor littered with branches and tree tops, a few men with non serious shrapnel wounds, one killed by a direct hit on his foxhole, not at all a pretty sight and a bit unerving you might say. During the day a light wet snow fell. In the afternoon I spent time at a forward observation post. An attempt was made to zero in some mortar rounds on a well camouflaged pill box whose approximate position at the edge of the pine tract below the meadow had been determined. Dean Svec, a friend of mine, earlier in the day had been on a patrol, which by sneaking down through the woods on our right front, had come in sight of the pill box. He described, for the sake of a little levity, the sight of Krauts pissing and shitting in the open air latrine at the side of the bunker. ('War or no war there are obligations which must be met').
The next morning , a dreary overcast day, orders were issued to advance again. After a brief shelling of the bunker area by our artillery, we moved out. I was the third man in our column, Carrothers and Taylor were ahead of me. Just as the three of us had cleared the edge of the woods, a panzerfaust exploded immediately in front of Carrothers and a hail of machine gun and small arms fire swept over and around us. I dove into the nearest shell hole. Shortly, Taylor crawled up to me under the incessant fire and said Carrothers was hit bad and lying in an exposed position. "Help me drag him back" he pleaded and crawled away. I hesitated for a moment, but just as quickly realized I had no choice in the matter and crawled after him. Being scared was putting it mildly. In fact the fear was so strong I hardly knew what the hell I was doing as we, on our bellies, dragged Carrothers back into and under the few trees there. Then hurriedly lugged him further back into a small clearing out of the line of fire. Carrothers whole forehead was laid open and was bleeding from other wounds lower down. He was semi-conscious kept trying to get to his feet. I told Taylor to go get a medic and a stretcher while I remained and held him down. Almost immediately after he left, the area erupted with mortar bursts. We were apparently smack dab in the center of a target area for a Jerry mortar battery. There was no way I could start digging. I laid half over Carrothers who was still attempting get up. As the barrage continued and I was on the verge of panic, an explosion took place on what I thought was my right leg, since it kicked so hard. I thought to myself, "Uh oh, there goes a leg!" Ten minutes or so later the barrage lifted.
I was almost afraid to look around and see a leg missing. A quick glance assured me it was still with me, however mangled it might be. At that moment I began to curse, screaming at the top of my voice, every God Damned swear word in my vocabulary and then some. This seemed to ameliorate my anger and panic somewhat. By the time Taylor returned with the medic and the stretcher I had pretty well calmed down. He declared , " I wasn't expecting to find you two alive after all that stuff." I insisted that they take Carrothers out first, since he was in far worse shape than me. He was then unconscious. Someone could come for me later. The medic cut off my pants and underwear legs, dusted the lacerated area with Sulfa Powder and applied a bandage. They hurried off with Carrothers. While the medic was tending to me, I had taken note of one of our machine gun emplacements at one side of the clearing. I crawled over and joined the crew in their spacious foxhole. And none too soon as a another barrage ensued. Later, when I was just beginning to feel some pain, a lieutenant popped in and gave me a shot of morphine. From then on I guess I was on a trip, or simply ecstatic at the prospect of being out of this ugly business of waging war.
After dark two medics showed up, loaded me unto a stretcher and high tailed it to a road out back somewhere. As we were going along the side of a hill, a Jerry 88 whistled its way to the top of the hill and exploded. The medics dropped to the ground half spilling me from the stretcher. It was evident that they were inexperienced. I told them them I would let them know when it was necessary to hit the ground and that the sound of that 88, to my experienced ear, indicated it was not going to hit close enough to worry about. Subsequently, I was loaded into an ambulance among other wounded. After a short drive we were unloaded and placed in one of the large tents of a field hospital. Eventually I was examined by a Doctor, who informed me that after an operation, which would be necessary, my leg should be OK. That was a reassuring bit of news. The leg was then cleaned, bandaged and bundled up to keep it immobile.I was given a shot of penicillin in my buttocks and another morphine shot.
A protracted and uninterrupted period in the arms of Morpheus followed. During the ensuing day, after some hot chow, with others I shipped out in a long bumpy ambulance drive to a Hospital in Liege, Belgium. It was here, following the X-Rays and the proper anesthesia, that the leg was operated on.
For the next few days I remained confined to bed in the hospital. During which time I had the "thrill?" of experiencing the onslaught of Buzz bombs on Liege at the rate of two or three a day. The scenario goes as follows: First the loud putt putt of the ram jet engine: Then an abrupt silence when the engine shut off: For many, a pause in activity, a tense anxious ten second ,or so, wait: Then its detonation upon impact, God only knew where, and the relief from tension. I could see that day after day of this could be a bit nerve racking. For myself, having been subjected to concentrated artillery and mortar fire and survived, I didn't get very up tight. After all, what were the odds of being hit by a single missile, irrespective of its explosive power? 'Me, the eternal optimist!'
Then with many others I was transferred to a waiting hospital train. It was turning dark when we pulled out of the rail yards where we entrained. As the train left the yards the loud putt putt was heard, then the cut off. The missile impacted in the yards somewhere close behind us. The blast jolted the train but it kept moving. 'Holy Moses, a close one!' Remember the stupid optimist?
Our destination was Le Havre, where, upon arrival at a dock area, we were put aboard a hospital ship bound for 'merry?' old England. The channel crossing was uneventful. The landing was made at Southampton and we were immediately transferred to a train. From whence, we were off to an army hospital in Kidderminster, near Birmingham.
I remember the ride to Birmingham as being quite pleasant. Luckily having been placed next to a window, I could enjoy looking at the country side and towns as the train passed by. I was particularly rewarded with the sight of Winchester Cathedral.
The Kidderminster facility consisted mostly of large interconnected quonset huts, which provided for spacious and comfortable wards and other hospital functions. I don't remember much of the time confined to bed in one of the wards. I know that I rendered some charcoal sketches, which are still extent, wrote letters, and for the most part, did some reading. Of course, I maintained an active interest in the developments south of the 104 INF's sector on the Roer river, (The Battle of the Bulge).
Christmas came and went with the usual little diversions associated with the Holiday. Somewhere about this time, I received notification of the award for my 'bravery?' in the Hürtgen forest, which surprised me. I was not aware that I had done anything noteworthy. I certainly had not felt particularly intrepid or brave at the time. On the contrary, it was an extremely frightening experience. In any event, it made me feel good that I had at least attained some level of distinction. (Hey, I'm an intrepid soldier of valor!)
Once I was ambulatory, albeit with the aid of crutches, I began to wander about the facility, the Rec rooms, the library such as it was, and the PX. It was in the latter I decided, that if I was going to smoke, it must be the pipe. As a consequence, I bought my first pipe and a small tin of tobacco, which began what was to be some fifty odd years with that damn thing in my mouth.
By the middle of January I was navigating without the crutches and undergoing some physical therapy. I attended some USO affairs in Kidderminster, (Boy meets Girl type), where indeed, I did meet a girl. However, what was developing into a serious affair was cut off. I received orders to report to an Army Depot in London. Post haste, I was hustled, along with others, aboard a train to London town. At the depot we were issued new clothing, combat stuff. It was then I learned that I was slated to return to my unit in the 104th Div. Not being a gung-ho type, I hardly found this bit of news heartening.
Of course being at the depot was the usual situation, known in the army as,'hurry up and wait.' As a result, I had time on my hands, roughly a week or so. I volunteered for duty at the supply counter, with the hope that I might make myself indispensable, and that the Sergeant in charge would have me transferred to his quartermaster unit. Needless to say, the ruse didn't work. On evening and weekend passes I again attended USO functions. At a dance, I met another girl (picked up?) and became involved enough to be invited to her home over the weekend. There our 'love?' was consummated.
It was during this brief stay in London that I experienced another great 'thrill?', the infamous V-2 Rocket strikes on the city. The scenario was much simpler than the Buzz-Bomb case. There was no sound preceding the detonation upon impact. If you heard and felt the earth shaking explosion, you had survived.
Monday was indeed blue one for me; I received my shipping orders and forthwith put aboard a ship bound for Le Havre. It was all quite depressing. There was no guessing about what I was going into this time. The only thing I remember about the trip was a protracted train stop in Rouen. Here I had the opportunity to examine closely it's magnificent cathedral, both inside and out. The view of the soaring arches inside were breath taking. I have never forgotten the sensation I had as I looked up into that vaulted ceiling.
A few day's or so were next spent at a fitting station near Aachen. Among other things a new M1 Rifle was issued, which had to be unpacked, cleaned of the packing grease,(a messy task), and assembled. Then some time spent at the firing range, breaking in, and practicing my skills with, the weapon. Again hoping to forestall the inevitable, I volunteered for work at the supply desk, but to no avail. With other replacements, all with no previous combat experience, we were trucked out to 2nd Battalion Headquarters in Weisweiler. The city had been thoroughly battered, first from bombing, then from heavy artillery, then by the attack to wrest it from the Wehrmacht. There was barely a building standing that wasn't significantly damaged. It was sickening to see so much destruction. I was yet to see considerably worse than this.
We were, unceremoniously, dumped off at a large building serving as a collection center near the center of the city. Here, while the greenhorns were marched off to pre-combat training, I awaited the runner from Co. G, who was to show me the way to where the third platoon was stationed. It turned out to be somewhere near the Roer river. It was just outside a town called Merkin, I believe. On the way there we made our through more mud, the sticky ooze-y kind, than I had ever encountered before or thereafter. G Co's billets were in a cluster of three or four buildings, damaged but habitable.
Aside from from the three or four new faces in the platoon, its character seemed much the same as it was when I abruptly left it back in November. "Hey Beeken, we were waiting for you to come back before making the big push across the Roer." I felt right at home as I settled in."Thanks a lot guys." Activity, for the next ten days or so, consisted of short duty tours at outposts on the river, and practice sessions with assault boats on the Inde river near Inden. At night we were treated to visits by Bed Check Charley, a Luftwaffe phenomenon, buzzing about in the night sky. His characteristic behavior was to drop a flair, which would light up a likely target, and thereupon drop a bomb or two. One night he was heard directly overhead and next the fluttering sound of a flair coming down. The place lit up outside like a Christmas tree. Being on the second floor we scurried like rats down the stairs to the cellar. "Varoom!" The building shuddered and plaster fell, but remained standing. When the flair burnt out and the dust settled we went back up to our sacks and some more sleep. The morning light revealed that the company latrine just outside had been obliterated. 'The Heine was playing dirty pool', was the general consensus.
It was about this time that the platoon leader and sergeant of the 2nd platoon asked me over to their quarters next door to discuss a transfer from the 3rd platoon. Lieutenant Mahl, who had been awarded a battlefield commission while I was away, was in need of a squad sergeant, and for some reason along with his platoon sergeant Connelly seemed to think I was the man for the job. (An intrepid valiant soldier, what?). "So what the hell, why not?", I thought. It meant a promotion to three Bars, higher pay, and as far as I could determine no change in my vulnerability to the 'slings and arrows of outrageous warfare' to paraphrase a line of Shakespeare.
Finally, after a false start, the big push was on, and it was to be a night attack. I was still in the third platoon, since the transfer had not come through as yet. After the briefing that afternoon we were issued the extra ammunition, grenades, etc. deemed necessary. I chose to arm myself with the new antitank rifle grenades rather than the fragmentation type. 'Who knows maybe I'll have an occasion to knock out a tank?' At midnight we marched out to the assault boats arrayed near the riverbank. The skies were clear and a moon could be seen low in the sky, which provided some visibility of the terrain ahead, an advantage that could work both ways for the combatants involved. Our river crossing was a few kilometers north and downstream of the city of Duren, which was situated on the opposite bank of the river. It was a major objective in the overall assault. Our objective, along with Co E, was to take over the twin towns of Huchen-Stammeln, two or three kilometers further inside Germany and east of Duren, now effectively a fortress. Stammeln, the north east section, was our assignment.
While awaiting the order to push off, the adrenalin was up and nobody talked. Even so, there seemed to be an air of confidence about the outcome of this attack. The briefing had indicated that the planning for this operation had been thorough and was as fool proof as humanly possible. At about 3:00 hours the preparatory barrage commenced. The one we witnessed over the Mark river in Holland was impressive, but this far surpassed it in volume and intensity. This man made hell was a solid roar of air and ground bursts. It swept from the opposite bank to a kilometer or so beyond. It was not possible to distinguish between shell bursts. Surely, no man could survive under that fire. If he did, it would have driven him stark ravingmad, at least it would have me.
The moment the barrage ceased, each platoon grabbed it's boats, rushed to the rivers edge, launched, and rowed across to the opposite bank. As our boat approached the opposite shore, a machine gun to our right in Co. E's sector began firing. From its position, somewhere up on the bank, it swept its fire up and down the river. Hearing the plop of the bullets hitting the surface of the water near by was a bit unnerving. So, when the boat was about four feet from the shore, I jumped out, thinking it should be shallow at that point. I went in half way up to my chest, where four anti-tank grenades were hung. 'Whew!', that water was ice cold. Luckily, I kept my footing (the weight of the extra ammo probably helped) and clamored up the river bank. To keep warm I started walking briskly eastward away from the river, water gurgling about in my combat boots with every step. Presently, Capt. Maulden, our present company commander, caught up with me asked if I was off to fighting this battle all by myself. I had to chuckle and explained my real purpose. He took a look at my rather damp condition and said he could see that I was all wet, but when he saw me move out so fast, he thought I was all wet in a different sense. "There is a limit to this valor stuff you know". (A little humor in the heat of battle. It has been said 'that if you aren't able to exercise a little levity in a lousy situation, you are a candidate for section 8.')
I remained with him as we proceeded at a slower pace. Meanwhile elements of the rest of the Company began to catch up with us but not in any particular order. The terrain was open and flat, densely pocked marked with shell holes, all the way to our objective, which at this distance appeared as a jagged dark silhouette, near the horizon. Up to this point we had encountered no enemy fire. Had that barrage really wiped out all the enemy defenses? Subsequently we came to a railroad running across our line of advance, about half a kilometer from the town. We were ordered to spread out along the low embankment and await further orders. I positioned myself close to the Captain and his radio man who had just came up. To keep enemy heads down in our coveted piece of real estate, he requested some 80 mm mortar rounds thereupon. Subsequently, the order "Move out", came and on to our objective we went.
The second platoon split off into first group of buildings to our right. The rest of us moved further along to a line of buildings straddling a road leading eastward out of the town. Along the way I thought I detected in the semidarkness some movement at a window. I fired my first antitank grenade. The blast just inside the window was impressive. Apparently, I had acquired a lethal addition to my armament. The Captain directed us to one of the larger buildings, which he wanted to use as the Company headquarters. We fanned out in a protective screen as a squad searched it for possible enemy occupants. One pathetic looking 'kraut' captured was the prize. Meanwhile the sound of small arms fire and grenades emanated from the 2nd Platoon sector, with the occasional "kapow" of what sounded like 37mm antitank gun. After a brief conference with the captain, Lt. Turner, my platoon leader came to me as I was investigating a rubble strewn space between two buildings. He instructed me to take four men to the street, go down the right side to the building at the end, and set up an outpost with a good field of view for spotting possible counter attacks. By this time it was becoming quite light.
I gathered up Mcklintock, a BAR(Browning Automatic Rifle) man, three riflemen, and a runner. We dashed across the street into the shell shattered building on the other side. We drew no fire. It was then I reasoned, "Why move up in the street vulnerable to fire from both sides, when it appeared that we could proceed on the ground level through the shells of the buildings with at least some cover. The others agreed and so, with me leading, we cautiously wended our way from building to building through windows and breaks in the side walls. Presently, we came to one whose facade was completely gone. As I peered through a gap blown through wall separating the building we were in from the next, I looked across the street. 'Lo, and behold', there appeared three of the enemy with their rifles coming out of a doorway. I brought my weapon to bear with an antitank grenade and yelled, "Ubergeben! Kommen sie hier!" They scrambled back into the doorway. I fired the grenade which impacted just inside the door sill. Since the structures were built primarily of stone in this part of Europe, one can imagine the amount of shrapnel created by the blast of the grenade. I quickly loaded and fired a second grenade which detonated deeper back inside the doorway. We then proceeded to the end building without further incident. Except for it's roof, which was almost completely gone, the edifice was in fairly good condition, and showed signs having been recently occupied. A couple of grenades, rolled down the cellar stairs, produced shouts of,"Kamarad!", and then six rather shaken prisoners of war. The Platoon Sergeant, subsequently, showed up and took over. He had been delayed by a problem with the boat he was in. One of the guys that came with the Sergeant had gone into the building into which I had fired the antitank grenades and told me he found two dead 'krauts' and a third in very bad shape. He began to go into more detail, but I asked him to please not to. I didn't want to hear about it.
Inspection of the cellar revealed a dozen comfortable double tiered bunks and assorted furniture. After cleaning up the debris caused by the grenades, we had ourselves a right cozy quarters. Having not been assigned lookout duty, I forthwith hit the sack in the bunk of my choice. No sooner had I done so then the "thunk, thunk, thunk" sound of mortars being fired was heard. 'Now what the hell?' We all rushed up the stairs at the top of which we met the lockout coming down from the second floor. He informed us that enemy mortars set up in the farm diagonally across the road were being fired in the direction of the river. Well, we couldn't allow that sort of mischief to continue unabated and unpunished. So I bolted up the two flights of stairs to the attic floor with a BAR man, Mcklintock, and two riflemen following. Looking over the stone roof support we had an unobstructed view of the battery consisting of three mortars in the yard at one side of the little farm. The distance was about 100 yards. The crew of a dozen men, or so, busily manning the mortars, were apparently unaware that their enemy occupied the adjacent town. The barrage the night before had apparently played hob with their communications system. I fired the grenade I had on the rifle into the middle of the battery array, while the BAR opened up on full automatic (effectively a machine gun on that setting) and the two M1's commenced firing . As the crew scampered for cover, I fired my last grenade into their midst. Most of them were probably cut down by the BAR before they got very far. The rest were picked off individually by our M1's, until nothing was stirring, (not even a mouse). Subsequently, we went back down to our bunks. After eating a K ration I sacked out and slept until the following morning.
I awoke just in time for some hot chow. Apparently, the Army Engineers had successfully spanned the river with a Bailey bridge or two. Our kitchen was in town as well as some tanks and SP's,(self propelled guns), parked at a safe distance down the street. I was informed of a patrol's report on the previous day's turkey shoot. as it was now described. "Ten enemy dead and signs of wounded having been removed." Then came the disturbing news that we were to prepare for a night attack that evening. 'Hey! What happened to the usual leap frogging policy? Somebody is supposed to move through us to the next objective.' But of course our griping was to no avail. Late that evening, provided with the fresh ammunition allotted to us during the day, we strung out along both sides of the street leading east out of town. In the silence, as we awaited the order to move out, I had an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Why wasn't there a preparatory barrage? This action was not going to turn out well at all! Then a jeep drove by me and up to the head of the two columns. Where there was, what seemed to be, a brief conference and the jeep left as it came. You can imagine the feeling of relief when the order came down to return to our posts. Why the attack was aborted, I never found out.
The next morning, after an early chow, the attack again was ordered. We formed up as before and trudged out in a two column approach march formation. Our objective was a town called Oberzier located on what was considered some strategic high ground about three to four kilometers to the east. We headed out across the intervening meadows because the the road was impassable. It was heavily mined and large trees had been felled across it all along its length. Lt. Turner, the 3rd Platoon leader, led the columns. I was the fourth man in the right column. As we approached and came closer we could see a high stone wall on this side of the town. At about 150 yards machine gun fire emanated from the wall. Along with everyone else I hit the dirt with the snap of bullets going by. I looked up between bursts of fire and saw Lt. Turner running to the left and go down at the next burst. It looked like he had been hit. After laying there for awhile, with an occasional snap of bullets above, and debating whether to dig in or not, I heard the sound of two howitzer shells going overhead. One hit in front of the wall the other on the roof of the structure just behind the wall. Great! The son of a bitch was being zeroed in. When the fire for effect was completed, a good part of that wall had been reduced to rubble. We then moved with alacrity through the gaps and into town without any further argument from the enemy. We rounded up a considerable number of them, the majority of which were caught sleeping. They had been at their defensive posts all the previous night expecting a night attack. Quite a few seemed genuinely happy to be captured and that the war for them was over.
I was assigned the task of leading a detail to escort the captives back through the wall to rear echelon units. As we started out two 88's came in and struck a stone wall quite close by. They were of such a low trajectory that nobody had time to hit the ground. One of my men and a prisoner were struck by shrapnel. As soon as the medic arrived to tend to them, we hustled our prisoners down and out through the wall. There we found an armored unit assembled, a couple of Sherman tanks and armored cars. We turned over our captives and returned to town. Our losses were several wounded and one dead, Lt. Turner.
Lt. Mahl came over to me and said I was now a member of the 2nd platoon and under his command; the promotion to sergeant would be forthcoming. That night we billeted in the quarters formerly occupied by the enemy. A long sleep that night was accompanied with the not infrequent salvos of an artillery battery which had set up next to the town. Here we remained for a day or two. The respite, of course, couldn't last forever. We were soon on a long approach march north east to a town called Oberaussen. We crossed over a canal and, while the rest of the battalion attacked the town, G Co. was directed along a high ridge south of the town. The 2nd platoon was in the lead. I noticed with apprehension that the road on which we were advancing must must be a clear target seen from the high ground off to our left. I was up near the front of the column with Lt. Mahl and the platoon Sargent, when the bombardment abruptly began, as I had anticipated. We all dove into the roadside gullies. They were the dreaded 88s. With their high speed and low trajectory it is extremely difficult to get to the ground before they hit. Though the barrage was short lived, five minutes or so, two casualties resulted. One dead and the platoon sergeant with a severely lacerated right arm. At Lt. Mahl's request (order?) I escorted him back along the road to find a medic. Upon arriving at the edge of the town, previously bypassed, we encountered an Aid Station being set up. I left him there in good hands, and with the usual pit of fear in my stomach, trudged reluctantly back to the platoon. They had, in the interim, moved on and up the slope of the ridge to a wooded tract at the top. When I finally caught up they were digging in at the other side of the woods at the top of the ridge, looking out over a flat plain below. Lt. Mahl then informed me that I was now the Platoon Sergeant and requested (ordered?) that I dig a two man foxhole, while he went to confer with the Company Commander. Two promotions within a week, albeit the result of misfortunes of others; "Gadzooks!" I was really moving up in this man's army.
Before digging I took a moment to ponder the turn of events and to have a good look at the plain laid out below the ridge and reaching out in the distance to the east. Dusk was upon us; but one could still make out the highway in that direction littered with smashed and still burning tanks and various vehicles. Our aircraft and fast moving armored units were having a field day on that terrain. A village was also just barely visible several kilometers away. On a clear day, Cologne could probably be seen from the ridge. I was about half way to completing the foxhole dig, when Lt. Mahl returned and announced we were moving out immediately. ("Shit!" All that digging to no purpose. No rest for the weary wicked! "Haven't we walked far enough today?") It was a bitching collection of GIs that trekked down the slope of the ridge to the highway. It was learned that our destination was the village seen from the ridge. When that bit of intelligence filtered down through the trudging columns our spirits were somewhat lifted by the prospect of more comfortable quarters for the night.
It was our first encounter with a civilian population. The advance had been so rapid and unexpected that the inhabitants had not had time to flee. Consequently, we either simply moved into domiciles with, or displacing, the inhabitants. It was interesting to note the various reactions; either one of sullen compliance, denials of sympathy with the Nazi regime, or a curiosity about these foreigners with the gall to invade the sacred soil of Germany.
Because of the flat open terrain, the armored units were advancing quite rapidly. As a consequence the next few days consisted of series of forced marches to occupy towns, successively closer to the' big city', that the armor had swept through. Very little or no resistance was encountered by G Co. in so doing. At the outskirts of the city we were held up briefly until all the participating elements of the 414th and 415th Regiments were on line for a coordinated attack into the city proper. The advance was initiated early in the morning , the sky overcast with a light intermittent drizzle. E Co., I believe, led our foray into the city down a narrow street, G Co. following with the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd platoons in that order, with two columns, one on each side of the street. The movement was slow with halts, coinciding with the sound of small arms fire and grenade explosion up front, every now and then. We had ample time to have close up looks at the destruction wrought by the frequent heavy bombings of the city. The devastation was unbelievable. How does one describe a landscape of building skeletons and rubble. Here and there, a large area of rubble only, with a huge crater in the center would be seen. (A 'Blockbuster Bomb'). Sorties into structures through ground floor doorways was physically too hazardous to go very far inside.
Eventually the 2nd Platoon fanned to the right alone. Now, there was no one between us and the enemy. Adrenalin levels rose, as we proceeded down a wide avenue with trolley tracks running down the center. It led downward four or five blocks to a square at the bottom of the grade. The skeleton of a wrecked and burned out trolley was situated about two thirds of the way down. Since the scene did not appear particularly threatening and I had no strong feelings of trepidation, I took the point. I moved down the center of the avenue skirting bomb craters, while the platoon, properly spaced, moved down the side walk on my right. About half way down machine gun fire emanating from the square had us ducking for cover. Fortunately there was a bomb crater next to me at that moment where I found cover. They made a thorough sweep up the avenue, ricocheting bullets flying everywhere. When the fusillade ceased I assayed a sneak peek at the square over the rim of the crater. Through the ribs of the street car in my line of sight I saw a couple of the enemy scurrying across the square. The snap of a snipers bullet past my head cut my observation short. I immediately slid lower down into the crater. Subsequent pings had me sliding successively lower until I was at the bottom of the crater. To my right the crater rim was much lower and I could see Lt. Mahl and several men of the platoon. They were in a recess in the facade of what had been a bank. They were looking at me and laughing! ('What The Hell? What's so funny about a man squirming to avoid getting his head shot off?') A little pissed off I fixed the grenade adapter on my rifle. I set the stock down on the ground so that it was in a mortar like attitude. I fired off the two antitank grenades I had hanging on my chest.They were lobbed in the general direction of where the shots had come from, which I guessed was an upper floor of a building about half a block to my left down the street.
Lt. Mahl then motioned me over to their refuge. There were no shots as I dashed to the recess. I was told that the two grenades had detonated on the sidewalk down the street. The sniper probably thought they were mortar bursts zeroing in on his position and 'skee-dadled'. Then from up the street came the welcome sound of a Sherman tank coming down to join us. As it came abreast of us, it fired its cannon and opened up with its machine guns on the square.(' Son a Beecha! That muzzle blast hurts the ears.') We then pushed on down to the square where we found several enemy dead and assorted weapons lying about.
Not knowing the whereabouts of the rest of G Co., we held up at this point. Shortly, a Jeep drove up and informed us that the city center was in our possession and to follow them. Lt. Mahl got in the Jeep, the rest of us climbed atop the tank and we all barrel-assed off into the sunset, I mean, down a main thoroughfare to within a block or so of the Cathedral square. On our way we passed a still burning Tiger tank with a large hole just above the tread on that side. It had apparently was out maneuvered by the new Pershing tank with its 90 mm cannon. It had met more than its match.
Lt. Mahl and I found a billet previously used by our erstwhile foe a block away from the square. It was in the basement of a large commercial building of some sort. It had one perturbing aspect, and that was the un-detonated block buster bomb protruding out of the rubble of the building next door, it's fins in full view. However, since it apparently had been there for quite some time unexploded, it wasn't very likely to do so now, a conclusion apparently shared by the previous tenants. An outpost was established in a building near and with a view of the river and its opposite bank. One of my duties was seeing to a periodic replacement of the detail assigned to it. On one such occasion, when I was bringing in a relief detail a stray 88 struck at the far corner of the room and blasted in. The concussion knocked down those of us in the room but aside from some minor scratches nobody was seriously hurt. But the intensity of that confined blast left me with considerable less hearing for a day or two and a noticeable ringing in my ears (tinnitus) which is still with me today.
As a reminder that the war wasn't over and that the enemy hadn't learned to love us yet, we were subjected to occasional mortar rounds and 88s from over the river. Most of them impacted in the cathedral square. (Le Boche being soreheads and poor losers were simply venting their anger at having this piece of real estate wrested from them) The Cathedral, looming almost unscathed above the almost complete destruction surrounding it, was an amazing and a quite unbelievable sight. One day I decided I had to get inside and have a look around. So timing the intervals between mortar rounds as best I could, I dashed across the square and into the cathedral. What met my eyes was disappointing. Because of the completely sandbagged windows it was quite dark and it was not possible make out much in detail. I did not linger and scurried back the way I came.
The few civilians wandering about were a constant wonder to me as to how they could have survived the rain of high explosives without having gone stark raving mad, let alone, with their lives. The human being must have an enormous capacity for endurance. My one face to face encounter resulted in a learning experience. I was standing on the sidewalk at an intersection smoking my pipe, when an old gentleman came up to me with a beautiful old briar pipe in his hand. It obviously had been well used. He somewhat abashedly kept pointing to the pipe and uttering, "Hatten Sie tobac; haff tobacca?" I thought at first he wanted to sell the pipe to me, but then I realized that what he wanted was some tobacco. I could also see that begging was not his accustomed behavior. The craving for nicotine had overcome his pride. Something, that today, I can well understand. I looked at his pipe and saw that it had a thick layer of carbon around the inside. With my limited command of German and his smattering of English he managed to convey to me the purpose and importance of maintaining that layer to keep the pipe cool and smoking sweet. Needless to say, he was provided with tobacco from my stash.
We remained ensconced in the cathedral area for about a week or thereabouts, whereupon, we learned of the capture of the Remagen Bridge over the Rhine river. The big question was: Were we slated to go to the aid of the 1st Division in securing the bridgehead established on the other side, or were we to be held in reserve? In answer to our question, we were relieved by elements of the 8th Division and moved out to the suburbs somewhere. A day or so later, early in the morning, we loaded into trucks and hi-balled it south down a highway on the west bank of the legendary river, so popularized by Wagner's Operas. Through the early morning mist rising from the river, the craggy hills rising above the opposite shore were quite visible. Even a few castles were seen silhouetted against the dawning east.(Das Reingold or Die Walkyrie we didn't spot, nor heard a "YOHOKOHO".Not even a Reinmädchen was seen about.)
Though the bridge was still standing, its damaged condition, due to an attempt to blow it up in the face of the 1st Army advance, subsequent bombing and shelling, and initial heavy traffic in establishing a beachhead on the west side, made it too precarious for further use. It was closed. However, our intrepid Army Engineers had succeeded in constructing a Treadway Bridge under constant enemy fire a bit north across the river. (the longest one in history and a remarkable feat). With a brief pause to establish proper spacing between trucks, we were whisked across to the other side. We had a clear broadside view of the damaged bridge. In spite of herculean attempts to shore it up for continued use, it tumbled into the river the following day.
The trucks sped us through the village at the banks of the river and up into the hills on the other side. The sounds of battle were with us again. We de-trucked, formed up into our respective companies and trekked out in an approach march formation, G Co. leading. Later, as we proceeded, the other companies branched off to our left and right establishing a broader advancing front. We broke out into a region of high rolling hills with broad open spaces with substantial wooded tracts dispersed here and there. As we trudged up one of those hills we were subjected to fire from, of all things, an Ack-Ack gun. The 50 caliber tracer bullets over our heads, of course, had us down on the ground. Since the tracers pinpointed the location of the gun, the 1st Platoon on the point had no difficulty in maneuvering to silence it with a few well placed grenades. We suffered no casualties in this encounter. At length, we entered a village that had previously been under artillery fire and or fighter aircraft attacks. No resistance was encountered. In the street near the center of town were two wrecked armored vehicles, still burning, along with a house or two. This was apparently our assigned phase line for the day. It was, by then late afternoon with time to establish our defensive posture against a possible counter attack, and, more important, satisfy the inner man. As to the latter, one had two choices from the menu: K or C ration. I preferred the latter.
The next day we moved on but had no further direct contact with the enemy. Near the end of the day we were again ensconced in a town for the night. Our trudge to this objective, however, was not without entertainment. With nice clear skies, we were treated to the sight of fighter aircraft flying overhead and swooping down on targets to the east and north of us. From high ground, when we were on it, we could actually see the smoke trails of the rockets they fired, and sometimes a plume of smoke from an exploding target. This usually meant one less tank or self propelled 88 that could threaten us with bodily harm. This action, quite naturally, elicited rousing cheers for the Air Force. (Go to it Baby!). This activity called Tactical Air Support was a bit of, 'Jolly well done, Pip Pip and all that', as our British counter parts would say. They were now across the Rhine along with the 9th Army and streaming out into Germany from Holland. (Could the end be far off?)
The domination of the air by our forces and the rapid movement of the armored and infantry elements ( ala Rommel's Blitzkrieg method, perfected by Patton) kept the Wehrmacht completely off balance. Daytime movements by the enemy were severely constrained. There were no more set battle engagements. The inadequate attempts to mount counter attacks were quashed almost before starting. We were getting there 'firstest with the mostest', to cite the famous dictum of General Marshall, the logistics genius of this war.
The scenario developed into a series of day to day treks and or truckings from place to place in the wake of the armored units deploying to the east toward Leipzig. Units leap frogged one another with occasional clashes, usually brief, with desperate isolated elements attempting to stem the flood. But their efforts were to no avail. It only resulted in unnecessary destruction and loss of life and limb. At least, that is how it was to my mind. (Here we are in the heart of Germany and the Russians advancing rapidly on the eastern front particularly in the direction of Berlin. The war should be ended. (Im Deutschland alles kaput!)
In the narrative following, I shall cull from this somewhat hectic activity across Germany what events that most clearly stand out in my memory. Distinctive memories of the 'uneventful' events are lost somewhere (swallowed up) in the mists of time.
Event One: After a pell mell truck ride and a four or five mile approach march, we slogged up a long high hill. Near the top we turned off the road and spread out just over the brow and began establishing a defensive posture. While I was digging my foxhole, I could not refrain at times to pause and enjoy the beautiful view from this vantage point. We were looking out over a lovely medium sized valley with forested hills just beyond. The road wound down the slope, across the narrow part of the valley to our immediate front, and up into the forested side of the hill there. It all seemed so very peaceful.(A war going on? Where,what war?) That reverie was shattered by the sound of a fighter plane flying low over our heads in the direction of the hill opposite us across the valley. Two rockets shot out from its wings as it swooped up and away into the 'wild blue'. The rockets impacted at a small open area in the woods through which the road led. They in turn initiated loud multiple explosions, reverberating through the valley, and a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris. (Wow! What a show! A close up view of an aircraft-tank encounter.) The next morning when we sped through the area in trucks a gruesome scene presented itself; a smashed burned out Tiger tank with some charred mangled bodies lying about. One of the rockets had apparently ignited the ammunition stored aboard. Our valiant fighter pilots weren't fooling around. That tank was probably maneuvering out of its hiding from under the trees to make things difficult for us, in clear view, on the hill opposite. Its movement was detected, which in turn, brought about its denouement.
Event Two: Accompanied by the sound of howitzer shells shuffling overhead and their explosions well ahead of us, we trudged along a road cutting through a forested area. We came to the edge of the woods in sight of a hilltop village undergoing bombardment by both air and ground bursts. As we came out from the trees the barrage lifted. (Perfect timing eh? Of course. Didn't you know? We've turned into a crack outfit!) We scurried up up the slope and into the village with the dust of the bombardment still settling and without a shot being fired. We executed a quick sweep of the dwellings in our now practiced fashion: smashing in doors and windows, an occasional grenade tossed in for added insurance. (In effect breaking and entering. (Under normal circumstances a felony, I believe.) Except for some enemy dead in the street not a living soul was encountered. Just inside a doorway, I inadvertently stepped on a body covered with debris. The squishy footing induced me to look more closely. Brushing some of the debris aside revealed the still warm body of a Wehrmacht officer, Lieutenant I think, and quite dead. I felt rather sickened as I went to the next house. Though the village appeared to have been deserted there were signs of some recent activity. There were some mortars, field guns and related gear laying about. Traces of the recent presence of motorized vehicles were also evident. As we were completing our sweep of the village, one of our lookouts was heard to shout,"Hey look what's coming!" Lo and begory, coming out of the woods beyond the village, was a kraut soldier waving a white cloth on the end of a long branch. When he came forth, as he was bid, others successively queued up behind him. All in all, we garnered about three dozen prisoners or so. One their members who spoke English rather well asked me where the automatic artillery came from.
Event three: It was one of our longer treks on foot through fairly rugged territory, high craggy hills, which for the most part were heavily forested. In an approach march formation, we trudged, 'up hill and down dale', along a winding road, 'into and out of', the forest tracts. Eventually we arrived at a crossroads, whereupon, we were ordered to disperse under the trees along the road and await further orders. Now, we had been on the move, either by truck or foot, for the past few days and the company kitchen had been unable to keep pace with us. Consequently, we were forced to subsist on K and C Rations and an occasional chicken and a few eggs, and of course, butter and pumpernickel bread scrounged or filched from the local citizenry. We were also reaching the vanishing point in our stores of goodies, such amenities as candy bars , cigarettes, and in my case pipe tobacco. However, we had the good fortune of having an armored unit pull up near us, two Sherman tanks and several armored personnel carriers. Their vehicles provided ample space for storing such goods, which, because of their mobility, they could use for barter amongst friend and civilian foe. In the army it got to be a well known fact, that if you needed something and were not able to obtain through normal channels, one could always obtain it from them; for a price of course. Sometimes not, it depended on the circumstances, as it was in our case. (After all, weren't we buddies facing the Hun, out there somewhere, plotting to do us all in. We're in this together). It was like a day in the PX for Co. G. For me, extra tobacco, and even, another pipe they happened to have on hand.
Event Four: G Company was held up at the edge of the village by a sniper who had taken pot shots at the approaching columns. The search and destroy mission was assigned to the 2nd Platoon. We maneuvered to enter from another direction. As we furtively moved down the street we pealed off in pairs into the houses. With the BAR man I entered the last one on the street. We proceeded with the usual technique of one covering the other as we went from room to room. It was at the last room on the second floor that a shot rang out and a bullet went by the right side of my face not more than an inch away. Startled, I fired my M1 from the hip, two shots, at the crouching figure in the doorway, who was just slamming shut the bolt on his rifle. The second shot hit and the sniper keeled over to the floor on his back. He was dead; I could tell. A clear example of the advantage of possessing a semi automatic weapon such as the M1 over that of a single shot bolt action one, such as the German Mauser. I was still shaking a bit from the fright at the first moment of the encounter, when the BAR man, a much more cold blooded man than I, as I had witnessed several times, came up to me. "Hey Sarg., that was a great shot,you hit the sun of a bitch dead to rights. I would have filled him full of lead but you turned into my line of fire and I couldn't shoot." I thought to myself, 'One careless move out of many correct ones can do you in.' Needless to say G Co. took over that piece of real estate.
Event Five: We de-trucked in a town near Kassel, a good sized German city. The 2nd Platoon took (Not asked for) lodgings in a small Inn on the main drag, where we remained in reserve for two days or so. We wallowed in things, such as, comfortable beds, decent bathing facilities, and, best of all hot chow. The Inn keeper had only recently gone off to fight and or die for 'Die Vaterland'. The Werhmacht's now more liberal induction standards allowed for the acceptance of older men as well as younger adolescent males into service. The management of the establishment was left to his, what seemed to be, rather sullen wife and his attractive daughter. (Schöne Mädchen). One could see that the mother was making a determined effort to keep her charge in tow and out of contact with those lusty 'Americanische Soldaten.' Be that as it may, early in the first day I was standing in the foyer when the mother with the lovely daughter went by and up the stairs. I, with my libido of course aroused, probably stared (ogled) at her inordinately as she went by and up the stairs. As she went up our eyes locked and she smiled. (What Ho?! Was haben sie heir? Maybe something cooks here.) However, there was the matter of the order that came down from army headquarters and issued some time past. "No fraternization with the civilian populace; 'in particular' with the women." (Verboten mit dem fräulien). From what I had heard, nobody in this division was taking this directive very seriously. In fact, it was being completely ignored, particularly the 'in particular'. I decided, if things developed, to follow suit. Things did develop. How she managed to slip out of sight of her mother, for even the few short periods we had together, I don't know. With the bit of English she knew and my smattering of German, we were able to communicate to some extent. All of which led to some kissing and petting. (Necking?). The final tryst was in the sitting room off the foyer with its windows facing the street. As we engrossed ourselves in some real heavy petting, a shout and sound of a jeep's horn came through the open windows. "Hey Beeken, we're moving out!" I looked up and out the window and there was Lt. Mahl waving me toward the jeep. With him was Capt. Maulden and a sergeant whose name I don't recall. I uttered an"Oh No!" grabbed my battle jacket and my rifle and scurried out through the window to the jeep and climbed in. Our 'love?'had been left unrequited. I can't speak for her, but that jeep sped off with one frustrated 'son of bitch' of a soldier. 'Ah well, such are the fortunes (misfortunes?)' of war. At a good clip we whipped through the center of Kassel, where the white flags were still hanging out on nearly every building. We raced through the city, leaving the rest of the company in trucks well behind, and headed in the direction of the hills to the north east.
Event Six: It was evening. We had occupied the town late that afternoon. I was in the process of assigning defensive positions for the platoon, When Ken, Lt Mahl, came up to me and said that the Captain wanted to see me. I went to the house where the company headquarters was established. Here, there were gathered a dozen men with quizzical looks on their faces. Each had been requested to be there as I had been.The Captain explained that at about 2100 we were going on a reconnaissance patrol in strength to look in on a neighboring town, where it was reported that a good sized German Panzer Group might be deployed. "I have chosen you men because of your experience and I judge you less likely to panic in what might turn out to be a tough situation. I will be leading this expedition." We were to maintain absolute silence and not fire any weapons unless it was absolutely necessary to extricate ourselves from the consequences of discovery by the enemy. At the appointed time we set out along a ridge overlooking a railroad situated down to the right. The sky was overcast with the moon behind allowing for limited visibility. I could just make out the tracks and the telephone poles and wondering if any messages were being transmitted along those wires at that moment, and when a train had last passed on those rails. We must have walked about five kilometers before the dark silhouette of our destination was visible. At which point we turned away from the railroad over the brow of the ridge and along the slope on that side toward the buildings at the edge of town. We split into two columns. I was the middle man in the one on the left. We were in an open pasture sloping down to what appeared to be a road, as near as I could make out. We continued toward the structures, which became more distinct as we neared. Suddenly a panzerfaust exploded in front. As I was hitting the ground there was a flash of light from down at the road and I just barely discerned the silhouettes of some vehicles. Then nothing, a dead silence. "Christ,"I thought to my self, "If they put a search light on this hillside and with all the weapons they have, this little party of nose pokes would be wiped out in short order." It made one feel somewhat uneasy, you might say. I readied my rifle with an antitank grenade with the idea of directing it against any searchlight should it shine forth. After about ten minutes, and nothing transpired Capt. Maulden waving his arm signaling a retreat trotted by. With alacrity I followed suit. We all quickly exited the way we came. No casualties. Later in the debriefing it was surmised that the panzerfaust was accidental or an overly nervous new recruit firing at a shadow. It had not struck anywhere near anyone in the patrol. In any event, the information about the presence of enemy forces was verified, therefore the patrol was a success. I thereupon hit the sack. Just before dawn I was awakened by the freight train sounds of the heavy stuff going overhead and explosions in the direction of the town we so briefly visited. Later that morning we trekked over to the town, this time on the road. We found, still smoldering, two tanks, several armored vehicles, a number of dead, and a dwelling or two on fire. The Panzer Group had apparently been caught flat footed and had suffered considerable losses before they could 'skee-daddle'. We secured the rest of the town without incident and settled in, hopefully, for a stay.
Where we were and what we were doing immediately before this action, for the life of me, I cannot recall. However, my recollection of the approach march, (of which I have a photograph looking back through the columns), east toward Bitterfeld along a cobble stone road and the subsequent events is quite clear, too clear perhaps. I find some aspects of it disturbing even today.
We were in the usual two column formation with F Co. leading the procession. The rumble of artillery interspersed with sharp sound of high velocity tank and anti-tank guns could be heard far to our right front where Halle was being assaulted.We were in sight of the outskirts, a suburb, of our objective, when small arms fire erupted at the head of the columns. This necessitated a halt while the lead elements skirmished with the opposition to our advance. Capt. Maulden thought it might be a good idea to reconnoiter the large pine tract to the left of the road. He suggested to (ordered?) Ken, (Oops Lt. Mahl) that he take his platoon into the woods and have a look around. A few stray Wehrmacht Soldaten may be therein that could be herded together and brought out of harms way, (kept from mischief).
Whereupon we proceeded down a lane running into the tract from the road. I took the point because curiosity won over my better Judgment. We hadn't gone very far when I spotted a Kraut soldier at the bottom of the slope. I aimed my rifle at him expecting him to throw up his hands, but instead he ducked back into the trees dropping his rifle. I fired but only managed to chip off some bark where he disappeared. If there are others about then they will be alerted. We would have to proceed with caution. When we reached the area where the kraut fled, we found several dozen civilian automobiles of various makes and ages neatly parked amongst the trees. Apparently the kraut scared off had been on guard duty. To expedite the fulfillment of the Captain's order it was decided to split up into two groups and scout out the whole woods. I lead my group toward the east side of the woods: Ken, (Lt. Mahl) led his toward the west side. Deeper into the woods on our side we came upon a large fenced in area. Within this enclosure was a collection of, what appeared to be, hastily built open structures in under the trees, and in which were stacked piles and piles of various types of ammunition.(In short a good sized ammunition dump) 'Jumpin Jiminy! We'll have to get the engineers in on this, maybe destroy it.' As we went on, the lane we were following turned to the north east and ultimately led out of the woods. The view there from the edge of the woods had a prairie like aspect to it, flat grain fields stretching out to the distance. To the east, about three kilometers away, a remarkable sight presented itself. A column of tanks and infantry on foot were moving at a walking pace on a road or highway headed north. They were accompanied by shell fire from our artillery. The air bursts over the column could be clearly seen. Apparently elements of the Wehrmacht, or what was left of them, were withdrawing from Halle with the 'Timberwolf' nipping at it's heels.
The sound of rifle fire from the west side of the woods cut our viewing short. We raced through the trees in the direction of the shots. There we found Ken's group rounding up members of an enemy patrol out of the pasture at the edge of the woods. They had been caught sneaking up on the woods through the pasture. One suffered a flesh wound in the upper leg. The others had dropped their rifles and thrown up their hands. The officer in command started crawling away from us through the shallow growth. He was in plain sight so what the hell was he thinking? He paid no heed to Ken's shouts and kept crawling, so Ken strode over and gave him a swift and lusty kick in the ass. When the officer sullenly got to his feet Ken grabbed the Luger from his holster and shoved him in with the others. The insignia on his lapels revealed him as a member of the SS, Hitler's elite corps. We lined them up, about a dozen or so, and marched back up to the road and G Co., which had since taken up residence in the small suburb to the right of the road. The prisoners were put under guard in one of the buildings. Lt. Mahl and I reported to Capt. Maulden. Apparently the existence of the ammo dump was of interest to the army engineers. I was asked (ordered?) to guide two of their inspection crew to the site.
For insurance, I took along my favorite BAR man and a rifleman. We met the pair at the entrance to the woods. They seemed to be somewhat ill at ease. (scared?). One asked if they were in the front lines. I answered that in a sense, yes, in that there was nothing between us and the enemy ; but, however, that they didn't seem to be aggressively in the immediate vicinity at the present moment. We brought them to the dump for their inspection. I wanted to go have a look at where we had previously seen the retreating enemy column under fire from our artillery. So I went, leaving my two men with them. There was no sign of the retreating enemy column, but, to my amazement, I did see coming across from my left about a hundred yards out, probably on a road leading away from the woods, a two column group in close order drill formation. They were being led at their front by an officer or a noncom, turning to the formation every so often as they marched and loudly sounding off the cadence. (Eins Swei drei veir) Except for him they were unarmed. (New recruits undergoing some basic training? In this situation?) I decided to shoot the officer, probably SS, break up this little training session, and give the recruits a little taste of combat fear. I dropped the officer neatly and the column literally evaporated, probably into the gullies along the road. Some got up and began running away from the woods as fast as they could. I fired shots over their heads and each time they would go down. After emptying my clip of eight, I figured that was enough. I went back to the ammo dump and explained what happened to calm the fears of the two engineers unnerved by the shots. My two men weren't too concerned because they knew the sound of an M1 rifle. They just wondered what the hell I had found to shoot at. The engineers had done their job so we trekked back out of the woods and to our respective units.
Upon returning to our platoon we learned that the company had orders to attack and seize the Agfa Factories at the edge of Bitterfeld across the way. While we were being briefed about the details, all I could think of how stupid it was on the part of the Germans to continue fighting. They were beaten. The war was essentially over and yet more lives were to be snuffed out, more bodies to be mangled and more destruction. It just didn't make sense and it made me angry. Yes angry enough to want to kill these idiots. 'Thus doth waging war make beasts of us all'. (to paraphrase another line of Shakespeare). Looking from a second story window, the factory complex could be seen about a kilometer or so away from closest of the cluster we now occupied. We would have to traverse a broad flat meadow, on the far side of which, on a low embankment, was a road. Immediately behind the road was a high solid wooden fence running along in front of the factory buildings, which were built up from a significantly lower ground level. One could see only the upper floors and roofs of the factory buildings and the higher portions of storage tanks in the complex. The road to the right was straddled by a small group of residential buildings at its level. Back toward us from that angle was some high ground looking suspiciously like it had been fortified. The consensus was that we should expect resistance to our advance. The attack was to begin just before dawn after a preparatory artillery bombardment. After devouring two C Rations I sacked in until awakened at about four in the morning.
We formed up, 2nd Platoon leading then 3rd and 1st Platoons in that order. At this time the Company had only occupied the buildings on the side away from the area described with only an outpost on that side. When the barrage began, we moved through the remaining houses (about a block) to the edge of the group facing the meadow, where we were to hold up until the barrage ceased. About midway, an air burst exploded nearly over head, then another, Ken who was leading hesitated. I sensed that something was wrong and urged him to move forward fast. "That's our stuff! Somebody is zeroed in wrong". We scampered ahead and ducked into the buildings at the edge of the meadow. Unfortunately the third platoon moved in to take our place when several more rounds came in as ground bursts. They suffered many heavy casualties. One of the battery guns had fired short of the designated target, which was the forward area of the factory complex and the high ground to our right. When the barrage ceased, about fifteen minutes duration, we set out across the meadow. I took the point. No sooner had we done so when out of the half light of early dawn and from the meadow appeared a dozen or so of the enemy with their hands over their heads. Again, the question was asked about the automatic artillery. What struck me was the apparent age of this bunch. Except for the leader, they must have been somewhere between fourteen and sixteen years of age. They were quickly shuffled off to the rear and we continued our advance across the meadow.
By the time we arrived close to the road the dawn was complete. I signaled for the advance to halt, knelt and scanned along the road looking for possible signs of trouble and also a place where we could get through the high fence that looked to be a very formidable barrier this close. The foxholes along the road that could be discerned were abandoned, thus from whence came our captives. There was a strong smell of ammonia in the air coming from a ruptured tank, enveloped in a white cloud, behind the fence. At the far right near the dwellings straddling the road, was a good sized section of the fence broken down with a big empty foxhole in front. I signaled a go ahead and we raced across to the gap in the fence and down into the factory area. The first building encountered at the bottom of the slope was the power station, in which as we secured it, we surprised and garnered several more deutsche soldaten. These chaps looked some what older than the previous batch. While we were thus engaged, the remainder of G Co. came down and proceeded to seize the buildings on our left along the fence. The odor of ammonia was very strong in this area.
Lt. Mahl next directed the 2nd Platoon up the ridge to the right along which stood a row of residential buildings extending over the road we had previously crossed. Again, I without thinking took the lead. At the top I was startled by a kraut at the corner of the building pulling back and shoving forward the bolt of his Mauser rifle. As he raised his weapon to fire at me, I pulled off two shots. Yes, he was dead, but so young I felt sick. But the waging of war must go on. While Ken, (Lt. Mahl) secured the buildings along the ridge and set up some outposts, I took four men, one with a BAR, Balinski I think, to establish an outpost in the building at the high point of the ridge across the road, a very exposed position to any enemy fire that might come from down below in the city. Before we crossed the road I took the precaution of making sure the front door was open. This I did by firing an anti-tank grenade at the latch area, ( a loud knock, you might say). The door amazingly, though somewhat worse for the treatment, swung open. We scurried across into the building and set up the outpost at 2nd floor window, which had an excellent view of the road as it turned slightly left and down the ridge into the city.
When I returned to other side of the road I found Ken and a rifleman between the first and second buildings shooting at a kraut soldier with his rifle running down the slope of a small meadow, which ended at the first line of buildings of the city below. He kept running. Those carbines officers carry are notorious for their inaccuracy. One could not hit the side of a barn door with them. Though a platoon sergeant is also authorized to carry one, I was not about about to exchange my trusty M1 for that damn thing. Though the M1 was heavier by a considerable amount, its accuracy was more than worth the effort to carry it. Anyway I aimed, allowing a little lead, fired and he went down. I could tell by the way he fell that he was probably dead before he hit the ground. I later learned that the bullet went through his head just below the brim of his helmet. I had aimed higher than intended or he had decided to duck at that moment. A company runner appeared with the remnants of the 3rd Platoon, informed us where the company headquarters had been established, and that the Captain wanted a reconnaissance of the rail yard and buildings beyond the power station and the large building, the third floor of which was now the company Headquarters. We formed up a patrol of adequate size and combed through the freight cars in the yard and the buildings beyond without encountering any of the enemy. After a suitable outpost was established, Ken and I then went to report to the Captain taking with us a rifleman and a BAR man. We found the headquarters cadre at the windows facing west popping away with their puny carbines at Kraut riflemen scurrying to the high ground on the left. The range was about a hundred and fifty yards. The four of us added to their volleys with our more formidable weapons, particularly the BAR set on automatic fire. It was a turkey shoot. The BAR probably cut down most of them. We were never informed as to how many were killed and wounded.
After giving our report, we returned to our stations along the ridge. In one of the residences evidence of a recent habitation was discovered in a kitchen. It's table was set with a loaf of pumpernickel, a tub of butter and some fruit preserves. It was well past breakfast time by then, so we sat down to assuage the inner man. While we were enjoying the repast we were startled by the sound of machine gun fire and the sharp boom of high velocity cannon. We quickly grabbed our weapons and went to the front room whose windows looked out over the little meadow and to the right the road leading down into the city. There, coming up the road, was a tank with two columns of infantry. The tank fired again at the building in which I had set up an outpost when we first came in. We started shooting at the infantry but the angle from which we had to aim was awkward and the road was partially obscured by some trees. When the machine gun fire from the bottom of the meadow began to sweep in our direction we had to back away from the windows. Fearing a coordinating counter attack from the meadow we vacated the outposts along the ridge and retreated down into the rail yards. The BAR man and myself were the last men to leave. Since I still had two anti-tank grenades, I toyed with the idea of sneaking up along the back side of the houses to the ones on the road, taking the BAR man for fire cover, and positioning myself where I could 'get' me a tank. Too many unknowns, I thought, besides all of which, coward that I was, why should I risk my life and limb now that the end of this fucking war was so near. 'Forget it!'. When I got down among the others I went to the area between the power station and the Company headquarters building, where I could see the two buildings up on the ridge bracketing the road. As I was adjusting the launch adapter to the muzzle of my rifle, the tank fired a round along the fence, probably at a target in the next intersection. I, again, nearly jumped out of my skin. However, that action did indicate for me that the the tank was between the two buildings. So I set the rifle in a mortar like attitude and lobbed the grenades therein. (At the least we would give the krauts a good scare). After the two explosions the sound of the tank's motor grew fainter.
As I was wondering about the fate of the men in the outpost up there, the Company runner appeared and informed us that the tank and the small group of infantry had withdrawn. They had observed the whole affair from their third floor vantage point. They had considered calling for heavy mortar fire, but, because of the presence of our men in the outpost in one of the buildings, refrained. My two grenades detonated close to the tank, one in front and the other on its right side. They probably reasoned that they were being zeroed in and decided to pull out. We were ordered to return to the high ground. Lt. Mahl had the platoon plus the extras divided into two groups. I was to lead one of the groups up the ridge from the rail yard side of the power station He was to lead the other group up from the opposite side. Just as I was going to lead from the cover of the freight cars a panzerfaust exploded on a tank car down to our left. I hesitated, then made a quick scan of the area from the top of a box car, and decided it was just a random launch and that an attack from that from quarter was highly unlikely. When we arrived at the top of the ridge, Lt Mahl was already there with his group. He was annoyed that they had gone up alone without us covering. My explanation cleared up the matter. We then proceeded to determine, with some foreboding, how the men in the exposed outpost had fared. Except for one, they were a little shaken but alive.This is their account of the action.
"We were having a field day picking off Krauts coming off the high ground to the right of the road. They were trying to get on to the road and down into the city. Then this tank, all of sudden appeared on the road at the bottom of the slope, raised it's cannon and blasted a hole through the masonry of the third floor. We got the hell out of that second story room and as we were tumbling down the stairs another shell blew in the wall of that room. We scrambled into a room furthest from that side and laid down flat against the far wall, except for one of us. He panicked and ran out the front door and was cut down in a hail of fire from a Burp Gun.(A crudely fabricated Machine Pistol, but effective at close range.) Then we heard, probably an officer, yelling, "Come out with your hands up, bring your wounded!" We just laid there, not moving a muscle. We could hear the tank moving up right in front. Then the tank fired again down the road. A little later came what sounded like two mortar rounds and we heard the tank going back down the road. We stayed hunkered down for a bit expecting a mortar barrage."
I looked at the body of the dead fellow. The grouping of the bullet holes in his body indicated that the shooting took place at fairly close quarters, no doubt the officer, probably SS. I recognized the dead man as one of the several replacements, straight out of basic training, that had arrived in the previous week. Again I felt angry and sickened by the stupidity of this continuing and unnecessary conflict, and felt a little less uncomfortable about my participation in the killing fields during the day.
That afternoon a Sherman tank joined us and with the 2nd Platoon leading we moved down the road into the city proper. My favorite BAR man, I think his name was Balinski, took the point. I stayed along side of the tank behind him. When he reached the bottom of the slope, where the road turned right and became a street through the closely packed city buildings, Shots rang out and bullets ricocheted off the street. It sounded like a short burst from some kind of automatic weapon. Balinski was wounded in the neck, not fatally, and got himself out of the line of fire of the next possible burst. The Sherman tank moved down to the bend turned and faced down the street. Nothing was happening so I walked out fifty feet or so in front of the tank. Then, a block or so down the street, a kraut soldier ran out of a building, got on a bicycle and started to ride off. I aimed my rifle to shoot him, when (VAROOM!!) the god damned tank had fired its cannon at the poor bastard. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke, dust and debris. I, again, jumped out of my skin. 'How many times had I done that? It was getting to be a habit.' Christ!**#! My ears hurt. Then I was overwhelmed with anger. I walked back to the tank and vented my fury by raging at and cursing out the Lieutenant who was in command. My rifle could have done the job without so much fucking noise. He could have had me court marshaled for insubordination to a superior officer, but instead offered an apology and an invitation to ride on the tank with him for the remainder of the advance into the city. My anger assuaged by my outburst, I accepted. We proceeded well into the city without any further encounter, the sounds of battle diminishing as we went. Tinnitus again remained with me for some time.
We finally pulled into another factory complex. F Company had preceded us and the area was in complete chaos. In the middle of the campus was a group of jerry built barracks and from which a swarm of women of various ages had emerged. They were milling about cheering, hugging and kissing GIs. They were mostly, as it turned out, from Slavic countries employed as slave labor in the factories. A few even provided a bottle of schnapps for the celebration. I felt already too drained emotionally and physically weary to join in the festivities and sat down on a door sill to simply watch. Then I noticed a rather attractive girl attempting to evade the crude advances of a fellow who obviously had no talent for the more subtle methods of seduction. Like Sir Galahad, I went to the rescue of the damsel in distress. "Hey buddie I think you're having trouble. Don't you think you're pushing it a little hard?" "Yeah, I guess so. She's a real cunt. You can have her and good luck." He walked off. We spent what remained of the afternoon together getting acquainted. Her name was Helena, she was from some small city in Hungary, and she spoke German rather well. She even knew a smidgen of English and obviously was possessed of no mean intelligence. She was two years my junior and was very much a women and not a girl and I very much wanted to go to bed with her. I had the feeling that she had warmed to me also. That evening after chow, (Our kitchen had caught up with us.) we met, as prearranged. I brought some goodies from the chow line, which she devoured ravenously. I suspected that these people were not particularly well fed during their incarceration here. We engaged in some necking for a while, and since it was turning quite chilly, she suggested we go to a meeting of her people. We sat through some talks and sang some songs none of which I understood or knew. We kissed good night, set a time to meet again late in the morning and she to her barracks, me to my billet in a factory building. I never saw her again.
In the morning the platoon headquarters was established in one of the buildings housing the drafting rooms. We found some cots and set up our beds amidst the drafting tables. After tending to some minor duties I went to the barracks to meet Helena, but she was no where to be found. "Wo Helena, where Helena," I kept asking everybody in the barracks. The only response I could obtain was a shrug of the shoulders and shake of the head. 'Ich weis es nicht.' I tried again that afternoon and the following morning to no avail. She had vanished.
In the following weeks we moved several times to different towns near Halle, Liepzig and the Mulde river. We were no longer operating under combat conditions. Fighting had effectively ceased. The Division occupied a broad front along the Mulde river north to Dessau from Liepzig. Our only military activity was patrol duty in the area between the Mulde and the Elbe river to the east. G company was called upon only once to assay a patrol into the area. I was not invited to go along, though I would have liked to. The encounters experienced by the patrols consisted mainly of directing elements of the Wehrmacht, fleeing the Russians, to crossings over the Mulde river, and into prisoner compounds. The Russian Army was rapidly enveloping the east side of the Elbe river.
Then the 2nd Battalion of the 415th Regiment was assigned the role of occupying Dessau, where somewhere in the city, G Co. was given the responsibility of establishing and manning a watch station at a bridge over the Elbe river. I have a photograph of the street on which the platoon headquarters was located. As this endeavor was being organized we learned of the surrender of the German High Command and the official cessation of hostilities. It was a sort of anti-climax, because we,already,for some time had felt it was over. (For the Wehrmacht alles kaput) Closely following this news was the notice of the death of Lewis, my younger brother, from the War Department. He had been cut down, by one of those stupid fanatical attempts to stay the inevitable at the Elbe river, in the 9th Army sector north of us. He was awarded the Silver Star for valor in the action involved. For the next day, or so, I was in no mood to join in the boozey celebrations going on in the Company. I brooded about my brother's death and the senselessness of it all. And how many brothers had I 'done in' during that stupid bloody day in Bitterfeld, which must have been around the same time, maybe even the same day."What about that poor guy gunned down at the outpost? Who's brother was he? Why my brother and not me?" My mind finally became all boggled up. Ken (Lt. Mahl) who had been doing his best to comfort me finally induced me to come to the party and have a drink. One drink led to another, and another, etc. and for the first time in my life, I had not only drank hard liquor, but had gotten stinking drunk. There was a loose fraulein, a quite attractive blonde, among those milling about who attached herself to me. I made the usual overtures with the intention of taking her to bed with me. In the course of that courtship during the evenings jollity, I became quite ill. I went outside and up-chucked every thing in my stomach and after which I had no stomach, you might say, for sex that night. I went to my bed and, for the first time in quite a while, had a good cry and went to sleep.
When I awoke the next morning I resolved not to think about the God damned war anymore and move on, performing my various duties and enjoying the little pleasures that came my way. There were, during our extended stay in Dessau, three other women, besides the blonde, with whom I became intimate. One with which, I also went to bed. The time required to fulfill my duties as a Platoon Sgt., including that of a Staff Sgt., since we didn't have one, was minimal. As a consequence, I had plenty of free time.
One day early in our stay, I was on the bridge after changing the watch when a small group of Russian soldiers strode onto the bridge. They halted, and what looked and acted like a high ranking officer came up to me. In broken English he asked for the whereabouts of our headquarters. Motioning him to follow me, I took him to Platoon Headquarters where fortunately I found Lt. Mahl, who in turn took the party to Company Headquarters. When he returned he informed me that the officer in question was the equivalent of a Brigadier General, his comrades lower ranking officers of various grades, their ultimate destination being Division Headquarters. He also said he had some bad, and maybe, some good news for me regarding my promotion to that fifth stripe. Among the replacements being sent us was a brand new Platoon Sargent from the states and that my promotion from Technical Sargent would remain in a pending status. Army regulations did not allow for two sergeants of that rank in the same platoon. However as a consolation prize, so to speak, I was being offered a battlefield commission and be sent to OCS (Officers Cadre School) near Paris. For the the latter, it was an emphatic 'No Way!' from me. I did not want to be caught up in the active reserves or have anything to do with anything military after the war was over. As to the former I didn't really care. What the hell difference was one more stripe going to mean. I would get it sooner or later anyway unless death caught up to me first, which seemed to me more likely if I was to experience any more combat.
It was generally assumed that we would become part of the Army of Occupation in Germany. But 'Gung-ho' General Terry Allen must have wrangled for himself and his Division a role in the PTO, (Pacific Theater of Operations). Specifically, participation in the planned invasion of Japan was to be our destiny. This was not a very happy prospect to be sure, particularly for me. I wondered about my chances of survival in another tour of duty under combat conditions. I didn't feel very optimistic about it. The strategy for fulfilling this commitment went as follows: The Division would move by rail to Le Havre, board ships and sail back to the States. Every man would be given a thirty day furlough. The Division would reassemble at Camp San Luis Obispo, California, where intensive training in pacific war tactics, particularly beach assaults, would take place. Except for the furlough, this didn't at all appear to be a very bright future. 'But then maybe Japan will fold before we get there'. Hope springs eternal!
The rest is history. The two A-Bombs were dropped while I was on furlough. Now I could shove the war experience out of my mind and get on with my education, that would be immeasurably expedited by the provisions in that great piece of legislation the GI Bill of Rights.
FINI
So what does this one particular minuscule experience among billions in the history of Homosapiens as a sentient biochemical chemical organism mean?????? Perhaps a meaningless question, Huh, maybe?? So many questions and so few answers.