JCSM Shareware Collection 1996 September

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * THE 4TH HOLDS AT THE BELGIAN-GERMAN BORDER * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * After the 4th Division penetrated the Siegfried Line, it received orders not to advance any further. For several weeks, I enjoyed the relative comfort and safety of a German pillbox and had time to write letters home. These indicated that I was getting weary of the war and becoming more uncertain about how long it would last. The failure of Montgomery's Market-Garden (dramatized in the film A Bridge Too Far) depressed us all, particularly since our advance had been halted in order to divert supplies to that ill-advised and tragic operation. Dear Dad, Somewhere in Germany, September 25, 1944 Surely Germany, or many Germans, shall die by the sword. Unfortunately, with them they are taking many of us. However, as contrasted with the last war, I feel sure that the Germans are taking by far the heaviest losses. It is needless to say that this is hardly a tasteful business. At times, when the fighting is bitterest, it all seems quite futile. It is hard to convince oneself that it can all come to any good. Nevertheless, we have committed ourselves to the fight, and the only thing is to push it to a successful conclusion. Frankly, I worry less and less about my future after the war and more and more about getting the blasted thing finished and getting out of the army once it is over. Your son, John Dear Folks, September 30, 1944, Somewhere in Germany For your information, the war can very easily last into and through the winter. The next month ought to tell the story. But you shouldn't get to celebrating too early. There may be much difficult work ahead for all of us. Happy to hear that some packages are on the way. Please do send some stationary by a quick means, though. This is a critical item. Not much else to say. Love, John In the short interval between this letter and the next one, we moved from the Schnee Eifel north to Hunnange (Huenningen), Belgium. This is a small town east of Malmedy, which was to become notorious during the Bulge. Just in front of us was the Siegfried Line. Captain Ralph Thomas, who was wounded shortly after our landing, rejoined the First Battalion as S-3 (plans and operations) shortly before this move. His predecessor had been killed in the Schnee Eifel when another officer stepped on a mine. The Germans were launching buzz bombs not far ahead of us. These left a vivid impression, because we would hold our breaths until they got overhead. At that point, we could be sure that, if the motor cut off, they would not fall on us. I do not recall our giving a great deal of thought to where they might be falling. That was someone else's problem. During this period, I had quite a bit of leisure time, since we were making no attempt to advance. The only movement was by patrols which went out routinely to make contact with units on our flanks and to be sure Germans were not trying to infiltrate into our lines. The battalions took turns at the front. When in reserve, they used the time to clean up and train, particularly for assaults on strong points. DURING OUR PAUSE, I HAVE TIME TO WRITE A LOT OF LETTERS Dear Folks, October 3, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium A German, mother, reacts just as any other European when a war passes him. He may leave his manure pile temporarily when the fighting is right upon him, but when it moves a few miles beyond - even though he may still be subject to artillery - he returns and carries on with his life. There is no mass evacuation, no scorched earth other than that we destroy, and no obvious opposition. It is no secret that the war has seemingly stopped at the borders of the Reich. How long it will remain halted is yet to be seen. But there is little doubt in my mind that our commanders intend for us to spend the winter on the West Wall, its approaches, or just through it. My best love to all, John The following letter was written on a sheet of toilet paper. Dear Folks, October 18, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium As you can see, the stationary shortage is serious. Love, John Dear Folks, October 18, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium Without going into any details, I will tell you that my section and I are occupying a Belgian home for a few days rest. Of course, it is not really a rest; it's more an opportunity to get our clothes cleaned up and our equipment in condition. Dad can tell you about the rain at this time of year in this part of the world. The sun rarely shines; it rains every day; and when it isn't raining the sky is usually overcast. Dirt roads become quagmires. It isn't really cold yet, but it's getting that way. My usual abode is in a slit trench, covered over with timber and dirt. Even with a shelter-half over this, I woke up the other morning and thought I was in a quartermaster shower. I have a couple of kids in my section. They're really just children. It's in some ways a pity they have to see all this before they're really old enough to leave their mothers. As for letters to Margaret, apparently I've slipped up here. But notice, my letters are started "Dear Folks" and are intended for all of you. There is neither news enough nor time enough to write to individuals. Enclosed in this envelope is a letter to Margaret, though. All my love, John Dear Dad, October 19, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium Your letter on the weather, German resistance, etc. was a source of encouragement for me and several of my fellow officers. We are buckling down to a resumption of close, difficult fighting. Incidentally, yours and the family's letters sound like a Safety First Program. You all should know that anyone who has seen as much of this as we have soon comes to the conclusion that wars are not won by individuals. All of us have long since gotten over the sight-seeing attitude toward the war, at least all of us who have had machine guns, rifles, 88s, rockets, etc. cut loose at us at one time or another and sometimes all at once. If this war should get me, I sincerely hope I'm not some place I had no business. Your son, John Dear Dad, October 26, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium Unquestionably, one's chances are better if he has taken advantage of lessons learned. Take that mortar for example. Every time I've gone up to one of our OP's for the past three days, Jerry had chosen that particular time to fire about ten mortar rounds at it. He makes one mistake, though. He fires one round to check his data and then throws in the others. But that first round gives us time to get into our fox-holes, and no one is hurt. Today I took a corps artillery officer to the OP. The familiar mortar round fell, several hundred yards away. "Come on," I said to our visitor, "Let's get into our holes." Already I could hear the cough of the other rounds coming. He looked puzzled but followed me. The rounds fell harmlessly around us. Later, he asked me how I knew to get in a hole. After an explanation, he said, "Glad to know that. I'd have been sitting there yet, had you not warned me." He's right on all but one point. He wouldn't have been sitting there. No doubt you have read that Jerry is using his robot bomb on the 1st Army. This is one time it is good to be a front line soldier. It is a source of much satisfaction that we no longer need worry about killing innocent French and Belgians with our fire, as too often happened. I'll never forget how sick I was, when investigating the effect of our fire on a farmhouse in Normandy, to find that among the casualties was a young farm girl, killed while she was milking a cow. I've given up trying to make rhyme or reason of this business. It's really an insane nightmare that fails to fall into a sensible pattern. Let's all hope that in due time it will end. These days find me in good spirits, and quite recovered from the "nerves" I had acquired while we were pressed so hard. Your son, John Dear Folks, October 28, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium You all get the impression, no doubt, that this war is all rain, cold food, and living in fox-holes. For the rifle companies and the troops in the front lines this is largely true. However, from there on back the troops usually manage to live in increasing comfort as you go to the rear. The front lines are held by the rifle platoons, supplemented by the machine guns of the heavy weapons company. In the attack the rifle company commander and his command group stay pretty close up to the riflemen. When the situation stabilizes, there is frequently a house near enough to the front lines to be used as a company command post. If not, they live in dug-outs. This is not too good. The next installation is the infantry battalion command post, where I do my work. In the attack, unless it is a fast moving situation, we displace from house to house. At first, when we were new in the business, we worked in tents. However, we soon realized that you can't operate in the rain and dark. Thus, almost everyone works in buildings. This is never any problem, since the people often evacuate their homes; and, if they don't, we just have them move over. Right now, for example, we're living in a nice little hunter's lodge. The officers sleep in the bunks and eat out of the house's dishes. Headlights are taken off the jeeps and run inside for light. We have picked up a commercial radio, so our life is fairly complete. Stray cows are in abundance and occasionally someone bags a deer, so we have steak or venison or chicken almost every day. Everyone shaves daily and bathes once a week at showers a couple of miles to the rear. As a whole, the only thing missing is the opposite sex. Now a few of the men and officers are getting to go to Paris for 48 hour passes. This, naturally, is going almost entirely to those in the rifle companies. With the radio we keep well abreast of the news, through the Allied Expeditionary Force's program of the BBC and the Allied Forces Network. Also Jerry stations broadcast some good music, if you can stomach their silly propaganda. No one discourages the men listening to this, as the results are d----d little, if any. Our paper is the Stars and Stripes, which everyone reads from one end to the other daily. Then there is the weekly Yank, almost as eagerly devoured. Pocket sized books are plentiful. I've read My Son, My Son, Foreign Policy by Lippman, Paul Gallico's Short Stories, Jane Eyre, and several others. However, it is sometimes difficult to find a decent book you haven't read. Somehow we don't see Bing Crosby, Dina Shore, etc. at the front, at least not our part of the front. One USO show - a good one -did come our way just after the breakthrough. Love, John BILL SYDNOR AND I MAKE A VISIT TO SPA, BELGIUM Dear Folks, November 3, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium The other day there was an opportunity to go on a one day pass. Lt. Bill Sydnor and I learned that Spa was on limits now, so we decided to go there. I was talking to Mr. Rinehimer, our personnel officer, about noon one day, and he told me that this village was available to troops. Going over to our CP I found Bill Sydnor. He liked the suggestion, and we talked to the colonel. The colonel acceded to our wishes, and before he could turn around, we were on our way. We went in a jeep, taking a driver and a "body guard" to keep the driver company. After a cold drive to Spa, we started immediately to look for a room, before it got dark. After some disappointments we got a sergeant to take us to a small, but very nice, apartment hotel. Its proprietor, a Mrs. Boland, is the wife of a colonel in the US Army. She was stranded in Belgium by the war and elected to remain. Her son and two daughters got out just in time. The rooms, one for Bill and me and the other for the men, were very nice. Rich furnishings and a wonderfully soft bed. Private baths are uncommon on the continent, but there was a nice bathroom on our floor. This was the first time I have been in a tub since June 6, although now we get an opportunity to use QM showers every week or two. After cleaning up, Bill and I asked Mrs. Boland to recommend a restaurant. She sent us just across the street to Restaurant Esperiere. There we had a vegetable soup, french fried potatoes, peas, and STEAK, with wine to drink. For dessert we had a fresh apple (another first) and grapes. Also, we bought ice cream at a corner from a vendor. My, I thought I was in heaven. During our meal a Captain Stevenson, who used to be General Roosevelt's aide-de-camp, came into the restaurant. He is now our division's PRO (public relations officer). I got acquainted with him during the Normandy landing. He suggested we come over to the Portugal Bar after dinner. We did. He, a Red Cross girl, and a group of reporters were having a little party. Among the group was your city's Cy Peterman, a likeable, loquacious individual. Another was Henry Gorrell of United Press. Then there were various and sundry reporters from London and American newspapers. We had a fine time, the party dissolving about 0200. We slept late the next morning, then window shopped, and had dinner. Shortly thereafter we took off for our work again. These brief interludes are pleasant and refreshing, but they also make it that much harder to return to the realities of the present. In Spa, one would think himself in the States. Only when a buzz-bomb goes by or some planes soar overhead would one know there was anything unusual going on. There are trolleys running and the city has been unmarked by the war. Incidentally this IS the Spa you've heard so much about with its mineral baths. Things go well for us all. The mail has been a bit light lately, but it will come in a rush one of these days. My love, John This letter requires a few comments. Henry Gorrell will make another appearance in my discussion of the Huertgen Forest fighting. In retrospect, after the telephone conversation with Stevenson mentioned in Chapter 2, I wish I had spent more time that evening in Spa talking to him about his experiences with General Roosevelt. They make a fascinating story. Also, it might have been best not to go to Spa, for it gave me an idea of how the other half lived. The contrast between life at a higher headquarters and the front was striking, and I began to regret my decision to turn down an offer in the US to become a general's aide, in order to remain with my friends. Dear Dad, November 6, 1944, Somewhere in Belgium An interest in current affairs has helped many times in the army. While in training it enabled me to give fairly decent lectures to my battery and later the battalion. Even now, in the form of a bull session, I enjoy talking to and keeping my section informed. Just now I finished discussing the current situation on the western front with them, and it's amazing how interested they are in this subject. As a whole, they do not stay too well informed by themselves, and they take my word for most of my facts. No doubt many would call it propaganda, since I always try to paint an optimistic picture for them. But certainly no phase in our fighting here has warranted anything else. Believe me, combat has taught me a new appreciation of the enlisted men. They really do lead a dog's life, especially as compared with the officers, in garrison. Here we all live about the same, and we've gotten along very well. Now on the matter of an education. I've about decided that I'd like to study for several years - after a visit home - in England. There is no question but that England and the US are going to be interdependent when this war is ended. Knowing the English, how to get on with them, and how to get them to do things will perhaps be very important to anyone thinking in terms of a diplomatic career. Your son, John Dearest Margaret, November 6, 1944 Received your letter of October 21. The other day while at Spa I bought twenty Christmas cards and was amazed to find that this still fell five short of the number of people with whom I correspond. The truth is that I probably write more letters than I receive. When the time is plentiful, and it often is, I enjoy sitting down and writing long letters. Love, John I FORGET MYSELF LONG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS CONCERN There are two undated V-MAIL letters which would have been sent in early November, 1944. They indicate that perhaps for the first time I was becoming really concerned with the welfare of my family. Unfortunately, this concern was later to prove well founded. Dear Mother, I am very happy to hear that dad is coming along so well. At first I didn't know that he was as ill as he was, and when I heard he was, I was quite upset. But now that he is getting better, I am quite relieved. Dad apparently is going back to civilian life before too long. Since he was the first in the army, perhaps it is a good omen, and the rest of us will follow him in proper order and at not too great a time interval. Love, John The following letter was addressed to my father at the Valley Forge General Hospital, Phoenixville, Pennsylvania: Dear Dad, I am sorry to hear of mother's illness. I must improve the tone of cheerfulness in my letters to her. I'm afraid we tend to feel too sorry for ourselves over here and forget that we must consider the feelings of those back home. Don't worry about this job here. In due time we'll get the opportunity to finish this business up. We all hope that it will be done with a minimum of cost, and no doubt our commanders have this factor uppermost in their minds. We'll trust it goes as they plan it. Your son, John These letters were probably the last ones home from Belgium. Shortly later, the Division moved north into Germany again to get ready for what turned out to be its most difficult battle, in the Huertgen Forest. It is an understatement to say that I did not look forward to writing that chapter, for I shall never reconcile myself to what happened there.