JCSM Shareware Collection 1996 September/JCSM Shareware Collection (JCS Distribution) (September 1996).ISO/elec_bks/letdos1.zip/CHAP15

Text File | 1994-03-22 | 32KB | 591 lines

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          *      THE 4TH HELPS PUSH BACK THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE       *
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          With Hitler's offensive in the Ardennes defeated, Eisenhower
          was anxious to move on to the Rhine. He did not, however,
          have only German forces to contend with. While negotiating
          with Stalin in Yalta in early February, Roosevelt and
          Churchill were also coping with the conflicting pressures
          from their military regarding strategy and command. In
          order to fend off British demands, Eisenhower decided to
          give priority to Montgomery's forces on the north. At the
          same time, he had to take into account Bradley's desire to
          restore the prestige he lost by being caught off base in
          December. In addition, Patton was unlikely to sit still, no
          matter what the strategy was. Eisenhower supplemented his
          decision to return the First Army to Bradley by
          recommending that he get a fourth star. When ordering
          Patton to halt his attacks in early February, Eisenhower
          authorized him to continue "probing attacks now in
          progress," well knowing how Patton would interpret this.

          The 4th Division, which had fallen into Patton's Third Army
          as a result of the Bulge, remained in it throughout February
          and part of March. During that time, it found itself involved
          in two attacks into Germany. In order to make the first of
          these, it moved in late January from Luxembourg back to
          Belgium east of St. Vith, where it had been the previous fall.
          On January 29, the 8th attacked toward the Siegfried Line
          and ran into resistance before reaching the German border.
          As February opened, the First Battalion was in reserve, and
          I had time to write home.

          Dear Folks, February 1, 1945, Belgium

          This going from one country to another is certainly going to
          make going from state to state a tame business. France,
          Belgium, Germany, Belgium, Germany, Luxembourg, and
          now Belgium.

          No doubt many relatives will wonder whether packages have
          arrived. Probably they have. I've written to some, mentioned
          others to you. Frankly, things have been moving so fast
          since the Jerry drive, I've scarcely cared to read my mail.

          My love, John

          Shortly after this letter was written, we resumed the attack,
          and it was over a week before we paused.

          Dear Folks, February 12, 1945, Germany

          And now we find ourselves once again in Germany. It
          doesn't look any better this time than it did either of the
          other times we were in it. But perhaps we should get used
          to it, since it looks as though we will spend a little time in
          it.

          The weather is very difficult here just now. It wasn't too bad
          when it was cold and the snow was on the ground, but now
          that it is thawing, cold, and raining, it is really miserable.
          Thus, it looks as though spring is coming and with it the
          mud. One doesn't realize what a curse this is until he has
          to work, live, and fight in it.

          We have just concluded some of the most successful action
          we have seen this campaign. Perhaps it is hard for you to
          keep up with us. Echternach, then crossing the Sauer at
          Bettendorf, now cracking the Westwall and capturing
          Brandscheid (despite the fact that the Stars and Stripes
          erroneously gave the 90th the credit.)

          We've fought in so many places, on so many types of
          terrain, and against so varied kinds of defense, it no longer
          seems to matter where, when or how we fight. Sometimes
          we think that the war will never end and that we shall go
          on fighting forever. But end one day it must. Surely, fools
          that we humans be, we shall not endure this stupidity
          forever. But as long as the men who make wars are not the
          same as those who fight them, it will go on.

          I judge from dad's letters that he has gone to work for the
          Burlington at Chicago.

          My love, John

          The official US Army history began its description of the
          action I referred to in my letter as follows:

          The VIII Corps's 4th Division knew the demolished pillboxes
          well; it was the same unit that had attacked the Schnee
          Eifel in September. The division would get a rare opportunity
          to refight an earlier engagement over the same ground,
          under similar conditions of enemy strength, against at least
          one of the earlier opponents. Little would be changed except
          the weather and stronger support on the division's flanks."
          (Charles B. MacDonald, The Last Offensive, page 86.)

          Although generally correct, I would add a few qualifications.
          In the first place, our forces had destroyed only part of the
          pillboxes before the German offensive. Secondly, most of the
          people who were in the 8th in September were no longer
          with us, having been killed or seriously wounded in the
          Huertgen or Luxembourg.

          After a drive over icy roads which were overcrowded with
          traffic, we found ourselves looking eastward toward the
          Schnee Eifel. We were once again on what we called the
          Skyline Drive, a scenic road which overlooked the valley
          between us and the Siegfried Line. The commander of the
          First Battalion at that time was Major Lewis W. (Bill)
          Leemey, who had been battalion Executive Officer. He was
          both energetic and imaginative and made an excellent
          battalion commander, whom the company commanders
          respected. (Letzelter had gone one day to the aid station
          with a severe headache and never returned to the battalion.)

          Since Ralph Thomas, the battalion S-3, and I had been in
          the fortified area in September, we went over the map and
          briefed Major Leemey on the lay of the land. After thinking
          a moment, he decided that the battalion would break all the
          rules of behavior for Americans. Instead of attacking at
          dawn along a road after an artillery preparation, we would
          attack at night along a stream bed without an artillery
          preparation. He approved, however, my suggestion to fire
          light artillery at road junctions behind the German lines, in
          the hope of disrupting their telephone communications.

          The attack was far more successful than we could even
          hope. Using the oldest trick in warfare, the first troops had
          German speaking men in the lead. When challenged by a
          German sentry, they replied in German that they were a
          returning patrol. After killing the sentry, two companies
          assembled in the German lines. At dawn, they attacked
          north and south. When, at noon, Leemey asked them by
          radio for their locations, he thought they had made a
          mistake and asked them to repeat the coordinates. When
          they confirmed them, we realized they had cleared several
          miles of the fortifications. In doing this, they took 138
          prisoners and had only one casualty.

          One reason for this success was a procedure used for
          attacking pillboxes, which came from the knowledge gained
          in September. The trick was to approach the pillbox from
          the rear, where there were no embrasures for the Germans
          to fire from. Climbing to the top, soldiers would drop white
          phosphorus grenades down the air shaft. Anyone inside
          would promptly come out, with his hands up.

          Another reason for this success was that the German line
          was manned by the 326th Volksgrenadier Division, a poorly
          trained unit which had been fighting since December 16 and
          was only a skeleton. Most of those poor souls were by that
          time thoroughly tired of the war. They would fire as long as
          they felt safe but surrender promptly when they felt
          threatened.

          At one point, we occupied a farm which we had also used
          in September. At that time, we got along very well with the
          farm woman, who would bake cakes for us with flour we
          furnished. By the time we returned in February, Eisenhower
          had issued his non-fraternization policy. This meant we
          could only speak to Germans on business. Noting the
          change in behavior of the men, the woman asked me, "Why
          are your men so unfriendly, Captain? Are they angry
          because our soldiers chased them out of here in December?"

          Another scene was not so amusing. I came across a field in
          which an artillery battery had been located. The guns were
          still there, and equipment was scattered all over the place.
          Clearly, the Germans had caught our troops by surprise and
          overrun it easily. The battery was in the same position one
          of ours had occupied in September, not far from the front
          lines. Had it been further back, it might not have been
          captured.


          UNPLEASANT SIGHTS AND A SUCCESSFUL ATTACK

          There were also other unpleasant sights, which Col. Johnson
          has described in his history of the 12th Regiment:

          On those days, melting snow revealed the bodies of both
          German and American soldiers upon the ground where they
          had been frozen into weird shapes after they had fallen in
          winter battles. Hundreds of dead cattle littered the fields and
          destroyed vehicles lined the roads along with the carcasses
          of the horses that had been used to pull enemy supply
          vehicles. Most of the small towns had been either partially
          or completely destroyed and the wreckage lay untouched
          where it fell. Human excreta was deposited in the corners of
          rooms where the fighting had been at such close quarters
          that even leaving the buildings was an invitation to death.
          (Col. Gerden F. Johnson, History of the Twelfth Infantry
          Regiment in World War II, page 309.)

          Although our penetration of the Westwall was a great
          success, we had no sooner entered it than an ancient enemy
          struck. Almost everyone in the battalion got diarrhea. This
          did not improve on the sanitary conditions. As we advanced
          on east through two feet of snow, we left a trail of brown
          spots and toilet paper behind us.

          At one point, we found ourselves in bushes alongside a
          road. Suddenly we saw a group of Germans marching by.
          Since Leemey was unwilling to reveal our position by
          shooting at them, I called for artillery fire. When the
          Germans started to run, I told the fire direction center to
          increase the range gradually. I have no idea whether these
          shells hit any of the Germans, since they disappeared over
          the hill. Nevertheless, I appreciated a chance to fire at
          people I could see, a task normally reserved to the forward
          observers.

          Another time, I was sitting on a hill and could see German
          tanks on a hill on the opposite side of the valley. When I
          called for fire, a few of the shells hit the tanks. As far as I
          could see, however, they did no great damage, since the
          tanks were able to move out of sight.

          After taking a part of the Westwall, the 4th continued its
          attack east until the 22nd Regiment on February 11
          captured Pruem, which had been beyond our grasp in
          September. By that time, however, the supply situation was
          again difficult. On February 13, we were treated to an air
          drop of supplies. Nevertheless, we had to pause for over two
          weeks.

          During this breather, I was again made aware of a narrow
          escape. The house in which the battalion headquarters was
          located was under artillery fire. Our telephone lines were
          cut. My radio operator and I ran out to our jeep to get our
          radio. As we were carrying it into the house, an artillery
          shell hit nearby. The radio antenna, which reached several
          yards into the air, toppled over. A shell fragment had passed
          directly between the radio operator and me.

          Evidently these events did not, however, discourage me
          unduly, for shortly after we paused I wrote a letter home
          which indicated another preoccupation.

          Dear Mother, February 15, 1945, Germany

          Did I write you to send a picture to a Miss Betty Mac
          Quarrie of Sarasota, Florida? Well, perhaps you wonder who
          she is. She was a dental hygienist at Ft. Dix.

          No doubt you wonder about the women with whom I
          correspond. Actually, there are only a few. There's Betty Mac
          Quarrie; Harriet Bordwell, in Amarillo; Audrey Bragan,
          Carol's friend in New York; Marjorie Sloan, the girl I met in
          Palm Beach; Dorothy Apple, in Wichita Falls; Virginia Ward,
          a nurse I dated in Ft. Dix, and Margo Southy, in England.
          Can't compete with my brother's twenty-four. Actually,
          they're all very interesting and pleasant girls. Since I'm
          making love to none, it is very easy to correspond sincerely
          with all of them.


          GETTING ANGRY GETS ME AN UNEXPECTED THREE DAY PASS TO PARIS

          There was then a pause in my letter writing, while I went on
          a three day pass, which came about in a strange way.

          Dear Folks, February 23, 1945, Germany

          Let me begin with a report on my recent pass to Paris. We
          left our units in Germany at about 0900 February 16. From
          there we went to division rear, where all the men from the
          various units of the division collected. By the time I reached
          there, I was thoroughly ill - a result of several weeks of GIs
          and a rough ride in a two and a half ton truck.
          Nevertheless, I was on my way and not about to turn back.

          Perhaps you wonder how I got this pass. Well, behind it is
          quite a story. You see, I'll go sometimes for weeks without
          seeing anyone back at our battalion CP. This time varies
          with how long a particular fight lasts. Sometimes during a
          fight there either isn't time or one doesn't feel like washing
          or shaving. However, before I go back to battalion I always
          clean up. The other day, however, I went back without
          shaving.

          You see, when you come back looking fresh, everyone says,
          "Well, you all are really living the life of Riley, aren't you?"
          However, when I went back looking worn and haggard,
          everyone said, "It must be rough up there. You need a rest,
          Aus. I've never seen you look so bad."

          Two days later I received orders to report back to battalion
          to go to Paris.

          Well, anyway we started out for the city. I stretched out in
          the back of a truck, went to sleep, and by the time we got
          there the next noon I felt much better.

          In Paris the Red Cross billeted us at the Washington Club,
          or Hotel Louvre, which is at the opposite end of the street
          from the Opera. The afternoon was spent in cleaning up and
          planning the next several days.

          But let me tell you about the hotel itself. A Capt. Miles,
          from our division headquarters, and I shared a double room,
          with private bath. The room would compare favorably with
          one in the New Yorker or Pennsylvania in New York. On
          each floor was a "key girl" who kept the room keys. As an
          additional service, she would sew insignia, etc. on your
          clothes for you.

          The dining room served breakfast from 0800 to 1000, lunch
          from 1200 to 1400, supper from 1800 to 2000. The food
          was quite good and, while the portions were not too
          generous, one could get seconds. Between meal hours, the
          donut bar was open, where one could get donuts and coffee.

          In the hotel lobby, there an information desk operated by
          French women volunteers who speak English - and,
          incidentally, have a good knowledge of the city.

          Now to our first evening in Paris. Really no more exciting
          than an evening in any large city. We went by metro
          (subway) from Palais Royal to Pigalle. Pigalle is one of the
          less desirable sections of Paris. We went to the Club Moulin
          Rouge, which is described by some as a clip-joint. And it is.

          A glass of orange juice to use as a chaser cost 80 francs
          ($1.60). A bottle of champagne 1000 francs ($20). Capt.
          Miles and Lt. Parker, who is one of the engineer officers that
          works with our infantry regiment, and I took in the floor
          show and somehow acquired some very friendly girls.

          No doubt you will wonder at this. Well, you need not, for
          there is no woman shortage in Paris. One can walk the five
          squares from the Hotel Louvre to the Opera and will be
          stopped no less than fifteen times. In bars or clubs they
          swarm about like flies. Their price is a package of cigarettes,
          chocolate bars, or, if you insist, money.

          About five came over to the table. We offered them drinks.
          They accepted. In no time at all they had drunk all our
          scotch. Even that was all right, but when they started to
          quarrel among themselves as to which of them would take
          which of us home with them and two girls came to blows,
          we decided it was time to leave.

          Sunday morning we got up at eight, had breakfast, and
          went on a tour of the city. Saw the tomb of Napoleon at the
          Hotel des Invalides, the Eifel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame,
          Place de la Concorde (location of the Tate's and my
          experience last summer), Arc de Triomphe, etc. Very
          interesting tour.

          In the afternoon Parker and I went to the opera, seeing
          Rigoletto. The performance was quite good, but the settings
          were positively out of this world. I've never seen anything as
          good.

          The opera house itself is reportedly the largest theater in the
          world; certainly it is the most beautiful I've ever seen. Large
          staircases, imposing chandeliers, excellent murals. Really
          very impressive.

          There's one thing though that really gets you, not only at
          the opera but in all of the city. That is the emphasis on
          tipping. Boy, they're really tip conscious.

          Sunday evening we went to the Folies Bergere.

          Monday morning I slept. In the afternoon, I ran into Marlene
          Dietrich, and I mean ran into her. When going into the
          officer's clothing store, she was coming out the door I was
          going into. A violent collision, apologies, and she went on.
          I didn't. I turned around to stare. They're not worth a
          million dollars, but nearly!

          In the evening, we made the rounds of the bars. The others
          met girls to whom they took a fancy. I returned to the hotel
          about midnight. (Damn it, why did I have to receive such
          Puritanical rearing?)

          Tuesday morning I did a little shopping at the Louvre
          Department Store, through which one could stroll for hours.
          In the afternoon I had my picture taken. Then back to here
          in Germany.

          Love, John

          Although this letter gave a good description of my time in
          Paris, it did not fully convey how I came to get the pass.
          Before I returned to the 29th headquarters unwashed and
          unshaven, the First Battalion had been in a difficult
          situation, where it was receiving considerable German
          artillery fire. We were down in a valley, and my radio was
          unable to communicate directly with the 29th fire direction
          center. The battalion, therefore, stationed two men with a
          radio at the top of a hill behind us, to act as a relay. One
          night I wanted to call for fire but was unable to contact the
          relay radio. One of my men climbed the hill, to find both of
          the men at the radio asleep.

          My nerves already rather ragged, I became furious and went
          the next morning to the 29th command post, where I raised
          hell. Tommy sympathized with me and promised it would
          not happen again. Evidently, however, after I left he and
          others decided that I needed a rest. Hence the pass to Paris,
          which shows that it can be useful to show your anger. Also,
          that it does not always pay to be too neat.

          The other point I did not make in my letters home was that
          I managed to get through the days in Paris only by
          swallowing a bottle of paregoric. While only a temporary
          solution, it stopped my bodily functions for those important
          three days.

          I should also note that my casual comments about the
          opera were unwarranted. Although a regular listener to the
          Saturday Metropolitan Opera broadcasts before the war, I
          had never actually seen one.

          By the time of my Paris trip, my father was out of the
          Army, and he and my mother were living in Aurora, Illinois.
          In addition to discussing the war, my father wrote a letter
          telling me the route to the Rhine he had taken after the
          1918 Armistice. By coincidence, when I read the letter I was
          sitting on a hill overlooking one of the towns he had been
          through.


          AL HEAD'S WOUNDS REQUIRE HIM TO GO TO THE REAR

          Dear Dad, February 24, 1945, Germany

          I'm glad you have been able to take a philosophical outlook
          toward the Ardennes bulge. No doubt I should have a broad
          enough horizon to do the same and may one day. But just
          now I know it cost us four fights. One to get the territory
          last fall, another in Luxembourg at the shoulder of the
          drive, another in Luxembourg across the Sauer River, and
          most recently our drive back into Germany. Each life lost
          since last fall has seemed to me more than useless.

          Your recitation of towns you were in during World War I in
          part sounds like one I'd make, since some of them are my
          old stomping grounds. Medernach, Luxembourg, for example,
          where I spent the night before we crossed the Sauer. You
          are wrong in assuming they haven't changed. We don't leave
          much by the time we're through with them.

          I was disappointed at going back to liaison work, as "3"
          work was always the work into which I've wanted to get. Lt.
          Col. Thomason, my artillery battalion commander, says that
          Col. McKee, 8th Regiment commander, asked that I be sent
          to him as liaison. Actually, battalion liaison is more
          important, and Col. T told him he wouldn't do it. So at least
          I can feel my services have not gone unnoted.

          Col. T also said that I was supposed to be awarded a Silver
          Star while in Paris, but since I was gone will get it next
          presentation. It was for some deal about the breakout,
          where they say I did something or other. Will send mother
          the citation and medal.

          Yours, John

          Dear Dad, February 26, 1945, Germany

          Certainly I can make no complaints about the frequency of
          letters from both you and mother. But I fear that with both
          of you taking up much of each others time soon, this may
          decline. However, I hope not.

          Your new home sounds fine. Thanks to both you and
          mother for your invitations to come visit you. Will do my
          best to keep the appointment at the government's earliest
          convenience.

          Thanks for the major leaves, though they did embarrass me
          a bit by popping out of the letter in front of a group of
          officers. Having been a captain six months now, it is still
          difficult to see the next step. In my battalion, there are
          several ahead of me.

          Love, John


          TASK FORCE RHINO AND LUNGE TOWARD THE RHINE

          Not long after returning from Paris, we resumed our attack
          to the east, with Adenau, a town half way to the Rhine, as
          our objective. We were supposed to follow up on the 11th
          Armored Division and clean up any forces it bypassed. The
          11th, however, found the going difficult and several times
          had to call on the 4th for assistance in overcoming German
          resistance. Finally Task Force Rhino was formed,
          commanded by assistant division commander Rodwell. After
          a wild drive, the task force, which included the First
          Battalion, entered Adenau on March 9. About that time we
          heard that US forces had captured a bridge over the Rhine
          at Remagen.

          In the midst of all this, I found time to tell my parents my
          view of how the war was going.

          Dear Folks, March 6, 1945, Germany

          Surely now with the British, Canadians, US 9th, and US
          First Armies on the Rhine and threatening the whole
          industrial area across from them, there is no value in the
          Germans retaining that part of their country west of the
          Rhine. Thus it would be my private guess that they will pull
          out completely. To be sure, many things can develop in the
          accomplishment of that, but my fear is that they will
          succeed in extricating most of the army and we shall have
          to fight them on the other side of the Rhine.

          It's too good to be true that the government will pay my way
          through school and will not have to use the money I have
          been saving.

          All my love, John

          By the time the 4th reached Adenau on March 9, one
          element or another of it had been in contact with the enemy
          for 199 days. The joke then was that any division which
          was in combat for a straight 200 days would be sent back
          to the US. Another rumor was that we were to be sent to
          the Pacific, but this was premature. Instead, we went first
          to Luxembourg and then to France, to join the 7th Army.
          From Luxembourg, I wrote a letter home describing how
          closely my path on the attack to Adenau had come to the
          one my father took in 1918.

          Dear Folks, March 11, 1945, Luxembourg

          You name them, dad, I've been there. Was in Willwerath.
          Saw Steffeln. Went near Walsdorf. Sorry, didn't make the
          Remagen push. Wish we had. It would have been a fairly
          complete tour of your walk during World War I.

          Glad to hear dad has had a good winter. Mine was
          complicated by only one case of GIs, which I am now about
          rid of and which kept me from my liaison work only two
          days.

          By the way, our S-3 was hurt in a vehicle accident recently,
          and I'm Assistant S-3 while he's gone - probably a month.
          The change of scenery should do me good.

          Your son, John

          This was a reference to Major Frank Duda, the battalion S-
          3. He and Tommy had an auto accident on the dash to
          Adenau. Tommy was able to return to the battalion in a few
          days, but Duda never came back. Capt. George G.
          Holochwost moved up to S-3, and I became his assistant,
          the job I had longed for.


          FLANNINGAN GETS HIS DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS

          Jim Flannigan was the only person in the 29th who got a
          Distinguished Service Cross. The citation for his award,
          which I had recommended, says, "On 1 December 1944 (he)
          was serving as a radio operator of a forward observer
          party...accompanying a rifle company of the 8th Infantry
          Regiment during an assault on enemy positions in the
          HURTGEN FOREST, Germany. When the company was cut
          off and surrounded by strong enemy forces, (he) voluntarily
          carried a message through the enemy lines, killing one
          German and capturing another as he fought the way to the
          Battalion Command Post."

          As Blakeley pinned the medal on Jim, he said, "This is one
          award that is still not given to everyone." When his aide
          handed him my Silver Star, he smiled and said, "Well,
          Ausland, I am sure you earned yours."

          After the ceremony, I heard a journalist say to the division
          press officer, "Let us know if Flannigan gets killed, so we
          can do another story." Fortunately, Jim survived the war.

          Another person involved in this episode, however, was not
          so lucky. Not long after the ceremony, I saw Capt. Gilbert
          A. Gammell, who had drafted the recommendation for my
          award, ride by on a tank. He shouted and waved to me. A
          few hours later, I heard he was dead.