If You Survive (17 page)

Second Battalion continued its attack eastward early next morning, with companies E and G leading and F trailing along in reserve. The lead companies fought feverishly to break through a second line of log bunkers, and we clearly heard the clatter of machine guns and rifles, the endless explosions of mortars and artillery, as both sides pounded away.

Our casualties were prohibitive, and the wounded had to be carried out on stretchers in a continuous stream, since not even a jeep could find a path through the dense forest.

The front-line companies frequently were held up for long periods, and during those times F Company was caught without foxholes. We also picked up more shelling than we would have if we had been able to keep moving forward. Once, when we were in a thick grove of thirty-foot-tall
reforestation pines, a shell hit a tree only twenty yards ahead and we all dove for cover. Almost instantly another shell took the top off the tree right overy my head, and I was knocked silly.

I got up and ran like a madman. I must have covered seventy-five to one hundred yards before a glint of consciousness got through. My head was reeling and my hearing was gone, but I turned around and made it back to the platoon. Five or six of the men had been hit, three very seriously. One had a grapefruit-sized hole in his back, and air sucked through his punctured lung.

Our medic worked quickly on the wounded while I moved the rest of the platoon ahead and out of the area before any more shells came in. We were lucky only those two had landed on us; a barrage might have finished us off.

A few minutes later a messenger came to my platoon and announced that I was now in command of F Company. That morning we had started with six officers, but we were down to just myself and a second lieutenant. I was told Captain Flanigan had been killed and all the others wounded.

Battalion headquarters also had been hit severely, with Lieutenant Colonel Walker and his entire staff being casualties. Captain Newcomb from E Company took over the battalion until Major Blazzard arrived.

During this unsettled period we again had a long wait on the forward side of a hill. The front-line companies were about three hundred yards ahead on the next hill. Our hill somehow had only a few trees, but clumps of bushes did give some concealment.

While we were in that semiexposed position, P-47 fighters swooped over our heads to strafe the woods beyond our front lines. To our surprise, we suddenly were bombarded by the empty brass casings from the 50-caliber machine guns. They whistled down all around us and
would have done plenty of damage to anyone without a helmet. We had always known those things went
somewhere
, but we had never been attacked by them before. A couple of the men picked up empty cartridges and pocketed them as souvenirs.

A little before dark I received orders to move F Company up to the front and dig in to the right of G Company. As I was doing this an officer appeared and pronounced himself our new company commander. He took over and began by ordering me to have the men dig in along the edge of a gully to our right rear.

My experience told me this was a dangerous position, so I suggested he have us move farther up the hill because gullies usually were natural targets for German artillery. He refused the advice and insisted we dig in where he’d said at once.

We had barely started our foxholes when, to my disgust, the enemy artillery plastered our gully, one terrible shell after another. I immediately stood and flattened myself against the thick trunk of a big beech tree and yelled at the men to get up and find trees. A few of them had time, but many were hit before they could move.

Our new commander broke down in tears, blubbering about how it was all his fault. He kept at it, and when I realized he was completely out of control I called battalion to report the situation and was told to send him back to the aid station.

Very soon another officer was sent to take command of the company. He was a good man, a combat veteran who had been wounded earlier. Though not yet fully recovered, he was being rushed back into a special hell called Hürtgen.

He was just not ready. On a cold November day, beads of sweat plastered his forehead; his fingers trembled so much he couldn’t manage to light his cigarette. Next day
he went back to battalion headquarters and was sent on to the rear. It must have been hellish to come back to the front lines after a serious wound, and I’m glad I never had to go through it myself.

Since headquarters apparently had no one else to send up, I was left in command of F Company once more. I felt totally inadequate. I was sure I could handle a platoon of forty-some men in combat, but I was overwhelmed by the responsibility for a whole company, with its four platoons and a headquarter section. It would have been easier to work up gradually as executive officer before becoming company commander.

Around noon I was ordered to report to battalion command post, which was only three hundred yards back. There, in an old German log bunker, I met our battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Kenan. Also present were Captain Faulkner, the new commander of E Company, Captain Toles of G, and Captain Newcomb, now battalion exec. I was rather proud that three of us—Newcomb, Toles, and myself—had all served together at one time in E Company.

Colonel Kenan told us our attack would continue in the morning and that First Battalion would be on our left and would jump off at the same time. Our objective was the edge of the woods southwest of Grosshau, about 1,500 yards ahead. The plan was for E and F companies to attack abreast and spread out along each side of an east-west fire trail. Company E was to attack from its present position, and F was to move up through G, now abreast of E.

The First Battalion was about one quarter mile away on the left flank of E Company, but my F Company’s right flank was completely open, so far as we knew. The woods ahead were mostly thick reforestation pines about twenty-five feet tall and so dense we couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead.

I knew it would be difficult to control men we couldn’t even see most of the time, and this while we were under fire, so it seemed an awful risk to thin our lines by spreading out so widely. As a brand new company commander at my very first meeting with experienced company commanders before a new battalion commander, did I wait to find out what the others might think or did I brashly stick out my young neck?

“With all respect, sir,” I heard myself saying, “I don’t like this plan because I think it would be a major mistake to spread out so thinly with our flanks unprotected. We’re very short on officers and noncoms, and, in my opinion, control would be extremely difficult. With unprotected flanks, we have to be able to move very fast.”

The colonel looked startled and, after he’d swallowed, asked if I had any suggestions.

“Sir, why don’t we hit in a column of platoons? Hit hard and quickly and punch a hole through fast. That way we have our men closer together, we can control them, and we can defend better if we get hit from a flank. If we move fast enough, we might get in ahead of a lot of the shelling.”

I was sweating a little as Colonel Kenan looked around at the other officers and asked what they thought. They quickly supported me. My hat was off to the new Colonel, he would listen to suggestions and be willing to follow them. Many a battalion commander would have cut me down on the spot. The colonel thanked me and said we would use my suggestions. We worked out some details and returned to our company areas as the colonel wished us luck.

Back at F Company, I briefed my four platoon leaders. I now had two second lieutenants and two staff sergeants in charge of platoons. One of the lieutenants was just back from the hospital but seemed in good shape.

It was important, especially considering the lack of vision
in the woods, to know our exact jump-off point in the morning, so I sent a platoon leader up ahead some three hundred yards to make sure of G Company’s location. His platoon would be leading the attack in the morning. He was back in a short while; he assured me everything was under control and that he could find his way easily in the morning.

He also brought back the tragic news of the loss of my old friend from G Company, First Lieutenant Gallagher. It was Gal who had led that excellent patrol to capture German prisoners for me when I was battalion S-2 (Intelligence Officer). He had been at the head of his platoon when it was caught in a crossfire by German tanks, and he was killed. Gal was one of the finest platoon leaders ever to serve in combat with our army, a man deeply respected by his men.

Next morning broke clear and cold as I led the company out into attack the first time as its commander. As planned, the lead platoon went up through G Company to the line of departure and, by radio control, E and F companies jumped off together.

I followed my second platoon across the north-south road and into the thick woods. After I’d moved in about one hundred yards, something suddenly bothered me, and so I pulled out my map to check our position. It was lucky I did, because the map showed we were to the left of the fire trail instead of to the right and that we were actually in E Company’s territory. This meant we were forcing E to their left, into a ragged gully.

Now the entire company would have to swing back south and get on the right-hand side of the road where we belonged. I radioed the platoon leader to push his men to the right beyond the fire trail immediately and then to continue
ahead parallel to the trail to our final objective. He acknowledged the order, and we stayed in place waiting for his move.

A few moments later I looked up to find the lead platoon tearing headlong back to us like frightened deer. When they were near enough, I jumped in front of them, waved my arms, and ordered them to stop right there. I was mad enough to use my rifle on them, and it must have shown, because the men all hit the ground and hid behind tree trunks and stared back the way they had come.

I walked right up close to the most senior man visible and was practically spitting in his face as I demanded to know what he thought he was doing—trying to start a stampede? I raised my voice and told him he’d better not ever again move to the rear without permission. I had not heard any enemy action up front, so I asked just what all the running was about. He said they had run into a big German tank and were pulling back so we could hit the tank with artillery.

That being the case, I asked Lieutenant Caldwell, our artillery observer to go back with one of the men to spot the tank and lay some artillery fire on it.

While they were gone I started to make the rounds and quickly discovered that the rear elements of the company were missing. Normally, the company executive officer would lead them up behind the rest of the company, but we had no exec. They should have been following on their own, but apparently they weren’t that eager. So I went back to the road we had crossed earlier and whipped the men out of the shell holes they were hiding in and sent them up to the main body of the company, which was still where I had left it.

I had been gone less than fifteen minutes, but it had been costly. The fine young redheaded second lieutenant
who led the Second Platoon had been shot between the eyes. He, of course, never knew what happened. There he was, fresh from the hospital, his first day back on the lines, and he was dead before he even saw a German.

We were still out of position, and now that all my officers were gone I called on Staff Sergeant Servat and Staff Sergeant Seltzer to lead the two attacking platoons. Lieutenant Caldwell, the FO, meanwhile reported that the rampaging German tank was only a log sticking out over a stump. He was chuckling, but I had lost my sense of humor.

I ordered the two lead platoons to attack to the right until they crossed the fire trail and then turn left, or eastward, and keep up the attack. The Germans on the high ground near the trail were well dug in, and they opened up viciously with rifles and machine guns as soon as we were within range. The air was moist and heavy, and the savage explosions of the individual rifles and continuous drumming of the machine guns pressed down on our senses. Bullets whipped by us, sometimes tossing up dirt or clipping off twigs and sometimes clinking off helmets or tugging at clothes. We sweated in feverish excitement.

We had all hit the ground at once, and now no one could move. Our position looked hopeless. I crawled forward until I got to the nearest platoon leader, and I told him to get his men going by fire and movement. This was slow and painful, but it seemed the only way, since we were too close for artillery support.

“Fire and movement” is an old military technique that requires a few men to crawl or surge forward a few yards to the next cover while everyone else lays down heavy fire on the enemy to keep him occupied. The next group then scrambles forward while the others cover it with fire. And
so it goes, with the platoon leader directing traffic. This uses up an awful lot of ammunition, and it also is about the roughest thing an infantryman has to do. Casualties are sometimes high.

Actually, it’s suicidal to stay in place where enemy fire can seek you out; the only real safety is in getting ahead and driving off the enemy. The lucky ones pick up wounds just bad enough to send them to the hospital and its comfortable beds and three hot meals a day. Usually it takes a man a few seconds to realize he has been hit, and then his first emotions are great satisfaction that he has done his job honorably and intense relief that it is all over for a while. Especially if it’s a light wound.

At that moment I found my men were being pinned down by one very stubborn machine gun in a bunker out of reach, so I worked my way back to my 60mm mortar section. The noncoms who led this section had been wiped out and not yet replaced, so I asked a likely private if he could fire the mortar. He said he wasn’t sure but he would give it a try. I showed him the target in a clump of trees 150 yards ahead, and he and the men fired a round. The explosion knocked the mortar barrel over backwards, sent the 60mm shell straight up overhead, and forced us to run for cover. He had set the mortar up to fire almost straight up, and that meant the shell would fall quite close to the mortar.