If You Survive (24 page)

The weather thickened to a heavy fog, with visibility down to about two hundred yards even on open ground. When we came to the sloping fields just west of Osweiler we sent tanks and infantry a few hundred yards to the left and right to probe. We found a platoon of Germans in the fields to the left and took them prisoner. They had spotted us beforehand, however, and had already called down artillery. Now they were trapped in their own fire and seemed quite happy to join us behind the shelter of our tanks. The artillery couldn’t follow our movements in the fog, and this spared us a lot of shelling.

The fog began to thin a little, particularly on the higher ground, and my naturally cautious nature made me suggest to the tank captain that he break out the bright orange panels to be put on the backs of our tanks to identify us to friendly aircraft. The tank man didn’t think it necessary, saying, “Those guys can’t fly in this soup.” He was probably right, I thought.

I was on the ground to the left of the road directing some of my men in the handling of the prisoners when I heard the roar of plane motors. Four American P-47
fighter-bombers began to swoop down on our tanks and men on the hill three hundred yards to the right of the road. The first three planes came diving in at very low altitude, but when almost on top of the tanks they pulled up abruptly, wagged their wings, and flew away. The fourth plane, unaccountably cut loose his bombs about one hundred yards from two of our tanks, and his napalm bombs scored direct hits, engulging the tanks. Orange flames shot up from every part of the tanks and surrounding ground, and black smoke rose in an ugly cloud that drifted away.

The two tanks were lost; all the men in them and those close by were killed almost instantly. Napalm burns all the oxygen out of the air and causes quick suffocation. It was over in a few seconds, and we couldn’t do anything except watch helplessly.

The tank captain ordered the orange panels displayed at once.

Thanks to the partial concealment of the fog and the lack of much enemy resistance, we made it into Osweiler about 2:00 that afternoon, December 17. A few survivors from L Company of the Twelfth Infantry were holed up in town, and their lieutenant seemed quite relieved to collect them and march them back down the road to Berberg.

When I radioed Colonel Kenan that we had secured Osweiler, he told me to set up the strongest possible defense and be very alert for counterattacks. We would be on our own, he said, because the rest of the battalion had been attacked and was fighting against a very stubborn enemy. The main battle was about a half mile northwest of us, to our left rear, and we could hear all the shooting. I knew we’d be in jeopardy if the Second Battalion was annihilated.

Osweiler was another typical small farm community. Its
sturdy brick and stone houses occupied a small valley with open hills on all sides. Most of the houses seemed to have good cellars, which were where we would live because of the artillery.

Our main concerns were the three roads coming into town from the east and south. Lieutenant Lloyd and I climbed up to the top of a five-story narrow wooden school building to get a better view, and we could see the open hills clearly for about three hundred yards but had no idea what lay beyond. According to our map, Dickweiler was about three quarters of a mile south of us near the Sauer River.

The nearest patch of woods, about a quarter mile north, bordered a ravine or valley near Rodenhof and spread westward beyond where the Second Battalion was in battle. We were so exposed and vulnerable on all sides that I realized we’d have to send out patrols so we’d at least get some warning of attacks.

First we placed in position the tanks we needed to defend the roads and kept the rest of the tanks in mobile reserve for emergencies. Then we placed the riflemen and our light machine guns and mortars in houses close to the tanks to give them support. Every man had his job.

After dark the tank captain became a little restless and decided to pull his tanks out of town and back two miles to Berberg because, he said, they needed gas. I tried to persuade him to stay, but it was a delicate situation. I was in command of the small combat team, yet he was my superior in rank. He therefore decided to ignore my persuasions, so I was forced to radio Colonel Kenan.

The colonel got the captain on the radio and told him to move no more than two tanks at a time to the rear for gas. The captain protested that it would be too dangerous to send two tanks by themselves and also that it would take too long. The colonel then told him to have his gas trucks
meet him halfway, but that under no circumstances was he to move more than two tanks at a time to be filled up.

The captain had to comply, but he was mad as hell. His mood didn’t bother me because all I cared about was defending the town; I
needed
those tanks.

The Second Battalion was unable to disengage itself from the Germans all night. Early the next morning, December 18, Colonel Kenan ordered me to send a platoon of tanks and some infantry to release the entrapped battalion. Visibility was still poor due to the heavy fog, so poor that our tanks accidentally opened fire on the leading elements of G Company. Later I learned that G Company’s Greenlee saved what could have been a tragedy by running toward the tanks and waving his maps.

Because of the extra firepower of the tanks, the Germans were driven far enough back to allow the Second Battalion to break through the Germans and join the rest of us in Osweiler. Colonel Kenan quickly reinforced our defenses and sent out patrols north, east, and south. No contacts were made, so we had an enjoyable, peaceful night.

Next day Colonel Kenan called a meeting of company commanders and for the first time was able to give us an idea of what was happening. At the time, and even to this day, it was pretty damned scary. These were not strong combat patrols or company- or battalion-strength attacks we were getting; rather, a whole big section of the German front had erupted in a massive, desperate surprise offensive. We happened to be at the southern edge of a huge German spearhead, and it was utterly vital that we hold our ground and thus force the German penetration northwestward, away from the critical airfields and supply depots of Luxembourg.

At about this time Division G-2 (Intelligence) had information that the Germans had a pontoon bridge across the Sauer River, about three quarters of a mile to our northeast.
Two brave volunteers took a long-range radio and went through our lines and on into the hills beyond. Their mission was to direct artillery fire onto the bridge, and cold as it was, they stayed out a couple of nights giving the Germans fits. Finally they were forced to return home when the Germans began to send out search patrols that were getting awfully close. That was some tough mission, and my hat was off to those two men.

Second Battalion was still attached to the Twelfth Infantry Regiment. Their commander, Colonel Chance, needed more information, so he ordered us to send patrols to greater distances. Therefore, on December 19, Lieutenant Lloyd led a patrol northward toward Rodenhof. The fog had thickened, and visibility was down to less than one hundred yards at midday.

Lieutenant Lloyd returned with his patrol in about an hour. Less than a half mile out of town, and just west of Rodenhof, he had found a large concentration of Germans. Colonel Kenan immediately relayed this intelligence to Colonel Chance, who apparently was not much of a conservative, for he just as quickly ordered Colonel Kenan to leave his strong defensive position in Osweiler and get out and attack those Germans that very day.

As I should have expected, the colonel ordered my company to move out first on foot, with Lieutenant Lloyd leading us to the head of a small valley just a couple of hundred yards southwest of Rodenhof. We were to take up positions facing north and to begin firing on the ridge directly in front of us at 4:00
P.M
. From our positions on the forward slope of the ridge we would be firing at the Germans across a valley about two hundred yards wide.

This firing was intended as a diversion to keep the Germans occupied while the main attack swung in from my left rear and then continued straight ahead through the valley and ridge into Rodenhof. My company’s firing was, of
course, to stop on signal as the attack advanced.

Lieutenant Lloyd led us to our firing positions without confusion and without detection; we were there in plenty of time. At exactly 1600 hours we commenced firing across the small valley. Due to the heavy fog it was impossible to tell just where our barrage of bullets was going and what effect, if any, it might be having on the unseen enemy. Certainly the shooting made a tremendous noise and must have given the Germans the impression of a powerful attack coming their way.

At 4:00
P.M
. companies E and G jumped off abreast. As they advanced we clearly heard the staccato barking and ripping of German machine guns; E and G must have been meeting very stiff resistance. In part due to the vicious enemy fire, in part due to inability to maneuver in the fog, our battalion attack soon petered out. Both attack companies were still back two hundred yards on my left flank when they began to dig in.

With the attack aborted, we were isolated way off on the right flank of the battalion. Thank goodness for the experience and the cautious nature of Lieutenant Lloyd and myself, for we didn’t just stand around waiting for battalion to make another move or give us orders. Instead we had our men dig in at once as deeply as they could. We were down to about sixty men, or about one third full strength, and we shaped our defense in a rough horseshoe reaching to the edge of the woods at the top of the ridge we were on. The hardwoods gave us some protection and a feeling of comfort and security we sorely needed. The area to our right and to our rear beyond the edge of the ridge was wide open farmland. We also decided to place a small outpost on our left flank, between us and E Company.

The late afternoon light was quickly fading, and we’d managed to get our foxholes down only about a foot when the men on the outpost rushed in yelling, “Germans!” The
Krauts came right in on their heels firing rapidly, and one of the outpost men was the first casualty.

For the next half hour we had some of the toughest small arms fighting I’d ever been in, and I was proud our new men held on so well.

These were very stubborn, determined Germans, and they kept right on coming. By then it was completely dark; we couldn’t see the enemy, and they couldn’t see us. We kept firing at the flashes of their rifles and burp guns; every now and then we could see a shadow moving.

We had the advantage, for a change, in that we were partly below ground and were firing slightly downhill. Also, we were able to toss out grenades as the Germans got closer, and they must have been very damaging to the exposed enemy. For some reason, the Krauts didn’t use grenades on us. We were lucky. This was a life-and-death situation, and we didn’t have time to think, only to react. The constant explosions of rifle fire and the mad drumming of the burp guns wore on our nerves, but we couldn’t stop fighting.

When the Krauts were in real close, within fifteen or twenty yards, they began to yell something that sounded like, “Kamerad Hände hoch.”

Lieutenant Lloyd knew German and told me they were yelling at us to surrender and come out with our hands up. I said to tell them to go to hell, so he yelled back what sounded like: “Nix, you
schweiner hundt!”
This made them furious, and for the next few minutes they gave us all they had while we ducked low and fired back.

Suddenly the Germans shot up two small white flares, and we were caught in the glare. I was sure it was to mark us for artillery, and I began to think in terms of moving somewhere, but it must have been a signal to withdraw, because the firing ended abruptly and the Germans disappeared.

We checked everyone and found we had one dead, four wounded, and one missing. All the wounded were able to walk back by themselves to the aid station in Osweiler. One man didn’t look or act like a seriously wounded man as he walked up and asked if he could go to the aid station. When I asked where he was hit, he opened his shirt and showed me a bullet hole and then turned around to show me where it came out his back. It had missed his heart by very little. He said he was positive he could make it to Osweiler with the other wounded, so I sent them on their way. They all made it.

The body of the missing man was found later by Graves Registration. Apparently he had taken off during the heat of the battle and, in trying to find safety, had run into some Germans instead. Many weeks later when his folks wrote me for details of his death I simply told them that he had died quickly from bullet wounds.

Now that the Germans had left, we went back to completing our foxholes. No one needed urging. We were out of grenades and low on ammunition, but fortunately the enemy didn’t know how vulnerable we were, and they left us alone all night. Within an hour new supplies of grenades and ammunition arrived, so we felt a little more secure.

Of course, I didn’t know we’d be undisturbed, so the balance of the night passed very slowly for me. I studied every shadow, every movement of the wind, every noise of the field and forest for warning of the enemy. My nerves would not relax.

With the first faint light of dawn we made out some odd mounds or lumps to our front and left flanks, and these were German bodies. Two of them were almost on top of us, only five to ten yards out, and several others were scattered behind them. Someone said he’d counted ten altogether, which seemed about right. Normally seven or eight are wounded for every man killed, so the grenades and all
our firing might have accounted for seventy or eighty casualties, not including the KIAs left behind.

We had probably been hit by a rifle company, though I doubt that in the darkness they were able to concentrate their strength on us. One of the bodies was that of a young, fair-haired lieutenant; possibly the loss of this leader led to their withdrawal, for they had almost had us overrun.

Fortunately for me, I did not know our true situation at the time. Sometime later I was looking at the tactical map, which showed F Company to be the absolute extreme tip of the entire Allied holding position at the lower southern edge of the Bulge. To our east and north were nothing but Germans: on the east was Germany itself, on the north was the seventy-five-mile gap in our line made by the German penetration. The edge of this bulge ran roughly northwestward from my position and about fifty miles deep. To the south was Osweiler, held by battalion Headquarters and H Company plus a platoon from Third Battalion. Between us and Osweiler was a large gap through which the enemy could have encircled us at any time. Only to our west, with E and G companies, was there any reasonably close help. In our new line of defense we were holding the bottom hinge to the gate the Germans had opened in our line—the one known as the Bulge.