Purple Heart Day

It was February 1st 1945. My unit in the 1st Battalion of the 325 Glider Regiment of the 82nd Airborne Division had finally reached the famous Siegfried Line. We were in the woods which ended and there facing us from the East in the snow covered fields were two rows of dragon teeth. They were concrete pyramids varying in height from 2 to 4 feet. Their purpose was to act as a tank barricade. The rows ran to the left and to the right as far as we could see. There was a road, apparently with no barrier, coming from the woods and crossing both lines or rows of dragon teeth. About a quarter of a mile from the woods this road passed thru a small town called Neuhof. Another road branched to the left at the edge of Neuhof and led to the little town of Udenbreth about a mile away.

In the afternoon three of us, myself as radio operator, Sgt. Gross as wire sergeant, and an anti-tank officer joined Lt. Col. Gerard, the Battalion commander, in a bunker at the edge of the woods and about 1/8 of a mile to the right of the road. The bunker consisted of a hole about 4 or 5 feet square and a little over 6 feet deep. The upper several feet was above ground and was built of logs with an earth covering of a foot or two. The lower 4 feet was wet and muddy. There was a gap in front 6 inches by 3 feet facing the dragon teeth. Thru this opening we had a fairly good field of vision of the area in front of us as well as the road to the left and the little town of Neuhof beyond. In the distance the hills were denude of trees and it was difficult to see anything in the snow and the bright sunshine.

The four of us cautiously approached the bunker. Sliding down into the hole thru a small side opening we found we were in tight quarters. Sgt. Gross had strung phone wires to the bunker. I had to leave my radio outside and pull the hand set down into the bunker as there was no room inside.

As we watched we could see German soldiers appear seemingly out of the snow. They were carrying their equipment and packs. They headed for Neuhof where a horse drawn wagon was being loaded. The wagon then departed for the other town to our left. It looked as if the enemy was evacuating the area. This would be good news as we were scheduled to attack this area early tomorrow morning. About that time we received word via phone that one of our probing patrols was under attack and because of casualties had to withdraw. Then the phone went dead.

We did have a concern that the enemy may have cut the wires. At about that time we could hear a sound like bees outside of the bunker. Then we realized that somebody was shooting in our direction. Just as the other officer was reassuring Col. Gerard that it was indiscriminate fire and that the projectiles were totally spent, one came right thru the middle of the opening between our four heads and lodged itself in the log in the rear. With the phone out I had to change channels on my radio so we could have communications with Battalion HQ and the companies. This involved crawling out of the bunker as the set was along side of our entry hole. I crawled out, ignoring the Colonel’s plea not to go. The air was filled with bee-like sounds. Mission accomplished, I jumped back into the mud-lined hole. We now had communications.

Some time later, the Colonel and I headed toward the road. While I was scrounging thru stuff that was on an abandoned German hand cart on the side of the road, Gerard used his field glasses and was scouting the road when a mortar barrage came in. I jumped under the cart and the Colonel went into a snow bank. A close explosion blackened his face and a small steel fragment cut his left eyebrow. We made a hasty retreat to the safety of our lines in the woods.

The temperature fell below freezing during the night. Our Battalion CP was in a trailer. Gerard and his officers spent considerable time going over in detail the planned attack at day break. The attacking company was to have tank support and was to attack down the road into the town. I huddled in a corner and sitting on the cold floor, tried to sleep. The night before I had put my raincoat over my overcoat and pulling my knees up inside had sat against a tree trying to sleep. Needless to say, the accommodations tonight were better. However, between the tension in the trailer and the whining of overhead artillery all night long, I was only able to doze periodically. People were coming and going in the trailer all night long. I am not sure whether the Colonel got any sleep that night.

I did a prayer of thanksgiving that all the heavy stuff rumbling over our heads was from our own artillery. Filled with gratitude that I wasn’t on the receiving end I did wonder and imagined how the individual German soldier was faring on the other side of those dragon teeth. I am sure that not many could sleep. Artillery fire is to me one of the most fearsome and frustrating parts of combat. It is totally impersonal as some one is raining death and destruction on you from miles away. My reaction was always one of cold rage of frustration. Unpleasant and unwelcome as they are, even the fearsome Panther tanks or the awesome Tiger tanks can be seen. While it is a small comfort, at least you know and can see your adversary. I was always intrigues by the variegated reaction of various men to imminent danger and found that reaction highly unpredictable.

About an hour before dawn, Col. Gerard and myself headed for our bunker of yesterday afternoon. It was as muddy, cold and clammy as yesterday. As the first rays of light heralded the new day, our tanks and attack company began their assault toward the town. There was more resistance than the evacuation scenes of yesterday would indicate. Finally, our forces were through the dragon teeth and had reached the edge of town and the pillboxes of the Siegfried Line.

While we could see little of the attack action except the tanks lumbering down the road to the town, the radio reports from the attacking companies kept us well informed as to the progress of the battle. The sounds of gunfire, the shouting of orders, the screams of the wounded and the roar of the tank motors all came over that SCR-300 radio into the sanctuary of our bunker.

When news arrived that our troops had reached the far side of the town, Col. Gerard decided he would head down the road and into town. I wasn’t exactly filled with that kind of enthusiasm as the road was still under fire, so I delayed my journey. Finally, a fellow from the Intelligence Unit and myself headed for town. We paused halfway there on the bank of a cut thru a small hill. This gave us protection from crossfire. While deciding whether to make a run of the remaining distance, we saw a familiar figure approaching. It was General Gavin carrying his ever present M-1 slung over his shoulder and accompanied by a major. Gavin asked us for a status report. I told him that our troops had the town secured and that Col. Gerard was in town selecting a house for a Command Post. We also warned him that there was some small arms fire across the remaining road. He thanked us and walked right down the road into town. The major followed but kept running from one ditch to the other ditch all the way into town. Quite a sight.

From where we sat we could see two of our tanks. One was on the road right at the edge of town, and the other one was off the road to the left. Then the motor on the one on the left roared and the tank moved about 5 feet when we saw a huge flash on the left tread of the tank. It had hit a land mine. That side seemed to rise about 4 feet and then drop. Barely had it hit the ground than the turret flew open and in a flash four tankers poured out. They came up past us with their musette bags in one hand. As they passed us they shouted they were going to get another tank.

We decided if General Gavin could traverse the road so could we. I ran my arms thru the shoulder straps of my radio. The SCR-300 radio will fairly well cover one’s back from the shoulders to the buttocks. The upper half is a transmitter-receiver with phone hung on the side connected with a cord. The lower half is a large heavy dry cell battery used for power.

We had gone about 100 yards when we came upon one of the many gruesome one encounters on a battlefield. A German soldier apparently had been killed in the assault that morning. He was lying in the right track on the rather narrow road. The body was squashed to about 2 inches or less thick as our tanks had repeatedly run over him. He looked like a one dimension person.

My mission now was to find our Battalion CP and report to the Colonel. Just as we reached the tank parked on the road at the edge of town, we heard the whistle of incoming mortars. Everyone dove for cover. I tried to go under the back of the tank but it was too crowded. Just to the left was a demolished house. I dove into a space between a standing wall and a wood beam about 16 inches square. I pulled my knees up under me and at the same time brought my head and helmet down toward my shoulders and to the top of the radio.

In the past I was always amazed at fellows that expressed security when inside a tent as if a thin wall of canvas could afford protection against flying steel fragments. And here I was seeking false security under my beloved but frail radio which didn’t even cover my rump. I remember thinking that that part of my anatomy was expendable as I pulled my helmet down deeper into my shoulders. It is sure funny the thoughts that flash thru one’s mind in moments of stress, fear and danger.

The mortars were exploding all around our area. I heard fellows calling for the medics. Then the explosions lessened and just when I thought the barrage was over there was a blinding flash and simultaneously it felt as if someone had hit me on the right shoulder with a sledgehammer. The force drove my face in the dirt. I had foolishly left my right arm resting on top of the large beam. As I raised my head from the dust the though flashed through my mind, “My right arm has been blown off, now I’ll have to learn to write with my left hand!!” I looked over. My arm was still on top of the beam. There wasn’t any blood squirting. But I couldn’t move my arm and my back and shoulder were in great pain. Some blood appeared near my wrist. As I slowly got up I feared the worse. The fellow from Intelligence came from the backside of the building yelling my name. He took one look at me and said, “What in hell happened to your radio?” He helped me get it off my back. It was completely smashed. Then he took the battery off and found an inch square piece of mortar shell embedded about half way thru the battery. He gave it to me so I could keep it with my Purple Heart.

Apparently, the mortar fragment came from a mortar shell which had exploded in the tree right behind me. It had entered the radio over my right shoulder passing diagonally thru the radio about 2 inches above my back and finally coming to rest embedded in the battery.

I found the CP and the Colonel on the other side of the town and in the basement of the second house from the end of the street. The houses looked normal at first glance except there were no glass windows or window frames in any of the houses. Also there were no doors. The walls appeared about 16 inches thick and were of stone or concrete. Each house was a fortress.

Reporting to the Colonel and briefing him on my condition as well as the condition of my radio, he asked me if I could hang on for another day after a stop to an aid station. He explained there were several reasons for the request. The Battalion was desperately short of radio personnel. And also the Division was being relieved in a day or so and then was to return to our camp at Sissonne, France. If I wanted to I certainly could go to the hospital but then I would perhaps go into an Airborne pool and may not get reassigned back to the 1st Battalion. I told him I would stick around if I could get the aid station to straighten out my shoulder.

Just at that moment, an 88 shell hit the upstairs of the house, making one helluva noise and dust poured down the stairways. We heard several other explosions and then down the stairs in a run came a first sergeant from one of our rifle companies. He was a tall handsome young man who had been with his company since Africa. In spite of what General Patton may have said or thought, there are times when even the bravest soldier reaches a breaking point. The sergeant was hysterical. He shouted something about the Germans were counter-attacking with Tiger tanks and infantry. In spite of him being a head taller than the Colonel we saw a good commander in action. Gerard grabbed the front of the sergeant’s jacket. He shook him so hard that his helmet flew off. The sergeant seemed to come out of a daze. Then Gerard said, “Sergeant, tell me what did you see? Are they attacking with a company, battalion, regiment, or what? How many tanks did you see?” The sergeant replied that they had two tanks and about a company of infantry. The Colonel then announced to all in the room that this was our town and we were going to hold it. He told the sergeant to sit down and compose himself and reassured him that everything was going to be alright. Another 88 shell hit the upstairs.

The lieutenant who was in the bunker with us the previous day said he was going to get some tank destroyers and asked me to go with him. As I wasn’t in condition to be of much help in the CP, I didn’t need much urging. Besides, the thought of a Tiger tank a few houses away was rather disconcerting.

We crawled thru a back basement window and, keeping the houses between us and the attacking Germans, reached the crossroads about a block away. One of our tanks was parked at the crossroads. The commander’s head and shoulders were above the turret. He kept firing tracers down the street and every once in awhile the tank’s 75mm would fire. The Germans tank commander apparently was afraid to come out onto the street and have a shoot-out duel. It seems he was partly behind the first building at the edge of town.

The house next to the tank and on the corner of the crossroads was being used as an aid station. Some of our fellows were badly wounded. The aidmen were doing their best. One GI was on a stretcher in the middle of the room with a large wound in his abdomen. I could see his intestines. He was in terrible pain.

I moved to an attached shed in the direction of the German attack. The shed was open on two sides. The end facing the German tank was made of stone and mortar. Probably it wasn’t more than 8 inches thick. An 88 would have gone right thru it and destroyed the house as well. Yet surprisingly the wall gave one a feeling of security. The Sherman tank kept firing down the street. Two other American tanks were on a small hill on the other side of the house. Apparently they could see the Tiger so they decided to get off the hill. The Tiger took a shot at them. Both revved up their motors and spun around. They had to go down a sharp incline and thru a ditch to the road. One tank made it by hitting the ditch at an angle. The other hit the ditch with both tracks at the same time. He was stuck there. His stern was up in the air. The next 88 hit his exposed rear. The tank was instantly engulfed in flames. There were no survivors.

I decided this was no place for a cripple like me. But before I could move, an 88 shell hit a pile of junk between the burning tank and our shed. The air was filled with flying debris and shell fragments. A I standing on my right emitted a gasp and fell over on his face. On my left, almost shoulder to shoulder, was a young lieutenant who was a forward observer for the artillery. He uttered a moan and started to slowly sink down. I reached under his shoulder blades with my good arm to steady him. I asked him if he was hit. His face was caulk white. He said something about his legs as I eased him down to the ground.

I had barely gotten him on his back when a GI took his pistol saying he wouldn’t be needing it anymore!! Another passing GI took his field glasses and yet another his compass kit. None of them inquired as to his state of health. Talk about scavengers. There he was, barely on the ground, before he was stripped of all of his equipment. It looked like chunks of mortar or concrete were embedded in both of his front thighs. I asked him if he was hit anyplace else. He weakly said he didn’t think so. Then I noticed a hole in his jacket on the right side about heart level and another on the same level on the left side. With my heart in my throat I unzipped his jacket. Wounds in the thoracic area are usually very messy. The two lower ends of his GI scarf fell away from the upper part as if cut by scissors. Apparently a piece of flying steel had entered one side, cutting the scarf, and had exited the other side, missing his ribs by a fraction of an inch. He was just as lucky as I had been earlier. The steel fragment may have been the one that killed the GI on the other side of us.

With the help of another GI we rounded up four Germans in a near by house. They looked like they were all in their fifties at least. They held up their arms and kept repeating to us, “Nix soldat. Nix soldat.” We got the lieutenant on a stretcher and had the four prisoners lift him up. I pointed up the road and so we headed back thru the dragon teeth for the woods and the Aid Station.

The road was lined with GI’s moving down toward town. Half way to the woods one of the Germans was having trouble carrying his personal bag and his corner of the stretcher. So I offered to carry his bag for him. During the exchange one of the passing GI’s wanted to know why in hell was I carrying the prisoner’s bag and suggested that he or I should – “shoot the son-of-a-bitch.” He even aimed his rifle in our direction. The tensions and fears of combat bring out the best and worse in individuals. We proceeded up the icy road, passed the two-wheel German cart and into the woods for a quarter of a mile to an Aid Station. Shortly after taking the lieutenant inside, a doctor yanked my arm, repairing my shoulder dislocation. After bandaging the wounds in my arm and getting the data for a Purple Heart record, I was released.

By now it was late afternoon. The First Battalion had successfully beaten off the German counter-attack. The town was still ours. We were to be relieved the next day. That night we spent underground in the bunkers of the Siegfried Line. We were lucky that they had not been fully manned or armed. Above us the dead, friend and foe alike, lay scattered where they had fallen in the snow. One of our fellows, who was part Indian, spent a couple hours crawling around among the dead. He returned with a pocket full of rings and watches which he claimed he had taken from the Germans only.


	Enter supporting content here