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Rewards - With the battalion and Division Trains grouped together at the same airport, bulletins by the bushel began to blossom on the company board, once the war was over. This was forbidden, that was forbidden, you will do this, you wont do that -- battalion guard with formal mount, retreat, reveille, parades -- formations at all hours of the day, whistles, fall in, fall out -- march to and from the shop -- get rid of all enlisted men's peeps in the company, save gasoline -- and you will shave once a day! Then there was the socalled [so called] physical examination which everyone had to undergo at the theatre and beer hall after a dry run or two. It was Shanks all over: How old are you? It doesn't matter -- can you make a 25-mile roadmarch? You can't? Move on, next man -- Give this man a "one" -- read the first line on that chart. What chart?? Move on, next man -- So you've completed six years of college? Well, well, and what have you been doing in the army? Mostly KP and latrine orderly? Move on, next man -- Bend over, turn around, squat, now rise -- How many teeth have you? All of them but not with you? Move on, next man -- During the Altenburg stay, the news and propaganda focus was on German concentration camps, their emaciated victims and German atrocities of all sorts. Pictures of starved men were common. T-5 George Gusky, who might well have qualified for the company's "Thin Man," was standing in the front row of about 60 near-naked men outside the theatre waiting to go inside for the physical exam. Struck by a certain similarity between the unveiled Gus and pictures he had seen, T-4 Kenneth Lytle shouted: "Hey Gusky, what concentration camp did you escape from?" On the pleasant side at Altenburg was the fact that there the men enjoyed their first Saturday afternoon and Sunday holiday since entering combat. This, of course, was made possible because of the small amount of work coming to the shop after the end of the fighting, and the popular custom was continued during the entire stay at Altenburg and following locations. Two of the "diggingest" men in the company were T-5's Johnny Drascula and James Soos. They earned themselves this reputation at Altenburg where each was assigned the task of sinking three holes, six feet square and six feet deep, by Lt. Klawon. Coming as company punishment instead of the more unpleasant court martial proceedings, this task was attacked with vigor by the pair, and there was no need for a detail at Altenburg to dig garbage pits for the kitchen. Soos and Drascula took care of that -- but good! It was at Altenburg that Pvt. Arthur E. "The Kid" Schumacher left his accustomed post beside the coffee can in the company chowline to work in the beer garden, from where he moved at the Jena airport to the officers quarters. The absence of The Kid's "What are yez hung on?" bellowed in a rich Jersey accent, left a noticeable vacancy in the multitudinous sounds of the slow-moving chowline at mealtimes.  Formation outside barracks at Altenburg But he and his pal, PFC Arthur "Pappy" Watkins, who served in the officers' mess, still stuck together in their occasional indulgence in alcoholic beverages as in other things. Bosom pals, these two would take turns caring for each other when the spirits flowed free. One night The Kid would guard Pappy from harm, and the next time it would be The Kid's night to howl. |
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The Alfalfa Patch - After their garrison life at Altenburg, the men thought they had seen everything in the ETO, but the next move was to prove them wrong. They had yet to experience, in conquered Germany, an administrative bivouac -- one of those war-winning performances in which the army likes to whip itself into a frenzy when there is nothing else to do. After a 72-mile march westward on May 14, the company found itself off the hard road and squarely in the middle of a German farmer's alfalfa patch about eight miles from the city of Jena and approximately the same distance from Apolda. Arriving in the afternoon, the first step was to align all vehicles in precise rows. Then, the remainder of that day and most of the next were spent in getting all puptents in perfectly straight, uniform rows, the tents equidistant and the rows parallel. While sweating, cursing and arguing about whose tentpole was too far forward and who else's was an inch too far back, while the tents went up and came down to be moved a few inches one way or the other a dozen times, a remark was heard with great frequency there in the alfalfa patch: "We're sure giving those Japs hell today!"  Administrative bivouac It was here that Lt. Klawon relayed to the company the Army's much publicized plans for its postwar Information and Education program for troops stranded in the ETO. The men, however, manifested slight interest, for with the European war over, the main thoughts in all minds were "What happens next?" and especially "When do we go home?" These thoughts left little room for contemplation of educational classes in the minds of men who really were interested in only one thing -- getting home. But no educational program developed anyhow -- at least none affecting the company. Also included in the publicized postwar scheme of the Army were tours. The one in which the men had an opportunity to participate -- and no one heard of any others -- was a 20-mile truck trip to Weimar where they were taken sightseeing in the infamous Nazi concentration camp, Buchenwald. |
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Remember Jena? Another move on May 20 -- a six-mile march -- brought the unit to an airport on the flat of a 1,200-foot hill overlooking the city of Jena. Here, the entire battalion was together again as at Altenburg, and, although retreat and other battalion formations were not so numerous as at Altenburg, guard and guard mount were again formal, and the men continued to march to and from the shops at mealtimes. Blankets had to be removed from bedrolls in order to make "garrison" beds on bunks which had boards instead of springs and mattresses. Fraternization, meaning association with the numerous and luscious German frauleins, of course was forbidden, but fishing wasn't; and many were the men who took to the surrounding countryside with rod on shoulder after signing out at the CP for a fishing trip. Most were a little more subtle than one member of the company who was seen strolling along the main street of Jena with shoes shined, trousers creased, wearing a necktie and overseas cap -- and carrying a fishing rod over his shoulder! But soon the signing out was forgotten through neglect, and men roamed at will through the woods, towns and fields as the cold German spring moderated a little. Jena and the hill behind the airport became the favorite territory of the great majority of the company personnel. That hill was easy to descend as it went down in a series. of rolls and drops into the outskirts of the town, but the climb back to the airport was a torturous affair. The hill became a feature of physical conditioning which the army, in its most naive moment, never had contemplated, but which did as much toward keeping the men from becoming flabby as any physical program ever accomplished. As soon as the evening corned beef, hash or stew had been eaten or thrown away, men by the dozens could be seen taking off with cameras and binoculars suspended from their necks. Some lost weight, while others, such as Rosie Haynes who was chubby at the beginning of his roaming, remained that way. Even after a most strenuous program of hiking and hill climbing, Rosie was still unable to get into the German swimming trunks issued during the stay at the Jena airport. Not that it was warm enough for comfortable swimming at any time, but Rosie just wanted to find out if he could wear the things. It was at the airport that the high-point men left the company -- some of them -- and others were transferred to other divisions in what turned out to be only the beginning of wholesale transfers of those whose point score was lower than 85. At the division's last "bowl formation," held in Apolda, General Robert W. Grow, commander, told officers and men that the Super Sixth had "done its job," and was about to be deactivated back in the States. But those in it when the division sailed for home would not be the ones who were members when it made its name in combat. Mostly, they would be men with high point scores, brought into the Sixth for the trip back home and demobilization. To make room for them, the general stated, men of the Super Sixth would be transferred to other divisions not headed for demobilization, scattered to the four winds. Thus, attendants at that last bowl formation learned that a Sixth Armored Division would sail for home, but it would be the old Super Sixth in name only. To those undecorated and childless men who had been with the division since its inception and were now about to be "kicked out," developments did not make sense. The division's job was done, but theirs apparently wasn't -- what in hell kind of a deal was this? It was only the army point system at work! More and more, things began to look like the beginning of a war instead of the end of one, especially when the "training program" began to envelop such rudiments of soldiering as the firing of small arms on a target range. First, men who had mastered their small arms three years earlier were instructed on the subject of the Rifle, U. S., Caliber 30, M-1. After several days learning how to hold, sight, aim and even load the piece, they were taken out to a newly-built range and allowed to fire the weapon -- with ball ammunition too! While there was much bitching about this training, most men realized how lucky they had been to get through a whole war without knowing theoretically -- at least so the army assumed -- how to fire a rifle or carbine to say nothing of machine guns -- and were happy as hell to get a chance finally to learn. Better late than never! All in all though, the stay at the airport was one of the happiest and most carefree periods in the ETO history of both men and officers of the company.  The easy part of The Hill Except for numerous 642nd Quartermaster trucks brought to the shop by their Negro drivers, there was very little work, and, although the men had to be at the shop all day, whether or not they had anything to do, it was not difficult to pass time there. But those long spring evenings when it was light until after 10 o'clock - that was the time that everyone enjoyed. Bound by no restrictions to any area, plagued by no off-limits signs, personnel of the company derived great pleasure from explorations of the beautiful wooded and urban sections of that part of Central Germany. Housed in barracks, some of the men -- T-4 Jim Wyrick and T-5 Earl Botts, for instance -- found the call of nature so strong that they couldn't resist the lure of the woods, and spent occasional periods there in their puptents. On one or two of the few really hot afternoons experienced in Germany, some of the roamers saw something along the banks of the small stream flowing through Jena about which they had heard before but had hardly believed -- the German tendency toward nudism. Men and women -- mostly young in the case of the women but of all ages on the male side -- sprawled along the banks of the stream, in plain view of strollers on paths and workers in adjacent fields, with bathing suits beside them, soaking up the rays of the sun -- all over. And apparently no one under the age of 12 even bothered bringing along a bathing suit. Both sexes from that age on down cavorted all over the stream bank and nearby fields, undraped. May 22 was a happy day for three men -- T-3 Carl J. McMichael, T-4 Carl Petersen and PFC Charles E. Sims -- for it was then that they began their trek back to the States for discharge under the point system. Mac had just returned from a furlough to the Riviera in time to be told he was going home. Lost in not so happy a way was Red Sharpe who was transferred to the Second Armored Division on June 7. Also transferred from the division here were Stump-Jumper Paugh, Yosh Gasiewski and Johnny Wisdom. The Jena airport turned out to be the starting and returning point of a furlough for T-5 Eli Schlabach Jr. who was lucky enough to get one of those seven-day stays in the UK. Because of delays in travel both ways, Eli was absent from the organization over three weeks. Another event marking the stay at the airport was the return from hospitalization of Captain Buehrig. Upon his reappearance, Lt. Klawon, who had assumed command when the CO became ill, relinquished the company reins to the Captain and things went on with no noticeable break in routine. But events were building up to some sort of a climax. During the tail-end days of June, the main topic of conversation was "the list" for the Third Armored Division, whether or not it was a "good deal" and what would happen to those on it and those left behind. Approximately half the company were on it -- all slated for transfer to the Third, which, rumor stated, was eventually to sail for the States where it would remain in Strategic Reserve. |
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Here we go Again ! - Everyone knew that things were about to break, but when they did, so swift and surprising was the sequence that G. I.'s who had said before, "Nothing this army does can surprise me," were licked again. Saturday afternoon, June 30, found half the company on the rifle range finishing their record fire and the remainder back at the airport, cleaning up what work had been left in the shop when the whole company went to the range earlier in the week. Saturday evening found the whole company at the airport, feverishly preparing to pull out at midnight for the vicinity of Frankfurt, some 200 miles to the southwest. At 12:30 a.m. on June 1, began the last march that the company, as the unit which went through the German war, was to make on the Continent of Europe. In fact, it was the last movement to be made by the company. Another group of men, operating under the name of Co. "B" 128th Armored Ordnance Maintenance Battalion, might exist, but the "real thing" was just about done, the pieces ready to scatter in all directions, to be reassembled only in memory. Appropriately enough, that last march in the ETO, was very much like the one from Springhill, back in England, to the marshalling yards for the cross-channel trip to the war which then blazed on the European continent. Leaving the Jena airport about half an hour after midnight - also leaving much unfinished personal business, so unexpected was the departure -- the company drove all through the night and until 2 p.m. the following day -- July 1 -- with only a few short halts along the route of march. It was a sleepy group of men and officers who dismounted from the various vehicles. The destination turned out to be another airport near the devastated German city of Hanau. Here, the men found themselves settled in shop tents and others of similar size in the middle of a huge level expanse of field, making up the airport. The whole division was in the vicinity. |
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Farewells - Nearly everyone went to bed early that night, and the following morning after breakfast, the company was assembled for farewells from Captain Buehrig and Lt. Klawon, who had commanded the unit in the captain's absence. It was then that those on the list for the Third Armored Division were told their date of departure -- July 5 -- only three days away, Within the next hour, another group of men were told they were going to the Eighth Corps and that they might leave at a minute's notice. Other lists were expected. The end of the company was in sight. In his short speech of farewell, Captain Buehrig thanked the men for their cooperation which had been a great factor in the excellent record of the unit. "'You've done your job very well," he stated, "in fact, you've done more than your part in winning this war. I think you're the best company in the battalion." And no one hearing the speech had any doubt of the captain's sincerity. Known in a jocular way as Silver Spurs because of certain mannerisms stemming from his home sate [state], Texas, he spoke with no dramatics that morning at the Hanau airport. There was no room for thought about delivery and effect of the speech. "It's awfully hard to say goodbye to a group of men like you, awfully hard," he explained. It was a true statement, as everyone later learned. In his "last word," Lt. Klawon, who had become very popular with the men as a whole through his efforts to do everything he could for them while he was at the helm during Captain Buehrig's illness, expressed the hope that those leaving the unit would end up with a company commander who would "find them something to drink" -- a feat at which the lieutenant had been very successful. It was at the Hanau airport that some real "sweating it out" was done by many men of the company who as yet found themselves on no list for transfer, and who doubted that they would be heading for home with the Sixth. Noticeable among these wondering ones were PFC Joseph M. Lewczyk, Tech. Sgt. Andrew C. Pinkowski, T-5 Roy A. Prater and Staff Sgt. Walter A. Wiencek. These were harrowing days too for Sgt. Edward D. Turnure Jr. who was kept very busy up in the Battalion Personnel Section checking records, performing the great amount of clerical work necessitated by the transfer of large numbers of men -- and last but by no means least, denying the swarms of rumors which arose every time more than two men got together in conversation. On July 4 -- the first, and as many hoped, the last Independence Day to be spent on the European continent -- the company participated in a battalion formation. Members heard the battalion commander, Lt. Col. Raymond B. Graeves, speak his farewell to those being left behind. On the Third Armored list himself, Col. Graeves, one of the very few officers who had stuck with the battalion ever, since its formation over three years earlier at Fort Knox, Ky., spoke sadly of the coming parting of the ways. "With tears in my eyes" . . . . . . company personnel heard him state as the battalion stood together for the last time, "I won't say goodbye." "Instead, my words to you shall be, 'I'll see you again.' And when I do run across any of you men in the future, when I see you at work, I'll know there's a job being well done." After an evening made noisy, bright and smoky by an impromptu but violent G. I. display of fireworks -- flares of all kinds and small-arms fire -- Chuck Weiks told the men when he awakened them in the morning that the July 5 transfers were postponed until the following day. Amplifying rumors had the transfers off entirely, for all sorts of reasons, principally because of the announcement of a critical score of 80, reportedly made the night of July 4. |
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The Blow Falls - However, the blow fell the night of July 5 when lists of men being transferred and the units to which they were going appeared on the bulletin board.  The last battalion formation The next morning, the first group pulled out in the rain for the Maintenance Battalion of the Third Armored Division, and others followed in the afternoon. Departing soldiers left the name of Co. "B" 128th Armored Ordnance Maintenance Battalion behind them there on the field, but it sounded hollow to those who stood staring as leaving buddies climbed aboard trucks. With duffle bags and other paraphernalia of the soldiering trade stowed in the vehicles and seated therein themselves, the departees waited while the army's usual confusion at such times wore itself out. Then, from the trucks came the cry which had rung through the company's bivouac areas across 2,000 odd miles of Europe, by day or by night, whenever the tanks, prime movers, trucks, armored cars, peeps and halftracks making up the armored ordnance column were about to hit the highway: "Let's get this show on the road!" They left the name behind, but the spirit of the company rode with them - which was as it should have been, for it was theirs. |
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THE END.
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