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Up to the Bulge - Word of Von Rundstedt's German offensive began to sift into the company at Henriville. Mail and Stars and Stripes, as usual, were very irregular and infrequent, and there were few radios in the company, so most of the men did not know what was happening, but all had a feeling that it wasn't good. Just how it would affect them became clear on December 23 when the company packed up, boarded its vehicles, and in the bright sun of a clear, cold afternoon, began to move northwest to Metz, up in the general direction of the German lunge into Belgium. As the vehicles were lined up in the road through Henriville, numerous vapor trails of planes wove a confused pattern very high in the sky, and no one knew whether or not a dogfight was in progress. At least some of the vapor trails had been left by American planes. This was evident in the familiar four-lined track of Thunderbolt formations and from multi-lined bomber paths in. the sky. But something must have been happening up there, for fluffy balls of tinfoil, of the type used by the enemy to throw off radar beams, began to float down. But nothing happened, at least nothing affecting those on the ground. Inhabitants of Henriville also felt the uncertainty about the future -- to a greater degree than the men of the company. They had reason to, for, whatever happened, they would be there to face it, and there were some sorrowful looks from townspeople as they stood on the street and in doorways to wave goodbye to the company. But one of the gloomiest looks on either side was that worn by T-5 Louis Virag, who had absolutely no desire to leave, He had become attached to the place. |
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Metz - Metz, when the company reached it and spent a few days there -- December 23 to 26 -- on the way from the Saar to the Bulge, was a big town, the biggest since Nancy. The streets were full of pretty girls, many wearing fur coats. Despite all the vicious fighting which had gone on not long before in and around the fortress city, the sidewalks were crowded with civilians each time the men passed through. There was a feeling that many of those civilians could talk much better German than French, a feeling that one would not be comfortable out alone on those streets at night. And it was cold, bitter, stinging toe and finger-freezing cold with dry snow frequently sifting down. Billeted in apartment houses which had been left in fair shape by the Germans when they had been driven out, many men were not too uncomfortable during the short stay which included Christmas. But those who had not been fortunate enough to get a choice of rooms and who carried no stove with them spent a bad night after arriving at dark. The trip itself north from Henriville was a cold one, and there was no opportunity to get warm. Neither was there any meal or hot coffee served by the kitchen that night. Harmon E. Smith, Redner, Lintz and an Artilleryman whose truck was being repaired found themselves that first night in a room which had three huge windows without a square inch of glass in any of them. The wind was howling in, and the little gas stove on which the group heated makeshift drinks did not raise the temperature of the room. When Harmon E., having spilled a little water on the wooden floor, stooped a few minutes later to wipe it up, he found it frozen. Shelter halves were hung from the tops of the windows and weighted on the sills with steel helmets in an effort to bar the bitter wind. Then, all four men climbed into their bedrolls fully clothed, including combat trousers. Lying on the floor, shivering, they saw the wind push in the shelter halves, knocking the steel helmets to the floor, but everyone was too cold to do anything about the situation. To the crash of ack-ack which went on all night was added the pennant-like flutter of three shelter halves held horizontally into the room by the inrushing cold wind. The above quartet found a much better sleeping place in the daylight which followed that miserable night. Christmas of 1944 was just another day at Metz as far as work was concerned, but it was marked by a very substantial turkey dinner, the preparation of which kept the kitchen force and KP's so busy that it was not served until about 2 p.m. At this time, as was also the case when a big Thanksgiving dinner had been served at Morhange, many men who had been dreaming of such quantities of good food for months were surprised to learn that, after the usual army fare day in and day out, their stomachs were no longer capable of holding the same amount of palatable food they had been accustomed to consume in civilian life. There were only two meals that Christmas day, but no one complained. The dinner took care of all appetites for the remainder of the day. A big factor in its enjoyment was the fact that the men had rooms to which their laden messkits could be carried for a leisurely meal out of the weather. The 49 miles from Metz to Heisdorf, Luxembourg, covered on December 26, were cold ones except for those who were fortunate enough to be riding shop trucks. Because of a lack of news, most men, going on rumor, knew that Von Rundstedt was on the loose and that it was serious. Just how bad things were differed in the mind of each man, in proportion to his willingness to accept rumor as fact. You could take your pick those days. There were very few Stars and Stripes in the ranks, and radios were unavailable to the great majority of the men, so rumor ran wild. And it was said that the Germans were doing the same. Fifty miles into Belgium, 70 miles, 100 miles -- choose your figure! There was no doubt in anyone's mind of the eventual outcome. That would be unchanged, Bulge or no Bulge, but there was a general feeling that this business might postpone the end for a long time. Right then, the thing that mattered was that the battalion, the division, along with Patton's Third Army, was on its way up there to put an end to the German foolishness. Exactly what was coming was unknown, but it wasn't expected to be pleasant, and the trip north was correctly adjudged as a sample. Although the weather was clear, permitting large-scale air action for a change, it was cold, the ground was frozen, and the further north the column moved, the more powdery became the snow, the more cutting the wind. |
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Likeable Luxembourgers - Passing through the surprisingly big and populous city of Luxembourg that afternoon, the column finally came to a halt and got the dismount order in the village of Heisdorf, not far from the duchy's capitol. While the men stood around their vehicles in the 5 p.m. winter dusk, stamping numb feet and beating cold hands, Captain Buehrig, speaking German, arranged billets in civilian homes and in the laundry of a large nunnery in the village. The people of Heisdorf spoke German and some French, as well as their own language, which was very close to German, although the Luxembourgers did not like remarks on such a similarity. Their language was their own, they insisted. They were very friendly to American troops -- the most friendly of any Europeans encountered so far with the exception of the joyous newly-freed French in earlier days on the Continent. Forty-five men who spent their first night at Heisdorf in the laundry of the nunnery never will forget how the nuns worked until 10 p.m. trying to make them comfortable as possible. First, they brought wood and built a fire to warm the building, and next appeared bearing hot water in order that the men might wash. The next surprise came at 9 o'clock when four of the nuns came into the laundry with bales of straw to be used as mattresses. Their parting words were, "You must get up in the morning for mass. When advised by some of the men that they would not be awake early enough for mass, the reply was, "Oh yes you will!" The truth of that remark became evident at 5:30 a.m. when one of the nuns entered the laundry and started from bedroll to bedroll, awakening each occupant. "Some of the men aren't Catholics," explained "Yosh" Gasiewski. "Then you awaken the Catholics," was the nun's comeback, "and the rest can sleep; but if you don't, I'll have to awaken them all to find out which is which!" Yosh was licked! Probably no one remembers better than Joe Budz how enemy planes spent a part of each night over Heisdorf. On the night of December 29, Joe was out along the railroad which ran through the village when he heard that old familiar fluttery roar in the sky. Immediately tracers and flak filled the heavens, and just as quickly Joe took off for the house in which he was billeted. T-4 Joseph "Peruna" Boyette and Johnny Werth saw him coming into the house with a frightened look on his face. When he recovered his breath, he said excitedly, "Planes, planes -- I had to hurry in, and you oughtta seen the 'chasers!'" Leaving part of Platoon Headquarters behind to clear up remaining work, the company pulled out of Heisdorf the afternoon of December 30, and stopped for the night at the Belgian town of Rulles about 8 p.m. after a 36-mile trip. The last three hours of this march were made in the first really heavy snowfall to be encountered that winter. Also left behind, but by accident, were Supply Sgt. Bob Dunlap and Ben Franklin. These men, with those of Platoon Headquarters who had been left, spent the evening of December 30 in the very pleasant little town of Heisdorf where schnapps and beer were available and there was plenty of room, with the rest of the troops gone. |
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Belgian Welcome - The portion of the company spending the night at Rulles moved on next morning to Mellier, Belgium, five miles further, and there they were joined for New Year's Eve by the Platoon Headquarters men and the others who had been left at Heisdorf. Heavy snow fell during much of the time the company stayed at Mellier, where they were billeted in homes of civilians who were glad to see incoming American troops and very friendly. Work poured into the "shop" which consisted of a level strip of snow-covered ground along the railroad tracks bisecting the town. Alternate spells of zero weather and heavy, wet snowfalls made the three working days at Mellier very unpleasant for the outdoors men. This was sharp contrast to happy evenings spent with the Belgians in their homes. On New Year's Day at Mellier, many men -- The Kid Glover, Alabama, Ben Franklin, to mention a few -- discovered that good old Belgian custom of kissing everyone to start off the new year right. With a pretty girl doing the kissing -- Mellier was full of them, and they all kissed on New Year's Day -- it was a mighty fine start to any year. Possibly another participant in that custom was Rosie Haynes. It may have been New Year's Day that started the impression that romance had come to the Evacuation Section in Mellier. At any rate, Rosie went around with what was taken for the love light shining in his eyes. When an officer asked what was wrong, Rosie replied, "Nothing at all, sir, but I sure would love to be a Belgian civilian!" But then everyone liked Mellier, and many, including Lt. Don Bailey, were reluctant to leave only three days after entering the town. |
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Freezing Work - Ebley, Belgium, was a town of heavy snow, bitter-cold weather and steady work. Working with freezing hands and feet, men of the Maintenance, Artillery, Second Echelon and Platoon Headquarters Sections would get one job finished only to find another awaiting them. There was no rest during the daylight hours -- a fact which they didn't mind, for the combat troops didn't get much rest at night either.  Mellier winter scene It was one enemy attack after another which caused so many disabled vehicles to stream into the shop from the front lines. Billeted in the homes of friendly Belgian civilians, men at least had warm places to which to retire and relax during the hours of darkness, when not on guard. Many trips to Bastogne were made by members of the Evacuation Section, while the company was billeted. in Ebley, to evacuate vehicles from that district where the knocked-out supply was plentiful. On one such mission, to bring back an M-8, peep and halftrack, the Germans saved men of the section the trouble of hauling all of the vehicles back to the shop. While they were on the way to Bastogne, German artillery opened up on the city, particularly that spot where the vehicles which interested "B" Company were located. The German shells completed destruction of the peep and halftrack, leaving only the M-8 armored car for the Evacuation men to drag back with them.  "Shop" at Ebley, "Wreck of the 96" at right On another similar mission, American artillery entered the picture, giving Tech. Sgt. Clark a severe scare and not doing Ralph Helmkamp any good either. Before recovering knocked-out halftracks from a mined field, the two aforementioned men had to remove some of the mines. Both were carrying mines out of the way, Clark having just picked up one when a nearby 155 mm gun let a round go. Thinking the mine he was holding had exploded, Clark's reflexes caused him to toss it in one direction and take off in another. Helmkamp, watching the performance, was relieved when he saw Clark's mine strike the ground and remain there with no explosive result. As for Clark, recalling the incident, he said, "When that boom and concussion came, I thought that was it!" One of the movers, on one of the many Bastogne visits, brought back to the shop at Ebley two M-8's at once, one of the biggest single loads for the movers. To most men, especially those of the Automotive and Evacuation Sections, the name, Bastogne, is one to produce shivers. While billeted in Belgian homes in the smoll [small] town of Bodangne from January 14 to 25, the above sections did some of the hardest and coldest work of their European careers, frequently going to Bastogne -- where it was even colder than Bodange which was in a valley -- to evacuate tanks knocked out in the vicious winter fighting there or to remove needed parts from such tanks, of which there were many. The "shops" at Bodange consisted of a big open field where the wind and snow swept freely and where mechanics struggled against the handicaps of numb hands and freezing feet to wade through the continuous stream of knocked-out vehicles which flowed down from the surrounding hills into the town. Roads were deep with snow, and the steep hills prevalent in that section of Belgium were all but impassible at times. A tank with steel tracks and no grousers was useless under such conditions of snow and ice. But the liquidation of the Bulge was underway, and must not be slowed or halted. Eating breakfast in the dark, and supper likewise, the men of "B" Company spent the hours in between struggling against the wintry elements with crippled armor -- than which nothing can be colder in or on which to work. Hours of darkness, when not on guard, were spent beside the stoves of very hospitable Belgians and in exhausted sleep. As usual, bad weather meant tough going for the Evacuation Section's prime movers. At Bodange, one or two of the three movers were busy constantly, evacuating combat vehicles from the Bastogne sector. There, they encountered not only the icy, snow-covered roads but also enemy action to hamper them in their difficult job. It was at Bodange that the first prime mover engine was changed -- that in the "Bingham Flash."  One of the warmer days in Bodange |
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Rough Initation [Initiation] - During the first weeks of evacuating knocked-out vehicles from the Bastogne district, only the tractors of the movers were used -- also the brand new T-5 tank retriever, which had a rough initiation. At Bodange, where the T-5 was added to Evacuation equipment, the section was very busy in the mud and slush around Bastogne where knocked-out American equipment was profuse. On the first such trip with the T-5 was T-4 Francis M. Wilczak, driving, and T-5 James "Indian" Trost, assistant. The road was muddy and slushy but not too slippery that day. The shoulders, however, were very treacherous. Lt. Foster, leading the retriever in a peep, came upon a halftrack stopped in the middle of the road, and signalled the retriever to halt while he found out what was wrong. Subsequently, he signalled back to pull past on the right of the halftrack. Wilczak, misinterpreting his signal as meaning to move off the road on the right, pulled the retriever's right lateral, and the vehicle crawled over on the road shoulder to the very edge of an eight-foot bank. As the lieutenant watched in dismay, he saw the heavy tank retriever teeter for a second on the edge of the embankment and then roll over, making one complete turn to stop in an upright position. The Indian, Lt. Foster knew, had been standing in the turret only a minute before. Much to his relief, he saw both men climb out of the vehicle, unharmed, at the bottom of the bank. Even the retriever itself was not damaged much. The machine gun was banged up, and the pin holding the big boom to the body was sprung. But when oil, lost in the turnover, was replaced, the engine functioned as usual. With the assistance of an "A" Company retriever, "B" Company's vehicle was hauled back to the road to continue on its mission. |
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Brr! Bastogne - Given the job of evacuating all knocked-out vehicles in the vicinity of Bastogne, the battalion was ordered to move out before the job could be finished, in support of attacking combat elements of the division. A spot which was laden with knocked-out armor was the area in the "Y" formed by the juncture of the Arlon-Bastogne and Neufchateau-Bastogne roads. Here, One-Gear Regan and Carl Petersen were kept very busy, Regan removing five tanks and four halftracks in three days while Pete hauled out others and towed them back to Bodange to the company shop. Retrieved from the Bastogne area were vehicles of the Fourth, Sixth, Ninth and Tenth Armored Divisions. "Old soldiers never die" -- just ask B. J. Prince and Paul Davis, a couple "old originals" in the battalion. This pair was working at Bodange on a tank which had been hit by bazooka fire and sustained considerable damage to its wiring system -- one of the tanks evacuated from Bastogne. After working on the job two days, checking the entire wiring system of the tank, they discovered a German-placed booby trap under the ammunition box which contained about 50 rounds of 76 mm ammunition. Connected to the vehicle's wiring system, the explosive charge -- and the tank's ammunition -- would have gone up during the checking of the wiring had not the battery been dead. It too had been damaged by the bazooka hit.  von Rundstedt's men used this American tank Never to be forgotten by the men who were at Bodange is the kitchen -- its location, that is. Atop the steepest hill in that hilly town, overlooking all else, was a school, and in that school, the kitchen was set up. Just below it and across the road which led up the hill was the CP. While parts of the company were billeted along that road up the hill, the automotive sections were located down in the main part of town in a valley, Platoon Headquarters at the opposite end of the village from the hill on which the kitchen was situated. With snow falling daily, the steep grade was always slippery despite applications of sand. Climbing it at mealtimes was a job which "winded" the most rugged men in the company and all but knocked out some of the others. Then, after climbing the hill, there was the freezing business of eating out in a courtyard of the school in the bitter cold which was prevalent at the time and in high wind which always blew there. There were a few slant-topped desks in the courtyard, but these were covered with snow and ice, so there was nothing to do with food-laden messkits except to set them in the snow and try to wolf everything down while it was still warm. A good way to keep one hand sufficiently warm to manage a fork or spoon was to hold a cupful of coffee in it while eating with the other, changing hands when the "feeding" one became numb. The coffee, of course, was cold when the rest of the meal was down. An officer's mess was located in a room of the school, across a hall from the kitchen. After eating, came the descent of the hill, which, in its way, was worse than coming up, for the grade was so steep and the footing so slippery that avoiding a fall on the trip down required considerable acrobatic ability. There was many a clang of messkit, many a thump and curse on that hill both before and after meals. The two days spent by the company in Bastogne after a 16-mile march from Bodange on January 25 were very cold, and the snow was deep.  Bastogne street scene There was the usual scramble for stovepipe and wood or coal to burn in the various stoves as men tried to fix warm quarters in shattered apartment dwellings in which they were billeted. The entire town lay in ruins, hardly a house or building of any type having escaped bombs or artillery shells. Fighting a few miles northeast at the time the company was there, the 15th Tank Battalion was in constant contact with the enemy, gaining one objective after another -- and keeping the shop full of disabled vehicles. First members of the company to enter Bastogne were Lt. Thomas, Jumbo Pastor, Arthur Baker and Pvt. Anthony J. "Tony" Baka, all of whom went there on January 1 to evacuate a peep which had been hit by shrapnel. |