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Springhill Lodge, England - It was an impressive picture that evening when we were all assembled on the parade grounds at Springhill Lodge, England. A little humorous too, if you want to call it that. At least there was plenty of tension, for "This was it." This was the day that some of us had looked forward to, others hoped wouldn't come so soon. But the general feeling was, "It has to be done and the sooner we do it the quicker we will get back to those we love and the old familiar surroundings, and of course, we don't mean any place but the States." Anyone could quickly understand just what we were about to do. Anyway, the news always gets around somehow. Those English folk seemed to know of our coming events before we were certain of them ourselves. England and the English! But just a minute. England didn't look so bad after that gruelling [grueling] trip across the Atlantic. Any land looked mighty nice then, didn't it? England in the Winter, in the Spring and then the Summer. Well, it wasn't so bad after all, but let us not elaborate too much on our social activities for it might prove to be the source of a family argument sometime in the future. "This was it!" Just three words. Each of us spoke those words, either jokingly or with a bead of cold sweat perched on the brow. This meant a brand new experience for all of us. Oh yes! We had been shot at, dug fox-holes, cut barbed wire and lived in canvas chateaux on maneuvers but this new experience was rather different -- much different. These guys we are going to face across the Channel were not just kidding, they meant business. "Wind 'em up!" Now that was a familiar order, heard it many times back in the States, but this time it clicked. It rang out like a bell at an important heavyweight bout. All the motors seemed to turn over in unison. This was the beginning of the first round of our new adventure. Wheels turned, many wheels. Vehicles from halftracks on down to the mighty little peep rolled down the winding roads toward the southern shores of Merry Old England. |
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Southampton, England - It was a beautiful evening on that 15th day of July 1944, but things happen on beautiful evenings and so it was. A tail light in the distance has led many a man astray. There are tail lights and tail lights, but when the rosy glow from the southern extremity of a bicycle leads a long column of vehicles marching to war, it just isn't funny. At least from a military point of view. But it was comical to us -- anything was funny. However, we did arrive at the designated place, the marshalling area at Southampton, England. Southampton, as you all know, is located on the English Channel. A historic spot too, for this was the place from which the Pilgrims shoved off on the "Mayflower" back in 1620. Quite a coincidence as far as adventure is concerned, so let's let it go at that. Salt air does funny things to a person, and we could smell the ocean breezes, but good! Of course, everyone's nerves were on edge, ready for the ordeal but when they told us that we could expect an air attack on the marshalling area, which was common every night, that didn't help a bit. The general idea was to spread the old bedroll and, while in the horizontal position, get a worm's eye view of the big air show. This we did. There were occupied bedrolls strewn everywhere on the side walks, streets, lawns and truck tops which incidentally, our "Tarp-Seamstress," Dutchy Baer, didn't like one bit. Never-the-less, a truck tarpaulin does make a swell bunk, "so -- right on." When a soldier is in the sack and asleep, hell or high water won't wake him. The only thing that would stand a chance was the first sergeant's whistle. Ray Biggs, our first sergeant, didn't blow the whistle but the air raid came -- sirens, rushing civilian's footsteps and all, and there we lay sleeping with a big grin on our faces obviously dreaming about something or other. Of course, there were some light sleepers with an ever ready eye for the rustling of skirts and the click of the high heel. Those boys are always ready for action, so it was they who saw the activity in the sky. Nothing much really happened. It was more or less of an alert -- buzz bombs or something -- and those action boys could have gotten more excitement from the heel and skirt variety. |
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Aboard the LST - The following day was an important day in our army career. Let's stop and take a look at the situation. Our first impression upon arising was that of a scene taken from a Buck Rogers comic book. Balloons were everywhere, bobbing and swaying in the misty breeze. Ships of all descriptions rode at anchor in the great harbor. Each sported an attached balloon, not to mark its location but designed to keep the menace of strafing enemy aircraft to a minimum. Of course, we took all of this in. We were anxious to know just what was in store for us. This was a sort of a preview of what we would soon go through. There was plenty of hustle and bustle, dock workers here and soldiers there, more soldiers here and moving vehicles there -- just one big scene of activity. Everything was moving according to plan. The task of loading heavy equipment aboard the LST's (Landing Ship Tank) seemed like an impossible job, but in this modern war the impossible was often made to look easy. The OK signal was given to Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 128th Armored Ordnance Maintenance Batallion, to start moving toward the loading ramp. The ship assigned to us was the USS LST 209A. The LST's looked like most other Navy vessels except that they were designed for loading and unloading where there no dock facilities, the main feature being the ingenious door or ramp that unfolds from the bow of the ship to provide a convenient entrance or exit to the ship as the case may be. We were all loaded in short order. An elevator lifted the vehicles to the main deck where they were securely fastened down. The Channel does get rough at times. The true GI must bed down his vehicle before looking for his own quarters, similiar [similar] to the traveler and his horse. Our bunks on the LST were much more comfortable and roomy than those experienced on the Atlantic voyage and we observed again how well the Navy lived and ate. The boys in blue offered this explanation: "The food and quarters are there as long as the ship is afloat, but if it sinks, we just don't have to worry about it anymore." That didn't lift our morale much and everyone buckled his lifebelt just a little bit tighter. The average GI was of the inquisitive type, and consequently the ship was well investigated from stem to stern. We located all the convenient hatches and companion-ways, and asked about this and that until we were well oriented on the life of the Navy. |
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Channel Crossing - During the evening of July 18, 1944, we moved out of the harbor and fell in line with the other ships in our convoy. Soon we were well out in the Channel and were quite pleased with the calmness of the water, in fact, we were told that this was the first time since D-Day that the Channel had been so calm, which didn't hurt our feelings a bit. It was a beautiful evening as the red sunset reflected over the rippling waves. "Red sky at night is a sailor's delight," as the old maritime phrase goes, but in times like this, a calm sea meant an increase in submarine menace, so needless to say, the old lifebelt was within easy reach, if not already worn. So on into the night and into our bunks, still in good spirits. Morning came in a blanket of fog and, much worse, the rest of the convoy had left us. We were lost! In a pea-soup fog the sextant was useless, and with radio silence, the situation wasn't a bed of roses. There wasn't much we could do except wait until the fog lifted. In the meantime a small Army launch accidentally drifted into view and with a few inquiries we were able to get under way again. At first the launch led the parade but later, after our ship's captain recognized the buoys, we outdistanced the smaller craft. During the afternoon of July 19th, the sky cleared and we sighted the shores of Cherbourg Peninsula. We had spent most of the early afternoon wending our way carefully through the Channel in the enemy mine fields. The water had been cleared by Navy minesweepers on D-Day but there was still the danger that one or more of the mines might have been overlooked in the process. Just about sunset we were floating into that historic spot called Utah Beach, the American beach-head on the shores of France. It wasn't difficult to realize that we were witnessing a battle front. Clouds of smoke hovered over several places and 50 cal. tracers were arcing across the sky toward a flight of enemy aircraft. The Luftwaffe dared not come too close for there was plenty of armament in the bay. Hundreds of ships lay at anchor in the improvised harbor. We were just an insignificant spot in the big picture. It was then low tide, and in order to unload an LST, it had to be beached at high tide, then when the tide moved out and bared the beach, the ship was left standing on dry sand. The ramp was then lowered and the equipment rolled out just as if it were nothing more than an auto-mart in Chicago or New York. In the meantime, we had the chance to view the activity in the harbor. We noticed that many of the boats were unloaded while at anchor by Army barges and the versatile amphibious "Ducks" which proved their worth as the star performers in this operation. Other vessels bearing the huge red cross of a hospital ship were being loaded for their return trip to England. To see these unfortunate veterans of a few days' battle, sobered us to realize the seriousness of combat we were about to enter. The tide was favorable on the morning of July 20, and the unloading got under way. The large doors at the bow of the ship unfolded and the heavy steel ramp lowered in a din of clanking chains and growling gears.  Looking at the convoy from the railing of LST, 209A. This happened during the early morning darkness, and what lay ahead of us still remained a mystery. Several of the boys had stood near the ramp for quite some time with the intentions of being first to set foot on the shores of France. Appropriately enough, Capt. Edward L. Wilson, our company commander, along with the first sergeant, Raymond L. Biggs, picked their way down the ramp where they stood at the lower edge to prepare for the next honored step. From what they could see of the beach, it appeared to be the usual smooth hard-packed sand, so off they stepped and touched the soil of France - under three feet of sea water. They found it rather embarrassing after discovering themselves wading around in a pool of water that had to be filled in by bulldozers before the trucks could roll off. It was not advisable to assemble the company vehicles on the beaches because of the possibility of enemy air attacks, so each driver was given instructions to proceed to an assembly point a few miles inland. Very much to our surprise, we were greeted with road signs informing us to drive to the right side of the road, which was very contradictory to the traffic rules in England. It was quite a novelty to drive on the right side once more; a custom once so familiar to us in the States.  We found the towns almost totally destroyed. After we had all collected at the assembly point, we moved out on the road leading to our first bivouac on French soil. While enroute we passed through the towns of Montebourg, Valognes and Briquebec. These places had been in the path of the Allied advance and we found them to be almost totally destroyed. What amazed us most was the fact that most of the people managed to live in these ravaged towns. Scores of civilians emerged from the cellars to greet our column as it passed. It was late afternoon when we finally arrived at our bivouac in the vicinity of Fierville, France. |
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Fierville, France - Everything was lovely, just like maneuvers, until we were told that the enemy was about 12 miles away. Comparing that to 25 miles, the distance from Springhill Lodge to Worcester, England, (our old stamping ground) that wasn't very damned far. The boys on guard that night really sweated it out. It was plenty dark, and everything from a tree trunk down to a pebble in the road seemed to move. But after ten days without much of anything happening, our minds were more at ease. Of course, certain things help to ease the mind. Such things as the unbelievable sight of a doughnut truck driven by three smiling young ladies representing the American Red Cross; or our first acquaintance with French civilians; or our first taste of French cider. It was really a new experience. The French people would emit a group of weird sounds that didn't make sense to us. The best we could do was to shove a French-English dictionary in their hands with a silly grin. It wasn't long before we mastered the words"J'ai soif" (I am thirsty) and "Des oeufs" (the eggs). That seemed to get results so we were anxious to broaden. our vocabulary. With a triumphant smile, we would add "Merci" (thanks) and "S'il vous plait" (if you please), just to be polite. The boys who could "parlez-vous" a little Francais didn't waste any time getting situated. We who didn't know the art had to take along interpreters or else use the universal sign language. However it did become quite embarrassing when trying to get acquainted after our limited French vocabulary had passed our lips. On the other hand, the prospective French friends would mistake you as being a master of the lingo and, after you had spoken your little piece to break the ice, they would really snow you under. Chop, chop, chop!  Getting acquainted. This being an area freshly liberated from enemy hands, it was easy to find traces of action in the form of freshly dug foxholes and machine gun positions. Small scouting parties were formed by the more inquisitive soldiers and it wasn't long before things were discovered. German rifles thrown in the bushes; hand gernades [grenades] strewn around; and the ever present K-ration boxes left by the advancing infantry. Booby-traps? We were warned about them time and time again until we were afraid to take a step without thoroughly investigating the area we treaded upon. The warnings really sank in when we located our first prospective trap in the shape of a German rifle placed in a hedge row. It was buried deep in the leaves and branches, therefore a small wire might have easily been attached to detonate a grenade or other anti-personnel device. First Lt. Edward R. Millar was our man to neutralize the danger of the trap and everything was done according to his instructions. A long rope was needed for the job. Whenever we thought of a long rope Chester "Skin" Bostain, our company carpenter, immediately came into our thoughts. "Skin" was a man with many gadgets used in trapping, hunting and fishing. In fact his whole personality and appearance were comparable to Daniel Boone. A long rope was always dangling neatly at his side. Lt. Millar soon had the rig set up to draw the rifle out of the hedge. A steady pull, the branches yielded, and the rifle came tumbling to the ground, no booby trap but a darn good souvenir. A little steel wool and oil would make it appear new. Soon the rifle was ready for test firing and the most logical place would be at the sea shore a few miles away. So a trip was arranged in a peep with Joe Boyd at the wheel. Any trip with Boyd was sure to be a thriller. A thriller it was too, as Andrew "Choppy" Mazur, our company small-arms man and barber, and Zaner "Wires" Sawyier can relate. With Lt. Millar and the newly captured rifle, they were on their way toward the Atlantic shore near Port Bail, France. The first road taken on this expedition was marked "Mines Not Cleared" but by carefully following other vehicle tracks toward the beach, they were soon at the improvised firing range. Anyone could plainly see that land mines were planted. An Air Corps command car had already met its fate with the rear end blown off. Four GI's with a new rifle to shoot couldn't be bothered by things like that, so the business at hand got under way. Soon the small supply of German ammunition was exausted [exhausted], so they turned their attention to the mines. The pattern of laying was easy to follow because of the dead grass on the patch covering each mine. There were mines planted in front of them, back of them and on either side and, "By gosh, there's one right under "Choppy's" feet!" It doesn't take much weight to set one of these things off, so it didn't take long for four GI's to get out of the danger zone. On the way back, mines were located everywhere, from teller models on down to the "Bouncing Betty" type or German S mines with their tricky little prongs. When Joe Boyd ever became worried you could be sure that the situation had to be serious and at the moment he was more or less petrified. However they returned to the bivouac area with a good story which was so impressive that several of the boys wanted to see the area and retrieve the Air Force command car. The weight of a peep wheel is more than enough to set off a mine, so the wrecker's 15 tons weight could easily feel out anything in its wide path. This was duck soup for William "Pappy" Rauscher, one of the wrecker pilots. This boy didn't look natural unless there was a cozy black growth of beard around that familiar broad grin, and the wrecker didn't look complete without "Pappy" behind the wheel. Fifteen tons rumbling down the road, loaded with five carefree, soldiers, were on their way to retrieve our first damaged vehicle in France. A summer evening at the beach, the soft rush of the surf blending with long shadows from the setting sun. Just peace and quiet and one could hardly believe that so many dangers lurked in the sands where these boys were occupied with the task of pulling the crippled vehicle from its precarious position. The wrecker was backed to within a stone's throw of the command car and the rear winch cable was fed out to make the hitch. After a thorough inspection for possible remaining traps, the cable was tightened and the disabled vehicle yielded toward the growling powerful winch. It was a tense moment, for a hidden mine field in darkness could present quite a disaster. A few moments later the vehicle was secured to the heavy duty crane and everything was in readiness to return to the bivouac area. Then all hell broke loose. The sky was one red mass of tracers and bursting shells. The Luftwaffe was paying a social call to the beach tonight and was warmly received. Our Jerry callers didn't seem to enjoy our hot Yank hospitality, for the skies were soon clear and all was quiet and peaceful once more, leaving the wrecker crew flabbergasted. "Well, I'll be go to hell," came the familiar expression from Charlie Ahrens to break the hypnotic spell which covered the crew. Many exciting stories were told the following day at the bivouac area while the Service and Salvage boys underwent the task of repairing the C and R car. A new rear end, straightened or replaced fenders and other new parts, coated with GI paint, transformed its appearance to that of a vehicle fresh from the assembly line. Our first battle-damaged vehicle to be serviced was ready for the road once more. It was a good job clone and the boys were mighty proud of their work. Paint can do a wonderful job of camouflaging, even to the point of concealing previous identifying marks. Our intentions were to add this vehicle to our motor pool. However, our Air Corps friends, the previous owners, were smarter than we anticipated for they soon traced the location of their missing vehicle to our area. Our white lies and alibis were no match for their facts and proofs, so our prize possession had to be surrendered. There is always the problem of laundry when in the field. Clarence "Knobby" Baeten, our Service and Salvage chief, was working on an idea to improvise a washing machine even before we had left England and had obtained a motorcycle engine for the power unit along with a steel drum and other equipment. The baffle plates inside the drum were welded in place by Biase "Busy" Lagana and Charlie "We-uns" Hayles who also constructed the frame. Jack Shrader and Vincent Tyner turned out the "V" pulleys and bushings. Here at the first bivouac, Joe Tuzinsky and Lawrence "Pop" Page assembled the rig for a test run. Carmelo "Bird-Legs" Licata collected all of the dirty coveralls in the Service and Salvage section and threw them into the machine. Lester Towles assembled five blow torches under the drum to heat the water. Tuzinsky was given the honor of throwing the machine into gear. It jerked, bounced and vibrated. "Pop" Page and "Dutchy" Baer grabbed the machine to hold it down and "Pappy" Rauscher and Millard Hurst brought up the reinforcements. Sammy Kalnv, Willard Mitchell, Pete Forte and Charles Kutyla hurriedly collected stakes and a sledge hammer and soon had it under control. After about an hour, the results were observed. The clothing was removed from the still cold water in one tightly twisted mass. "Dutchy" Baer, our company "seamstress," immediately beat his gums, thinking that all had been torn to shreds. As it turned out, the clothing was still usable, but the machine was eventually discarded. |