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Le Bingard, France - "On the 28 July 1944, the Battalion was alerted and its letter companies proceeded in support of designated Combat Commands. Co. "C" following CCA left Le Mesnil St Martin 28 July 1944. Co "B" following CCB left 29 July 1944 and Co. "A" supporting Reserve Command left 30 July 1944. Hq and Hq Company as part of the 6th Armored Division Trains left Les Mesnil St Martin the rainy morning of July 30, 1944." The above excerpt, taken from the battalion history outline, was just a formal cold statement omitting all feeling and anxiety deep in our hearts. Even the days were dreary and cool, especially the morning of July 30, 1944, when Battalion Headquarters and Headquarters Company headed their vehicles in the direction of the front line. All our basic training back in the States, those lectures, road marches, map reading and combat tactics were to be put to use. All our firepower was primed and ready for any eventuality. How would we take our first real baptism of fire on the actual battlefield? The front lines were a good 25 miles away, so we had a little time to ponder on the thought. Even at such serious moments it was possible to laugh at a comical situation. Everyone has learned that, where an object is in rapid motion and a sudden change of direction is exerted, a strange force tends to keep the object moving in its original direction. The object in mind was Lt. Edward R. Millar. On this occasion the lieutenant was being chauffered by the expert hand of William "Perry" McIntire. A sharp corner and a quick twist of the wrist can be embarrassing at times, so the lieutenant discovered as he found himself suddenly sprawled in the middle of the road with that famous "Heinie" rifle perched across his lap. Our bivouac that afternoon, after passing through numerous battle-torn villages, was a spot about three miles northwest of Le Bingard, France, an interesting area located about 23 miles from our starting point, which incidentally, didn't place us far from the enemy. The surrounding fields were covered with planted poles, sharpened at the skyward end presumably to prevent possible Allied airborne landings. It wasn't a pleasant thought to imagine what damage they could do to the infantry from the skies. We were beginning to realize just what a ruthless bunch these Nazi fiends were. "Dig foxholes!" was the order, and an order was never more promptly obeyed. Those "castles in the ground" were an elaborate affair. The architects of the earth really put their hearts and souls into it, and their bodies too -- just to make sure that the dimensions were correct for a speedy descent. Sod and straw were placed in the bottom to break the fall and also to keep the posterior from getting wet, since we had already dug below the water line. Everything was in readiness: camouflaging, dispersing of vehicles, posting of the guards and so on. Nothing happened during the afternoon or in the evening, so most of us undressed and crawled into our sacks within easy distance of the prepared foxhole. We talked awhile before dozing off.  A castle in the ground We were awakened abruptly by rattling 50's, thumping 40 mm's and bursting 90's. Their target was a droning lone German recon plane which we later dubbed "Bed Check Charlie." It was impressing [impressive] to watch those bursting shells and the 50 cal. machine gun tracer ammunition patterned across the sky. We didn't give the foxhole much thought until the whistling flak began to fall. These jagged pieces of steel aren't exactly pleasant to feel, especially when falling at great velocity. The first piece that fell, which everyone swore just missed him, was enough warning for us to take cover under trucks and trailers or anything that would come between us and the skies. After it was all over, we looked at each other and with a silly grin remembered the unoccupied foxholes we had so diligently prepared just for such an occasion. Perry McIntire, a virtuoso of the drums and the musical sweet potato, constantly had boasted that, during our first air assault, he would merrily play a light Irish air on the little black instrument, for no other reason than just to show that Irishmen can take it. The opportune moment arrived for the musical rendition, but Mac was found right under the truck with the rest of us -- of varied and "Mongrel" ancestries. |
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Montmartin-Sur-Mer, France - The following morning we were notified that the battle in this sector was gaining rapid headway, so consequently we found ourselves on the move and by early afternoon we had travelled 14 miles to a field just outside of Montmartin-Sur-Mer, a small town greatly excited by the joy of fresh liberation. There was still confusion among the civilians in the state of being transformed from suppression to freedom, but their appreciation was showered upon us in the form of of eggs, flowers, wine and visits of thanks to our bivouac area. Of all times for Capt. Alfred J. "Doc" Schmitt to hold a short arm, this was the most opportune moment for a public demonstration. French customs and traditions seemed to fit into the picture, so nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.  At home in the field. We captured our first German soldiers while in this area, all of whom were dressed in civilian clothes and were pointed out by the French civilians. By afternoon we were told that the division was still advancing fast and that we would move that night. After gathering our carefully spread camouflage and cooking materials, we were ready to start. It is surprising how much ground an army can cover without meeting any real resistance. This was a disorganized army we were encountering, and groups of the enemy were concealed in the woods not knowing what do [to] do. However, our job was to keep the division supplied and maintained, so mopping up operations were left to the infantry which by this time was many miles to our rear. Modern warfare changes the complexion of many things. There was no area you could put your finger on and call a front line. It was more or less fluid or liquid, with streams of American armor flowing in all directions. Vital German communications were disrupted, resulting in complete confusion and leaving isolated enemy pockets. |
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Avranches, France - We travelled a good part of the night and just before daybreak we were feeling out our bivouac area in the early morning darkness. We had covered 52 miles in complete darkness to an area just three miles west of Avranches, France. We soon discovered that the enemy had just left the area in great haste after trying to destroy equipment and papers. This was a former enemy command post and it presented quite a bit of material for us to root through. We were pretty tired from the gruelling trip in blackout, but everyone was mighty interested in what we might find. Fatigue overcame most of us so we decided to wait until morning when we could get a better look at the situation. Each one of us wanted to be the first one up with the intention of looting the choice material, but the old sack felt pretty nice, and when the sun did rise most of us said, "To hell with it, probably booby trapped anyway." A little while later we took another look at the situation when we heard many French voices around. That hurt our ego, so up out of the sack and on to the scene of action. French civilians and American soldiers were busy looting through German equipment, side by side, hardly noticing each other. A few moments later about a dozen prisoners came marching up the road, escorted by a few members of the company Ration Section, including Bill Gilbert. We finally tired of searching through the maze of paper at the command post, and most of us wandered off. Bomb craters just blown the night before were examined, and we viewed our first American casualty. The Luftwaffe visited us in the early afternoon and paid their respects with bombs, rockets and machine gun fire. The alert 777 AAA detachment returned the kisses with 37mm anti-aircraft fire and the ever-willing 50 cal. machine gun. Two FW 190's tasted the murderous fire and came tumbling to earth. It was here that the first Purple Heart was awarded. T/Sgt. Charles W. Gamble was injured by enemy machine gun fire from the strafing planes.  Choice looting M/Sgt. Tim Ream recalls a vivid picture while on the billeting party with Capt. Wilson to secure this area. After rounding up several prisoners, they noticed a fresh bomb crater in the road. Of course there were no warning signs erected as the road was just taken by the Americans. Since it was late evening and Tim and the captain would remain at the area until the company arrived, they decided to stand on the highway to warn all traffic of the danger ahead and to slow down while passing around the hole in the road. A halftrack came racing down the road past Tim, but failed to hear his warnings. A thump and a crash, then all was quiet. The vehicle had driven square into the crater. By the time the captain and Tim arrived at the scene, they found the track laying on its side in an adjacent field. One of the two occupants, standing up in a daze, told Tim that his buddy was pinned underneath. Our billeting party was helpless without equipment to right the vehicle. As luck would have it, a lone wrecker happened along the highway at that moment, and the pinned soldier was removed. However, his body was so badly crushed that he died a short time later. The lone wrecker driver was lost, which was not a wise thing in enemy infested territory, but by coincidence he recognized Tim as an old friend of his whom he had not seen for months. During the afternoon, just after the air attack, we were busily digging foxholes. T/Sgt. Gurney Littleton can remember how difficult it was to dig through large tree roots. With a pick, axe and shovel, Gurney proved the theory that no obstacle was too tough to penetrate when digging for safety from air attacks. Biase Lagana and Charlie Hayles merged into a partnership before designing their slit trench. They decided on one of these L-shaped, two-occupant jobs in which they could put their heads together and read the terrified expressions on each others faces during a nerve-wracking air attack. They had worked most of the morning on the project, and when the trench was completed, they placed the old bedrolls on top of the fresh, soft dirt just dug from the hole. Tests proved that one complete turn would dump the occupant from the sack into the hole. Lagana's mind was put at ease, so he maneuvered into a restful position on the sack and awaited the arrival of the Luftwaffe. It wasn't long before the German airplanes arrived on the scene. Almost everybody scattered, seeking the safety of their prepared foxholes. Charley Hayles made one big leap for his half of the slit trench and "Pancho," Lagana's dog, followed suit. German bullets peppered the area and bombs were dropped. Two ME 109's were knocked down and the others were forced away by the withering AA fire. When all was quiet once more, the boys began to emerge from their shelters only to find that Biase Lagana had slumbered peacefully through the excitement on his little mound of earth. We were learning little by little just how this strange warfare progressed. It was beginning to be called a "rat-race" with the infantry bringing up the rear. After we had spent a full day here, the infantry columns began plodding past our area, very much disgusted and inquiring how much further they would have to walk before contacting the enemy. It was time for us to move again. We did so that evening, never realizing just what a nightmare this night would turn out to be. As the vehicles were pulling out, the truck in which Bob Eiting and Harry Gerenstein drove met with a little accident which upset the trailer. This delayed them and the vehicles behind them. When they were ready to take off, they found themselves quite alone. They drove fast in an effort to overtake the column. After driving for quite sometime, they had the feeling of spearheading the column since there were seemingly no vehicles ahead. They were greatly relieved when they eventually caught up with the rest. To reach our objective, we had to cross a bridge in the vicinity of Avranches which was subject to constant bombing raids by the enemy. The bridge had to be crossed that evening at all costs. We trusted the Almighty to lead us through safely. Little time passed before we reached the long descent into the valley. The column halted halfway down the hill, so we had a chance to observe the situation. As luck had it, there was a full moon that night. Our first thought was, "a beautiful night for bombing." The silvery stream made a wonderful background to mark the silhouette of the target area, and the German Luftwaffe couldn't have asked for better bombing conditions. It soon became evident that they didn't intend to pass up the opportunity either for we could already hear the distant familiar drone. There were many bombers aloft and the target area was so vivid that it seemed impossible for them to miss. They were soon overhead, and bombs began to drop from the first wave, but all were wide of their target. Most of us were already mumbling a silent prayer while we were lying alongside of the road in the ditches to seek protection. Abram Frisby can relate the incident very clearly how he dove out of his truck and hit the ditch. At that moment, some brave lieutenant drove by in his peep and asked Frisby what he was doing in the ditch. Frisby said, "That's alright lieutenant, I have my hole, you go and find your own." The first wave passed, and we took advantage of the situation by making a headlong dash toward our goal. By the time the tail end of the column reached the bridge, the second wave of enemy aircraft was over us. Fighter planes spotted us and came swooping down firing rocket bombs at our long column. One rocket passed between the two wreckers with just inches to spare. It was a hair raising experience for "Pappy" Rauscher, Charlie Kutyla, Sammy Kalney and "Mitch" Mitchell, the wrecker drivers and co-pilots. Bombs were dropped again but luckily they were all near misses. Flaming buildings, as well as many tracers and bursting shells, lit up the area. This was a real test for stamina on our part. Luckily, no damage resulted from these raids, but there were plenty of shaken nerves and added grey hairs. Lt. William O. Meisinger, our communications officer who for some reason or another had to use the ration section's gasoline truck as a means of transportation, was sitting on his usual throne of gasoline cans in back of the vehicle. The gasoline truck is about the most uncomfortable place a person could be at a time like this for it would take only one tracer to make the truck a burning inferno. John Radford, who was with the lieutenant, had already sensed the danger and was prepared for a quick exit by straddling the tail gate. Lt. Meisinger was worried over Radford's precarious position and asked him what he was doing. Radford answered in a stuttering voice, "Listen, Moty, all I"m watin' for is one little ping, then I'm makin' myself scarce." The lieutenant thoroughly agreed with the idea and placed himself nearer the tailgate. Our column moved on trough [through] the valley, over a smaller bridge and up a steep hill leading toward the Brest peninsula. The bombing and strafing of the road up ahead was so intense that Maj. John S. Chambers directed the column into a side road which made a complete loop around to the main road and across the bridges once more. The idea was to keep the vehicles in motion so that they would not offer too good a target. We swung back onto the main road just as the Jerry planes decided to give up for the night. Of course, we had no way of being sure at the time that they had called it quits for the evening, and the rest of the journey was not made by the men in the long column of vehicles in a calm, peaceful frame of mind. Even the most skeptical now were ready to admit that, given the proper conditions, this war could be dangerous!  Sleep for the weary The remainder of the night revealed nothing more than many tired veterans. By sunrise, we had penetrated well inland, but the German airmen spotted us and proceeded to strafe the column once more. Our cover of 50 cal. machine-gun fire, along with the support from the 777 AAA, and a tank battalion that happened to be passing our column at the time, soon drove them off. We had travelled 45 miles that night and most of us were a little on the nervous side. Even some of the robust and iron-nerved lads admitted that their knees gave way to violent shaking several times. However, fatigue often changes the aspect of a nerve-wracking situation and we eased into the attitude of, "Let them strafe and bomb, they couldn't hit the side of a barn anyway." We hoped! Sitting in the trucks was just as safe as lying in the ditch alongside of the road, at least none of us were injured. |