Battered Bastards of Bastogne

by George Koskimaki

  Crossroads “X”

  Around midnight on December 19th, Division had ordered the 327th Glider Infantry Regiment to Crossroads “X”, the site of 326th Medical Company Field Hospital where much firing and explosions had been heard since 2200 hours.

  With the platoons of “B” Company of the 401st in defensive positions southeast of Flamierge, being in closest proximity o the road junction, Captain Robert McDonald’s men got the move out order at around 0300 on the 20th. The move is best described by PFC. Richard Bostwick who wrote:

  About three or four in the morning, we (‘B’ Company) moved out leaving ‘C’ Company at the roadblock. We headed west, toward France. The Company had been split up, one half on either side of the road. The road surface was above our heads. We were in the ditches. If the Krauts appeared on the road, we would have the ad-vantage. At one point, we were forced to wade, waist deep, through a swamp that was about fifty feet across.

  Time was lost—haven’t any idea how long we were on the move. At last a halt was called and it was then that I noticed a weird sound—a low sounding drone resembling the sound of a fog horn. The entire company was now on one side of the road and Captain McDonald clued us in.

  In a company history, which he had written before his death and which was sent for our use by his widow, PFC. Marshall E. Griffith describes the movement and actions of his unit upon arrival on the Bastogne scene:

  On the 19th of December, we went into a defensive position southeast of Flamierge. At 2300 hours, ‘B’ Company was ordered to move north to the vicinity of Salle and recapture a truck convoy of the 28th Division, which had been ambushed by the Germans. In a night attack, the mission was accomplished and a road block was set up to protect what we had taken. We secured defensive positions around the road block to repulse any German counterattacks.

  Another of the men involved in these actions was PFC. Carmen C. Gisi, who related actions which were very near to the site of the 326th Airborne Medical Company field hospital and clearing station, which was overrun by enemy forces the very first night. Gisi describes the first night’s action:

  The 3rd Platoon was to the right of the crossroads (X), which was the location of the Medical Company. We were on a ridge. Charles Sawyer and I were sent out in front of the platoon as the 1st and 2nd scouts. When we reached the road, I fired two shots and that was the signal for the 3rd Platoon to move down. Before the platoon reached the road, Sawyer and I heard men running up the road toward us. When they got close to us, we challenged them and they answered in German and we opened up on them, killing some of them. This whole attack took place at night. After it was over, we moved back to our positions on the ridge. At the crossroads, our trucks were burning and the horns were blowing.

  In the narrative he wrote shortly after the war, of his experiences, PFC. Richard Bostwick relates how the move was made to the ambush area and also what the troopers found at the scene:

  The Krauts had ambushed an American truck convoy and reports indicated the enemy was still on the scene. From this point, the Company proceeded at an angle of about 45 degrees from the road. We proceeded in a zig-zag course up and down the terrain and, all the while, drone became louder and louder. We were soon on the crest of the hill. Several hundred yards below, on a sharp curve, a convoy of trucks was burning—some vehicles in the ditches, some straddled the road. I counted about fifteen vehicles, all in flames. We formed a Company-wide skirmish line at the fringe of the area illuminated by the firelight. With our rifles in a ready position, we slowly approached to a point where we hit the ground and waited for the order to move in. The eerie light of the fire and the drone of a truck horn make for a comfortable feeling. Now and then, the guttural shouts of Germans were heard and the clatter of equipment added to the din. We got to our feet and began to fire as we moved forward. Shouting and screaming followed. The enemy’s return fire was a poor example of resistance. They didn’t have a chance against the hail of bullets covering them. Upon reaching the trucks, we lobbed hand grenades into the wooded area beyond the road. As far as I knew, there was one casualty on our side. Platoon sergeant Mike Campana was nicked with a bullet-pierced ear lobe.

  Bodies were lying all over the place; some American; many German. The continuous drone of a horn was caused by the body of a truck driver draped over a steering wheel. The body was pushed over onto the seat and the sound stopped. The only sound, now, was the crackling of the flames. We regrouped and returned to the top of the hill from which we had attacked.

  Anticipating an enemy counterattack after his troops had driven the enemy force away from the blazing trucks near Crossroads “X”, Captain Robert McDonald had his men set up an ambush for the enemy. PFC. Carmen Gisi describes that action:

  In the morning we caught the German column. The first and last vehicles were knocked out and the rest couldn’t move. It was like something out of a movie. After the battle, we moved down to the road, went into the 326th Medical Company area where we found two troopers dead. I also found a camera in the hospital and took a picture of the tents and later on took more pictures of my buddies, on the same film. (Gisi provided a copy of the hospital tent picture for this narrative.)

  The morning of the 20th, only a few hours after the ambush, fog was heavy at ground level. More action followed in the “B” Company area, a short distance from the site of the abandoned division field hospital. At his position on the hillside, PFC, Richard Bostwick had just finished digging in when he was surprised by the appearance of a Catholic priest. He wrote:

  As daylight began to break, we dug in on the edge of a ravine several hundred yards from the burned out trucks. Directly to my front the ground sloped gently away and disappeared into a thick blanket of fog. Just behind me the ravine dropped away sharply, no telling how deep because of the fog.

  I had just finished digging in when bullets began to zip and whine through the area. I strained to see through the fog but everything was obscured. Within a short time, all hell was breaking loose. Artillery shells crashed about us and machine gun fire raked the area. We returned the fire. Suddenly, I was startled when, through all of this, The picture was taken by PFC. Carmen Gisi of “B” Company of the 401st Glider Infantry Battalion with a camera found in a foxhole at the site of the 326th Airborne Medical Company clearing station at Crossroads “X.” It shows two of the medical tents still standing the following day, an abandoned trailer and the canvas water bag attached to its tripod. comes a Catholic priest, crawling on his hands and knees; he dropped down beside me and asked if I was Catholic. A most unusual place to hear my confession. What guts!65

  The picture was taken by PFC. Carmen Gisi of “B” Company of the 401st Glider Infantry Battalion with a camera found in a foxhole at the site of the 326th Airborne Medical Company clearing station at Crossroads “X.” It shows two of the medical tents still standing the following day, an abandoned trailer and the canvas water bag attached to its tripod.

  By noon, the fog cleared and visibility was excellent. Our riflemen, who had been out under the fog blanket, began to withdraw through our position. The dead were left in the field. The wounded were being assisted by able-bodied men. Here and there, a Kraut head would pop up and the firing would resume. We were holding our own but ammunition was running low.

  Late in the morning, the rumble of a tank was heard. This was one of my greatest fears in combat. There was little defense against them except the bazooka. Fifty caliber machine gun bullets began to chew up the trees around me and I stayed low in my hole.

  With dramatic suddenness, the fog dropped over us. The order to withdraw was given. Our squad was picked for rear guard action; while the others withdrew, we would remain to protect their asses. A runner would return when it was time for us to get our of there. It seemed like an awfully long time before it was our turn to leave.

  We made our way down into the ravine and came out on the highway. Two or three trucks had been retrieved from the convoy that had been ambushed and this was the mea
ns of our departure. Without the fog and the trucks, I’m afraid we would have had it. It felt mighty good to get out of there.66

  Father Sam’s Ill-Fated Quest

  On the morning of December 20, Chaplain Francis L. Sampson had just finished a meal with a group of 501st regimental headquarters men and “Doc” Bill Waldmann, one of the surgeons, and several aid men when Warrant Officer Earle Sheen, from communications, came in and excitedly related what he had just witnessed:

  ‘You should have seen what I have just seen!’, he said. ‘A group of troopers machine-gunned on the road about two miles north of here. ‘I asked him where the place was … perhaps some wounded were left there. No, couldn’t explain it very well on the map, for there were four roads going north out of Bastogne.

  My driver, Cpl.(Fred) Adams, and I piled into the jeep and went to try to find the place. Since we couldn’t find the bodies Sheen had spoken about, I decided to keep going a mile or so farther on to where our division medical company had been captured by the Germans the night before. A few German vehicles, armored cars, etc., had come up from a side road, shot up several American trucks bringing up supplies and captured our whole medical company at the same time… Since Doc Waldmann told me that we were getting very short of supplies, I decided to salvage some of the stuff that the Germans had left behind. We loaded the jeep with tow chests of much needed equipment and were ready to head back to the regimental aid station.

  It is not known if Father Sampson’s trip to the devastated field hospital came before or after the men of “B” Company had visited the site at the crossroads. However, the outpost guard should have alerted the chaplain and his driver of the possibility of encountering enemy troops still in the vicinity. Father Sampson continued his story:67

  However, a soldier on outpost guard told me that there had been quite a skirmish the previous night, on the other side of the hill. He thought there might be some wounded left there. Perhaps that was the place Sheen had referred to, I reasoned. We drove over the hill to see and, just over the crest of the hill, we ran into Germans—hundreds of them. An armored car levelled its gun at me and the Germans jumped out from behind trees yelling something. A light reconnaissance vehicle came up quickly.

  ‘Stop the jeep, Adams’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this mess. ‘We were captured.

  “A” Company

  Over in the “Able” Company sector, PFC. Harold R. Hansen, a veteran of all the campaigns, remembered trouble they had with an enemy observation post out in front of their positions. He wrote:

  Our defensive position was in a wooded area. 1st Platoon of ‘A’ Company held it and we were getting shelled. About 300 to 600 yards ahead was another patch of woods on a knoll. It was used as an observation post by Germans. We had orders to take it and did and then were driven back at night by shelling and heavy forces. This kept up until it was taken with the help of the entire company.

  Bowen’s Platoon

  For S/Sgt. Robert M. Bowen, serving as both platoon sergeant and platoon leader in “C” Company, the 20th brought the sound of tank movement and soldiers moving toward his position whenever the morning fog permitted the sighting. He added to his narrative:

  Dawn broke and men began heating a K-ration breakfast on the Coleman stoves. Once more, I checked the squads. Walt Leamon reported that before daybreak he had heard the sound of tanks on the far side of the ridge, facing his position. I checked with my binoculars but, because of the heavy fog, could see nothing. When I got up to my CP, I reported the observation to Captain Towns and then ate breakfast. It was interrupted by a call from Jerry Hans. Men were moving through the woods to his front 600 yards away. I alerted the other squad leaders by sound power phone and hustled back to Hans’ road-block. Through binoculars I could see the men dressed in olive drab and moving south in single file. Hans volunteered to take a patrol and investigate. I called the company CP, asking for fire support if needed and watched grimly as Hans and his men went up a draw and into the woods. Not long after, the patrol withdrew, bringing back a half dozen stragglers from the 28th Division. They had been overrun but managed to escape. They were cold, wet, hungry and terribly demoralized. Most were without weapons or equipment. I directed them to the company CP. It was much the same all day. Hans and his squad guided the stragglers to our positions. The men were sent to Bastogne where they were given weapons and equipment and put in a reserve pool known as ‘Team Snafu’.

  The 501st Front

  The awareness of large groups of enemy soldiers operating behind the front lines of the newly arrived 101st troops was related earlier by PFC. John Trowbridge and author Robert Minick.68

  A large patrol, numbering nearly forty, had infiltrated through 1st Battalion of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment and was in among the gun positions of the 907th Glider Field Artillery Battalion when they were flushed out. A captured member of that patrol revealed that their mission was to cut the road to Bastogne, behind those troops, and isolate them from other segments of the defending forces.

  As the reserve unit of 2nd Battalion of the 501st, “D” company was given the mission of checking the area which was to serve as the dividing line between the 506th and 501st Regiments.

  Also related earlier by Captain Dick Winters, executive officer of 2nd Battalion of the 506th, was the discovery of an enemy soldier relieving himself behind the 2nd Battalion command post, which was a considerable distance behind the front line positions. Officers of “H” Company had also described the spacing between adjoining foxholes which could provide undetected passage between those positions during periods of darkness and fog—and there was plenty of fog during those first three or four days. The total distance to be covered along the MLR was such that individual fox holes were 75 to 100 yards apart.

  Action on the “D” Company front, of the 501st, begins with the mission of 1Lt. Bill Sefton, newly designated executive officer replacing the seriously wounded Lt. Denver Bennett, to lead a mine-laying party. An armored attack by the enemy is anticipated in the morning. Sefton describes the mission:

  Meanwhile, the firefight had stalemated, with both sides digging in as darkness fell. We were told to expect a German armor attack at dawn. About 0400, a truckload of land mines arrived and I was designated to take a mine- laying party of one platoon out to ‘mine the most logical avenues of armor approach.’

  I was supplied with a Belgian highway map and informed there was a combat patrol ‘out there somewhere’ ahead of me. What with the mines, engineer picks and shovels, plus normal combat equipment, the platoon sounded like a 5 and 10 cent store on the move, as we stumbled our way in the darkness. The Germans were firing one gun with shells that sounded like box cars coming through the air. One such landed a short distance away, spraying the area with clods of dirt as well as shrapnel. A voice behind me cried, ‘Lieutenant, I’m hit, I’m hit!’ I asked, ‘Can you make it back yourself?’ ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘Then go back.’ My last view of the casualty was a bulky shape making about six feet to the jump on one leg, toward the rear.

  A few hundred yards later, a skirmish broke out in the darkness somewhere ahead. The road map was being of no help whatsoever in determining routes of approach. In fact, I hadn’t the foggiest idea as to exactly where we were. I called for the platoon sergeant, whom I’d met for the first time, before starting out with the mine-laying party. He was a chemical warfare tech sergeant, obviously brought aboard as a replacement. He didn’t answer my summons, but a voice in the night explained his absence: ‘He was hit and you sent him back!’

  It was wearing on toward dawn. I moved the platoon off to the left from the direction of the skirmish ahead, found a flat piece of ground that might conceivably be of use to an approaching armored column and said, ‘Dig the mines in right here.’ Within fifteen minutes, the eastern horizon was starting to pale. Now the trick was to get back through our own lines, wherever they might be in relation to our wanderings in the darkness.

  The trooper who ha
d guided us out through the lines had long since dropped out of the party. Having veered from the original course to avoid the firing ahead, I could only head for Bizory by dead reckoning, with the skyline behind starting to silhouette us as we came in from the direction of the expected dawn attack. We would not be reentering our lines at the point we left them.

  Concerned for the potential of disaster by ‘friendly fire’, I preceded the group by some fifty yards, calling out warnings of our approach. I should have been yelling louder. A machine gunner opened up from maybe forty yards ahead, thereby provoking a career act of stupidity. Instead of hitting the ground, I stood there looking down the stream of tracers, which seemed to be passing on both sides of my face, and calling the gunner every abusive name I could recall, plus a few invented in the spirit of the moment. The fact that he stopped firing without hitting me or anyone in the group behind substantiates the adage—‘God rides on the shoulders of the dumb.’

  I never did learn of any part the mines we laid might have played in the defense of Bastogne.