Beyond Band of Brothers

by Major Dick Winters

  Just as Compton was ready to hurl his grenades, I started across the field with the rest of the assault team so that we jumped into the position together as the grenades exploded. Simultaneously, we hurled additional grenades at the next position. In return we received substantial small arms fire and grenades from the enemy. As we approached the first gun, “Popeye” Wynn was hit in the butt and fell down in the trench. Rather than complaining that he was hit, he apologized, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I goofed. I goofed. I’m sorry.” My God, it’s beautiful when you think of a guy who was so dedicated to his company that he apologizes for getting hit. Now, here was a soldier—hit by enemy fire in Normandy on D-Day, behind the German lines, and he is more upset that he had let his buddies down than he was concerned with his own injury. Popeye’s actions spoke for all of us.

  At the same time, a Jerry potato masher [hand grenade] sailed into the middle of our group. We spread out as rapidly as possible, but Corporal Joe Toye of Reading, Pennsylvania, just flopped down and was unlucky enough to have the grenade fall between his legs as he lay face-down. It went off as I was yelling at him to “Move, for Christ’s sake, move!” He just bounced up and down from the concussion, but he was unhurt and ready to go. By now, a couple of the men had tossed grenades at the Germans, so we followed up our volley with a mad rush, not even stopping to look at Wynn. Private Gerald Lorraine and Sergeant Bill Guarnere accompanied me as we pounded into them. Both troopers had tommy guns and I had my M-1 rifle as we moved into position. Just then three Jerries left one of the guns and started running in the direction of Brecourt Manor. It took only a yell to alert Guarnere and Lorraine, and each immediately fired on his respective man. Lorraine hit his man with the first burst. I squeezed a shot off, which struck my man in the head. Guarnere missed his target, who now turned and started back toward one of the guns. He had only taken two steps when I put a round in his back that knocked him down. Then Guarnere settled down and pumped him full of lead with his tommy gun. We had just finished off these three men when a fourth German emerged from the wood line about one hundred yards away. I spotted him first and had the presence of mind to lie down and attempt a good shot. I killed him instantly. This entire engagement must have taken about fifteen or twenty seconds since we had rushed the initial gun position.

  Expecting a counterattack, I flopped down and gazed down the connecting trench to the second gun position, and sure enough, there were two Germans setting up a machine gun. I got in the first shot and hit the gunner in the hip; my second shot caught the other soldier in the shoulder. By that time, the rest of the men were in position, so I directed Toye and Compton to provide supporting fire in the direction of the second gun. Then I retraced my steps, looked over Wynn, who was still sorry he had “goofed off,” and told him to work his way back toward battalion headquarters since I couldn’t spare anyone to help him.

  When I returned to the assault team, Compton, who had been fooling around with a grenade, yelled, “Look out!” We all hit the ground for cover, but there was no protection from the grenade. None of us could get out of the trench, and right in the middle of our position was a grenade set to explode. It burst, but for some reason nobody was hurt. Then, a Jerry, scared to death, came running toward us with his hands over his head. We had captured our first prisoner. We were too busy to escort him to the rear so one of the men hit him with some brass knuckles, and he lay there moaning for about a half an hour. No sooner had this occurred than I spotted three Germans, who for some reason were walking to the rear of our hedge, in a very informal manner, swinging their mess kits. These soldiers were obviously machine gunners protecting the rear of the 105mm cannon crews. I got two of our men into position and we set our rifle sights for about 200 yards. Somebody must have yelled at the Germans because they stopped and tried to listen. That’s when I gave the order to commence fire.

  It was now time to assault the second gun, so we reorganized for the assault team. In our initial attack, I noticed that as we approached the gun position, German machine gun fire from across the open field behind the battery slackened as we got closer to the actual gun position. Call it a sixth sense, but I decided that if we moved quickly and laid a strong base of fire support, the assault team would only be exposed for a minimal amount of time. Leaving three men at the first gun to maintain supporting fire, we then charged the next position with grenades and lots of yelling and firing. Within seconds we had captured the second gun. I don’t think anyone got hurt that time, but we did pick up those two Germans I had injured when they tried to put the machine gun in operation. By now we were running low on ammunition and I needed more men since we were stretched far too much for our own good. Those machine gunners whom I had requested from battalion had never arrived, so I sent a runner to headquarters for some additional firepower.

  The sixth sense that had kicked in while taking the second howitzer helped me develop the plan to charge the next gun. After about half an hour, the machine guns from battalion finally arrived, and I put them in place and prepared to assault the third gun. Two soldiers from another company joined us for the assault. On this attack, one of those men, Private First Class John D. Hall of A Company, was killed. We took the gun position, capturing six prisoners in the process. As the German soldiers advanced toward us down the connecting trench with their hands over their heads, they called, “No make me dead!” I sent all six prisoners back to headquarters and at the same time asked for additional ammunition and men. Finally, I spotted Captain Hester coming forward and went to meet him. He gave me three blocks of T.N.T. and an incendiary grenade. I had these placed in the three guns we had already captured. Hester then informed me that Lieutenant Ronald C. Speirs of D Company was bringing five men forward to reinforce Easy Company.

  While waiting for Speirs to arrive, I went about gathering documents and stuffing them in a bag. I discovered a map in the second gun position, showing all 105mm artillery positions and machine gun emplacements on the Cotentin Peninsula. I immediately sent the map to battalion and supervised the destruction of the radio equipment, range finders, and other pieces of German equipment. We also discovered belts and belts of machine gun ammunition that contained “wooden bullets.” This was the only time I remembered seeing wooden bullets. Perhaps the Germans were short of ammunition, but that was the least of my concerns.

  Finally Speirs came forward with a contingent from Dog Company and led the assault on the final gun in the battery. Joining Lieutenant Speirs was Sergeant Bill Guarnere, one of the most consistently brave men in Easy Company. Having just been informed that his brother had been killed in action in Italy, “Wild Bill” Guarnere fought like a man possessed. In a savage attack, Speirs captured the gun and promptly disabled it. In the process he lost “Rusty” Houch, who was killed when he raised his head to throw a grenade into the gun position, and Leonard G. Hicks, who was wounded. With the entire battery now destroyed, we now withdrew because the machine gun fire that we were receiving from the manor house and other positions remained intense. I pulled our own machine guns out first, then the riflemen. I was last to leave, and as I was leaving, I took a final look down the trench, and there was this one wounded Jerry trying to put a machine gun into operation. I drilled him through the head. On our way back, I came across Warrant Officer J. G. Andrew Hill, who had been killed working his way up to help us. In all, we had suffered four dead, six wounded, and we had inflicted fifteen dead and twelve captured on the enemy. German forces in the vicinity of the battery had numbered about fifty. About three hours had passed since I had first received the order to dispose of the battery.

  Even though Easy Company was still widely scattered, the small portion that fought at Brecourt had demonstrated the remarkable ability of the airborne trooper to fight, albeit outnumbered, and to win. This sort of combat typified the independent action that characterized the American airborne divisions that jumped in Normandy. Once the battle began, discipline and training overcame our individual and collective fears. As the
bullets cracked overhead, our natural adrenaline, coupled with the elements of surprise and audacity, compensated for some foolish mistakes we had committed during the conduct of the assault. At times we had needlessly exposed ourselves to fire and we had charged through a hedgerow without having a clear picture as to what was on the other side. Carwood Lipton later characterized the battle as “a unique example of a small, well-led assault force overcoming and routing a much larger defending force in prepared positions.” Don Malarkey, who manned the 60mm mortar, concurred, stating that the success of the day’s battle undoubtedly saved numerous lives on the beach. Lipton later gave me far too much credit for our success. Long after the war, he stated that the action at Brecourt was the most outstanding example of a combat leader reading a situation, forming a plan to overcome almost impossible odds, organizing and inspiring his men so that each would confidently handle his part of the plan, and leading his men in the most dangerous parts of the operation. Our success, however, was due more to our training and the unflinching courage of Easy Company than to my personal leadership.

  For the action at Brecourt Manor, Compton, Guarnere, and Lorraine received Silver Stars for their role in destroying the German battery that we later discovered was the 6th Battery, 90th German Regimental Artillery. Thirty dead horses in the area confirmed the fact that the battery had been horse-drawn, which was not unusual in the German Army at the time of the war. Bronze Stars were awarded to Toye, Lipton, Malarkey, Ranney, Liebgott, Hendrix, Plesha, Petty and Wynn, all members of our little band. What pleased me most was that every soldier who participated in the assault was duly recognized by senior headquarters. I received the Distinguished Service Cross from Lieutenant General Omar Bradley at a ceremony the following month.

  Years later, I heard from a junior officer who had come off Utah Beach on the very causeway that had been under fire from the German battery. The officer was the commanding officer of a medical detachment that landed with the fourth wave. Upon landing, this officer found a wounded Captain John Ahearn, the commanding officer of Company C of the 70th Tank Battalion. Ahearn’s tank had been disabled by a land mine. As Ahearn left his tank, he inadvertently stepped on another mine. The medical officer found Ahearn behind a barbed-wire fence, his legs mangled, lying in a mine field, and calling for help. Walking through the mine field, the medic picked up Ahearn, threw him across his shoulders, and carried him to safety. Years later this same medic took time to write me a nice letter in which he admitted that he had always wondered why the artillery fire on the causeway had suddenly stopped so early in the morning. He graciously thanked me and said he would have never made it from the beach had Easy Company not knocked out those guns. That medical officer was Eliot L. Richardson, who later became attorney general in the Nixon administration and who was one of fifteen Americans to receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1998.

  Another soldier who noticed that the enemy artillery fire slackened considerably was Sergeant H. G. Nerhood, a platoon sergeant in the 4th Infantry Division, who landed in the second assault wave. Each time he moved his men forward, the artillery fire fell right on top of his platoon. Nerhood’s platoon leader figured there was an enemy forward observer calling down the artillery barrage on his position. He looked in vain to see if he could determine where the observer was hiding. Nerhood recollected, “I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Another barrage came down and my platoon leader was hit. I called for the medic to tend to the lieutenant and ordered the platoon forward. We ran thirty or so yards and the barrage came down again, killing five more men in my platoon.” After another shell exploded so close that it shook the ground on which Nerhood was laying, “Slowly the shelling stopped and we were able to move inland. Later in the day our operations officer told us that some fellows from the parachute infantry had taken out the guns firing on us.”

  Nerhood seldom discussed the war in his later years, but his grandson persisted until the Normandy veteran finally acquiesced. His grandson recorded the conversation and wrote me in 2005, “My grandfather was on the beach getting his butt kicked. Your men were at the guns, kicking butt and saving his, along with hundreds more. Had you not succeeded, I might not be alive this day to tell you how deeply grateful I am that Easy Company accomplished its mission and saved the lives of a lot of men that day.” H. R. Nerhood and Eliot Richardson were but two soldiers who survived Utah Beach because of the destruction of the Brecourt battery.

  When we left the field in front of Brecourt Manor, I took my first shot of hard cider. I was thirsty as hell and I needed a lift, and when one of the men made me the offer, I shocked them by accepting. I thought at the time it might slow down my train of thoughts and reactions, but it didn’t. Soon Lieutenant Harry Welsh and Lieutenant Warren Roush came down the road with about thirty more men. I organized them into two platoons and had them stand by until I could direct the armored forces coming from the beach. When the tanks arrived, accompanied by Lewis Nixon, I directed them to the field that had witnessed our baptism of fire. Climbing aboard the lead tank, I pointed out the location of the enemy machine guns to the tank commander. The tankers then swept the hedgerows and the manor house with their .50-caliber and .30-caliber machine guns. Armed with superior firepower, they made quick work of the enemy positions.

  By mid-afternoon Brecourt was secured and the Germans began withdrawing in the direction of Carentan. For the first time since the action had begun, I took time to reflect upon what Easy Company had accomplished. No longer confined to the trench, I could now walk across the open pasture in front of the manor. I remember very clearly promising myself that someday I would come back and go over this ground when the war was over. As I was making myself that promise, I became conscious that there was somebody behind me. Turning my head to see who was following me, I saw Lipton, with a smile on his face. Probably the same thought was going through his head.

  Now that the enemy had left the premises, the de Vallavieille family led by Colonel de Vallavieille, a sixty-nine-year-old World War I veteran who had fought at the Marne and Verdun, emerged from Brecourt Manor. Wounded three times during the Great War, Colonel de Vallavieille had already lost two sons to the Germans during the 1940 campaign. Accompanied by his wife and two sons, Michel and Louis, the family was ecstatic at their liberation after four years of living under Nazi occupation. Stepping into the entry of the courtyard, Michel raised his hands over his head, alongside some German soldiers who had remained behind to surrender. Regrettably, an American paratrooper shot Colonel de Vallavieille’s son in the back, either mistaking him for a German soldier or thinking he was a collaborator. Carted off to the nearest aid station, Michel received a blood transfusion and became the first Frenchman evacuated from Utah Beach to England. Michel de Vallavieille not only survived the war, but he later became mayor of Ste. Marie du Mont, as well as the founder of the museum at Utah Beach. He repaid his liberators a hundredfold by honoring their memory.

  In one of my subsequent visits back to the farm of Louis and Michel de Vallavieille, they asked me if I had seen any civilians in the field on D-Day. I responded, “No,” and they took me to the center of the battlefield and showed me a huge sinkhole, probably forty to fifty feet deep and full of trees and bushes. It seems that a farm worker, his wife, and three children, went into the hole when the battle began and remained there for two days, huddled out of sight. That haven was one hot spot—fire going overhead from all directions, but the family was safe and snug as long as they kept their heads down. What a nightmare it must have been for that poor family on D-Day morning.

  With the fighting over, Easy Company soon departed for its next objective just a few miles south of Ste. Marie du Mont, where General Maxwell Taylor, our division commander, had established his command post. Easy Company settled in for the night outside the small village of Culoville, which now served as our battalion headquarters. After seeing to the men and placing outposts on our perimeter, I went on a night patrol by myself, if for no other reason t
o collect my personal thoughts. Approaching a tree line, I heard enemy troops marching down a path directly toward me. The sound of hobnailed boots told me they were German soldiers. I hit the ditch and as they passed, I smelled the strong odor of German tobacco for the first time in my life. Even though I didn’t smoke, I clearly recognized the difference between American and German tobacco. The entire episode was too close for my comfort, but I gave the U.S. Army a vote of thanks for giving us good boots with rubber soles and heels, and not the hobnailed footwear of the enemy.

  At long last, D-Day was over. Our success had been due to superb leadership at all levels and the training we had experienced prior to the invasion. Add luck to the equation, and Easy Company comprised a formidable team. On reflection, we were highly charged; we knew what to do; and we conducted ourselves as part of a well-oiled machine. Because we were so intimate with each other, I knew the strengths of each of my troopers. It was not accidental that I had selected my best men, Compton, Guarnere, and Malarkey in one group, Lipton and Ranney in the other. These men comprised Easy Company’s “killers,” soldiers who instinctively understood the intricacies of battle. In both training and combat, a leader senses who his killers are. I merely put them in a position where I could utilize their talents most effectively. Many other soldiers thought they were killers and wanted to prove it. In reality, however, your killers are few and far between. Nor is it always possible to determine who your killers are by the results of a single engagement. In combat, a commander hopes that nonkillers will learn by their association with those soldiers who instinctively wage war without restraint and without regard to their personal safety. The problem, of course, lies in the fact that casualties are highest among your killers, hence the need to return them to the front as soon as possible in the hope that other “killers” emerge. This core of warriors survived, at least until the fates finally abandoned them, because they developed animal-like instincts of self-preservation. Around this group of battle-hardened veterans the remainder of Easy Company coalesced. Other leaders emerged as the war progressed, but the best leaders were those who had endured combat on D-Day and matured as leaders as they gained additional experience.