No Victory in Valhalla

by Ian Gardner

  ____________

  The 20th Armored Infantry Bn (Combat Command B) aid station run by Capt “Jack” Prior was still operational along Route de Neufchâteau. He recalls: “Living in a city with no electricity, food, or proper medicine was a constant challenge. My men scrounged anything they could from deserted homes.” Luckily Prior had the assistance of his battalion S1, 1st Lt Herman Jacobs, who had moved heaven and earth to find medical supplies and additional personnel to help treat, care, and cook for the patients. Among these were two young Belgian nurses, Renée Lemaire and Augusta Chiwi. A native of the Belgian Congo, Augusta had an exotic coffee-colored complexion and beautiful thick black hair. Augusta, whose uncle was a local doctor, was very capable and helped with all manner of procedures such as splinting, wound dressing, and hemorrhage control – unlike Renée, who preferred lighter duties like sponging and feeding. Dr Jack remembers:

  The combat units sent whatever food and medical supplies they could spare. Lack of water was a serious problem, although melted snow helped enormously. However, champagne seemed to fill the gap, which we often used to wash and shave with! Although there were at least three other battalion surgeons with the armor, I was the only doctor from Combat Command B operating any kind of aid station. We were now holding over 100 patients, 30 of whom were very seriously injured. To prevent gas gangrene, those suffering from extremity wounds had to be irrigated with hydrogen peroxide. Sadly, due to the lack of surgeons and operating equipment, those with head, chest, and abdominal wounds faced a slow and almost certain death.

  Previously, on December 23, Capt Prior made his first visit to the caserne where he met the acting divisional surgeon, Maj Douglas Davidson, from the 502nd PIR. “I requested that he make an effort to bring in some sort of medical help for us. Davidson listened as I detailed my situation and then assured me that it was currently impossible to bring in a glider surgical team, at least not until the weather improved.” To illustrate the scale of the problem facing the 101st, Davidson showed Prior around the rifle range and adjacent workshop building. Prior could not believe the staggering number of casualties spread across the two facilities and was moved to tears as he watched Father John Maloney give last rights to the dying. It seemed odd to Jack that a Catholic priest should be carrying a .45 semi-automatic pistol in a shoulder holster, but that was the nature of things at Bastogne. “Someone announced that Third Army was only a few miles away, which evoked a huge cheer from the patients,” recalls Jack. “After the tour, I returned to my post feeling quite depressed. The next day, I was told that Maj Davidson made a trip into the German lines, under a white flag, in an attempt to arrange a truce for medical evacuation. Davidson had proposed to take out one German casualty for every two Americans, but the idea was refused by the German commander.”

  Ironically, on Christmas Day, despite the bad weather, surgeon Maj Howard Sorrell from Third Army was flown in ahead of his team by Piper Cub. Twelve hours earlier, the Luftwaffe had inadvertently bombed the 20th Armored Infantry aid station, killing 20 patients and nurse Renée Lemaire. Jack Prior was in the next building with Lt Jacobs and Augusta Chiwi when the enemy aircraft attacked a convoy in the street opposite. “After the raid we ran outside and discovered the aid station was now a flaming inferno. The magnesium flares dropped by the plane were still burning as we clawed our way through the debris. The pilot saw what was happening and came back to strafe the crowd.”

  Although injured by falling masonry, Herman Jacobs helped evacuate the patients and organized firefighting parties to extinguish the blaze. After the aircraft had gone, Capt Prior and several others were able to gain entry through a cellar window and recover two or three casualties before the entire building collapsed. After gathering together the remaining patients, Prior had them transported to the rifle range at the caserne. At around 0300hrs on Christmas morning, another raid totally destroyed the building next door to the smoldering medical facility. “Before my unit left Bastogne on January 17, we picked our way through the debris and managed to recover and identify most of the bodies, including Renée Lemaire’s, which I wrapped in a white parachute and took back to her parents. Later I wrote a special commendation for her and forwarded it to my commander, MajGen William Morris.”

  Things were relatively quiet up on the MLR, and many people like Hank DiCarlo spent their time improving foxholes and visiting friends in other platoons. On Christmas morning, Ed Shames sent Earl McClung to Bastogne with several others to collect supplies that had been dropped by parachute the previous day. Ed recalls:

  When they returned, McClung came over and said “Cap, there’s a package for you.” I was ecstatic and imagined a pair of gloves, a hat, or a muffler. Enthusiastically, I tore open the small parcel that was from Ida Aframe – a gorgeous girl I’d known back in Virginia – and was underwhelmed to find a fountain pen along with a neatly folded letter. Somewhat frustrated, I threw the pen into the snow and went about my business. A couple of hours later Rod Strohl came over and said, “Here Lieutenant, you dropped your pen.” “No,” I replied. I threw it away in disgust. “Well, you better take another look, sir, because this thing is fabulous and made of solid 14-carat gold.” Sure it is, sure it is – I thought he was joking because the boys were always pulling pranks, but he was quite right. I told him to hell with the pen and that he was welcome to keep it. When I read Ida’s letter it was clear that after taking advice from my sister Anna, she presumed that we were well catered for and that the beautiful high-quality pen – manufactured by Eversharp, engraved “Lt E. D. Shames” – which cost her an astonishing $245.00 would make an ideal gift! The next day Rod gave the pen back to me and this time I was man enough to accept the “gift” for what it was – a wonderful gesture from my future wife, although I didn’t know that at the time!

  Meanwhile “Sharkey” Tarquini (1 Ptn H Co) received a forwarded letter from an English gentleman, as Lou Vecchi recalls: “Sharkey had got this guy’s wife pregnant and was dumb enough to leave her his APO address. Her husband wanted to know what he was going to do about it, and I remember when things calmed down, Sharkey sarcastically writing back, ‘If you can get me out of here right now, then I am more than willing to help you and your wife, in any way possible!’ I’ve often wondered what that kid would have looked like, as Sharkey was not blessed with good looks.” Harold Stedman distinctly remembers being handed packets of DDT powder that had been parachuted in with the medical supplies. “I guess that as we were covered in fleas and lice the army decided to do something about it?”

  At 0905hrs on the 26th, enemy aircraft appeared above Foy and proceeded to bomb and strafe the 3rd Bn MLR. Although there were no casualties, the raid reminded the paratroopers that they were still vulnerable and defenseless against the Luftwaffe. Harley Dingman remembers the attack:

  Orange air panels and parachutes had been placed in the snow along the edge of the woods. At the time I was standing under the trees with some of my guys and could only hear the engines and presumed they were ours. Then suddenly one of the planes came screaming toward us. We could just make out something dropping a short distance away. Looking up, I recall saying to the boys, “Christ Almighty – it’s a bomb.” The guys were already piling into one of our pre-dug air-raid trenches as the bomb bounced through the trees and hit the ground no more than 50ft away from where I was standing. Luckily the concussion blew up and over my head, forcing me down into another hole. Bizarrely there was no sound; everything in that instant was completely silent, almost like I was in some sort of vacuum.

  Doctor Ryan received several boxes of medicinal alcohol, which had been air dropped before Christmas. Barney had far more than he was ever going to use, so as a gesture of benevolence he decided to distribute the excess spirit among the men. The platoon sergeants were called over to the aid station, where they were each allocated a number of the small bottles. Ryan stressed that because of the alcohol’s strength and purity only a tiny amount could be rationed to each man and even then it had to be dr
astically watered down.

  It would appear that some people ignored the doctor’s advice, including Col Patch. When Fred Bahlau reported to the warm and cozy battalion CP, one of the officers handed him a green jar with what he thought contained a hot beverage. Col Patch fell about laughing as Bahlau struggled to catch his breath and nearly collapsed after taking two small sips. Harley Dingman recalls having to mix the spirit with melted snow before adding lemon powder to taste. “Even then it was far too strong but seemed to hit the mark.” At the time, Johnny Gibson was sharing a foxhole next to the aid station with fellow medic John Eckman. “Eckman drank far too much alcohol and around midnight began vomiting everywhere. Not only did ‘Big John’ throw up all over me but also my emergency telephone connected to the battalion CP. The smell was so bad that I opened the hessian drape covering the entrance to my cozy trench. I couldn’t stand it any longer and in sheer desperation crawled over to a nearby unfinished foxhole and spent the rest of the night shivering in the open.” Eckman was luckier than S/Sgt Alexander Engelbrecht (I Co 1 Ptn), who subsequently developed Dry Beriberi, which affected his nervous system, and had to be evacuated.

  Silent wings

  Between December 26 and 27, 61 gliders from the 439th and 440th TCG (which had dropped 3/506 into Normandy on D-Day) brought in heavier supplies and equipment, such as gasoline, plus a nine-man surgical team from Third Army. The volunteer medics were Maj Lamar Soutter, Capt Stanley Wesolowski, and Capt Foy Moody, plus technicians Clarence Matz and John Knowles from the 4th Auxiliary Surgical Group. The remaining four medical personnel, Capt Henry Mills, Capt Edward Zinschlag, and technicians John Donahue and Laurence Rethwisch, came from 12th Evacuation Hospital. The surgical team immediately went to work alongside Maj Sorrell (who was assisted by Jack Prior), operating on patients with abdominal and chest injuries to stabilize them for the inevitable forthcoming evacuation.

  Unusually, the GC4A glider carrying the surgical staff made not one but two landings on December 26, as pilot 1st Lt Charleton Corwin Jr (96th Sqn) recalls: “After being briefed by our CO, LtCol Frank Krebs, I took off with my co-pilot, Ben Constantino, from our base in Orleans behind ‘The Trusty Township,’ a C-47 tow plane flown by Capt Roy Ottoman. After being released we landed on a fighter airfield at Etain, where the medical team were waiting for us. From here we headed for the operations office, who informed us that we would have at least one P-47 escort. After loading the medics and all of their equipment, we re-attached to Roy Ottoman’s plane and lifted off for Bastogne. During the last leg of the flight a Thunderbolt pitched up, and the pilot waved at us before disappearing into the distance.”

  On December 27, five C-47s from 95th Sqn, 440th TCG, were shot down, resulting in the loss of nine airmen. Herbert Ballinger was a navigator in 93rd Sqn, 439th TCG, who volunteered to pilot one of the 50 gliders selected for the mission:

  I’d been assigned Glider Number 35, which was loaded with 105mm artillery shells. Flying without a co-pilot, it was cold, but I was wrapped up in suitable clothing, flak suit, and parachute. For the first part of the trip the air was full of ice crystals constantly rattling against the windshield. The glider wouldn’t trim properly and had to be constantly maneuvered to maintain position. As soon as we crossed enemy lines the flak began to intensify, but most of it was exploding way above our formation. At that point I felt the urge to urinate but couldn’t leave the flight deck to use the “relief tube” situated toward the back of the aircraft. I soon lost the urge when a couple of C-47s were hit and went down, taking their gliders with them. Moments later my tow ship was struck in the left aileron and then the glider was peppered by shrapnel which penetrated my windshield, rearloading door, and elevators. It was terrifying knowing I was carrying high explosives even though the fuses had been removed and stored separately.

  The glider missions all came in on a northeasterly course to the landing zone (LZ) northeast of Savy. “Not long after we made it through the flak belt, a white light flashed from the astrodome of my tow ship, signaling me to release the cable in 1 minute. I quickly checked my map against the terrain below and realized we were in the wrong place, so I didn’t cut away.” Standard operating procedures dictated that if a glider did not release after 60 seconds, the tow plane would then show a green light. If that failed then a red light was flashed to signal that the cable would be jettisoned after a further 60 seconds. Ballinger continues:

  Looking down, I could see what looked like enemy tanks, so there was no way I was going to disconnect. After receiving the green and red lights my C-47 jettisoned the cable. Turning into the LZ, I took a fair amount of small-arms fire as I slowed the glider during my descent. Trying to keep the nose up I came to rest in a bank of snow about 400 yards inside our lines!

  The paratroopers soon arrived with a jeep and trailer and had to unload through the rear door instead of the usual front access. Before they had finished another jeep turned up and took me to Divisional Headquarters, where I joined the other glider pilots and some of the power boys [slang for aircrew flying piston engined aircraft] who’d previously been shot down. After the siege was lifted we were evacuated by truck and acted as escorts for the German prisoners in Bastogne who were then handed over to the army. As for us we ended up at a railway station [probably Libramont] and spent a bitterly cold night waiting for a train that eventually arrived in the early hours of the morning. We were then taken to an airfield and flown back to the UK.

  6

  “Steel whirlwind”

  Post-Christmas breakthrough

  Despite the weather conditions, three columns from Third Army simultaneously converged on Bastogne from Martelange, Witre, and Neufchâteau. At 1645hrs on the 26th, supported by 105mm and 155mm artillery, C Co 37th Tank Bn, led by LtCol Creighton Abrams, and C Co 53rd Armored Infantry Bn (4th Armored Division) were the first unit from “Combat Command Reserve” to make contact with elements of 326th Airborne Engineers near Assenois. Early the following morning (December 27), the road between Neufchâteau and Bastogne was officially declared open. Although supported by troops from the 35th ID it would take another two days for the main body to clear a wider and more secure corridor along the main road from the border with Luxembourg at Arlon to Bastogne.

  The American tankers were surprised to see the countryside surrounding the city littered with over 170 knocked-out German armored vehicles. By late afternoon, a convoy of ten trucks and 22 ambulances evacuated 260 priority patients to the 635th Clearing Co at Villers d’Avant. During the epic week-long siege a total of 943 American and 125 German casualties were dealt with by the medical facilities in Bastogne. Amongst those being evacuated was Clark Heggeness, who recalls, “I was sent by ambulance train to Paris before being flown to England for treatment. Back in the UK, I underwent skin graft surgery and after several months of recuperation was sent back to the 506th in southern Bavaria.”

  Despite bringing in reinforcements from Mourmelon, the regiment was still desperately short of manpower and began to draft in troops from other units such as the 327th and 401st GIR – while existing front-line personnel were reshuffled. Five L-4 spotter planes were also flown in and put to immediate use by the Air Liaison Team.

  When the first relief tanks from Third Army arrived at Foy, Hank DiCarlo was shocked to see an old friend from back home. “One of the crewmen, Phil Bonelli, was from my hometown of Wildwood, New Jersey. Phil’s dad ran the local grocery store just around the corner from my parents, who owned a small hotel. It was astonishing to see him – I just couldn’t believe it.” Harley Dingman was also surprised when an old buddy, 2nd Lt Joe Wetzig, tapped him on the shoulder: “Last time I spoke to Joe he was a garbage collector from West Carthage [New York] and now I had to salute him! We only had a chance to talk for a few minutes before Joe was called back to his platoon.”

  For T/5 George Allen at the police station, there were no cheers of joy.

  We simply went about our business as usual. By mid-afternoon the trucks arrived with traile
rs to collect the prisoners and take them to a new camp at Neufchâteau. I said goodbye to my three cooks, who offered me no thanks for my efforts – although I never really expected any. Just as the POWs were being herded onto the transport by our MPs and glider pilots, a captain from the “Order of Battle” [OB] section came over and asked if I could take over while he returned to Mourmelon to pick up replacements. The rest of the divisional IPW team were brought back to the caserne to run a small POW compound next to McAuliffe’s HQ. The OB job was simple and consisted of me staying in the cellar at the divisional CP and keeping a map which showed the enemy and our own dispositions so that visiting liaison officers could see an up-to-date view of our divisional lines!

  With the road from Neufchâteau now open, the 801st Ordnance Co, who had been “locked out” since December 20, were sent to the indoor range, which had been cleared of dead and wounded the previous afternoon. Sharing the facility with the 801st was a bomb disposal unit and a small team from the intelligence section. “We also had use of a smaller building nearby and the target store, which became our kitchen and mess area,” recalls 1/Sgt Bob Higgins.

  When the first A rations began to arrive, the divisional mess sergeant visited the 801st and asked if he could relocate his kitchen to the target store, where he could more easily serve three decent meals a day. During the siege the 101st kitchen had been located in one of the barrack buildings, next door to Div Signal Co, facing the square. The cookhouse was vulnerable to artillery and on Christmas Eve had been hit by a 280mm shell from a rail gun hidden in a tunnel at Schimpach east of Benonchamps (which luckily failed to detonate). However, a smaller projectile had passed through the signal office and exploded in the next room, killing cooks Pfc Ben Childs and Pfc Floyd Goad. “The mess sergeant wanted to move in right away,” recalls Higgins. “But because we had so many other problems to resolve, I told him it would have to wait until the next day. No more than 1 hour later a shell penetrated the target store. Luckily the place was empty at the time and nobody was hurt, but if I’d agreed to the mess sergeant’s idea it may well have been a different story. Around the same time, one of the intelligence guys, an officer – I never knew his name – was killed in an adjacent building by shellfire.” Later, another 300lb shell fired from the railway gun landed close to the range. “The enormous blast lifted me bodily in my sleeping bag completely off the ground,” recalls Higgins. “The following morning we were astonished to see an antiaircraft team arrive [from Combat Command A] and park their ‘quad fifty’ in the crater.”