by Ian Gardner
Nathan Bullock was promoted to HQ Co first sergeant, after Fred Bahlau’s commission and transfer to C/506 finally came through. Many of Bullock’s close friends, like Richard Stockhouse, Fayez Handy, and Bob Webb, thought he let the rank go to his head. Sgt Handy could not accept the recent changes, especially after what Lewallen had done to Melhus in Haguenau, and opted for a new role as provost sergeant.
Ed Shames reflects on the changes:
2nd Lt Roy Paul Gates was posted to my platoon. Gates handed me his orders and I thought, “Just what did I do to deserve the oldest lieutenant in the entire army?” Roy attended Texas A&M University and had been part of 10th Armored Division before joining the 101st. His family was extremely wealthy and had sold their successful leisure business to The Disney Corporation several years before the war. I learned that his promotion over the last couple of years had stalled due to the fact that he’d struck a superior officer, who unfortunately turned out to be the son of a general. For a replacement officer, I figured, Gates might not be a bad fit after all. Roy spoke French, as did many Germans, which was a bonus. More importantly, it meant that he could travel to Paris and sell our “loot” on the “Black Market” without any language issues. And he was smart enough to let Paul Rogers run things when I wasn’t around. Roy turned out to be a wonderful guy and also a lifelong friend.
Many were granted seven-day leave passes and hundreds of troopers were flown down to the French Riviera each Sunday. Capt Walker issued Hank DiCarlo, Lou Vecchi, and several others from H Co a seven-day furlough to Nice. “We were warned not to go out alone at night because local gangs would attack, rob, and strip any serviceman they came across,” recalls Lou. “I was never much of a drinker – 7-Up and a little bit of whisky was about it – so I never really spent that much money, unlike some of the other guys who went through $500 or more. I was a little shy with women and didn’t have the gift of the gab like Hank and for the most part spent my time sightseeing with Gordon Yates.”
DiCarlo’s furlough would be one that he would remember for the rest of his life. “When we arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find that we were quartered at ‘Le Negresco.’ Situated on Rue d’Anglais, the Negresco was a five-star luxury hotel overlooking the Bay of Angels and the deep blue expanse of the Mediterranean. The beautifully appointed rooms were amazing, but, best of all, if you left your jump boots outside your door each night, the following morning you’d find them cleaned and polished like new.”
After an amazing week out on the town, Hank and the boys reported to the airfield for their flight back to Mourmelon. However, due to bad weather and a last-minute emergency, the trip was postponed until the following weekend. As Lou, Gordon, and Hank were about to board the bus back to the hotel, Hank struck up a conversation with a couple of Air Force men. “The crew chiefs told me that there were always scheduled daily mail flights to just about every liberated major European city, including Rome. As it happened my mother, Anna, came from a small town near Rome called Teramo. One guy was scheduled for Rome the next day and said that I could bum a ride on his flight!”
Trip to Teramo
Hank DiCarlo reflects on his fortuitous trip:
Bright and early on Sunday morning, the C-47 took off carrying 50 bags of mail and me. After an uneventful flight we were on final approach when the crew chief came over and said, “Bad news, Sarge. We just received instructions to bypass Rome and continue on to Naples.” This wasn’t what I wanted to hear and shouted back in his ear, “Naples is out! No way I’m goin’ there!” The crew chief shrugged his shoulders and hollered back, “You’re with us, buddy boy, so you ain’t got no choice.” Putting a little rising anger in my voice, I said, “That ain’t necessarily so … how about donating your chest ’chute and dropping me over the airfield?” He thought for a minute, went forward to the cockpit, and came back smiling. The pilot had agreed to notify us when we got close to Rome and would make one pass over the base at 1,000ft to permit me to “bail out.” It was my first experience with this kind of parachute, but this was a minor detail to me at that moment in time.
The pilot decreased airspeed, and as we flew straight and level across the strip I leapt into space with my hand on the parachute release ring. After the canopy deployed I had time to admire the scenery for a moment before focusing on a vehicle rapidly moving toward my expected landing area. The instant my feet touched the ground, two MPs hustled me away to a guardhouse. I had a spirited conversation with the duty officer, a captain by the name of Louis Wallace. Capt Wallace listened intently while examining my furlough papers before telling me I was engaged in an illegal activity and would have to take a flight back to Nice the next day. “You mean you’re not going to punish me, sir?” With the Battle of the Bulge still fresh in everyone’s mind I don’t think being a member of the 101st Airborne did me any harm. Capt Wallace suggested that I should get a meal in the transient troops’ mess and then bunk down at their barracks. Thanking him profusely, I went over to the mess hall and got something to eat.
As I was tucking into my meatloaf, a GI sat down opposite and struck up a conversation. I found out that he was from Philadelphia and his name was Danny Infante and he was a driver for the Quartermaster Corps. When Danny heard my story he got all excited because he had a jeep at his disposal. Danny also knew where Teramo was and told me that if we left immediately we could be there by midnight at the latest. The idea sounded totally crazy but I went for it.
Before departing, Danny managed to “requisition” two cases of C rations and a few tins of coffee. Shortly before midnight we arrived at Teramo, which seemed to have escaped virtually untouched by war. I had no idea what my Uncle Tomaso Lolli’s address was so we decided to knock on the first door we came across.
Initially there was no response. Then a sash window on the second floor slid open and an irate face appeared wanting to know who the hell we were and what the hell we wanted. I responded in Italian that my mother was a Lolli and asked if he knew where Tomaso lived. His attitude changed immediately, “Yes, of course,” he replied. “They live in the third house from the corner on the next street. If you’d care to wait a minute, I’d be pleased to show you.”
Moments later the man greeted us at the door, having hastily pulled on a pair of trousers under his nightclothes. By this time the rest of his family had awoken and came out to see Anna Lolli’s son. Some of the neighbors were getting in on the act, with everyone now wanting to guide me to my uncle’s. Luckily Tomaso’s home was fairly large as it contained three families. Besides Tomaso, there were my uncles Salvatore and Gaspere. Twelve people in all – including wives and children – who, despite the late hour, made me feel like I was home.
More neighbors came across to wish us well and before we knew it the visit turned into a party. Uncle Tomaso introduced us to his secret stash of “Dago” red and we brought in the C rations and coffee and held una festa in and around the house. Danny became smitten by Tomaso’s 17-year-old daughter, Modesta, and showed good judgment by never leaving her side the whole night.
The gathering broke up shortly after dawn and finally we had the opportunity to talk about the family. Tomaso had two sons in northern Italy, fighting with the Partisans. After losing his eldest son in the battle for Sicily, Salvatore’s other two lads were currently being held as hostages by the Germans. Uncle Gaspere had no male offspring but three beautiful daughters. It was so good to meet them all and now I could truly satisfy my mother’s desire to know if her siblings were surviving the war and how they were doing. Finally it was time to start back, which we did most reluctantly. All the excitement of that night had really drained me, and despite the appalling roads, I slept like a baby all the way back to the airfield. I couldn’t thank Danny enough for his time and trouble but he’d procured Modesta’s address and was more than happy. We said our farewells and I made my way to the dispatch office where I found out there was a plane leaving for Nice at 2200hrs.
A Presidential Citation
&nb
sp; Jim Martin returned to Mourmelon on March 14, after being treated for the emersion injuries to his feet:
I still hadn’t fully recovered when I was discharged from hospital. At that time most of my friends had already gone on leave to the Riviera, Paris, or the UK. It seemed to me that our company offices were being operated by a handful of temporary personnel. Myself and several other “invalids” were told that we would be acting as instructors for new replacements who were expected to arrive over the next few days. None of us wanted that so we went AWOL the following morning, which also happened to be the day that the division received its Presidential Citation. The 506th had already received a Regimental Unit Citation for Normandy, and after what I’d been through in Belgium … I couldn’t have really cared less.
Despite Jim’s well-earned cynicism, March 15, 1945 was a significant day in the history of the 101st Airborne, as they were the first entire division ever to be awarded a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation. Gen Eisenhower presented the award “for extraordinary heroism” during the defense of the key communications center at Bastogne between December 18 and 27, 1944. The day was bathed in sunshine as 12,000 men stood sharply to attention in line along the edge of the airfield as dozens of transport aircraft buzzed about overhead.
Absent from the podium was Anthony McAuliffe, who had recently been promoted to major general. At the time McAuliffe and the 103rd ID were still fighting hard along the Siegfried Line west of Wissembourg in Alsace. Those who were present on the podium alongside “Ike” were Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) members of staff MajGen Lowell Rooks and LtGen Sir Frederick Morgan. Also included were senior members from the First Allied Airborne Army, LtGen Lewis Brereton and his chief of staff BrigGen Floyd Parks, as well as commander of XVIII Airborne Corps Matthew Ridgeway, MajGen Paul Williams (IX Troop Carrier Command), White House secretary Steve Early, Eisenhower’s naval aide Capt Harry Butcher, and representatives of the Oise Base Section. Next to the stand, adding a touch of glamor, was German-born actress and singer Marlene Dietrich who happened to be performing at Mourmelon in a USO show.
Speaking via a public address system Eisenhower declared:
You in reserve were hurried forward and told to hold that position. All the elements of battle drama were there. You were cut off and surrounded. Only valor, complete self-confidence in yourselves and in your leaders and a knowledge that you were well trained, and only the determination to win could sustain soldiers under those conditions. You were given a marvelous opportunity and you met every test. You have become a fighting symbol on which all citizens of the United Nations can say to their soldiers today: “We are proud of you.” It is my great privilege to say to you here today, to the 101st Airborne Division and all its attached units: I am awfully proud of you. Just as you are the beginning of a new tradition, you must realize that from now on the spotlight will beat on you with particular brilliance.
Whenever you say you are a soldier from the 101st, everybody, whether it is on the street, in the city, or in the front lines, will expect unusual conduct from you. I know that you will meet every test of the future just like you met in Bastogne. Good luck and God be with you.
As the Supreme Commander stepped back from the microphone, the divisional flag – now adorned with its sky-blue-colored Citation ribbon – suddenly fluttered in the breeze. The US Army band struck up a march as the troops began to pass by in review. For almost 70 minutes, the men passed by the podium while Ike, MajGen Maxwell Taylor, and the other dignitaries proudly took their salute.
Hank DiCarlo was present and recalls: “Directly after the parade, it was announced that the army was introducing a point system which would ultimately lead to some of us ‘old timers’ going home. In the meantime, those like me who had been through Normandy, Holland, and Bastogne would be entered into a lottery for a limited number of 30-day furloughs to the USA – which as per usual I didn’t win. However, S/Sgt Frank Padisak (who was wounded during the last few days at Bastogne) was among the lucky few to be awarded one of the ‘golden tickets.’”
Amongst the recipients were Cpl Stanley Stasica (H Co) and also 1/Sgt Albert Miller from Regimental HQ. In Padisak’s absence, Lou Vecchi was promoted to platoon sergeant. Like many others, 1 Ptn received more replacements and underwent a management reshuffle. Sgt Bob Martin became “platoon guide” to work alongside Vecchi as his assistant. Walt Patterson took over 2nd Squad, while Luther Myers and Buck Bowitz were both promoted to sergeant and given charge of 3rd and 4th squads, respectively. While relaxing over a coffee in the senior ranks’ mess, Hank happened to pick up the latest edition of Yank magazine and nearly choked when he saw the front cover: “The picture showed some troops walking in the snow during the Battle of the Bulge and right up front with a big smile on his face was Sonny Sundquist. I can’t tell you how much we despised that man. Sundquist had been transferred to 1st Bn before Bastogne and was listed as ‘Missing in Action’ during the heavy fighting at Noville – that was until the SOB was picked up later in Marseille trying to blag his way onto a troopship!”
Strange times
By the time the parade finished, Jim Martin and a couple of the others were safely on a transport plane bound for the United Kingdom. At the time, getting a flight was fairly easy owing to the enormous buildup of aircraft for Operation Varsity, which was set to take place within the next two weeks. Jim continues his account, a touch of bitterness in his voice:
Nobody really cared because most of the crews flying re-supply missions between the UK and Europe were making a small fortune for themselves by importing British spirits and exporting French wines. But what can you do? At that moment I needed them, which was all that mattered.
We flew into RAF Bovingdon (USAAF Station 112) near Watford, Hertfordshire, the center of operations for the Air Transport Service and only 20 miles from central London. Having no cash to speak of we headed for the Base Finance Office and spoke to a major who initially refused assistance. During the conversation I reminded him of a little-known fact that where necessary “troops in transit” were entitled to a “partial payment,” which was something I’d learned before Normandy. We presented our pay books and played on our newfound fame and the major begrudgingly issued us with our “holiday” pay.
After spending a day in London, I caught the train to Hungerford, Berkshire, with the idea of getting a place to stay at Chilton Foliat, but the camp was overflowing with replacements. In a way I’m glad because I headed over to Ramsbury and stayed with my friends, the Barretts, who lived in a row of cottages along the road leading up to the airfield. Mr and Mrs Barrett had three young sons (Tony, Theo, and Archie) and also provided a billet for Agnes McNerney, who was a member of the Women’s Land Army. Agnes came from Liverpool and was a lovely girl with whom I had dated a couple of times before Normandy but it was nothing serious. However, my relationship with Molly Studdy was very different. During the last few days of my “vacation,” Molly and I spent a lot of time together. Tall, fair, and buxom, 32-year-old Mrs Studdy lived along the High Street at the Malt House not too far from the Malt Shovel pub. She was married to a dentist and had a six-year-old son called Anthony. It seemed to me that Molly’s marriage was a loose arrangement due to the fact that her husband was seeing another woman and didn’t mind Molly spending time with me or anyone else for that matter. These were strange times indeed.
When I arrived back at Mourmelon, Capt Cann called me into his office and asked where the heck I’d been. “Nowhere really, sir,” I replied. “Is it something I’m going to hear about Martin?” “No, sir, absolutely not.” “OK,” he replied, “go ahead and rejoin your platoon – dismissed.” With that, I came to attention, saluted, and marched out of the office. As I have previously stated Cann always thought I was a bit of a smart aleck but I guess on this occasion after what we’d all just been through he was willing to let it go.
On the morning of March 24, the 17th Airborne Division, commanded by MajGen William Miley, took
off from Mourmelon as part of Operation Varsity – to assist Field Marshal Montgomery’s 21st Army Group in their crossing of the Rhine (itself codenamed Operation Plunder). The 17th Airborne dropped on the eastern bank at Wesel along with the British 6th Airborne Division, commanded by MajGen Eric Bois. Both divisions were part of XVIII Airborne Corps, and despite heavy casualties bravely opened the way for the Allies into Germany. In one day the joint force dropped 16,000 men onto one DZ, dwarfing Normandy and Holland and making Varsity the largest single airborne assault in military history.
By the end of March all four US armies fighting in Western Europe were east of the Rhine, while First and Ninth armies followed through to encircle and neutralize enemy forces in the Ruhr. With the “Gates of the West” now firmly open, the 101st Airborne went on to provide security and establish military law wherever and whenever required.
The officers’ mess at Mourmelon had a ballroom on the second floor, and the regiment organized a dinner dance with a band just before it was put on standby for the Ruhr. “I was friendly with ‘Captain Anne,’ who was one of the senior nurses at the field hospital,” recalls Fred Bahlau. “Anne agreed to be my date and also organized a group of nurses to come along. On the evening of the dance I sent a truck fitted out with comfortable furniture and plenty of wine. Climbing the staircase to the ballroom, Anne and I were just ahead of the girls when I noticed Col Sink smiling at us from the top. As I introduced my date to the boss, the sly old devil slipped his hand under Anne’s arm and walked off with her. Before he turned away, I’ll never forget what he said: ‘Mr Bahlau, you’ve just learned a valuable lesson in officer protocol … enjoy your evening, Lieutenant … dismissed.’”