The advance was halted again by entrenched resistance. At this point, Captain Harrison's tank was called forward to the outskirts of town. A key bridge near Coleman's platoon had been damaged by German artillery; a platoon of American combat engineers was working furiously in the face of further shelling to repair it. Harrison backed his tank up against a nearby building to provide what covering fire he could. The German artillery barrage was so intense that the slates on the roofs were raining down, shattering over the streets and on the turret of his tank.
Through his periscope, Harrison saw Coleman's tank start across the partially repaired bridge, then abruptly come to a halt. He watched his friend's tank anxiously, hoping to see it start rolling again. He was struck by alarm quickly turning to rage as the Germans put a sudden, deadly accurate round of artillery on the tank, shooting it off the bridge—then continuing and blasting the bridge itself to bits. A young lieutenant directing the platoon of combat engineers had just seen most of his men blown apart. The lieutenant ran down the road in Harrison's direction, shell-shocked. He fell to his knees directly beside Harrison's tank and started praying. Captain Harrison felt real fear for the first time in his life.
THE TWO REMAINING PLATOONS of Charlie Company pushed through the forest to the northeast of Morville. They could see the town less than a mile ahead, down a steep wooded hill and across an open stretch of field and road. They had so far encountered only light opposition. They had been told by infantry scouts to expect unobstructed terrain from the edge of the woods across the field into town. The scouts had either not seen or had failed to mention a long ditch dug in precisely where the hill met level ground. The tanks planned to move ahead defilade (side by side), a tactic that would provide them with the widest possible field of fire. This formation meant, however, that there was no lead tank to act as a lightning rod for terrain and man-made obstacles. Fifty yards beyond the woods, the light snow helped to conceal German troops crouched in a series of concrete pillboxes. Charlie Company's Shermans moved as one body downhill into the trap.
The ditch had been dug deep and covered with brush. When the front ends of the thirty-two-ton Shermans pushed in, with the steep slope behind them they lacked sufficient traction to back out. The concealed German machine-gun, rocket-launcher, and antitank artillery teams opened fire. An 88 hit Corp. Raleigh Hill's tank and set it on fire. The bottom escape hatch wouldn't open. The tank's ammunition started exploding. The crew had to exit through the turret hatch—which the Germans quickly zeroed with a machine gun. As the men exited one by one, they were hit.
S. Sgt. Frank Cochrane's tank had also taken a direct strike. Tank commander George Collier and Earnest Chatmon were wounded in the blast; Frank Cochrane carried both men out. A third Sherman in which Dennis Osby held the position of bow gunner was hit and immediately caught fire. Osby's crew evacuated through the bottom escape hatch and scrambled for cover in the ditch. Only then did Osby realize one crew member was missing. He ran through machine-gun fire to reenter the burning tank. Autrey Fletcher, the gunner, was injured and his feet had become entangled in the .50-caliber ammunition belt. Osby freed Fletcher and carried him out into the ditch.
First Sergeant Sam Turley's tank was also struck by an antitank gun. Turley and his crew escaped, as did the crews of the three tanks closest to him. Seven tanks had now been knocked out. Turley directed the men to spread out through the ditch and give covering fire to the remaining crews as they tried to exit their vehicles. Turley removed the .50-caliber machine gun from his tank and ordered others to do the same, firing in teams over the edge of the ditch on the German positions.
Corp. Dwight Simpson, providing covering fire, saw Horatio Scott a short distance away beside his smoldering tank. Scott had managed to crawl out but had been unable to move himself any farther. He was lying exposed to continuous fire. Hugging the ground, Simpson wove his way through the incoming artillery to pull Scott away from the tank. Simpson then remained with Scott, doing what he could to stop the heavy bleeding.
There was no way for the surviving tank crews to escape the ditch. It would be suicide to advance toward the German guns and it would be suicide to retreat, as they would have to climb uphill fully exposed to enemy fire. Now the German artillery began “walking the ditch”—firing at evenly spaced intervals—attempting to finish off the remaining men. The smell of singed and burning flesh and the sound of shell fragments hissing and steaming as they struck water filled the air. Men hit by bullets and shrapnel were screaming for help. The Germans continued firing down the line. A high-explosive shell detonated near Dennis Osby and Autrey Fletcher. Both were grievously wounded.
Sergeant Turley realized that the situation was hopeless. He ordered the trapped men to begin to retreat up the ridge in teams. Those waiting for their turn to move out offered a semblance of covering fire. Turley himself stood before the ditch firing the .50-caliber machine gun from his hip. The men sprinted a few at a time up the hill to the trees, carrying their wounded comrades with them. Turley's heroic effort allowed most of his men to escape. Moments later, a high-explosive shell struck and killed Turley where he stood.
Dwight Simpson had been unable to carry the severely wounded Horatio Scott far when the German machine guns again erupted around them. He remained crouched beside Scott in a fairly open position. Across the field in Morville, the infantry, going house to house, were able to clear the town by the middle of the afternoon. The 761st received orders to fall back for the night.
Simpson had remained at Scott's side, exposed to continued enemy fire. As darkness fell, the Germans began dropping flares. Figuring the odds were as good as they were going to get, Simpson lifted Horatio Scott—barely conscious—over his shoulders and scrambled the three hundred remaining yards back to American lines.
SEVEN MEMBERS OF CHARLIE COMPANY had been killed on November 9: Kenneth Coleman, Samuel Turley, Emile Armstrong, Robert Briscoe, Alexander Anderson, Theodore Cooper, and Willie Lofton. Many more had been severely wounded. The toll on the 761st would have been much higher were it not for the courageous actions of Lieutenant Coleman and Sergeant Turley. The three Sherman tanks of Headquarters, including those of Leonard Smith and William McBurney, were shifted over as replacements the next day to become part of Charlie Company.
When Warren Crecy learned of Horatio Scott's injuries, he was devastated. Scott sent word to him from the aid station that he was fine and would be back in action soon. Reassured, Crecy distinguished himself as he had done previously in the bitter fighting that continued around Morville-les-Vic, firing the .30-caliber weapon on his light tank's turret to neutralize enemy machine-gun positions.
On the evening of the tenth, Crecy volunteered for a reconnaissance mission. The rest of Dog Company set up bivouac. Shortly afterward, they received word that Horatio Scott had died of his wounds. Crecy returned an hour later from patrol. Preston McNeil didn't know how to break the news to him. Nobody wanted to be the one to tell him that his friend was gone.
5
FIELD OF FIRE
You knew the kinds of ways people got hit. If there was
any chance at all, you went back for them.
Nobody wanted to die inside that tank.
—LEONARD SMITH
There was to be no break for the 761st. Able Company rolled east from Morville in a column, and bivouacked near the town of Wuisse. At dawn on the eleventh they were to attack Wuisse and the high ground that overlooked it, Hill 309, key to controlling one of the region's major roads to the east. Baker and Charlie Companies bivouacked nearby.
Leonard Smith found himself the only member of the battered C Company anticipating the next round of fighting with anything but dread. He was grieved by Charlie Company's heavy losses, but he had to this point been confined to a supporting role in Headquarters and had yet to fire his cannon in combat. He kept checking and rechecking his equipment and supply of shells, imagining every potential target, until his crewmates finally asked him to stop so they could sle
ep. Smith, who had no intention of sleeping, was the natural choice to stand guard. As he stood watch, the scattered flares and flashes of artillery over the trees only heightened his sense of expectation.
At dawn, Baker, Dog, and Charlie Companies were to join with elements of the 101st and 328th Infantry Regiments to clear the area around the towns of Marsal and Haraucourt as well as the dense Bride and Koecking Forest, objectives critical to securing several east-west roads.
When Warren Crecy finally learned of Horatio Scott's death, he went berserk. Early on the morning of November 11, he approached Capt. Richard English to request permission to transfer out of Dog Company to C Company, to Horatio's tank. Charlie Company had already gained a reputation for invariably catching the worst hell in combat. But Crecy wanted to be part of it—he said he intended to kill ten Germans for every dead and wounded member of the 761st.
PATTON HAD HOPED WITH GRAND OPTIMISM to crack the Siegfried Line by the eleventh, “as it was my birthday and my lucky day in North Africa.” But it was not to be. Progress had been slow all along the Third Army's front. In the XII Corps sector, the 80th, 35th, and 26th Infantry Divisions had each advanced less than seven miles. Sherman tanks of the 4th Armored Division—held back until the 26th Infantry and 761st broke the tight German hold on Morville-les-Vic and environs—swung into action on November 10. The 4th Armored had become adept at operating deep behind enemy lines, creating devastation even when outnumbered and outgunned. A 4th Armored lieutenant colonel voiced the fierce division's ethos when he said, in the midst of a German counterattack, “They've got us surrounded again, the poor bastards!” But the severe weather and entrenched German positions in Lorraine proved too much even for the veteran outfit, which took heavy casualties and gained little ground.
XX Corps had begun its massive attack as planned on November 9. Its initial goal was to capture the fortified city of Metz, roughly seven miles distant. However, a sudden flooding of the Moselle River brought the entire corps almost to a standstill. Near Thionville, troops of the 90th Infantry Division found themselves in a dire and unprecedented situation. Three regiments of infantrymen crossed the Moselle River, transporting several 57mm antitank guns. But they were cut off from their ammunition and from communication with their main artillery and tank support on the west bank by flash flooding. They ran short of medicine and rations. They had no blankets or protective clothing against the cold. Some of the soldiers waded through water almost five feet deep to transport supplies to their comrades, hauling cables tied to motorless boats.
Patton's Saar Campaign, which had made such a promising start November 8, was beginning to look more and more like a disaster. But the ten armored and infantry divisions of the Third Army's XII and XX Corps continued at high cost to grind their way forward.
SHORTLY AFTER DAYBREAK ON NOVEMBER 11, the platoon of Able Company commanded by Lt. Charles Barbour attacked Hill 309 with elements of the 26th Infantry Division. Barbour's platoon had been operating on its own since November 8, split off from the other two platoons of Able. They had so far suffered few casualties—despite the commander of the 101st Regiment's lack of experience with tanks. But that was about to change. The infantry's reconnaissance unit explicitly told Barbour's team that there were no antitank obstacles on Hill 309.
Working in close concert with infantrymen, the platoon advanced some distance against what seemed to be light resistance. All of a sudden, machine-gun and artillery fire erupted from concealed positions all around them. The tank commanded by Sgt. George Shivers of Bainbridge, Georgia, was hit. Shivers was killed and his four crewmen wounded. When a German shell penetrated a Sherman tank, fiery particles rained throughout the interior compartments. Anyone under this initial shower of fire died instantaneously. Pieces of shrapnel ricocheting through the compartments could also cause mortal wounds. Fires were common, as electrical cables, oil and gasoline vapors, and a hundred other items fed the flames and made them very difficult to extinguish.
Soon after S. Sgt. Johnnie Stevens saw his friend George Shivers's tank explode, his own tank took an artillery hit. The initial blast killed loader Walter Campbell. Stevens and the other three members of the crew managed to crawl out, but all suffered serious injuries. Eleven pieces of shrapnel were embedded in Stevens's legs. He was lying in an exposed position when the Germans started targeting the area with mortar fire. Stevens was stunned and unable to move. A tall sergeant from the 26th Division shouted out from behind an embankment to ask if he'd been hit. Stevens called back, “I'm hit hard as hell.” The sergeant jumped up over the rise, put his arms under Stevens, and shoved him to safety. Before he could duck back down himself, a German stood from a concealed post fifteen yards away and killed the sergeant with machine-gun fire. Stevens would try for years, in vain, to learn the sergeant's name.
WHATEVER REMAINING NOTIONS William McBurney may have had about the glory of war had disappeared days before, when he saw the wounded from Morville (the ricochet effect inside the Sherman caused severed limbs, horrific wounds) carried back to the aid station. He was fully aware that this could happen just as easily to him. Setting out in the Bride and Koecking Forest, he executed his assignments as tank gunner with the same steady hand and stolid courage that had distinguished him throughout training. He was good at it. Each day became a series of zeroed targets, just trying to make it back to camp. Home—against his father's wishes the place he had been so eager to leave in order to prove himself—seemed not to be such an oppressive place in retrospect. But he accepted the motto repeated with varying degrees of irony throughout the ranks of Patton's GIs: “The quickest way home is through Berlin.”
Leonard Smith, by contrast, was thoroughly enjoying the wild ride. He was utterly convinced that he and his close friends would not be killed or seriously wounded, a view that (with indomitable innocence) he actually took to be confirmed by his narrow brushes with death by artillery shelling, carbon monoxide poisoning, and a German patrol on November 8. He was in his element. Swinging his turret around, calling for ammunition, taking out whatever targets he was assigned—machine-gun nests, pillboxes, antitank positions—with the constant roar of the engine and the cannon blasting and incoming machine-gun fire, this was high adventure of the kind Smith had always dreamed about.
Warren Crecy, granted his request to move to C Company, had been made a tank commander. He fought with a vengeance. He had already been recommended for a Silver Star for valor in his first three days of combat, but those around Crecy noticed an increased intensity in his actions since Horatio Scott's death. Tank commanders were trained to wait until targets revealed themselves in order to conserve ammunition—but Patton advocated a tactic known as “reconnaissance by fire,” raining shells anyplace where German teams might be hiding. Shermans contained storage space for roughly a hundred 75mm or 76mm shells (with tankers cramming extra rounds wherever possible): Crecy frequently ran out of ammo, racing back for resupply and rushing to return to the front. He seemed to be on a personal mission, attacking enemy positions with such ferocity and complete disregard for his own safety that he was given the nickname “Iron Man.”
Preston McNeil, a platoon sergeant in Dog Company, kept in constant touch with the tank commanders in his platoon throughout the day, instructing and advising them. At night, in bivouac, he would lead in prayer the men who were willing to pray, and joke around with those who weren't, whatever it took to reassure them. They trusted him. This was what the war quickly boiled down to for him—trying to live up to his responsibility for their lives.
ON NOVEMBER 11, TWO PLATOONS of 761st Shermans had been assigned to clear the woods near Harraucourt before taking up positions to shell the town. Dog Company's light tanks spread out to screen their flank. The Shermans encountered fierce resistance from enemy infantry and concealed antitank teams. Several were hit at close range. Dog Company's Sgt. John Jennison, spotting a wounded crewman who had lost consciousness while trying to exit his burning tank, crawled through a barrage of antitan
k and small-arms fire to pull him out and carry him to the aid station.
A German reconnaissance patrol had located the 761st's main command post and bivouac area. The post suddenly came under an intense rain of fire. Fragments from an exploding shell severed the artery of a tanker who was standing at the post's perimeter, and crew members James Rollins and Austin Jackson dashed out in the middle of the barrage to carry him back for aid. Capt. Garland “Doc” Adamson saw another soldier who was wounded and could not safely be moved. Adamson ran out under the incoming 88mm shells to administer first aid, then quickly loaded the man onto a nearby truck so he could be taken out of the line of fire. Seconds later, a shell landed precisely where the wounded man had lain.
The bloody attack-and-counterattack on November 11 spread throughout the woods and hill towns northeast of Morville. A battalion of the 104th Infantry Regiment was sent several miles ahead without armored support to attack the fortified city of Rodalbe. A near-massacre followed: The Germans had an overwhelming number of tanks, forcing the American troops to find cover in cellars. German sympathizers directed the German teams to the cellars where the Americans were hiding, and the enemy tanks then aimed their gun muzzles down the cellar steps and fired 88mm shells point-blank at the Americans inside.
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