Band of Brothers

by Stephen E. Ambrose

  · · ·

  By late afternoon, the Germans had pulled out of Ste. Marie-du-Mont, as Easy and the rest of 2d Battalion moved in, then marched south-southwest a couple of kilometers to the six-house village of Culoville, where Strayer had 2d Battalion’s CP. Winters got the men settled down for the night, with his outposts in place. The men ate their K rations. Winters went on a patrol by himself. Outside the village, he heard troops marching down a cobbled road. The sound of hobnailed boots told him they were Krauts. He hit the ditch; the German squad marched past him. He could smell the distinct odor of the Germans. It was a combination of sweat-soaked leather and tobacco. That’s too close for comfort, Winters thought.

  Lieutenant Welsh remembered walking around among the sleeping men, and thinking to himself that “they had looked at and smelled death all around them all day but never even dreamed of applying the term to themselves. They hadn’t come here to fear. They hadn’t come to die. They had come to win.”

  Before Lipton went to sleep, he recalled his discussion with Sergeant Murray before they jumped on what combat would be like and what they would do in different situations. He drifted off feeling “gratified and thankful that the day had gone so well.”

  As Winters prepared to stretch out, he could hear “Germans shooting their burp guns, evidently in the air, for they did no harm, and hollering like a bunch of drunk kids having a party,” which was probably what was happening.

  Before lying down, Winters later wrote in his diary, “I did not forget to get on my knees and thank God for helping me to live through this day and ask for his help on D plus one.” And he made a promise to himself: if he lived through the war, he was going to find an isolated farm somewhere and spend the remainder of his life in peace and quiet.

  1. Fussell, Wartime, 282.

  6

  “Move Out!”

  CARENTAN

  June 7–July 12, 1944

  AT FIRST LIGHT on June 7, Captain Hester came to see Winters with a message. “Winters,” he said, “I hate to do this to you after what you went through yesterday, but I want E Company to lead off the column toward Vierville.” The battalion had achieved its D-Day objectives, the 4th Division was well ashore, the causeways secured. Its next task was to move south, toward Carentan, on the other side of the Douve River, for the linkup with American forces coming west from Omaha Beach. The route was from Culoville through Vierville to St. Côme-du-Mont, then across the river into Carentan.

  The 2d Battalion managed to clear Vierville, then move on to Angoville-au-Plain, with Easy now in reserve. The remainder of the day was spent beating off German counterattacks from Colonel von der Heydte’s 6th Parachute Regiment. The following day 1st Battalion of the 506th took St. Côme-du-Mont, about 3 kilometers north of Carentan, on the last high ground overlooking the Douve Valley and Carentan beyond. Colonel Sink set up his CP at Angoville-au-Plain, with Easy Company taking position to defend regimental HQ. That remained its task for the next three days.

  · · ·

  Easy used the time to catch its breath and build its strength. Men joined up in a steady stream, coming from all over the Cotentin Peninsula. Sleep was still hard to come by, because of sniper fire, occasional counterattacks, artillery, and mortar fire. Burying dead bodies, human and animal, was a problem, as the bodies were beginning to bloat and smell.

  Another problem emerged, one that was to plague the airborne forces throughout the next year. Every liberated village in France, and later in Belgium, Holland, Germany, and Austria, was full of wine, cognac, brandy, and other fine liquor, of a quality and in a quantity quite unknown to the average enlisted man. Pvt. Shifty Powers and a friend found a wine shop in St. Côme-du-Mont. They broke in and began sampling the bottles, “to find the kind we liked.” They took a bottle each and went out back to drink in peace. “Every once in a while there’s a sniper trying to shoot us, and he’s trying to ricochet one in on us, and we would hear that bullet hit and ricochet around, we kind of enjoyed that.”

  Lieutenant Welsh found a barrel of cognac, “and I think he was trying to drink it all by himself,” Winters recalled. “There were times when I talked to Harry and I realized later that he hadn’t heard a word I’d said, and it was not because his hearing was bad. We got that problem straightened out in a few days.” It didn’t stay straightened out. There was just too much booze around, and the young warriors were under too much tension, for any simple solution.

  On June 10 Pvt. Alton More asked Malarkey to join him on an expedition to Ste. Mère-Eglise to look through some musette bags that he had seen stacked up there in a vacant lot. More was a rugged John Wayne type, son of a saloonkeeper in Casper, Wyoming. He had married his high school sweetheart, and their first child had been born while he was in England. Malarkey agreed to go, but when they arrived, he felt a bit uneasy when he realized the musette bags had been removed from dead troopers. Nevertheless he joined More in emptying the bags upside down, picking up candy bars, toilet articles, rations, and money.

  Suddenly Alton dropped to his knees and, in an almost inaudible voice, said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Malarkey glanced over and saw More looking at a knitted pair of baby booties. They dropped what they had collected and returned to St. Côme-du-Mont, resolving that in the future they would be more respectful of their dead comrades.

  German dead were another matter. Souvenir hunting went on whenever there was a lull. Lugers were a favorite item, along with watches, daggers, flags, anything with a swastika on it. When Rod Strohl finally joined up, on D-Day plus four, Liebgott saw him and came running up. “Hey, Strohl, Strohl, I’ve got to show you mine.” He produced a ring he had cut off the finger of a German he had killed with his bayonet.

  · · ·

  By this time the 29th Division, coming west from Omaha Beach, had taken Isigny, 12 kilometers from Carentan. Carentan, with a population of about 4,000, lay astride the main highway from Cherbourg to Caen and St. Lô. The Paris-Cherbourg railroad ran through it. The German 6th Parachute Regiment, having failed to hold the high ground to the north, was now defending Carentan. Colonel von der Heydte had orders from Field Marshal Erwin Rommel to “defend Carentan to the last man.”1

  On June 10, the 29th Division coming from Omaha linked up with the 101st, northeast of Carentan. This made the beachhead secure, but it could not be developed or extended inland until the Americans drove the Germans out of Carentan. Progress was excruciatingly slow, for three major reasons: the lack of sufficient armor or artillery, the skill and determination of the defenders, and the hedgerows. Often 6 feet high or even more, with narrow lanes that were more like trenches, so solid that they could stop a tank, each hedgerow was a major enemy position. And there were so damn many of them. Take one hedgerow, after an all-out effort, and there was another one 50 meters or less away. This was about as bad a place to mount an infantry assault as could be imagined, as bad as clearing out a town house-by-house or room-by-room, as bad as attacking a World War I trench system. But it had to be done.

  General Collins had VII Corps attacking north, in the direction of Cherbourg (the largest port in Normandy and a major strategic objective) and west, toward the coast (in order to cut off the Germans in the Cotentin from their line of communications), but gains were limited and little progress could be expected until the bottleneck at Carentan had been broken. The task fell to the 101st.

  General Taylor decided to attack from three directions simultaneously. The 327th Glider Infantry Regiment would come in from the north, the 501st from the northeast, while the 506th would undertake a night march, swinging around the almost surrounded Carentan to the southwest. Coordinated attacks were scheduled to begin at dawn, 0500, June 12.

  · · ·

  Captain Sobel had seen to it that Easy Company had spent months of training at night. Forced night marches cross-country, through woods, night compass problems, every conceivable problem of troop movement and control of troops at night. The men were completely at ease working
at night, indeed some of them insisted they could see better in the dark than in daylight.

  According to Winters (who was by now the acting company commander; Meehan was still listed as missing in action rather than KIA), the ones who could not handle the night were the regimental staff officers. They had “crapped out” on the training problems and had not done the field work night after night that the troops and junior line officers had undergone. It had shown up on D-Day night, Winters said: “They were the ones who had the problems getting oriented and finding their objectives. They had the big problem getting through hedgerows. The junior officers and enlisted men, completely on their own, had found their way around and found their objective with little problem and no maps.”

  The deficiency showed up again on the night march of June 11–12. F Company led the way, with E following. They set out for Carentan across a marsh, over a bridge, then west across fields to the railroad. It was rough going through swampy areas and hedgerows. The companies kept losing contact. F Company would hit a tough section, work its way through, then take off at a fast pace, with no consideration for the rear elements breaking through that same bottleneck. Regimental HQ kept changing orders for the boundaries of the 1st and 2d Battalions. The companies would stop, dig in, set up machine-guns, then get orders to move out again.

  There had been major fighting over the route the 2d Battalion was following. The area was strewn with bodies, American and German, weapons and equipment, difficult to see clearly in the dark. Once over the Douve River, heading toward the railroad track, Easy lost contact with F Company. “I knew we would not be able to find our way to our objective over the strange terrain on our own,” Lipton recalled, “and that we were strung out in a defenseless formation.”

  Winters tried to raise battalion on the radio. The operators spoke in muffled undertones. A German MG 42 (the best machine-gun in the world) opened up with several short bursts from somewhere off to the left. Lipton moved over to his machine-gunner and whispered to him to set up his gun facing toward the incoming fire. As Lipton moved quietly off to position the rest of his platoon, he remembered, “I almost jumped out of my skin when [the man] full-loaded his gun. The sound of a light machine-gun being full-loaded, two times pulling back and releasing the bolt, can be heard a half-mile away on a still night. All our attempts at being quiet and surprising the Germans gone for nothing.” But there was no further attack, and Lipton breathed a bit easier.

  Contact was reestablished. Easy moved out again. Along the path it followed there was a dead German, his right hand extended into the air. Everyone stepped over him until Pvt. Wayne “Skinny” Sisk got there. Sisk reached out and shook the hand, meanwhile stepping on the bloated stomach. The corpse went “Bleh.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” Sisk whispered and moved on.

  The path took an abrupt turn to the right. Carson recalled that “there was a German there with a rifle pointed right at you. He must have scared half the company. I said to myself, ‘Why the hell doesn’t he shoot and get it over with?’ But he was dead and rigor mortis had set in, he was just like a statue there.”

  Easy reached the railroad line and set up another defensive position. The word came to expect German armor. Lipton put Tipper and his bazooka on the bank, with no line of retreat possible: a do-or-die situation.

  “Tipper,” Lipton whispered, “we’re depending on you. Don’t miss.”

  “I won’t.”

  Tipper soon had a problem. His ammunition carrier, Pvt. Joe Ramirez, seemed awfully nervous. “We’ll be O.K., Joe,” Tipper told him. “Just be sure you have two bazooka rounds ready to go, with absolutely no time lost, not a fraction of a second.” Ramirez went back and returned with two bazooka rounds, stumbling and crashing around. To Tipper’s horror, he said he had removed the pins (with the safety pin gone, an armed bazooka rocket would explode if dropped from two or three feet).

  “Stick those pins back in,” Tipper whispered. “I’ll tell you when I want them out.”

  “I don’t know where they are,” Ramirez answered, holding the rounds stiffly out away from his body. “I tossed them away.”

  “Good God Almighty! Find them.” Ramirez could not. Tipper got down on his hands and knees to help look. They found the pins. Ramirez’s arms were twitching as Tipper carefully reinserted the pins. “When the disarming was accomplished,” Tipper said, “Joe calmed down and his twitching stopped. Mine started at that point.”

  No attack developed. This was because Colonel von der Heydte, short on ammunition after six days of heavy fighting with no supplies reaching him, had pulled most of his force out of Carentan. He left behind one company to hold the city as long as possible, while he got resupplied and prepared a counterattack from the southwest. The fifty-man company in Carentan had a machine-gun position to shoot straight up the road leading to the southwest, and 80 mm mortars zeroed in on the critical T-junction on the edge of town.

  Easy moved out again, headed northeast. By 0530, the 2d Battalion of the 506th was in position to attack Carentan. The objective was the T-junction defended by the company from the 6th Parachute Regiment. The last 100 or so meters of the road leading to the T-junction was straight, with a gentle downward slope. There were shallow ditches on both sides. F Company was on the left flank, with E Company going straight down the road and D Company in reserve. The orders were to move into Carentan and link up with the 327th coming in from the north.

  All was quiet, no action. Lieutenant Lavenson, formerly of E Company, now battalion S-1, went into a field to take a crap. The men could see his white fanny in the early dawn light. A German sniper fired one shot and hit Lavenson in the butt. (He was evacuated to England; later, as he was being flown back to the States, his plane went down over the Atlantic.)

  By this time, Winters was furious. It had taken all night for regiment to get the men in position. Stop, move out, stop, move out, so many times that the men were worn out. “It shouldn’t have been,” Winters said. “It wasn’t that difficult. We had screwed away the night, just getting into position.” There was no time for a reconnaissance; Easy had no idea what lay ahead. There was no artillery preparation, or air strikes.

  The order came down: attack at 0600.

  Winters had his old platoon, the 1st, under Lieutenant Welsh, on the left side of the road, just past where the road curved and then straightened out, with 2d platoon on the right and 3d platoon in reserve. The men lay down in the ditches by the side of the road, awaiting orders. The German defenders had not revealed their machine-gun position or fired any mortars. Everything was quiet.

  At 0600 Winters ordered, “Move out.” Welsh kicked off the advance, running down the road toward the T-junction some 50 meters away, his platoon following. The German machine-gun opened fire, straight down the road. It was in a perfect position, at the perfect time, to wipe out the company.

  The fire split the platoon. The seventh man behind Welsh stayed in the ditch. So did the rest of the platoon, almost thirty men. They were face down in the ditches on both sides of the road, trying to snuggle in as close as they could.

  Winters jumped into the middle of the road, highly agitated, yelling, “Move out! Move out!” It did no good; the men remained in place, heads down in the ditch.

  From his rear, Winters could hear Lieutenant Colonel Strayer, Lieutenants Hester and Nixon, and other members of the battalion HQ hollering at him to “get them moving, Winters, get them moving.”

  Winters threw away his gear, holding on to his M-1, and ran over to the left side, “hollering like a mad man, ‘Get going!’ ” He started kicking the men in the butt. He crossed to the other side and repeated the order, again kicking the men.

  “I was possessed,” Winters recalled. “Nobody’d ever seen me like that.” He ran back to the other side, machine-gun bullets zinging down the street. He thought to himself, My God, I’m leading a blessed life. I’m charmed.

  He was also desperate. His best friend, Harry Welsh, was up ahead, trying to dea
l with that machine-gun. If I don’t do something, Winters thought to himself, he’s dead. No question about it.

  But the men wouldn’t move. They did look up. Winters recalled, “I will never forget the surprise and fear on those faces looking up at me.” The German machine-gun seemed to be zeroing in on him, and he was a wide open target. “The bullets kept snapping by and glancing off the road all around me.”

  “Everybody had froze,” Strohl remembered. “Nobody could move. And Winters got up in the middle of the road and screamed, ‘Come on! Move out! Now!’ ”

  That did it. No man in the company had ever before heard Winters shout. “It was so out of character,” Strohl said, “we moved out as one man.”

  According to Winters, “Here is where the discipline paid off. The men got the message, and they moved out.”

  As Sergeant Talbert passed Winters, he called out, “Which way when we hit the intersection?”

  “Turn right,” Winters ordered.

  (In 1981, Talbert wrote Winters: “I’ll never forget seeing you in the middle of that road. You were my total inspiration. All my boys felt the same way.”)

  Welsh, meanwhile, was neutralizing the machine-gun. “We were all alone,” he remembered, “and I couldn’t understand where the hell everybody was.” Thanks to the distraction caused by Winters running back and forth, the machine-gunner had lost track of Welsh and his six men. Welsh tossed some grenades at the gun, followed by bursts from his carbine. The men with him did the same. The machine-gun fell silent.2