by Gerald Astor
“Mac jumped out of the tank and stopped a medic running to help someone and asked him to come to the tank, hoping beyond hope that maybe something could be done for Mike. The medic refused, as he was swamped with work and we were several hundred feet away from the aid station. Because of all the vehicles and ambulances, we couldn’t get closer. Mac pointed his gun at the medic and he came to the tank, not that he feared Mac’s gun but he was a tolerant and understanding man. He climbed up on the tank and looked in the turret, and said, ‘Bring him in.’ We turned Mike over to the medics. They examined him and placed him with the others that had been killed. The bodies were stacked [in rows] three or four high and forty to fifty feet long—there may have been many more but I saw two such ‘stacks.’”
Marshall’s tank was now operating with a four-man crew. McKnight assumed the role of commander, Marshall became the gunner, Jim Spencer continued as loader, and Alyea was the driver. The tank rolled toward a church in the village of Vossenack.
Alyea recalled, “Later in the day, we moved out in an open area and were able to inflict some 75mm rounds of high explosive on enemy positions, but no forward progress was attained. The Germans remained dug in, and what few tanks they had were well camouflaged. To knock out a German tank took more than one of ours to do the job. The tank commander was given orders to move forward slowly. As we came up a slight rise in the terrain, a large German artillery shell exploded near the tank, digging a large hole in the ground. Part of the track was in the hole; we were unable to move and were out of action. We got orders to leave. In the meantime, we were pinned down by the enemy but out of range of 88mm fire, so that helped.”
Marshall saw it slightly differently. “We received a direct hit in the rear of the tank,” reported Marshall. “It went forward for fifteen or twenty feet down a swale and into a tremendous burst of exploding mortars. The now-trackless side of the tank dropped into some of these craters, rendering it immobile. We discovered the turret could not traverse; the shell that killed Mike had jammed the gears. The 75mm gun was useless but we were alive and for the moment ‘safe,’ because the tank now was lower than the grassy mound on our left.
“The Germans, knowing we were there, kept shooting at us many times with heavy guns. The shells would slam into the mound, tear through the earth like a giant mole, and then glance upward with a sickening whirring sound, raining dirt, rocks, and grass into our tank. It seemed like forever, but the shelling directed at us finally stopped. The tank was a mess with blood mixed with mud and debris. Since the gun was not working, we decided to abandon the tank. I was for jumping out while it was still daylight, but John and Mac thought it would be unwise; we should wait until dark. John then suggested we set up a machine gun outside the tank and take turns on guard. We decided against that move. John often wished he had an M1 of his own. The field to our right was littered with dead Americans lying near M1 rifles. Just to hear myself talk, I said to John, ‘There’s your chance to pick up an M1 rifle for yourself.’ John thought a moment and then opened his hatch, unseen by the Krauts because it was much lower than the turret. Nothing happened until he ventured a short distance from the tank to pick up the rifle and was now in view of the Krauts. Again all hell broke loose, prompting John to throw the rifle down and run like mad back to the tank.
“Darkness comes early this time of the year, but there was still daylight left when we decided our evacuation procedure. One man at a time would exit the tank and run, diving from shell hole to shell hole for forty or fifty yards, then run again when the second man exited.
We were to repeat this procedure so that we would all be heading toward the command post forty or fifty yards apart.
“When I got about 300 feet from the tank, I realized we had no blankets, actually nothing but the clothes on our backs. I turned and went back for my bedroll. From the explosions on and near the tank all day, the rods [of the rack with the gear] were twisted and knotted around the bedrolls like ordinary rope. I pulled and tugged but couldn’t dislodge my bedroll. It was now dark, and I was angry with myself for not sticking to our escape plan. I really started to worry when I heard someone sloughing their way toward the tank for I had no gun. I slid off the tank and crouched against it in the shell hole. I heard someone ask, ‘Marshall?’ It was Alyea. Although he had almost reached the company area, he had come back to see what had happened to me!
“Together we each pulled a bedroll free and in the fog and darkness made our way back, in imminent danger of being shot by our own outposts. We found Jim and Mac lying under a tank on blankets. Mac knew there would be bedrolls lying all over the forest floor, just for the taking. Their owners didn’t care; they were in the fields, dead. I later learned that Sgt. Jack Goldman of Company B would risk being killed by the Germans or our own guards and enter this forbidden forest under cover of darkness to gather up these idle bedrolls and distribute them to men that lost all their possessions, as we had.”
The forlorn quartet from the tank Bea Wain accepted an offer from the cooks to use their tents. As Marshall tried to relax on a cot, he realized, “We had lost our tank commander, the first man in the platoon to be killed, and all of our posseśsions. We had lost our tank with thousands of rounds of ammunition. I nudged John. ‘Do you realize we never fired a shot?’ Exhausted, sleep came quickly. So ended our first day in the Huertgen Forest.”
As darkness fell on Vossenack, a concentration of shells obliterated several two-man foxholes, shattering the bodies of the occupants. Their comrades, traumatized by seeing their friends mangled beyond recognition, retreated to the false security of buildings, leaving a gap in the defensive line. Ordered back to their foxholes, they sneaked back into the houses in the darkness. There could be no relief because the division no longer had any reserves. Astonishingly, the regimental situation report for the day listed the combat state of its forces as “excellent.”
The damage to Bea Wain had forced its tankers to flee, but there was hope the Sherman could be salvaged. “During the night,” said Marshall, “Howard Thomsen and his crew undertook a daring task. They were to go into Vossenack and retrieve our tank, knowing the Germans had infiltrated back in the town and taken positions in it as well as around our tank. Somehow in the darkness they were able to ‘steal’ the tank from under their noses and bring it back to our company area.”
According to Thomsen, “The retriever crew—an officer, driver, assistant driver, and myself—went in the evening to get some of the tanks back. I got the engines to go again except for one. We had to pull that one through the churchyard and out into the street. After we were on the road the tow cable broke. I was in the act of putting another one on when I heard a shell coming in. I dove to the ground and landed in an old shell hole. The dirt hit my face, and I couldn’t tell if I was bleeding or not. There was a Tiger tank firing off to our right. The shells kept coming in on the right side of us, and shrapnel would fly on ahead. But we got the tanks back to the company area. The company commander asked why we stayed, as they had word there was a Tiger tank in Vossenack. After we checked, we found our radio was not receiving the order to pull back.” For his efforts, Thomsen was awarded a Bronze Star.
Marshall said, “We were up before daylight cleaning the inside of the tank—the ammo, guns, and instruments were covered with mud, flesh, and blood. The maintenance crew worked on tracks, turret, gas, and oil. Except for the inability of the turret to turn 360 degrees, the new Bea Wain was ready to roll again. However, when we climbed out in daylight and faced one another, the first time actually in twenty-four hours, our facial features had changed so much that Mac remarked, ‘Lord, do you guys look different!’ I said, ‘Wait’ll you look at yourself,’ for he had changed also. Several days, later, when Mac took his tanker’s helmet off, all the hair from his head was in it. He was bald.”
While John Marshall and the crew of Bea Wain had been so occupied, a platoon of B Company tanks worked with troops from the 112th Infantry on the northeast side of Vossenack. F
rom the woods came heavy small-arms fire, to which the tankers responded. The foot soldiers started a withdrawal as the enemy added heavy mortar and artillery, preparatory to another attack. Jack Goldman as a loader and radio operator in the B Company command tank of Capt. George Grainger could see very little from his position in the turret with a radio. He did observe the 1st Platoon already heading down the valley and approaching the town. “Suddenly, a tank appeared and took a position quite close to our command tank. I couldn’t see exactly what took place, but Captain Grainger was talking to Captain [George S., Jr.] West [C Company commander], when suddenly an enemy mortar shell hit the turret of Captain West’s tank. He was killed instantly. His head had been severed from his body. Captain Grainger dropped to the floor of our tank. I did not hesitate. I ducked under the gun and grabbed the captain. I cradled his head in one hand and passed my other hand before his eyes. He was stunned but, thank God, not hurt. He stood up and I returned to my position.
“He tried to send a radio command to other tanks of our company. Once again I ducked under the gun, and I grabbed his pant leg and began to tug until I got his attention. I pointed to the intercom switch. It was on ‘Intercom’ not ‘Radio.’ He slowly realized his error and made the switch. He gave his commands and the battle went on as before, with casualties on both sides. We killed a great number of German infantrymen and they shot up many of our tanks with their 88mm guns, which had a superior muzzle velocity, entering the front of our tanks and piercing out the rear. We were under fire-powered. Our armor-piercing shells would bounce off the German tanks, doing no damage. Our men did a great job, like they had been trained to do, but it was not good for morale.”
According to Goldman, “As daylight began to fade, the tanks withdrew toward the aid station, so they could provide for their own safety out of reach of enemy infantry, who would throw a grenade into a turret or anything to disable a tank. The captain ordered me and the gunner out of the tank, so he could confer with the platoon leaders. I started toward one of our tanks, where I could duck into the turret out of mortar fire. I was walking along a road which crossed another when I heard ‘incoming mail,’ a mortar shell at tree level. I froze with fear and held my arms above my head. I did not drop to the ground. I heard the shrapnel all around me in a circle, but once again, thank God, I was not hurt.
“Suddenly all shelling stopped and a strange silence took over. I heard from others that a medical truce had taken place. It was now that the bravest men in the world, the battlefield medics, went forth to tend the wounded and to gather the dead and their severed parts. I saw a peep loaded with legs, feet in boots, arms, and bodies. I try now to block it out of my mind. I don’t want to see it anymore. Yes, Captain West was there with the rest of the dead.”
At First Army headquarters, a crisis atmosphere developed. During the day, Hodges never left his command post, reported Sylvan, as word came of no less than four separate counterattacks being made against the 28th Division. The messages spoke of heavy artillery fire and in the 112th sector at Vossenack, the 2nd Battalion was forced back, dislodged from town by an enemy assault of 500 infantry supported by ten tanks. However, the front seemed to stabilize when the GI squashed a second counterattack without further loss of ground. Still, there was no progress toward Schmidt. Bad weather coupled with uncertain smoke markings made the air support of little value.
The situation for the 112th and its associates approximated disaster. The increasingly frigid, wet conditions sorely afflicted the troops, who lacked proper winter gear. There was a shortage of ammunition, particularly mortar rounds that were so effective in the terrain. Command was elusive. Communications verged on a total breakdown. Telephone facilities, dependent upon wires, were almost nonexistent as the rain of shrapnel and ground explosions destroyed lines. Radio signals were plagued by the interference of the trees and other natural obstacles. Casualties among company and battalion officers reduced effective leadership. Those seeking to determine the true facts had to depend upon hearsay, the statements of the wounded, stragglers, and individuals with a narrow vantage point. It was difficult to organize the soldiers because the battle scattered men until they lost contact with their own units.
Perhaps under pressure from his superiors, not fully aware of the plight of his soldiers after hearing the 112th’s headquarters declare the combat condition as “excellent,” Cota and Davis doggedly directed another venture against Schmidt. He created Task Force Ripple, an assault team led by the 707th’s commander, Lt. Col. Richard Ripple, to be composed of the nine surviving tanks from Company A, the entire complement of Company D, which fielded light tanks, a handful of tank destroyers from the 893d, and foot soldiers from the 3d Battalion of the 110th Infantry, approximately 300 battered infantrymen.
Task Force Ripple was doomed from the start. The light tanks never arrived. The strategy called for the 110th Infantry’s 3d Battalion to shift from their sector on the right flank of the 112th to meet up with the armor at Kommerscheidt and pass through the depleted ranks of that organization and capture Schmidt. However, the Germans vigorously protected their interests on the trail across the Kall Valley. The toll exacted reduced the short-strength battalion by two officers and fifteen men before the battalion reached the woods north of Kommerscheidt.
Al Burghardt, the mortar squad sergeant of Company K in the 110th’s 3d Battalion recalled, “On the way to join the 112th Regiment, we went through Vossenack, a village in flames. It was late at night or early in the morning. It was just like you see in a war movie, smoke and fire all over. The smell of burning buildings, gun powder, gasoline, and oil from burning tanks and the ever-present smell of death were very evident. The eerie light from the fires showed damaged buildings everywhere, and when a shell exploded, you could see a church steeple in the distance. It was during one of these flashes of light that I saw what was left of a GI who had been run over lengthwise by a tank. I could tell it was a GI because of his clothing, web belt, steel helmet—a sad sight to see. There were many bodies in the village, both German and American.
“We went down into the Kall Valley and across a stone bridge wide enough for one vehicle. This part of the march had less shelling, because the Germans did not know where we were at the time. A light but steady, cold rain was falling. After we crossed the bridge, we started up the Kall Trail. It was very narrow in spots. There were no vehicles with us, and we had to carry our 60mm mortar and ammo, which was very difficult because of the steep terrain. The Germans finally found us and the shelling picked up.
“It was starting to get light enough to see. A shell hit somewhere ahead, very close. When I got to the area, a shell apparently had hit the top of a tree. There were five men hit. Four of them were dead. They looked like rag dolls that were carelessly thrown around. Their arms and legs were not in normal positions, and medics had not arrived on the scene. As I came up to one of the men, he was in a sitting position, looking in sort of a stupor. I don’t know if he was watching the water from the rain, along with his blood, which had turned the little stream red. As I passed him, I looked at his face, but I’m thankful that I didn’t recognize him. It had to be one of the fellows I knew. I was able to look down inside of him, because of the large wound in his shoulder. I am quite sure that by the time I passed him, he was dead due to the depth of the wound. This all took place in a matter of seconds, but at the time it seemed like hours.”
Task Force Ripple’s commanders and Lt. Col. Carl Peterson, heading the 112th, quickly recognized the weakness of the newly arrived foot soldiers of the 110th Infantry. They had struggled for three hours to overcome the enemy fire before digging in along a tree line. They were pitifully short of manpower. Their morale suffered from awareness that associates from the 112th in foxholes along their proposed route could not even leave their cover to relieve themselves. Because the area was new to the 110th’s officers, Peterson arranged for a reconnaissance of the terrain.
Lieutenant Colonel William Tait, the battalion leader, his
S-2, and an intelligence sergeant attempted to advance stealthily toward the positions of the 112th, but enemy riflemen spotted them and opened up. Bullets seriously wounded Tait and the S-2, who, unable to crawl to safety, died from a shot to the head. A tank destroyer, commanded by Sgt. Marshall Pritts, saved the two other Americans when it blasted the location of the German soldiers. The shell killed one, while his two companions emerged hands over their heads. One of them cried that he had not been the killer of the S-2.
Peterson and Ripple concluded that they could not possibly succeed without more armor. As Task Force Ripple waited for reinforcements, the Panzers again maneuvered into range to kill and harass the skittish GIs. To prevent a panicky withdrawal, Peterson and Ripple summoned their own armor to take on the Germans. Ray Fleig, acknowledging the weakness of his 75mm cannons against the Panzers gunning for the Americans from a distance of 800 yards, hastily plotted with Lt. Turney Leonard, platoon leader for the tank destroyers, to close with their more effective 90mm guns. Leonard had already distinguished himself by leading his platoon in the face of heavy fire, and on one occasion, while dismounted, personally silenced a machine gun with a grenade.
Fleig and two other Shermans moved up toward the crest of a hill to attract the notice of the Germans, while Leonard’s TD and others using the wooded area as cover would sneak up for a flanking attack. The Panzers enthusiastically snapped at the bait and exchanged fire with Fleig’s group. But the American tank destroyers never got in place. While moving forward, they became hung up on hidden stumps from a hedgerow, cut down to several feet by the battles around it.
Leonard had dismounted in an effort to discover the problem, and Fleig said he caught sight of a frustrated Leonard flogging a bellied up TD with a riding crop. “His left arm looked like it had been mangled by artillery, and his uniform was covered with blood.” Hits on turrets of two U.S. tanks left them useful only as armored machine gun platforms for the defense of Kommerscheidt, but the engagement persuaded the enemy tanks to temporarily back off. Leonard was observed on his way to the aid station. He did not survive the slaughter in the forest and received a posthumous Medal of Honor.