by Gerald Astor
Hodges apparently also chewed out Gerow. In his postwar interview, VII Corps commander Collins, critiquing the attack on Schmidt, remarked, “Hodges is usually pictured as a man who lacked toughness. That is not quite correct. In my presence, which was unusual, he bawled the hell out of Gerow for not taking Schmidt. … He was very tough on Gerow, tougher than I had ever heard him before. He didn’t relieve Gerow because it was terribly difficult fighting. But he was pushing Gerow awfully hard. My personal judgment was that the reason for not taking Schmidt was they didn’t use their artillery fire as well as it could have been used.
“The tanks they tried to send into Schmidt got bogged down on a narrow road in the forest. It was just not the place to use tanks. The Germans, recognizing their interest in the [Roer] dams, counterattacked and drove out the leading troops of the V Corps, which had already gotten into Schmidt.” In contrast to Preston Jackson’s comments about the absence of tanks defeating efforts to hold Schmidt, Collins ignored the advantage of the enemy with its armor. Again, the accounts of the strategizing in November 1944 suggest his reference to the dams is hindsight.
Sylvan made no mention of a scolding by Hodges but wrote that Gerow received instructions to “keep close watch over the division efforts and to recommend any personnel changes thought necessary.” He concluded his day’s entry with the ominous remark, “Drove back through a blinding snowstorm.”
Later that evening, Gerow telephoned with word that Davis had successfully withdrawn three battalions to the assembly area, approximately five kilometers to the rear of Kommerscheidt. However, the underreporting of the casualties and the erosion of the situation continued. Davis apparently spoke of “some twenty-five walking wounded,” twenty-five litter cases among the three battalions, which hardly described the toll. Davis focused on the minor successes, advising that the 2d Battalion of the 109th held despite enemy pressure, while the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 110th registered small gains.
9
THE GRAND DISASTER
Although the first strikes into the Huertgen bought little ground at great cost, the American strategists never faltered in their obsession with the forest. Instead of reassessing the military value of the Huertgen, the planners now plotted on a grander scale. A conference at Ninth Air Force headquarters on 7 November approved a plan known as Operation Queen. It envisioned a broad-front lunge by the First and Ninth Armies toward the Roer, backed by a massive amount of air power that would include everything—four-engine heavies, mediums, and fighterbombers. The offensive that included the Huertgen Forest was part of a much larger scheme.
Sylvan’s diary reported, “Nov. 9 we had a conference for the big show today at V Corps HQ with Gen. Hodges, Gen. Gerow, Gen. Collins in attendance. Long-range weather reports for the period of 11–16 Nov. do not look too promising at the present time. Gen. Hodges told the press the attack would exceed in magnitude anything thrown at the Boche since D Day. The entire 8th and 9th AF plus heavy bombers from the RAF will precede the attack.” Sylvan also wrote of a huge artillery preparation that would include rockets. Smoke rockets would delineate the American lines to forestall errant drops by aircraft. He remarked that if the weather prevented air support, the attack would still start no later than 16 November.
According to Hodges’s aide, “Careful planning into this attack, unceasing efforts to obtain more ammunition. As is customary, Gen. Collins extremely optimistic about its success. Gen. Hodges, although he sees hard fighting ahead does not think the Boche can long stand up to such a coordinated, concentrated blow. Dined that night on plover.”
Although the First Army mess provided such delicacies, more replacements filtered into the remnants of the units still hunkered down in the Huertgen. Tom Myers, whose job as an overseer at a food processing plant provided a deferment, had been inclined to enlist immediately after Pearl Harbor. But his manager convinced Myers that he could contribute more to the war effort by remaining at his job. After a change in employment, however, Myers’s draft board shipped him to the army. Qualified as an infantryman, Myers reached Europe in September 1944 and south of Aachen joined the 5th Armored Division on detached, or temporary, assignment.
“It was at this time that I came under fire for the first time and saw casualties. The first man that I saw killed was a young officer, who did not have his helmet on when an 88 shell landed in the street.” Myers’s stay with the 5th Armored accustomed him as much as is possible to artillery barrages. After reporting back to the replacement depot on 8 November, he traveled by truck to the Huertgen Forest, joining the 110th Infantry and Company I.
“We assembled at kitchen tents of Company I and were fed. The cooks and KPs filled us in on what had happened the past few days. They said that the company was pinned down up there, a short distance away, but a guide would be there to guide us up to the ‘line.’
“While we were waiting, we saw two men emerge from the forest, trudging along with no rifles or packs, their heads down. They were dirty, unshaven, and looked as if they could hardly put one foot in front of the other. They did not seem to see us. Another fellow and I went up to one of them and asked him where he was going and where he had been. We got no response. One man briefly looked at me, but his face was like a zombie, with no expression. He just kept walking west on the trail. I guess he had seen too much war. It wasn’t until later that we heard about the huge numbers from another unit of the 28th Division that gave way to fear and panic and did just what these men were doing.
“When we went up to the line—if you could call it that—the guide told us to keep under cover at all times, because we were in sight of the Germans a short distance across the canyon. Of course, I didn’t have to be told, as I had learned many lessons while on the line with the 5th Armored. His warning was brought home to us, though, as a new replacement, next to Wayne Newman, my foxhole buddy, and I, straightened up to remove his pack before getting in a foxhole. As he did, a well-placed rifle bullet from across the way felled him. His war ended before it started.”
Myers and Newman found a previously constructed foxhole with a log cover and moved in. “Wayne had remarked that he would like to have a pair of the new two-strap combat boots that we had seen some of the men wearing. When we got into our foxhole, I could feel a lot of clothing, blankets, et cetera, in the bottom. As I was cleaning some of it out, because it was blood-stained, I picked up a boot that seemed too heavy. Upon examining it closer, I could see that it still contained a severed foot. I told Wayne I had found a pair of boots for him, handing him the boot without telling him what was in it. When he saw what was in the boot, he heaved it as far as he could. He didn’t appreciate my little joke. These bits of humor, though [they] may sound very grim, helped a little to keep our minds from cracking under the strain.
“There seemed to be a certain lack of respect for replacements by some of the older ‘regulars.’ However, as the situation was so serious, we were generally accepted as a necessity during the Huertgen battle.”
On 8 November, the tanks from the 1st Platoon of the 707th’s B Company rumbled out of Germeter and into Vossenack. An hour or so after the Shermans dispersed to outposts, six German tanks, operating in the vicinity of Schmidt, opened up at a distance of nearly 2,000 yards. The Americans responded, possibly scoring significant hits on one of the enemy, but the fire from the Panzers continued. U.S. artillery shells were fired into the woods, in the hope of discouraging, if not destroying, the armor. When the heavy fire continued to fall on Vossenack, the 707th’s tanks withdrew to the relative safety of Germeter under instructions to charge forward in the event of an infantry attack.
Although the battles and exchanges of ordnance raged, the aid station set up by the 112th Regiment between Vossenack and Kommerscheidt remained in a no-man’s-land. American wounded accumulated while German patrols frequently inspected the premises. Despite their hazardous state, some of the walking wounded sifted through the combat zone to reach the American lines. Cascades of enemy shells
, however, thwarted attempts to reach the site with Weasels and remove more seriously hurt soldiers. More and more GIs staggered, limped, or were carried to the aid station. The overwhelmed medics could only suggest to those still on their feet that they try to walk to safety. With no more room inside their bunker, the aid men placed newly arrived patients on litters alongside the Kall trail, posting men without weapons and bearing Red Cross flags to guard the wounded. Two more convoys of unarmed vehicles that tried to rescue the wounded turned back after the Germans opened up with small arms, killing one medic. However, some personnel at the log bunker discovered a shot-up but still functioning Weasel, and on their own managed to remove a number of the casualties.
The 112th regimental surgeon, Maj. Albert Berndt, recommended that the division open negotiations with the Germans for a brief truce to allow removal of the dead and wounded from both sides. Berndt volunteered to seek a cease-fire, division headquarters authorized him only to determine the attitude of the enemy to a proposal for such a truce. Under a white flag, Berndt and an interpreter, Sgt. Wheeler Wolters, journeyed to the aid station on the west side of the Kall.
Because the enemy occupied the ground just across the narrow stream, Berndt and Wolters paused at a shattered bridge to figure how to cross and parley with the Germans. Suddenly, a German soldier confronted them from the other side. When the Americans shouted the purpose of their mission, he ran off and soon six Germans including a lieutenant appeared. After some discussion, the German agreed to permit evacuation vehicles to come forward without interference from his troops. But, he warned, because of problems with communications with the rear, he could not guarantee the reaction of the artillery behind him. Over the next several days, under intermittent fire from units that did not get the word, both sides removed wounded and dead. Howard Thomsen recalled a message that requested that no tanks approach Vossenack, to avoid any suspicion of violations of the brief armistice. At some point, a different German officer accompanied by soldiers to enforce the edict declared he would not permit any more walking wounded or medical personnel to leave. The confinement order included the chaplains.
Platoon leader James Reed, a thirty-one-year-old “ancient” and a replacement, remembered his three or four days in the Kall River as “pretty much routine. From time to time we received harassing artillery and sniper fire. Also we had a few firefights with German patrols and sent out a few of our own.
“During this period I was able to get acquainted with the men of the 1st Platoon. They respected my rank and gave me no trouble. But I had a very strong feeling they had not accepted me as their platoon leader.” On one occasion, a machine gun crew notified him of the approach of a German patrol and asked for his instructions. “I told the gunner to be prepared to fire when I gave the order. When I felt the patrol was close enough, I gave the order to fire. I waited for the gun to start shooting. Nothing happened. I turned to see what the problem was and saw the gunner pushing and pulling at various parts of the weapon. It seemed obvious he knew nothing about firing a machine gun. By this time the patrol was very close. I told the crew to be quiet, that I would take care of the situation. I lined my sights on the man who appeared to be the leader and squeezed off a round. My target went down but so did the rest of the patrol. We were behind a small embankment, so I moved left and right, firing as I went. After about six or seven rounds, I stopped. We watched and listened for quite a while. Nothing happened so I went out and checked the area. I was unable to find any signs of the patrol.
“When I returned to the gun crew, I gave the gunner a chewing until he informed me that he had not fired a machine gun since basic training. He had forgotten all that he had learned. When he joined I Company [as a replacement], he was assigned to a machine gun. No one asked him if he could fire it. I spent a few minutes showing him how to get a round in the chamber and what action to take in case of a jam. After that I felt a difference in the attitude of the platoon and that they now accepted me.”
Aware of the imminent collapse of the entire effort by the 28th Division, Hodges directed the 4th Infantry Division to attach its 12th Regiment to the 28th and assume responsibility for the sector held by the 109th Infantry. While the latter would move to Germeter, the 12th’s 2d and 3d Battalions would relieve soldiers stationed near the huge Wilde Sau minefield and overlooking the Weisser Wehe Valley. The hastily scheduled substitutions began the night of 6 November and continued over several days.
James Reed recalled, “We accomplished the transfer of troops without incident. It was very dark and our vision was zero. It was impossible to see the man in front, so we maintained contact by holding onto his belt. The sight of trucks waiting for us was a welcome sight.”
Among those replaced by the 12th Infantry was weapons platoon leader Bill Peña’s I Company. “Five days in this surrounded position plus the previous day’s experience [an enemy barrage just as the troops assembled, suggesting a sharp-eyed German observer] had made us cautious. We talked in low tones and made some attempt at camouflaging our foxholes. The new outfit came with a different attitude, which made me nervous and anxious to leave them. Their loud talk and their setting out of blankets and shelter halves to dry as so much laundry was most disturbing. Either they were a brand new outfit or we had become overly cautious.” The 12th Infantry, which had made the D-Day Utah Beach landing, was hardly virgin to combat, although five months of hard combat meant the ranks contained a fair number of newcomers.
Lieutenant Jack Crawford, an infantry replacement, joined the 12th Regiment after being busted from private first class to private for punching a first sergeant while at an embarkation camp in the States. At Mortain, France, where the 12th’s battalion strength fell from 860 to 196 soldiers and 14 officers by end of the third day’s fighting, Crawford earned a Silver Star and was slightly wounded. He also received a battlefield commission from General Barton for his heroism. “After Mortain,” recalled Crawford, “the 2d Battalion was reorganized and many replacements were brought in to get us up to full strength. When we went into the Huertgen Forest, I was in charge of an intelligence and recon platoon for the regiment. I had two jeeps and we led the column.
“When we relieved the 28th Division, the lieutenant in our sector was so anxious to leave that in his haste to show us where his mines had been put along a trail he set one off. It killed him, blew the arms off my sergeant, and temporarily blinded me. I was evacuated to a hospital.”
South Carolinean Marcus Dillard, still six weeks shy of his nineteenth birthday, and a mortar gunner with the 12th Infantry’s Company M, had stepped onto Utah Beach on D Day. As a member of the 4th Division, he participated in the campaigns that carried him across France—Cherbourg, Saint-Lô, Mortain—through Paris until the outfit bedded down in the steep hills, swift flowing streams, narrow ravines, and woodsy area known as the Schnee Eifel, along the Germany-Belgium border.
“We were alerted to move at once on the 6th of November,” recalled Dillard. “We were told to cover our division insignia on our helmets, remove or cover our shoulder patches and all markings on our vehicles. At about 1800 hours, we started moving north. It was cold, miserable, and raining. We arrived and started detrucking about 0200 in the morning of the 7th.
“It was dark, and I mean dark, raining, cold, wind blowing. We all wondered, ‘Where are we?’ This was a secret move and no one except the top brass knew where we were. I looked up, trying to see something, and all I could make out were the tops of trees swaying and hear the wind whistling through them.
“We were told to move out and to follow the man in front as close as possible. We didn’t want anyone to get lost. We were told to leave our 81mm mortars behind. We would take the ones left by the unit we were relieving and they would get ours.
“We walked, stumbled, and slipped for the next couple of hours, barely able to see where we were going. We finally halted and were to stay in place. Wet and miserable as I was, I dropped off to sleep. I don’t know for how long, but then we wer
e told we would take the foxholes and positions of the soldiers we were to replace. It was starting to get daylight and we could see the shoulder patches of the 28th Division. They didn’t say much. They just moved out and looked tired and exhausted.
“As it got brighter, what I saw scared me. Shell holes all over, the trees, most of them looked like shredded match sticks with points. Half of the trees standing, the bark was torn off by shrapnel. Just utter devastation. It was cold, rainy, foggy. Just plain miserable. No hot food, just K rations.
“Our positions must have been the only open area around, because we had to have clearance overhead in order to fire our 81s. The Germans had to know our positions because of that. We could not see our targets but were told what they were. The forest was so dense in places you couldn’t see ahead. And you would have to stoop down to see through the fog in front.
“The artillery fire on us was very intense. My platoon sergeant, Gerald Fields, was standing next to me talking when the Germans started a barrage that lasted over three hours. He jumped in my small bunker with me. We had cut logs and put them over the slit trenches that had mounds of dirt around them. We could not even get out to our mortar positions, which were about twenty to thirty feet out in the clearing. The telephone line to the company CP was cut by the barrage, and we had no communication. We could not give supporting fire until we fixed the cut lines.”