by Gerald Astor
The third leg of the 1st Division, the 26th Infantry, attempted to advance along an extremely narrow front east of Schevenhutte, with the eventual mission to wheel right toward the town of Merode, just beyond the forest. Once the 18th Infantry entered the battle, the 26th also provided immediate protection for that organization from hostile action originating in hills to the northwest.
Colonel John Seitz, the 26th’s commander, assigned his 2d Battalion to gain enough space for a wider attack. But, as elsewhere, the Germans refused to cooperate, restricting the breadth of the front. The pace of progress, measured in yards, incited General Collins’s anger. The VII Corps chief upbraided Huebner, who in turn heckled Seitz, “Got to take a few chances and get going.” The regiment sent both its remaining battalions into the thick woods amid a near avalanche of small-arms, mortar, and artillery fire. Wet weather reduced the forest trails to muddy sloughs, impenetrable for American armor.
The hard-pressed 2d Battalion paid a stiff price for the mile of real estate obtained in three days of grueling combat. The inevitable counterattack ensued. Following the artillery barrage, Pfc. Francis X. McGraw of Company H emptied his machine gun at the oncoming soldiers until they halted. When the enemy tried to set up a machine gun, McGraw rose far enough out of his foxhole using a BAR to eliminate the weapon. A nearby explosion knocked the automatic rifle from his grasp, but he retrieved it and destroyed another machine gun. He continued shooting even when wounded, and when the BAR ran out of ammunition, he tried to hold off the charging Germans with a carbine. A burst from a machine pistol killed him. A posthumous Medal of Honor went to his survivors.
The casualties mounted, and medics such as Paul Treatman of Company C, 1st Medical Battalion, assigned to the 26th, sought to lend succor. “I was 4-F,” said Treatman, “because of poor vision. General [Lewis B.] Hershey [head of Selective Service] issued a directive that those with minor disabilities could volunteer for the draft. I was a replacement until assigned to the 1st Division, which I joined on D plus eight. I was a member of a medical collecting company, sent out to relieve those at an aid station.”
He recalled that on 20 November, “as our jeep, plowing through the slimy mud, approached an infantry company aid station [a large dugout, roofed with fallen timber, that could shelter perhaps six men], we saw scores of dead GIs lined up like cordwood alongside the gluey trail that passed for a road. The men’s feet were perpendicular to the path, waiting for the Graves Registration men to collect their butchered and punctured corpses when conditions would permit. [Clifton] Thibodeaux and I dug a hole, a double-width slit trench close to the aid station, and completed our two-man bunker by covering it with the remnants of shattered trees. We crawled in and simply waited for calls to pick up wounded. Charlie, a Company C veteran of the African and Sicilian campaigns, and Clyde Weeces were holed up a few yards away. Litter bearers from other units were also dug in.
“It wasn’t long before our squad was dispatched to retrieve a wounded man from a castle—one of several dotting the forest—half obscured by stands of trees where infantry were poised in defensive positions, their M1s aimed at unseeable enemies. The castle was about 200 yards off. A tank covered us as we scudded through the gate in the castle wall. The casualty was sheltered in what looked like a small storage room at ground level. He needed blood plasma, and it was Charlie who volunteered to return alone across the killing ground to the aid station and secure the container, an act for which he was subsequently awarded the Silver Star. A medic attached to the infantry company administered the plasma.
“Just as our squad was carrying the wounded man beyond the castle wall, an incoming mortar shell burst nearby. It hit too close for Weeces’s comfort, and in a panic he dropped his litter handle and hit the dirt. Thibodeaux, Charlie, and I somehow managed to steady the litter and prevent its occupant from falling out. An infantry lieutenant observing the scene some forty feet away screamed at Weeces, ‘Get back to that litter, you yellow son-of-a-bitch!’ Weeces did, and we raced the infantryman back to the aid station. I do not believe Weeces was cowardly. It was the one time he panicked. When weeks later he transferred to an artillery unit, I bade him farewell with a twinge of envy in my heart.
“The day after the rescue from the castle, while Thibodeaux and I lay shivering in the damp of our hole, waiting for the next call, a lone mortar shell struck a tree just a few yards away, killing instantly a medic who at the split second of his death was peering into our hole, asking us to come out, impatient for us to come out, and help him find some casualty he had heard about.
“Tremors of fear and pangs of guilt—should we have emerged when he asked us to?—instantly shook my body and chattered my teeth as I lay supine on the carpet of damp leaves matted underneath me. Contemplating this sudden brush with extinction, I asked Thibodeaux for the only cigarette I ever smoked during my time in service. The dead man, nameless to us, was one of thousands of callow replacements, as I myself had been, who were fed into the maws of the Huertgen and became dead meat almost immediately. The new man never knew what hit him, but I did. When I finally mustered enough courage to creep out and inspect, I noted that shrapnel had pierced or severed his spine. Our squad was relieved after six days in a struggle that would last six months. I became twenty years old that week, and miraculous survival was my birthday present. It was a gift of time.”
Although Americans occupied both Gressenich and Hamich, the slow advances and the inability to smash through the German defensive lines continued to dismay Hodges and Collins, who advised Huebner of their displeasure. He quickly committed his reserve outfit, the 18th Infantry.
“We moved up to the front,” said Warren Eames of G Company, “and took positions in foxholes. The Germans sent a lot of special shells in our direction, ‘screaming meemies,’ because [they] let out a screaming sound as [they] came at you. No matter where you might be, the shell sounded as though it was going to land right on top of you and was obviously a method of psychological warfare.
“Even worse, the Germans started sending over V-1 rockets, called ‘buzz bombs’ from the sound of their engines. Most of this was at night and deprived us of sleep. The engines were very erratic and would seemingly conk out from time to time, giving you the impression that it was then going to crash onto us, but after a few moments lapse, it would start up again and go on over, much to everyone’s relief.
“At this time, we had some new replacements come into our company to replace men lost in the battle at Aachen. One of these new men was a tall, gaunt, and slightly stooped man with a dark complexion who looked a great deal like Abraham Lincoln. I never did get to know his name, and he was killed a couple of days later. Our platoon medic was killed by a shell. This came as a shock, as we always took some comfort in the medics who were with us, knowing they were there in case we were wounded.
“It was the middle of November now and very cold and miserable all of the time. Our foxholes, burrowed into shale rock, filled with seeping water, which soaked us through as we sat in them. German shelling was sporadic; about every few minutes, there would be a shell going over somewhere. Up front, a little ahead of us, there was heavy fighting going on. Our days and nights were spent listening to screaming meemies. I was in a foxhole on the side of a hill sloping toward the German positions, but I couldn’t see much of anything at night because of the dense forest cover. It was totally different from our situation in Aachen, where everything was exposed.
“The Germans had buried what were called ‘shoe’ [schu] mines. These were small mines that were encased in wood, and therefore our mine detectors were of no use in locating them, and they were big enough to blow a man’s foot off. There were many casualties from them.
“Another thing we had not experienced before were tree bursts—mortar and artillery shells exploded high up when they hit the trees, showering down shrapnel in every direction. Tree bursts were one of the first causes of battle casualties here. Because of all this, most everyone stayed in their foxho
les as much as possible. There were a lot of jokes about the multipurpose use of our helmets. Under heavy fire it was often just too dangerous to leave your foxhole, so the helmets were used to shave in, bathe in, cook in, and even shit in, because you could then throw it out of your hole without exposing yourself.
“I began getting paranoid about taking all this shelling without being able to dish it back. Along with the water, earthworms would be wiggling all around the edge of the foxhole when you awoke in the morning. They began to weigh on my mind. I had the feeling that I might be killed and they would eat my body, so I methodically smashed them with my rifle butt.
“The afternoon of November 20, word was passed down that we were going to ‘kick off’ in a frontal attack on the German positions at 0630 the following day. The objective was ultimately the town of Langerwehe, located to the northeast of us. We waited in silent anticipation.”
After the Rangers reverted to the control of the 8th Division, four companies, C, D, E, and F, withdrew behind the front, although still within range of enemy mortars. Able and Baker Companies remained in the Germeter vicinity, with the latter unit deployed on the extreme right flank of the 121st Infantry.
Frank South, a medic with the 2d Ranger Battalion, was located to the rear of the line companies. “It became obvious to the aid station personnel and our medical officer, Capt. Walter Block, that we were too far away from the companies to be fully effective. We moved to what had been a German troop shelter at a crossroads near Vossenack. Here we could keep our litter jeep close by; the ambulance was left back in the woods because it was too conspicuous.
“When we entered the troop shelter, we medics were shocked to find several wounded Americans there. In addition to abandoning equipment and supplies along the road, the 112th Infantry Regiment deserted some of their own wounded in their haste to retreat. Of course, we took care of their injuries and immediately evacuated them. We wondered if they had been left behind in the expectation that the Germans would overrun the position and tend to these wounded.
“Artillery and mortar fire varied from desultory to intense. The line companies were widely spread as they continued to probe the enemy. Although other activity was largely confined to the night, because the Germans could see almost every movement we made, the medics had little choice. They invariably moved to a wounded Ranger regardless of when or where he was hurt, and the need for evacuation was radioed back to the battalion aid station. Because of the severe cold, we had to take every means to evacuate our wounded rapidly.
“As soon as word was received, Charley Korb [another medic] and I would rush to the always ready litter jeep. We paused to let it warm up—we couldn’t afford to have it stall on the road because of artillery fire—and sped as fast as possible to the closest point to the company. We carried litters, plasma, temporary splints, and anything else that might be needed to supplement whatever the company aid man might be able to do. Usually, we were guided to the casualties, and one or two Rangers would help us get him to the jeep and strapped onto a litter if necessary. In daylight, we were always fired upon by artillery, mortars, and small arms during these trips, which were roughly parallel to the German positions. Consequently, we never tarried, and Charley was expert at the art of dodging pot [holes] and shell holes. Back at the aid station, the wounded was given whatever treatment available under supervision of Captain Block. Then the man either returned to his company or rode in an ambulance to a field hospital.”
The First Army remained more than content about the November offensive. On 19 November, Sylvan wrote, “The 104th Division prodded into action by Gen. Hodges, and Gen. Collins made excellent advances on the left flank of the [1st Division] and gained up to six kilometers. Other elements west of Stolberg advanced 2,000 yards. House-to-house fighting on the outskirts of Eschweiler. 1st Division likewise continued to move ahead against stiff resistance. Story was told today that Gen. Collins had given Gen. Huebner hell when the latter protested that the 1st Division was holding the enemy in check. ‘Hold the enemy in check,’ protested Gen. Collins. ‘I don’t need you to do that, I want you to advance. This is an offensive.’ The 1st Division advanced in some places more than a mile, while the 1st Bn. of the 47th Inf. led the way to advance to Hill 187 north of Nothberg. The 18th Inf. entering between the 26th and 16th advanced the 3d Bn. to the edges of Wenau. The 4th Div. continued to meet extensive wire entanglements and mines with little change in the front line. Tonight the 3d Bn. took an enemy strong point capturing 40 PWs and inflicting heavy casualties. Today the 8th Div. officially assumed responsibility for the 28th Div. Sector, and the 1st Bn. of the 109, the last remaining element of the 28th, began its march.”
The diary laconically records the entry of still another American infantry division in the Huertgen, the 8th. Like its predecessors, all of the outfit’s previous combat experience would not save it from the hell of the Huertgen. Now attached to the 8th Division was the 2d Ranger Battalion, which was previously listed as assigned to the 28th Division.
11
WE WERE THERE TO BE KILLED
When the attack of the 28th Division crumbled, the first outfit hurled into the breach came from the 12th Infantry Regiment, part of the 4th Infantry Division, with its distinctive shoulder patch of ivy leaves. That attempt to regain the advantage ended with a badly depleted 12th withdrawn to a defensive position.
On 16 November, early in the afternoon on the same day the 1st Division soldiers began their assault toward Hamich, GIs from the 4th Division’s 22d Infantry, following the massive artillery barrage, left their assembly point at Zweifall and entered the forest. The objective was Grosshau, a village to the east between Hamich and Germeter. In addition to the three battalions of foot soldiers, the attackers included armor from the 70th Tank Battalion and the 803d Tank Destroyer Battalion, a 4.2-chemical-mortar unit, assorted engineers, and medics.
Only light resistance cropped up, until, just short of a mile beyond the line of departure, the Germans greeted the leading 2d Battalion with a torrent of mortar and artillery blasts that forced the men to halt and dig in. The other pair of battalions swung north and south to cover the flanks of their comrades ahead of them. Everyone settled in for the night and prepared to renew the drive in the morning.
Dr. Bill Boice, a chaplain, wrote in his History of the 22d U.S. Infantry in World War II: “As each battalion dug in for the night, new orders for the next day arrived. It was almost impossible for plans to be set forth more than twenty-four hours in advance. As reconnaissance patrols were never able to extend more than a few hundred yards in front of the lines, troop leaders rarely knew the exact disposition of hostile firepower until they actually exposed themselves.” Indeed, the inability to operate on little more than an ad hoc basis and without effective intelligence about the defenses doomed the soldiers of the 4th Division to blindly grope toward their objectives at an exorbitant cost in blood.
George Wilson, a platoon leader in F Company, while placing his men in a perimeter defense, suddenly fell into a hole and for several minutes lay stunned at the bottom. When he recovered, he completed his rounds and then with his runner sought to find the foxhole as their home for the night. In the darkness, it could not be located, and the two men were obliged to dig for themselves. When morning came, some of his soldiers explored the void into which Wilson had dropped. They discovered that it actually led to a dugout in which four frightened Germans quickly surrendered. “I couldn’t help thinking,” recalled Wilson, “how lucky I had been they weren’t fanatics who would have finished me off as I lay stunned at their feet.”
The battalion resumed its progress, with F Company trailing in reserve, but the lead companies met strong opposition from soldiers ensconced in log bunkers with the backing of machine guns, mortars, and artillery. “Our casualties were prohibitive,” said Wilson, “and the wounded had to be carried out on stretchers in a continuous stream, since not even a jeep could find a path through the dense forest.
“The
front line companies frequently were held up for long periods, and during those times F Company was caught without foxholes. We also picked up more shelling than we would have if we had been able to keep moving forward. Once, when we were in a thick grove of thirty-foot-tall reforestation pines, a shell hit a tree only twenty yards ahead, and we all dove for cover. Almost instantly, another shell took the top of the tree right over my head and I was knocked silly.
“I got up and ran like a madman. I must have covered 75 to 100 yards before a glint of consciousness got through. My head was reeling and my hearing was gone, but I turned around and made it back to the platoon. Five or six of the men had been hit, three very seriously. One had a grapefruit-sized hole in his back, and air sucked through his punctured lung.”
Minutes later, a messenger informed Wilson that he now commanded F Company. Although the day started with six officers in the outfit, only he and another second lieutenant remained. Company commander Flanigan was a KIA, and the others were all evacuated for wounds. A shell struck battalion headquarters, wiping out the 2d’s CO and two of his staff. When the executive officer moved up to take charge, he, too, was wounded and his S-3 killed.
“A little before dark,” continued Wilson, “I received orders to move F Company up to the front and dig in to the right of G Company. As I was doing this, an officer appeared and pronounced himself our new company commander. He took over and began by ordering me to have the men dig in along the edge of a gully to our right rear. My experience told me this was a dangerous position, so I suggested he have us move up the hill, because gullies usually were natural targets for German artillery. He refused the advice and insisted we dig in where he’d said at once.