by Gerald Astor
Boesch, supervising the 60mm mortar squad, watched Companies E and F jump off on schedule. “They took two pillboxes; that was all. It quickly became apparent that this hastily mounted attack was stopped cold and would make no further progress through the day. Artillery fire plastered the two companies unmercifully, and a whole rifle platoon of Company F, along with part of a weapons platoon, became lost from the main body and presumably was captured.”
At 8th Division headquarters, Cross noted, “Attack made little progress, except Company I, which quickly gained its objective but with whom contact was lost early. The 1st Bn., 28th Regiment, sent patrols to gain contact with Company I of the 121 but ran into a German company and captured or killed all of them. At nightfall, the situation had improved somewhat but decidedly not satisfactory. Rain and terrific mud added to problem. Heavy mortar fire caused many casualties. Horses and carts used to haul supplies, and men had lost offensive punch.”
Sylvan seemed to be describing events from another war when he summarized the action on 21 November. “The Gen. ordered the attack of 121st Inf. toward Huertgen. Gen. instructed Gen. Stroh to assault buttoned up to avoid if possible mine casualties. Consequently, he was not disappointed that limited advances of 400 yards or so made by the 3rd Bn. with lesser advances by the 1st and 2nd Bn. Gen. Hodges reported he had talked with Gen. [Charles] Canham, asst. div. CO, and said he was extremely pleased with the advance. No one but the most optimistic skygazers expected you to crack the line within 24 hours, dash to the Rhine in the manner of the Saint-Lô breakthrough. There’s been nothing but the stiffest kind of fighting and opposition all along our front, and the gains recorded consequently have satisfied everybody.”
Cross wrote in his diary that as of 22 November, the 121st again attacked at 0900, “but with no success. Each time they attempted to move, a rain of mortar and antitank shells dropped on them. All firebreaks in the woods were mined, and apparently communications from forward positions to gun and mortar positions were perfect. The fighting is in heavily forested areas, difficult to see anything, and the Germans are protected by dugouts and wooded bunkers. Everything is mined. Morale of the troops very poor. Other regiments have been chewed to pieces in this area, and this regiment did not gain anything by listening to the harrowing tales of how tough it was from the 109th Infantry when relieved by the 121st.”
Cross attended a conference of the VII and V Corps commanding generals at 1400 “to determine next scheme of attack. Much argument and Gen. Collins’s dominating personality finally gained an unwilling consent to scheme of attack that was based on optimistic view of how our dispositions would be 23 November, the day selected for attack.”
Sylvan sounded a more somber note: “Heavy resistance to the 121st Infantry, gains measured in terms of yards. The 8th inf. and 22d Inf. made small gains over possibly the worst terrain perhaps that the 1st Army has ever faced, not excluding the hedgerow country in Normandy.”
Despite the awful toll and the lack of success, orders directed the 121st to continue to press forward. After several days, according to Norris Maxwell, “My company simply melted away. I could not find anybody. The American soldier can smell disaster and they just disappeared. In my judgment, it was an impossible situation.” Maxwell sought out his battalion commander, Lt. Col. Robert Jones, whom he found in a bunker. The discussion about the conditions led Jones to relieve Maxwell, and, subsequently, charges of disobedience were leveled at him. While awaiting a court-martial, he was sent to the rear.
Roddy Wofford took over A Company. He, too, used the phrase “melted away” to describe what happened to the soldiers of A Company. “I never knew officially that Maxwell was to be disciplined. As I recall, early on 23 November [Thanksgiving], another attack order came over the phone. At that point, Captain Maxwell came over to my foxhole and said something like, ‘I can’t take any more of this and I am going back.’ After a short period of time, I got a call from the battalion commander. He wanted to know what was going on ‘up there,’ because Maxwell had reached his headquarters by that time. I told the battalion commander that nothing was going on, and we still had not been able to move forward from our original line of departure. He responded that our orders to attack were the same and we needed to get to it. I told him not to expect too much, that I thought we were down to about forty men. He said he was sorry, but he had his orders and now I had mine. I don’t think what Maxwell did had any effect on my behavior or that of the men that remained. Since I was executive officer, I was used to taking over when something happened to the company commander. I thought Maxwell did a courageous thing by going back. It seemed like nobody was paying any attention to the slaughter that was going on, and what better way to get attention than by going back and risking a court-martial.”
As he had been instructed, Wofford tried to organize his meager forces. “I took off a Luger pistol I was carrying [a weapon he had captured earlier] and gave it Paul Yergeau [his radio operator, with whom he shared a foxhole] for safekeeping. I certainly did not want to be carrying a German pistol if I were captured. Then I got in the fire lane and tried to ‘rally’ the troops for another attack.
“As I was walking the fire lane, I noticed another lieutenant from another battalion doing the same thing as I. We discovered we knew each other; both [of us] had gone to A&M at the same time. His name was Joe Stalcup. We shook hands and commiserated with each other very briefly. He asked me if we were going [attacking], and I said we were going to try but not expecting to get very far. I sensed both of us were very pessimistic. We both then turned and went back to our companies. I never saw him again but heard later he had survived the war.
“We started our attack, laying down what small-arms fire we had available. There was an immediate response from the Germans with small-arms fire, and we could hear the bullets zipping past and ricocheting off the trees. At this point, I felt a terrific blow to my chest, and I believe I temporarily blacked out. When I came to, the first thing I noticed was my helmet had a hole in it. I assumed I had been hit in the head, and I had some pain in my chest. My greatest feeling was of relief. Whatever my condition, I was getting out of that miserable place. From there my memory is rather hazy. I believe I remember Yergeau doing all he could to get me evacuated.
“I believe my wounds were caused by a mortar shell bursting in a shattered tree. I had my helmet stuffed with two packets of toilet paper. I believe this saved me from a serious head wound. I just had a scalp wound. However, the fragment that hit my chest entered at the sternum and exited my right scapula. As I was hit, I felt the blood spurt and then cease. I remember the medics speculating that since I was wearing so many layers of clothing—four I think—the blood and clothing made a very effective compress to stanch the flow.
“The only thing done immediately was to evacuate me by stretcher. This was hindered by intermittent shelling, and the bearers would drop me and seek cover. This was very painful, but I couldn’t blame them. They reached an area where there was a tracked vehicle—a Weasel. I was strapped on and taken to the battalion aid station, which was in a bunker. Since there wasn’t much room in the bunker, a lieutenant medic looked me over and determined that I could wait outside in the rain. I took this to be a good sign. Since I had had a shot for pain, I really didn’t care whether I was in the rain or not. I was soaking wet anyway.
“Before I was taken by ambulance to the regiment, the good lieutenant relieved me of my GI watch. He said I didn’t need it and they really did there. I was most affable to anything by this time. The ambulance ride to regiment was very rough. I was checked through quickly, taken to an evacuation hospital in an old school building to start my long [nine months] recovery.”
As part of its deployment, the 121st Regiment front included B Company of the 2d Ranger Battalion. When the GIs from the 121st wilted, the situation for the Ranger unit also deteriorated severely. The medic Frank South recalled, “On one occasion, the already weakened B Company was ordered to take a position directly in front of th
ree enemy strong points in a densely wooded area, which was protected by a minefield. As they moved forward, a mine detonated, killing one, wounding six, three of them seriously. The aid man, Bill Clark, walking carefully in their tracks, immediately went to them, gave what aid he could, and remained through the night to comfort and guard them. B Company continued to receive extremely heavy casualties from the increasing artillery and small-arms fire; their numbers were becoming so low that their effectiveness might have become compromised. Battalion headquarters decided to have Company A relieve them the following night.” However, the fluid battlefield made any transition difficult. Before the Rangers could exchange places, Rudder, the battalion commander, needed precise information on the location of his people.
Bob Edlin’s A Company had exchanged places with units from the 28th Division’s 112th Infantry. He encountered Capt. Preston Jackson, a friend from OCS, who said, “Bob, this is the meanest son of a bitch that you’ve ever seen in your life up there. I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish you’d just flat tell them you’re not going any further.” Edlin said, “He told me that there were men up there that you wouldn’t believe would ever lose their nerve but have gone completely blank. They absolutely can’t hold out any longer. I thought—you know how you are as a Ranger—we’ll calm things down. How in the hell I thought 500 men could do what four infantry divisions couldn’t, I don’t know. When I left Jack he was actually crying and told me not to do anymore than I had to.”
According to Edlin, amid drifting snow, through ankle-deep mud, his platoon climbed a trail up a steep hill to the village of Germeter. As the Rangers appeared, the 112th Infantry emptied from the houses so precipitously that their tubs of charcoal still burned. “The infantry outfit that had been up there was actually almost running in retreat just to get away.” Advised that they would be there only a few days, warmed by a charcoal fire and with a roof overhead, Edlin decided that maybe it was not such a bad situation. “Suddenly, the artillery starts coming. It’s the purest hell I’ve ever been through. It was just round after round of crashing and smashing, beating on your head till you think there is no way you can stand it. I was lying on my back on the floor, and the only way I can keep my sanity was by joking with the men on the floor around me. Most of them didn’t take it as a joke and got pretty upset that I was calling direction for artillery fire on the place, hollering ‘up 100,’ ‘right 100,’ ‘up.’ In several hours, they literally shot the house down around us.”
Still in the basement of a house, Edlin, with only about twenty left to his platoon, endured “another hellacious shelling,” including one round that penetrated the cellar. “I heard Sergeant Fronzek moan. When I got to him it was the most terrible looking wound I had ever seen. Shrapnel had torn across his chest. I think his lungs were exposed. He had a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. I could see the tobacco shreds being sucked into his body as he struggled to breathe. I yelled at Sergeant Bill Klaus to get a jeep in here and get him out. In minutes, we had a medic. They carried him to the jeep, and he was gone. We heard from Doctor Block he would make it and he did.”
Headquarters now summoned Edlin, who assumed his paltry few were about to be relieved. “I went down that son-of-a-bitch fire trail, past Purple Heart Corner, artillery fire on our asses all the way [his runner accompanied him]. The trail was frozen. New snow lay ass-deep to a tall Indian. We were slipping and sliding; hell, they could have heard us in Berlin. It was early evening but darker than the inside of a black cat. At headquarters, someone told me Rudder wanted to see me. I knew we’re not being relieved. I don’t need to see the colonel for that.
“Rudder was billeted in a small building, like a hunting shelter about the size of a small bathroom. There was a little kerosene stove, a table, a couple of chairs, a double bunk bed. Colonel Rudder was huddled by the stove. Big Jim, as we called him, was only thirty-five years old, but he looked like a tired, worn-out old man. I had never seen him that way.”
The Ranger’s CO dispensed with military formality and invited Edlin to sit. “He handed me a cup of hot coffee, looked at me for a minute, and said, ‘[Robert] Arman [A company commander] is here to make arrangements to relieve B Company. But we’ve got a problem. I heard from Sid Salomon [the B Company CO]. A short time ago, B Company was pinned down in a minefield. They were under heavy artillery and machine gun fire with a lot of casualties. I need a volunteer to take a patrol in, find a way to get to them, arrange to relieve them, and try and bring out some of the wounded. The patrol needs to go in now. A will relieve B tomorrow night. I’m not going to ask you to go, but that’s the situation.’
“The picture runs through my mind like a kaleidoscope. I can’t stand to take anymore of this. I’m tired and scared. This will be pure hell, and I can’t stand any more of my platoon getting slaughtered. But then I can see B Company suffering up there. We’ve been through a lot together. Shit, I’ve got to go. I looked at Arman and back to Jim. There’s no rank here, just Rangers. ‘God, Jim, I hate to ask my guys to go. They’re pretty beat up, and I don’t know if they’ll make it or not.’ The Colonel just nodded and said, ‘Yeah, I know.’ ‘Okay, we’ll be on the way. It’ll take me an hour to get back to the platoon. We should be in B’s position in a couple of hours.’ Rudder said, ‘There will be a medical jeep at your CP when you get back. Good luck.’ The son of a gun knew I would go.”
After another, but uneventful, trek up the snowy trail, navigating the always dangerous Purple Heart Corner, Edlin asked for volunteers. He chose Bill Courtney and Bill Dreher. They would travel without helmets, packs, or even weapons. Accompanied by a driver and medic from battalion headquarters, they passed slowly along a hardtop road, aware that at any moment shells might fall on them. At the point where the remainder of the trip would be on foot, Edlin told the driver, whom he did not know, to stay with the jeep. He said, ‘Lieutenant, they ain’t nobody gonna steal it. Let me go with you. I can help carry the wounded out. The medic handed the driver a litter, took another on his shoulder, and said they were ready. I said, ‘Let’s spread out in single file. Keep as much interval as you can without getting lost. We don’t want one round to get us all.”
The would-be rescuers slid through ice and snow, aware of a potential mine at every step. “It was so dark, it was almost impossible to move. The trees are down as if a mad woodcutter had been through with a giant buzz saw. Shit, I forgot the marking tape. Courtney sensed the problem and said ‘I’ve got it and we’re marking the path.’ I prayed, Lord, just give me the strength and guts to make a few more yards, then we can rest a minute. A shell landed thirty yards off; damn, that was close. A few more yards I could hear German machine gun fire; a German flare lights up the scene. The snow is almost blizzard conditions. The flare shows trees uprooted, dead American and German soldiers, twisted bushes. No satanic artist could dream up such a sight.”
Edlin faltered, feeling he could not continue. Dreher’s hand clutched his shoulder, and the sergeant said, “I’ll get it [the lead] for awhile.” Courtney, ten yards behind, called out, “What’s the matter, lieutenant? You volunteered for the Rangers, didn’t you?” Bullets rustled through the underbrush from unseen gunmen, and then a quiet voice from a B Company outpost challenged the patrol. Nobody knew the password, but when questioned on the first name of Lieutenant Fitzsimmons, Courtney answered “Bob,” and they were welcomed.
“I’m led to Captain Salomon’s CP,” recalled Edlin. “It’s under a small bridge by a woodcutter’s trail. I talk with Sid a few minutes, and he tells me to go to Fitzsimmons, who’s got the worst wounded. I inform Sid we’ve marked the path and A Company will be in at 8 P.M. tomorrow night, November 23. He thanked us for coming and said the B Company medic would meet us at Fitzsimmons’s position. Artillery was still coming in and there was occasional machine gun fire. We found Fitzsimmons and decided we would carry out two wounded at a time. The jeep driver and Courtney started back with the first litter. The two medics loaded another litter. I took the front end
and told the battalion medic to stay with B Company. He was at the other end of the litter. As he stepped back to let Dreher replace him, he stepped on a mine, which went off. I learned later this heroic man lost a foot. Fitzsimmons was hit in the face. I saw the Ranger on the litter bounce into the air. The blast of shrapnel knocked me into a tree. I must have been unconscious. For a moment I’m completely blind and deaf. My left hand hurts. I reach over and can’t feel my hand. It must be gone at the wrist. I’m going to die right here in this damn German woods. Strong arms picked me up. Dreher throws me over his shoulder. I can’t see or hear. They were carrying me through the woods to the jeep.
“I woke up, lying on a stretcher. I’m not blind; there is a dim light. I heard Doc Block’s voice, ‘Wash his eyes with boric acid [to remove dirt and mud].’ I have some hearing in one ear. I hear Doc say, ‘Take him back to a hospital.’ ‘Wait a minute, Doc. How bad is it?’ ‘You ain’t hurt, you goldbrick, a little shrapnel in your hand and face. They’ll fix you up back at a field hospital. It’s mostly shock and mud.’ I asked someone else about the others, and all they tell me is that everyone will be okay.”
Loaded into an ambulance, Edlin lay next to the medic whose foot had been destroyed. “I don’t know what route we took, but German artillery chased us a good ways. It ought to be against the rules to shoot at you when you’re leaving.”
At a field hospital, Edlin quickly recovered his aplomb and his temper. He demanded an audience with the head doctor, pleading for quick repairs, explaining, “Major, there’s about fifty men from B Company still in that woods. About the same number of A Company are going in to relieve them. I know the path into that death trap. If you’ll clean up my eyes and hearing, I’ll take them up there.” The surgeon argued that Edlin risked severe infection but eventually agreed to debride and stitch the wound. The doctor and several oversize aid men showed up to perform the work. Edlin learned that if he received anesthesia, it would require an overnight stay. Having abjured unconsciousness, he watched the surgeon remove the crusty, bloody bandage. “Shit, that hurt. Then I found out what the big aid men were for. One held my legs, one grabbed my right arm, the nurse had my left arm. He took a pan of hot soapy water and a scrub brush and went to work, cleaning my hand. I’m raising hell, it hurt so bad. The hell with B company and the rest of the Rangers, ain’t nothing ever hurt so much.