The Bloody Forest: Battle for the Huertgen: September 1944–January 1945

by Gerald Astor

  “With gathering darkness, our neighboring company on the east side started shooting in front of our positions toward the edge of the forest. For us, that was the agreed-upon signal to advance. … My comrade Brand and I reached a dugout that belonged to a machine gun position. With lightning speed we tore away the entrance curtain and extinguished the pocket lamp. However, we did not need to order, ‘Hands up!’ The dugout was empty.

  “The Americans had withdrawn to their own lines, taken prisoners with them. But at our machine gun position, which I now with Brand took over, lay three dead, among whom were our top kick [first sergeant], who as an officer candidate had been ordered from the front ten days before.”

  After several more days, Gees noted that his unit was shifted into Huertgen. “Immediately upon our arrival on a side street, we had to take cover because of heavy artillery fire. With four men from the old 2d Company, all born in 1926 [eighteen years old at the time], we landed in [a cellar] where on the morning of 28 November we were taken prisoner.”

  As a captive, Gees could hear the sounds of battle for the next objective, marked by the on-board cannons of P-47s on a nearby ridge. “It was a major stroke of luck for us no longer to be in position there. Fate or divine providence led us down this road here into the valley and into captivity, seven men, all that was left of the 2d Company Fusilier Battalion [originally 100 soldiers].”

  During this period, the 16th Infantry of the 1st Division continued to press northeast after the seizure of the hamlet of Hamich, in front of which John Beach had been severely wounded, and his friend Jim Wood, with less than a dozen GIs, staved off counterattacks. Beach reported, “We stayed back of the front lines only a week before going into the attack. Our assembly area was a few hundred yards back, the same assembly area we had used before. We moved through the woods to a clearing and received instructions that our objective was a small cluster of houses only a couple of hundred yards away. The houses were visible to us and we were visible to the Germans.

  “As soon as we left the woods, the Germans opened up on us with machine guns down the fire lanes that were already prepared. It was plain murder, but we had to cross the lines of fire. We had started out with 170 men. A 100 or so reached the houses. Back of us, the clearing was littered with the dead and wounded we left behind. We had the satisfaction of getting those machine gunners. The houses weren’t occupied, so I put my men in them, as we expected the Germans would try to get us out of there. There was a road running down the middle [of the village], and the German attack sent tanks and men down the road, smashing at us with machine guns. They had the place well scouted and all the windows covered.

  “We didn’t have a chance. A couple of tanks stopped right in front and began shooting down the street. I saw a house go up in flames. The fellows inside couldn’t get out. They were burned alive. Another tank appeared back of the house I was occupying, the muzzle of its big gun directed at the rear door. It sent in a couple of shells, showering the place with fragments, killing one of the men with me. We ran down to the basement and heard the hobnailed boots of the Germans on the floor above us. The basement door opened and a grenade was hurled in among us. We dove behind a pile of rubble and it exploded. I decided it was all over and I surrendered. The first thing the Germans did was take our rings and watches. Then they herded us together and marched us many miles to a railroad stop, where we were packed into cattle cars and transported to a temporary camp on a railroad track at Limburg. That night the RAF bombed Limburg. Many of the prisoners were killed. It was awful. I remember dragging people out of blazing buildings only to discover they were dead.” Wood endured several prison camps, saw other inmates shot in the back for minor infractions, and held a reunion with Beach before liberation in 1945.

  While the 16th Infantry struggled for Hamich and Heistern, the 1st Division’s 26th Infantry contended for wooded hills that overlooked a strategically valuable road between Schevenhutte and Langewehe and opened the way to important towns just beyond the fringe of the forest. For ten days, the 1st Division soldiers doggedly fought forward as the lines of the opposing forces faced off within hand-grenade range.

  The GIs seized the village of Jungersdorf, and General Huebner requested the regimental commander, Lt. Col. John F. R. Seitz, to take a crack at the next objective, Merode, which featured a medieval castle. The plans included an air strike, concentrated artillery, and Shermans from the 745th Tank Battalion accompanying the advancing infantry.

  Private First Class Alvin Bulau, a replacement assistant gunner in the platoon leader’s crew was with a tank from Company C on 29 November. “Our objective is a little town called Merode. It is in the open about 600 yards down a gentle slope from the edge of the woods. We are to move along the road until we come to the edge of the woods. We then deploy along the edge and give supporting fire to the doughs.

  “We move about a quarter of a mile, when suddenly we hear the staccato burst of machine gun fire. I have got my periscope going in all directions. I cannot see a thing. Finally, the lieutenant sees that it is a German machine gun nest that opened up on our doughs that rounded a curve. Gig’s tank moves up closer. I take a quick look at ‘Guinea.’ His eyes are glued to the sights and his foot ready to press the solenoid trigger. The nest is neutralized by Gig’s guns, so we relax a bit.

  “We continue to move. The doughs meet an occasional sniper left behind to delay us as much as possible. Snipers are not to be taken lightly, because they have accounted for many men. By now the air is a screaming mass of shells going both ways. Jerry knows what’s coming and he is throwing plenty at us. They are mostly tree bursts. That is ten times as bad as a ground hit, because the shrapnel flies straight down as well as out.

  “The assaulting company is taking a beating. Men are getting hit right and left. A sergeant in front of us gets hit in the leg, and I see him drag himself to the ditch. Then a shell lands in that exact spot where he was laying. It was a direct hit. I do not like to even look at that spot because I know what is there. Nothing but odd-colored lumps. Some of them dirt and the rest torn bits of a human body. It is like that all over, men getting hit just enough to stop them and then getting torn apart by that unmerciful shrapnel. We can hear the sharp crack as fragments ricochet off our armor. I send a prayer to God, thankful that we have at least that protection.

  “The men are fighting not only the enemy but fighting fatigue and fighting that almost overwhelming desire to run and hide in a hole. But no, those boys have got guts. They keep going until knocked down by flying steel.”

  The advance is slow and by afternoon the tanks are about 150 yards from the tree line. Another infantry company takes over the responsibility for the assault, while the tanks crawl slowly forward. “There is a sudden lurch and I find myself on the turret floor. Ammo has rolled all over. I look up and see that the tank is leaning at a crazy angle. I realize then that we have gone into the ditch. Tom is trying to drive out but we just sink deeper. Guinea presses the gun to see if we can possibly use it. It won’t go down far enough. We are absolutely of no good.”

  Others from the platoon maneuver around the mired tank while a tank dozer comes forward to assist. “The Germans have heard all the noise, and now they are throwing more stuff than I have ever seen. I can see a squad of men moving across behind JB’s tank. Good Lord! A heavy shell just hit in the middle of them. All I can see is black smoke and bits of dirt falling. The smoke’s clearing. All I can see are two men. One is dead for sure, but the other is on his hands and knees. He too must be dead for he doesn’t move a bit when a shell goes over.

  “There is a sudden loud crash. I see fire going every way. I am on the floor and the lieutenant is on top of me. We just had a hit on the front end. My head feels like it is about to split open and I am shaking like a leaf. The lieutenant takes a quick look around and sees that everyone is okay. We hear some rapping on the side of the turret. The lieutenant opens his hatch a little and he sees that it is a dough. He is a runner from batta
lion and says that orders are to move into the town. As he turns to go, he is caught in the back with shrapnel. He was killed instantly. It is surely death to go outside now.”

  The crew with Bulau prepared to renew the thrust toward Merode, but the tank takes another hit on the rear deck. “Gasoline starts to run over the floor of the tank. The drain plugs won’t work. The tank is bellied in mud. What will happen if we are hit again. [It was not for nothing that the Germans referred to Shermans as ‘Ronsons.’] JB’s tank slides into the ditch opposite. Both tanks are useless.”

  On the order to abandon the vehicle. Bulau disables the gun sights and removes the radio crystals. He takes his submachine gun and is the last to leave. Outside, he cannot see any of the others from the crew, who have disappeared back up the road. “I keep running; the mud is like glue. I run past a burning tank destroyer. There are two dead soldiers beside it.”

  There were American wounded scattered around. A sergeant with a boy who has lost his foot reports he is the only one left from his platoon. Darkness was falling and the shelling abated slightly. Cowering by the road, the assistant gunner heard the sound of a tank. Taking a chance, he peeped out from his cover and it was an American tank. Promising to send help for all the wounded, he jumped on top. Hauled inside, he joined thirteen others. A mile back, Bulau was able to inform his superiors of the many in need of rescue, and a Weasel was dispatched. “I couldn’t help thinking about those boys out there, crying for help. I wonder if they died thinking I deserted them.”

  Men from the 2d Battalion of the 26th Infantry battled their way into the town but started to receive heavy fire from the east. Bombs from the planes did nothing to dampen the incoming nor did the American big guns blast the enemy from its positions. A trio of tanks summoned to aid the occupiers of Merode, slunk off after German shells struck two. A request for additional tanks was denied on the grounds that the 2d Battalion had not properly deployed those already assigned. Once again the weakness in tank-infantry coordination surfaced.

  According to the historian Charles MacDonald, the 1st Division sent a message to Hodges, stating that “contact will be reestablished without too much difficulty tomorrow.” Given the desperate circumstances of the men trapped in Merode and the determination of the enemy troops, the optimism is hard to understand. It certainly conveyed the impression that there was no cause to commit reserves whose weight might break down the enemy resistance.

  The Germans swiftly created a wall between the small number of Americans in Merode and those in the woods hoping to “reestablish contact” with their comrades. Mud, wrecked vehicles, and a steady ambuscade from enemy weapons prevented the frustrated commanders of the 26th from reaching the beleaguered in Merode. Panzers clattered into the village, training their guns on the shrinking number of trapped soldiers. The sounds of battle died away and only four men escaped; the 26th Infantry listed 165 missing in action as Merode returned to German control.

  The inability of the 8th Division to provide Gerow and Hodges with the results they demanded had exhausted its commander, Maj. Gen. Donald Stroh. Grieving over the recent death of his son, a pilot, Stroh requested a twenty-day leave and he never returned to the 8th. Brigadier General Walter Weaver took over.

  Despite the terrible toll inflicted upon it, the 5th Armored’s CCR persevered. It formed Task Force Hamberg (after Lt. Col. William A. Hamberg) to strike at Kleinhau, a town northeast of Huertgen. The battle noise—artillery, dive-bombers, and lesser arms—mentioned by Hubert Gees involved the forces now struggling toward Kleinhau. Task Force Hamberg threw the 47th Armored Infantry and the 10th Tank Battalion at Kleinhau, following an awesome three-day avalanche of shelling, topped off with eighteen artillery battalion TOTs and fighter-bomber strikes. The torrent of abuse heaped on the village destroyed it but not the power of the German troops.

  Mud mired some armor; erroneous word of minefields deterred infantrymen riding half-tracks. The foot soldiers dismounted only to come under punishing artillery fire and took refuge behind the tanks. Nevertheless, the attackers rallied sufficiently to bull their way into the ruins. Although Task Force Hamberg evicted the enemy, it found itself badly exposed in the rubble of Kleinhau and its immediate vicinity. German self-propelled guns pummeled the outfit until higher headquarters permitted a withdrawal to a wooded area.

  Colonel Cross at the 121st headquarters tersely noted, “Tough going, all ammunition, food, water, etc., had to be carried by hand for a distance of 3,000 yards. This battalion [3d] needs a rest. 1st Battalion not too good. Needs a new commander. Job ahead looks tough, big woods to the east of Huertgen should be cleaned out. Not enough troops being employed to give the push required.”

  On the first day of December, Cross gloomily recounted, “Operation today started rather poorly. 3d Battalion had a tough time and was cracking its head against a group of pillboxes with poor results. One pillbox was captured with thirty-five prisoners. The German officers shot men in this area when they attempted to surrender. The 1st Battalion relieved from its terrible position in mud and water and moved into Huertgen. Later one company moved to Kleinhau, relieving the 46th AIB. Troops are in bad shape and need a rest badly. Should be relieved.”

  With Company E of the 22d Regiment, Capt. Don Faulkner and his troops burrowed into the earth in a wooded area just beyond Grosshau. “We were told we were to be relieved and that morning, the new division, a sorry-looking outfit [the 83d Infantry Division] came to relieve us. They were very jittery and of course they should have been. They were under fire when they came in and we put two men in each hole. I didn’t tell them that the night before, when we had been warned of a counterattack, I started to go round and warn the men myself. I did three holes and instructed, ‘One man up, bayonet fixed, one man down. Prepare for counterattack. Pass it on.’ That morning in the first light I saw only three holes with the bayonet sticking up. I walked over and asked if they passed my message on. The answer was ‘no.’ The rest of the company was sound asleep. We would have been open season if the Krauts had actually come through with their counterattack.”

  While walking toward this area a few days earlier, Faulkner had seen a shovel flash in the sun from a nearby hill. Having some knowledge of artillery tactics, he had consigned to his memory the map registration number for that locale. After some enemy fire doused his positions, Faulkner requested that the regimental cannon company concentrate on that particular registration. “After they blasted that hill we had no more fire. I’m positive that the Germans had a forward observer up there, looking down our throat, and we’d knocked him out.”

  With the substitution of the 83d Division soldiers, Faulkner welcomed the opportunity to leave. “We sent a squad at a time over into the woods and down the road to Grosshau. I was the last one to come out in the dark. You have never seen anyone so relieved and so exhausted as I was as we walked through Grosshau, down the road to the big woods, where our company and battalion lay down in the rain and went to sleep soundly. The next day we were in trucks headed for a rest area in Luxembourg. My feet were cold. I am sure I had frozen them, the circulation was so bad. We had about sixty-three men left; the rest had gone back to the aid station.”

  George Wilson’s F Company, fighting in the Grosshau sector, had been reduced to twelve able-bodied GIs. Dug in alongside Faulkner’s E Company, the outfit picked up sixty-six enlisted replacements plus a couple of new officers. Word came from battalion headquarters that Wilson would be recommended for the Distinguished Service Cross and a promotion to captain. Neither reward came through, but on 3 December, as it had for Faulkner’s contingent, the survivors of F welcomed the 83d Division. “I toured them around my defensive position and cautioned them not to bunch up, because we probably were under observation and would draw fire. They paid no attention to the warning and continued to move around in a tight group. In less than a minute, the shells began to whistle in. One landed not far from the captain, and although he had not been hit, he claimed he couldn’t get up. Some of
my men had to carry him into my dugout.” Like Faulkner, Wilson viewed the newcomers as undisciplined and poorly led. Nevertheless, he was delighted to depart.

  When portions of the 22d Infantry Combat Team began its thrust toward Grosshau, they had collaborated with the 46th Armored Infantry, nominally an element of CCA of the 5th Armored Division. They, too, suffered cruelly because of misinformation. Troops from Companies A and C embarked on a mission in which the dismounted soldiers would attack through American positions on a bald knob near designated Hill 401. A few hundred yards from Grosshau, the heights afforded an excellent view for artillery observers in the vicinity. As the dismounted forces under Lt. Col. William H. Burton, Jr., started out, they were assured their comrades from CCR held 401.

  Less certain of who owned 401, people from the 22d Infantry, who had dodged artillery and mortar fire as they tried to ascertain the disposition atop the hill, tried to warn CCR of potential trouble. Unfortunately, Burton’s radio had failed, and, lacking further word or cautionary advice, the two companies from the 46 AIB emerged from wooded cover and in almost parade ground march formation began the ascent of Hill 401. A shower of small-arms fire, interspersed with thunderous artillery and mortar explosions, erupted.

  Nick Tschida, rejected by the marines in 1942 because of his slight stature—five feet, eight inches, 145 pounds—had planned to enter the navy, but the draft swept him into the army in March 1942. He trained in the California desert with the 46th Armored Infantry, and it was with Company B that, as 2d platoon sergeant, he entered the Huertgen Forest. “We were shelled a lot but had no head-to-head confrontation until 29 November. I did not know at the start of the program what the mission was about, except that A Company and maybe C Company would lead an assault across 1,200 yards of open ground to reach another part of the forest. B Company was supposed to be in reserve while A led.