by Leo Barron
Earlier, Kokott had made a personal reconnaissance of the western roads to Bastogne. He was well aware of the strong resistance put up by the Americans near Mande Saint-Etienne and Flamierge. However, he was inspired when recon elements reported the early morning retraction of the American lines in this sector. After four days of stubborn resistance, the Amis had finally pulled back their forces here. Perhaps, thought Kokott, this was a clear indication that the Americans were stretched too thin in Bastogne’s western approaches. Furthermore, he had struck the Americans everywhere but in the northwest sector. Kokott reckoned that to defend the other areas, such as Marvie and Mande, the Americans most likely pulled forces from around Champs.
During his personal scouting trip, Kokott was also encouraged by the ground here. Not only were the roads good, but now that the temperature had dropped, the fields had frozen firm enough to ensure that his tanks would not bog down if they had to move cross-country. There was an abundance of gently rolling farm fields in this area, and only a few woodlots that could break up his forces or be used as ambush points by the American infantry. All in all, Kokott was finally convinced that the northwestern approaches—that snow-covered land between Longchamps and Hemroulle—were the Achilles’ heel of the enemy’s defense. Here, he figured, was what he had been looking for all along—the perfect place for a Panzer Angriff to crack the Bastogne nut.
Now that he had a place, a deadline, and a formidable force, Kokott knew he needed to sketch out a plan. Kokott decided the 15th Panzergrenadier Division, since they would arrive new and refreshed, would form the schwerpunkt—or spearhead—of the main effort. This armored force would punch through the thinned Allied lines along the axis between Hemroulle and the highway to Mande Saint-Etienne. In addition, other German units would fix the American forces on the flanks of the main effort to protect the flanks of the penetration and confuse the Americans as to the actual point of attack. To the north, the 77th Volksgrenadier Regiment was the primary supporting effort. Oberstleutnant Martin Schriefer’s Volksgrenadiers would push out from Rouette and seize the town of Champs and then Hemroulle, thereby tying down the paratroopers defending that area. Meanwhile, to the south, the 26th Reconnaissance Battalion would advance from Mande Saint-Etienne and capture the heights in the vicinity of Isle-la-Hesse. If all went according to plan, these two supporting efforts would prevent the American forces in Bastogne from shifting units along their perimeter to counter the attack. Kokott would isolate Allen’s battalion so the glidermen would face the panzers alone, without support. At the same time, he hoped to make significant inroads in the area of Champs and the Marche road entryway to Bastogne.
In addition to the main operation, Kokott tasked the other German regiments surrounding Bastogne to fix their respective adversaries. In other words, most of the units would put up a determined, simultaneous attack of some sort to keep the Americans facing them busy—too busy to come to the aid of the northwestern perimeter, Kokott hoped. If it worked, even forces like the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment, defending the front door at Neffe, could not possibly come to the aid of one of the units in the threatened area. More good news reached Kokott that morning. Fifth Panzer Army and the XXXXVII Panzer Corps would be providing additional fire support in the form of 105mm and 150mm howitzers. To ensure effective fire control, Kokott concentrated most of these batteries in the area around Flamierge and Givry. To orchestrate such a concentration, and perhaps show von Manteuffel’s seriousness concerning the planned attack, Fifth Panzer Army sent their senior artillery officer to oversee the entire operation.
For Kokott, the timing of the operation was also crucial. As on the twenty-third, the weather for Christmas Day was expected to break sunny about noon. No doubt the American fighter-bombers would return with the good weather, wreaking their destruction on German soldiers and vehicles alike. Even with good weather and nearby bases in France, Kokott knew it would take some time for the Americans to get their Jabos launched and over Bastogne. It was a narrow window of time, but in order to beat the impending hellstorm, the panzers would need to be inside Bastogne by midmorning. If not, they would be out in the open and vulnerable.
Kokott knew the 15th’s panzers would have to roll out right before sunrise. It would be dark, and a night attack would pose some difficulties in coordination, but the half-moon and snowy fields would certainly aid visibility. Starting off early would give the 15th Panzergrenadier Division two to three hours to get into Bastogne. Once they were there, the close-quarters fighting would prevent the Americans from using their aircraft for fear of hitting their own forces, civilians, and command posts.
Kokott wiped his glasses. He read over the various notes associated with the plan, and knew that once he had ironed out the details, he would call his commanders in later to go over the operation. In some ways, Kokott believed the depressing events of the twenty-third had been fortunate. The airdrops, the fighter-bomber attacks, the brutal resistance put up near Mande and in the town of Marvie had, hopefully, opened the eyes of his senior commanders—namely von Manteuffel. Added to that, Patton’s spearhead, the 4th Armored Division, was barreling northward a lot quicker than everyone thought was possible, and the day before Patton’s forces almost had a breakthrough at Chaumont. He could not believe the fortuitous decision to grant him the 15th Panzergrenadier. Perhaps—Kokott stroked his chin, deep in thought—the high command finally understood that without their sending him some help, Bastogne was going to take a long time to capture.
But the town had to be taken, and soon. Now, he figured, he finally had the forces on hand to do just that.5 The 15th Panzergrenadier Division, Kokott thought to himself. An entire Panzergrenadier Division handed over to me. Fortune, he thought for a moment, certainly favored the brave. And for Kokott, Christmas Eve—Heilige Abend—was turning out to be a very fortunate time indeed.
Morning to noon, Sunday, 24 December 1944
Headquarters, XXXXVII Panzer Corps, visiting the
headquarters, 2nd Panzer Division
Bande, Belgium
General Heinrich von Lüttwitz stepped out of his command car, placed his monocle to his eye, and marched into the command post of the 2nd Panzer Division. He had requested the meeting to hear Oberst (Colonel) Meinhard von Lauchert’s status report on the drive to the Meuse River.
The news was bad. The division staff officers immediately brought to his attention the desperate plight of their unit. The 2nd Panzer Division was fighting for its life. All morning long the staff had received calls for assistance from the various subordinate units. They all reported the same things: no gas, no ammunition, and no Luftwaffe to defend them against the American Jabos. The corps commander shook his head in disgust.
Von Lüttwitz turned to the commander of 2nd Panzer, who broke even more bad news. Von Lauchert’s division was under extreme pressure outside of Marche as it beat back constant American attacks. Meanwhile, the Americans’ 2nd Armored Division was squeezing the tiny salient near Foy-Notre-Dame, which was the farthest point of penetration for the Germans. Von Lauchert had exhorted his men to hold on and keep fighting—he had heard help was on the way in the form of the 9th Panzer Division. It might be too late. The Americans had isolated various parts of 2nd Panzer, which were now forming tiny pockets of resistance against the Allied pressure. As a consequence, the Americans could concentrate on and destroy each one in detail. The main body of von Lauchert’s division, stuck outside of Marche, could not send reinforcements to elements fighting at Foy-Notre-Dame or outside of Conneux, Belgium. Finally von Lauchert admitted to von Lüttwitz that many of his units had run out of gas. If they were not resupplied with fuel, and soon, they would have to make their way out on foot.
Fuel… fuel had been the item that had cost them. Von Lüttwitz leaned forward, dropped his head into his hands, and slowly shook it. Wacht am Rhein was coming to a sputtering halt because the Germans could not get enough fuel for their gas-guzzling tanks, half-tracks, and trucks. The fuel couldn’t be brought forward to the un
its spearheading the advance because transportation along the narrow and clogged routes took too much time. On top of that, they had to contend with the Allied fighter-bombers circling overhead like birds of prey. Fuel and supply vehicles were conspicuous targets. Most of all, the bulk of the fuel and supply vehicles could not take a direct route. Obviously, as wheeled vehicles, they required hard roads to travel upon, particularly with the recent snow. They were confined to the roads, and the major road hub in that sector was the town of Bastogne.
Bastogne! Von Lüttwitz gritted his teeth in frustration. Snapping his monocle away from his eye, he looked around at the sorry faces of the 2nd Panzer staff around him. The Americans, as Kokott had reported, still retained an iron grip on Bastogne.
Von Lüttwitz had warned his boss that Bastogne would be the problem if the Germans didn’t take it in the initial advance. Instead, von Manteuffel had ordered him to leave only the 26th Volksgrenadier Division behind to invest the town, while the two Panzer divisions drove headlong to the river. Now the 2nd Panzer Division, on account of unprotected and overextended supply lines, had come to a halt.
He desperately needed the reinforcements. Fifth Panzer Army kept telling von Lüttwitz that 9th Panzer Division was coming, and it would arrive sometime that evening. He wasn’t convinced. In addition, his entire corps was out on a limb. No other German units were guarding his flanks. To the north, the 116th Panzer Division had come to a halt far from its intermediate objective, while to the south the 5th Fallschirmjäger Division was rapidly buckling under the constant blows from Patton’s Third Army. The overextended German flanks of the “bulge” were fragile. With Patton coming up from the south, there was a very real danger the entire German offensive could be decapitated.
Still, von Lüttwitz knew he had to make the best of the situation and keep the remainder of his corps moving forward. The most he could do for 2nd Panzer Division was to redirect the Panzer Lehr’s axis of advance to clear the roads of American forces between Rochefort and Marche. If the roads were unclogged, maybe they could then send supplies to his beleaguered units west of that area.
At last, it seemed he could finally do something about Bastogne. The lead units of the 15th Panzergrenadier Division had finally reached the area of operations of the XXXXVII Panzer Corps. Almost immediately he put the newly arrived division under the temporary command of the 26th Volksgrenadier Division. Tomorrow, with these potent reinforcements, he figured Kokott could make no more excuses not to take Bastogne. After all, a general like Heinrich von Lüttwitz always made damn sure he got what he wanted.6
Midday to late afternoon, Sunday, 24 December 1944
Headquarters, 101st Airborne Division, Heinz Barracks
Bastogne, Belgium
As Christmas Eve dawned around Bastogne, the Americans had reasons to celebrate and feel the worst was over. Another air supply had come in that morning, right on cue, courtesy of more than 160 troop carrier C-47s. Besides ammunition, the Air Corps dropped several containers of K rations. This time eleven of the flimsy CG-4 cargo-carrying gliders also came in, their spectacular landings in the snowy fields fascinating the GIs around Bastogne. Several skidded to a halt just outside the artillery positions near Savy and Hemroulle.
Like manna from heaven, the gliders were loaded with 105mm and 75mm shells for the big American guns. The arrival of the rations, something most of the GIs would grouse about at any other given moment, helped raise morale tremendously. The K rations, in cardboard boxes about as large as a cigarette carton, gave the troopers a much-needed break from the constant menu of pancakes.7
Along with the troop carriers came the ever-present fighter-bombers. The skies roared with the sound of the P-47s dropping bombs pointedly on the Marvie area and knocking the Germans back. Due to a few deadly “friendly fire” incidents, the paratroopers were much more industrious this morning when it came to laying out the orange marker panels in front of their positions. The panels were used to mark friend from foe, but even then were not always easy to see from a cockpit, speeding overhead at four hundred miles per hour.
Spirits were picking up among the GIs. The headquarters types—spared the constant shivering and huddling in some muddy hole—had picked humor as the best weapon to fight the war. After all, it was Christmas Eve.8 In the Cave at Heinz Barracks, a wisecracking Danahy had written a sprawling “Merry Christmas” in green crayon across the red lines of the German positions portrayed on the large operations map.9
That afternoon, as the Marvie battle was ending, McAuliffe had personally radioed General Middleton at Neufchâteau, saying; “The finest Christmas present the 101st could get would be a relief tomorrow.”10
“I know, boy, I know,” was all Middleton could reply, frustrated that he couldn’t do more.11
McAuliffe’s basement headquarters had picked up a message relayed by VIII Corps from General Patton and the Third Army. Patton’s Third was still fighting their way north to the city, and now was only eight miles away.
“Xmas Eve present coming up. Hold on,” the message said.12
Like any good commander, McAuliffe wanted to nip any morale issue in the bud before it became problematic—especially on the holiday. Even if he was starting to have his own concerns, he wasn’t about to let on to any of his staff or soldiers. On this Christmas, he knew that many of the hard-pressed GIs would start to worry about home and family. It would be important to remind them why they were here. In a widely circulated flyer, Colonel Kinnard wrote the following Christmas message. McAuliffe approved it and had it distributed to all of the men in and out of the frozen foxholes:
Merry Christmas!
What’s merry about all this you ask? We’re fighting—it’s cold—we aren’t home. All true, but what has the proud Eagle Division accomplished with its worthy comrades of the 10th Armored Division, the 705th Tank Destroyer Battalion and all the rest? Just this: We have stopped cold everything that has been thrown at us from the north, east, south and west. We have identifications from four German panzer divisions, two German infantry divisions and one German parachute division. These units, spearheading the last desperate German lunge, were heading straight west for key points when the Eagle Division was hurriedly ordered to stem the advance. How effectively this was done will be written in history; not alone in our Division’s glorious history but in world history. The Germans actually did surround us, their radios blared our doom. Allied troops are counterattacking in force. We continue to hold Bastogne. By holding Bastogne we assure the success of the Allied armies. We know that our Division commander, General Taylor, will say: “Well done!” We are giving our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present and being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms are truly making for ourselves a merry Christmas.13
At the bottom of the page was a reprint of the German surrender demand on Friday and McAuliffe’s stubborn and already-famous reply: “Nuts!”
Regardless of the jovial mood from headquarters, the next twenty-four hours would sorely test the Christmas spirit of both the men in command and the men on the front lines. Meanwhile, as the headquarters staff joked and laughed, several miles west of Bastogne a pair of GIs saw that the Germans were bringing something far worse than coal for the Americans this Christmas.
Afternoon, Sunday, 24 December 1944
Area of operations, Alpha Company, 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment
Near Champs, Belgium
Christmas Eve found an American officer and a sergeant gazing in shock at the sight before them. Standing on the crest of a snow-blanketed hill near Longchamps, the two men were stunned. Down the hillside and over a short valley less than a mile away stood nearly a battalion of German tanks, engines throbbing and clouds of exhaust rising in the afternoon cold.
To the German soldiers starting to take notice, the two GIs presented an odd contrast: The officer was Captain Wallace Swanson, the Kansas State University football player—big and burly. The other man was Tony D’Angelo, dark, I
talian-American, and in his own words “short and scrawny,” compared to Swanson.
Tied around Swanson’s neck was a cardboard sign cut out from a box of rations, with the words “Don’t Sky-Line Yourself” scribbled in pen. His helmet was wrapped in a white pillowcase for camouflage. It was ironic that both men were in such a state of shock since that was exactly what they were doing: silhouetting themselves on the top of the hill. “We stood there like a bunch of idiots, just staring for a minute,” D’Angelo recalled of that moment. “That whole damn hillside was just loaded. There must have been a parking lot full of German tanks, in ten or eleven lines, and there we were just looking at all that armor sitting there.”
It didn’t take long for the Germans to respond. Shouting commands and jumping into their vehicles, they quickly loaded their weapons and aimed at the Americans. D’Angelo recalled how, at first, his legs seemed frozen, unable to move.
“That paratrooper captain and I just watched as they fired at us.”
Nearby was a brick-and-stone religious shrine used by the residents of the neighboring village of Longchamps. The structure was about six feet wide and ten feet tall. Swanson, hearing the shriek of the incoming rounds, suddenly straightened up and slapped D’Angelo on the shoulder, telling him to run. “We both dived behind that shrine, I tell you,” D’Angelo said.
A German shell screamed in and blasted the top of the shrine, knocking brick fragments over the heads of the men. The two ran down the back side of the hill, D’Angelo back to his tank destroyer and crew, Swanson to warn headquarters of the German buildup they had just discovered in this northwest sector of Bastogne.
Now the rumors were set to rest. Now they had visual proof. The Germans were massing for an attack on Champs.
“The captain fell down and I swear, I ran right over the back of the poor guy trying to get out of there,” D’Angelo remarked. “I got the hell out of there fast.”14
