We began fire missions. I was chief of a gun section. We received a deflection shift over the phone. I asked the battery exec officer (1Lt. Jim Denning) to repeat the last deflection, which he did. I responded to him, ‘that we would be firing behind us!’ He said, ‘Sergeant Gammon, there is no behind us—it’s all in front of us!’ We were surrounded.
Sgt. Bernie Palitz was on duty with “Charley” Battery at Savy about a mile north of Bastogne. He remembered when he got an order to make a 180 degree swing to face in the opposite direction.
My howitzer was directly in front of a row of trees, fairly tall and fairly close together.
I was the ‘adjusting gun’ and, late that night, about midnight, we were roused with the command, ‘Fire Mission!’
All six guns reported in and the very first command was, ‘Adjusting gun—Right!’ (I’m not sure, but it was an enormous shift and it required that the gun itself be physically turned.) I had two men on the trails shift the gun completely around; laid back onto the aiming stakes, looked up and saw the damned trees directly in front of me and yelled out immediately, ‘Number One Gun out—adjusting gun out!’
It was training that made my #2 man not ram a round into the howitzer. I had stopped him in time.
Because the town of Bastogne was almost directly in back of my gun, it’s probable that we were among the first to realize that something was terribly wrong.
An officer came to my position to verify the facts. I don’t recall moving the gun, but I was unable to fire at all during that mission.
Major William E. Brubaker, S-3 for the 377th Parachute Field Artillery Battalion, remembered an unusual report which was just related by Sergeants Gammon and Palitz, who were members of firing batteries. He verified their reports with these comments:
One very important mission by the 377th—our normal gun positions were oriented in the area assigned to the 502nd Infantry—we were a combat team—our mission—direct support. The trails of the howitzers were dug in to fire in this area—and sometimes to fire in support as called for by Division Artillery. In one heavy action, we (377th) were called to support one of the regiments fighting 180 degrees from our normal zone of fire. We had to swing the howitzers around and fire without the trails dug in. I don’t know about our accuracy, but we accomplished what I thought was impossible, the capability to give fire support.
Service Company Trapped
As commander of Service Company of the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment, Captain Eber H. Thomas had been ordered by the regimental S-4 officer to move his unit west of Bastogne several miles to a site which would be away from the shelling. Captain Thomas recalls the action:
During the afternoon of the 21st, Major William H. Butler, regimental S-4, visited the Company area. He informed me that the plan was to move out of Bastogne to the west. He instructed me to relocate Service Company about 8 to 10 miles west of the present location. I was to unload the trucks and return to Bastogne to assist in transporting the troops to the new location. I sent 1Lt. Bill Jones down the road to Sibret and 1Lt. Frank Sheridan down another road to the west to see if the roads were open. Both returned and reported the roads blocked. I assumed the penetration was from the Arlon-Bastogne highway side so I took the convoy along the Bastogne-Marche road for a few miles and then turned southwest on a smaller road which headed in the direction of the town where the S-4 had instructed me to relocate the company. The convoy proceeded along this road for about one to two miles and ran up against other U.S. units blocking the road.
During the time the convoy was halted, Cpl. Eugene Flanagan, of Service Company, came to me and stated he saw a German soldier in the woods along the branch about 200 yards to the right of the road. He wanted to take a few men and go after the German. I doubted his observation and instructed Flanagan to remain with his vehicle as the convoy might start moving at any time.
After waiting for awhile without any movement, I started walking up the column of vehicles. Immediately in front of Service Company was the 101st Division Reconnaissance Platoon commanded by a Lt. (Powers) Thomas. I requested that he contact 101st Division HQ as his platoon seemed to be equipped with a large radio. He advised that he had been unable to contact the Division. I continued walking up the column. The next unit in the column was the 58th Armored Field Artillery Battalion. I requested the location of the 58th commanding officer and was guided to a house where the CP was located. There I met and talked with a Lt. Col. Paton, the battalion commander. I requested that he contact the 101st Division HQs, but he stated he had been unable to contact the headquarters of the unit in Bastogne. LTC. Paton then informed me that he had two of his tanks knocked out by Germans located up the road leading out of the village to the southwest. He felt there were strong German units ahead.
At dusk, I pulled the 501st convoy off the road and parked in the rear of a house. 1/Sgt. John Cederburg posted the guard. 1Lt. Jesse Tidwell was with me and also assisted in posting the guard.
The 58th FA Bn. posted guards on the roads leading into the village. A 105mm howitzer was set up on the road we had traveled.
Around 0200-0300, a German tank accompanied by a patrol (we could hear them talking) came up the same road we had used to enter the village. The 58th FA guard fired the 105 howitzer at the tank but apparently did no damage as the tank fired its machine gun which did no damage either.
I immediately went to LTC. Paton’s HQs to see if he had knowledge of the situation. He stated he had received a message relating that a U.S. armored column was coming through to clear the area. This didn’t happen. I talked with him for a while and then returned to Service Company (which consisted of about 30 men—Company HQ, cooks and part of the motor pool).
At daylight, I returned to the 58th FA Bn. HQs, but there was no news. At this time, the German tank was visible in the field and located near the edge of the woods about 300 yards. I informed LTC. Paton that I was taking my men and heading for Neufchateau. We could not get the vehicles out as all roads were blocked. Each 501st man had only a few rounds of ammunition and there was one bazooka with two rounds.
I then contacted the platoon sergeant of the 101st Recon Platoon. We looked at the map and I asked him to lead us cross-country to Neufchateau—no towns, no crossroads—just cross-country.
By this time, the fog had set in and we marched to Neufchateau in about three to four hours. The Recon Platoon was with us and the 58th Field Artillery Battalion also followed us. I never saw them again after reaching Neufchateau.
After arriving in Neufchateau, Captain Thomas reported in to the 28th Infantry Division Headquarters. In checking his personnel, he found only one man from his group was missing. Thomas and his men were placed in charge of outposts leading into Neufchateau from the east and north.
CHAPTER 7
DECEMBER 22
The damp, misty and foggy weather conditions changed somewhat during the early morning hours of the 22nd when snow began to fall. Visibility would still be limited during the day as the snow continued off and on throughout the day.
Much of the battle action was occurring in the 401st Glider Battalion area where “A” and “C” Companies would experience most of the day’s fighting.
Shortages in food and ammunition were beginning to show up and examples of “make-do” will be illustrated in this chapter. The snow became a problem as the troops lacked camouflage and their dark green uniforms stuck out like sore thumbs.
During a night of heavy shelling, several officers positioned at the Division command post lost their lives when an artillery shell exploded in the room in which they were sleeping.
During the day, enemy parliamentaries come through the lines to negotiate the surrender of the Bastogne garrison. There is some wariness after the truce ends but the fight goes on.
The 401st at Mande St. Etienne
The action was now picking up in the Mande St. Etienne area where the 101st Airborne Division had assembled on the morning of December 19th. As day broke on the 22
nd, S/Sgt. Robert Bowen was called to the company CP. On the way, he could hear the rattle of small arms fire from the direction of the “A” Company roadblock. The company commander notified Bowen that the road to Bastogne had been cut and he was to get over there as fast as possible to appraise the situation. Bowen wrote:
I plowed through knee-deep snow to the road block. A fire fight was raging. The Germans had moved into Mande St. Etienne during the night, blocking the road with farm vehicles and cutting us off from Bastogne. They had dug in around the houses and along the main highway.
I stopped at ‘A’ Company’s position first. The platoon leader told me he had been sending a two-man patrol down the road to the battalion CP every two hours. On it’s return, it was fired on just before daybreak near the hamlet. One patrol member had been wounded but the other had helped him back. Germans had moved into the hamlet during the night, blocked the road and dug in. They estimated there were at least a platoon of them.
I decided to check with Felker next. To reach his line of foxholes, I had to cross forty yards of open farm yard in perfect view of the enemy. I made a mad dash through the snow, bullets flicking the snow and taking needles off the fir trees when I got that far. Felker had dug a BAR position. I let out a yell to let them know I was coming and dove into it. Smith, the lanky Tennessee gunner, and Felker made room for me. Felker pointed out the German positions.
They were dug in by a wooden shed and some big mounds of potatoes, which had been covered with dirt. There was at least a squad. I could see foxholes and a machine gun position by the road and panzerfausts. Lying on the road, near the farm vehicle, were two screaming, wounded Germans. Any attempt to retrieve them by the enemy brought a hail of fire from ‘A’ Company foxholes.
I passed the word to cover me and made a run for the rear, bullets zipping around me. The only reason the Germans could’ve missed me was they were as cold as we and couldn’t aim properly. I made a detailed report and was sent back to my CP. I no sooner arrived than Captain Towns was on the phone. As the conversation ended, he turned to me and said, ‘Bowen, Colonel Allen (Battalion C.O.) wants that roadblock taken out. Take a squad from ‘A’ Company and Hans’ squad and see what you can do. Hans is on his way up.’
I looked over the situation. A mad dash down the road or across the fields was out of the question. I was saved from the dilemma by the rumbling of a tank coming from 2nd Platoon. It stopped by me and a stocky sergeant got out.
‘Colonel Allen told me to run down the road and shoot up those houses,’ he said in a quiet drawl.
I pointed out the panzerfausts. ‘With those there? How far will you get?’ ‘What do you suggest, then?’
I told him I was going to send a squad down each side of the road. If his tank could support them with his 75mm cannon and .50 caliber machine gun while Felker’s squad provided enfilading fire from the left flank, the plan might work. He agreed and I ran to Felker’s position to direct their fire. I gave a signal and all hell seemed to break loose.
The tank cannon began to bark, it’s machine gun blazing. ‘A’ Company’s machine gun and riflemen added to the din and Felker’s men raked the German foxholes from the side. The two attacking squads took off with yells, dodging from tree to tree along the road and firing at the foxholes in front of them. The Germans panicked as the 75mm blasted them out of the houses and our enfilading fire kept them down in their holes. They hardly fired a shot in return.
I was in an end slit trench with Felker. Our weapons were hot from firing clip after clip. The Germans around the shed and potato mounds had enough. They began to pull out. Only a few made it and soon their bodies littered the snow in bloody heaps. I hit one and he went down and began to scream. We brought him in later with a gaping wound from knee to hip. He was barely eighteen and scared to death. We dressed his wound and evacuated him to Bastogne with the other German wounded.
The action ended, having taken about a half hour. Cries of ‘Kamerad! Kamerad!’ meant it was over. I went back to the tank on the main road. The tank sergeant was exhuberant.
‘By God, I’ve been in this mess since D plus twelve and I’ve never seen anything like this. You’re a crazy gang,’ he said.
The squads were checking the houses when I joined them. Hans lay on the road, shot through the calf. He was our only casualty. Our medic dressed his wound, wrapped him in a blanket and I called for a medical jeep.
The enemy roadblock was destroyed. Twelve of their dead were put in the courtyard, a half dozen more lay in their foxholes by the road. Thirty were taken prisoner, including their wounded. Some had escaped to a nearby stand of trees and began to snipe at us. I called for the tank and a few bursts of its .50 caliber sent them flying. Most of the prisoners were young and wore parts of American uniforms, overcoats, overshoes, sweaters, knit caps and gloves. Evidently they were having the same problems with the cold weather. Some begged for mercy, thinking we were going to kill them. Felker spoke German, assuring them they were prisoners of war and would be sent to Bastogne to a prisoner camp. In retrospect, they were the lucky ones because the Germans took horrendous losses during the battles around the city.
I got Captain Towns on ‘A’ Company’s phone and reported the outcome of the engagement. He asked me to bring the POW’s to the CP. On the way, I met the first sergeant and some men. I turned over the Germans to them and went back to the roadblock.
I got back in time to see a jeep pick up Hans. I wished him good luck and waved good-bye as he left. We had been close friends since I joined the company eighteen months before, being in the same squad, then the same platoon until that day.
Shortly after the action ended, General McAuliffe visited the roadblock. We had met once before in Holland when he visited my platoon when it was on the MLR on the Neder Rhine. He recognized me immediately and, while inspecting the scene of the battle, congratulated individually the men who had fought in it. He was an extremely gracious person who was loved by his troops.
The Plight of an Eight-Year-Old Refugee
As an eight year old boy, Andre R. Meurisse was forced to flee from the family home in Bastogne. The family, with other neighbors, had first gone to Hemroulle where the horse and cart were left. The horse was too frightened to pull their belongings further. The Meurisse family had moved on toward Champs but again the artillery bombardment was bad. The father had then changed their course for Mande St. Etienne and on toward Namur and Brussels. However, the small arms fire and artillery was too much for the refugees and they turned back to Mande.
All of this travel took place on December 22nd and the family took refuge in the last house in town. Andre Meurisse describes their plight:
It was the Dominique house. Rushing to get into it, I ran over two German bodies which were lying on the frozen ground just in front of the doorway to the house. We ran down into the cellar where we found the owners already huddling in one corner. Not a word was said between my parents and the owners. We sat there and listened. In about five minutes, two American GI’s ran down the cellar stairs and joined us. They were out of breath and I watched them as they sat there sweating profusely from fright and fatigue.
When the shelling let up some, these two Americans got their equipment together and left us. One of them dropped some loose cigarettes from his pocket. My father and the owner of the house greedily picked them up and each one lit one. My father said, ‘What a Godsend!’
When we left the cellar and the house to go outside again it was late in the day, darkness was about to come so we turned around and went back to the center of the town. There we went to the farmhouse located right at the cross roads in the center which belonged to the two Cawet brothers. There we stayed the night along with other refugees. All together there were about twenty people in that house, which, because it was an old house, had no cellar. We were fed some food that the brothers had and then we all went to the stables where we made beds out of the straw and hay. Outside it was dark by now and the opposing weapons had almost
stopped their firing. As they were used to doing every day, the two Cawet brothers, along with some of the refugees, started milking the cows which were in the stable. All of us then drank that wonderful sweet milk, the only good thing I can remember of those first days; five or six buckets full of milk were placed along the stable’s back wall so anyone could take some any time it was wanted.
The rumors of where the combat was continued to whirl around us, each new refugee had a different report on just what was happening ‘outside’. I remember looking from time to time to the attractive buckets of lukewarm milk aligned along the wall. We didn’t know if we should try to take that liquid food with us or not. Then the children were given a second cup of milk and the adults finished the rest of the bucket with the cups the children had used. We all then tried to sleep. Outside, it was nighttime and complete darkness had fallen on the fighting armies as well as on those fleeing those armies.
All of a sudden, the firing of machine guns woke us. It was now close to us. Now I could hear the running of army boots past our stable. The wooden door to the stable was suddenly kicked open. There stood two German soldiers with their Schmeissers (automatic weapons) pointed at us. They stopped cold in their tracks and looked at us who in turn were looking at them in utter hopelessness as we were unarmed and helpless. The only light was a weak petroleum lamp but it was enough for the Germans to recognize the young and the old of our group as just helpless refugees. I thought this was going to be the last moments of my young life. The two Germans came closer, walking cautiously in an awkward manner … they were drunk! Every one of us was frozen to the spot. I was frightened of those submachine gun muzzles that kept swinging in my direction as they would walk around the stable looking at us.
Then one of the Boches spotted the remaining buckets of milk along the back wall of the stable. While the other drunk soldier held us at gun point, the first soldier undid his trousers and urinated in each of the remaining buckets of milk. He didn’t miss one. They were both laughing when another German voice from outside the stable called to them. The two damned soldiers then ran out of the stable and disappeared into the night as quickly as they had appeared just a few minutes before. What a relief, after having been suspended between life and death! The milk was poured into the manure drain and we sat there in the semidarkness, relieved, but still too shaken to resume sleep.
Battered Bastards of Bastogne Page 27
