Battered Bastards of Bastogne

by George Koskimaki

  December 22, 1944—Snow began to fall and the fir trees by our radio set look beautiful. The first real snow I’ve seen since I’ve been in the Army. Shells still falling and three officers were killed by one.

  The scariest night of the war for PFC. Charles Lenzing, of Signal Company, occurred on the night of December 22 when a large shell hit the building in which many of the Division Headquarters personnel were quartered. He wrote:

  I remember the night of December 22nd when Sgt. Iving Schmidt and I took refuge from the weather in an empty room on the opposite end of a building in which Division HQ men were housed. The night was cold and blustery. As we were falling asleep on the ice-cold floor, some incoming mail began to rain down on us. We immediately grabbed our helmets and rifles and ran down the long hall that went from one end of the building to the other. We stopped at the center entrance and knelt next to the opening. Outside the doorway, lying prone, was Tommy Younger and another Signalman. a shell landed in the middle of the narrow street and went bouncing down toward the cemetery. Thank God it was a dud. Schmidt and I started to stand up inside the hall preparatory to running for the German constructed air raid shelter. The shelling was reaching saturation proportions. A very large shell zipped over our heads, penetrated the roof and ceiling on the opposite side of the hall’s brick wall and exploded, killing three Headquarters men. The blast blew a triangular section of the brick wall all over the heads and shoulders of Schmidt and myself, knocking my helmet off and almost driving me to my knees. In the dark, I felt with my feet and hands for my missing helmet but to no avail.

  Schmidt and Lenzing fled for the cover of the earth-covered air raid shelter where they spent the remainder of the night. In the morning, Lenzing returned to the building to seek out his helmet but had to be content with head cover of a stranger, one of those who died as the result of the shelling. He never did feel right about wearing a dead man’s helmet.

  The Surrender Ultimatum

  From his position on the flank of his platoon, PFC. Charles Kocourek of “F” Company of the 327th Glider Regiment wittnessed the approach of the German parliamentaries and felt it strange that enemy soldiers would surrender after being fired on from a distance of many hundred yards. He related:

  While we were standing around, we heard some firing and I walked over to those positions and asked, ‘What for?’ The men said, ‘Germans—way out there!’ Off in the distance were four Germans with a white flag coming down the road. One guy says, ‘Three shots and we’ve got four Germans—not bad!’ I said, ‘Why would four Germans at 400 yards distance from our positions want to give up? It doesn’t make sense.’

  The soldier who made the first contact with the emissaries was S/Sgt. Carl Dickinson of “F” Company. At 11 o’clock on the morning of the 22nd, he had spotted the Germans carrying a white flag, coming down the road toward his position. He had gone out to meet them. He describes the encounter:

  I went down and met them below our line and one of them who could speak English said, ‘According to the Geneva and Hague Conventions, we have the right to deliver an ultimatum’ and asked to be taken to our commanding officer.

  They each carried handkerchiefs for blindfolds and the German major blindfolded the other officer and I, in turn, blindfolded the German major. As soon as this was accomplished, our company medic, Ernest Premetz, not knowing if any of the Germans could speak English, came down as he could speak German. We left the other Germans with PFC. Leo Palma in a BAR position at the side of the road and Ernest Premetz and I started back to the CP where Sgt. Butler and Lt. Smith came to the door to learn what was going on. When we asked what to do with the two German officers, they told us to take them to the Company CP where they stayed until their ultimatum was delivered to General McAuliffe in Bastogne. Colonel Harper returned them to us after receiving the famous ‘NUTS’ reply. They then went back to their own lines.88

  Lt Colonel Ned D. Moore was acting chief of staff for the 101st Airborne Division at Bastogne. He was on duty when the call came from “F” Company of the 327th that some parliamentaries had come through the line under a flag of truce to negotiate our surrender. General A. C. McAuliffe had been up all the night before and was sacked out in deep sleep in his basement cubbyhole, next to the Division Command Post in the cellar. Colonel Moore went to General McAuliffe and shook him awake, saying, “The Germans have sent some people forward to take our surrender.”

  Still half asleep, the General muttered “Nuts!” and started crawling out of his sleeping bag.

  While the General was getting up, Colonel Moore got back on the phone and told the troops at “F” Company to keep the enemy confused as to locations so they’d have no knowledge of where the various command posts were situated.

  When the actual ultimatum for surrender was delivered to the Division command post, the staff had already heard from Colonel Moore what the General’s response had been when he was so rudely awakened and told of the ultimatum. It may well have been that the famous “NUTS” response can be attributed to G-2 Major Paul Danahy who was very clever at coining phrases when sending out situation reports to the regiments positioned out on the front line.89

  Fortunate to be on the scene when the headquarters staff pondered what reply to send in response to the ultimatum which had just been received, PFC. James Oleson of the G-3 Section wrote:

  Sgt. Tom Bruff was the one who actually typed the reply to the German commander. I thought it was a strange reply but we had been taking what they could send in. We waited—thinking we would be getting greater activity after they got the reply but it didn’t really change.

  With the Division message center and switchboard located in an adjoining room of the cellar, members of Signal Company were pretty much aware of events as they occurred throughout the stay at Bastogne. T/3 William C. McCall was on duty when the surrender ultimatum came in. He recalled:

  On December 22nd, while on day shift duty in the Message Center, the Germans brought the surrender ultimatum or be annihilated boasting of the units surrounding us. The commander of Combat Command B, 10th Armored Division, sat there in the Message Center and read this ultimatum out loud to us. Don’t know how the others felt but it scared the heck out of me.

  General McAuliffe’s response to the surrender ultimatum had already been sent by the messenger who delivered it when T/3 George Koskimaki came in to deliver a coded radio message. He wondered why there were so many grim faces in the assemblage in Message Center. He wrote:

  I had just received a coded message by radio for Headquarters and it needed decoding so, consequently, it ended with Message Center. Noting the grim appearances on the faces of the men, I wondered what kind of news they were privy to. ‘Haven’t you heard that we’ve had a surrender ultimatum from the Germans?’ one of my friends asked.

  When it was explained, and looking at my watch, the deadline was fast approaching. I headed for my little nook in an earthen air raid shelter where I dug out my log, which I recorded on the onion skin sheets found at the backs of Signal Corps message books. If the shelling got bad, I wanted those notes in my possession in case it became necessary to eat my evidence.90

  As executive officer for the 463rd Parachute Field Artillery Battalion, Major Stuart Seaton had arrived at Division Headquarters just after the surrender ultimatum had been delivered to General McAuliffe. He had this recollection of the event:

  I vividly recall the day I took our battalion’s plan of perimeter ground defense in to Division Artillery Headquarters. When I got there, the first thing I was greeted with was a comment by Colonel Sherburne. He told me that General McAuliffe had just received a surrender notice from the German commander. Colonel Sherburne gave me a copy of it. After reading it, I noticed that if Division didn’t surrender by 4 o’clock, they would level the town. I think it was then about two o’clock. After getting our plan checked, I wasted little time getting out of the city and back to the Battalion.

  From his outpost position, PFC. Charles Kocour
ek observed the actions from a distance of several hundred yards and, once the emissaries returned to their lines, word was brought out to the positions from the platoon CP. Kocourek adds to his story:

  Some time later, a trooper came out of the CP and explained the German surrender ultimatum. We were being given two hours to surrender. If we didn’t give up, they would shell the hell out of us and come and wipe us out. During the two-hour lull, we got all the extra ammo we could find, dug some extra holes right next to Sgt. John. We had an L-shaped position.

  When the two-hour cease fire ended, PFC. Charles Kocourek and his friends watched as a group of Germans moved across their front without any appearance of caution. They probably figured the Americans would surrender. Kocourek describes the following action:

  About 20 minutes to three, we moved into our defensive positions. At 3:00 nothing happened. In about five minutes, I heard voices to my left and I could see Germans coming out of the woods. I counted 23 of them. In their midst was a civilian with a horse and two-wheeled cart. They were crossing in front of us. They were so non-chalant, rifles on shoulders and the civilian pointing to something in the distance. I kept cautioning the men—‘Don’t shoot—let them come down.’ I think the enemy soldiers were totally convinced we were going to give up. They were moving toward a clump of trees that would provide concealment and then we wouldn’t see them to shoot at. I had a German machine gun in my foxhole, along with two rifles. I opened up with the German MG and the damned thing jammed. Then everybody started shooting. I worked frantically with the machine gun and could not clear the jam, so I picked up a rifle and started banging away. The enemy was firing back at us with snow and ice kicking up into our faces.

  When it was all over, there were seven of them lying out there. One was wounded pretty bad as he was moaning loudly. The next morning, when we got up—they were all gone.

  Company and platoon runners often ran into dangerous assignments as they carried messages to and from outpost positions. PFC. Kocourek describes such an incident that occurred on the night of December 22nd:

  That night, a runner came through and I thought here comes a German and I let him come through the heavy marsh—it had to be an enemy—no American would be out in front of us. I was just ready to pull the trigger when someone called out. Oh, oh, a German wouldn’t be hollering like that. As the man came closer, he called softly, ‘Kocourek, Kocourek!’ He was a runner looking for me. I asked, ‘What the hell are you doing out in front of our position? You almost got yourself shot!’ He said he had lost his way.

  CHAPTER 8

  DECEMBER 23

  S/Sgt. Bob Bowen’s Platoon

  As platoon sergeant and leader, S/Sgt. Robert M. Bowen of “C” Company of the 401st Glider Infantry Battalion had his hands full on the 23rd as he battled both the weather and the enemy which was now appearing in front of his roadblocks and outposts with considerably more strength than had been displayed in the first three days at his positions along the main road to Marche. Bowen relates:

  The night passed like a nightmare. My foxhole was like a freezer. No amount of exertion could warm my feet or hands and, as we had gotten orders for a minimum of movement during the night, I was unable to warm up by checking my squads. Dawn came like a blessing.

  But the blessing was short-lived. A heavy ground fog had settled over the area cutting the visibility to nothing. From 1st Platoon’s outpost came a burst of small arms fire, M-1’s and machine pistols. The outpost withdrew as planned but, in the mad dash over the snow to the MLR, PFC. Ernest Howard and PFC. Steve Horkay, veterans of ‘C’ Company, came under heavy small arms fire. Howard was mortally wounded and Horkay lost a thumb. About the same time, cannon and small arms fire broke out in 2nd Platoon’s area. The men at the roadblock had been told to watch out for tanks of Patton’s Third Army, which were on their way to relieve the 101st. Hearing the roar of tank engines in the dense fog, 2nd Platoon thought them to be Patton’s. Too late, they were identified as German. A spirited fight developed.

  I checked the squads of my platoon at daybreak, returning to my foxhole by the stone house on the main road. I was eating a K-ration breakfast when Pvt. Norman Labbe, my radio operator, called me to the set. It was Captain Towns.

  ‘Bowen, 2nd Platoon’s under heavy attack. Take two of your squads up there right away and support them. Lt. Bob Wagner will meet you on the main road and guide you up there,’ he directed.

  Hans’ squad was now led by Sgt. Joseph Kluckowski. I roused both squads, his and Felker’s, and we set off to meet Wagner with a cold, biting wind whipping over the snow like ocean foam. We couldn’t use the main road because Germans in white snow suits were just to the south of it advancing toward 1st Platoon. However, the road was raised five feet or so above the surrounding terrain, providing some cover. We plowed laboriously through the snow, weighed down by our arms and ammunition and breathing like exhausted athletes at the end of a contest. Wagner appeared out of the mist and told me to follow him. He took off at a fast pace, too fast for my men to keep up. We reached an elevated road bisecting ‘C’ Company’s sector, dashed over it and into the open field beyond. Small arms fire and mortar shells swept the area. Several hundred yards ahead was the stone house behind 2nd Platoon. Wagner had picked two men from his platoon, Sgt. Joseph Damato, an old friend, and PFC. Frank Mc-Fadden, another old timer. Wagner and his men took off as fast as they could go. My men were exhausted from the dash to the road. I called to them to follow me and took off with bullets flicking the snow and mortar shells tearing black holes wherever they hit. Added to the din were the sharp cracks of tank cannons. But I was oblivious to every-thing but running as fast as I could. I reached the out buildings around the house, dropping against the wall of the house, totally exhausted. When I finally caught my breath, I took stock of the situation. Only Sgt. Joe Kluckowski and PFC. Harold Zimburg had made it from my platoon. (I learned later, after the war, that Captain Towns had changed his mind and sent someone to stop my platoon from crossing that open field, so most were back at the elevated road. Labbe, my radioman, was with them, so I had no contact with the CP.)

  The situation at 2nd Platoon’s roadblock wasn’t good, as Wagner and I soon found out. The tank which had supported my platoon the day before had been moved back to its former location and been knocked out, the burly sergeant painfully wounded in face and hands. He had been firing the .50 cal. machine gun at the advancing infantry when a tank shell hit the turret under him, spraying him with shrapnel and wounding others in his crew. He was moved to the basement of the stone house which was being used as an aid station. In the basement, also, was a group of civilian refugees who had been fleeing ahead of the Germans and caught up in the action. They were crying, praying and generally making things more difficult for everyone. The .37mm anti-tank gun on the ridge overlooking the road was out of action, also. It’s wheels had frozen to the ground and the gun couldn’t be moved enough to fire at the tanks. The men in the 2nd Platoon foxholes were taking a terrible beating with many dead and wounded. The only bright spot was the tank destroyer.

  MAP 10—Mande St. Etienne C/401

  The TD was commanded by S/Sgt. Chester Sakwinski. His platoon leader, Lt. Gwyn, had just been commissioned in the field and joined Sakwinski’s crew that morning. Under Gwyn’s direction, Sakwinski maneuvered his TD up the sloping courtyard to take shots at the attacking tanks. Some had been hit but, more importantly at the moment, the others kept at a respectable distance because of the TD’s gun. 2nd Platoon had called for artillery support but had been denied it because of the shortage of shells and other units having a higher priority at the time. Had it not been for the TD, the position would have fallen by noon.

  S/Sgt. (Alfred P.) Schwartz, of Headquarter Company’s heavy weapons platoon, came up during the day, directing his 81mm mortar fire against the enemy infantry. Many were in a wooded area to the left flank and when our mortar shells began bursting among the trees, the screams of German wounded echoed over the sno
w to our positions. However, the 81mm mortar ammo was being rationed because of the shortages and this had a telling effect on the outcome of the battle.

  The men I had brought up, plus Wagner’s, had taken position along the raised road to our front, firing across the field at the enemy, which had continued to bathe 2nd Platoon’s foxholes with small arms fire. Along this road were scattered some ten or so bicycles with luggage racks full of personal things. They belonged to the refugees in the basement. One of the civilians approached Wagner, talking excitedly in Flemish. Wagner spoke some high school French and said the Belgians had everything they owned on the bikes. He asked me to see if they could be recovered. I headed across the snow to the main road, bullets from the enemy in front whispering past my head. Damato was firing at the Germans from beside the road. I told him what I had been asked to do. He pointed out the bikes scattered along the road in plain view of the Germans who were shooting at anything that moved. I returned to the basement and told Wagner that nothing could be done to retrieve the Belgians’ personal possessions. My news Was greeted with a chorus of crying howls.

  Some medics from the battalion aid station managed to slip across the field to our rear. There were five, I believe, led by T/Sgt. Bonner and Sgt. Bell. They set up an aid station in the basement and began treating the wounded who, at this point, had received battlefield first aid. One of our .30 caliber MG positions had taken a direct hit from one of the tanks. Two men, Pvt. Lorne Torrence and PFC William Epson, were killed instantly. There were other wounded from the weapons platoon, including S/Sgt. Oakley Knapp, who had been thrown from an MG emplacement by an exploding shell. In a mad scramble for cover, a bullet had pierced his ankle. He was in great pain.