Several of the artillerymen of the 377th rushed to the plane site to provide assistance to the crew. They invited the air crew to stay with them rather than stay at Division Headquarters, which was under nightly attack by enemy bombers. Turner added to his story:
We were met by an Airborne colonel and some of his men who came running over to the aircraft. The colonel told me that we would have to report to Headquarters in town and they would want us to stay there (at Division Headquarters) overnight. The colonel said, ‘Don’t stay there, come back and stay with us in the farmhouse where we are staying.’ He stated that Germans came over every night and bombed Division Headquarters.156
Another crew member who had an unusual experience on the 27th was 2Lt. Richard Fredrickson, serving as co-pilot for 1Lt. Martin H. Skolnick. He wrote:
Three miles from the LZ our aircraft was hit in the tail section by a blast of flak which cut the elevator control cables. The aircraft started into a dive after which the glider cut loose. 1Lt. Skolnick, the pilot, ordered the crew to bail out. By the time the crew chief, radio operator and I reached the rear door of the plane, we were too low to jump. I believe that our combined weight in the rear of the aircraft may have helped Lt. Skolnick bring the plane out of the steep dive. Skolnick, using the throttles, was trying to bring the nose up. He kept the plane in the air using bursts of power until he saw we were over friendly territory and saw a suitable place to crash-land. We hit the top of a hill at very high speed and bounced back into the air. The second time we hit, we dragged the right wing causing us to come to rest in the LZ. 180 degrees from the direction we were originally headed.157
Several of the glider pilots described how the ammunition-starved soldiers approached their gliders to remove the vital artillery shells.
A veteran of the glider landings in Holland, Bastogne and Operation Varsity over the Rhine, F/O David H. Sill remembers his assignment to fly in a supply of artillery ammunition to Bastogne’s beleaguered troops with these comments:
I landed on the north side of Division Headquarters. I stopped at a fence along a road. Some troops were on the other side of the road and came running over. Some kissed and patted the glider. I had ammo in my glider and it was the size and kind they needed at their emplacement. The troops got some and started hauling it across the road.
Flight officer Herbert Ballinger landed only 300 to 400 yards inside friendly lines and the glider was struck nose first in the snow which made unloading difficult. He wrote:
The airborne came over with a jeep and trailer to unload the ammunition. Off-loading the glider was more difficult than normal because we could not get the nose out of the snow and had to unload through the back door. We were also occasionally harassed by artillery and heavy machine gun fire, even though we were out of sight of the German lines. Whether it was meant for us or for ‘to whom it may concern’, I will never know. Before we finished unloading the glider, another jeep showed up which took me back to headquarters.
1Lt. Charles Brema had trouble braking his glider in the snow-covered field. He got a different kind of response from the airborne troops as was described by James E. Mrazek.158
Nearby, men from the 101st rushed toward the glider and pulled open the door. Brema thought they wanted to see if he was still alive, or perhaps congratulate him for making it without getting killed. Instead, they started pulling and hacking at the lashings, binding the ammunition to the glider floor, and ran off with it, leaving him unceremoniously to his own devices. He took a little time to check the glider. Not a bullet hole could he find, nor had the glider suffered any damage on landing. He felt let down.
Other gliders were on their way down and, realizing that the pilots would get little more help than he did, he ran from one glider to another as each landed, to give what help he could to each glider.
Glider pilot Charles Brema may not have had the kind of greeting from the troops at Bastogne that he had hoped for, but others remembered the warm welcomes and expressions of appreciation bestowed upon them. One of them was F/O Case Rafter who wrote:
I got out of the glider all by myself with no other gliders around and a paratrooper came walking over to me with the insignia of the ‘Screaming Eagle’ of the 101st so I knew which division had been surrounded by the Germans. I asked him how things looked and he said that since that morning things had looked good but it had been a real tough fight. He explained that Patton had gotten into Bastogne that morning. I asked him if there was anywhere around where I could get a drink and he gave me a bottle of fortified wine from North Africa which I tucked in the pocket of my flying jacket and had a few swigs when I got into town.
With tow ships shot down before the safety of the Bastogne perimeter was reached, the gliders landed in enemy-held territory. By the time the tail end of the column reached and passed over the enemy gunners, the anti-aircraft soldiers had tow ships and gliders zeroed in. Such was the lot of F/O Mike Sheff. He wrote:
Troops from one of the airborne artillery battalions rushed across the road and over a fence to retrieve artillery shells from the recently landed glider. Some of the shells in their protective cases can be seen piled at the fence line.
I was the last glider off. As we neared Bastogne, we ran into a wall of flak. My tow plane was hit and I released and landed in an open field of a densely wooded area. I was shot at as I landed in the snow. I was wounded in the left forearm. I put my hands up and three German soldiers came out of the woods. They searched me—fought over my gun. I was taken prisoner. It made me mad because they took my six packs of cigarettes.
The tow plane which pulled F/O Harold K. Russell’s glider was hit near Sibret, many miles southwest of Bastogne. Two crew members parachuted safely, a third man died when he suffered a streamer and the pilot went down with his plane. After Russell dropped his tow rope, his craft suffered three hits with one bullet passing through his thigh. He managed to get out of the glider but in his wounded condition, chose not to oppose the enemy soldiers approaching his position. Russell wrote:
Since I was unable to move around, I thought it inadvisable to fire at them. When they spoke to me in German, a language I understood, I learned they were German soldiers and they wanted me to go over to the command post before visiting the aid station. They helped me over to the CP where an officer attempted to interrogate me. I resisted the interrogation and gave only my name, rank and serial number. I was treated courteously and not pressed for information. They were surprised when I sprinkled sulfa in my wound and seemed to have no knowledge of its use.
I was taken to the aid station about 500 yards away, which was in a farmhouse, half of which served as a communications office. There were no other wounded in the station and the doctors took care of me immediately, stating that the wound was not too serious. I laid on the straw covering the floor. It was now about 1400. I remained there listening to the conversations of members of the medical and communications sections—their morale seemed very high and they seemed to think that the big push in the Ardennes was the beginning of the fight to drive the Allies back into the sea. The men in the aid station were well equipped and had good clothes. They offered me tea, coffee and cigarettes and did not confiscate any of my possessions except the helmet, arms, bedroll, trench knife and musette bag.
About 1800 hours of the same day, the Germans began looking out the window and making preparations for a withdrawal. During the excitement and hasty activity, I was left unguarded and hid in a potato bin in one of the rooms of the house. When they were ready to leave, they made a quick search but seemed more interested in getting out than in finding me. They soon left and, after a safe interval, I crawled into the hayloft and spent the night there.159
The next morning the farmer in whose loft F/O Russell spent the night, found him and told him there were Americans in the neighborhood and so Russell was returned to his unit to glide another day. His glider had come down near Sibret and troops of General Patton’s 3rd Army were busy widening the corridor from th
e south.
Flight officer Pershing Y. Carlson had been busy tuning his motor bike when he got the call to get ready to fly a glider to Bastogne. His load consisted of artillery ammunition. He didn’t make it to the proper landing zone and spent seven days eluding the Germans before being captured. He wrote: “I was captured a week after being shot down and spent the rest of the war as a POW at Barth, Germany.”
440th Hit Hardest
On the final day of aerial resupply for the 101st and fellow defenders, the 440th Troop Carrier Group was once again called on to provide tugs and tows to assist the 439th which provided the bulk of the gliders and tows of the 50-plane group. The historian describes the 440th role:160
On the morning of December 27th, the 440th was given another glider mission and at 10:39, eight C-47’s and eight gliders of 95th Squadron and five planes and gliders of the 96th Squadron took off from the air strip at Chateaudun. These 13 aircraft and gliders formed the last element of a 37-plane serial operated by the 439th Troop Carrier Group. The 440th gliders were loaded to capacity with high explosives.
The weather was good and the run into Bastogne was made without trouble. The job looked easy when, almost without warning, the 440th planes collided with the most withering hail of anti-aircraft fire ever encountered by a 440th formation during the European campaign.
Apparently the German ack-ack gunners had gotten the range as the first elements of the 37-plane formation came over and as the thirteen 440th planes and gliders swung over the target they were blasted with unprecedented fury.
Although intense fire had been observed reaching out at 439th planes at the front of the serial, the 440th aircraft held a steady course and cut their gliders as scheduled although explosions were already knocking the tugs from side to side and shells were starting to hit home with disconcerting frequency.
One glider completely disappeared in mid-air as a high explosive shell hit the cargo of TNT. The others cut their approaches as sharply as possible and dived for the ground with their pilots using every form of evasive action to dodge the upcoming stream of fire.
Before cutting off their gliders the tow planes held steady courses and were unable to make any attempt at evasive action. Sgt. Robert J. Slaughter, radio operator of a 96th Squadron ship, was in the astrodome when the right engine of his ship was hit. At the same time, he saw three different planes hit, catch fire and start to fall.
A few moments later, there was a tremendous explosion in the tail and fire broke out. The bail-out signal was given but only the crew chief was able to get through the cargo door before fire blocked it.
Their only hope was for a successful crash landing and the pilot, lLt. Billy J. Green, managed to bring the ship down although most of the controls had been shot away. Upon hitting the ground, the roof of the cockpit caved in and caught Lt. Green behind the control panel. Although expecting an explosion at any moment, Sgt. Slaughter battered the escape hatch open and managed to drag Lt. Green from the burning ship.
In the air over Bastogne other 440th aircraft were taking equally severe treatment. As the leading part of the serial pulled away, all of the German fire was concentrated on the 440th ships as they cut their gliders and turned back. It was all over in a few short moments but in those moments the 440th sustained 42 percent of its combat losses during the entire period of the European campaign.
Of the eight ships from the 95th Squadron, five were shot down with every member of their crews either killed or captured by the Germans. One managed to get back over friendly territory before making an emergency landing and only two made their way back to the home base at Orleans. Bom of these planes were so badly damaged that ground crews found it hard to understand how they had remained airborne.
Of the five 96th planes, three were shot down with seven crew members killed and two taken prisoner. Both of the 96th planes that managed to get back to Orleans were also heavily damaged. The pilots of both of these ships attributed their safe return to their split-second decision to turn right out of the landing zone instead of to the left as briefed.
Most of the gliders had managed to land with their cargoes relatively undamaged and the ammunition and explosives were immediately put to use by the hard-pressed troops around the perimeter of the town.
An Airborne Greeting
As the process of unloading the gliders was taking place, the pilots were driven to Division Headquarters where they reported in. This is when they learned which of their comrades had come through the fire safely, which planes and gliders they had seen going down prematurely, etc.
F/O Case Rafter had been given a bottle of wine by an airborne soldier and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. It wasn’t long before he ran into one of his close friends. Rafter wrote:
I ran into a friend, Tom Longo, from the 440th. He thought it was hilariously funny that I had a bottle sticking out of the pocket of my combat jacket and he was in high spirits, explaining that he had come in the day before with doctors and medical equipment in his glider.
Before the airborne troops had finished unloading his glider, a jeep had appeared to take F/O Herbert Ballinger to Division Headquarters. His story continues:
When I arrived at Headquarters, I joined the other glider pilots who got through and some power pilots who were shot down but still made it to the intended area before bailing out or crash landing.
At their foxhole positions on the Champs perimeter, PFC. Ted Goldmann and members of his squad had been watching since mid-morning as the planes and gliders had appeared from the west and southwest. As some of the aircraft were forced to crash-land or the gliders abort before reaching the proper landing zone, the ground troops were determined to go out beyond the foxhole positions in an attempt to rescue downed airmen. Goldmann related:161
On the morning of the 27th more C-47’s, both with and without gliders, were coming in again. A flight of six came in north and west of us right into the thick flak belt which shot down five planes and all six gliders. Some of us went out to see if we could rescue some of the pilots who might have landed safely. We had about nine men, half of whom were from ‘C’ Company but ran into Germans about three hundred yards out and, after a brief fight, we returned with one boy shot in the arm. Had shot three Germans, though. Everything settled down to normal again but that afternoon as Johnny, Asay and I were sitting by our hole talking, Johnny and Asay had their backs to the enemy. I said, ‘Here comes someone through the woods!’
A figure was about 100 yards off. We yelled, ‘Halt!’, and while Johnny covered us, Asay and I went out to see who it was. He turned out to be a glider pilot (a North Carolina boy) shot down behind the enemy lines on the day after Christmas and who had been wandering around since then. We took him back to the CP.
Evacuation of the Wounded
A large fleet of ambulances had followed the forward elements of the 4th Armored Division into Bastogne. With over a thousand wounded and frostbitten individuals in desperate need of more advanced medical procedures, the first critical cases were sent out late on the night of December 26th. Most of the wounded were evacuated on the 27th.
Among the First wounded to be evacuated on December 27th was eight-year old Andre Meurisse who had been wounded on December 23rd at Mande St. Etienne when American fighter-bombers hit some of the houses, not realizing civilians and American soldiers were in the buildings. Meurisse had a large piece of shrapnel which was festering in his shoulder. He describes a dangerous ambulance ride out of Bastogne:
The day after the tanks broke through to Bastogne, the convoy of medical ambulances, which had arrived with the armored force, were loaded. Around 11 o’clock that Wednesday, December 27th, the U.S. medics formed a convoy of wounded and, as the fighting still raged, the ambulance convoy left Bastogne for the rear area hospitals. I was one of the wounded who were riding in that convoy.
As I was a small boy, the medics put my litter at the top level of the ambulance. There I laid, my stretcher hanging from straps attached to the roof
of the ambulance.
We had left the shelled and bombed ruins of the town buildings and the seminary school which had been my hospital and quickly drove out of town heading south. We had been gone from the town about ten minutes when machine gun fire from close range hit the ambulance I was in along with my father sitting next to the back door of the patient compartment. The bullets pierced the thin sides of the ambulance between where my body was and the top of the roof, missing me by just a few inches. I had heard the sound of the burp gun but didn’t see the holes until some time later when we halted for a while and my father showed them to me and to the others in the ambu lance. Then I realized that for a second time in just a few days time, I had narrowly escaped death.
By the time ambulances further back in the convoy had reached the point where the above vehicle had been attacked, the enemy threat had been eliminated. Others who were evacuated have not mentioned being fired on as they were moved south.
One of the airborne soldiers being moved back, with multiple wounds, was ILt. Robert P. O’Connell who remembered the compassion of the ambulance drivers who assisted in handling the litters. He wrote:
We were relieved by the 4th Armored Division. In their wake were streams of ambulances. For the most part, the drivers were negro soldiers and I was greatly moved and have never forgotten the compassion of these men in helping us. Many of our 101st men were in poor shape from their wounds. I remember how these black soldiers picked us up and carried us with words of encouragement, ‘You’re going to be all right now—I’ll take care of you men,’ etc. It made me feel strong just to be around them.
Battered Bastards of Bastogne Page 45
