Sometime around daybreak after the prisoner was taken and confirmed the information we had received they were about to attack when the artillery hit them and ‘scattered them like leaves’.
I am convinced if that attack had taken place, our battalion and possibly the 3rd Battalion on our right would have been ground to pieces.174
The Bois Jacques Shelling
1st/Sgt. Carwood Lipton of “E” Company describes the terrific shelling inflicted on his unit on January 3 when it was part of a large-scale attack through the Bois Jacques woods:
After clearing the woods and holding them the night of the 2nd, we returned to our old defensive line in the wooded area southeast of Foy. Our positions there had been occupied by another unit while we were in the attack. When we got back we saw that the Germans had zeroed artillery in on them. There were a number of shell holes and branches from tree bursts. Tree bursts in wooded areas are especially dangerous as the only protection against them is overhead cover. We had covers of logs and dirt over our foxholes. We could see that the German fire had been from heavy caliber guns so everyone dropped his equipment and began working in strengthening his foxhole cover. I grabbed an axe and ran over to some smaller trees about fifty yards from my foxhole to cut more logs to put over it.
I had no sooner gotten there when I heard the German guns open fire in the distance. There wasn’t time to get back to my foxhole, but I saw a small open foxhole that someone had started to dig and then abandoned and I jumped into it. Everyone else was also jumping into whatever cover they could find.
The foxhole that I had jumped into was so shallow that when I crouched down as low as I could into it, my head, from about my nose up, was above the ground, so I saw the shells hitting into the trees and into the ground. The sound was deafening and the ground was rocking and pitching like an earthquake but, for some reason, I didn’t feel afraid or even nervous.
After several long minutes the shelling stopped and I came out of the foxhole. The area was a shambles and men were yelling that they were hit. I ran back to my foxhole for my rifle and heard someone yelling from a foxhole close by that had been caved in by a round that had hit into the base of a tree right by it and had knocked the tree down across it. My recollection is that the man in the foxhole was William ‘Shep’ Howell.
Although other men were yelling, ‘Shep’ was the closest and I started trying to dig him out. The tree across the foxhole blocked my way and I put my shoulder to it to move it although it was a whole tree and it was at least 16 inches in diameter. Of course I couldn’t budge it, but with the help of some other men who were unhurt we dug him out around it. He wasn’t hurt either.
Then I heard the German guns open up again and jumped into my own foxhole. This was something that both sides did. After a first barrage, there would be a pause to let the rescue efforts on the wounded begin and then a second barrage would be sent in to get the rescuers.
After several more minutes the second shelling ended and I came out of my foxhole, still unhurt. As I was trying to see what our situation was, expecting that there would be a ground attack into our position after the shelling, I heard Lt. Dilke. I can still hear him with that deep voice of his. He was about 25 yards away, without his helmet or a weapon.
‘Sergeant Lipton!’ he yelled at me. ‘You get things organized here and I’ll go for help.’ And with that, he left.
I started rounding up the men who hadn’t been hit, some close to breaking and some amazingly calm, to help the wounded men and to organize against the German attack that I felt sure was coming. Several men had been killed and many badly wounded. One of my closest friends, platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere, had a serious leg wound and when I walked over to him he looked up at me and said, ‘Lip, they got ol’ Guarnere this time!’ It was the end of the war for him as he lost the leg. I put Sgt. Malarkey in charge as platoon sergeant. Little Cpl. Hanson was one of the calmest. He came to me and said that he had his squad and its light machine gun in position in case there was an attack.
Squad sergeant Joe Toye had been hit in the wrist by a bomb fragment from an enemy raid on January 2. He had been evacuated back to the aid station in Bastogne where he was treated and spent the night. Toye has this recollection of his return to the unit:
On the morning of January 3rd, I returned to Captain Dick Winters. At this time, Dick was the battalion exec. Captain Winters told me where I could find Company ‘E’ They had been ordered to clean out the pockets of Germans on the front of our lines. I joined them and took over my job as squad leader in the 2nd Platoon.
Captain Dick Winters remembered when Sgt Joe Toye had been hit and sent to the Bastogne aid station. This is his recollection of Toye returning to his unit:
While I was at the battalion CP, I looked out across the field to our left flank and saw Joe walking back from Bastogne, up the road and across the field, his arm in a sling, heading back to the front line. I walked out to meet him and asked, ‘Where are you doing? You don’t have to go back to the line.’ Joe answered, ‘I want to go back with the fellows.’ Joe and Bill Guarnere got caught in an artillery barrage and both men lost a leg.
Sgt. Joe Toye continued his story describing how he was caught in an exposed position and was hit. Platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere had come to his aid and he in turn was hit.
Late afternoon on January 3rd, we were ordered back to our original positions. It was just getting dark as we took up our position. The Germans opened up on us with their artillery. Since I was a squad sergeant, I had to position my men. That’s why I was caught standing up. They always said if you can hear the shells, you’ll be okay. I did not hear the shell that put my lights out. The last thing I remember was asking if someone could drag me into a hole. Platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere tried to get to me, but did not make it. He lost his leg trying—I lost my leg, was wounded in the stomach, chest and both arms. That was the end of the war for me.
Bill Guarnere risked his own life to save me from being hit with more shrapnel. Bill never made it to me, but he tried and it cost him.
Also injured in the same shelling was Pvt. Lester A. Hashey who recalled being near S/Sgt. Bill Guarnere. His platoon sergeant didn’t realize his wound would be so serious it would result in an amputation.
Sgt. Bill Guarnere lost a leg saying ‘that is a million dollar wound!’ We took the worst shelling outside of Foy that I ever experienced. I got hit from a tree burst. The wound was in the right shoulder and penetrated my lung. The medic told me to go to the rear and I would find the battalion aid station. With jacket cut off, I walked through the snow. A jeep came by loaded with wounded. I hung on to the rear tire with my good arm and through the hills and woods we went.
The Attack on Bois Jacques
The attack on “Jack’s Woods” was another of the military moves that a private first class doesn’t understand nor is the strategy explained to him before the attack unfolds. This is PFC. John Trowbridge’s story:
The next day, around noon, on the 3rd of January, the long awaited attack began as the 3rd Battalion crossed the tracks and immediately came under fire.
We waited and waited, but our lieutenant never came, so we decided it was high time to get out.
We had gotten about 75 yards toward the rear, in the clearing at the edge of the woods, when shells began exploding all around us. As we ducked into the woods, I saw a shallow slit trench and made a dive for it. I landed in the trench with my back toward the clearing and was immediately hit with what seemed like ten pounds of searing hot shrapnel, all along my exposed left side, from head to foot Most larger pieces entered my chest cavity. I heard Thornton yell ‘Medic!’ then saw him running off into the woods. I thought at the time, ‘How heroic of him!’ I learned later that he had taken a bad hit. Perhaps from the same burst. Rasmussen and Webb were unhurt.
I knew my war was over and I suspected that my life was too, in just a matter of time. The enemy had counterattacked on the 2nd Battalion’s unprotected right flank, render
ing our position untenable.
I asked Webb to give me a shot of morphine and advised him and Rasmussen to get the hell out, or they’d get it too.
In the meantime, Rasmussen had gotten the gun set up and began to fire on the enemy formation of platoon strength, in the direction we had been headed, at a distance of about five hundred yards.
He sent them scurrying back to cover when the gun jammed. He kept working the bolt, but to no avail.
My back was towards the clearing and I couldn’t move, but I knew that 60 yards across the clearing was another grove of trees that bordered the tracks and ran in a northeasterly direction.
Since I couldn’t look in the direction of the clearing, I don’t know exactly what happened, but two vehicles from an armored unit had been knocked out and were burning. Even with the sounds of battle, the exploding ammo had its own particular sound.
A captain and an enlisted man from the knocked out vehicles ran to our position. I don’t know how many men the captain lost in those vehicles, but he seemed berserk when he joined us. At the same time, Rasmussen was telling me to hang on while he and Webb went for help. Until the captain found out that the gun wouldn’t fire, then he too left, with little concern for me, the fallen warrior.
Shortly after that, four troopers came from across the bridge and stopped forty yards from where I was lying. One of them spotted me, raised his M1, aimed and fired point blank at my face. I had so many wounds already, I don’t know whether that bullet hit me or not. The four of them made their way off through the woods.
Five minutes later, a jeep came roaring up to the edge of the woods, not ten feet from my feet; the driver jumped out and ran hell bent into the woods. Then I became aware that the enemy was moving into the adjoining woods just sixty yards behind me.
I felt I had seen it all and wasn’t too surprised when I heard the crunch of foot steps in the snow and, through my one good eye, saw a Kraut looking down the barrel of his machine pistol, pointed at me, less than nine feet away. Yet I wasn’t prepared, not knowing that there were two of them, to hear the jeep crank up, the gunmen jump in and speed away.
In the meantime, Rasmussen and Webb had reported my position to an evacuation team and sent them in my direction. The afternoon was rapidly fading away when they found me.
I could never adequately express my gratitude to the men of that team, but I have spent most of my days since then, thanking God. I thank Him, too, for permitting me to serve my country among the finest, bravest and most caring men one could ever know.
Support Units
Cpl. Glen A. Derber was a day late getting back from his pass to Paris and the troops had already departed when he got back to the 501st regimental area. His most memorable actions occurred after the New Year. He wrote:
My most memorable actions occurred on January 3rd. It started the night before actually, with the following events: an LMG crew of four men was normally attached to an infantry company as it was SOP to stand our own guard duty. This meant two hours on duty and six off, but we only held to that schedule through the hours of darkness. It was my assistant gunner’s turn for his two-hour shift starting at midnight and he had relieved me. I told him to wake me if he got sleepy. Some unusual noise startled me about 0100 hours and I was immediately wide awake. The first thing I learned was that my assistant gunner had dozed off—great! Then the noise of a motorized vehicle, probably a half-track about 200 yards off to my right, was heard. We were deployed along the edge of a woods with a half mile of open ground in front of us. There was some shooting and the half-track retreated toward the German lines. I figured it was a probe and expected an attack the next morning.
The sounds of vehicular movement which Cpl. Glen Derber heard was the commotion created by enemy soldiers moving about behind the 2nd Battalion front lines and capturing one of the armored half-track vehicles as noted in an S-2 report for the 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment.175
At 0230 this morning, an enemy patrol dressed in American uniforms, driving an American jeep, penetrated our lines a distance of 300 yards; came upon a half-track, killed the driver; took the half-track and shot their way back through our lines. This entire action took place at approximately 599600. (The numbers pertain to the map coordinates.)
While the battalion machine gun teams were assigned to the various line companies along their perimeters, the 81mm mortar tubes were nearer to the battalion headquarters. On the 2nd of January the mortar platoon had moved to another location and it was felt a patrol out to the front was in order to see what the enemy was up to out in that direction. So, while the enemy had moved around furtively behind the 2nd Battalion lines and captured the half-track and raced back to their own positions, Sgt. Ahzez Karim and his section leader were scouting out enemy positions. Karim related:
Late one day, Lt. Alton Phipps wanted me to go with him past our front lines, up the valley, as close to the woods where the Germans were thought to be planning an armored attack. We were slowly moving up the hill and a few hundred yards from the woods. I stopped and said, ‘Lt Phipps, if we keep going any farther, we’ll walk into a German outpost.’ Phipps said ‘Yes, I think you’re right’ So we stayed there for about two hours, listening for sounds of tanks and vehicles. Toward the end of the second hour, we heard a lot of low rumbling of tank tracks. Lt. Phipps said, ‘That’s what we came for. Sounds like they are grouping for an attack—let’s get back!’
It was dark now but light enough to follow the way back. Now it was dangerous going down and up the hill into our own lines. The guys at the outposts knew we were coming back. When we spotted them, we stayed down until we used the password. We now felt safe, moved up to the top of the hill toward our mortar positions. Two medics were carrying one of our guys. He had been hit by machine gun fire. They had a fire fight down the hill to the left of us. He was in tremendous pain. He asked a couple guys who were walking along with him to shoot him. He kept begging his buddies, ‘Please shoot me!’
Anticipating an enemy attack through the 2nd Battalion positions, the Mortar Platoon officer, 1Lt. Alton Phipps, called all of his non-coms to a meeting. Sgt. Ahzez Karim relates what plans were made:
The next morning Lt. Phipps called all of us sergeants to a meeting. S-2 had made some prisoners talk and verified that a tank and infantry attack was coming from the woods and up the valley. So we were to move all our 81mm mortars to the left a few hundred yards, directly across the woods. All the companies were to move and get set for the attack. Phipps told us to have all the men dig our foxholes deep enough so if the German tanks overran us we were to keep all of our weapons at the bottom of our foxholes and to get all the hand grenades and ammo into our holes. Phipps said the plan was if the tanks overran our positions, we were to stop the infantry. We picked up our 81’s, moved and started digging in at our new positions. Most of us dug 3 to 4 foot deep when all hell broke loose. Grogan, Baker and myself were standing in number 1 gun pit, a 4 x 4 we had dug. I was talking when Grogan grabbed me by the jacket and pulled me down with him. A German mortar shell hit about a foot or two from the edge of our gun pit. We looked at each other, asked if everyone was okay. We laughed. We looked so pale, white as ghosts. The shell had exploded as my head was below the level of the ground. There was a piece of steel about two inches long and one eighth-inch in diameter, very jagged looking—it had penetrated my combat jacket collar and rubbed against my neck. That was close! I give Grogan credit for quick thinking. That action saved my life.
In a few minutes we had all four 81’s firing. We zeroed in on the incoming attack. The Germans seemed to have our number, too. They were hitting up and down our lines with 88’s, 120mm mortars and some direct attacks from German tanks. I called for more ammo. We had dug shallow holes around our gun pits to store 81mm shells. One soldier, Pvt. Jose Jimenez, did more to brave the incoming hell and deliver ammo to my 81. Pvt. Peyton Griffin and John Grogan, gunners of guns #1 and #2, kept their cool and adjusted according to my commands that came from the
outpost. Right in the middle of a command, the line from the guns to the outpost went dead. Lt. Phipps ordered one of the staff sergeants to send someone out to repair the line. The sergeant said to Phipps, ‘I can’t—it’s suicide to send someone toward the outpost!’ Phipps turned to me and said, ‘Karim, get the line repaired!’ I called to Pvt. George Root to follow the line and fix the break. Root told me to do it myself. I picked up my M1 and looked down the barrel, aimed it at his chest and said, ‘Get the hell out there and fix that line!’ There was a stand-off for two or three seconds, then Root put his two hands on top of the hole and hopped out, went down the hill, line in hand. I thought if he didn’t make it back I would have to send someone else down the line. The four 81’s were blind without contact with the outpost. We had been firing area targets into the coming German attack. Each gun would put nine rounds in the air before the first round hit the ground. In any event, we put a lot of kill power in the air. One salvo could cover a couple football fields. If anyone, a German, was standing, walking or running, chances are he would be hit. Then, suddenly, the phone came to life. A few minutes later here comes George Root into his foxhole swearing. I thought that was one of the bravest actions of the battle.
Just after Root made it back, the battle reached its peak. Some Sherman tanks moved up alongside of our gun pits and started firing. A captain was standing in one of the turrets of a tank next to our holes directing fire. The tank fired a few rounds but I thought they were staying in one place too long. I hollered at the captain, ‘Get that tank out of here! You’re going to get hit!’ As I tried to get his attention, suddenly, the sound of an 88 hitting the side of the turret was heard. It must have hit the very edge or side of the turret. You could hear it when it made contact, then flipped end over end as it went across the sky. The captain and crew of that tank were lucky. They backed up, went about a hundred yards to our right and started firing again. I guess it was payback time for tankers. They took it from the Germans a few days before. They were giving a good account of themselves. The 10th Armored Division and the 705th Tank Destroyer Battalion helped back us up.
Battered Bastards of Bastogne Page 52
