by Ian Gardner
Up on the MLR ammunition became more plentiful and the cooks from the front-line units were now able to produce a variety of food. The 3rd Bn catering staff, S/Sgt Tony Zeoli and Pvt Bob Penner (ex I Co), were working from a field kitchen close to the battalion CP, providing regular hot meals for the men. Finally MajGen Maxwell Taylor reached Bastogne and took command of the division. Before leaving Neufchâteau, he offered a lift to several journalists, including Cornelius Ryan and Mary Monks.
Monks (who married Ernest Hemingway in 1946) was known as Mary Welsh when she worked for The Daily Express. Although Ryan refused due to the high risks, Mary threw caution to the wind and became the first reporter to interview Anthony McAuliffe. Subsequently Tony (who was replaced by William Gillmore) did a brief publicity tour before being posted to the 103rd ID in Alsace Lorraine (McAuliffe finally left Bastogne on January 9). Two days before McAuliffe’s departure, leaving behind a forward section at the barracks, Gen Taylor relocated his Divisional Headquarters 2 miles southwest of the town, split between Ile-le Pré and Ile-la Hesse. Each HQ was completely self-sufficient and capable of independent function should either be affected by enemy action.
After going AWOL and being sent back to Mourmelon on Christmas Eve, Bob Rommel discovered that the battalion had already departed for Bastogne. “For obvious reasons we had to wait until after Christmas before being transported to Belgium with reinforcements. It was standing room only in the trucks and the temperature was off the scale. At one point, due to the treacherous conditions, our driver skidded and the back of the truck hit the side of a house, putting a huge crack in the front wall. The owner appeared and angrily shouted and shook his fist in the air as we drove away. That first evening on the MLR, despite the freezing cold, I got so snug and warm in my foxhole that I even took my boots off and fell into a deep sleep – although this never happened again.”
It had been quiet for a few days, but despite the general feeling of exhaustion, Alex Andros still had his men “stand to” before first light. “One morning during this lull as it was getting light we noticed the front of an enemy tank protruding from behind a house on the edge of Foy. We still had the 37mm antitank gun located with us, so I instructed the crew to fire one shot, but it fell short by about 50 yards. The crew readjusted and fired another two or three rounds which bounced off the tank’s glacis plate straight up into the air. Moments later the tank moved forward, traversing its turret, and fired several rounds of AP toward our position before backing away. We all dove for cover into our foxholes as the shells cut straight through our positions and continued on into the woods behind us.”
The Dominique family, who had migrated west from Recogne, decided to head back and check on their livestock. Roger Dominique recalls:
Making our way through the Fazone Woods, we passed a number of enemy positions. When we arrived at our farm a German soldier was on guard next to the barn. The sentry let us enter the house, where we found the roof riddled with holes but the building still habitable. Miraculously, the cows and horses were still alive so we took them to a nearby water point that wasn’t frozen solid. My mom went ahead with one of the other horses and managed to upset a squad of Germans by inadvertently walking through their “roadblock” at the crossroads near d’Hoffschmidt Château. Mom was so busy looking around at the damage to the village that she failed to notice a string of daisy mines scattered across the road! We had about 20– 30 German troops in Recogne and one of these was an NCO who constantly ordered my mother to make hot meals for his men. We called him “Prima,” because he always repeated the word to express his satisfaction regarding the “forced labor” we were providing.
The improving weather conditions allowed the Air Force to fly several missions during the day against Noville, Foy, and Recogne. Once again the battalion placed orange marker panels along the edge of the MLR to keep the Allied aircraft north of the Bois Champay. Earlier, taking full advantage of the clear skies, Bastogne was bombed and strafed for the eighth time by the Luftwaffe. Shortly after the attack, it was announced by Patton’s Third Army that respirators were to be issued due to growing fears that the Germans were contemplating the use of chemical weapons. The ground troops were now being supported by dozens of newly arrived heavy guns from Third Army that also provided much-needed additional firepower for their own 4th Armored Division.
At 0710hrs on December 30, a number of enemy planes bombed the area across the road from the regimental CP at Luzery injuring several people, including Clarence Hester. Later that night, the Luftwaffe flew one of their most concentrated missions against Bastogne, and as a result many of the last remaining civilians were evacuated.
It was business as usual for Alex Andros and 3 Ptn H Co, although New Year’s Eve would be a day he would always remember. “A squadron of P-47 Thunderbolt ground-attack aircraft flew in low overhead. It was like watching a movie as they dropped a couple of bombs and strafed Foy before heading west toward Noville, hitting several enemy tanks along the way.” Andros had previously noted a re-entrant southwest of Vaux, where the Germans had positioned a number of their antiaircraft guns. “Needless to say, the draw took a bit of a hammering during the raid and it looked to us like one of the planes was hit by ground fire from this area as it banked away, leaving a long trail of smoke. At the same time we watched one of the German tanks painted in white winter camouflage moving perpendicular to our lines at about 700 yards.”
The action performed by the Panzer was a standard protective drill as its commander desperately tried to maneuver his chassis broadside toward the oncoming threat. The Thunderbolts were based at Mourmelon and came from the 513th Fighter Squadron, 406th Fighter Group. The pilot of the P-47 hit by ground fire may well have been 1st Lt Harry Krig, who recalls the events before and after the attack:
We had orders to neutralize a German tank convoy on the road to Bastogne. Our first wave attacked and, as expected, received heavy fire from the flak guns. As part of the second wave we were advised because of the antiaircraft fire to begin our attack runs from behind a nearby hill. I came in so low that my propeller blade hit the tops of the trees. Before launching my rockets, I had to gain altitude and then dive back down to get a decent firing position. Aiming for this one particular “white” tank, I pulled up into a turn to avoid flying through the explosion. At this point the engine of my plane was hit by 20mm cannon fire. Turning toward Bastogne I was alarmed to see a large hole in my left wing and a belt of ammunition dangling from it. As I began to climb the engine burst into flames and, before cutting out, caused the cockpit to fill with dark acrid smoke. We knew that the 101st were holding the perimeter below and had orders when hit, to jump, if possible, within their main line of defense.
The standard operating procedure was to open the canopy at the lowest possible speed and jump toward the trailing edge of the wing. Rapidly losing altitude, the plane was accelerating, and as I stood up the wind pressure threw me back against the cockpit. Clambering out, I managed to slide a short distance along the fuselage but as I leapt off, my left leg smashed into the leading edge of the tail plane. Tumbling in freefall, I managed to deploy my parachute with only seconds to spare before landing heavily in the 12in-deep snow [the plane crashed 1 mile southwest of the MLR alongside the N30 near Luzery]. While unbuckling my ’chute, I noticed my left leg seemed paralyzed and numb. It was late morning when I heard voices but couldn’t quite make out what language they were speaking and decided to cover myself with the white canopy.
Krig had in fact come down on the edge of Foy, adjacent to the “Eastern Eye” and the 3rd Bn 81mm OP.
“Not long after landing I noticed a medic waving to me from the edge of the woods about 250 yards away,” Krig continues. “I couldn’t stay in the field and began to drag myself under cover of the parachute toward the friendly tree line. After what seemed like an eternity my strength ran out; the medic and another trooper ran across, grabbed underneath my arms, and dragged me into the woods. After being covered with a blanket
they placed me in a log-covered foxhole as protection from incoming enemy mortar fire. After being given a shot of morphine I was told by the medics that I would have to wait for nightfall before it would be safe for evacuation.”
Harry was handed a rifle and told to point it toward the direction he had just come from. 3 Ptn G Co were dug in nearby, and just before dark Bob Izumi went over to see if there was anything he could do. “We got the pilot onto a stretcher and carried him back to a waiting jeep,” recalls Bob. From here Krig was taken to the seminary. He describes his arrival there:
One side of the building had been hit by a shell and was covered by a tarpaulin. The wounded – both military and civilian – were lying in rows on stretchers. Behind a screen at one end of the hospital was a brightly lit operating theater. As the medic who had been treating me said goodbye I handed him my pistol as a token of appreciation. The woman on the stretcher next to me died during the night and her place was taken by a young soldier fresh out of theater. Morphine seemed to be plentiful, and after being dosed up I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
The next day, New Year’s Eve, was spent in a corner out of the way waiting to be evacuated, feasting on crackers and cheese. That night I was loaded into an ambulance that stopped constantly for tank and truck convoys which had the right of way.
At dawn on New Year’s Day, Krig arrived at the recently established divisional clearing station in a school at Cobreville situated halfway along the main road to Neufchâteau. He continues his account:
Because my leg was badly swollen, it was splinted, and I was issued a pair of crutches in readiness for a medevac flight to the UK. Not wanting to leave my squadron, my buddies, or the war, I hitchhiked about half a mile down the road to a makeshift airfield. After chatting to a pilot of a spotter plane, he agreed to fly me to Mourmelon in exchange for two bottles of Scotch whiskey stored at the base in my footlocker.
Returning to the hospital, I told the administrator of my plans and strangely he didn’t seem to object. The following morning I returned to the airfield, and as we were preparing to leave, nine ME109s raced in low overhead and began strafing a row of C-47s. Leaving me struggling like an idiot, everyone ran toward a sandbagged antiaircraft battery. I abandoned my crutches and crawled toward the emplacement. After three runs the ME109s departed, leaving the L-4 intact and inflicting only minor damage to the transport planes. My pilot, who was a sergeant, took off and flew all the way to Mourmelon at treetop height. After paying the agreed fare I made my way to the squadron operations tent, where the guys were shocked and amazed to see me alive. Our surgeon, Doc Neel, took me to a hospital in Metz where my leg was finally placed in a plaster cast. After a brief spell at a Forward Air Control Center, I came back to Mourmelon to have my cast removed before returning to operational flying with the squadron.
Up on the MLR, Harold Stedman had not taken his boots off for a week. “We had a small fire going in our CP and I was able to warm my feet, which were completely numb, over the hot coals. Within a few minutes, the heat twisted my boots into a ‘U’ shape and burned the soles of my feet. Luckily one of the boys managed to get another pair of boots from a dead colleague who had no further use for them.” Meanwhile, from his four-man dugout on the 81mm mortar line, Bob Dunning was sitting with Herb Spence’s frozen feet firmly tucked into his armpits. Pfc Carlos DeBlasio was cooking a small can of cheese and had forgotten to puncture the lid. A few minutes later the tin exploded with a loud bang, showering the three men with its scalding contents. Dunning and the others broke into fits of laugher as they reflected on the ridiculous situation they now found themselves in. At 1 minute past midnight, both sides welcomed in the New Year with several barrages of artillery and mortar fire. However, in Berlin, Hitler had already begun to make plans for a new offensive in Alsace Lorraine.
The “Relief Corridor” into Bastogne had been considerably widened, taking the pressure off the MLR. German activity along the front had slowed down to a point that it was almost nonexistent. Manny Barrios was ordered to mount a three-man patrol to bring back a prisoner from 26.Volksgrenadier-Division, who were still holding the area around Foy and Recogne. Information from POWs and captured documents enabled the artillery to disorganize any possible enemy troop concentrations or potential attacks. Manny recalls the details of the search:
The following night we moved out through the MLR and down into Foy without any problem. After 2 or 3 hours of searching, we spotted something glowing in the distance. Quietly we approached and watched two German soldiers warming their hands over a small field stove. The man closest to the cooker had a rifle lying on the snow next to him. Another rifle was resting against the stump of a tree that we figured belonged to the other guy.
We must have spent an hour or so trying to decide how to get at least one of them out alive without making too much noise. Finally it was decided that I would circle around to the rear while the others jumped the two Volksgrenadiers from the front. Everything went as planned until the Kraut who’d left his rifle against the stump suddenly raised his hand and said something. His buddy picked up the weapon that was on the ground, turned, and pointed it directly at me. Thankfully the gun malfunctioned but by that time I was close enough to smash the soldier across the face with the butt of my rifle. My two colleagues subdued the other guy and we were able to restrain and gag them both. Before retracing our steps back to the MLR, I picked up and turned off the stove before sliding it into the cargo pocket of my trousers. Over the next few weeks the Kraut cooker came in plenty useful and 70 years later it still works.
On New Year’s Day 1945, while drawing water from the well in Foy, several unidentified American troops had been observed by members of H Co. Ed Shames and the regimental patrols platoon were alerted and moved west from their bivouac area in the Bois Jacques to the 3rd Bn MLR. Here the men split into their respective mission groups and waited for nightfall. As Ed Shames’ patrol was tasked with observing the well, he moved forward to the “Eastern Eye” of the Bois Champay.
Stepping out in single file, Shames led his men under cover of darkness to the edge of Foy. Using foliage for cover, Ed pushed forward through a small orchard and positioned his patrol along a slope overlooking the well. “We lay there for several hours trying to keep warm but nothing was happening. I remember feeling peckish and struggled with frozen fingers to open a tin of corn pork loaf with apple flakes.” Just as Shames was about to withdraw, a figure appeared and approached the well. Ed quietly moved forward with “Skinny” Sisk, who made it clear that he would cut the man’s throat if he uttered a single word or sound. Ed noted that the individual was wearing an American uniform, but the real surprise came when they got him back to the MLR. “I was shocked to hear the prisoner conversing with me like any other dogface American soldier.”
Under duress, before Shames sent the prisoner back to Regiment, the soldier revealed that he belonged to an eight-man commando team now working from the basement of the Koeune house. It is entirely possible that the Germans were part of Operation Greif (“Griffin”) set up by legendary SS-Obersturmbannführer Otto Skorzeny to infiltrate and create chaos behind enemy lines. In a desperate attempt to plea bargain, the prisoner revealed the names of his colleagues and that they had all lived in the States before the war. “Orders came back for us to stake out the house over the next two nights,” recalls Ed. “The planning was left to me and I selected the same five guys who had accompanied me the previous evening. You would have imagined, knowing their colleague had disappeared, that the men working from the basement might have suspected they had been compromised. But bizarrely they remained in situ, maybe because the cellar provided a warm and therefore more comfortable place to stay. On the second night it got so cold that I had to inject my leg with morphine to numb the pain from the frozen ground. We had seen enough to know that there was no immediate security around the building so I gave the order to move in.”
Walking along the side of the house with Sisk and Stein, Ed arrived at t
he sunken entrance to the cellar and tapped lightly on the heavy wooden door. It is interesting to note that by this stage in the campaign enemy forces fighting around the pocket had been scaled down by around 50 percent, which may explain why Shames and his team were able to access the Koeune house without challenge.
Speaking just above a whisper, Stein uttered a few words in German, and moments later a man appeared in the doorway. Shames continues: “Initially the Kraut thought we were another German patrol before I told him in English that they were surrounded and we knew exactly who they were. The Feldwebel [corporal] was informed that if he or any of his men didn’t come quietly then we would cut their throats. We counted and disarmed the soldiers as they emerged from the cellar and ordered them to keep their mouths tightly shut before returning to the MLR.”
