by Ian Gardner
Avoiding the logging tracks, H Co pushed ahead through the woods toward Cobru, taking several casualties on the way due to friendly artillery fire. The ground at the edge of the Fazone slopes away in a long undulating curve toward the German-held villages of Vaux (on the left) and Cobru (on the right). Beyond the two hamlets on the high ground in the distance was the final prize – Noville. Even today, the dense woodland at the edge of the forest has a dark, sinister feel, with one or two original foxholes from January 9 still in existence. The oppressive atmosphere along the edge of the tree line is sobering and strangely uncomfortable.
Soon after leaving the relative “safety” of the Fazone, Alex Andros received orders to pull back:
As we turned to leave three or four shells slammed in and everyone hit the ground. Pfc Anthony Busone was lying next to me as I struggled back to my feet, “Come on, Tony, let’s go!” I shouted, but he didn’t move. After rolling Busone over we noticed a tiny hole where a piece of shrapnel had entered his temple, killing him instantly. After Busone lost his life we withdrew back along the road toward Foy. The path was so icy that the tracks of the tanks (which were accompanying us) were unable to grip the surface, causing them to slip and slide uncontrollably. We all wondered what we were doing and if there was even a strategy to our actions. I guess they were trying to coordinate us with the armor but at that time it was so chaotic it seemed almost futile.
Johnny Gibson was still behind the main body and recalls:
There was more shelling up ahead, and while crossing an open clearing I came across a soldier sitting in the snow with his leg missing below the knee… The man’s foot and part of his leg were still contained within his boot, which was lying on the ground no more than 20ft away. Although the casualty was pale and suffering from traumatic shock, he was still able to support what was left of his leg with both hands. Taking out a large compression bandage and some sulfa powder [sulfanilamide], I bent down to dress the mangled stump but the man refused treatment. Instead he requested a cigarette, so I retrieved one from his pocket, lit it, and placed it between his lips. Again the trooper refused treatment but asked me if I would be kind enough to collect his severed leg. At that moment a patrol came by and I spotted a couple of medics and handed the guy over to them before leaving to catch up with the battalion.
Trudging away, I turned around to see the casualty struggling physically with the medics who were desperately trying to treat his injury. Moving deeper into the forest the shelling seemed to intensify and shrapnel began to pick off our men, one by one.
Following dozens of footprints through the woods, Gibson came across two soldiers from I Co face down in the snow and stopped to check. Both were dead.
It was just about to get dark when John rejoined the main force and was told to dig in by Col Charlie Chase. Before doing so Gibson went over to see Capt Anderson to inform him about the two casualties. Much to Gibson’s surprise, “Andy” broke down in tears. Although the soldiers were replacements, the captain seemed overwhelmed by their loss and the real prospect that his cherished company was now facing total annihilation. Shortly afterwards Anderson was transferred to the battalion staff and replaced Blaine Pothier as XO.
Earlier, around 1300hrs, the battalion had attacked and neutralized four German outposts, taking a number of prisoners. “As we were moving forward, I happened to notice a badly wounded German soldier on the ground waving at me,” recalls Cpl Jim Melhus (MG Ptn). “I’ll never forget this kid, who was very young and had bright red hair. The lad pleaded with us to help, but as we were about to move him to the aid station my section leader, S/Sgt August Saperito, came by and ordered us to keep moving.” Two hours later, unable to make contact with the 502nd, Jim Morton and Sgt Wester went on a patrol to the western edge of the forest and found the battalion’s left flank completely exposed (at the time the 502nd were actually further west, attacking enemy positions in the Acins woods).
Col Patch halted the advance on the northeastern edge of Fazone and ordered the battalion to dig in. Cpl Bobbie Rommel was instructed to take a couple of machine-gun teams and move forward to establish a firebase on the edge of the tree line overlooking Cobru. “Moving through the dense woodland with Cpl Fred Sneesby,” Rommel recalls, “I bumped into my buddy Harold Stedman, who I’d known since high school in Modesto, California. Harold was standing in the snow with a 60mm mortar barrel slung over his shoulder, wearing an enormous Kraut greatcoat that went clear down to the ground. I mean, he looked so ridiculous that I had to laugh.” Harold could not understand what Rommel found so funny: “Bob lived right around the corner from me back in the States and was one hell of a great guy who never asked anybody to do anything that he wouldn’t do himself.”
Still laughing, Bobbie told Harold that he’d see him later, shook hands, and carried on his way to the edge of the wood where the machine gunners hunkered down to form a defensive line. “As we were digging in, a Sherman tank came up behind us, which we knew would get someone’s attention,” recalls Bob. “Predictably the artillery came in and the shells burst into the trees, covering us with snow. After digging ourselves out, a piece of shrapnel from another burst whizzed past, narrowly missing my knee. During the next barrage I wasn’t so lucky and another tree burst, about 6ft above our heads, and sent a chunk of shrapnel through my overshoes and boots, penetrating deep into the arch of my left foot. The pain was excruciating, and it felt like I had been struck with a baseball bat.”
A 1in piece of white-hot metal shattered the bones in Rommel’s big toe before lodging underneath his foot. “Guys were getting hit all around and hollering for medical attention,” remembers Rommel. Incredibly, thinking they were going to be fed, the German prisoners who had been captured earlier were standing around holding their mess tins. Some of the Germans inquired if they would be sent to New York. As a joke one of the paratroopers suggested Hollywood might be more appropriate, but surprisingly many of the prisoners did not seem to know where it was. Suddenly another barrage hit the treetops, scattering the prisoners in all directions. “I could only crawl, and as Fred Sneesby was such a little guy he struggled to support my weight,” continues Rommel. “Fred ordered a couple of the Krauts to help carry me to the aid post where I was loaded onto a jeep and taken to Bastogne.”
Barely 10 minutes after Bob Rommel was manhandled to the evacuation point, two enemy tanks broke through and came within spitting distance of Harold Stedman:
Between explosions we could hear German voices talking and laughing like they were on dope or some sort of drugs. Womack was beginning to lose it and asked me, what in God’s name were we gonna do? The only thing we could do was move away from the tanks. Running through the woods we got split up and the last thing I remember is diving or being blown into a crater. When I regained my senses several hours later, I was missing seven teeth and had a lump of shrapnel embedded in my shoulder. Thankfully the heavy German greatcoat I was wearing kept me from freezing. It was getting light as I tried to find my way back to our lines when I was jumped on by a sentry who was about to cut my throat, thinking I was a Kraut. Shortly afterwards I reported to the medics who promptly sent me off to the nearest hospital.
Previously, Barney Ryan and senior medic S/Sgt Harold Haycraft had just pulled a wounded soldier from his foxhole when they heard the sound of the first enemy tank approaching. Ryan remembers: “Swearing under my breath, I turned around to see a German Panther threshing up the snow practically looking right down our throats. Just as we dragged the wounded man away, the Panther put a round in exactly where we had just come from!”
Although still in reserve, 1st Bn had been moving up behind 3/506. Maj Bob Harwick recalls: “So far the advance for 1st Bn had been easy and we processed around 50 prisoners who had been sent back down the line. Then we came under the most intense shelling I have ever experienced. I didn’t hear the first shell – it was more like a pressure wave – but I felt something hit me in the stomach, immediately followed by a sharp tearing pain to my
side. Turning slowly to the right, I fell on my knees and face into the snow, then crawled a few feet to a small tree. As I rested my weight against the trunk, snow from the branches tumbled down onto my face.”
XO Knut Raudstein was wounded at the same time and shouted across to his boss to see if he was OK. “I tried to answer Raudstein but couldn’t get my breath and it was only then that I realized just how badly I’d been injured,” Harwick continues. “I think my runner then came over and said, ‘Don’t move sir; I’ve sent for an aid man.’ He then proceeded to cut open my clothing, and when I saw the mess in the center of my chest, I felt a rush of emotion, anger, frustration, and perhaps a little regret.” Maj Harwick quickly said a prayer for his daughter Bobbie, the same devotion that he’d repeated every night since being posted overseas. “Other than that I numbly lay there in the snow cursing softly at the pain, helplessly awaiting my fate. A medic arrived and gave me a shot of morphine closely followed by a doctor who proceeded to bandage my wounds. As the morphine began to take effect, I was placed on a stretcher and carried to an evacuation jeep.”
The ride through the woods along the logging tracks to the aid station was a gut-wrenching experience due to the deep ruts churned over by the 30-ton Shermans. Shells were exploding all around. One mortar landed so close to the jeep that Bob instinctively covered his face with both hands. Harwick was given a brief examination by Doctor “Shifty” Feiler at the forward regimental dressing station next to the main road at Luzery. “Doc Feiler sprinkled sulfa powder over my wounds, handed me some pills, and said, ‘For Evacuation.’” When Bob arrived in Bastogne he was greeted by regimental medical officer Maj Louis Kent, and Catholic chaplain John Maloney, who encouraged him to take Holy Communion. Shortly after Bob Harwick was evacuated, Maj Charles Shettle was temporarily re-assigned from 2/506 to take command of 1st Bn.
Back in the Fazone, as 3rd Bn were establishing their foxholes along the edge of the woods, Jim Morton decided to take Bahlau and Wester with him to check the nearby mortar platoon positions. Before they left, Morton made sure that any gaps between the rifle companies were covered by machine guns: “Satisfied that the line was secure, we returned to our ‘Company Headquarters’ located next to the battalion CP.” By that time it was getting dark and almost everyone except Morton, Bahlau, and Wester had dug in. Capt Joe Doughty was nearby and sharing his position with 1st Lt Frank Rowe. “I remember looking enviously on Doughty’s foxhole,” recalls Morton, “a real plush job lined with pine boughs and covered with heavy logs for overhead protection. Joe could have easily held off a German battalion from that position!” It would need to be, as over the next 18 hours of heavy fighting G Co suffered one KIA – Pvt Garland Cline – and 14 wounded, including sergeants Oscar Saxvik and Clair Mathiason.
It was then that Morton reached for his shovel, only to find a torn remnant of canvas, and informed Wester that they would now have to take turns with his. “To save time we decided to open a trench big enough to accommodate all three of us,” recalls Morton. “Around 1700hrs, I asked Bahlau to leave his shovel and take an overlay of the battalion MLR across to Pete Madden and the mortar platoon. Fred had only been gone a few minutes when the enemy tanks arrived and began to blast our positions.”
The shrieking crash of shells tore open the dense canopy, uprooting trees and anything else standing in the way. Shrapnel skipped through branches, buzzing everywhere as soldiers cowered, trying to dig deeper into the frozen earth. Between each barrage the plaintive calls for “medic” could be heard, growing more piteous as the fear of being overlooked in the growing darkness began to take hold. Between flares and the flashes of gunfire it was difficult for the senior NCOs to keep track of their men, let alone comprehend whether the enemy was advancing, retreating, or holding ground.
As Bahlau desperately tried to make his way back toward the HQ Co CP he passed Pfc Ray Calandrella hugging the snow, frantically stabbing away at the solid earth with his entrenching tool. As the barrage intensified Fred threw himself to the ground to take his chances alongside Calandrella.
Back at the CP the first round hit Wester and Morton plus three or four others. “We were all temporarily blinded by the blast and part of my lip was blown off,” recalls Morton. “I was still dazed when Gibson ran over to assist. It was a very brave thing to do because he knew the risks, especially after leaving the safety of his foxhole.” A large splinter of metal had penetrated Morton’s left leg, leaving a 6in gash in the ankle and a gaping comma-shaped exit wound. Another smaller fragment lodged next to the artery in his thigh. “A few minutes later, as John was applying a tourniquet, another shell exploded, hitting me again, seriously wounding Gibson, whose immediate first aid probably saved my life, as left unattended I would have without doubt bled to death.”
“After hearing the calls for a medic,” recalls Gibson, “I made my way through the chaos to find Morton face down in his foxhole. Straddling his body, I cut away the captain’s clothing to gain access to his wounds. As I was rendering medical assistance more shells began to erupt around us – all of which I chose to ignore. One round struck a few yards away, killing my friend and fellow medic T/5 Robert Evans [who was attached to I Co]. Another shell exploded directly overhead, perforating my back with white-hot shrapnel.”
As Gibson collapsed, another razor-sharp piece of steel penetrated his right lung and diaphragm. Upon exhalation Gibson could now hear the oxygenated bubbles emanating from the thoracic cavity and felt a trickle of warm blood running down his spine. Morton continues: “One of the fragments that hit Gibson lodged in my leg after passing through his body, tearing a hole in my thigh about the size of a teacup. Gibson’s weight pinned me to the ground and another medic, Pfc Andy Sosnak, pulled his colleague to one side and continued to patch me up.”
After dealing with Morton, Sosnak turned his full attention to Gibson and placed a wide strip of surgical tape over his friend’s back to seal the wounds. Before being evacuated, Morton made sure Fred Bahlau received his personal sheepskin vest and original-issue M1 Thompson submachine gun, complete with 50-round drum magazine, mumbling that he would no longer be in need of them. Both Morton and Gibson were placed on stretchers and evacuated by jeep to Luzery along with several others, including 2nd Lt Denver Albrecht (2 Ptn I Co), Bobbie Rommel, Sgt Bill Pershing (Bazooka Ptn), and Cpl Leonard Schmidt (S2), who had also been badly hurt in the same shelling.
“When we reached the forward aid station it was under mortar fire,” recalls Morton. “Doc Feiler happened to mention that he was having trouble locating the morphine in the dark so we told him to forget about pain relief and just get us the hell out.” Next stop for Morton, Gibson, and Rommel was the regimental aid station in Bastogne where Louis Kent (regimental surgeon), Father John Maloney, and medic Owen Miller from 1st Bn were in charge of triage.
Maj Kent informed Morton that his left foot was nearly severed at the ankle and would probably need amputating. At the time Jim did not care one way or the other; he was just glad to be alive. The next morning, January 10, Barney Ryan visited Morton and told him that the previous 24 hours had been the worst of his army career and that the regiment had sustained 126 casualties. During the conversation, Ryan mentioned that he had personally dealt with 15 severe cases at the battalion aid post, including Charlie Shettle, who had been wounded in the foot. Shortly after Shettle left the battlefield, Maj Clarence Hester was posted in from regiment and took over 1/506. The day had been somewhat of a record for 1st Bn, having had three commanders in the last 8 hours.
Throughout the night, mortar, artillery, and tank shells continually hammered into the woods, making medical evacuation next to impossible. Ben Hiner remembers seeing Pfc Jose Suarez from HQ Co remove his clothing and equipment before rolling around in the snow babbling like a lunatic.
At 0230hrs an enemy combat patrol supported by two platoons attacked the woods but failed to break through. Shortly afterwards the men from 326th Airborne Engineers were brought in and cut a considerable amount
of logs that were used by the troops to cover foxholes, which undoubtedly saved further lives.
Because of the exceptionally high wind chill factor the temperature on January 9 dropped to -17 degrees Celsius and was, for the 506th PIR, the coldest night experienced during the campaign. The extreme cold “burned” the skin on the men’s faces like never before. When Bob Webb opened his eyes the next morning he was shocked to find lateral icicles had formed between the wall of the shallow shell scrape and his mouth. Webb was feeling much better after his brief “meltdown” the previous morning – unlike veteran combat medic Tom “Mutt” Collier, who, during the night, decided he could no longer cope with the responsibility and “resigned,” knowing full well that he would be charged with desertion or, even worse, cowardice.
At dawn the following morning Ryan’s aid post looked like an image from Hell. Several dead bodies were piled outside and trails of blood marked the snow where the wounded had dragged themselves, desperately seeking medical attention. Despite the chaos and confusion of the previous night the enemy had successfully been pushed further north beyond Cobru – which at least was something positive.
After spending the day on line at Fazone, the remnants of 3rd Bn were replaced by 1/506, and at 1830hrs the battalion moved to Savy as divisional reserve. Before the battalion pulled out, Guy Jackson, who had been left behind in Foy, reported for duty after sheltering all night in a barn along the N30 at Luzery: “When I arrived the ground was frozen solid and it was almost impossible to dig in. That evening before we went to Savy the outfit came under a sustained barrage of enemy artillery and mortar fire. The shelling lasted around 30 minutes, during which time my best friend Pfc Charles Kiefer was killed.” As the battalion was making its way back to the reserve area, Jim Melhus passed by the German youth he had tried to help the previous afternoon. “The red-haired kid’s body was frozen solid with his left arm pitifully raised in the air. It was a real low point for me, even after what we had just been through and I really began to wonder what it all was for.”
