by Gee, Colin
It made for a particular breed of commander, derived from a very particular breed of man.
Maxwell Davenport Taylor had returned to Europe to resume command of the 101st, only to be pitched headlong into the defensive operations that were currently bleeding his division dry.
Reports of the encirclement at Eggenthal filtered through from 501st’s commander.
One look at the map showed the experienced Major General that his cupboard was nearly bare.
He had amassed bits and pieces of the fractured and virtually destroyed 80th US Infantry Division under his command, but they were not enough to punch through to relieve the 501st by themselves. Looking at the assets available, he factored in the recent arrival of the ravaged A Company and virtually intact B Company of the 702nd Tank Battalion. Adding to the mix some of the 80th’s divisional artillery elements, all Taylor was light was infantry.
Unfortunately, very few of the 80th’s doughboys had escaped, and what had made it through to US lines would need some time to recover and shake out.
Taylor examined the map closely. Drawing his CoS in close, he spoke quietly.
“Route 12 is important to them, quite clearly.”
Brigadier General Gerry Higgins only nodded, knowing his General was in decision making mode.
“I could order to hightail it back to Bayersried, or Obermelden...”
Higgins didn’t think that Taylor intended anything of the sort. Such a manouveure would probably result in the loss of the force.
“Or I could break him out and give Ivan a bloody nose into the bargain.”
As if Taylor could read Higgins’ thoughts, he tapped the map in irritation.
“Light on rifles though, Gerry.”
Closely examining the area around Obermelden, Taylor could see the untasked support elements of the 80th that would be itching to hit back, but he could not see doughboys anywhere, leastways none he could free up to counter-attack Eggenthal.
Higgins consulted his notes at length, referring to the map to get his bearings.
“When do you want to go, Sir?”
Taylor, sitting on a stool, finished his coffee before replying.
“Ideally, by 1900 hrs at the very latest. That will give the boys two hours of daylight to do the job, and offer up the night to get Crisp’s boys outta the hole.”
Higgins nodded, doing some swift maths before floating his idea.
“Our air is good at the moment, so we have no worries about movement. We can firm that up with Penguin Pete of course,” the CoS referring to Major Peter George of the USAAF, the 101st’s air liaison officer, by his accepted nickname.
“Here we have the 100th, less a company. Solid troops with halftracks. If we send them now, they can be to the line here,” Higgins used a pencil to propose a start line for the counter-attack, receiving an instant nod from Taylor, “By 1830 latest, giving time for a brief.”
Taylor ran his finger down the roads from Attenhausen to the start line north-east of Obermelden, calculating the difficulties as he went.
“OK. Give me more, Gerry.”
“We have a platoon of the Brazilian cavalry here at Unteregg, and a company of their engineers somewhere south of Sontheim.”
To the informed listener, such a conversation would be a sure sign of the disarray of the Allied defences, bits and pieces from all units scattered everywhere.
None the less, the line had held so far and the two officers had started to develop a plan to counter-attack and rescue the cut-off force.
“OK Gerry. Get Demario and Smith down here straight away, with a warning order to prepare for a move a-sap. Also, Castelli needs to be in on this, similar warning order for his artillery.”
Taylor squinted at the map, finding the combination of gas light and sunlight insufficient for his needs.
“Orders out to the Brazilians, 2nd/1st Mechanised Cavalry and 1st/9th Combat Engineer Battalion to concentrate on Obermelden immediately.”
Taylor grinned at his CoS.
“Once that is done, we will go through the niceties of letting our fellow Generals know what we are doing with their men.”
Higgins grinned back at his Commanding officer, a small part of him knowing exactly how Taylor would take it if some other General started monkeying around with his boys.
‘Still, needs must,’ he told himself.
General Taylor sought out the information as to who might command.
“Looks like it’s the 100th’s ball, so get me their Colonel on the line once you have all the boys moving.”
Within a minute, the radio started pumping out orders to the various units.
1900 hrs, Saturday 25th August 1945, Task Force Petersen, two kilometers south-west of Eggenthal.
The artillery of the 315th and 522nd Battalions had been working the Soviet positions for twenty minutes precisely, the mix of 105mm, 155mm, and 8” shells altering the landscape in and around the hastily scraped defensive positions.
At 1900 hrs, the lead tanks of the 702nd Tank Battalion, easy-eight Shermans from B Company, pushed forward, the Brazilian Cavalry not yet having taken the field.
Lieutenant Colonel Petersen, commander of the 100th [Nisei] Infantry Battalion, had been given a very specific brief by Maxwell Taylor; one that was unequivocal and simple.
Extract the isolated unit.
Kill everything with a Red Star.
Petersen enjoyed the looseness of the orders, as they permitted him to fight the battle as he chose.
General Taylor had been very specific on one point, which Petersen understood, and he acted to ensure no such thing happened. He had given the artillery strict instructions in order to prevent any friendly fire incidents, with either his task force or the troopers of the trapped Eagles. Such warnings cascaded down to the lowest levels, each and every man made conscious of the fact that there were also friendlies to their front.
Radio contact with the cut-off airborne troopers was sporadic, but the plan had been communicated and he expected the 101st to play its part in full.
With the Meldnerbach stream securing their right flank, infantry from his ‘B’ Company were pushing ahead along a wooded ridge line, mortars from the 100th’s heavy weapons company waiting expectantly behind them, ready to overcome any resistance.
‘C’ Company tucked in behind the lead armored elements, and the rest of his force was stacked up, ready to deploy in line with the hastily devised plan.
‘B’ Company started to come under machine-gun fire and the mortars responded to the call, accurately sending round after round on target until the obstruction was eliminated.
The lead Easy-Eight, so called because of its E8 variant designation, appeared to kick on and swerve off the road, the sound of the explosion reaching his ears shortly after the visual image.
Through his binoculars, Petersen could see the tank crew abandon as tracers sought them out, fired from the Soviet positions to their front. One of the tankers disappeared in an explosion of red, struck by multiple projectiles, but the others made the relative safety of a stone wall, a few yards behind their stricken and now burning tank.
The second Sherman fired as they made it to their safe haven, a flash erupting at the top of the incline to their front.
‘C’ Company of the 100th oriented to the left side, and pushed tentatively forward, immediately coming under more fire from the high ground.
The US tank company brought more tubes to bear and directly engaged the defenders, beating each point down in turn.
‘C’ Company picked up the pace and pushed forward, dropping again when two Soviet tanks declared themselves on the ridgeline, engaging the infantry at first before recognising the presence of the American armour.
The Soviet commander had improvised with his defences, and the weapon that had claimed the lead US tank fired again. The 85mm 52K Anti-Aircraft gun was a large weapon, not normally suited to front line engagements, but the Colonel in charge had installed four on the ridgeline covering t
he approaches. Two had succumbed to the artillery already, but the survivors now engaged the American tanks with some success, a second E8 falling victim to a direct hit from which the crew did not escape.
The next US tanks in line were not so easily destroyed, and two hits were shrugged off by the lead Pershing, its own 90mm seeking out and killing one of the reversing T34’s.
Backing up at speed, the other T34 nearly made it to safety but a 76mm shell tore off its nearside track. The disabled tank was ripped apart by numerous strikes, turret separating from hull as it exploded spectacularly.
Another 85mm shell ricocheted off the lead Pershing, a modest silver scar revealing its impotency.
The Pershing hit back, the shell passing within millimetres of the gun itself but failing to strike metal, hurtling into the sky beyond without noticing that it had obliterated two of the crew as it went.
Bathed in the essences of their dead comrades, the horrified gunners broke and ran.
The surviving 85mm engaged the lead tank, adding a second scar alongside the first.
‘C’ Company’s mortar section dropped their shells right on the money, twisting flesh and metal with ease and knocking out the defenders last weapon of note.
The Lieutenant commanding the defending infantry ordered a hasty withdrawal, and the ridge was vacated.
The Nisei infantry pushed forward, both companies coming under fire from stragglers but keeping up the pressure, conscious of the limited amount of daylight available for their needs.
1912 hrs, Saturday 25th August 1945, GuteNacht Bauernhof, south-west of Eggenthal, Germany.
The Soviet commander had launched his own attacks at 1900 hrs, intending to compress Crisp’s position and pushing his perimeter back further from any possible rescue attempt.
On the ridge line south-west of Eggenthal, soldiers from the 4th Guards Mechanised Corps threw a handful of the 101st troopers out of the ‘Good Night’ Farm, a prominent range of buildings that commanded both the ridge and overlooked the Eggenthal-Oberhelden road.
1916 hrs, Saturday, 25th August 1945, Die Rothaus, west of Eggenthal, Germany.
The modest but impressive looking Red House sat two hundred metres south of route 12, and was a vital position, whichever uniform you were wearing.
It was now in the possession of the infantry of 4th Guards Mechanised Corps, but they had paid a heavy price to displace the defending buffalo soldiers of King Company.
This was not going according to planning, as Crisp had banked on retaining the Red House, and using Goodnight Farm as a start point for his own push towards linking up with Petersen’s force.
A swift orders group was called and found Crisp fired up and ready for business.
“OK, the Reds have fucked up plan A. Here’s plan B.”
He had pencilled in his plan on the map and used the markings to pass on his orders.
He started with the Item Company Commander from the 370th.
“Your boys simply must take it back and hold it, Abraham. We can’t have the enemy sat there covering this road.”
Crisp emphasised the road he meant, the one down which it was intended to evacuate all the wounded.
The wounded captain understood perfectly, his facial wound restricting him from anything other than an indistinct ‘yes sir’.
Abraham Isaiah Johnson was descended from a line of black soldiers, the first of which had fought with the 54th Massachusetts, surviving the debacle at Fort Wagner, only to fall at Boykin’s Mill on 18th April 1865, in one of the last engagements of the Civil War.
“I will give you some mortars, and you can have first call on any artillery Petersen can provide.”
Moving quickly on, Crisp brought in Reeves of George Company.
“Bill, you leave a platoon behind in town to support our friends in King Company,” he nodded at the black officer who sat waiting his turn.
“Keep your right flank tight on Abraham’s boys and help him if he needs it ok? But, your job is to open the road here, all the way to this point,” Crisp redrew a small cross in a heavier hand.
“No further forward than that. Beyond that is an artillery free fire zone. Clear?”
“Crystal, Boss.”
The first time Johnson had heard the expression he wondered if it was some intended sleight but now he knew it was standard fare for the Eagles troopers. However, he couldn’t bring himself to follow suit.
Captain Williamson of 370th’s King Company was next in line.
“Ben, again, leave a platoon behind in your positions. Hang on tight to Bill’s flank here. I want you to sweep the whole ridge up to here and not beyond. Stay inside the road line, probably best to stay inside the wood line. Support the attack on ‘Good Night’ from the ridgeline here, but I need you to take and hold this ground here as a priority.”
Crisp tapped the gentle curve of the woods, sat next to and commanding the important link road.
“Yes Sir.”
Turning to the next man in line, Crisp knew he was dealing the officer a bad hand but someone had to do it.
“JJ, you get the farm. Bring everyone you have. I will give you HQ’s mortar and machine gun platoons too, but you have to take the farm.”
1st Lieutenant Timmins appreciated the extra help, but Crisp was not finished.
“I will also come up to you as soon as things in town are sorted, but at the start it’s all yours.”
The normal commander of Easy Company was an experienced Captain, presently lying on a stretcher in the battalion aid post, both legs amputated below the knees; one by the surgeon’s scalpel, the other by Soviet shrapnel.
Crisp would have preferred to use George or Fox Company but could not spare the time to reorient his forces.
That left Captain Gosling of Fox Company and 1st Lieutenant Muller, the latter placed in command of all the battalion elements holding Eggenthal itself.
“I am leaving you two with most of the transport so you can get the hell out on signal. Until then, hold the line, end of story.”
Crisp relaxed.
“Rocky, you and your element are responsible for ensuring we leave nothing of value behind. Do your thing.”
The grinning Master-Sergeant’s grin said all that needed to be said, so Crisp moved on.
“OK then. Codeword’s are the same, even though Ivan has messed with our original plan. Routes of withdrawal are the same.”
Gosling proffered a lucky strike and the pause as Crisp lit it cued others in for their own smokes.
“I must remind you, we risk friendly fire here. Purple smoke on your location as soon as you breakthrough and make sure your troopers understand that Petersen’s men are coming, and where their stop line is expected to be.”
Gruff replies and nods showed that message was received.
“We’ve been handed a tough duty folks, but we will get out of this. Clearly, General Taylor thinks our scrawny hides are worth saving, and I happen to agree with him.”
The genuine laughter of his officers told Crisp much about the way they were feeling, but he noted that Timmins had not joined in. The young officer’s face was composed, and yet Crisp could sense the man was close to the edge.
Fig #47 - Eggenthal Breakout
A moment’s doubt crept into his mind, a sudden yearning to install another, more proven officer to command,
Crisp stayed his hand, knowing that Timmins could do the job and reminding himself that he would back him up.
“Stay within the plan. No gung-ho antics. Listen for your orders and react immediately. If things don’t go to plan then we will have to improvise. No matter what, this force will be the right side of the red line tonight.”
He stated it confidently, as firing erupted from the line on the edge of Eggenthal.
“Questions?”
More than one of the officers looked towards the area held by Fox Company as they shook their heads in answer.
The group synchronised watches on command.
“We go at
1930 hrs. OK, let’s break it up and get the job done. Good luck.”
Not unexpectedly, Gosling beat everyone out of the lean-to, sprinting away at top speed, anxious to find out what his men were engaging.
Crisp fell in beside Timmins and clapped the Easy commander on the shoulder.
“No problems, JJ?”
To the younger man’s credit, he spoke his mind.
“Just hoping I’m up to the job, Major, that’s all.”
Crisp’s face split into a grin that had charmed and relaxed many a man over the years.
“If I didn’t think you could handle the detail you wouldn’t have it. Now, get ‘Easy’ on the move and take that goddamn farm.”
1927 hrs Saturday 25th August 1945, Eggenthal.
Crisp received the report of the Soviet attack with mixed feelings. The experienced Lieutenant making the report was a solid trooper, and his view was that it was already fading out.
The loss of Gosling was keenly felt, shrapnel cutting him down as he arrived in Fox Company lines. A medic had saved him from bleeding out, and the Captain was already installed in one of the half-tracks, ready to be evacuated.
Soviet mortars continued to drop their shells on the town, but the infantry attack had petered out almost as soon as it had started.
Crisp wondered why that was but thanked God for the reprieve in any case.
Quickly checking that the new commander of Fox Company was up to speed on orders, he decided to move off to join Easy in their attack on the farm, spurred by the sudden firing coming from that direction.
1940 hrs, Saturday 25th August 1945, GuteNacht Bauernhof, south-west of Eggenthal, Germany.
Easy Company had taken casualties and was now stalled one hundred metres short of its objective.
Three outbuildings had been cleared with sub-machine guns and grenades, particular attention being paid to the Soviet DP gunners that had exacted a high price from the assault platoon. Each of them received additional confirmation of death from the bayonets of those nearby, mainly in retribution for the killing of two highly regarded NCO’s.
