Brothers In Arms

by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

  ABLE COMPANY HAD ADVANCED from Marimont to the town of Albestroff on November 23, four miles southwest of Honskirch, supporting the 104th Infantry Regiment in what proved for the tankers to be relatively light fighting. The Germans had pulled back the majority of their tanks and antitank guns to block the assault around Honskirch. Williams was saddened to hear that Charlie had been devastated yet again—and confirmed in his own bitter experience with certain infantry commanders who failed in the field test of armored tactics at a high and unnecessary cost in blood.

  On the afternoon of the twenty-fifth, Able Company was ordered back to the town of Bidestroff, just outside of Guebling, for maintenance. Baker, Charlie, and Dog Companies soon followed. Since November 8, 34 of the 761st's tanks had been damaged or destroyed. The unit had suffered 125 casualties, 81 combat and 44 noncombat. Twenty-six men had been killed in action.

  In Bidestroff, Pop Gates held a dinner for the tattered remnants of Company C in a farmhouse he had commandeered. He served chicken from a barn they had raided, and red wine one of the men had found in a basement. The men ate their meal crowded together in the dining room by candlelight. It was a vigil of sorts—but not entirely a grim one, with a curious, shifting admixture of sorrow beyond words and bittersweet laughter.

  Gates, at the head of the table, looking around at the faces of the men he'd grown to love, made no speeches, as he was determined not to break down in front of them. The survivors told stories about their fallen comrades and friends, toasted and promised to remember them.

  IN A LETTER TO HIS FRIEND Gilbert R. Cook, General Patton reported on the overall progress of the Saar Campaign to date: “The fight we are now having is less spectacular than the fight across France, but it is a damn sight harder. . . . However, I believe we are breaking through—at least we are doing our damdest.” By the final days of November, Patton's Third Army had in fact attained several of its key objectives. In the XX Corps sector, on November 22, the fortress city of Metz had fallen to the 5th, 90th, and 95th Infantry and 10th Armored Divisions. In the XII Corps sector, the 80th, 35th, and 26th Infantry and 4th and 6th Armored Divisions had ground their way slowly forward, advancing an average of thirty miles from their starting points. The five divisions were positioned along a front roughly ten miles from their objectives of the Siegfried Line cities of Saarbrucken and Sarreguemines.

  But these gains had come at extraordinary cost. In the hellish conditions of the Saar, sickness took a toll almost equal to that exacted by enemy guns: At one point, the flu and trench foot, among other maladies, incapacitated almost a tenth of Patton's quarter of a million troops. Trench foot, a circulatory disease stemming from prolonged exposure to cold and wet, was particularly costly. Virtually every member of the 761st suffered from it. To prevent trench foot, they had been instructed to change and dry their socks as often as they could—a lesson Patton called “more important for young officers to know than military tactics.” But trying to follow these directives in the field was an exercise in futility. William McBurney, determined not to lose any of his toes to the malady, was particularly diligent in following this command. Every night he took off his socks to dry them out—but they were soaked through from the rain and mud, and the nights were so cold that the socks would simply freeze. In the morning, McBurney would wake to find them frozen solid, standing straight up at attention.

  With such severe combat and noncombat losses, Patton's Third Army desperately needed replacements. But owing to high casualties throughout the European Theater—from Normandy to the bloody Hurtgen Forest—there were simply not enough available troops to bring the army up to combat strength. In mid-November, Patton called for volunteers from his corps and division headquarters units to replace killed and wounded tankers and riflemen. Two weeks later, he “drafted” an additional 5 percent, telling them, “We are not going to be stopped now by lack of replacements. We will lick that as we have other obstacles, by our own efforts.”

  Many of these volunteers and draftees—among them cooks and supply troops—had not fired a weapon in several years, since basic training. The tankers had to do what they could to train the newcomers at the front. Some of them hadn't even seen a tank before, but there they were, in the thick of it. Many of them didn't know enough to be afraid, to be careful. Only experience could teach them that.

  James Jones, a twenty-one-year-old replacement from Laurel, Mississippi, who was sent to the 761st's Dog Company, took his training five miles behind the lines. It was exciting to him, and he looked forward to doing his part. But even more than the prospect of combat, what he enjoyed most was spending time with others in the battalion. What kept the men going day after day was their friendships with their buddies. At night, in bivouac, they'd sit back and joke and talk about things back home. Several black officers who had been to college took the time to encourage the men in their ambitions once the war was over. James Jones was amazed at the intellect of some of the other enlisted men. He learned more about Einstein at camp in the war zone than he had in school.

  AT THE END OF NOVEMBER, into December 1 and 2, the 761st attacked from the vicinity of Munster toward the strategically crucial city of Sarre-Union. Sarre-Union lay just east of the Sarre River; it served as a junction point for several major highways as well as a railroad line. German troops—including the 11th Panzer Division—were determined to prevent a breakthrough past that city. The 761st fought to clear the area west and south of Sarre-Union, through the towns of Altwiller and Pisdorf.

  Leonard Smith's “Cool Stud” tank was moving fast amid heavy shelling when their rooster mascot, which had been riding with them since mid-November—even staying on through the shelling near Munster—jumped off. Tank commander Daniel Cardell, grown perhaps too attached to the rooster, stopped the tank and ordered Smith out to retrieve the bird. When Smith refused, he was told, “That's an order!” He climbed down a hill, swearing to himself, looking everywhere. Fortunately, Smith was able to find the rooster before the Germans found Smith.

  The Germans in the area were thoroughly dug in, continuing to hold outposts overlooking several of the 26th Division's main supply lines. American trucks were getting hit and couldn't get through. The 761st's intrepid supply officer, Philip Latimer, worked with Dog Company's captain, Richard English, to improvise a solution to the dire supply situation, drafting the light tanks into service. Preston McNeil organized the men of his platoon to work in shifts night and day, bringing gas and rations up to the front, aware how crucial they were to the advance of his friends. The fuel-hogging Shermans kept moving forward.

  ELEMENTS OF THE 101ST AND 104TH Infantry Regiments had dug in and prepared in advance of the tanks to assault Sarre-Union. The foot soldiers fanned out through the streets, at first taking the town with relative ease, then being forced out in a vicious series of counterattacks. The infantry engaged in such close-in, house-to-house combat that it often became impossible to distinguish American from German-held buildings. The infantry finally succeeded in driving out the German troops on the afternoon of the second.

  The tanks of the 761st, on reaching the city later that day, were ordered to stand in reserve to fend off a likely German counterattack. At 1100 hours on December 3, the 11th Panzer Division attacked in force from north and east of the city. Baker and Charlie Companies swung into action, attempting to drive the German armor back from a wooded area on the eastern edge of town. Several tanks were knocked out in the intense firefight. Five 761st members were seriously wounded, including Joseph Tates and James Stewart, both of whom had earlier earned Bronze Stars for risking their lives to help wounded comrades. Baker and Charlie's tanks continued battling for two hours before finally forcing the 11th Panzers back, with key support from 26th Division's artillery.

  THE CITY AND ITS OUTSKIRTS weren't fully cleared until late on December 3, providing the Third Army with a crucial rail and communications junction east of the Sarre River. But for American ground troops, Sarre-Union offered a bounty even more concrete t
han its strategic value: The city was home to the legendary Pomeroi champagne factory. The GIs couldn't resist indulging themselves. After what they'd just endured, an all-out raid on the treasure trove seemed well within their rights. The 761st was ordered to push forward from Sarre-Union on the third with little rest. But before they did, the men tied cases of champagne to the tanks. Even the teetotalers like Leonard Smith drank champagne straight from bottles. After about an hour of feeling mighty fine, Smith quickly regretted it, becoming nauseated and dizzy.

  The 761st pushed north and east toward the city of Oermingen. Battling constantly forward from town to town, the 761st's tank crews had long since mastered the rhythms of daily life inside their vehicles. But they never grew entirely used to them. The tankers weren't given replacement uniforms, and they wore the same gear for months. Their clothes literally disintegrated, rotting off of them. If they were in a town for more than a day, even a few hours, they would seize the opportunity to wash them in a creek. But they rarely had that chance. More often, in the field, they'd wash out their underwear and socks with gasoline. They'd wash their faces, chests, and underarms with water gathered from streams in their helmets when they could, using the helmet like a birdbath. If there wasn't any water available, they'd use gasoline, pouring it into their helmets and rubbing it on. The steel GI helmet served multiple purposes in the field. A helmet was a stove, a bathroom, a bathtub. In the morning, they'd cook breakfast in it. When they were rolling, they'd urinate in the helmet and empty it out the side or bottom of the tank. Then they'd clean the helmet and wash up in it, before using it to wash their clothes.

  They heard some of the infantrymen beside whom they camped talking about the field showers they were given in their brief rotations out. The Red Cross moved mobile showers up just behind the front, trying every few weeks when possible to give front-line troops a brief but welcome cleansing and fresh gear. But the 761st never got such a break. Even the more naive and trusting of the battalion's members, like Leonard Smith, couldn't help but wonder whether this inequity had something to do with their race. This physical discomfort was the least of the hazards they faced—they were fortunate, they knew, simply to be alive—but the thought of it as an inequity was a bitter pill.

  DAILY PRESSING NORTH AND EAST, the 761st was fast approaching the famed Maginot Line, located six miles north of Sarre-Union. The Germans resisted fiercely, delaying the American forces with a screen of well-positioned forward troops to cover their strategic retreat behind the line. The Maginot Line had been constructed by the French in the years immediately following World War I to forestall German attacks. It ran for 150 miles, positioned five miles inside of and roughly paralleling the northeastern border between France and Germany. The line was composed of a series of complex defensive fortifications, including concrete pillboxes, machine-gun emplacements, underground bunkers, and triangular concrete antitank barriers known as “dragon's teeth.” In the blitzkrieg of 1940, the Germans had simply circumvented the formidable barrier, rendering it useless by entering France through Belgium and the Ardennes Forest. But the fortifications proved extremely useful to the Germans in the fall of 1944 in hindering the Allied advance toward Germany.

  As the 761st moved ever closer to the border, the fighting became heavier and more ferocious. On December 7 and 8, the tanks of the 761st first came within sight of the Maginot Line: Able Company near Achen, Baker Company near Etting, and Charlie Company near Oermingen. The tanks were ordered to roll forward to take out German machine-gun positions. But when they opened fire, their 76mm high-explosive shells simply bounced off the unusually thick pillbox walls. The company commanders called for support from the XIX Air Tactical Command.

  The air bombing continued for more than two hours. As always, Leonard Smith found awe-inspiring the sight and combined power of the P-47s' strafing and bombing. The ground shook with the force of it. He took the slight risk of standing up in his turret just to observe it. The planes kept passing over, circling back to fire again. American engineers moved forward after this bombing run to clear a path for the 761st's tanks through the remaining antitank barriers and dragon's teeth. As the Shermans passed through the rubble of the Maginot fortifications, they received no return fire. The Germans had chosen to use the Maginot Line along the Third Army's front simply as a delaying screen, concentrating their forces instead farther back toward the German border and at the Siegfried Line, the German equivalent to the Maginot.

  Floyd Dade's tank commander in Able Company, S. Sgt. Teddy Weston, went forward on foot in advance of the infantry and his platoon to reconnoiter enemy positions in the town of Achen, allowing his company's tanks to pinpoint and eliminate machine-gun positions without a single American casualty. The infantry and tanks rapidly advanced.

  Baker, Charlie, and Dog Companies assembled near the town of Woelfling-les-Sarreguemines, preparing again to push forward. The 761st's tanks were moving through territory more heavily mined and booby-trapped than any they had yet encountered. They were now just two miles from the German border and seven miles from the more formidable barrier of the Siegfried Line.

  On December 9, Colonel Palladino of the 104th Infantry Regiment informed Captain Williams that the entire 26th Division was slated for rotation out for several days of R and R, rest and recuperation—not just the working maintenance period in which troops were still situated at the front and subject to shelling, but a bona fide rest behind the lines. The colonel told Williams to tell his men to “keep their heads down.” Williams received the news with elation, as did Pop Gates and the other company captains, fully aware that their men and equipment had already been pushed beyond the limits of their endurance.

  Williams caught a glimpse of the division that was to relieve the 26th Infantry, the 87th “Golden Acorn” Infantry, marching to take up positions along the front with a jauntiness and eagerness of purpose that could only be attributed to those who had never experienced combat. He reflected that ignorance is bliss. On December 11, the infantrymen of the 26th Division were pulled back thirty miles to the city of Metz.

  But instead of its own well-deserved rest, the 761st at the last moment was switched over to the command of the 87th Division and ordered to continue pressing forward. After thirty-four unrelieved days on the front, Smith, McBurney, McNeil, and the others—who had heard of the promised upcoming rest and spent the past few days dreaming of hot baths, mattresses, and a clean change of clothes—were deeply disappointed.

  Their frustration itself, however, was soon overwhelmed by what was, for most of them, a harsh and even tragic realization. Their accomplishments, bitter-fought miles, and horrific casualties meant nothing to the vast majority of the new white troops beside whom they'd been assigned to fight. They were seen not as soldiers but as black. Leonard Smith heard the phrase “nigger tankers” frequently repeated, in a tone that implied the very thought of it was absurd. Even William McBurney, who tended to be among the more watchful and reserved of the 761st's members, was cut to the quick.

  It wasn't by any means all of the soldiers in the 87th who stirred up trouble, and it wasn't as if the tankers hadn't heard such slurs before. What had changed was that they'd seen so many of their friends killed; they'd seen Samuel Turley, Ruben Rivers, and Kenneth Coleman, among others, give their lives for their country, and had hoped—without consciously realizing they were doing so—that their valor and sacrifices were accomplishing gains beyond any measured in yards and miles.

  They would hear much the same from other units beside which they'd later serve—an initial wariness and hostility that almost always changed under fire to respect and even admiration. The needle would be set again to zero every time they shifted divisions. By then they were prepared for it, prepared to wait it out. But in this first reassignment, they weren't prepared and had no defense. For most, those days numbered among the most painful of the war.

  AT WOELFLING, NEAR THE CITY of Sarreguemines, American combat engineers, while under heavy mortar fire, c
onstructed a bridge across the Blies River. The 761st's Baker and Charlie Companies rolled across, firing on the German positions. They continued battling their way forward, and on December 14, 1944, crossed the border into Germany for the first time. A communiqué from the Supreme Headquarters for the Allied Forces reported that “Lt. General George S. Patton's Third Army infantry and armor slammed into German territory at a new point . . . above Sarreguemines.”

  Able Company, several miles east of Baker and Charlie, was fast approaching the German border in the vicinity of Guiderkirchen and Erching. Captain Williams noted an odd quiet in the area. He was concerned, because the company had received no opposition, and no Germans came out of hiding to surrender. Floyd Dade, too, found the sudden lack of enemy presence disconcerting. At one town near the border, he asked a woman who knew some English what had happened, and she told him, “The Boche [Germans] have gone.” Due to the divided loyalties of the citizens of the Saar, he didn't know if he could trust what she said.

  But the Germans had in fact departed; the 11th Panzers, unbeknownst to the Americans, had been called up to Belgium's Ardennes Forest. On the afternoon of December 14, while the 87th Infantry continued holding the front, the companies of the 761st were pulled back to the city of Sarre-Union for a long-overdue 100-hour maintenance check.