by Gerald Astor
Said the 12th Army Group commander, “Ike made his choice and predicated it in part on a measure of hope. We would hammer the enemy with all possible force in an effort to splinter his armies west of the Rhine. Perhaps then, when we reached that river, the morale of the Reich would crack and bring the war to an end. General Marshall [who, taking his cue from the optimism of Bradley, Hodges, and others in September, still retained a roseate attitude] had previously ventured this same, thin hope. Eisenhower and I both clung to it, though we sensed it was a fragile reed.” (It should be remembered that when Bradley wrote this, the war was over and the virus of revisionism full blown.)
The First Army remained convinced that the residents of the Huertgen constituted a major threat to any offensive. To cope with the problem, the First Army staff shifted some of the responsibilities. What had been primarily a VII Corps sector now devolved upon the V Corps of Leonard Gerow. The new border between the two corps ran just south of the village of Kleinhau and north of Huertgen. That placed Schmidt entirely within the purview of Gerow.
There was no question that the battered 9th Division troops could play a role in this strategy. Replacement Pvt. W. George Knollenberg, who had completed basic training in August, entered an L Company, 3d Battalion, 60th Infantry, foxhole in the forest late in October, shortly after the debacle of the attack toward Schmidt. “We were a few miles southeast of Aachen, and I was one of forty replacements assigned to L Company, which with our addition brought the company strength to eighty men.
“After my first week, company strength was back down to about forty. We were subjected to heavy artillery and mortar fire several times each day. Most of the German 88mm shells resulted in tree bursts, which were deadly. We lost our company command and first sergeant from a direct mortar hit on the CP.
“My foxhole was positioned to the left of an M4 tank and about thirty yards to the right of a firebreak. The tank was dug in, and the crew served as forward observers for our artillery. The firebreak was covered by German machine guns. I was told there were dead Americans in the firebreak whose bodies could not be recovered. Our main mission was to provide protection for the tank and its crew.
“There was a single run of captured German concertina barbed wire strung in front of our position. The wire was in the cleared right-of-way of a road that paralleled our position. Being from a Wyoming ranch, where only fifteen months before I’d been building and repairing barbed wire fences, I guess it was fitting that I should be detailed to extend and improve our barbed wire defense. I did all the work myself, including toting the coils of concertina a couple of hundred yards from the rear. I had two riflemen covering me while I stretched the coils of wire and tied empty C ration cans with stones in them to the wire. I never understood how the two men could protect me, but since I never got sniped at, I guess they served the purpose.
“There was rain, sleet, or snow virtually every day. We did not have the new shoe packs, so trench foot took a heavy toll. I recall only one morning when the weather was suitable for the P-47s to operate.
“One morning I saw a lieutenant who wore a 28th Division patch checking our positions. The rumor was that the 28th was going to replace the 9th on line. A day or two later, we did in fact move back into Belgium, as fresh troops from the 28th took over our positions. We were told we were going to receive river crossing training.” However, Knollenberg, because of a medical review of a previous mastoidectomy, was now classified for limited duty and left the 9th Division.
Don Lavender, the replacement who entered the Huertgen Forest and the 39th Infantry just after its ordeal, noted, “Rumors of being relieved were fulfilled in part when we were relieved a few days later [26 October] by the 28th Division. We were certainly happy to see them, and none of us felt remorse in leaving the Huertgen Forest. We walked about five miles in the mud that day before we reached our trucks, but the fact that we were being relieved made it much easier. The battalion settled into an area not far from MalméAdy, a few miles from the Belgium-Germany border.
The 28th Division, the former Pennsylvania National Guard organization that took over from the 39th and 60th Regiments, received reinforcements for its assignment, including the 707th Tank Battalion, a pair of tank destroyer battalions, plus some engineers and extra artillery battalions.
The deployment of the three regiments from the 28th, which replaced the two from the 9th, formed a fan shape. The 109th Infantry presented a northeast thrust along the Germeter-to-Huertgen axis. The 110th aimed more easterly, in a drive through the middle to control a road between Schmidt and Strauch for supply purposes. The main gambit of the 28th sent the 112th Regiment after the prime goal—Schmidt. The V Corps offensive supposedly would assist a VII Corps division to capture Huertgen and a line of outposts northeast while on the way to the Roer.
The timetable scheduled the 28th to commence its attack as early as 31 October, while in the VII Corps, the 1st Division and the 4th Division, a regular army outfit that had secured Utah Beach on D Day, would power their way through the forest on northeast axes, left of the Keystone Division’s attack with the 4th Division immediately adjacent to the 28th. The newly arrived 104th Division would assume responsibility for the Stolberg corridor. Initially, strategists pinpointed 2 November for the VII Corps GIs to start their offensive, aided by massive raids by the Air Corps and barrages of artillery equal to that thrown at the enemy to kick off the Saint-Lô breakout.
The 28th was not virgin to battle. It had engaged in some strenuous combat in Normandy and sprinted across France. After the victory parade through Paris, it was among those who first tested the Westwall. Still, their impressions of their new battleground must have been disquieting. The weeks of shelling and the consequent treetop bursts had cut away the uppermost branches, leaving the forest looking much like a graveyard of discarded telephone poles, some reaching like fingers into the sky and others like decapitated torsos. Timber, boughs and branches, and military equipment littered the ground. The men of the 9th, whom they relieved, were dirty, their clothing torn and their faces often etched with a thousand-yard stare as they left their foxholes without much conversation. It did not take long for the place to depress its newest inhabitants. The ground was saturated with water, and keeping dry was near impossible. The constant problem of supply showed in the absence of overshoes or wet weather gear. The gray days could not muster enough light to dissipate the natural gloom of the area.
Captain Harry Kemp, who led M Company of the 109th Infantry, said of recently promoted Maj. Howard Topping, his battalion CO, upon his return from a six-hour reconnaissance of the sector committed to his organizations, “His company commanders and staff had never seen him so concerned or explicit about conditions in the new area. Topping described the new positions as heavily forested, shell-shattered, gloomy, and pillbox-infested. It was served by narrow, muddy roads and footpaths bordered by wood-encased [to escape metal detectors] antipersonnel mines. … He strongly stressed that all soldiers and vehicles must stay on defined roads and trails. Future operations were unknown and not mentioned. But it appeared the Old Gray Mare Regiment was heading for trouble.”
Sergeant Al Burghardt, a mortar squad leader, recalled mixed impressions upon arriving in the woods. “The Huertgen Forest, on first observation, looked like heaven. The dense forest, with its towering pine trees, looked like a place where the German artillery observers would not be able to locate us. In the hedgerows, it was a fight for each hedgerow, and the casualties were severe. The Siegfried Line, with its pillboxes, was another world. The pillboxes, for the most part, were in large open areas. They were camouflaged and had excellent fields of fire, and German artillery observers could watch our movement. It always seemed the Germans had the high ground.
“On second observation, when we got into it, the Huertgen Forest looked ominous. It was dark, and as we went to our positions, we could see some of the problems that the 9th Division faced. The pine forest, which composed 99 percent of the forest, was litte
red with branches, and it was difficult to go in a straight line because of all the debris. We noticed the trees were scarred from shrapnel, and many trees were down from direct artillery hits. In general, the forest floor was a mess. This was caused by what we learned to fear—the tree burst. The 9th Division and German dead were all over the area. I remember the Huertgen Forest as being dark, dreary, foreboding, sinister, close, and desolate.
“I had no idea what was involved when we relieved the 9th Division in the Huertgen Forest. We relieved them in the dead of night. We passed each other in silence. We did not have time to talk. It was a still night. They were veterans and so were we. Veterans learned long ago that you don’t talk at night. Sounds carry, and we didn’t need an artillery barrage to announce a change was taking place. We didn’t sleep that night, and in the morning, the ever-present smell of battle was in the air, the smell of death and the odor from exploding shells.”
Although most of the 9th Division GIs quietly left their foxholes for the incoming men of the 28th Division, a few remained to assist in the exchange. “The guide from the 9th Division mortar section,” said Burghardt, “took our three squads to their mortar positions. They had been forced to construct an underground shelter against the tree bursts. These consisted of a dugout about four feet deep. The length and width I no longer remember, but I do know that you were always on your hands and knees. They were covered with layers of pine logs and dirt. It had one entrance. There were a number of these covered dugouts for all members of the three mortar squads.
“The position made by the 9th Division mortar section was completely surrounded by tall pine trees. The clearing did not have to be large, because of the trajectory of the 60mm mortars. This helped us from being observed by the enemy. We had telephone lines going to the three rifle platoons on the line and one forward listening post. The sergeants took turns at the forward listening post, a very lonely and scary job. Every time we changed sergeants on this post, you wondered if you would make it to the post. Because of all the debris from the trees, it [was] ideal for an ambush or a sniper. Secondly, you wondered if you were hit in this tangled mess, if anyone would ever find you. At this period of time we had more mortar ammo than I had ever seen. There were cloverleaf canisters, which held six 60mm mortar shells piled up about five and a half feet high for about fifty feet, and there were no restrictions on the use of them.” The shortages that plagued artillery did not apply to smaller arms.
Platoon leader Bill Peña, with Company I of the 109th Infantry, in a party that reconnoitered by vehicle the area where the units were to relieve the 9th Division GIs, returned to an assembly point on the night of 26 October. In the dark, he placed his weapon and other equipment within easy reach of his foxhole. “When we awoke [before dawn], conditions were much worse than I had anticipated. The effect was that of being completely blind with the eyes wide open. I groped around for my gear and rifle. The order was given to fall in on the road. We were no more than thirty yards from the road. Some men had difficulty finding their gear and weapons at the time squad leaders began calling them. Complete frustration set in. In their blindness, men would fall into someone’s slit trench or run into trees. After a few turns in this serious game of blind man’s bluff, all sense of direction was lost. Leaders kept calling their unit designations cautiously trying to avoid extra loud sound while providing directions toward themselves.
“The time schedule had not allowed for this hour lost in forming the column on the road, which would have taken only a matter of ten minutes during daylight, if this had been possible. The black, tall forest, hugging the road closely, broke overhead, revealing a slightly less dark, starless, overcast sky. This view was the only way one could tell he was on the road.
When the battalion finally assembled and moved out in a long column of twos, apparently to make up for the delay, the lead company took off at a fast pace. Said Peña, “Soon the accordion effect began—the running to catch up with the man in front and then the sudden stop after running into him in the black void. One couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, much less his feet on the uneven road. Men stumbled and fell with their equipment. They cursed this rat race openly and loudly.”
Inevitably, the trailing soldiers lost contact with the faster moving lead company. A brief conference among officers from the rear elements nominated Peña, who had the day before made the trip to their destination, to guide the three lost companies, although he had only a vague idea of the route.
“I found myself at a Y in the road, which I could distinguish only by looking overhead at the sky. I decided to lead down the right fork. I established a slower pace commensurate to [that] of men carrying heavy machine guns now immediately behind me. If these men could take the pace so could the rest. At another fork in the road, I again took the one toward the right. There were no signposts to be seen; no flashlights could be used if there had been any. I was going by half-remembered impressions, trusting to luck.
“I heard the rippling of a stream to our right. Yes, I remembered the stream. I remembered crossing it. Now to find the bridge. Still looking up, I now saw two breaks in the forest; one led right toward the water but no bridge; the other, to the left ran parallel to the stream. I chose the left road in the sky, hoping to find the bridge further upstream. It took me twenty yards to confirm my doubt that I had mistaken a firebreak for the road. The ground underfoot felt different. I halted and started to double back. Just then I heard a jeep coming from the opposite side of the stream. It came across a submerged bridge.” The crossing was a concrete slab, ankle deep under water, which Peña failed to notice while making his previous trip in a truck. The battalion CP was only a quarter of a mile off.
In the jeep was Major Topping, who, Peña recalled, loudly shattered the mandated combat zone silence. “Lieutenant Peña, we were supposed to complete our relief by 6 o’clock under the cover of darkness. We’re way behind schedule. If there is one man killed during this relief, I’ll hold you to blame! I’ll have you court-martialed and sent back to the States!”
Peña was stunned. “Me to blame? The man didn’t know the whole story. Perhaps I should have refused to take the lead. Perhaps I should have charted the route myself but that hadn’t been included in my orders. As we began to see daylight, I started to worry about the consequences. My prayer was answered by a thick fog, which did not lift until 11 o’clock, long after the relief had been safely accomplished.”
Kemp observed, “The sights … viewed en route to and at [the] new positions were also not conducive to high morale. Shattered trees from artillery and mortar shelling were everywhere, along with numerous shell craters. Discarded equipment of all sorts littered the sides of the muddy, rutted vehicle trails and footpaths. The bodies of friend and foe alike were still being removed. The fighting had not spared noncombatant wildlife, and an occasional bloated deer carcass was seen. The evidence of tough fighting was abundant. Fortunately, both the weather and the enemy cooperated during the exchange. A thick fog developed the night of 25–26 October and provided concealment of the exchange [with the 9th Division soldiers] until late morning of the 26th.”
Peña and his comrades relieved parts of the 39th Infantry in Germeter, a village with twelve to fourteen houses that lined both sides of the road, which ran north and then northeast to Huertgen, a somewhat larger settlement two miles off. East and southeast of Germeter, barely a mile away, was Vossenack, still bigger than the other two hamlets in the forest. Peña’s outfit protected the road toward Huertgen while facing toward Vossenack. His weapons platoon occupied a house and barn on the highway’s east side. They settled in, awaiting orders to attack.
John Chernitsky, son of a Depression-era butcher who became a manager for a steel company in the Pennsylvania coal country, enlisted after high school in the National Guard for the six dollars a month. In February 1941, the 28th was federalized. It was make-believe time for the U.S. military and Chernitsky’s antitank company, which dragged a piece of pipe mo
unted on a truck axle to simulate a 37mm cannon. “When we got to Indiantown Gap [in Pennsylvania] with these three dummy guns, the rest of the 110th Regiment tagged us ‘Captain Scott and his Clang-Glangs.’”
The antitank company soon traded in its ersatz weapons for the genuine article, and when Chernitsky reached Omaha Beach, a few days after the invasion, the puny 37mms had been replaced by the only slightly more puissant 57mm, still unsuitable for the heavy German armor. He remembered the bitter combat in the Normandy hedgerows and near Percy, France. There was a brief celebratory moment as the 28th marched through Paris, but, recalled Chernitsky, “At the end of the parade route we ran into German resistance. We reorganized to resist the German attacks. The Germans retreated ahead of us, and we would run into skirmishes until we hit the Luxembourg border. To show you how fast we were moving, the antitank men slept on the trucks as we were moving along. A couple would be awake for lookout.”
During this odyssey, Chernitsky recalls, “The only men I had lost were six before we got to the Huertgen, when a lieutenant insisted on taking a gun up front in the open. We had four KIA and two WIA as a result. It was a helluva shock.” He also had personal contact with Omar Bradley, whom he recognized when the general commanded the 28th back in the States before he became the 12th Army Group head. “He came forward in a jeep with his aide, a captain. We were pinned down by snipers, and I started walking toward him.”
Bradley apparently expected Chernitsky to deliver a smart salute and demanded, “Don’t you know who I am?”
“I said, ‘If I salute you, we’re both going to be dead.’ Just then a bullet hit his captain in the shoulder.” Bradley left the scene, rapidly.
Chernitsky’s outfit moved into the forest on 2 November. “It didn’t snow until we had been there three or four days, and we got a chance to dig in. We could fortify our foxholes and slit trenches with all of the logs from trees knocked down.” He did not need to worry about a visit from the likes of Bradley. “None of the brass ever came forward to our position. We were too far up front for them.”
