The Bloody Forest: Battle for the Huertgen: September 1944–January 1945

by Gerald Astor

  The battle plan for the offensive assigned the 707th Companies A and C for direct support of the 112th Infantry. In reserve, B Company, attached to the 28th Division artillery, would supplement the big guns with its own indirect fire. Headquarters company would work with the 28th’s recon units and preserve the right or south flank. Meanwhile, the 110th Infantry would move on Saltonstall, while the 109th placed itself short of the village of Huertgen. After assessing the horrific injury to the 9th Division during its days in the Huertgen, the staff issued a five-page report dated 31 October. Titled “Notes on Woods Fighting,” the paper said, “It is strongly recommended that units … be given previous training in this type of fighting. … Woods fighting is radically different from ordinary operations, and a knowledge of its basic requirements will save lives and insure success.” The document pointed out the difficulty of protecting an individual against the frequent tree bursts with ordinary foxholes, slit trenches, or assuming a prone position. The authors labeled night operations as physically impossible. “Unless a route has definitely been established, do not travel in the woods at night without a compass.” Quite emphatically it warned, “Never send replacements to a company in the heat of battle. … Replacements should not be sent forward during hours when enemy barrages are likely.” Whether any of this was read by the officers of the 28th is unknown, but the evidence indicates the men from the Keystone Division were not tutored in the lessons learned through the painful experiences of their predecessors. Certainly, the cautionary note about replacements was ignored.

  Following the delays of weather, the attack was definitely on for 2 November.

  7

  TURNS FOR THE WORST AT SCHMIDT

  Major General Norman “Dutch” Cota, who owed his command to his effectiveness as assistant division commander for the 29th Division when it became hung up on Omaha Beach, had little input into the strategy that pitted his 28th Division against the enemy entrenched in the forest. The plan, including the deployment of the regiments in their specific sectors, emanated from V Corps headquarters, which in turn bowed to the dictates of First Army and 12th Army Group leaders.

  High hopes pervaded the First Army chieftains. Diarist Sylvan reported on 1 November, “General Gerow came to see the general [Hodges] for final discussion of V Corps’ attack tomorrow morning and with him the general left for a visit to the 28th Division, which was to spearhead the attack. He found them in fine fettle, raring to go, optimistic over their chances of giving the Boche a fine drubbing. The general said their plan was excellent. The feinting toward the north in hopes of fooling the Boche into belief this was the main effort and then whacking him with everything in the direction of the town of Schmidt. General [George] Davis [an old friend of Hodges] was chiefly responsible for the plan, and the general said he had never looked in better shape. Weather report for tomorrow still uncertain, two groups of fighter bombers were to support the attack.”

  In his book The Regiment, Harry Kemp remarked, “There is little evidence that officers who drew the plan were knowledgeable of the conditions existing in the battle area (enemy, terrain, weather). Perhaps they were overly optimistic after almost three months of pursuing an obviously defeated foe. A current phrase for such detailed direction would be ‘micro-managed.’ In any event, Cota and his subordinate commanders were told what to do and how to do it down to battalion and separate company level.”

  In fact, after the war, Cota admitted that the 28th’s attack had, in his words, “a gambler’s chance” of succeeding. Under the best of circumstances, those making the wager were at most risking their commands or their reputations; the chips on the table were the bodies of soldiers.

  Whatever the source of the plans, the 28th appeared a winner for only a few hours before it became obvious the outfit held a losing hand. At 0800, sixty minutes before H hour, the first artillery shells whistled through the air and exploded in the Huertgen Forest. Salvo after salvo shattered the air as the guns of both the V and VII Corps artillery launched more than 4,000 rounds, while the 28th Division’s own pieces poured forth 7,313. At the appointed moment, 0900, the riflemen from Companies F and G, 2d Battalion of the 112th, along with tanks from C Company of the 707th, passed through the outposts around Germeter. As they did, the U.S. howitzers and cannons elevated their barrels to shift their barrages to more distant targets, beyond the areas being attacked by the GIs. The German guns promptly laid down heavy fire on the advancing Americans, inflicting a number of casualties. But with the 707th’s armor as a spearhead, the foot soldiers, carefully staying within the paths marked by the tank tracks to avoid mines, advanced on the objective of Vossenack, clearly marked by its shell-scarred church tower, which undoubtedly served the enemy as an observation post.

  As historian for the 707th, A Company platoon leader Ray Fleig described the efforts of the combined attack by foot soldiers and armor. “Two gaps had been cleared in the friendly minefield in the left sector. The assault platoons moved through the gaps in the wake of the seven tanks. Within a short distance of the line of departure, the driver of T/Sgt. Audney Brown’s tank misread the minefield markings and strayed out of the cleared gap. The tank hit a mine, which blew the track off. When the six remaining tanks moved forward, the platoon leader’s tank became mired in the sponge-like ground. The tank company commander, Capt. George S. West, came forward in his command tank and picked up Second Lieutenant Quarrie and took his position on the line of advancing tanks.

  “At the approach of the coordinated tank-infantry assault, supported by artillery fire, many of the defending Germans in Vossenack fled north, east, or southeast. En route, a soldier stepped on one of the numerous mines sown along the road from Germeter to Huertgen. When a machine gunner attempted to aid the wounded GI, he triggered another mine that killed him and set off an additional batch. Company G pressed ahead, leaving a dozen killed or wounded from the minefield. Past outlying farms and open fields north of Vossenack, the tanks of Company C and the infantrymen of Company G pushed on quickly and soon reached the objective, the nose of the ridge northeast of Vossenack, pointing toward the dominating Brandenberg and Bergstein ridge. In an attack for which the planners had allowed three hours, the tank-led assault force had taken only one hour and five minutes, gaining the objective shortly after 1000 hours.”

  The offensive on the right side encountered much stiffer opposition. Fleig reported that the first three tanks from Company C of the 707th led off with the 112th’s Company F platoon so closely behind that the platoon leader had his hand to the rear of Lt. James Leming’s Sherman. Only sporadic mortar fire fell until the column cut across the main Vossenack road. From a wooded draw, a well-concealed panzerfaust knocked out one tank. The remaining armor lumbered on while blazing away at suspected enemy positions hidden among the trees. Some 300 yards farther, Lieutenant Leming’s guns jammed from overheating. A radio message brought up a section of three tanks from the reserve.

  Other elements from Company C of the 707th moved forward to assist infantrymen taking fire from Germans in a house at a crossroads near Vossenack. Two 75mm shells blasted the building, enabling the GIs to charge into it and capture seven soldiers with a pair of officers. After the platoon leader’s tank was disabled by a mine, two Shermans rattled down the main street, pouring shells into each building while their partners on foot then stormed inside to seize any surviving enemy. The initial achievements of the offensive in this area may have fooled the upper echelons into believing their strategy correct. The ground in front of the Vossenack ridge was relatively open terrain, allowing tanks to maneuver more easily. In the main arena of the Huertgen, the possibilities would be far more limited.

  While their brother companies, aided by the 707th tanks, occupied Vossenack, other elements of the 2d Battalion, at the insistence of Gerow, Cota, and Brig. Gen. George Davis, the assistant commander of the 28th, moved to the eastern edge of the ridge overlooking the town.

  The accounts filed with the First Army were summarized by Sy
lvan: “Nov. 2 at 9 o’clock, the 28th Division launched the V Corps attack to the east with the 109th and 112th Infantry after an artillery preparation by almost 25 battalions participating. The attack progressed well in the morning but slowed up in the afternoon [because of] increased fortifications and heavy mines. The 1st and 3d battalions of the 109th reached their immediate objectives, advancing over a mile southeast of Huertgen. The 2d Bn. of the 112 Inf. advanced 1–1/2 miles to the town of Vossenack, its initial objective. The 110th Infantry jumped off at noon but made only a slight advance. 350 prisoners were taken during the day and the Gen. pronounced himself ‘well satisfied’ with the progress made. The air had only a slight opportunity to aid in the attack because of the bad weather, on one occasion dropping the bombs in the midst of our troops causing, according to preliminary reports, 15 casualties.”

  The first night in possession of the Vossenack ridge passed fairly quietly but, recalled then-Lt. Preston Jackson, the 112th liaison officer with its three battalions, “The Germans were on the high ground looking down on us.” In full view of German artillery observers during the daylight hours of 3 November, the riflemen could not leave their foxholes even to relieve themselves, such was the fury of the mortars and artillery rounds that burst upon them.

  On the left flank of the 112th, the 109th Infantry proceeded according to the plans issued from on high. Captain Wilfred Dulac, CO of I Company, explained the mission to platoon leader Bill Peña. He described the operation as partly a feint but also a deployment to protect the Germeter-Huertgen road while the 112th did the heavy lifting.

  Said Peña, “At nine o’clock our rifle platoons began the movement forward. The sounds of the initial volleys of rifle fire were evidence of the resistance. Our mortars were busy firing according to plan. The artillery fire was lifted to more advanced targets.”

  The tactics called for I Company mortars to cover the front of the lead platoons with a flare gun signal to cue them for a barrage. Although the troops had walkie-talkies, they did not depend on them but relied instead on a field telephone line back of the mortars from an observation post in a house, a distance of only seventy-five yards. It was Peña’s job to see the flare and then relay the order to fire to the mortar squads.

  “The enemy artillery started firing at our sawmill position—an obvious location for some of our activity. I jumped into the hole in which I had located the rear field phone. Jamison and Reger, regularly ammunition carriers, were in charge of the phone. The hole itself was some seven by twelve feet in size and six feet deep—originally it had been dug by the sawmill people as a dry trash pit. When we heard the whistling of incoming artillery, we crouched low against the earthen walls. It was almost as if the Germans knew exactly where the trash pit was located. In quick succession, the rounds came in; one, ear-ringing noise; two, closer even with our fingers to our ears; three, close enough to splatter us with dirt; four, earth-shaking and more dirt. The deafening noise was enough to leave us in shock. The thought of one of them landing in the hole was completely unnerving.

  “I looked at Jamison and Reger. They were visibly shaking. I grabbed the phone and turned the handle. ‘This is Item, this is Item. Can you hear me?’

  “Again, again. No response. The wire could be broken, I thought, or else the two observers were out of action at the house. I turned the phone over to Reger. ‘Here, you try it.’

  “Reger couldn’t say the words nor go through the motions. I took it and gave it to Jamison. ‘Try it.’

  “Jamison had difficulty with the ritual. He stuttered at first. Then he said it loud and clear, ‘This is Item. This is Item. Can you hear me?’

  “Back to Reger. ‘Try it again.’ He began quavering but effective enough. ‘This is Item. This is Item. …’

  “I left them saying, ‘Keep taking turns. I’ll check the wire. We must be in touch with the observation post.’ I was hoping to keep them busy. I didn’t know what else to do.

  “I ran to the sawmill. I found one of the observers there. ‘They’re shooting 88s at the house.’ [88s were different from other artillery in that they did not have the warning whistle.] Stroud got hurt. I brought him back here. He’s now on his way to the aid station.’ It was almost time for the flare signal. We had to be there to see it.”

  Franklin (the other soldier who had been in the observation post) and Peña ran to the house, which had been battered. “Franklin and I took cautious positions by windows and waited for the flare signal. The phone was dead—I’d forgotten to check the line. It’d be easy enough to run back when the signal came. The approximate time came and passed without a flare signal in sight. I hadn’t known Franklin well, but I knew that he wasn’t afraid. An unexpected round came in. It hit another part of the house. Franklin joked about the way they were destroying German property. Later a whistler came in and hit in front of the house. We both held our places, trusting the thick stone walls.

  “We talked about the situation—the sputtering machine gun across from us, still active, meant that our men had not reached that point. But why no flare? We were putting too much importance on this signal.” After what seemed like an hour had passed, Peña decided to check back with the sawmill outpost and send up another GI to stay with Franklin.

  “Dulac came to the sawmill. He’d just come from the 1st Platoon area. That platoon had advanced up to a point where they were stopped by a barbed-wire barricade and a minefield covered by machine gun fire—in fact, several barricades and minefields.

  “Dulac said he wanted to go to the 2d and 3d Platoon area to our left. I told him to take the rear route, because the machine gun was covering the open space which he wanted to cross. He calmly ignored my warning. With him were ‘Pop’ Johnstone, our acting first sergeant, and Dallas Elwood, our communication sergeant. All three started walking leisurely across the open space.

  “When they were halfway across, the machine gun opened fire with a burst. All three fell to the ground. Someone was hit. The other two were helping him back to the sawmill. It was Captain Dulac. Johnstone and Elwood were carrying him between them. Once at the sawmill, they laid him down on the ground, and our medic took Dulac’s shoe off. ‘You’ve got a million dollar wound, Captain Dulac. A clean hole through the meaty part of the heel,’ our medic said smiling.

  “Dulac didn’t feel like joking—quite the opposite. His eyes flooded with tears. He turned to me and said, ‘I hate like hell to leave the company in such a mess. Johnstone can fill you in on the situation at the 1st Platoon. You’re the senior officer here—you’re in command now.’”

  Major Howard Topping, the battalion commander who had reamed Peña out during his misguided effort to lead the outfit to its position, appeared and declared the first order of business to be the elimination of the machine gun. Private Joseph Clark, a robust soldier with a history of disciplinary infractions volunteered to take a BAR and destroy the threat.

  Clark crammed extra magazines inside his shirt and then snaked his way along the edge of the woods into enemy-controlled ground until he came within sight of the gun emplacement. Peña said, “We heard the distinct sluggish bursts of his automatic rifle, putt-putt-putt-putt. The machine gun answered his fire with rapid spry bursts—purrrp-purrrp. Now they were both firing. Weapon for weapon. He was one man against a team of two to five men. The two firing sounds alternated, then only Clark’s fire continued. He’d known well to take plenty of ammunition. The machine gun was silenced!”

  The elated Topping announced he would nominate Clark for a Silver Star, and the hero returned unscathed. But now Peña attempted to find the platoons pinned down by the enemy fire, barbed wire, and mines. With Johnstone and Elwood, the platoon leader searched for the men, finding a handful but not the main group, even as they worked their way so far into the forest that they came upon another outfit. Peña noticed the men digging in a position that left their rear exposed to the enemy. He spoke to the company commander, but the officer insisted that battalion orders directed his unit to
face southwest. Only later that night did his superiors require him to turn about. The fog of war had begun to envelop the 28th, with the officers and men blindly groping to establish rational, effective action.

  When Peña returned to the sawmill, the total number of ablebodied men added up to about twenty-four from the eighty or so who jumped off for the attack. One platoon leader, winner of a battlefield commission earlier, recalled Peña, “had left the scene dazed. He had drifted to the aid station. The doctor had diagnosed his case as acute combat fatigue. This documented diagnosis saved him later from the charge of desertion at a court-martial. He served with distinction in another company the rest of the war. The 2d Platoon leader had been wounded and evacuated.

  “Among the many casualties was a man who had been recently hospitalized and who shot himself in the toe with no witnesses to his ‘accident.’ The number of casualties was frightening—most of them wounded, few dead. With the key officers and sergeants on our left gone, the remaining few men had wandered aimlessly, although the worst was over.” For the moment.

  Harry Kemp also observed some skittish reaction to intense enemy fire that fell on his heavy machine gun platoon. “Staff Sergeant Raymond J. Barber, the platoon sergeant and acting platoon leader, seeing that some of his men were becoming increasingly perturbed and slacking off in firing their mission, took immediate action to reassure them. He moved from gun to gun, demonstrating by his example that accomplishment of the mission came first. Barber was later awarded the Silver Star medal as a result of his leadership in this instance.”