The Bulge, No Need to Dream of a White Christmas
by Robert Cragg, 26th ID, 104th IR, 2nd Bn, HQ
Lieutenant Jim Bailey was a terrific officer; a good leader, brave, cautious, considerate, knew his business and above all was well thought of by his superiors and subordinates. Yes, he was adept at politics and well aware that risk to life and limb was inversely proportional to the distance one was from the front lines. The success of our patrol group under Bailey’s leadership did not go unrecognized throughout the Regiment as well as the Division. It is not surprising then, in retrospect, to understand how, in the several days we were in Metz, Jim had talked the Colonel into including a Special Patrol Section in the 104th Regimental Headquarters Company. And just who formed the group ? Bailey as leader; Jack Bombard, Tech Sgt (Bailey’s former Platoon Sergeant from “G” Company); Phil Lounsberry; the “Chief, Ed Limes and myself The others from our original group remained with 2nd Battalion with Sgt. Bob Snyder as leader.
The change for us was that, when not on patrol, we were a bit further from the front lines. However; our patrol objectives became somewhat more difficult since we were now responsible to a higher echelon of command who were greatly more critical about obtaining results.
Luxembourg was well into winter when we arrived – it was cold, the ground was snow covered and it continued snowing off and on until we left in late January. Our quick change in orders didnt allow time to outfit the troops in winter clothing – many were without overcoats and had only medium weight or fatigue jackets and none of us had decent foot wear such a “snow-pacs”, although a few did scrounge galoshes. I was lucky because I had in some way obtained a set of tanker’s coveralls and jacket. These were ideal as they were heavy cotton twill lined with a wool blanket – warm, weather resistant and permitted maximum flexibility and comfort. Within a day or so after engaging the Germans we were issued white camouflage suits – a mixed blessing; when in snow – great; but with dark woods as a background, you stood out like a sore thumb. On patrol we rarely wore them.
The Kraut offensive was six days old and the confusion of their whereabouts was great – our Intelligence did not know just where they were. Accordingly, our orders were direct – Go north, through the snow storm until you bump into them. We had been sent forward of the column of Battalions, the 2nd leading, and observed a column of Germans proceeding south. After we reported to Regimental Headquarters the 2nd Battalion engaged the Germans as they came face to face going opposite directions on the same road. Combat again; fighting in Lorraine was tough but the Bulge was rougher and tougher. It seemed everything was against us: the weather – snow and bitter cold; the terrain -rugged hills and dense woods; the enemy – fanatic troops, SS, Parachute and Panzer Divisions who were feverishly fighting in a tremendous effort to split the Allied Forces in two and drive a wedge completely through Belgium to Antwerp. The further north we advanced the stiffer the resistance became.
Christmas Eve, 1944, found us in Grosbous, Luxembourg, a few miles north of where we had first engaged the enemy. The line companies were several hundred yards forward attempting to drive the Germans from other villages, Dellen and Eschdorf. Our section and a several others were in a house still occupied by the owners – a family of four; two parents and their daughters in their early teens. In one of the “Care Packages” I received from home had been a doll or some other small gift to ” – give to a little French girl”. I believe some others had a trinket or so which we all gave to the Luxembourg lassies together with “Ho-Ho’s and Bon Noels” all around. Phil and I attended a Christmas Eve Service conducted by the Regimental Chaplain in a barn complete with cows, a couple of sheep and the aromas attendant to such a location. The hood of the Chaplain’s Jeep served as the altar as we sang a few carols with the strained chords of a portable organ as accompaniment, the Chaplain delivered a short message (which I don’t recall), no collection was taken and the service was hastily disbanded because some invasive artillery was landing too close for comfort. The barrage ceased shortly after returning to our billet and I was writing letters when Bailey called us all together. I was shocked when he informed us that someone had attempted raping one of the little girls. Not an adult but barely a teenager. Crap what next! Fortunately, this little girt suffered no apparent physical damage; emotional, who knows.
One by one we were taken face to face with the girt for identification of the culprit. Of course we were nervous, for who could predict how accurately an emotionally upset little girt could identify a stranger’s face that she had seen only in a darkened room. However, she identified the same individual repeatedly. What a sad way to celebrate Christmas. The end of the story – the culprit was subsequently court-martialed and sentenced (I believe to execution). Amongst others I testified at the proceedings held in Grosbous in January, 1945. Dellen, Luxembourg was a picture perfect Christmas Day, 1944 – snow covered the ground under a magnificent, cloudless blue sky. Bailey had come across a camera and film so we had a photo-op. Also, one of the residents, who had elected to remain during the battle, shared some of her freshly baked cookies with us. Really nice, as I’m certain the ingredients were difficult to come by. The clear skies made it possible for our air force to actively return to the skies – and that they did ! We had ring side seats as they pounded the enemy positions with devastating strafing and bombing runs. This. to us, was like manna from heaven – too bad the pilots couldn’t hear our cheers.
At this time we were on the right flank of the 4th Armored Division as they were heading toward relief of the troops surrounded in Bastogne. On December 26 the 2nd Battalion forced a crossing of the Sure River at Esch-Sur-la-Sure and continued north, leaving the Division’s entire right flank badly exposed since the 80th Division, on our right, was unsuccessful in their attempts to establish a bridgehead across the Sure. Of particular concern was a tunnel through the mountain east of Esch-Sur. On the night of December 27 Bailey was ordered to send a patrol to reconnoiter the road from Esch-Sur to the intersection of the north/south road just beyond the tunnel. We were badly informed about the lagging 80th Division and the fact they were still south of the river. Thinking this patrol would be a piece of cake, since we had been instructed to avoid fire fights, just Bailey, Phil and I journeyed forth.
The two lane road clung to mountain on one side and dropped off to the river on the other. Bailey was to bring up the rear while Phil was on the river side and I was on the inside of the road. Our plan was to continue until we met the enemy; if and when we did it was every one for himself to return to headquarters with the information. We truly thought any contact we made would be with troops of the 80th Division.Since the bridge leading out of Esch-Sur was demolished we had to scramble across the river as best we could to pick up the road on the far side. Going east we spotted a number of land mines spread around but came across no troops; we had some concern about the tunnel as it would be ideal for concealing Kraut troops and tanks but so far so good. Our good luck petered out just as we approached the tunnel when a loud “Halten zee !!” was shouted. Hearing no password in reply the Germans opened up with an MG-42 machine gun. As planned Bailey, bringing up the rear, and Phil, on the river side of the road, took off; me -1 did my best to merge into the mountain side. An MG-42 has a rate of fire of about 2000 rounds a minute; with a tracer every fifth round each burst looked like a thin beam of white tight going down the road. It seemed I was pretty well trapped as the escape route was some distance away across the line of fire and across the road.
Although I was happy for contributing to the Red Cross since it appeared highly likely I might shortly be in a position to receive some of their POW packages; my immediate thoughts were how to get out of this predicament. One thing the Chief had taught us was patience – keep quiet and dont do anything rash. Sure enough, shortly the curiosity of the Germans got the better of them; the firing stopped and one or two came out to investigate. It was my opportunity -1 jumped up, dashed across the road firing my “grease gun” toward the tunnel mouth, went over the bank and down toward the river. In the mad scramble I lost my helmet, grease gun, one boot and a couple grenades – fortunately the Germans were probably just as surprised as I since they gave no chase. Later I caught up with Bailey and Phil in Esch-Surjust as they were reporting to the CO and suggesting that I probably wouldn’t make it back. The next day I scavenged some replacement equipment; but, the Chief, whose grease gun I’d borrowed, was a bit upset because I couldn’t come up with another. We returned that day to take and hold the tunnel until reinforcements arrived.
Early in January, 1945, Bailey got great news that he was one of the first to be given a 30 day rotational leave and would be transported to continental USA, courtesy of the Army, for some welcome R & R. When he left Sgt. Jack Bombard assumed leadership of our group. As we got closer to Wiltz, a good sized city for Luxembourg, German resistance stiffened, the fighting was fierce and advances very limited. By this time it was evident the German effort to break through to capture their initial objective, Liege, would not be accomplished. Therefore, they were forced into the position of salvaging what they could while protecting their flanks so that some order could be maintained in their withdrawal. Wiltz, which was our primary objective, a hub for several important highways was situated atop a mountain and commanded all the surrounding terrain. It was mandatory for the Germans to defend it at all costs – which they stubbornly did. Such a situation dictated constant patrolling, seeking out locations and disposition of enemy forces; maintaining contact with other outfits on our flanks and guarding against any surprises initiated by the Germans. Conditions were miserable -cold, snowy, thick woods and difficult terrain; the Germans had their backs against the wall and were determined in their fighting to prevent us from getting a strangle hold on the neck of the Bulge.
They were aggressively patrolling. On more than one occasion we encountered their patrols, at times almost bumping into one another. Any firefights were usually short and in all we only had one fatality, a replacement with us just a couple of days, whose name I don’t recall. Our missions on these nightly patrols were pretty much the same each time we went out – probe around trying to find weak points in the German lines, try to pick up a prisoner, locate their heavily defended positions, etc. This latter was usually easy, however nerve racking, since the Germans were quick to use flares at the first sign of any activity to their front. As soon as they heard any noises or thought they saw any movement, up went the flares followed by raking small arms and machine gun fire together with supporting mortar shells if necessary. It could get a bit testy.
One night after being driven back by harassing fire we were returning to our lines, following a trail through the woods as a couple of men in camouflage suits approached. It was nutty, we literally bumped into them – not knowing if they were friend or foe. One of our guys challenged them for the password. Their reaction was to scramble and shout a few commands in German – we hit the dirt and several shots were fired. Now it was a game of hide and seek – they wanted to return with a prisoner, just as we did, but no one wanted to take their turn in the barrel. In the dark of the woods our patrol was separated and shortly I lost track of the German I was following and found my way back to the command post. The only other who had not yet returned was Jack Bombard. Some time later he straggled in, a bit worse for the wear; a couple from the German patrol had gotten on his tail and had a merry chase through the woods before he ultimately gave them the slip. An incomplete mission – the only comforting thought was that the Germans were no more successful than we in picking up a prisoner.
Due to the stalemate at Wiltz the Regimental CP remained in Esch-Sur over a week. This was terrific when we weren’t on patrol as we were billeted indoors. Esch-Sur was nestled among the mountains which folded together in such a manner as to cause one to wonder how to get into or out of the town. Along the river the mountainside was nearly vertical for several hundred feet. We were in a house adjacent to the river bank and took comfort in the belief the mountainside would shield us from any artillery or mortar fire. Sporadic artillery fire did rain on other sections of the town but none came close to our billet. Thus we felt quite comfortable in undressing down to our long Johns when slipping into our sleeping bags – the first we’d had such a luxury since mid-December in Metz.
This worked well for a couple of nights and then our house took a hit by a white phosphorus shell into the window of our room. Set the room on fire, which spread to a jeep parked by the front door, and urged us to scramble with whatever few possessions we could quickly gather up, which was precious little. I got out with only what I was wearing. Lost were my weapons, clothes, shoes, helmet, personal items and maps that I had been collecting of where we had been; gone but not forgotten. Can you imagine the lot of us running down the street in our bvd’s in the middle of the night when the temperature was well below freezing, dodging incoming artillery and trying to find another shelter ? You’ve got the picture. It took a couple of days but the supply sergeant rounded everything up, less a 0.45 automatic for me.
Jack Bombard was a good sergeant but he didn’t have the Regimental S-2 Officer’s ear as Bailey did. After the middle of January we had fewer regimental patrols and were shortly transferred back to our original battalion headquarters companies. This was a rude awakening because 2nd Battalion Headquarters was located in Budershied, a small town further forward. The town was exposed and under direct observation by the Germans resulting in constant artillery fire; in fact, it was such a hot spot it became known as “88 Junction”. Several days after we arrived Wiltz was taken and once again we advanced as the Bulge broke down and the Germans retreated toward their homeland. By the end of January we were out of it and about to be trucked south to positions along the Saar River in Saariautem.
The six weeks we spent in the Bulge were the most difficult of our time in combat. The weather was against us – snow was all over, the temperatures extremely cold – water would freeze in your canteen and the artillery constant, heavy and very accurate. Our clothing was not suitable for such conditions – overcoats were so bulky body movement was dangerously impaired; it was difficult, almost impossible to manipulate a rifle with one on; gloves were neither warm nor weatherproof; shoes froze stiff and galoshes were impossible to wear. True to Army efficiency, we finally got sno-pacs to replace our combat boots the day before we were sent south – it then took some time to get combat boots back since our new zone was too warm for sno-pacs. On the plus side many things were done well by the Army. In our Division, mail and packages were delivered almost daily, cigarettes were plentiful, we normally had sufficient rations (not hot meals but food at least) and newspapers – “Stars and Stripes”, “YD Grapevine” and “Yank” magazine were delivered regularly.
After four months in combat I became a changed person, no doubt we all did. It’s curious what over sixty combat patrols will do for one. Combat is a frightening business, indeed, and at times terrifying. Yes, I had confronted death often, face to face; yet I was one of the lucky ones because I walked out of the valley. I was scared – all of us were; it would be difficult to believe anyone who claimed not to be. It wasn’t the possibility of instant death that was most frightening, but of being severely wounded – losing limbs, receiving disabling head and abdominal wounds, becoming a basket case, spending hours in severe pain as the battle continued, ending up a burden to society – that was very scary. Most always the front put on to joke about our situation, make light of the last patrol or anticipation of the next one, was just that; a front to masquerade the fact we were scared. After all, most would do anything to avoid looking bad in the eyes of his buddies and fellow infantrymen.
Witnessing death; injuring, maiming and mutilating human and animal bodies was an accepted occurrence and practice. Participating in the destruction of persons and properties became a way of life -it was destroy to avoid being destroyed. Many perspectives, attitudes and actions changed. Early on, patrols were undertaken with a very cavalier, “hell-bent-for-leather” acceptance; “Let’s move it, by George, we’re going to do this thing and the devil take the hindmost”. Now we approached our missions with more thought and caution, (I hesitate to suggest more maturity. Is there a mature way to wrack havoc and death upon your foes?), more planning as to what each was to do if things went right or wrong and more concern for others and a better understanding as to how other patrol members would react. It’s not certain that we performed our jobs any better since we had lost some of our prior elan and were less flamboyant in completing our missions. However, it is certain that none of us backed away from any of our responsibilities.
And, finally, I came to an understanding just how fragile life is and that death does not respect age, sex, race, social status, education or any other security blanket to which we might cling. No, I did not become a “foxhole” Christian; after all, I had been brought up in a family that believed in God and Jesus Christ and stressed the need for including Christian principles and teachings in all areas of our lives – they also believed regular church attendance was absolutely necessary. My faith was strengthened during these months and I truly believed we were fighting for a just cause. Yes, I had changed – hopefully for the better.