by William “Bill” Armstrong, Service Battery, 263rd Field Artillery Battalion, 26th “Yankee” Division

There was one occurrence in France of which I am not very proud. It turned out all right and, as a matter of fact, probably saved some lives. At the time, however, I was very disappointed in my own lack of bravery.

I was an ammunition truck driver and my primary duty was to keep one of our three firing Batteries supplied with 105mm ammunition. My buddy, Bob Zellmer, and I drove one vehicle and we were with two other vehicles in a convoy when we got lost on the way back to our Battery. It was getting dark, so we decided to ‘hole up’ at the first place we could find. We saw a walled village that was situated on the top of the small hill off to our right. It looked like a good secure place to spend the night, provided we could get through the huge closed wooden gates. We had no idea if the gates were locked. Maybe we’d find a deserted village behind the gates, as so many villages had been abandoned.

As we approached the doors, the smaller door opened and a strange looking man appeared. He was dressed in dark clothing with black smudges on his hands and face. “You guys want in?” he called out. After hearing our surprised “Yes!,” the large doors swung open and our two trucks entered and parked. This strange man turned out to be an American soldier. He said he’d been watching us through a peep hole and was glad we decided to pull in.

I looked around and I will say that I never saw a place quite like this one. It looked very medieval. There were 12 houses in a rectangle and the whole area was surrounded by the fortress. The farmers who lived in this town must have worked in the surrounding fields during the day and then brought their livestock through the gate at night. They must have felt protected by the walls that were about 15 – 20 feet high. There was one thing that we noticed, though, and that was a big hole in the wall that was probably the result of artillery fire.

The American soldier told us that he was part of a unit of 8 men who were holed up in the basement of one of the houses. He led us to one of the houses and then down into a cellar, where there were other men in dark clothing with smudged hands and faces seated around a table playing cards. The men hadn’t shaved in long time and they smelled as though they hadn’t had hygiene in months. The lighting consisted of a number of burning candles placed about the room. It was definitely a very eerie scene.

The soldier said to one of the other guys, “Sir, these guys want to spend the night here. They could help guard the hole for us.” We couldn’t tell which of the men at the table he was addressing. There were no bars on their clothes or other means to identify the officer until he spoke to us. He explained that they were all Military Intelligence and worked behind the German lines at night—hence, the dark clothing and black smudges on the skin. He said that the hole in the wall needed to be guarded because German patrols came by there every night. He asked it we’d guard it that night so he could take all of the men on night patrol.

We agreed to guard the hole in the wall. He explained that although the German patrols came by every night, there was a mutual understanding that if they (the scouts) wouldn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother the scouts. Regardless, he felt that it was better that someone was there on guard, just to make sure this agreement was kept. Should the Germans decide not to honor the agreement and force their way in, he gave us two hand grenades to protect ourselves. We wouldn’t be able to use our guns, because that would give our position away.

The hole was in the back wall of the blacksmith’s forge. There was fuel for the forge and one of the guys lit it to have a fire to heat our K-rations. We all agreed upon a schedule to guard the hole with each of us assigned a 2-hour shift. My buddy, Bob, had the first shift, 10 PM to 12 midnight. After our ‘dinner,’ we spread our blankets on the ground around the forge. Talk soon stopped and we went to sleep, with Bob guarding the hole. It seemed I had just closed my eyes when I felt someone shaking me. It was Bob, telling me it was time for my shift—midnight to 2 AM. He added that he had seen no Germans, and that was good news. I got up, put on my overcoat, slung my carbine on my right shoulder, put on my steel helmet and clambered over the pile of bricks that had been blasted out of the wall so that I could view the “lay of the land.” The town was on a low hill with what appeared to be a brush-lined stream at the foot of the slope. The distance to the stream was about 100 feet. The land between the stream and the wall was filled with vegetation that looked like oats, and that was a perfect setting for someone to sneak up on their belly and surprise us.

It was foggy and the air was chilly. The warmth of my bed roll soon dissipated as I stood in the cold air. There was enough moonlight filtering through that I could see the trees lining the small creek at the foot of the slope. The thought of seeing a German patrol, and the possibility that they might approach and cause trouble, made me grip the grenade tighter. This was a job for an infantryman who had been trained for close combat, I thought, not for me—a truck driver! Sitting down on the pile of bricks, time crept by slowly—minutes felt like hours. It was very quiet and I made sure to listen intently to all the sounds of the night. I thought I heard footsteps, but soon realized I was hearing my own heartbeat! Then I heard swishing in the oats, but realized that was just a breeze that had come through.

Without being aware of it, I found that I had edged my way back away from the hole. I found that I was just a few feet from the place where my buddies were sleeping. How I wished I was back in my warm bed roll! But, I had a job to do, so I must get closer to the hole to guard it. I just got back to the hole and heard a voice “Just checking—is everything OK?” The voice startled me—it turns out that it was one of the American soldiers just checking on me. He had come over rubble without making a sound. No wonder these guys were selected to do what they did—they were very skilled at being silent. I thumped my chest and caught my breath and whispered back, “Please don’t startle me again!” He just chuckled and said he wouldn’t. I told him that I might have pulled the pin on the grenade in my panic! After he left, it dawned on me that the Germans could be just as good as he was with sneaking up very quietly, so I listened even more intently after he left.

I waited and waited. Dead silence. I had time to think. It was then that I realized that I was trembling with fear. What if Germans came? Would I panic? The more I thought of it the worse it got. I was feeling truly afraid! It was the first time I had ever felt fear that intense! “Was I a coward?,” I asked myself. I had one of the grenades in my right hand with one of my fingers on my left hand in the safety ring. One jerk and the pin would be out and I could throw it. My carbine was over my left shoulder. I was as prepared as I could be, but I knew I was rattled with fear and wondered if I would screw up.

Berating myself, I returned to my post and it wasn’t but a few moments later that I saw movement along the creek. Seven dark shapes. “Oh God!,” I thought, “Here they come!” Two of them separated from the others and turned toward the hole. I’m in trouble now. Time for action! Gripping the grenade in my left hand, I tried to pull the safety pin. No matter how hard I pulled, the pin wouldn’t budge. I put it between my knees and pulled with all of my might. Why wasn’t it pulling? In my struggle to pull the pin, the butt of my carbine struck the wall and the two shapes paused. I broke out in a sweat. Did they hear that sound? Was I going to be overrun by both of them? There was no way I could call my buddies. I just had to be as quiet as a church mouse and pray. Slowly, the 2 Germans turned and went back down the slope to join the others. It was a great relief to see their column continue and get out of sight!

I realized I was bathed in sweat and that only made me colder. I just sat on the bricks and tried to stay as warm as I could and regain my composure. My heartbeat returned to normal. When my time was up, I woke up my relief and told him that everything had been peaceful. (I was too ashamed of myself to tell him of the incident). At daybreak, I asked the last guard to hand me the grenade, so I could see it in the light of the day—to see if there was any clue why it malfunctioned. I could see that the pin had been hammered down making it impossible to remove. When I returned the grenade to the lieutenant, I said, “Thanks a lot, Sir! It was a damned good thing I didn’t need it!” He replied, “I knew you men were not trained for close combat. Had you used it, it would have created an incident, and my scouts would have suffered retribution. The gentleman’s agreement with the Germans had to be honored.” I thought of all of the angst I had—all for naught.

I’m not proud to say that I didn’t feel courageous that night. For a long time, I couldn’t share this story with anyone. I wonder if other soldiers had similar experiences?