What a Difference a Day Makes…..” (Grandmenil)
This part of my combat experience is tightly interwoven with a song that was very popular at the time. Its title was borrowed to head this segment of our narrative.
I was in the 174th Field Hospital, which was a tent hospital located about 7 miles southwest of Liege. It was there that I first heard the song. Margaret Whiting was doing the vocal. Later on when I was evacuated through the Medavac chain to the U.K, I heard the song done by Vera Lynn.
I give a full account of its impact on me in my description of what it was like to be wounded; to be piped through the Medavac chain, and hearing the news of the disastrous sinking of the MS Leopoldville in an Appendix at the end of this volume. We marched away from that haunting edifice. However, we kept looking back at it over our shoulders until we saw it no longer.
We went down the right road of the fork, and soon were under a heavy canopy of overhanging tree branches. We marched for about 100 yards or so before we came upon a road that bisected our road from the right. Ours came to an abrupt end at the juncture of the two roads. The latter looked to be nothing more than a fire lane to me.
Without hesitation we crossed over this road or lane, and went down a slight embankment, maybe two or three feet, to a semi open space, which happened to be under a rather heavy tree cover. I say semi because we were in, and amongst a strip of trees, both large, and small, that were not tightly packed together. They were spread out thereby providing pieces of flat open ground between the trees for men to dig in. The ground cover was a mix of fresh snow, and Christmas tree branches, and needles… Loads of needles!!!
There is a modern day saying that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong! Well, on the afternoon of the 26th December, the company peeked into Hell, and came away scorched! Here is how it happened.
1st Lieutenant Markowitz went into the grove first. He took up a position near a clearing that looked out upon the valley in Which Grandmenil and La Fosse were located. A mountain spine across the valley ran parallel to the one on our side. A two lane, all weather road ran along the valley floor connecting the two villages. I judged it to be, at the time, about 25 to 30 yards in front of where we were to take our defensive positions.
Markowitz put his back to the scene and facing us as we cambered down the small slope, barked, and waved his arms for one, and all the “Keep moving down to your right… all the way until we tell you stop”! “Keep moving! Keep Moo-ving!! ”
We weren’t moving down to the right to suit the XO. We were beginning to bunch-up which was an absolute no-no. On seeing this, he began to yell and curse, and to question people’s ancestry. “What in hell is the matter with you men? Can’t you follow a simple order to keep moving? What do I have to do? Go down to the head of the column, and lead you like sheep?? Get the lead out of your asses and from between your ears and move, damn it!!!! MOVE!!!”
I wasn’t to far from him, in fact he might have been 10 feet in front, and slightly to my left. He was a short man, stocky built with a round face, reddened by a rise in temper. He sent someone; I think it was Hammonds, to go down the line to our right and to get the men in the line to move further on. Dispatching whomever may have saved that man from what followed! A clarification is in order at this point.
The Combat “A” plan called for us to link up with the companies on either side of us. In this case, mistaken, and or otherwise, the company on our right, as we faced toward the Grandmenil – La Fosse valley, happened to be “H” Company. This “crossover” between “H” and “F”, was part of the Clough legacy of confusion!
By trying to maneuver to tie up with “H” Company, we pinched off Company “G”. In addition, failing to link up as we did, with “H” Company, we left two gaps in the 2nd Battalion’s Defense Line, i.e., one between Croix St Jehenne and Masta which was our real assigned area, and a 500 yard gap between “F” and “H” Companies, in the vicinity of Sur Charmont (see map for G1 and G2).
The Germans were quick to see this debacle. Taking advantage of our mistakes in field maneuvers, they infiltrated a very substantial force through the gaps. This force later took up a strong defensive position in the Croix St Jehenne – Masta sector. Our assault on their defensive position will be described in another section of the chronology.
Markowitz waited for a minute or two before launching into another tirade. This time he was unstoppable. Every curse invented by man came out of him! Finally, in exasperation he fell quiet and began to make small conversation with the men near him. It was during this quiet moment that hell suddenly bounded onto the scene, uninvited. As Markowitz was gabbing with us, a shell whistled over our heads, and landed on the other side of the Grandmenil – La Fosse road. Its impact was judged to be about 100 yards from us.
Markowitz blurred out, “What the hell is going on?” he said as he and the rest of us, straightened up! Before any of us could say a thing, a second shell came in and exploded between the roadway and our tree covered area about 50 yards from where we stood. Needless to say we ducked and or squatted down, taking some comfort that a small of bushes that could have passed for a miniature hedge row was shielding us from the blast of the artillery shell. This movement on our part was in response to a natural instinct and out of fear.
“Hey! That was close!! Let’s get the hell out of here, NOW!!” roared the XO. We quickly wheeled about and started to move back towards the slope and the fire lane that served as the back border of the area that was to be our defense line.
Two things must be said at this juncture of this narrative. The first is about the background of our officers. Only two were trained infantry officers: Captain Tingley and 2nd Lieutenant Olsen. XO Markowitz was a trained Artillery Officer. 1st Lieutenant Thompson was trained as an Air Force Anti-Aircraft Officer and Anti-Aircraft Officer. 2nd Lieutenant Monore was a heavy Weapons Officer.
It was because of his background that Marckowitz reacted so quickly. He recognized the straddling technique viz a viz those two shots. The second thing that must be kept in mind as one reads this portion of the chronology is that a good part of the company was still bunched up in the area running from the base of the slope down to where Markowitz stood. Reason: we were all waiting for the rest of the company to continue to move down further, connect with “H” Company and thereby make room for the rest of us. In the area just alluded to where all the men of the 2nd and 3rd Platoons who were somewhat mixed up because of the bunching. We were packed for the slaughter that was about to enfold us!
Had the movement “to the right” continued unabated, it would have allowed the third and second Platoons and elements of the first and fourth to get in line; to thin out and just maybe reduce the impact of what was to suddenly befall us. It would also have closed one gap in our line and again just maybe (there’s that word again), reduced the number of casualties we suffered in closing the second gap in the day that followed this mournful day.
With Markowitz’s yelling for us “to move back, lets get the hell out of here, go back, go back”, we turned and all at once began crashing into one another, so closely packed were we in that tight rectangular area. Then as we began to spread out and move towards the fire lane in back of us, the third shell whistled in! It hit amongst us!!! Instinct and fear made us react to each incoming shell. We hit the ground, sometime hard, and tried to burrow into that frozen ground. We didn’t care if we landed on our equipment, on one another, or what. The main thing was to get down! A number of times I thought that we went down before each shell hit.
Almost immediately after the third shell struck, I heard someone cry for his mother……”Mommy, Mommy!” I heard someone else yell … “Oh, God, I’m hit!!!” Another… “Help me! I can’t move!” Screams, running feet and hard breathing were all around me. So was mass confusion.
The fourth shell landed right behind me as I was getting ready to “hit the dirt”! It lifted my legs into the air and the force of its explosion drove my head first into a pile of snow and fallen Christmas tree needles. Moments after the shell exploded I got to my feet. I didn’t wait around to examine myself to see if I had been hit or was bleeding. The shock of what was going on along with the will to survive must have numbed all my thinking. I was moving on adrenalin and instinct.
Keeping my head down but my eyes on the slope leading up to the fire lane, I drove myself to run as fast as I could in spite of the conflict that had suddenly arose in me: freeze and stay down versus get up, and run!!!
T/Sgt Tierney, 3rd Platoon Sergeant was next to me on my left. Cpl Joe Gil, BAR Ammo Bearer was in my right. Tierney was beside me through the short savage shelling until it ended. Sometimes we were so close that we were looking into each others eyes. Sometimes we were so close that on one occasion I literally felled down right on his extended arm, and rifle.
The fifth shell came whistling in! It felt dam close! I taught that it was going to go down the back of my neck, i.e., between me and the scarf that I had draped around it. It went off in back of me and to my right. I was stung with flying needles, bits of dirt, ice and rock. The blast threw Gil, or should I say pushed Gil partly on top of me.
Now, none thing has to be said about comradeship, love your buddy, etc. All the time that we were in non combat status, every man in the company, with exception of the officers, drew closer together, willingly shared what they had with one another and looked out for and stood up for each other.
Gil and I were close buddies practically from the day that I joined the company in August of 1944. We got along great! We got along great! However, in this fiery kettle, it was every man for himself! So, I pushed him off me as if he were a bag of horseshit, got up and ran for my life!
Men were yelling and screaming when the sixth and last shell hit in front of me. I felt as if someone had hit the middle of my helmet with a hammer. The pain resulting from that sound and the shell’s concussion went through me, from the top of my head, and down to my toes. I shook and or vibrated all over. For the moment I felt as if I were flour being shaken through a shieve.
The screaming and yelling had stopped. There were just moans mixed with the sweep of a sudden wind through the trees.
I got up dizzy and staggered up the slope onto the fire lane. Some guys were with me on my right. Tierney was not with me! I didn’t wait to find out what had happened. I started to walk, then trot; then run. I must have put 100 yards between me and that hell of piece of land that we had originally planned to defend. Suddenly, I heard Markowitz’s voice yelling way in back of us to “Come back! Your buddies need you! Come back”!
It didn’t take long to get back to that horrific scene. The first thing that I encountered was Tierney sitting on the left side of the road just before it intersected with the fire lane. His legs were outstretched in a V before him. He was not wearing his helmet and he didn’t have his rifle. His face was a mass of sweat. He was looking up the road from whence we had returned. He kept saying over and over “Those Sons of Bitches! Those Sons of Bitches”!!! I walked up to him and placed my left hand on his shoulder to give him some comfort. It was then that I saw what had happened to him. His left eye was partially out of its socket and resting just below it on his cheek. I squeezed his shoulder and someone behind me said “Don’t let him move! Help is on the way”! Just then a Medic came up and began cutting the left sleeve of his Combat Jacket. I kept my hand on his shoulder while the Medic cut the hole and administered a morphine shot. I left Tierney soon after that.
The next sight that I saw was of Lieutenant Olsen of the 2nd Platoon. He was standing in the middle of the same road in a Napoleon pose. His helmet was sitting on the back of his head and his face was bathing in sweat. He was looking up at the surrounding tree line. There was a blotch of blood just where his hand was sticking in his blouse under his combat jacket. I walked up to him asked him “If I could help him”. He lowered his eyes only to say “No! I’m OK. Look after the others”!
I turned from him and it was then that I saw S/Sgt Al Leight, 3rd Squad Leader, 3rd Platoon. He was seated, his back resting against a tree. There were men, some of them Medics, kneeling down around him to work on him and the others that were on stretchers grouped around him.
“God! Where did all this help come from all of a sudden”?
Al had no helmet or any other equipment on him. Like the others, his face was covered in sweat. Unlike Tierney and Olsen, he was aware of what was going on around him. What caught my eye was the cigarette he had in his mouth. It was sort of stuck to his lower lip. It was hanging nearly straight down from his mouth which was opened at the time. The cigarette was not lit.
As I looked at him, I taught that I noticed that he was missing one boot. I later found out that both of his legs below the knees had been nearly cut through by a direct hit. His legs were hanging by sections of torn muscle.
Then I saw two sites that almost caused me to heave my guts! Two buddies of mine who were very close to me were being set down just beyond Al Leight. One was in very bad shape. The other from what I saw at the moment appeared to be dead.
I walked over to where these two men were. The first was sitting up crouched over with both of his hands around his belly. His mouth was open with his lips drawn back revealing a lot of his teeth. His hair was down over his forehead and all wet from sweat. Steam was rising from him like the rest that were around him. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers. His eyes were popping out of his head and he was moaning…. “Ohooo! Ohoooo! …..Ohoooo! As I bent down to drape a discarded jacket around his hands! An artillery shell had disemboweled him. He was Tom Darlington, Pfc, Assistant Barman, 1st Squad, 3rd Platoon.
He was one of the men that used to go into Pembrey, Wales, with Simoleon, Duffy, Jones and myself to drink limey beer and go back to camp singing while walking down the streets of the town during the blackout, arm in arm. He was one hell of a great guy!
A Medic shouted for me to leave him alone and get the hell away from him. So I got up and turned to look at the other man that was lying on a GI blanket near Tom.
He was without a head!!! I wasn’t quite sure who he was just then. At that moment I was beginning to taste my stomach as I had to choke down what was coming up!
Just then a man came over and threw a tent half over him. He was followed by a Medic who was carrying his torn head which was partly wedged in his helmet. They discovered it stuck between a tree trunk and some branches. The helmet had been knocking out of shape.
The Medic put the man’s head down where it would normally be. It rolled out from under the shelter half and it was then that I recognized who he was. It was Bob Duffy: Pfc, Rifle Grenadier, 2nd Squad, 3rd Platoon.
Duff and I had trained at Camp “Lousy Howzie”, Texas. We had gone on a three day pass to Dallas. We saw the city, drank beer, and got laid. We were inseparable! Back in camp if one was on KP, the got the same detail. I felt very empty at this point. It wasn’t a good feeling for me to have, in lieu of what happened next.
It was just as I started to cast my glance elsewhere that a group of men came up carrying a man who was moaning, choking, and crying pitifully. It was Pfc Calvin Cummings, Barman for the 2nd Squad of the 3rd Platoon. They asked me to give them a hand with carrying Calvin.
I quickly grabbed Calvin’s left arm and head which was pointing down towards the ground between the men that were carrying him. The guys that were lugging Calvin were all from the company. Unfortunately, I don’t remember who they were.
We laid Calvin down near where Leight was. I still had his head cradled in my right arm when we put him down. His glasses which he always wore were gone. He was bleeding from everywhere, his mouth, his nose, his chest, down the sleeve of his right arm. He was choking on his own blood! He turned his eyes to me and lifted his left arm and closing his hand into a fist, tapped me twice on my chest and then his eyes glazed over and his head jerked to the right, and he was gone!!!
Calvin was a man from Missouri. I first met Calvin while at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland. We went through advance Infantry Training at Camp Howzie, Texas. He and I were amongst a dozen men who were placed in “F” Company when we came up from Texas to fill the gaps made by the mass transfer of men out of the 75th Division and the Company. We went over on the Franconia. We bunked together in the huts in the Harbor Camp outside of Prembrey in Wales of the U.K. We sailed on the Ill fated Leopoldville to France. We were “sardined” on the 40 an’ 8s to the combat zone in Belgium. Now, this! An end which neither of us taught would ever happen!
I had gone through a lot in the last hour: haunted with the fear of being shot in the back by a sniper hiding in the mansion; apprehensive over what was going to happen now that we were forming up to first hold and then to attack; the rain of artillery shells; the dash for life; the encounter with some of our wounded and now the death of two good friends.
I lost control of the tight rein that I had on my emotions up to this time. I gently laid Calvin’s head down on a part of the GI blanket that was used to carry him up from the “Death Pit”. While on my knees beside his still form, I began to whimper, and then to cry. Someone put a hand on me, and told me to get up! “There isn’t anything more that you can do for him”. It was then that two men threw a black canvas like covering over Calvin.
Trucks backed down to where the “quick and the dead”, the wounded and the dying were laid out along the side of the road. I took one more look at what was once a strong and vibrant man now tucked under a canvas. His left arm stuck out ending in a fist!
As I type these words now some 57 years after this nightmare, I can still see Tierney, Leight, Darlington, Duffy in the throes of their suffering and or in the clutches of death. However, the memory that sticks with me the most is that arm sticking out from under the black canvas and the fist which knock a goodbye on my chest.
They stacked the dead on the back of trucks like a core of wood. The wounded they loaded onto the hood of jeeps; into “meat wagons” and the back of Command Cars.
The slaughter, the gathering of the dead, the wounded, the carting of them away was over in a matter of minutes! It was unreal! Those of us who were in on piece stood staring at all this as if we had not been a part of what had happened! It seemed to us as if we had been forgotten! No one was telling us to come here or go there!
Then just as a numbness was setting in, someone barked an order for the no wounded, the able-bodied and those who were too stupid not to been hit, to go back down into the area where death and destruction had reined supreme for a while, and form up for roll call. They wanted to know who was and who wasn’t!
In Memoriam
Before going on with the chronology on our combat time, I wish to say something about our fallen comrades. Those fine men, who were killed or wounded by artillery fire one day after Christmas in 1944, had yet to fire a shot in anger with the exception of S/Sgt Leight. They didn’t get a chance to find out what they were made of; mice or men; brave men or cowards.
They were for the most part some of the best that the Company had to offer. Many of them were held in high regard; were well liked by their fellows and would certainly have been selected for a leadership role when the time came.
They were cut down to soon, far too soon!
It would be a terrible sham; a stain on my personal honesty, and a disgrace therefore, if I didn’t set aside a special place in the history of “F” Company to remember them.
“F” Company went into combat with 157 officers, and men. They had 6 Officers, 37 NCOs, 4 Technical grades and 103 Infantrymen. On that day that hell fell on them Captain Tingley and the men attached to his office, 12 men to be exact were not with the Company. They were engaged in important supportive duties such as serving as cooks, drivers, etc.
The Company suffered 23 causalities on the afternoon of the 26th: 7 deaths and 16 wounded. Percentage wise, the causality load breaks down as follows:
Officers; 2 of 6 or 33%
NCOs: 7 of 37 or 19%
Ems: 16 or 103 or 15.5%
Causality percentage for the Company: 23 of 145 or 16% (approx)
When “F” Company followed 1st Lieutenant Markowitz down into the covered area to set up a defense perimeter, it did it out of the standing marching order, i.e., the 1st followed by the 2nd, etc. For some reason that I have not been able to fathom since I began writing this historical chronology some 13 years ago, the basis for the out of sequence order taken that day has escaped me. On that faithful day, the 4th Platoon followed by the 1st, then the 3rd and then the 2nd, trailed Markowitz down into that dark hole. The resultant: the 3rd suffered the most causalities.
Here is the breakdown by platoons including the nature of the wounds and or the causes of the deaths. Data is presented in the platoon order used on that day.
4th Platoon:
2nd Lieutenant LaMar R. Monroe, neck wound.
S/Sgt Frederick O. Anderson, death from a head hit.
Pfc Daniel M. Fergus, leg wound.
1st Platoon:
S/Sgt Lyle A. Francomb, lower abdominal wound.
Pfc Jessey H. Allison, death from a chest wound.
Pfc James P. Haddad, death from a chest wound.
Pfc William C. Penn, stomach wound.
3rd Platoon:
T/Sgt Bernard J. Tierney, wound to the left eye.
S/Sgt Alfred C. Leight, severed legs below the knees.
S/Sgt Ellis L. Van Atta, wounds to head and neck.
Sgt Charles R. Clashman, death from multiple wounds to the head.
Pfc Clavin F. Cummings, death from multiple chest wounds.
Pfc Robert L. Duffy, death from severed head.
Pfc Herschell W. Sisson, death by concussion.
Pfc Donald Pruitt, wound to left arm.
Pfc John W. Officer, wounds to chest and legs.
Pfc Thomas V. Darlington, severe wounds to abdominal area.
Pvt Max Martell, wounds to both hands.
Pvt Dennis Profitt, multiple wounds to back and legs.
Pvt William Mc Crady, wound to right arm.
2nd Platoon:
2nd Lietenant Kenneth Olsen, hand wound.
Cpl Curtis Smith, death from back and head wounds.
Pfc Lawrence W. Barnes, wound to face.
Source of “Friendly Fire” (Based on data supplied by Al Roxburgh)
According to the After Action Reports for the 25th to the 28th of December 1944, the 87th Chemical Mortar Battalion was supporting the 289th and the 290th Regiments of the 75th Infantry Division.
Section 275 of subject report states that on 25 December 1944, a Chemical Mortar Company, Company “B”, which was attached to the Combat Command “A”, 3rd Armored Division, as was the 289th, was further attached to the 289th. As a consequence, after reconnaissance, it setup its mortar positions in the vicinity of SADZOT at 1515 Hours.
By reference to the US ARMY HANDBOOK 1939-1945 as written by George Forty, Chemical Mortar Battalions were armed with 4.2 inch mortars capable of firing toxic chemical, smoke bombs and high explosive shell (HEs). These battalions served as the infantry commanders “hip pocket artillery”, capable of placing accurate and heavy fire on target up to the 5000 yard range. The Handbook contains a photo of the mortar and its crew.
On the 26th of December, “F” Company of the 2nd Battalion, 289th Infantry, began to take up an assigned defensive position between Grandmenil and La Fosse. This position was parallel to the road connecting these two villages. Map below identifies this location as being near latitude 89 and between longitudinal line 55/73 and 55/74 on the map. The location was roughly 3 miles from the center of SADZOT. The center of this village is marked with a red dot on said same map. The number 6 on the map marks the approximate area where “F” Company was assembled. FL IDs the fire lane.
Chemical Mortar Company “B” set up its mortar line on the outskirt of the village. (Their mortar line has been identified as MP on the map. Triangular lines, using the scale, below the map, show that “F” Company was within the mortar company’s firing range.
The After Action Report for the 26th of December states in the second paragraph: “Company “B”, in operations with the 289th Infantry, 75th Division, fired 146 rounds of HE ….. unobserved fire on suspected enemy troop(s) assembly area in support of an attack by 2nd Bn, 289th Infantry in the direction of Grandmenil.
Six (6) of those shell landed on the assembled “F” Company who were filing down into and under a strand of trees to take up a defensive position at the time.
Source: http://www.battleofthebulgememories.be/