People attending the annual commemoration in the Nation’s Capitol will have the opportunity to extend their trip a little for more Bulge programming. BOBA is co-sponsoring what we hope is the First Annual Battle of the Bulge conference at the site of the US Army’s other greatest battle, Gettysburg, PA.
Gettysburg is only about 100 miles north of the Commemoration HQ hotel and we can work on transportation for people whose S-4 (logistics staff) didn’t arrange transportation. The conference will be held at the World War II American Experience museum on the outskirts of town on January 27.
Two key BOBA officials, historian Jim Triesler and editor Leon Reed, will be presenting at the conference, along with another BOBA member, Tom Vossler.
We hope to get best selling author Jeff Shaara to give a keynote address (and sign some books).
Other speakers and their topics:
Andrew Biggio, author of The Rifle and the brand-new The Rifle 2, will speak about GI experiences in the battle and upon their return many years later.
Stuart Dempsey, licensed Gettysburg guide and owner/operator of Battleground History Tours LLC, will talk about the underdog 106th division
Leon Reed, Bugle editor and by then the author or editor-publisher of three WWII memoirs, will speak about the role of the 80th division in stabilizing the southern flank of the Bulge and the liberation of Bastogne.(He gave an early version of this talk at the 2023 commemoration but it is far advanced since that time.)
Jim Triesler, who works as Education Director for the Virginia War Memorial when he’s not doing his more vital work for BOBA, will speak about 10 victims of the Malmedy Massacre.
Tom Vossler, licensed guide and retired chief of military history at Carlisle, will speak about Ike, SHAEF, coalition warfare, and the incredible leadership skills Ike summoned to keep the entire alliance (mostly) moving in the same direction.
We think this is a powerful lineup and BOBA is proud to be a co-sponsor.
The following story was found in the records of BOBA’s Ohio Buckeye chapter. The chapter recently closed but the son of the last president thought to contact us to see if we want to have the records sent to us. We are making an arrangement with Jim Triesler to have the Virginia War Memorial serve as the archive of VBOB/BOBA records.
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Christmas Peace
A True Story by Fritz Vincken,
Found in the papers of the Ohio Buckeye Chapter, VBOB
More than half a century ago, on Christmas Eve 1944, in the middle of the battle about the Ardennes, mother and I had unexpected guests.
On that Holy Eve the infantry division No. 256, having received replacements from Bohemia was fighting left on the Rhine bank. Its six battalions had been regrouped. In the New Year Night they once more attacked the Maginot Line from the area around Pirmasens under the code name ‘Nordwind.’ The casualties of that final German advance in the west are buried on the soldier cemetery at Bad Niederbronn (Alsace) and at Dahn (Palatinate).
At that time I was twelve years old and we were living in a small cottage in the Ardennes, near the Belgian border. Father had used this little house before the war when he had gone hunting on weekends. And when our hometown Aachen suffered more and more under the air raids, he sent us there. He himself was ordered to the 6 km distant border town Monschau for air raid protection. “In the forest you will be safe,” he said to me. “Take care of Mother. You are a man now.”
But one week ago Generalfeldmarschall von Rundstedt had started the last desperate German offensive and whenever I went to the door I heard the battle raging.
When there was a knock at the door on Christmas Eve, Mother quickly blew out the candle. Then she went to the door, I behind her. Outside, before the ghostly background of snow-covered trees stood two men with white steel helmets. The one addressed Mother in a language we didn’t understand and pointed to a third one who was lying on the snow. She conceived quicker than I that they were Americans.
Mother stood – her hands on my shoulders – unable to move. The men were armed and would have been able to force their way in. but they didn’t move and were begging only with their eyes. The wounded man in the snow was more dead than alive. “Come in,” Mother said finally. The soldiers carried in their comrade and put him on my bed. None of them spoke German. Mother tried with French and in this language one of the men was able to communicate to some extent
Before Mother took care of the wounded man, she said to me, “The fingers of both are totally stiff. Have them take off their jackets and the boots and go and get a bucket of snow.” Shortly after, she rubbed off their blue frozen feet with snow. The stocky, dark haired man, we heard, was Jim. His friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry was the wounded man who slept in my bed now. His face was as white as the snow outside. They had lost their unit and got lost in the forest trying to find the Americans, always anxiously watching out for the Germans. They were unshaved, but without their heavy coats they looked like tall boys. And Mother treated them accordingly.
“Go and bring Herman,” Mother said to me, “and also bring some potatoes.” This was a deep cutting change in our Christmas program. Herman was a fat cock (named after Hermann Goering, for whom Mother hadn’t any sympathy). He had been fed in the past few weeks in the hope that father would be home at Christmas.
While Jim and I helped in the kitchen, Robin took care of Harry, who had got a shot in his upper leg and was almost bleeding to death. Mother tore a sheet in stripes to bandage the wound.
Soon the smell of the baking cock filled the room. I was just about to lay the table when there was another knock. In the expectation of seing even more Americans, I opened without hesitation. Outside were four men in a uniform well known to me. German soldiers – Ours! I was paralyzed by the shock. Despite my youth, I knew the law. Whoever is hosting the enemy is committing treason. We all could be executed. Mother also showed fear. Her face was white, but she went out and said calmly: “Merry Christmas!” “We have lost our unit and want to wait until day comes,” explained the leader, a sergeant. “Can we stay with you? “Naturally,” mother said with the calmness of desperation. “You can also have a good warm meal and eat as long as something is available.”
The soldiers smiled while sniffing the good smell coming through the half open door. “But,” Mother continued energetically, “we have three more guests here, whom you are not likely to consider as friends.” Her voice was suddenly so strict. I had never hard her speaking in this manner. “Today is Holy Eve and there is no shooting.”
“Who is inside?” the sergeant asked brusquely. “Americans?” mother looked each one in the frost stiffened face. “Listen,” she said slowly, “you could be my sons and they in there too. One of them is wounded and is fighting for his life and his two fellows are lost and hungry like you. In this night,” she spoke to the sergeant and lifted her voice, “in this Holy Night we do not think of killing.”
The sergeant looked at her. For two, three endless seconds there was silence. Then Mother ended the uncertainty. “Enough talk,” she said and clapped her hands, “put your weapons there on the wood pile – and hurry before the others eat everything up.”
Dazed, the four soldiers put their weapons in the box of firewood in the aisle. Two pistols, three carbines, one light machine gun, and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother talked hastily with Jim in French. He said something in English and I saw with astonishment that the Americans also handed over their weapons to Mother.
As now the Germans and the Americans were standing shoulder to shoulder with embarrassment. Mother was in her element, smiling, looking for a place for each one to sit. We had only three chairs but Mother’s bed was large. There she placed two of the later arrivals next to Jim and Robin. Then she continued cooking without taking notice of the tense atmosphere. But Hermann didn’t get bigger and we had four eaters more.
“Quick,” she whispered to me, “go and et a few potatoes and some oat meal. The boys are hungry, and when the stomach rumbles one is easily irritable.” While I was plundering the store room, I heard Harry groaning. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses and was bending over the wounded soldier. “Are you an ambulance man?” Mother asked. “No,” he said, “but I studied medicine in Heidelberg until a few months ago.” Then he explained, as it appeared to me in fluent English, that Harry’s wound was not infected, thanks to the low temperatures. “He has only lost a lot of blood,” he said to Mother. “He simply needs rest and nourishing meals.”
The pressure was fading. Even I had the impression, when all the soldiers were sitting side by side, that they were all still very young. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were sixteen. The sergeant was the oldest with his twenty-three years. He took out a bottle of red wine from his haversack and Heinz found a loaf of rye bread, which Mother cut into slices. They were all asked to come to table. The rest of the wine was set aside for the wounded man.
Mother spoke the prayer. I saw that she had tears in her eyes when she recited, “Komm, Herr Jesu, sei unser Gast . . .” and when I looked in the round, the eyes of the soldiers were wet too. They were boys again, the ones from America and the others from Germany. All distant from home.
Towards midnight Mother went to the door and requested all to follow her to see the star of Bethlehem. With the exception of Harry, who slept quietly, all stood next to her. And while viewing the Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, the war was far away and almost forgotten. Our private ceasefire endured also the next morning. Harry awoke in the last night hours, groaning, and Mother poured some broth in his mouth. When the day dawned, he was visibly stronger. Mother stirred him one egg, we took some sugar in the rest of the red wine for a powerful drink. We others ate oat meal. Then a stretcher was fabricated for Harry with two sticks and Mother’s best table cloth.
Bent over Jim’s map, the sergeant showed the Americans how they could find back to their troops. In this mobile war the Germans seemed amazingly well informed. He put the finger on a brook. “Go along here,” he said, “on the upper leg you will meet the First Army, which is reorganizing.” The medical student translated everything in English. Mother gave back all the weapons. “Be careful, boys,” she said. “I hope that one day you will get back to where you belong, back home. God Bless you all.”
The Germans and the Americans shook hands and we saw them disappear in opposite directions. When I returned in the house, Mother got the old family Bible. I looked over her shoulder. The book was opened to the Christmas story, at the report of the birth of Christ and the manger and the three men who came from far away to bring gifts. Her finger slid over the line, “… And they traveled back to their land along a different route.”
Postscript from Washington Post article “US and German Soldiers Shared Christmas eve dinner at height of WWII, by Dave Kindy, 12/24/2022
Not long afterward, the war ended, and the Vinckens were reunited. Fritz immigrated to the United States in 1959 and later opened a bakery in Honolulu. Hubert died in 1963, and Elisabeth followed in 1966.
Fritz always hoped to meet the soldiers again, though he knew his chances of seeing the Germans were not good, given their staggering casualty rate at the end of the war. He thought publicity might help, starting with his 1973 Reader’s Digest article, which President Ronald Reagan mentioned in a 1986 speech. In 1995, Fritz appeared on national television, telling his story on “Unsolved Mysteries” to host Robert Stack.
A nursing home chaplain in Frederick, Md., saw the episode and remembered a resident telling a similar story. He contacted the TV producers about Ralph Blank, a World War II veteran who had been a sergeant with the 8th Infantry Division in 1944.
In 1996, Fritz flew to Maryland to meet with Blank, who was 76 and in poor health. They recognized each other immediately and reminisced about their shared evening of peace during a hellish war.
The reunion was filmed and shown on “Unsolved Mysteries” later that year. At one point during the episode, Ralph turned to Fritz and said, “Your mother saved my life.” For the former German boy who was now an American citizen, that moment was the high point of his life.
“Now I can die in peace,” he told the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. “My mother’s courage won’t be forgotten and it shows what goodwill will do.”
Neither man lived to see the 2002 TV premiere of “Silent Night,” a retelling of their 1944 encounter. Ralph died in 1999 at age 79, and Fritz died in 2001 at 69. (The families of both men could not be reached for comment.)
In a 1997 interview, Fritz spoke of the lessons he learned from the Christmas miracle.
“The inner strength of a single woman, who, by her wits and intuition, prevented potential bloodshed, taught me the practical meaning of the words ‘good will toward mankind,’ ” he said, adding, “I remember mother and those seven young soldiers, who met as enemies and parted as friends, right in the middle of the Battle of the Bulge.”
Frank Chambers celebrated his 100th birthday on August 9, 2023. Chambers served in the 75th Infantry Division, 291st regiment during the Battle of the Bulge. He pulled a 105 mm canon behind his 6×6 Jimmy truck. He earned the Combat Infantryman Badge and Bronze Star. Dad was awarded the French Legion of Honor in 2010.
After the service he married Doris Albers, and they had two children, Marjorie Duffield and John Chambers (1956-1984). Frank has 2 grandsons and their wives, and 2 great grandchildren. .
Much of Frank’s career was with the Farm Bureau organizations in Illinois and Nebraska. He also had a 19 year career with the Gallup Organization, retiring at age 80.
He is a life member of The American Legion, and has been active in his church, Scouts, and speaking to public school students about WW2. He resides with his wife in League City, TX.
Four generation photo at Frank Chambers’s 100th birthday celebration.
Benjamin Melvin Berry was born to parents Hester and James Wallace Berry Sr. on September 21, 1923. He is celebrating this milestone with a party at Philadelphia’s Mission BBQ.
He was one of four children. He can proudly trace his ancestry back to great-great grandparents Paul and Ameilia Edmonson, whose children Emily and Mary were friends of Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass and were active abolitionists in the Washington DC. area in the 1840’s. Their story is told in the book Fugitives of the Pearl.
Ben was drafted into the segregated US army in WWII in 1943. He served in Germany, Luxembourg, France, England, and Belgium and was in The Battle of the Bulge, the largest battle fought by Americans in WWII. His title was Technical Corporal, with duties of providing equipment and supplies to his company, even water for drinking, washing, and cooking. Blacks were not allowed to fire weapons, but he and his buddies sometimes sneaked and practiced by shooting rats at the dump. Ben prayed if God let him survive this war, he would serve him the rest of his life, and he has kept that promise. He’s been a faithful member of First Baptist Church of Crestmont for nearly 90 years. Ben was honorably discharged in 1945 after serving 27 months.
Ben went to Bok Vocational School on the GI Bill to learn paperhanging. Although blacks were not allowed in the paperhangers’ union at that time, he became a successful entrepreneur, managing his own business for more than 60 years. He provided apprenticeship opportunities to young people, some of whom opened their own businesses, and did charity paperhanging from time-to-time, for example papering walls at the Ronald McDonald House.
Ben has four children, 9 grandchildren, a host of great-grandchildren, one great-great grandchild, and lots of other family that he loves.
Two of the many honors he’s received in his life include recognition for 50 years of service as a deacon at his church and election as president of the Philadelphia Paperhangers Guild.
Ben has many interests, including genealogy, antiques, and veteran’s organizations. He is on the Board of Aces, a veteran’s museum in Germantown, and is often interviewed about his experiences in the army.
Three things Ben would want you to remember are (1) Serve God and others (2) Save a lot; give some; spend a little (3) Put family first.
One thing I would like you to remember is that everyone has a story that others can benefit from hearing. It’s important to tell your story.
WWII and Battle of the Bulge Veteran Dr. Ralph I Dinin is celebrating his 100th Birthday on September 12, 2023.
Ralph was born September 12,1923 and was raised in Brooklyn/Bronx, New York. He graduated from Stuyvesant High School and continued his studies at Brooklyn College until 1943 when he entered the Army. Ralph served from February 1943 – January 1946 with the 701st and 740th Tank Battalions 82nd Airborne during WWII and the Battle of the Bulge. He received The Good Conduct Medal, three campaign stars for the European, African Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, the American Campaign Medal, and the WWII Victory Medal, The French Legion of Honor, the Sharpshooter (for marksmanship) Badge with Machine Gun clasp and was recognized for Meritorious Service by the State of New Jersey. His nickname was “Bulldog” and he was discharged in 1946 with the rank of Technical Sergeant.
We all thank Ralph for his service and wish him a very happy birthday as we celebrate this momentous milestone!
Two members of our Delaware Valley chapter, Jake Ruser and Benjamin Berry, will appear at the Eisenhower Farm in Gettysburg on September 17 to discuss their experiences during the Battle of the Bulge. They will be speaking at the Eisenhower Farm WWII weekend, a major living history and educational event that will take place from Friday, September 15 through Sunday the 17th.
Ruser and Berry will talk at noon on Sunday. Ruser was featured in the Spring 2023 issue of the Bugle; he recently returned to Hurtgen Forest to relive memories of being a stretcher bearer during that battle.
BOBA will also have an information table at this event. Other attractions will include presentations and book signings, vehicles, living history, and hands-on events. Admission is open to everyone and there is no charge. Drop by if you’re in the neighborhood.
Join us at the Eisenhower Farm in Gettysburg. BOBA will be exhibiting there Saturday, September 16 and Sunday, September 17. Come by and say hello. This is a big World War II event and gives BOBA good exposure to a crowd of World War II enthusiasts.
The theme of the Eisenhower Farm event is “1943,” which is outside our main area of interest, obviously. Besides information and exhibits about BOBA and the Battle of the Bulge, we’ll have exhibits on two activities that were underway in 1943 that were vital in creating the mobile, lethal strike force that blunted Hitler’s legions: the Arsenal of Democracy, which produced the weaponry, and the 1943 Tennessee Maneuvers, which allowed the army to incorporate the lessons of mobile warfare.
My association with the 8th Air Force is through the 361st Fighter Group where I was assigned as a P-51 pilot from October 1944 to July 1945. The 361st Fighter Group was credited with participation in the Battle of the Bulge. When I was young and picking strawberries on our Delaware farm, I once saw planes flying in formation, and knew they were having more fun than I was. Since then, I always wanted to fly.
On the 4th of June 1942 my sister Theresa and I graduated from Laurel High school in a class of 31. Of the fifteen boys that were in the class I can think of only three who did not enter one of the military services.
My older brother Nathan had requested two letters of recommendation so that he could volunteer for aviation cadet training. So I asked my parents to get two letters for me. With my two letters, I went to Wilmington and put in my application. In a few days I got a letter telling me to report to Fort Dix, New Jersey.
Having passed my physical, I got a letter telling me to report to the Post Office in Camden, New Jersey. There, on November 30th 1942, I was sworn in as an enlisted Private in the Reserve Corp.
After completing our six weeks of college classes we were again loaded on a train; this time with Pullman cars, which I guess does prove that a college education pays off. At the San Antonio Aviation Cadet Center, we were to go through classification and, if qualified, on to preflight training. Our classification consisted of many written tests, motor skill tests, and a visit with a psychologist or psychiatrist (I don’t know which.) All of this testing and evaluation was to determine whether you should enter pilot training, bombardier training, or navigator training. I had to go see the psychologist a second time, and he asked me why I was so nervous. I told him it was because I was afraid that he wouldn’t let me go to pilot training, and he said, “Well, if you don’t, you know it’s for your own good!” I told him, “Well, it might be, but that isn’t what I enlisted to be. I want to be a pilot.” I guess he believed me, because he passed me for pilot training, which took place at Corsicana, Texas, where we were assigned for primary flying school.
Near the end of the basic flying course you were asked to make a choice as to where you wanted to go for advanced training, and I chose pilot training. For advanced training I was sent to Aloe Field at Victoria, Texas, where I flew the AT-6. I also flew the P-40. After completing the 15-20 hours of flying time in the P-40, I finished my 200 hours of flying time, and on the 15th of April 1944, I graduated as a pilot and was promoted to Second Lieutenant. We were again loaded up on the train and took a long ride to Camp Kilmer, New Jersey, which was a staging area for the port of New York.
Meanwhile my brother, Nathan, had been eliminated from the flight training in the cadet program and had gone to gunnery school, training for the B24 prior to going to Europe. Nathan and I were later to fly several missions together for the 8th Air Force.
After 5 days of crossing the Atlantic, we arrived in Liverpool. Due to the speed at which the Mauritania could travel, we did not have an escort going across the Atlantic until we were close to the English shore. We then had some escort ships pick us up with some aircraft overhead. From Liverpool we boarded one of the quaint little trains for a trip to Goxhill, which was located on the northeast coast of England, a few miles south of a port city of Hull, where shipyards and dry docks were located.
After completing our training at Goxhill, it was time for the pilots to be reassigned to the fighter units. We were told that if a group of us wanted to go together, we could match up our number of pilots with the number that is required for a Fighter Group, and then we could get assigned together to that unit. Some of my buddies and I were sent to the 361st fighter group.
On November the 25th 1944, I flew my first regular combat mission. It was escort to Lutzkendorf. I don’t remember exactly where that is, but it was a deep penetration mission, because we logged 5 hours 35 minutes flying time. It was our commander’s practice (Major Rew) to take the first mission for new pilots and fly them as his wing-man. I doubt there were many other squadron commanders who would trust their protection to a first mission pilot. I flew again the next day, and again the mission was escorting a radio relay ship. While we were escorting the relay ship, the fighter escort for the bombers encountered a large number of German fighters: ME 109s and FW 190s. The Group had their best day of the war destroying 23 German airplanes, probably destroying 2 others and damaging 9. We had no losses during this encounter—however, one pilot had to crash land in Holland on his way back home. Thankfully, he survived. Among those claiming victories in this encounter was my flight commander John Wilkinson and my good buddy Richard Chandler. Also claiming victories among the fellows who came from Waycross, Georgia were Robert Farney and Delmar Ford. Ford was killed later in the war, while strafing an aerodrome.
The next mission I flew was on November 30th. We were escorting B-17s that were bombing an oil refinery area north of Munich. The weather was clear, not a cloud in the sky, when the first bombers came to the target area. They were all making contrails, and before the middle of the bomb stream had passed, the clouds had completely covered the area with nothing but contrails. There was more than 1,000 B-17s on the one target. The target area was covered with a cloud of black smoke from the anti-aircraft fire. It looked like a thunderhead that was totally black. The B-17s would fly into this cloud and then they would be streaming out from the bottom or the sides, some planes on fire and some upside-down. I believe there were 49 B-17s lost on this mission. We also had about the same number of fighter plane escorts, and did not see a German airplane in the area. We did see one P-47 that came towards our formation and appeared that he wanted to join up. However, we turned towards him and he turned away. After he had gone, I realized that he did not have an external tank on the airplane, so I don’t know how he could have made it back to friendly territory with no external fuel. There was some speculation that it might have been a German flying the P-47, to pass information back to the defense units there.
My next mission was an escort of B-17s to Berlin on the 5th of December. As we approached the target area, we followed the usual practice of not being close to the bombers when they entered the flak barrage. We were well to the south of the bomber track and flying east, which gave us a good tail wind. Suddenly, three rounds of German anti-aircraft fire burst between me and the lead ship, and three more burst between the lead ship and the plane flying in the number three position. The second volley of six rounds scored hits on two of our aircraft, but not enough to cause them to discontinue the mission. When the first rounds went off, we all broke in different directions like a covey of quail. I broke to what appeared to be the thin area of the barrage, that later turned out to be further eastward. My other flight members had broken to the other direction. When the shooting stopped and I looked around, I was on the east side of Berlin and my other flight members were on the west side, and were heading westward to escort the bombers home. I had two choices. I could go to the south and go around the area where the flack was coming from, but I figured this would put me so far behind the other planes that I’d not be able to see them. The other choice was to go straight across the area and then catch up with them. I opted to do the latter. I revved up the airplane to nearly full speed, and dove down toward the cloud cover, and started across the southern part of Berlin. As soon as I reached the city limits, they started shooting at me. They were using radar-directed flak and they were firing behind me and on the right, so I started a turn to the left. They were now chasing me around in a circle. I soon figured I couldn’t keep doing this, so the next time I came out on a westerly heading, I dove down to the top of the clouds. As I pulled out on the cloud deck, the engine quit. I had run an external tank dry. Without even pulling back the throttle, I reached down and switched the fuel selector valve to an internal tank. The engine started and I went full speed after my friends and did not look back any more.
We returned to the base. After the debriefing, I approached Major Rew, who was also flying that day and leading the squadron. I said,“Major Rew, I don’t have much experience in this, but it seems to me that was pretty good shooting the Germans were doing today.” He replied, “You’re damn right it was! I think we got into instructor school on demonstration day.”
I again flew on target escort to Minden on December 6th, another escort mission to Bingen on December 10th, and again on December 12th to Hannau. The next day, the very bad winter weather, for which the Battle of the Bulge was to become famous, began. My next combat mission was on the 18th of December, when I flew a fighter sweep at the Laacher Lake Bonn-Aachen area. The weather was so bad over Germany that I don’t think the bombers flew their scheduled bombing mission. There was no activity in the vicinity, so near the end of our mission, someplace in the south of Aachen, we let down through the clouds and broke out below at 6,000 to 8,000 feet. We could see the ground from there and when a group of flashes appeared, one of our pilots, I believe it was Herbert Dixon, said, “Hey, guys, look! See the flashes—they’re bombing through the clouds.” The rest of us knew what the flashes were, and we started our evasive maneuvers, but Dixon was on the radio talking, and nobody could tell him that is was not bombs but 88 millimeter anti-aircraft guns that were shooting at us. Dixon got a piece of shrapnel through his canopy, and we quickly went back into the clouds and departed the area. That was only the third day of the Battle of the Bulge. Normally the 88 millimeter anti-aircraft would not have shot at us at that altitude, because the fighters, with a dispersed formation and frequently changing directions and altitude, were not a good target. However, with the Battle of the Bulge just starting, I could think they probably wanted to shoot and chase us away, which they did.
During the last half of December, 1944, and most of January, the weather was terrible. We had a large snowstorm, large for English standards, and several days of ice and fog. Whenever the weather was suitable, we flew only to check out new pilots or fly some test flights that needed to be flown after major engine work. We had Lyle L. Jewel from Michigan join our flight in December. The squadron got three new replacements in the first week of January, and two of those were killed on the first flight. Both deaths were attributed somewhat to weather conditions.
About the first of February, we all moved from Little Walden over to our new base in Belgium at Chièvres. On the 6th of February I flew my first combat mission from Belgium, and during the month flew a total of seven missions. The mission I remember the most was on February the 22nd, when the group went out in two sections. One section was escorting B-26s that were attacking communications centers and rail yards. The other section was strafing the same targets. I was in the section escorting the B-26s. However, I was also on the same radio channel with the fellows doing the strafing. I heard—midway through the mission—my friend Chandler call his flight leader as he came off a target, and he was said, “Hey, Latimer, I’m having trouble keeping up. Slow up a little.” The flight leader replied, “Okay, I’ll throttle back.” A few seconds later, Chandler said, “I still can’t catch up with you. There’s something desperately wrong here!” That made me chuckle, because I had seldom heard Chandler use a three syllable word—however, I knew he was in trouble. One of the other members said, “Hey Chandler, I think you’d better check. I think you’re on fire.” He checked his gauges and said, “Yeah, I believe so.” The flight leader exclaimed, “You’d better bail out, Chandler!” He replied, “Well I don’t know how I’m going to get out, but I’m going to try!” From about 12,000 feet, he rolled the plane over on its back, jettisoned his canopy, fell out, and delayed opening his parachute. When the chute opened, he made one swing and hit the ground. He picked up the parachute in his arms and ran into the woods nearby. Chandler later told me that by hiding in the woods during the daytime, and walking at nighttime, he evaded capture for three days. However, he spent the rest of the war in prison camp.
Sometime in February, our flight leader John Wilkinson, who had now been promoted to Captain, finished his tour and rotated home. Since I was now the senior pilot in the flight that did not have an assigned airplane, I was assigned to fly his plane, “Pretty One the III.” I don’t know how that name came to be, but I didn’t want to change the name, because it was sometimes considered unlucky if you changed the name of an airplane. The crew chief on the plane was Ross Benson from Idaho. He not only kept the plane performing perfectly, but it was also spotlessly clean. Having confidence in the airplane, and having a clean canopy and windshield ,made flying combat missions much easier.
When we went to a briefing for a mission, we were given a 3” x 4” preprinted form, on which we entered much of the data we would need to complete the mission. After the flight, starting about the first of March, I wrote notes on the back of the form as to what went on during the mission. I still have eight to ten of those forms.
I had learned that my brother Nathan was also in the 2nd Air Division, and was a gunner in the 392nd Bomb Group at Wendling. As it turned out, Nathan had finished his tour of 30 missions on the lead crew, and had rotated back to the states before we knew that we had flown some missions together. I have an account of his last mission on March 3rd, when we were flying escort for his group. For that mission, we had a briefing at 7:00 for a 7:41 takeoff. It was snowing a little, with some low cumulus clouds. On takeoff, Young’s engine quit, but he was able to stop on the runway and he was not hurt. After takeoff, Rizzio joined the flight to replace someone who had aborted. After a late takeoff, we went north like the “hammers of hell” and overshot the rendezvous with the bombers. When there was a break in the under cast, we were over the Baltic Sea, in sight of the mountains of Sweden. Finally, we caught the bombers, Silvertail B-24s, a few minutes before target time. There were German jet aircraft in the area that Mac and I chased but couldn’t catch, even while going 400 MPH! I fired on two from well out of range and didn’t observe any results. During the mission, I saw two bombers collide and one spinning down over the target. This was the first time I saw parachutes from bombers going down. The flak was described as better than yesterday, meaning that it was better from the German point of view.
Several days later, I received a letter from my brother Nathan saying that the March 3rd mission to Magnaburg was his 30th and final mission of his tour. The public information people made a newspaper story of it, in which they described it as Nathan having his big brother flying escort. They missed the point: that Nathan was nine years older than I. Magnaburg was considered about the second most difficult target, with only Berlin being a more difficult one. I have recently talked with Willis Miller, who was the pilot of Nathan’s crew, and from his description of the Magnaburg mission and other missions, I’m convinced that my decision to become a fighter pilot was one of the smartest decisions that I have ever made.
During March, I flew 17 missions. Among those was on the 14th of March when Dixon, Waldusky, and I were scheduled to fly combat air patrol over the Remagen Bridge. We briefed at 5:40 in the morning expecting to have a sunrise takeoff. However, the fog was so thick that we could not take off until 10:20. We took off with about 800 yards of visibility ,and climbed through the fog to 3000 feet, where we were in the clear. We were under Nuthouse Control, which was the radar controller for the area, and he directed us to the Bridgehead area. Whenever they detected an unidentified aircraft, we would be directed to intercept them. In all cases, it was one of our own aircraft, usually a P-47. We flew at 10,000 feet, while below us were P-38s, which were in close because of their unusual configuration, so they would not be mistaken for German aircraft. Part of our mission was to protect the P-38s, which the Germans would attack—whereas they would not provoke a fight with the P-51s. The Germans were also trying to sneak aircraft in, to bomb the bridge that had been captured, and also the pontoon bridges that, by this time, had been placed across the Rhine River.
On the 22nd of March, we had a mission to escort about 200 British Lancaster Bombers on a daylight raid, to bomb marshalling yards in the town of Hildershime. It was a perfectly clear day, and they were flying in their typical British gaggle of individual planes, following a pathfinder at about 8,000 feet. The British theory of bombing was: if you wanted to destroy the marshalling yard that was in a town, if you destroy the town, you’d probably destroy the marshalling yard—which they proceeded to do. There was such widespread destruction from 10,000-pound bombs and a mixture of small incendiaries, that by the time the last 30-40 bombers came, there were no military targets left. The fires were so widespread that when we dropped escort in the vicinity of Brussels, which was about 200 miles away, we could still see the smoke rising from Hildershime, and the next day, the place was still burning.
Whenever we flew escort for our bombers, we would have one squadron flying on each side of the assigned box of bombers, and one squadron flying top cover. The B-17s usually flew an altitude of 27,000 feet, and the squadron on either side would be about 27,000-28,000 feet. The top cover would fly from about 30,000 feet on up.
Whenever the Group Assistant Operations Officer flew, he did so with our flight. The more experienced pilots in our flight considered his decision-making and leadership skills somewhat questionable, and they did not like to fly with him. So I usually got the job to fly wing-man for him. One day when he was leading the squadron and we came to the target area, where we usually circle wide and pick up the bombers after they bombed, he flew right through the flak barrage. After we returned home, and at the debriefing, one of the pilots said, “Major, why did you lead us through that flak barrage?” He replied, “Oh, I thought it might raise the morale of the bomber boys if they saw us in there with them.”
While stationed in Belgium, our escort missions were usually about one hour shorter than they were from England. So we would have plenty of time, after dropping escort, to go back into Germany and look for targets of opportunity on the ground. One day when our good Major was leading us, we did this, and going across the countryside, we spotted six or eight box cars on a railroad track. He flew across the train, made a right turn, and set up a traffic pattern like we would have done at Waycross when we were doing ground gunnery, and then proceeded to come around and make a strafing run from across the open field. I was #4 in this formation, and I figured if there were anything around to stir up, they would have it stirred up good by the time I got there. So when I made my turn for the target, I sprayed the wooded area behind the train from well out of range ,and when I got into gunnery range of about 300 yards, I concentrated on the box cars. As luck would have it, it was not a flak trap as the Germans were famous for setting up.
Sometime in March, Col. Rew was replaced by Major Charles Bergman, whom I believe came from Texas. In March, I was promoted to First Lieutenant, but there were no silver bars available anyplace. So I peeled the foil off chewing gum wrappers, and wrapped it around my gold bars. That served very well, unless you scraped against something— then you would have to replace it. During March, I was very busy, as I flew 17 missions in the month. By the beginning of April, spring was arriving in Belgium. The weather was good, and the war showed signs that it would soon be over. There were very few targets available other than airfields, which were crowded with airplanes. Apparently the Germans had to retreat from airfields on both fronts, and brought their airplanes back into Germany. But they did not have fuel or pilots to fly them.
On the 9th of April, we flew an escort mission for bombers bombing the Lechfeld Airfield and recovered back at Little Walden. We went back to the poor visibility and bad weather in England, just when things were getting good in Belgium.
On the 11th of April, I flew my last mission, which was a target support in the Regensburg area. This mission made my 7th in April and made a total of 40 for the war.
NOTE: This recollection was excerpted from a much longer story of Col. Hedges’ life. He is a member of BOBA, South Carolina Chapter 7.
The afternoon of December 24th, Bob Davies and I were ordered to make up a daisy chain. We used eight mines from the stock carried on our Dodge 6 x 6 truck and a commandeered Belgian rope. Our squad leader led us to a position, before the first switchback on the road leading up a hill toward woods to the northeast, to the forest and the villages of Verdenne and Marenne. The hillside was too steep a road to go straight up. The rather small dirt road angled up to a switchback that further angled up to a woods. Later, I found the forest up the hill was between villages of Bourdon, Verdenne, and Marenne was the location of the 116 Panzer infiltration on the east side of Verdenne. It should have been known by our Platoon leader that, at that time, the Germans of the 116 Panzer Division had breached our front line, taken Verdenne, and occupied some of the area around the village. A correct response would have been a more extensive defense involving the entire platoon. More mines and a deployment of our antitank guns would have been appropriate. I have no way of knowing what knowledge the squad leader had of the Verdenne attack. However, someone in Battalion or Regiment must have know something, as Davies and I were suddenly put on the defensive position. Our roadblock was only a short distance from the comfortable barn hayloft billet where we spent the previous night. I think the rest of the platoon was still in the barn, with a single guard posted. Davies and I had orders: if attacked, let the first two tanks go by, and pull the mines in front of the third tank. The position was in the open, with no possibility of any cover. The hillside was totally bare, not even a small bush. This was truly a mission impossible. There were no ditches or structures within 150 yards. Any enemy tank coming down the road would see us immediately, on turning the upper switch back 300 yards away. It was possible they would have been so startled by our pluck or stupidity that they would have backed off, thinking it was a trap of some kind. All we could do is stay there and wait for something to happen.
In reality, the two of us were the only defensive position between the 116th Panzers and their assigned objective of the Marche Hotton road. The Division Headquarters of the 116 Panzer Division was in Grimbiemont, a few miles to the southeast. Heinz Guderian gives a reasonably accurate description in his book “From Normandy to the Ruhr” of actions from December 23 to 28. The attack on Verdenne began at noon of the 24th. Verdenne and the forest, 1500 feet up the hill and to the southeast of Bourdon, were captured and occupied by German tanks and troops. The forest uphill from our position was occupied by Bayer’s combat group. Guderian p. 331 indicates there were 13 Panzer fives and 2 Panzer fours in the forest. Guderian also relates that a patrol crossed the Marche Hotton Road. A false report must have been made, as we were on the only route from the woods to the road, and saw no Germans.
Approximately a half-hour before dark, a M8 “Greyhound” armored reconnaissance vehicle appeared from the direction of Bourdon. Markings on the vehicle indicated that they were a cavalry unit. Our division history indicates that we had no attached cavalry units at the time. However, the 771 Tank Battalion, part of the 4th Cavalry Group, was attached December 20, just before we arrived in Bourdon. An officer was waist-high out of the turret hatch, as if he might be going to a parade. The vehicle passed us, and disappeared around the first switchback and up the hill. An M8 Greyhound is a six rubber-tired armored vehicle with a 37-mm gun turret. They are no match for a fight with a tank. Our 37 mm antitank guns were replaced by 57s during training in Louisiana. A 37mm would not be much better than an M1 rifle against a tank of any kind. We wondered where the M8 was going, and why. Anyway, we had no information to give the officer, had he asked. The vehicle did not even slow down as it passed us and disappeared around the switchback. Within a minute, the vehicle came back down the hill with the throttle wide open. No one was in sight, and when it reached our position, the vehicle stopped, sliding all six tires. A small part of the officer’s head appeared in the turret hatch, shouting, “There are ten German tanks coming down the road—hold at all costs!” Gears clashed, and the engine roared, as the vehicle disappeared down the road into Bourdon. We never saw it again. If the M8 was from the tank unit, perhaps they were the tanks that were to support K 333, to attack Verdenne later that night. They may have been lost, or at best it was a reconnaissance mission. It is an interesting irony that the M8 Greyhound vehicle met tanks of the German 116 Panzer Division, which was known as the “Greyhound” Division. How they were able to count ten tanks on the road in the woods is a mystery. The officer was so shook that perhaps 10 was the first number that came to mind.
I learned later that the Germans were using captured M8 vehicles to lead some attack columns. This possibility never entered our minds when we saw the vehicle going past us. We only had a vague idea of which way the Germans might come from. At the time, I felt Bourdon was south of Verdenne, when it is really north. I had been given no map or compass, as a private’s only responsibility is to take orders and follow your leader. After the report and order from the Cavalry Lieutenant, there was no doubt as to the direction of the Germans. I have determined since then that we were in the exact center of enemy’s main attack. Orders to the 116 Panzers were to cut the Marche Hotton Road that was to the north of our position (Guderian, p. 332). In fact, this road, less than 200 yards away, could be easily seen from our elevated position on the side of the hill. With heavily defended Marche on one end, and Hotton on the other ,Verdenne and Bourdon were the logical points to attempt a breakthrough. Hotton had been attacked repeatedly for several days, but the brave Engineers, with little help from anyone else, held out. The resistance at Hotton directed the 116 Panzers toward Verdenne and Bourdon. Hotton was 3 miles to the east. We probably should have reported the officer’s information to our squad leader, but we could not leave the position until relieved. Also, I don’t think we really believed the Cavalry Lieutenant. We were not terrified by the possibility of 10 German tanks coming down the road, although we should have been. Sometimes it is better not to know.
I have attempted to find an origin for the phrase “hold at all costs.” I could not find any authority that traced the history of the statement. It was used in the American Civil War and in the First World War. It has probably been used in every war. The order or its equivalent was probably used in many combat situations during a retreat, when faced with overwhelming forces. I feel that virtually all Officers that gave this order immediately left the area, away from the enemy’s direction.
It is positively un-American to accept a suicide mission. Suicide missions generally involve religion. Persons volunteering for these missions feel they will get some reward in an afterlife. Not wanting to disgrace their family or let the Emperor down was the motivation for the Jap Kamikaze pilots in the Pacific. I had already shown during the previous month of combat that I was not a coward, but none of the factors leading to a voluntary suicide mission applied. I was not going to hold at all costs if my life was the currency.
After the M8 armored vehicle passed, I quickly scouted the area for some cover. Digging a foxhole in the possibly frozen and hard ground, in the time that seemed available, was out of the question. The soil in the area was hard clay, not like the sandy soil we had just left in Germany. In Germany, we could dig a good hole in less than an hour. I never made a complete foxhole in Belgium, but it reportedly took at least 5 hours. The nearest good cover was down the hill, in a railroad track siding 100 yards away. There was a railroad car weighing scale pit. One could enter the covered pit by opening a hatch. The pit was around 3 feet deep, and filled partially with the beams, levers, and other parts of the mechanical weighing scale. Not really good cover, but the best within running distance. Our rope was too short to reach the pit, so we just stood by the side of the road and hoped for the best. If we pulled the rope ahead of the first tank, I think we would have had at least a 5% chance of one of us making the railroad pit. If we waited for any tanks to pass, the first one would have used its machine gun on us. We were just standing by the side of the road, like onlookers at a bicycle race.
It was so quiet that we felt the reconnaissance officer may have just been seeing things. We stayed on this position until well after dark, but heard no tank engines, and no tanks appeared. I knew from my experience in Leiffarth, Germany, that tanks could not sneak up, as the noise of the engine and the flop-flop of the treads could be heard from some distance. We easily heard the recon-vehicle as it approached from up the hill above us. The road may have been too small, and with the switchbacks, too difficult for the large German tanks. The tanks may have been trapped by a road that was inadequate for their size and weight. I believe the hill was too steep for a tank to leave the road and go straight down.
The tanks were there all right, in the area now known as the “Verdenne Pocket.” It is also reported in Guderian’s book, “From Normandy to the Ruhr With the 116th Panzer Division World War II,” that their orders were to cut the Hotton Marche road, which was down the hill and across the railroad track from our position. Our two-man roadblock was the only defensive position in the way of this objective. Since that time, I have pondered reasons why an attack was not made down the hill. The most probable is Commander Johannes Bayer did not want to sacrifice his men for what he knew (although unspoken) to be a lost cause. Fuel and other supplies were also a problem for the advanced and somewhat isolated group. The Germans in the pocket were short of food and fuel. I learned later that they had broken through our thinly manned foxhole line between Marche and Hotton to occupy the woods. Also, the 116 Panzer Division had driven our troops out of Verdenne.
A rifleman from one of our units described this attack on Verdenne to me a few days later. Our heavy 30-caliber water-cooled machine guns were able to each fire only one shot. Water in the cooling jackets had frozen, so the mechanism could not function. The rifleman escaped down the back yards of a street in Verdenne, with a enemy tank following him. He vaulted over the back yard fences, which the tank was easily knocking down behind him. It was not dark, but he felt that the occupants of the tank did not see him. If he had been seen, the tank would have fired the forward-pointing machine gun.
The foxholes on the line defending Verdenne, containing men of our 3rd Battalion, were 50 to 100 yards apart. There was no way that the riflemen could stop the tank attack. Why the Germans holed up in the woods is a mystery. The most probable explanation is they wanted to hide from our aircraft, which were operational that day. Previously, the weather had kept them on the ground. Trees also seem to give a feeling of security. Of course, trees cause artillery shells to explode above, sending shrapnel down. Tree bursts are effective against men in foxholes. The December 23rd directive to the 116th Panzer Division quoted from p.329 of Guderian’s book: “It is important for the Division to achieve a quick breakthrough toward the north, between Hotton and Marche, to prevent reinforcement of the opponent in his position.” Our two-man roadblock, up the road from Bourdon, was the only obstacle in their way on the night of the 24th. Guderian reported that after the capture of Verdenne, “reconnaissance elements were deployed across the Hotton-Bourdon-Marche road.” This cannot be true, since the only road available was past our position. The German unit must have made a phony claim. I think the Germans, for the most part, had no stomach for coming down the hill toward Bourdon. They must have known our Division was there and heavily supported by artillery. The 116 Panzers had already suffered heavy losses during the 7 days of almost continuous enemy contact. When the weather cleared on the 23rd, daylight travel in the open was difficult, if not impossible.
Chapter 25 Company K 333 Attacks the Pocket
After being replaced on the roadblock, we reported the incident of the recon-vehicle to our squad leader. As usual, he did nothing. I will probably never know if whoever was directing our movements in this area received a report from the officer in the reconnaissance vehicle. However, the action of Company K 333 described below indicates they didn’t know. As usual, the so-called fog of war was very thick. I also do not know whether anyone was on our position when Company K, 333 took this road up the hill, thinking it was the way to Verdenne. I feel sure that our antitank squad members would have told them about the reported enemy tanks up the road. Communication between lower level units are not encouraged or even allowed. Communications are required to go way up, then back down, if at all. Of course one may talk to a GI from another unit if he is next to you. If I had been on the road when K 333 started up the hill, I would have passed on the tank sighting report the officer in the M6 armored vehicle had given us.
The excursion of K 333 past our position is covered in the Leinbaugh/Campbell Book, Men Of Company K, pp 134-137. I have excerpted these pages below.
From Leinbaugh’s book:
“When we unloaded from our two and a halfs, the battalion operations officer was waiting. He told us we were in Bourdon, a couple of miles east of Marche.
The platoons formed up along the village’s main road while the officers and platoon sergeants crowded into the battalion CP in a school building for orders. The meeting was short, lasting less than five minutes. The only available map of the area was a badly printed, smudged black and white copy with roads and trails barely distinguishable. The sky was clear, but the feel of snow was in the air, the ground lightly frozen and covered with frost. To us, the night was ominously quiet, the only sound the distant mutterings of heavy artillery. The sergeants were briefing their squads when the colonel hurried out of the CP and told us to get moving – the attack was already behind schedule. Seeking some means of identifying each other in the dark, we tried tying handkerchiefs around our right arms, but their olive drab color blended too closely with the dark brown overcoats to be of help.
We‘d learned this much in the briefing. The 334th’s Third Battalion had been defending a series of villages and strongpoints to the east of Marche, and some hours earlier German tanks had overrun the lightly held village of Verdenne. Heavily outnumbered, the Gls pulled back in good order, setting up new defensive positions along a woods line between Verdenne and Bourdon.
A sergeant from the 334th came down to lead K Company up the hill and point us toward the objective. According to the last radio message, four or five tanks were with the riflemen in the woods. They were to follow behind us in the attack, but details would have to be coordinated on the spot with the tank commander. Our battalion staff lacked precise information, but they thought at least a company of German infantry and several tanks were defending. The tanks were our big concern. The colonel told Leinbaugh our regiment’s attached artillery battllion would lay down a barrage on Verdenne just before the final assault which was to begin at midnight. L Company, in reserve, was to follow behind K and help consolidate.
As the company moved out, Brewer was setting up a CP in the village. He called a quiet greeting to Phelps. “Merry Christmas, Don. Take care of yourself.”
“Don’t worry,” Phelps replied, but he had a feeling that it was his turn, that he was going to get hit that night.
The company column crossed twin railroad tracks to begin a gradual ascent toward the ridgeline then stopped as the road forked. Which road? The main road to the left, or the secondary road, a half right? Our guide from the 334th hesitated, then pointed to the left. Pulling the map from his field Jacket, Leinbaugh, shielded by a raincoat, struck several matches but he was unable to pinpoint the road junction in the brief flares of light.
“What’s the name of that goddam town?” “Verdenne,” Campbell answered. “I’m pretty sure that’s it, about a mile I’d guess.”
“Yeah……Well, as long as we’re going up we’re okay.”
Heading left and uphill, the company moved on, traversed a horseshoe curve the direction seemed right and after a hundred yards entered a dense forest.
(The horseshoe curve was the position of Davies and myself with our daisy chain of antitank mines.)
Just ahead a tank loomed out of the darkness, its huge bulk nearly filling, the narrow road, branches pressing in on either side brushing its steel plates. The men at the front of the column stopped several feet away and passed back word to hold up.
The ground mist had thickened after entering the woods, so it was impossible to see more than a few yards. The time was exactly midnight. As the column halted, Leinbaugh turned to Phelps. Tell the tankers to follow the tail end of the company through the woods. We’ll work out details for the attack on the far side.”
Phelps felt his way slowly along the side of the tank and called out, but there was no answer. Pounding on the side of the hull with the butt of his M l, he yelled louder: “Hey, you guys open up!” He pounded again.
The hatch opened slowly, a creak of metal, and the head and shoulders of a man appeared. “Was ist los?” the man demanded. Again, peering over the side of the turret, “Was ist los? It took awhile, more seconds than necessary but suddenly as we hit the ditches, we realized K Company’s first full-fledged night attack was getting off to a bad start. Compiled shortly after the war, the 84th Division’s history noted that the enemy’s salient beyond Verdenne was discovered in a curious way.”
The first man in the company to grasp what was happening, Phelps stepped back two steps and fired a single shot at the dark form in the turret. The man screamed and collapsed from view. Seconds latter the hatch clanged shut.”
In the fight with the German tanks and infantry, several of the men from K 333 were wounded. However, most of them got back down the hill alive.
Of course, the tanks that the reconnaissance officer told us about at least six hours before, were the ones found by K 333. Why there was not better transfer of information was probably due to military protocol. The reconnaissance officer was from some attached cavalry unit (probably the 771 Tank Battalion). He would have reported to his unit commander, who would report to someone in division headquarters, who might possibly pass it down. Davies and I reported it to our squad leader—we had no other possibility, or responsibility. According to our Division History, we had no Cavalry attached between December 20 and January 2nd, but the 771, which was attached at the time, was part of the 4th Cavalry Group. I will possibly never know positively why or who were the men in the armored vehicle that passed our position Christmas Eve 1944.
We left the position when relieved by two others from our platoon around ten. We told them about the reported tanks. I feel they must have left the position, as they would have reported the possibility of German tanks up the hill. We were relieved around two hours before K 333 men passed. The first time I learned of the Company K 333 venture up the hill was when reading Leinbaugh’s book more than 50 years later.
After a little sleep that night, we were awakened around midnight to prepare for the recapture of Verdenne. We did find the correct road, and entered around 0200 December 25 1944. This road went up the hill, with the woods on the left that were the location of the pocket (referred to in Guderian’s book as “the hedgehog.”) The road (trail) we took into Verdenne is no longer in use, and was smaller than the one taken by K 333.
Guderian also reported that General Hasso Eccard von Manteuffel, head of the Fifth Panzer Army, was in Grimbiemont a few miles to the southeast on December 24, 1944. He was there to order an attack on the Marche Hotton Road. This attack, if made, would have of course gone through our roadblock. This was the only road of any size between Hotton and Marche. Again, I’m sure we were saved by the Germans lack of supplies and their probably hidden, at least unspoken, feeling that Hitler’s big offensive into Belgium was totally futile. They may at the start had some enthusiasm, but now out of food, gasoline, and artillery support, they were ready to go defensive. Also the weather had cleared, and any daytime movement was open to air attack. New Allied forces had moved into defensive positions, and were well supported by artillery. The Germans had underestimated our motorized mobility. Hitler and his generals overestimated the time required for our response, with troops to set up defenses in the path of the advancing German units. Hitler also counted on a much faster advance of his units.
Guderian complained about their lack of air support. It was promised but never came. I am completely sure that the ten tanks (at that time there were at least 20) with attached foot troops could have gone through a 2-man roadblock. We did have mines, a bazooka, and side arms, but they are not much against Panther tanks. If they had been supplied, they could have easily made their objective, the Muse River. However, on that narrow road, down from the woods, a single disabled tank might have stopped them all, for at least a while. Roads in the Belgian Ardennes are at best narrow and winding, and may not be paved. Yes, the attack in that area was unexpected, but probably a bad idea. The roads were easily jammed with traffic, especially when two-way movement was attempted. One can only speculate on what might have happened if the Germans had tried to move down the hill toward the Marche Hotton road.
by Sam Schwartz Landrum and Zach Allen Ferdana, Members
Allen Schwartz, 11th Armored Division, 778th Tank Battalion, Headquarters Company (left), with an unidentified Chaplain.
Our journey began with a cup of coffee at Le Select, our father’s favorite cafe on Montparnasse in Paris, the city he lived in for 7 years after the war. Allen Schwartz is believed to have landed in Cherbourg on November 2, 1944 and joined his unit, the US 3rd Army, 11th Armored Division, 778th Tank Battalion, Headquarters Company as a reconnaissance scout, in time to leave for Metz to engage in the battle for that city. He was 21 years old. We, his two sons, arrived in Paris on April 5, 2018, more than 73 years later and 25 years to the month after his passing, to begin the first steps of his war journey across the continent. Our plan: to cover the same ground from the coast of Normandy through the Ardennes Forrest to the Rhine River, using his unit’s history and simple hand drawn map marked with his notes.
Like many war Veterans, our father spoke little about the war in the days of our childhood, each of us carrying a cloudy memory of half told war stories. However, we can substantiate his presence between the English Channel and the Rhine River during the war in two places: Terville, a small French town north of Metz, on Christmas Day, 1944 and 3 days later, in Uberhern, Germany. Our evidence consists of only two photographs of him during the war itself, from his war scrapbook.
Normandy and Cherbourg: The start of it all
The day after our arrival in Paris, we left for Normandy and moved through history at Sword, Juno, Gold, Arromanches, Omaha, Pointe Du Hoque, and Utah. We also visited Cherbourg, the deep-water port that General Eisenhower intended to capture quickly by adding Utah Beach to the D-Day invasion. It was here that we believe Private Allen Schwartz first landed on the continent on November 2, 1944. He never told us this, but the 778 Tank Battalion landed here in September 1944 and his discharge papers indicate his tour of Europe began on that day in November. Looking out across the port and next to a plaque that acknowledged the port’s “fraternity of arms” from 1914-1918 and 1940-1945, we imagined our father’s first steps of the war, almost 5 months after D-Day. His presence intangible, was it filled with fear and in anticipation of the terror awaiting him?
Metz: “reconnaissance was used for routes and bridges”
From Normandy we headed to Metz in eastern France, the city where the 778th Tank Battalion first entered combat. Along the way we stopped for the night in Reims to visit the room where World War II Europe ended and surrender papers signed. In Metz we found a lively, industrialized city, our experience and connection to our father increasingly more visceral. Walking the town, it was on a small bridge on the Moselle River that we were struck by our father’s experience somewhere in this city. We pulled out our copy of the “History of the 778th Tank Battalion” we obtained from the US National Archives in Washington DC and read that the battle of Metz in November 1944 was where “reconnaissance was used for routes and bridges.” Moments later, standing on that bridge, we spotted a small plaque commemorating the bridge’s liberation by French forces on November 20, 1944. Was our father, Private Schwartz, here or near here? From the very few stories he told us about the war, he had mentioned being in a reconnaissance unit clearing the way for the tanks of the 778th. He had been in this city, clearing routes and bridges, fighting for his life and the liberation of Europe. Now, on this bridge, we found ourselves closer to his experience decades earlier.
The simple hand drawn map from our father’s war scrapbook was accompanied by the “Vest Pocket History of the 778th Tank Battalion,” a type written listing of the 778th’s war itinerary, dated July 6, 1945. A handwritten note in our father’s writing said that he returned to Paris for a week in late November/early December. We can only wonder what happened and why, after only a few weeks in combat, he went back to Paris and was reassigned as a chaplain’s assistant and driver.
Terville: the search for a school basement
From Metz we drove a half an hour north to Terville to try to find the place where our father’s scrapbook photo was taken on Christmas Day, 1944. Standing beside a Christmas tree with other US soldiers, and French civilians, our father’s handwritten caption is our only clue: “Noel in a school basement. 25 December 44. Terville, France.”
In Terville, we found two schools that survived the war: the Ecole de Musique de Terville and the Ecole Primare le Moulin. We were encouraged to contact the Mayor’s Office to find out more. Because the day was over, we drove to Luxembourg City for two nights to explore and experience the ground of the Battle of the Bulge. Our father wrote that he fought in Luxembourg and Belgium in December 1944 and January 1945. He used to say he fought in the Battle of the Bulge, exactly where and with whom, we do not know. So, we visited the Luxembourg American Cemetery and General Patton’s final resting place, the National Military Museum in Dierkirch, ran a circuit in the hills around Bettendorf and through the southern shoulder of the Bulge marked with old foxholes and GI tree carvings. We also stopped at the General Patton Monument in Ettelbruck, noting that as we follow our father’s footsteps, we follow General Patton’s as well.
The next day we returned to Terville for a meeting at City Hall, where city officials looked at the photo and whisked us into their vehicle to take us to the Ecole Primare le Moulin. They knew instantly which school was the site of the Christmas Day photo. There we met Gilles Leleux, the school’s principal, who welcomed us and led us to the basement where he shared his understanding of the American presence and activity in and around this school during the war. He told us that the school courtyard was filled with American military trucks, and that this basement was where people came when bombs dropped on Terville. Then, what happened next was truly remarkable.
Inspired to learn more, Mr. Leleux made several phone calls and was able to locate a woman who was alive during the war, and she happened to live just two doors down! We entered Ms. Nicolette Zullo’s house with several city officials, the city photographer and Mr. Leleux. She sat on her bed having recently broken her leg. Now in her 90’s, Ms. Zullo looked at our photo, and without hesitation, immediately identified the French civilians as members of the Aime family. She was 17 in 1944, learned to dance from American GIs, told us about how American soldiers first came to Terville, had to leave as the Germans pushed back in, and eventually returned to stay. American soldiers gave the local children candy and gum, she said, and she told of their setting up food lines to feed the local people. She also confirmed that when bombs were dropping, everyone in Terville went to this one school, now the Ecole Primare le Moulin. She did not recognize our father, but remembered Christmas Day in 1944, the lack of food and the miraculous appearance of a turkey in their yard that they captured and ate.
Allen Schwartz (back row, second from the left) with the Aime family and other unidentified soldiers.
After our visit with Ms. Zullo and our identification of the Aime family in the photo, Mr. Leleux was able to locate and get the youngest daughter of that family on the telephone: Ms. Bernadette Aime, a resident of nearby Thionville. Although she herself was not in the Christmas Day photo, connecting with her brought new life and curiosity into the story behind this photo.
Into Germany: Uberherrn and the Rhine at Oppenheim
We left Terville as Mr.Leleux worked on setting up a meeting with the Aime family, crossed into Germany and stopped where our father did, in Urberherrn, long enough to pose for a photo much like he did with the chaplain he was assisting. We drove further on, our goal to reach the Rhine and found our home for the night where General Patton and his men first crossed it, at Oppenheim. “The Vest Pocket History” said the 778th arrived at GauOdenheim on March 23, 1945 and crossed the Rhine somewhere close, quite possibly at Oppenheim, on March 25, 1945. We put our feet in the water of the last major barrier to the heart of Germany, watched barges and kayaks float by, imagining American soldiers, and perhaps our father, crossing here. That night Mr. Leleux emailed us to confirm that he had arranged a meeting the very next day back in Terville with Ms. Bernadette Aime, and her granddaughter who spoke English, to look at our Christmas Day 1944 photo.
Terville revisited: meeting Ms. Bernadette Aime
We arrived early for the meeting at the Ecole Primare le Moulin. Mr. Leleux greeted us then took us down into the basement and its most finished room, the room where he and others identified the door in the corner of the 1944 Christmas Day photo. He put us in front of the very wall that our father stood during the war. Chilled by this, the photo’s story suddenly had a sequel.
This former bomb shelter now vibrant classroom, had a table in its middle, with a white tablecloth, a few bottles of champagne, and hors d’oeuvres. This was not just an event or even a strange reunion. It was a commemorative ceremony. The regional press from Thionville arrived, as well as Ms. Frederique Munerol, the Communications Director for the City of Terville, who presented each of us with a handmade ceramic bowl on behalf of the Mayor of Terville. Finally, Ms. Bernadette Merz, formerly Bernadette Aime, and her granddaughter Karin, arrived. Mr Leleux formally introduced the Aime family to the Schwartz family, a reunion indeed, 73 and half years later. Everyone stepped back as Ms. Merz was presented with the photo. Her face brightened, as she identified her family: her sister Felie, age 10, her brother Adolph, age 17, sister Therese, age 22 and her mother, Madeline, age 46. Ms. Merz herself was 7 at that time but was 2 hours away with other family members, she returned to Terville in September 1945. As we talked through translation about the photo and that time of the war, she did not remember hearing about Christmas Day in 1944 and why her family was there in the basement. She then pulled out two photos of her family after the war, including her father and sister Odile, neither of whom were in the Christmas Day photo but all of whom survived the war. Champagne glasses were filled, all three of us stood before the very same wall of the photo, toasting the coming together of our families once again.
Ms. Merz went on to tell us the story of her family and their lives after the war. She is now 81 years old, was married in 1957 and raised 3 children in nearby Thionville. Her older sister Odile was living nearby, but unable to join us on this monumental day. The both of them are the only family members still alive. She then described, in amazing detail, the rest of her family and their lives after the war.
A journalist from the regional newspaper, Le Republican Lorraine, asked about our father’s life, his experience of the war, and his life after the war, including his years in Paris and Europe in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s. We remarked about his reluctance to talk about the war, and our current journey in his footsteps. Like a circle where a different artist begins and another completes it, a loop had been closed that we didn’t think was possible just hours before. We took photos in front of the school and said our goodbyes, aspiring to meet again. The next morning, our basement reunion was Le Republican Lorraine’s front page story.
More photos and footsteps to go
We left Terville for Bastogne, to the center of the Bulge to complete this phase of our journey. There are more photos in our father’s scrapbook, all from the post-war liberation and Allied occupation period. This first part of our journey in our father’s footsteps through the war has given us the opportunity to experience a component of an intangible aspect of our childhood upbringing: the impact the war had on our father, and subsequently on us. As we learned about and experienced these places of history and markers of time, some questions were answered but many more were generated. Why did our father go back to Paris so soon after Metz? Why was he assigned to assist a chaplain, where did they go and what did they do? Why was our father in Terville and what was he doing at the school on Christmas Day? What function did the Ecole Primare le Moulin serve for the US Army at that time? Where was he and who did he fight with during the Battle of the Bulge?
After our return home, Mr. Leleux discovered from the French archives that the governor of the Moselle region sponsored a Christmas tree project in each town of the area for the local children in 1944, the first Christmas since 1938 that France was free. His hypothesis is that our father, in his role as chaplain assistant and driver, was in Terville to support and perhaps participate in this project.
The 778th Tank Battalion’s journey across Europe, after having crossed the Rhine, twisted through southern Germany and stopped in Austria. Our father’s notes mark several of his experiences along the way, and his scrapbook includes photos of Nazi atrocities. After the war ended, he stayed in Europe until March 1946, having spent time in Czechoslovakia, Germany and Austria. With the scrapbook photos, map and Vest Pocket History of the 778th Tank Battalion as our guide, we hope to complete the journey of our father’s path through the war to Ulrichsberg, Austria, where the war for him ended and the occupation began.
As Rick Atkinson said in “The Guns at Last Light,” World War II Europe was over at the signing in Reims on May 7, 1945, but it was not finished. The war in Europe finished the next day, on May 8, at a second signing ceremony led by the Russians in Berlin. We believe our father never set foot in Berlin, the headquarters of the catastrophic delusion that drove this war, but because this is where it was finally finished on May 8, 1945, it is where we hope to finish as well.
The Bulge began on December 16, 1944 where my unit was assigned to support the Second Infantry Division in the Ardennes, St. Vith, which is close to the German border.
My unit had landed in Normandy in June 1944, and fought with Patton in the areas to recapture the ports of Cherbourg and Brest. We accompanied Patton’s historic battles leading to the liberation of Paris. Our final destination was to the Ardennes where we supported the veteran Second Infantry Division. After a very short period of time, they were replaced by the newly arrived 106th Infantry Division.
We were bivouacked in the woods on the outskirts of St. Vith – our mission was to maintain the few secondary roads leading to the front lines now occupied by the 106th division. Although there was sporadic artillery fire, the area was relatively quiet.
On December 16th 1944, we were suddenly aroused from our sleeping arrangements in our make-shift huts. Non-commissioned officers were shouting, “Grab your guns! Leave all personal items behind! The Germans have launched an offensive!”
The members of our three companies A, B, and C trudged to the area where the enemy artillery was targeting. This was a secondary road connecting the main thoroughfare to St. Vith. It was apparent that the enemy had concentrated its assault on the areas that the 106th had occupied from the Second Infantry Division.
Our unit dug foxholes and set up obstacles to prevent the advance of the enemy. My personal involvement was to join a highly respected sergeant in my company, James Hill. He came from Massachusetts as I did.
We had a bazooka and ammunition to hopefully destroy any tanks coming up the road towards St. Vith (which the Germans expected to capture within twenty-four hours). We could hear the sources of the approaching enemy—artillery and small arms fire. It was apparent that the American defensive line had been penetrated. Within a short time, the enemy tanks were coming towards us and they were accompanied by well armed foot soldiers.
Sergeant James gave me the order to load the bazooka. I removed the first of the four projectiles that I had been carrying. As I inserted the projectile into the bazooka, my hands were shaking so hard that I broke one of the leads that would charge the bazooka shell.
To say Sergeant Hill was upset would be an understatement. He tensely ordered me to put in another round. Once again, with my shaky hands, I broke the second one. By this time, the approaching column had come within twenty-thirty yards of opposition. My heroic buddy inched forward on the edge of the parapet of our deeply dug foxhole and was so careful to await the perfect spot to hit the underbelly of the approaching lead tank. As I dug my head into his shoulder, I whispered a prayer to Jimmy, “Please don’t miss!” As I held my breath, the projectile hit its mark.
To a crunching halt, the tank suddenly erupted in flames—and its occupants were screaming with the fire engulfing them. The foot soldiers accompanying the tank rushed forward with loaded rifles, seeking out what enemy forces could stop this formidable assault group. The sounds of war had stopped and all we could hear was this group of soldiers talking to one another and as they sought out the defending forces on the outskirts of St. Vith, their final destination. My brief knowledge of Yiddish allowed me to understand what the Germans were saying. They were perplexed by any formidable defense forces leading to the town.
Fortunately, our freshly dug foxhole was camouflaged by boughs of tree limbs that had been shredded by artillery fire concealing us from the road. This factor saved our lives. Jim Hill ordered me to get a grenade ready which I did, while I simultaneously grasped the handle to prevent the premature activation.
Suddenly, a German command could be heard shouting,“Kum Tzirick!,” ordering the accompanying ground troops to return to the main force a few hundred yards back.
Many years later, in 2004, I returned to St. Vith with my wife for a ceremony to celebrate the allied victory. Because I wanted to show her the spot where I hit the tank, we drove together up to the outskirts of St. Vith in our car. Suddenly, around a certain bend of the road, I slammed on the breaks and I said to my wife, “This is it, this is where I hit tank.”
Getting out of the car, I saw an old farm house and a woman outside feeding chickens. I wanted to try and speak to her, so I went up to her by myself. The woman told me that her son spoke English, so she introduced me to him. When I told the son about my experience at this road, he told me that he remembered the moment when I shot the tank. At that time, he was a young man and hiding in the basement of his house. When heard the German artillery coming up the road, he was watched the action from the cellar window. He spotted two young American soldiers from a foxhole shoot a German tank with a bazooka. When the Germans turned around, the young man came out and emptied the tank, to see if there was anything valuable. I asked the man to show me where he saw the two young Americans, and he walked me over to my very foxhole. Because I now had a witness to mine and Jimmy’s wartime action, later Jimmy and I were both honored by the US military with medals for bravery.
Soon after receiving the awards, my comrade Jimmy Hill received a letter from a German tank driver, Hans Geng, who had been in that column approaching St. Vith. Geng had relatives living in St. Vith and was visiting them. He was told by one of the residents of St. Vith that there was a monument to a unit that was involved in the defense of the city. Geng found a newspaper article detailing mine and Jimmy’s story. Geng found Hill’s address in Florida and wrote to him, telling him that the bazooka team had made a lucky shot by destroying the lead tank of the assault column.
When my daughter Karen learned of this saga, she felt it was newsworthy and related this story to a friend at NBC. He shared it with Chuck Scarborough, a leading broadcaster at NBC. Chuck saw this as an opportunity to bring these two former enemies together. So he put together a four-night series called “Enemies No More,” and Hans, Jimmy, and I met in St. Vith in 2004 to record the documentary of our reuniting.
Cadet Matthew L. Legler, U.S. Military Academy 1939
There are many human-interest stories of heroism and sacrifice that have come out of the great Ardennes Campaign of 1944-45. One of the most unusual concerns that of Major Matthew Legler and his U.S. Military Academy 1939 Class Ring. He lost his ring during the hectic days of combat at the start of what Americans call “The Battle of the Bulge.” It was returned to him 40 years later by a young Belgian garbage collector whose hobby was military archeology.
The Quiet Ardennes
On 16 December 1944, Legler was a 28 year old major commanding the 1st Battalion, 393rd Infantry Regiment of the 99th Infantry Division. His battalion was positioned near the twin villages of Rocherath-Krinkelt, just west of the German border in the Belgian Ardennes Forest. The 99th Division was newly arrived from the United States and untested in combat. Since arriving on the Continent in November 1944, the 99th Division had been placed in a defensive sector to gain combat experience. The front lines of the 99th Division ran for 19 miles through belts of timber in the Ardennes that contained rocky gorges, small streams, and steep hills.
At the start of the German Ardennes Offensive, the 99th Division held the right wing of V Corps looking at the German West Wall defenses of the famed Siegfried Line. The Ardennes sector had been quiet for weeks, and the 2nd Infantry Division was attacking through the 99th Division to capture the Roer Valley system of dams. If this attack was successful, the 99th Division was scheduled to follow the 2nd Division and cover its southern flank. It was to be the 99th Division’s first, large-scale operation of the war. Little did anyone know how large-scale it would be.
The Ardennes sector appeared to offer no special risk, because V Corps and the 99th Division had only identified three under-strength German divisions to their front. When Hitler unleashed his Ardennes Offensive on 16 December, V Corps did not know that 12 of approximately 30 German divisions were assembled in front of it, ready to launch the breakthrough attack. The 99th Division was in the path of the 6th SS Panzer Army attack and, in particular, the I SS Panzer Corps consisting of two armored and three infantry divisions.
In late November, Legler had moved his battalion from regimental reserve to be the right flank battalion of the regiment. The 393rd Regiment only had two battalions on line, the 3rd and Legler’s 1st, because the 2nd Battalion had been attached to the 395th Regiment to the north. The 393rd Regiment had demonstrated in front of the German West Wall defenses during the 2nd Division/V Corps attack against the Roer on 13 December. The regiment was deployed along the Belgian-German frontier in the eastern edge of a long forest belt, and the International Highway that marked the border. The 393rd Regimental headquarters was in Krinkelt, and the 1st Battalion held a front of about 500 yards approximately four miles to the east. Of the twin villages of Rocherath-Krinkelt, the Belgian-German border cut diagonally through Legler’s battalion position, and the battalion had a view of the Siegfried Line defenses.
“All Hell Broke Loose”
The night of 15 December, Legler’s right flank units reported tank tracks clanking. Just before dawn on the 16th, Legler said, “all hell broke loose” as artillery, mortars, and Nebelwerfers (rockets) crashed into his positions, and tanks with searchlights ablaze came rumbling through the anti-tank obstacles of the Siegfried Line 300-400 yards to his front. The German gun and Nebelwerfer barrage lasted from about 0525 until 0600. Then, German grenadiers of the 277th Volksgrenadier (people’s infantry) Division advanced out of the artificial moonlight created by the tank searchlights. The other front line battalion of the 99th Division underwent the same type of overwhelming assault. The entire 277th Volksgrenadier Division was destined to hit only three battalions (the 1st and 3rd of the 393rd Regiment and the 2nd of the 394th). These battalions suffered greatly, but by absorbing and delaying the 277th Volksgrenadiers, they held up the entire I SS Panzer Corps.
Most of Legler’s fighting positions were at the edge of the forest belt overlooking the International Highway and generally open ground. That gave them better fields of fire than their neighbor battalions on either side. Legler’s battalion held on, and inflicted a heavy toll on the Germans with their mortar and machine gun fire. None of the advancing Germans got inside of Legler’s position, and the German assault in his sector ground to a halt. Legler credits his initial success to two factors. The battalion had fighting positions for every 1-2 men in addition to their sleeping foxholes; and daily leadership checks of the soldiers’ feet had kept the battalion free of the debilitating trenchfoot that was well-known to soldiers in the damp, cold Ardennes. Nevertheless, regardless of the reasons, it was a heroic action on the part of all of the men.
A Pyrrhic Victory
As the German attack stalled, the commander of the 277th Volksgrenadiers committed his reserve regiment and drove back the American lines about 300 yards in some places. Some of the platoons of Legler’s line companies fell back, and he had to commit his reserve to prevent a breakthrough. By the end of the day, Legler’s battalion still maintained a cohesive defense, but more than one-half of the battalion’s foxhole strength had been lost; and the 3rd Battalion on his left had its right flank pushed back several hundred yards, losing almost as many men as Legler.
About 1030 hours on 17 December, the 393rd Regimental Commander ordered the 1st and 3rd Battalions to move to new positions closer to Rocherath-Krinkelt. The move was completed that afternoon. Just after dark, the Germans overran Legler’s not fully-established command post. Legler and some of his men evacuated the area and spent the night hiding in the forest. The next morning on the 18th, Legler and his staff returned to their former command post area, where he assembled the remaining troops of the battalion. Here, Legler joined Captain Bob McGee, the S3 of the 2nd Battalion of the 394th Regiment on his right flank, and his remaining troops. Together they proceeded west cross-country on the morning of the 18th, taking a few vehicles and those wounded that could be moved. While moving back toward Murringen and the American lines, the remnants of the two battalions met a hail of enemy small arms fire from a village. Communications were sporadic, but an artillery liaison officer with the group called in enough artillery fire from a Corps Artillery unit to enable the group to escape back into the woods. The main body followed a creek bed and, under cover of darkness, entered American lines in the vicinity of Wirtzfeld. On the morning of 19 December, the 1st Battalion, 393rd Infantry dug-in along the Elsenborn Ridge with less than 300 of its officers and men left.
Legler and his battalion remained on the Elsenborn Ridge until the end of January 1945. They formed part of the critical northern shoulder of the “Bulge” along with other V Corps units, the 9th, 2nd, and 1st Infantry Divisions. The 6th SS Panzer Army could not shake this hard shoulder free and the major German role in the Ardennes Offensive passed to the 5th Panzer Army to the south.
The Battlefield Gives Up The Ring
Legler has no recall when he lost his ring, nor when he first realized that he did not have it anymore. The heavy gold ring with an onyx stone was found in an overgrown foxhole in a forested area called the Rocherwald, not far from the village of Murringen. From the location of the foxhole, it would seem that the ring was lost on 17 or 18 December, when Legler and his unit were trying to avoid the Germans and set up a defense. The man who found it, Alain Jacquemain, was a 26-year-old garbage collector from Charleroi, Belgium, who spent his free time going over battlefields with a metal detector, l ooking for military souvenirs. Jacquemain had found many objects in this manner, and he had accumulated an extensive private collection of World War II relics. He even drove a restored World War II jeep as his personal vehicle. In spite of his previous success in ten years of searching on the battlefield, he admitted that Legler’s ring was the nicest thing that he had ever found. Naturally, he was excited with his souvenir and anxious to find its owner.
Finding the owner of the ring is almost a story in itself. Jacquemain found the ring in 1982. While visiting the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) near Mons, Belgium to see a rugby match, Jacquemain asked a British colonel if he could identify the ring’s owner. The colonel immediately recognized the ring as a West Point class ring and saw Legler’s initials engraved on the inside. U.S. authorities at SHAPE researched the USMA register of Graduates and determined that Legler was retired and living in Hilton Head, South Carolina. That got the ball rolling. The author and his commander, Colonel David E. Schorr, USMA 1957, became involved in notifying Legler, and negotiating with the Belgian Gendarmerie and Jacquemain for the return of the ring. It took almost two years to convince Jacquemain to part with the ring. Jacquemain delayed in returning the ring—not because he wanted a reward or to keep it, but because he wanted to be sure that Legler was really alive and that he would receive it. (Jacquemain had heard that Legler had died.) Also, it was Jacquemain’s fondest wish to be able to return the ring to Legler in person. That was not possible, and finally Jacquemain agreed to turn over the ring to the author in a semi-official ceremony at SHAPE. That way Jacquemain would have proof that he had done the right thing. The ring was promptly mailed to Legler, heavily insured, and he had it back almost 40 years after when he had lost it.
The return of the ring was a fitting end to a story that had started in 1938, when First Classman Legler bought his 1939 Class Ring from Tiffany’s. Legler wore his ring during his Firstie Year at West Point, and as a young officer for five years during peacetime and wartime training assignments, before ending up in Belgium in 1944. After surviving the initial stages of the “Battle of the Bulge,” Legler tripped a land mine on 1 February 1945 that resulted in his medical retirement in 1946 as a Lieutenant Colonel. The war was over for him, as well as his career in the Army. A Silver Star and Purple Heart are his souvenirs of the war. Since then, Legler retired a second time from Mobil Oil in 1980, and moved to Hilton Head.
When first approached about his ring, Legler did not seem anxious to return to the scene of the “Bulge.” No doubt the memories of fallen comrades, and the end of his promising military career, had something to do with it. In researching this article, the author was pleased to learn that Matthew Legler had finally returned to the Ardennes in 1989, on a historical tour with noted World War II historian Charles B. MacDonald. The battlefield had given up his ring after 40 years, and Legler had made his pilgrimage on the 45th Anniversary year of the “Battle of the Bulge.”
LTC Thomas D. Morgan, USA, Retired is a USMA 1958 graduate who visited the Ardennes several times while stationed at SHAPE in the early 1980s, and later in the 90s while working for a Defense contractor. The historical background sources for this article were: Charles B. MacDonald’s A Time for Trumpets: The Untold Story of the Battle of the Bulge; Hugh M. Cole’s The Ardennes: Battle of the Bulge, US Army in World War II; and correspondence with LTC (Ret) Matthew L. Legler.
—Submitted by Bob Rhodes, BOBA Vice President Military & Veteran Affairs
A native of Bluefield, West Virginia, as a young recruit I enlisted in the Army in November 1942 and completed my basic training in the infantry at Camp Wheeler, Georgia in April 1943.
After completing my basic training, I qualified for the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP), which was the brainchild of the Chief of Staff and Secretary of the Army, who believed that the ASTP would provide a pool of available leaders when the war ended.
I studied military government and engineering at Alabama Polytechnic Institute and Clemson College. However, ASTP was later disbanded, in order to provide the Army with replacements to depleted US divisions serving overseas. I was sent to the newly formed “Golden Lions” of the 106th Infantry Division and later assigned to Company F, 422nd Infantry.
Deployed from Fort Miles Standish (near Boston) on November 10, 1944, we sailed on the troop ship Aquitania and arriving in England November 17th, where the Division trained briefly before moving to the European Theatre of Operation. The 106th landed at Le Havre France on December 3rd and were trucked to the front east of St. Vith, Belgium a week later. We were relieving the 2nd Infantry Division in the Scene Eifel sector, a snow-covered ridge of the Ardennes Forest, covering a 27-mile front bordering Germany and northeast of Luxembourg.
The Army used the Ardennes to acquaint newcomers, like the 106th, with some of the milder elements of infantry warfare—such as observing and patrolling.
Needless to say and against all odds, in the early morning of December 16th the Germans launched a surprise attack outnumbering our troops by a “factor of five” in terms of armor and manpower. Our Division had only five days of front-line experience, had no air coverage due to the dense fog, and indeed was cut off from our supply lines. This was the start of the largest and bloodiest battle of WWII, in which there were 81,000 American casualties and 19,000 killed.
The German’s ultimate destination in this last ditch, “all-or-nothing” initiative was the strategic port of Antwerp. So sudden and swift was the attack that it soon punctured a huge hole, or salient, in the Allied lines that gave the battle its name: “The Battle of the Bulge.” Those of us at the 422nd and 423rd who survived this ordeal were able to take part in the reorganization of the 106th Division, which regrouped in northern France and participated in all future European campaigns until final victory on May 7th 1945.
On the following day, May 8th 1945 (known as “VE Day” Victory in Europe), I had a streak of luck and appeared with some of my 106th comrades on the cover page of the Army newspaper The Stars and Stripes, celebrating the happiest day of our lives. We were the lucky ones who were able to return home to friends and family and a life thereafter. In my particular case, I have always relied on my Guardian Angel, in addition to Having Faith! And Going Forward!
In May 1940, after months of inactivity, Germany moved to conquer Western Europe by sending troops into neighboring Luxembourg. Headlines in American newspapers announced, “Luxembourg Brutalized, Enslaved by Germans…” and revealed that “Waves of German bombers and transport planes had launched the newest Nazi blitzkrieg in the dark hours before dawn.” American war correspondent William Bird stated, “Of all the small states that have been overwhelmed by the German war technique, none merits more sympathy than Luxembourg. This principality has been more defenseless than any other, its army consisting of just 250 policemen.”
In preparation for the full-scale invasion, Germany sent soldiers into Luxembourg, disguised as civilians. Once the invasion began in earnest, the purpose of this German “Fifth Column” was to use machine guns and felled trees to block the roads into France and prevent the citizens from escaping the German onslaught. The motorcade carrying Grand Duchess Charlotte and Prince Regent Felix came under attack by the German “civilians.” Their car was the only vehicle from the motorcade that managed to escape into France. Why was it so important to the Germans to prevent the people of Luxembourg from leaving? Hitler announced that Luxembourg was being invaded to maintain its neutrality and to prevent an impending invasion by Britain and France, but Bird stated, “unquestionably what Germany sought most in Luxembourg was not the strategical advantage…, but the manpower and the inhabitants’ personal possessions.” Germany needed workers for their farms and factories, soldiers for its army, and the wealth that belonged to the people.
Luxembourg suffered greatly under German occupation. In 1942, the governments in exile of eight Axis-occupied nations met in London to discuss post-war punishment of German occupation forces, for what British Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden described as “oppression and brutality” imposed on Europe. In Luxembourg, hundreds of thousands of citizens had been sent to Germany for forced labor and nearly two million people had been deprived of their property. Joseph Beck, who represented Luxembourg at the meeting, stated that his country was “suffering terribly under the yoke of an implacable enemy, with the German secret police reigning as master.” According to Beck, “Luxembourg cried out for justice.”
In September 1944, after four years of German occupation, the U.S. Army finally drove the Nazis out of Luxembourg. Grand Duchess Charlotte stated that their love of freedom was “stronger than ever now that the victorious armies of the United States and their Allies have entered the liberated motherland.” The joy of liberation lasted only three months. On December 16, 1944, Hitler surprised the Allied forces in Northern Luxembourg and Southern Belgium with an early morning invasion that would last for six weeks and become known as the Battle of the Bulge.
Justice for Luxembourg and the occupied nations came thanks to the effort of men like John McAuliffe of the 87th Infantry Division. McAuliffe arrived in Luxembourg in January 1945. “I was sent to M Company of the 347th Regiment. A bunch of us came into a barn which was used as the Headquarters and I overheard that there was a German machine gun harassing L Company. That is when reality set in. We were holding a defensive position along the Sauer River and the Germans were on the other side. I had guard duty that first night. There was a foot of snow on the ground and a lot of snow in the trees. I was all alone and I had to be careful. I began to think of my brothers and sisters and the good times I had in high school, like going to football games. I thought, ‘God, what am I doing in this position, alone in the snow at night, with Nazi patrols coming through?’ It was the loneliest day of my life, and my indoctrination into the war.” After four more months of hard fighting by American soldiers like John McAuliffe, the unconditional surrender of Germany was finally received in May 1945.
Each year the people of Belgium and Luxembourg pause to remember and thank the American soldiers who fought to liberate their nation. The Honorable Sylvie Lucas, Ambassador of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg to the United States, often recalls the important role that America has played in the history of her country. Ambassador Lucas relates that after the German invasion, the people of Luxembourg no longer had their own identity – they were forced to accept German culture and German language. Streets were renamed with German names. The young men of Luxembourg were forced to serve in the German army. Many chose to join the French Resistance or the British Army. Among those who joined the British Army was Prince Felix, husband of Her Royal Highness Grand Duchess Charlotte and Prince Jean, their oldest son. Prince Jean fought among the Irish Guards that landed in Normandy in June 1944.
Sylvie Lucas (right), Luxembourg Ambassador to the United States, at the Virginia War Memorial in April 2018 with Guy DeGenaro, Professor Emeritus, Virginia Commonwealth University School of Business. Dr. DeGenaro was a glider pilot who participated in the D-Day invasion.
In April 2018, Ambassador Lucas was the guest of honor at the 73rd Anniversary of the Allied Liberation of Europe Ceremony at the Virginia War Memorial. During her address, she added a personal story on how grateful she was to the American troops. Her parents were both 9 years old at the time the war began. Her mother had lost her home to the bombing. Her father was injured by a grenade. American soldiers helped her mother’s family get to a safer place and they helped her father get to a hospital, where he could receive treatment for his wound. Her personal story touched the hearts of many in the audience, including 18 veterans from the European Theatre. Ambassador Lucas expressed profound appreciation for what the Americans and the Allied troops did for her family and for her country. As the 75th Anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge draws near, let us continue to remember the sacrifice of those who worked to liberate Luxembourg and Western Europe.
—James Triesler, Member
James Triesler is Director of Education, Virginia War Memorial, Richmond, VA.
BOBA Veteran Member Guerino “Bill” Jacobini, 83rd Infantry Division, 330th Infantry Regiment, Company G, has received the French Medal of Honor and the Purple Heart. Make that two Purple Hearts, along with eight other medals, including the Bronze Star and the Combat Infantry Badge. He also has a certificate of appreciation from the city of Antwerp, Belgium, for his brave combat during 175 days of continuous enemy air attacks.
Guerino “Bill” Jacobini, 83 INFD, 330 REG, CO G, during WWII; and his medals proudly displayed.
At just 18 years old, Jacobini became part of the Third Army of General George Patton, in the 83rd Infantry Division. Exiting the landing craft at Normandy Beach, they were being shot at. Jacobini described the scene: “In water up to my waist, in full combat gear. BAR loaded, grenade rocket and plenty of ammo. Rangers were in front, many gas balloons were in the air for protection from enemy aircraft.” Later wounded in action in France, he was taken to England to recover. When he rejoined the 83rd at the Rhine River in December 1944, he discovered that most of his unit was gone. Jacobini fought in Battle of the Bulge, where he was wounded again and then put on limited duty. Discharged on Dec. 20, 1945, he returned home to West Philadelphia. Jacobini deeply appreciates the honors he has received, but says he is not a hero. “The heroes are the ones that never came home.”
