My dad, William J Flynn, was a Staff Sergeant with the 106th Infantry Division, HQ Co. I wanted to share some of the material I found related to his war experience.

Here is an excerpt of a letter William sent to his brother Ed, dated February 8, 1945 and titled “SOMEWHERE IN BELGIUM.”

“After the big German Dec. offensive had been stopped, we pulled into a village in Belgium and it has been more of a rest area than anything else. Man, we really appreciated it. As Mother has probably told you, a buddy of mine and myself are sleeping in a home on a feather bed. Man, I mean it’s the best go! It won’t last long, though, as we will probably move back again in a few days. They don’t let a combat infantry division rest very long. There were a couple of girls in the home where we stay and I really have a lot of fun. These Belgian gals are not bad at all . . . .

“Oh well it’s a lot of fun and we sure needed a little of it after the hell we went through during the German offensive. Ed, everyone was called on to help stop that big push. We were taken to a hillside at night and had to dig foxholes in the dark. You couldn’t see a thing and you couldn’t even think of lighting a match or flashlight or anything else. We spent several nights in those holes and I’m telling you I [almost] froze. We also knew the Germans were all around us, and that didn’t make you feel any better. Buzz bombs going over, airplanes fighting, artillery and machine guns firing, the sky full of flares and tracer bullets. It was like nights in hell. I saw sights, Ed, I can’t write about and I may see more before this mess is over, but I hope not. Believe me, Ed, when I say “war is really Hell.” When fellows you have known a long time are killed, wounded and taken prisoner, it really gives you a funny feeling. You will never know until I come home how close I was to being among some of those. Ed, the Germans are just as bad as the Japs. There isn’t anything they won’t do. I know, I’ve seen what they have done. I’ve talked to these Belgian civilians and heard their stories. I’ve seen dead Germans laying around frozen stiff, but it just doesn’t affect you like it would seeing a dead person in the States. Especially when you know what they have done to your buddies and then, too, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be over here. I could tell you a lot of stories about them, but I guess I had better not.” The letter is signed “Love to a swell brother, Bill.”

And here is an excerpt from another letter Dad sent from Germany on April 28, 1945. His Division had been assigned POW duty in the Bad Ems area. The Bulge was over, of course, but I found the first person observations to be interesting:

“Well Ed, I am now in Germany. It is really pretty through the rural districts, but a lot of their towns and cities are really leveled. The country reminds me of the States, with the pretty farms and neat homes. We do not associate with the civilians in any way. We do not even speak to them. We have to be on the lookout all the time and we always travel in pairs. The people try hard to be friendly but we know that in their hearts they hate us, and we are not taking any chances with these babies. Every one of their books and magazines has Hitler’s picture in it. Yesterday we raised Old Glory over this place and our band played “The Star Spangled Banner.” They just stopped and stared as our Flag waved in the breeze where the swastika once flew. They really thought they were a super-race, and it hurts their pride when we have conquered them and then just ignore them. They just gaze in amazement as tanks, trucks, jeeps, guns and other vehicles of war rush by, while overhead great fleets of bombers roar. They all symbolize the might of America and the downfall of Germany. These people don’t look like the people of France and Belgium. They are well fed, well dressed, and seem to have plenty of everything. Their homes are nice and are nearly all modern. We often take over one that is intact, with all the furniture, including dishes in the kitchen and coal in the basement. We build a fire, cook a meal, and take a bath. In this particular place, there is a washing machine in the basement and that comes in handy for laundry. As we pass through towns and cities, there are white flags hanging from the windows. Germany is really getting a taste of what She dished out to other countries. She will be a long time recovering from this.”

—Submitted by Bill Flynn, Associate

Claude Motley’s record from the  Official Roster of South Carolina Servicemen and Servicewomen in World War II documents his brief participation in World War II. What it does not do is capture the details of this short  but eventful period in Claude’s life on Earth. The record notes that he was born in Blaney (now Elgin), South Carolina on 1 November 1922. He still lived near Blaney when he entered active duty in the Army on 8 August 1944. He served overseas in the European-African-Middle Eastern Theater from 8 January 1945 until 12 June 1945. He was awarded the Good Conduct Medal, the Combat Infantryman Badge, the American Campaign Medal, the European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal with service stars for the Rhineland Campaign and the Central Europe Campaign, and the World War II Victory Medal. He was honorably discharged as a corporal from Company M, 119th Infantry Regiment, 30th Infantry Division on 13 February 1946.

 And now, the rest of the story: Claude enlisted in the Army on August 8th, 1944. Claude went to basic training at Camp Blanding near Starke, Florida and arrived on August 18th. He trained as a member of a heavy weapons company and trained on heavy infantry weapons, the heavy machine gun, the 81 millimeter mortar, the rifle, the carbine, the pistol, and grenades. Claude completed his training and moved to Fort Meade, Maryland to await transportation to Europe in early January of 1945. In Europe on January 8th, he was assigned to Company M, 119th Infantry Regiment, 30th Infantry Division. He was assigned to a machine gun platoon. When he joined the 30th Division, they were engaged in the final days of the Battle of the Bulge. On January 13th, the 30th Division launched a counteroffensive and began their push east toward Germany. On February 23rd, the 30th Division crossed the Roer River. On March 24th, they crossed the Rhine River in Germany. On April 12th, the 30thDivision reached the Elbe River forty miles Southwest of Berlin in eastern Germany. On April 13th, Company M crossed the Elbe River near Grunewalde. The Germans mounted a counterattack and captured 22 members of Company M including Claude, his Company Commander, Captain Romulus Mann, and his platoon sergeant, Technical Sergeant Paul Schreck, as they took cover in the basement of a farm house. Claude was imprisoned in Stalag IIIA near Luckenwalde, Germany. Like other prisoners at the end of the war, Claude suffered from poor nutrition and care. Rumor in Stalag IIIA was that the Russians were about to liberate the prisoners. Claude managed to get a map of Germany and he and a friend, Wilton Outlaw, escaped on May 5th. Their plan was to reach a crossroads and to use the map to find their way west to American lines. The plan hit a snag when they reached the first crossroads, because the Russians had come through the area and had changed all the road signs to Russian, which was unintelligible to Privates Motley and Outlaw. They revised their plan, put the map away, and simply headed west. They were given a ride for part of the way on a wood burning truck by people they could not communicate with. Claude returned to the 119th Infantry. Victory in Europe was achieved on May 8th when Germany surrendered. On 12 June, the 30th shipped back to the United States aboard the RMS Queen Mary ocean liner. After a visit home, Claude was stationed at Fort Lewis, Washington ,where he served as a driver until his discharge on February 13th, 1946.

Post war, Claude returned home and to logging and farming. He also taught agriculture in a veterans program for a couple of years. He raised a family, was active in his community and his church. He was truly one of America’s greatest generation.

—Submitted by his proud son-in-law, Nelson McLeod, Associate

by Julian Lee Gelwasser, 90 INFD, 358 INF REG, CO B 

World War II started in 1939 when I was 13 years old. When Pearl Harbor was attacked Dec.7, 1941 I was in high school, age 15. Our home room teacher said it would be over in 6 weeks. Sure. Three years later in 1944 I turned 18, graduated and the draft board was waiting. Before that my classmates formed a Victory Corp. , bought “uniforms” and tried to prepare ourselves for service. There was an urgent need for trained riflemen in the army so I was inducted at Ft. Meade and took basic training at Camp Fannin, Tx. I quickly learned to use the M1 rifle, Mi carbine, BAR, 60mm mortar, 30cal MG, Bazooka, grenades and bayonet. We marched 25 miles with full packs in 100 degree weather. It was perfect training for the future snow and cold of the bulge. We should have trained in Alaska. In a matter of months I was on a troopship that landed in Marseilles, France. The bulge started Dec.16th and I was sent north as a needed replacement to the 358th of the 90th INFD. I became a platoon runner for LT. Julius Hebert. He and his non-coms were a wonderful group of men. My teenage mind was still active when Lt. Hebert let me carry his Thompson SMG. Wow, a Tommygun just like the ones carried by G-Men! I also carried his handy talkie radio.

There was much slogging through snow and cold. Food came in small K ration boxes. We were lucky to replace our boots with waterproof shoe pacs.

I was soon introduced to the nearness of death and I began to wonder if I would ever see my 19th birthday. At one time shots were zinging overhead. Lying prone next to a soldier, I poked him to get his attention. I got no response and realized he was dead. Another time, we were working our way through a wooded area in a fire fight when I was blocked by a smoking Jeep. The driver was lying on the hood bare footed. The Germans had taken his boots to replace their own.

After weeks of this we were near Wiltz, Luxembourg pushing the Germans out of a large farm house. To get out of the snow and cold we entered the barn. Big mistake. The Germans had zeroed it in and dropped a mortar shell on top of us. A large piece hit me in the left leg and another one of our men in the platoon was hit in the arm. We both started shouting, “MEDIC!” (I had a compound comminuted fracture and went into shock.)

I was soon covered with a blanket and put on a litter which went onto the fender of a Jeep. First stop was an aid station in ArIon, Belgium. I just missed an amputation. Next I was sent to a hospital in Paris where a Red Cross lady wrote a letter to my parents. This followed with a cross channel boat trip to England on the St. Olaf. At a hospital in Cheltenham I was put in traction for over a month, after which I returned to the US via a C54 hospital plane by way of the Azores, Newfoundland and Mitchel Field, LI. Months of rehab followed in Virginia until I could walk again.

I thought the medical treatment was very good, for those times. I was one of the first to get penicillin in the field.

Sad note: I had written Lt. Hebert a letter and it came back marked “DECEASED.” Nice man — I still think of him.

I received my Honorable Discharge just as the war ended in 1945. The GI Bill was in effect, so I received a college education.

There is an interesting side note to my story. Some 14 years after the war ended, I was 33 and had risen to a mid-level position in the defense industry. I became involved with a major sub-contractor whose chairman of the board was Five Star General Omar Bradley. So former PFC me had a friendly chat in his office with the general. I invited him down to the Cape in Florida to witness a test firing of a prototype missile, after which he sent me a very nice thank you note [shown below] which I have kept all these years.

In retrospect, we 18-year-olds were very patriotic. We loved our country and were ready to fight for it, in the face of fanatical German Nazis who were terrorizing so many people. We did what we had to do to end their threat and end the war.

Hard to believe. Those of us still around are in our 90’s.

In September 2016, on Mike Quiroz’s 92 birthday, his son recorded him recalling his World War Two memories in the United States Army with the 134th AAA Gun Battalion, at the Battle of the Bulge.

by E. Peter Hornburg, 5 INFD 10 INF CO F

It was dawn on December, 23, 1944 in Luxembourg and we, Co F, 10th Inf. 5th Div, were about to attack in the Ardennes. The German breakthrough had been stalled and they were dug in.Most German troops wore camouflage uniforms. It was another cold day and our company had just spent a miserable night in a farmer’s barn that had little hay and was ready to collapse. We were one of the divisions that General Patton had pulled out of the line farther south and trucked to the Ardennes. This former farm, I believe called the Michaelshaft farm, was at the edge of the forest.

I had spent nearly 5 months with the 5th Division, fighting across Northern France, but still hardly knew anyone. I’d had several foxhole partners—all casualties of one kind or another. At least two were taken out with frozen feet. November and December had been extra brutal months in Northern Europe.

I was picked as one of the scouts who went ahead of the main body of infantrymen. Surprisingly, one of our Sergeants volunteered as the other scout. We had no artillery or tank support. Obviously, no tanks could operate in the forest. I did not see a tank in my nearly five months at the front. So we walked into the forest, the other scout and I, about 50 yards ahead of the others. I recall a few inches of snow on the ground. All was quiet for a while, when two shots rang out. Both the other scout and I went down.

I was shot through the side of my knee, just grazing the bone, but had very little pain. But our other scout got hit in the stomach. Any combat vet will tell you this is unbelievable pain and almost always fatal. I slithered back to a depression in the ground and saw the most unbelievable act of bravery and futility I have ever witnessed. First the medic, then at least two other soldiers, rushed over to try to help the wounded sergeant.
All were hit! Not only could our troops not advance, but now artillery and mortar rounds started coming in.

Eventually an order to withdraw was issued. I stood up and immediately was hit again …. this time a bullet through my lower jaw. Again, I had little pain yet, but I was choking on a mouthful of blood, flesh, bone and teeth. I was in shock. Two guys ran over, put my arms around their shoulders, and we headed back. Shells were exploding in the trees overhead, and the shrapnel was hitting several of our guys at a time. Chaos surrounded us. We were nearly to the edge of the woods …. I could see the farmhouse from where we had started, when a shell hit the tree above us.

I woke up a few seconds later, face down, blood running down over my forehead. I reached up, removed my helmet, and saw two holes about three inches apart. The shrapnel had left a nasty gash in my scalp. Only a fraction of a different angle would have killed me.

Still no pain—just in shock, I guess. The two men assisting me were gone. I’m sure they thought I was dead. I read later that 2/3 of my Company was either killed or wounded that day. Along with lots of others, I was taken back to a tent field hospital, where the Army somehow managed to bring up a rather special Christmas meal the next day (the 24th). I could only watch. The plans were to put me and other seriously wounded on a plane to England, but extremely bad weather stopped those plans.

I was put on a hospital train that took forever to reach the coast, then cross the Channel, and on another train to an Army Hospital in central England. I spent nearly 15 days living on grapefruit and tomato juice through a straw.

by Jan Ross, Associate Member

We, Jan Ross and Brad Peters, have created and maintained a comprehensive web site (www.300thcombatenginersinwwii.com) over the past ten years to recognize Jan’s father’s unit that fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

Tech. 5 Kenneth Morris was a Company A truck driver with the 300^th Engineer Combat Battalion in the Battle of the Bulge. He still carries the nickname “Cowboy” because of his time after the war on the international rodeo circuit as a champion bull rider. He continues to live in his home town of Watts, Oklahoma. He attends reunions of the 300^th with his extended family in some cases with four generations. His grandson, Congressman Markwayne Mullin represents the Second Oklahoma District in the United States Congress. What follows are some of Cowboy’s recollections from interviews with him at the 300^th reunions and transcribed for the 300^th web site.   

They had us in this old château in Belgium owned by a cousin of the King of Belgium. They made us move out of the castle. It had a moat all around it with all those fish in it and a drawbridge which was stationary. So they kicked us back out into the mud. As we went across this drawbridge, we had those hand grenades and percussion grenades. So I took a percussion grenade and got right by the rail and dropped that thing into the moat. When it hit and exploded those fish just came up to the top, all dead. That old man was really mad. About a week or so later Lt. Taylor [1 Lt. William H. Taylor, Jr.] said, “Morris, why did you kill the old man’s fish?” I said, ‘What made you think I did it?” He said, “I couldn’t think about anyone else but you that would do it.”

We had two bridges to blow, a railroad bridge and a road bridge. The 84^th Division was coming out of there and they had a tank destroyer attached to them. They were supposed to tell us if we were to get cut off and we were supposed to blow the bridges and follow them out. About three o’clock in the morning on the 24^th [December] the 84^th just left and left us unguarded. Then there was a column of German tanks coming down our road. About a half mile before they got to us they turned to the right and all hell broke loose. Whoever was building a bridge up there really got shot up. A truck of ours later came through and they had run into an ambush and some of them got killed.

Our platoon commander, Lt. Taylor, was one of our best liked officers. I said to him, “Let’s blow these damn bridges and get the hell out of here.” He said, “Let’s wait.” So later I said, “Let me take your jeep and drive and see if I can find a way out of here.” He said, “No, we are staying right here.” Finally, way later, and I shouldn’t have done it, but I said, “Lt. Taylor, I’m responsible for my truck, I’ll load the men up and try to get them out of here. And if you don’t let me do that, I’m going to burn it up, because if we stay till morning we all will be dead. We have to get out of here now.” So he finally said, “Okay blow the bridges.”

I was driving the lead truck when we left and told my men, “If I get hit you jump up here and keep driving.” It was real dark, black, and we just had the cat eyes. I could see the horizon and just kept driving until we got out of those trees. Somebody must have been helping us. The rest of the platoon followed me and we came to another crossroad. We could see a bunch of cat eyes, so we stopped. It was about a dozen of our tanks. So, I said to the Captain of the tank unit, “Where are you guys going.” He said, “There are some engineers cut off in there and we’re going to get them.” I said, “We’re the engineers and we are getting out. There’s no one else up there but Germans.” He said, “We’re coming to fight a war.” And I said, “It would be suicide – those Sherman tanks are no match for those Tigers, don’t do it.” But they followed those tanks up there and I’ve always wondered what happened to them.

Cowboy remembers Ray Gordon. Ray was raised in a little town called Watts in Oklahoma and I was raised in a little town just 10 miles apart. I knew Ray for years before we ever came to the Army. Ray was easy to make mad. You’d tease him a little bit but he’d get over it right quick. One time, we’d been following the tanks all night through a wooded area in Germany. One of the boys built a little old fire. It was cold and wet. We had some cans of gas on the end of the truck and this guy went and got some gas in his steel helmet. Ray had his back to the fire and the guy tried to throw a splash of gas on the fire but it went all over Ray’s back. Ray was on fire. It scared him and he started running. I started after him. I had some blankets in the truck and it took three of us to get him down and throw them blankets on him to get out the fire. He never got burned anywhere but he sure was on fire. He was pretty scared.

One time Ray got mad. We had just gotten packages from home and it was after Christmas. We were stopped and everyone was opening up his packages. I was opening mine and it had a safety razor. It had a little handle that screwed into it. The handle broke off so the razor was no good. I didn’t say nothing and put it back in the box. We got to swapping boxes and I swapped with Ray. When Ray opened it up and saw it was broke he was really mad and jumped up. I said, “Ray, if you was smart, dammit, shut your mouth like I did and you’d have swapped it off to somebody else.” That was Ray. I liked Ray.

We were on this trip south to southern Germany and the war was practically over. We had gone over to the Third Army. It was 1 May and it was snowing. There was this general there and you could tell he had not been there long. He had this red board up there with two big stars shining. So he stopped right beside me and said, “Soldier where are you going?” I thought this must be some kind of joke or something. So I said, “We are attached to this armored division.” So he said again, “Where are you going?” I said, “Hell, I don’t know we are just following those tanks.” So he said, “Have you got a trip ticket?” So I knew he had just got up there because you know damn well you don’t have any trip tickets in a combat mission. So I said, “We haven’t had a trip ticket since we left England.” So he said, “Don’t you have a map?” So I said, “What would we be doing with a map?” So I said, “You got a map?” He said, “No we are just following you boys. We are lost.” And I said, “Obviously if you’re lost I guess we are lost also.” A two-star general asking a truck driver where to go.”