Thursday, November 19, 2020

The Valley

(Source)

"What the f**k is that? Looks like something my kid sister might play with." Pvt Homer Ginter whispered to his squad leader, Sgt Stump Gentile.

The two men and their squad were perched on a steep ridge overlooking a small valley in the Hürtgenwald. On the valley floor was a column of German infantry, interspersed with the infantry were small carts being pulled by horses. There were also larger wagons being pulled by a team of two horses. Sgt Gentile noticed, near the end of the column, what appeared to be two medium-sized carts, hooked together, being pulled by four horses. He saw the stovepipe on the rear cart and realized that he was looking at a German field kitchen.

"What we're looking at Private, is the baggage train of a German infantry company. Those little wagons, carts really, are issued to every infantry platoon in the Kraut army, I think they get two each. The Krauts use 'em for carrying ammo and stuff. Each platoon also has a wagon drawn by two horses for the men's packs and such, ya know for longer marches. First time I've seen so many of 'em, saw 'em in Africa first. If the baggage train is any indication, the company that owns it is pretty near full strength."

"What's all this 'blitzkrieg' shit we heard about in the States anyway?" Ginter had heard the tales of German tanks smashing into Poland, France, and then Russia, sweeping all before them. Motorized infantry pacing them the entire way, this didn't look very impressive to him, not at all.

"Well, it's like this Homer, most of the German Army goes to war the same way their great-grandfathers did, they walk. The number of horses used by the German Army is pretty large. Most of the cannon and equipment in a Kraut infantry division are towed by horses. Those guys you see down there? A prime example of what the bulk of the German Army looks like, the tanks get all the press, but the guys on foot do most of the fighting."

"Well shit Sarge, I had no ideer." Ginter was new to the army, he had turned 18 a month before D-Day. He had desperately wanted to join the army at 17, but his parents had refused to sign for him. As his father had put it, "With both your big brothers off fightin' the war, I need ya here on the farm. When you hit 18, you can do what ya like, until then..." When his 18th birthday had arrived, he had gone to the recruiting office that very morning.

After what felt like forever in training and then languishing in the Replacement Depot, Homer Ginter, from a small farm in western Virginia, had joined 2nd Platoon just two weeks ago. This was the first time he had seen the enemy. He didn't know that many men in the army never got to see a live German. Often, if they were seen at all, they were just vague shapes in the distance.

Now here they were, in the flesh. Ginter was not impressed.

"Head on back to the L.T., stay low. Tell him we got a target for the artillery. A juicy one."


Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger stood by the side of the muddy trail winding through the small valley watching his men struggle through the mud. Which was really nothing compared to the mud in Russia, which he'd experienced multiple times since 1941. Wounded in late 1943, he'd been evacuated back to the Reich. He, and his wife, had been thrilled to learn that he was being reassigned to the Western Front. He had arrived in Normandy in May.

Now here he was, the first sergeant of an infantry company deep in the Hürtgenwald. The wet, the cold, the forest, he almost missed the steppes of southern Russia. He had survived the battles in Normandy and the retreat across France. Promoted to his current position only days before, his predecessor had been killed in action, he now was responsible for the administrative details for running a company of 138 men. His company was actually at full strength, an oddity at this point in the war.

Most of the men were young, mixed in were a few veterans from this war, even some from the last war, but, he had checked, the average age of this company was eighteen. He could tell the ones who had not had enough training. They struggled in the march, they had not been sufficiently hardened. They straggled and many of them had foot and back problems. Only their youth kept them going. Such things could kill an older man.

As the Gulaschkanone¹ passed by, he checked his list once more. He tucked the list into the cuff of his greatcoat then climbed aboard the wagon carrying the supplies for the field kitchen. He checked his watch, they were already falling behind schedule because of the mud and the roughness of the terrain. The clowns in the rear never factored in the terrain and the weather when calculating movements in the field. Krüger sighed and thanked God that at least he could ride for a ways. Though he was only 26 years old, he felt 50.


1Lt Nate Paddock and his radioman, PFC John Myerson, were well-concealed but they had a clear view of the German column struggling through the valley below them. Paddock held the radio handset and had his map in front of him. He had a battery of 105mm howitzers on the other end of the radio, standing by. The lieutenant was waiting for the last two vehicles in the column to enter the kill zone before he asked for a spotting round. As he watched through his field glasses, he noticed a man climb onto the last wagon. He wondered who it was, probably the guy responsible for the column was what he figured.


Krüger thought about having a smoke, it was still light out, but he'd given the men a hard time about lighting up when they were on duty. So his pipe stayed in his pocket. He looked at the sky, another overcast day, at least it hadn't rained in a few hours. He had gotten used to the smell of wet wool, but he still didn't like it.

"Herr Hauptfeldwebel?" The young grenadier driving the wagon looked at him.

"What is it Sepp?" Krüger liked young Neuhäusser, though the man's curiosity about everything could be a bit wearying at times.

"How are we going to get our wagons up these hills? They seem pretty steep."

"The wagons will stay in the valley, we'll be up on the hill with a small guard left behind to watch over our equipment. If the weather was..." Krüger paused, he'd heard something which made his blood run cold.

The whistle of an incoming artillery round was now clear. Before Krüger could react, an impact to the right of the column, on the hillside above them, showered them all with dirt and debris. He knew that that was just a spotting round, there would be more. If the man calling in the fire knew his business, they were doomed.


Paddock spoke into the handset, "Drop fifty, fire for effect."

The spotting round had been a little long, but had been very near the middle of the column of horse drawn vehicles and men. It was time to rain Hell down on these men in different uniforms before they tried to spot him and his radioman. The Germans were superb about reacting quickly to a threat.

"Might want to cover your ears, John." Paddock said as he ducked down in the shallow depression he and Myerson were sheltering in. Things were about to get loud.


Krüger, standing atop the wagon, was screaming at the men to take cover, he saw that young Grenadier Neuhäusser was, again, more concerned with the horses than his own safety. He was trying to pull the animals off the trail, but the first explosion had spooked the horses, they were nearly as green as the men they served.

"Sepp, leave them, get to cover!!" But his screaming at the young farmer from Silesia was in vain. The man loved horses more than anything else in the world, even more than his own life.

Six 105mm artillery rounds impacted nearly simultaneously along the length of the column - men, horses, and equipment were all devastated by the explosions. As the survivors tried to rally each other and see to the wounded, the young company commander managed to get two platoons ready to move up the hill where the American observer had to be positioned. They were nearly ready to advance when six more rounds landed.


Paddock listened as the artilleryman from the regimental cannon company told him, "Rounds complete, d'ya need more?" Paddock looked down at the devastation he had brought down on the Germans in the valley, he was shaken by the screams of the men and horses below him.

"Negative. Successful fire mission. Red Baker Two Leader, out." Handing the handset back to Myerson, he looked at his radioman and said, "John, let's get the Hell out of here."


Krüger dragged himself out of the wreckage of the company's field kitchen supply wagon, his ears were ringing and every sound was muffled. He shook his head to clear it, that was a mistake, it made him drop to his hands and knees. He vomited.

He looked up, young Neuhäusser was miraculously unscathed, but his beloved horses were both down. He was sitting in the mud, cradling the head of the lead horse and he was sobbing uncontrollably. The horse was still alive, but barely, the other team horse was dead.

"Sepp, Sepp." Krüger tried to get the young man's attention, but he was probably as deaf as his sergeant. Krüger unholstered his P 38 pistol, then handed it to the young man from Silesia. Neuhäusser looked at his sergeant and immediately understood what he had to do.

As Krüger went down the column, or what was left of the column, he heard a single pistol shot behind him. He was from the city, but he understood the love some of the men felt for the horses they served beside.

At the end of the day, Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger had taken stock of the losses from the company. Only thirty-three men, out of 138 were still fit for duty. None of the company's horses had survived, those which had not been killed outright had had to be put down because of the severity of their wounds.

Krüger was the senior man left alive, his company commander had been killed trying to organize an attack up the hill when the last rounds from the barrage had landed. The men who remained were useless for anything, physically they were fit for duty, but mentally, they might as well have been dead.

As he led the survivors away from the ruined column, the 33 carried the wounded who could not walk, the Sanitäter had survived, he had examined the men who had been so badly wounded that they couldn't be moved and had volunteered to remain behind with them. Krüger had had to order the man, at gunpoint, to withdraw with the rest of the company. All they could do was pray that the Amis would succor the wounded they had left behind.

The wind moved the tops of the tall pines as the men withdrew back down the valley. The temperature was dropping and in the dwindling light, the men could see small snowflakes. Those who had served in Russia shivered at the thought of another winter of war.

The Hürtgenwald was silent, save for the wind in the treetops, uncaring and unmoved by the trials and tribulations of man.






¹ Literally "goulash cannon," a slang term for the German field kitchen. The stove pipe on the cooking unit looked like a cannon barrel when stowed for movement.

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40 comments:

  1. I can remember to this day, 48 years later, the Captain telling us in Basic Training that artillery kills far more men than rifles and grenades.

    On the book of WW1 I just finished all the the veterans remembered the dead and dying horses, entrails out...

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    1. As Napoléon said "It is with artillery that war is made."

      Most stories of the Falaise Pocket will show the destroyed horse teams alongside the wrecked tanks and trucks. The horse teams were far more numerous!

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    2. One of the most shocking scenes in the book "All Quiet on the Western Front" was the screaming horses that had to be put down. Done pretty well in the movie adaptation starring Ernest Borgnine and Richard Thomas.

      I've heard horses scream. It's eerie. Their death screams? Even more eerie. Hearing that on a cold rainy night? Nightmare-inducing.

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    3. The Ernest Borgnine/Richard Thomas version of All Quiet on the Western Front was pretty well done, I thought so anyway.

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    4. I had the opportunity to get to Falais last year. Standing up on the Polish posit and looking across the small depression to the American position I was struck for the first time just how narrow the "Falais Gap" really was. Just a couple hundred yards. I stood there and wondered how ANYONE made it through the gap.

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  2. A dead horse is a heartbreaking sight to me. In my estimation, they are coworkers, like dogs, but quite different. Sitting on one, cutting out calves, hanging on for dear life, as she makes all the moves and decisions.... There is nothing like it in the world. The feeling of a good horse, foxtrotting the miles away with an easy swing is comforting. In that regard, dogs don't hold a candle to horses... I guess it's a western thing. But I had a lump in my throat reading about that guy cradling his horse's head.

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    1. Though I haven't ridden in years, and did so only sporadically when I was much younger, there is a bond between human and horse.

      Coworkers is a good way of putting it, partners.

      I posted once about the animals we humans make use of in wartime. I'll have to find that. The painting in that post inspired the scene you mention in this post.

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  3. I like that description - 'The clowns in the rear'. All they see are the pieces they move about so easily on the table in front of them.
    Odd thought - in the game of life people are living as best they can, while the politicians are the clowns in the rear back in some capitol office.
    Frank

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    1. Not really an odd thought these days.

      Well said, Frank.

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  4. And the Forest eats well that day.

    Stuff like this, a company wiped out here, a tribe wiped out there, people just disappear... It's why dark forests have such a power in European folklore.

    Friend of mine took some actual Mongols, ya know, steppe people, to Oleno State Park. A really very northern river in a dense Florida woods. The Mongols thought it was fascinating and neat and enjoyed tubing and stuff and wanted out of there as soon as it got dark. Two things feature big in Mongol folklore. Lighting storms (go figure) and dense woods.

    Glad to see that artillery is finally back up and running for the Americans.

    And excellent description of the German company, with the disposition of all the wagons and horses.

    Gulash Kannon. Got that right off without needing the footnotes. Heh. Funny thing is, periodically, some US Gov auction sites come up with US Army field kitchens. Which are on a trailer. The motive power may change. The layout and equipment may change, but the concept stays the same.

    If'n I was still doing SCA and fabulously wealthy, I'd either get one of those or a 20' Conex kitted out as a kitchen for my encampment. Yah, not 'period' but sometimes serving good hot food to 40-60 people is more important than appearances.

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    1. That's one of those situations where you set up the modern kitchen behind a barn or large tent and keep the tourists away. I mean there are people who like the whole authentic period thing, there are others who are just there for the combat. But but no one likes going hungry!

      The carts in the opening photo - I saw a number of those online and available for sale. Not that I need one, but it would be kind of cool.

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    2. Wonder if the German forests became a Mongol boogeyman because of the reduced mobility it forced on them, and all the rain needed for a forest raising Cain with the horn bows probably didn't help any.
      Frank

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    3. Something to ponder, though the Mongols didn't penetrate much further than Liegnitz in Silesia. Also the forests around the Pripyat Marshes and in Poland are pretty extensive, they did get through those.

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  5. Is there a connection between the howitzer size and the number of German casualties? Old Guns

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    1. Not intentionally. The casualties are based on the confined space, with no where to run really, and that the regimental cannon company had six howitzers. While I wasn't clear on how many rounds the cannon cockers fired into the valley, in my head there were three "volleys" from all six guns. With the spotting round, that's 19 rounds in a confined space on a closely grouped target, essentially infantry in the open. Did you see a correlation?

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    2. The number designation is the diameter of the bore, 105mm. The bigger the number, the bigger the round it fires. Bigger booms, yeah, more dead horses and people. More important though is the type of munition. A proximity fuse causes the round to explode above the ground, greatly increasing the effectiveness of the blast, and fragmentation dispersal, as opposed to an impact fuse, that detonates the munition as it impacts. Makes a bigger hole, but all that dirt has the effect of suppressing the effect of the blast.

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    3. I'm not sure if that's what Old Guns was after, he is, as the pseudonym might indicate, an artilleryman.

      I also know him in real life, he tends to be tongue in cheek at times.

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    4. Ahhh...I see! Wondered about thet there moniker. Never got in on the backside of that kinda action, but I do know calling it in is (or was, back before all the high tech stuff came into play) a hairy bit of business. Better get your grid coordinates just right, and then hunker down real good, hoping that goofy cannon cocker (that you've probably never even met)gets his coords. right, too! Reading through your tale, I found myself scrunching down, in anticipation of that first round. We were using the 155s, and those suckers do go BOOM!

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    5. I was referring to the bore diameter. I was Chief of Section on a 155 (M114-A1) until I went on REFORGER 83 at the age of 42 and decided 3 hots & a cot would increase my life expectancy and the quality thereof. I retired as a Chief Gunner's Mate in 1998. Old Guns

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    6. Patrick - Yes, always dicey when you've got a butter bar on the radio hoping he read his map properly!

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    7. Old Guns - Had it been 155s I doubt anyone would have got out of the valley alive! I went with what might be most accessible to the platoon, which would be the regimental cannon company. I believe the 155s were higher up.

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    8. The number of casualties was 105. That was what I was referring to.

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    9. Ah! You're absolutely right, I didn't realize that.

      Pure coincidence, you know me Old Guns, I'm not that clever.

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  6. Trying agin, hopefully without spell checker changing my post. Three platoons of M3 howitzer did the job quite well, didn't they?
    WARNING! MacBeth based pun involving Lt. Paddock's name incoming!
    Is it true that, even though four batteries of GMC M12 155mm SP guns had made it known that they were now open for business, and looking for a target to register their guns on, Lt. Paddock felt he owed a certain amount of loyalty to the " towed " guns?

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    1. (Don McCollor)...A small point. Paddock instructing the battery to "Drop 50". The few instances I have run across of WW2 observer instructions to artillery would have been "Down 50"...

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    2. (Don McCollor)...I defer to you...

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    3. Of course, now I have to find a good source for WWII artillery talk!

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    4. Don - I did some research, drop/add are used to decrease/increase the range, down/up are used to decrease/increase the elevation of the target as seen by the observer. Elevation differences less than 30 meters are ignored. I got this from US Army FM 6-30, Chapter 4.

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    5. As an aside, that's a modern field manual, the WWII version for a forward observer is FM6-135, which is a bit more complicated. That manual uses "sensings" from base point using terms like over and short, which I still haven't figured out.

      I think, though it's an anachronism, stick with the usage in FM 6-30.

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  7. Hey AFSarge;

    Excellent Post and a great explanation about the horses and the German Wehrmacht and how their propaganda had them fully mechanized but they actually were not.

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    1. Something which can't be stressed too often, the Wehrmacht had a lot of horses!

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  8. This is a GREAT story, Sarge. Thanks for putting the effort in for us.

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    1. Thanks, I'm enjoying the writing of it!

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    2. You could make a 2nd career out of fiction if'n you needed some walkin around cash. Just sayin, I'd buy the books and I bet I ain't alone.

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    3. That's where I'm headed, hopefully.

      Good to know there's a market out there! 😁

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