Taking a Break

 Settling in nicely in the new house.  The box to available floor space  ratio is overwhelmingly favoring floor space.  Not completely, mind you, but pretty near.  Cooking and cleaning are becoming easier also.  It usually takes opening no more than two storage areas (drawers, cupboards) before finding the item I'm seeking.  

So, we got that going for us.  As Mrs J's Birthday is this Tuesday, MBD and I planned a little get away down time for the four of us.  Original plan was to visit the Hyatt Lost Pines Resort between Bastrop and Austin.  Unfortunately, $450/room/night was a bit out of our price range.  

Dear Hyatt, 

If I recall my HS Economics class correctly, lower prices increases demand assuming a constant quality.  I know the Commie Flu has been hard on the bottom line.  Please don't try to make it all up at once.

Be see'in ya...Maybe

juvat

Instead, we found a two bedroom condo on Lake LBJ.  My definition of ON is "it had a boat slip with a boat". No Beans, the boat was not included in the rental fee.  But the patio was and it was quite pleasant.

Running a guest house ourselves, it was interesting to see how others do it.  They were "similar, but different".  It was obvious to us that the owners use a cleaning service.  Just little things. Like the little containers of creamer were a tad "long in the tooth".  I don't think they're supposed to be solid.  But, what the heck, dump it out, wash cup, make another, don't add creamer.  The can opener doesn't work very well.  Just take it slow and keep your fingers away from the sharp edges.

It's all good.  Especially when you're the only one awake and this is the view.

 And the second cup was pretty darn good.

Finally the clan joins me on the balcony.  SIL has a test the next day so he's studying.  MBD is working from "Home", so she's got some video meeting going on.  Yes, she did sit facing the sliding glass door so the above view was her background.  Life is good.

Finally it's lunch time so we decide to go to the Double Horn Brewery.  Pretty nice place, got to meet the brewmaster, owner, waiter and Matre'd, all at once.  Ordered "The Cowboy", as did Mrs J.  Cheeseburger with an onion ring, BBQ sauce, Lettuce and fresh Jalapenos.  I also ordered a Stout to wash it down.  First bite was great, then I hit the jalapeno at the same time Mrs J did.  They were a bit...spicier than I expected, and I've eaten an awful lot of jalapenos over the year.  But it did take a bit more of the Stout to wash it down.  Asked the brewmaster, owner, waiter and Matre'd, when he came to check on us for another.  He asked if I had liked the first, I told him I had and he asked if I wanted to try the "Nitro" Stout.  He said the one I'd just finished had used CO2 for carbonation, this one used Nitrogen.  He had just decided that morning that it was ready for sale. I said sure.  Still had a little bit of the first left, so put it aside for comparison.

Learn something new every day.  The "Nitro" was much smoother and had a finer head, similar to a Guinness.  I complemented him on his skills as we left.  

We then decided to investigate a little bit of local history.  I'd read something a while back about the early history of the Hill Country.  It spoke a bit about the chafing that occurred between the German Immigrants and the American Immigrants to Texas.  Suffice it to say, the German's were NOT pro-slavery, while the American's immigrated to Texas primarily from the South.

Discussions did not always end amicably, as I've spoken about before .  So just outside Marble Falls city limits on the south side of the river and about a mile east of US281 on a road off of a county road is a Texas Historical Marker.  One is quite unlikely to stumble upon it by accident.

The marker is for "Dead Man's Hole".  This hole is 155' deep and 50' long.   Back in the day, it was said to have a tall oak tree above it.  Seems some folks used it to resolve conflicts.  

Permanently.

 

The marker says up to 17 bodies are supposed to be inside the cave.  several attempts were made to explore the cave, but the air was too noxious very far from the entrance.  The people identified on the marker were ID'd by clothing or personal items found in the cave after it was successfully explored in 1951.  According to this source, Judge Scott was the first Judge for Burnet (pronounced Burn' it) County and was pro Union,  He and another Pro-Union supporter, James McMasters, tried to flee the area when they heard Confederate Supporters called "Bushwackers" were coming for them.  Unfortunately, they were caught.  Scott was shot and McMasters was hung.  Quite likely from the oak tree above the cave.  It was said to have had the mark of several ropes on its limbs.

The Freedmen incident mentioned on the placque is said to have happened in 1871.  A man named Ben McKeever was riding through a place where several Black families had settled.  A dog spooked his horse, so he pulled his pistol and shot at it...missing...several times.  The dog's owner came out and protested.  McKeever shot at him unsuccessfully. McKeever rode off.  On a return trip to the area, the man, Ben Shelby, gathered three others and ambushed McKeever shooting him with a shotgun, then slicing his throat.  They disposed of the body in Dead Man's Hole.  The 4 men were eventually convicted of the murder and according to Court Records (although there is disagreement) were hung for the crime.

 

It was a sobering place to visit, especially when one considers how many similar things are happening daily in the US.

So. with a lot of things running round my head, we returned to the casa de alquiler de juvat and went swimming.

Yes, Beans, the water was fairly cool.  Maybe 65 or so.  As they say, it wasn't so bad once you got used to it.  It's just the getting used to it part.

Then returned to the casa de alquiler de juvat, had a Margarita while we watched the sun set.

 

Next day, SIL had to be at the Austin testing site early, so we packed up and headed home, to find the Gutter Installers hard at work and the antenna re-installer humbly apologizing, saying he'd be happy to use a shorter rack and install it in the brick.  (They don't have a ground mount.  I'd have to buy and install a flag pole if I wanted one.  We'll see.)

A fun time was had by all.  Peace y'all!

Clearing the Trail

National Archives

"I figure we can run a tow cable around that tree and use it to pull the wreck down that bank, get another tank pushing from behind and..." Cpl Ron Seymour was interrupted by his sergeant.

"Where are you gonna find enough room in here to get two tanks in place to do that? This trail was a long shot to get around the German flank anyway. Ever wonder why there are no Krauts here? They probably figured that only a bunch of idiots would try to attack up this slope and they can see how narrow this damned trail is, steep drop on one side, almost a wall on the uphill side." Sgt Ted Ramsey shook his head, he was still trying to figure out how Ron had ever made corporal, he wasn't the sharpest tack in the drawer on his best days.

"Okay, yeah, I see that. It was just an idea Sarge." Cpl Ron Seymour then shrugged his shoulders, he hadn't thought this through all the way.

"Why are you people standing around jawing, we need to get this wreck moved!" SFC Pedley was not happy. "What do you think Tom?"

SSgt Tom Michaelson, the tank platoon's platoon sergeant and commander of "Tommy's Tank," had been thinking about just this problem. "First thing we gotta do Bud is get the L.T. and his crew out of the tank. As Peterson's tank is the only one that can get up here, he's just gonna have to push the wreck off the trail. Hopefully it'll roll downhill."

"All right then, get that tank up here, you, you, and you, start pulling bodies out of the wreck."

The three men that Pedley had detailed to get the bodies of the crew out of the wrecked Sherman had had to be relieved by other men shortly after they had dragged the second man from the front of the burned out Sherman. The driver had come apart as they attempted to pull his badly charred body from his seat. Two of the men vomited and one had said, "I don't care Sarge, you'll have to shoot me, I ain't going back in there!"

Eventually they had completed the onerous task and the remains of the destroyed tank's crew - 2Lt Fred Oswald (tank commander and platoon leader), Sgt Ted Mountjoy (gunner), PFC Sherb Morrison (loader), Cpl Burt McKinney (driver), and Pvt Jim McGraw (bow gunner) - were laid out further back by the side of the trail. The remains were covered by a tarpaulin taken off the back of one of the other tanks. One of the new men couldn't believe how small they looked.

Shortly after the bodies had been recovered, Mac Peterson's tank came rumbling up the trail. Peterson's driver, Cpl Louis Clark, was sitting with his head out of his hatch, to better see. Peterson himself was up in his commander's cupola watching intently, when the tank got close to the wreck, he spoke to his driver...

"Okay Louis, gimme some right lever¹, I want to get us pushing uphill to see if we can't get this wreck to slew around so we can shove it down the hill."

Clark eased the vehicle forward until the left front of the hull pushed up against the backside of the wreck. By jockeying back and forth and pushing gently, not wanting to burn out his transmission, eventually the wreck of 2Lt Oswald's tank was perched precariously at the edge of the trail, the nose of the tank pointing slightly downhill.

With one last nudge, the wreck skid off the trail and plunged down the bank, rolling over when it hit a fallen tree. It didn't go very far down the hill, but now the trail was clear. It was still only wide enough for the tanks to pass through single file, but this time the infantry would be further up the trail and spread farther out to each side of the trail. The idea was to keep any German with the guts to try and kill a tank with a panzerfaust as far away as possible, to make a tough shot an even tougher proposition.

Opa Köhler could hear the rumble of the tank engine some distance away. He and young Fuchs were some distance from the left flank of the company. He lifted his field glasses and could see a strong detachment of American infantry moving carefully down the trail and a good twenty meters to either side. These men wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"Go back to the company, tell the captain that the Amis have cleared the trail and are coming our way. I figure another hour before they reach where we are now." Köhler looked at Fuchs, "Go, now. Quickly."

As Fuchs made his way down from the high ground they were using to watch the trail, Köhler watched, and waited.

Cpl Mick Lashua noticed something strange on the trail ahead. Something looked odd, out of place. He held up a hand to halt the advance. While it took a few more seconds to get the flank men stopped, and seconds more to get word back to the rest of the platoon and the tanks, everyone was finally stopped.

"What's up Mick?" SFC Pedley had been about halfway between the lead scouts and the tanks with their infantry supports, he had a squad with him.

"Mines." Lashua muttered and pointed.

Pedley looked around, scanning slowly from side to side, there! He saw the prongs of a German "Bouncing Betty," no doubt where there was one, there were probably more.

"Scheiße." Köhler muttered to himself, the Amis had obviously spotted one of the two mines he and Fuchs had planted. He would have liked to plant more, but that's all they had, the captain had used the rest to mine the approaches to their trench line. There weren't enough to cover all of that area either.

He watched as the Americans dug up the first mine and safed it, they knew how, so obviously these guys were experienced. He could see that the Amis were probing to find more mines, not knowing, of course, that there were only two of the nasty devices.

Sighing, Köhler flipped the safety off of his K98k, he had left his MP 40 with his squad, he wanted something with more range out here. Settling his cheek into the stock, he lined up one of the Americans in his sights. Must be someone in charge, he thought, he's not actually doing anything but is supervising the others, probably a sergeant.

He took a breath, let part of it out, then squeezed the trigger.

Cpl Lashua grunted in pain, then doubled over, slumping down onto the trail. He had been hit in the chest. SFC Pedley immediately ordered the men to take cover while he tried to discern from where the shot had come from.

"Has to be up there," Pedley thought, then aloud he said, "Turk, do you see that clump of little pines up on that rise to the right, maybe 75 yards out?"

Pvt Theodore "Turk" Yilmaz said, "Got it Sarge." Then he raised his B.A.R. to his shoulder.

"Hit it." Pedley ordered.

Köhler was already moving back towards the company when the first rounds from the American automatic rifle ripped through where he had been just moments before. He could hear the rounds zipping over his head, he even felt a few twigs and branches fall on his back as he moved.

If he had been just a second slower, he'd be lying under those pines back there for eternity.

SFC Pedley knew that if he hadn't decided to probe for mines himself, it would have been him lying there on the trail. Doc Hobart had rushed up as soon as he'd gotten the word and even now was trying to stem the bleeding and assess Lashua's wound.

The only thing moving on Lashua were his eyes, they darted back and forth, he looked terrified, like someone in a bad dream and trying desperately to wake up. Frothy blood was bubbling from his lips, he was hit bad. After a few more seconds, his eyes stopped shifting and he went very still.

Doc checked for a pulse, nothing. He turned to look at Pedley and silently shook his head. Corporal Michael "Mick" Lashua of Dover, New Hampshire was dead, killed in action at the age of 22.

It was the 28th of October, 1944 in the Green Hell of the Hürtgen Forest.

¹ The Sherman had a pair of steering levers to control the speed of the left and right tracks. Simply put, pull back and the track on that side slowed, pull both back and the tank would stop.

More of the History Behind The Story

"Go for Broke"
442nd Regimental Combat Team in the Vosges Mountains, October 1944
(Source)

When I began this story back in June, with this initial post, I didn't really know where the journey would take me, well, "us" to be more accurate. Many of you have been following along since that day. I have to admit, your comments help me fix errors and keep me on the road to the finish. Not to mention the encouragement you provide to keep me at the task.

You might notice that the Brits and the Poles have rather fallen by the wayside as of late. We haven't heard hide nor hair of Sgt Billy Wallace of the Royal Scots Fusiliers since Operation Bluecoat back in August. Then newly promoted 2Lt James Fitzhugh of the 11th Armoured Division hasn't been heard from since August as well. Nor have the Poles of the 1st Polish Armoured Division been spotted since the Battle of Hill 262, also back in August.

There are reasons for those chaps not having been seen in these spaces as of late. (Mind you, they are all alive and well.) The biggest reason for their absence is that when I departed southward for the birth of the newest member of the tribe (who I am visiting with yet again) back in August. I mistakenly left all my notes at home.

A week in Maryland with time to write and none of my notes to hand. So I started a new chapter in this story involving seven German soldiers from Saxony, cut off and left behind after the German disaster in the Falaise Pocket. The survivors of a devastated division who somehow managed to get back to their lines, far away in Belgium. First episode of that was here.

Now we are seeing those fellows again, on top of a hill in the Hürtgen Forest trying to hold the line against men of the U.S. 1st Infantry Division with support starting to show up from the U.S. 3rd Armored Division. (Note that when referring to British units I use the British spelling. That's intentional.) Those Germans (now down to five of the original seven) were embraced by you, the readers, in such a way that I decided to keep them in the tale, to the bitter end if need be.

So we started with two guys from the Big Red One, Bill Brandt and his buddy Jack Wilson, both of whom made it a long ways before Brandt's wounding and subsequent evacuation in early September. Jack Wilson is still with us, he's a sergeant now, but of the two GIs the story opened with, only Jack is left. Of the Germans we met back then, only Horst Mellanthin and Jan Kołodziej are still alive, Mellanthin is in a POW camp in Texas (I didn't mention that before, might be a story in the future). Kołodziej managed to make his way to the 1st Polish Armoured Division using the nom de guerre "Paweł Kowalski." He lives yet.

None of the Brits or Poles involved in this story were directly involved in Operation Market Garden, the big British operation of the fall of 1944. While their units were still fighting the Hun, my mind drifted to the events along the Belgian-German border and the efforts of the U.S. Army to punch into Germany via Aachen and the Hürtgen Forest.

My great-uncle, John Gammell fought in the Battle of the Hürtgen Forest as a member of the 4th Infantry Division. He came ashore shortly after D-Day and fought all the way through France only to have his war end there in the "Green Hell" as it was called by the men who fought there. He survived his wound and lived to a ripe old age.

My Great-Uncle's Helmet
The German bullet scored, but did not penetrate, the liner underneath.
Talk about close calls!

So my mind, and the story went into the Hürtgenwald. Not far away is the Schnee Eifel, an area I've traveled extensively through, the scene for some of the opening stages of the Battle of the Bulge. You can see where this is going, right?

Well, the book writing thing restarted here, based on a story I'd written maybe 30 years ago, just playing around with an idea. A story which wound up somewhere (done with a typewriter, well before computers in the home were a thing), lost to history. I remember bits of it, the story of a German Tiger crew during the Battle of the Bulge. That short series, written over a few weeks in 2017, led to this current series. I've written other fictional bits (which you can find links to here, all of 'em) and occasionally someone would say, "You really need to write a book Sarge."

Yes, but where to find the time? Then this year it hit me, write the book here, on the blog. Sure some readers won't stick around but others might find it interesting enough to attract others. That seems to have happened, blog hits used to average about 500 a day a year or so ago, we're up to a thousand a day. It's somewhat gratifying, okay, it's very gratifying.

Where does it end?

Well this facet of the tale ends in the ruins of Berlin in May of 1945, maybe it will continue in the Pacific, I'm not sure yet. But this has been a lot of fun so far.

Though I try to keep the historical details as close to reality as possible, the Americans of the Big Red One and the Germans of the 275th Infantry Division in this tale are sometimes in places where they weren't historically. They might have been near a place, and I can't say for certain that these two divisions faced each other in combat, but for the purposes of this story, they do. So far valiantly with heroism on both sides.

That's the idea, show the common humanity while trying to tell a rousing story. So far it seems to be working.

While I'm on the road, I don't know if I'll get to another installment, but guaranteed the men of those two outfits shall return, and shortly.

I won't be in Maryland that long, so you shouldn't have long to wait.

I promise.

Maryland

All is well. Visiting with this wee lad and his Mom and Dad.

Happy camper here, albeit tired.

More later.

Maybe.

😁

Where's Charlie?

(Screen Capture from Film¹)

He was awakened well before dawn by a cold drop of water falling from the pine above him, hitting him square in the ear hole. He was wet, shivering, and pretty damned miserable. Though he'd managed to burrow into the detritus of the forest floor to keep himself partially dry, most of the old leaves and pine needles were themselves sodden from the recurring wet weather of the past month. At least he didn't get any wetter.

This wasn't the first time he'd been out in a forest by himself in the fall. But that had been back home where he was ready for it and could have built a fire. To do that here was to invite death from the men up the hill. He had heard them throughout the night. It's not that they were noisy, it was just that their human noises stood out. The scrape of shovel, the low mutter of conversation.

At one point a man up the hill had started screaming, something sounding like "brent²" was repeated again and again. The sound gave Gammell the willies, no doubt a wounded man was all he could figure. The screams had ended sometime in the small hours of the morning.

Grenadier Peter Böhm had been screaming for hours. Though the Sanitäter, Peter Krause, had done his best to keep the white phosphorus burns wet, they were just too extensive. Böhm was half-naked in the rain, the pain must have been incredible. Around two in the morning, he had started to convulse, shortly thereafter he was dead.

Krause made his way to the company CP, which in this position was wherever the captain happened to be.

"Herr Hauptmann, Grenadier Böhm is dead."

"I figured as much when he stopped screaming." von Lüttwitz looked around to make sure no one could overhear them talking, his new radioman, Grenadier Leopold Beck, also the company tailor, was sleeping nearby, but von Lüttwitz didn't think anything could awaken the man at that point. Böhm had been one of the men he had led out of France. There had been seven all told, now only five still lived.

"You didn't help him along Sani?"

"No sir." Krause managed to look offended, "Believe me, I was tempted. Some of the men were ready to kill him, afraid that his screams would give away our position. I managed to get him to calm down, but the pain was too much."

Von Lüttwitz sighed and thought back to when Opa Köhler had reported in that the tank threat to their left flank was no more. Young Willi Stolz had managed to destroy the lead Ami tank but had been killed in the process. At the moment he commanded a company of twenty men, normally a company had two officers and one hundred and forty men, he had a seventh of that. Technically he had twenty-one men, but his sergeant major was badly wounded. Krause thought he would die sometime in the night, but he was still alive.

"How is der Spieß?" Krause figured he'd ask before going to check on him, perhaps he was dead already.

"He's a tough old bastard, I think he's too stubborn to die. It's obvious he's in pain but he refuses to be evacuated. In fact, he's in the dugout with the wrecked MG 42. He has a rifle and says he is content to fight on." von Lüttwitz didn't like the man all that much, but you had to admire the old Prussian's fire.

Sgt Jack Wilson and PFC Howie Dickenson were well into the forest when the sun rose. They had hoped to find Gammell right away, but they were either in the wrong place or Gammell was dead or captured. Wilson was sure that the Krauts had stayed in their trenches, but you never knew, they were awfully clever when it came to soldiering.

"You guys gonna stand there until the Krauts shoot you, or what?"

Dickenson nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Gammell's voice not three feet to his right.

Wilson looked in that direction and noticed that a nearby pile of leaves had eyes. "Jesus, Charlie, is that you?"

"Yeah Sarge, I'm cold and wet, can we go home now?"

"Sure Charlie, you still have your weapon?"

"Smashed to Hell when Bear and I were bombarded. Have you found Bear yet?"

"Yup, mortar explosion rolled his ass halfway back to the States, knocked him cold. When he regained consciousness he had no idea where he was, so he went downhill. He's banged up a bit, and goofier than usual, but he's okay."

"Sarge are we gonna stay out here all day jawing or can we go back to the platoon?" Dickenson sounded a bit put out.

"For once you're right Howie. Let's head back, can you walk okay Charlie?"

"Yup, I'm stiff but I can always fall downhill if I need to."

The evening of the failed attack...

SFC Bud Pedley knew that the Kraut ambush had cost them nine men, five dead in the tank and two more hit by debris when the tank exploded. Two guys wounded, the doc said one was fifty-fifty, if he got him down the hill fast enough, he might live.

Pedley went up to where the Krauts had ambushed them. Worth, Gaither, and Sullivan claimed there had been just a lone Kraut, Pedley thought that odd, so he looked around a bit, sure enough, he found a spot where another man must have been in hiding. He had run when the dead Kraut had fired.

He went back to where the dead German was, kid couldn't have been more than seventeen, maybe younger. He pulled open the kid's shelter half, got into his left tunic pocket and found his paybook. Saw the name, Wilhelm Stolz, saw his age, he was seventeen, just barely. His birthday had been two weeks ago.

Pocketing the paybook for the S2, Pedley went back down to the tankers. The senior guy was a Staff Sergeant Michaelson.

"Sarge, there's no way we can get through. Your lieutenant's tank is blocking the trail. To the left is a pretty steep bank, to the right the same. Unless you guys got a bulldozer hiding somewhere, we ain't going no further."

"I'm all for heading back down the way we came..." Michaelson began but he was interrupted by another tanker coming up the track.

Sgt Mac Peterson said, "No point in going back down, they'd just send us back up. I suggest we hold here, ask for orders. Hell, with a couple of tow chains, we can clear the trail in a few hours, then be back in business."

"We could just roll the lieutenant's tank down the hill, some chain and a winch should do it. You tankers have that stuff, right?" Pedley asked.

"Let me get on the horn to battalion, see what they want us to do. The sun is going down now, we're going to be stuck up here all night anyway, come the morning we'll see." Michaelson headed back to his tank, Peterson to his.

Pedley had his men start digging in, if an infantryman wasn't moving, he'd better be digging was his philosophy.

Just another day in the Green Hell of the Hürtgenwald in the autumn of 1944.

¹ An excellent documentary on the Battle of the Hürtgen Forest if you have the time (~42 minutes) to watch it.

² The German phrase for "it burns" is "es brennt."

Author's Note: I'll be traveling the next cuppla, blogging might be light. I'll try and keep you all appraised of the Americans and Germans struggling to stay alive in this story. I'm having a great time writing this. Hope you're enjoying reading it.

Sarge, out.

Tanks in the Forest

Ogden Pleissner (1905-1983) Tanks in the Hurtgen Forest, Germany, 1945
(Source)

"Hold up Louis, the lieutenant's spooked about something." Sgt Mac Peterson popped his hatch and nearly bumped into the sergeant riding with his squad on the back of Peterson's tank, "Tennessee Whiskey".

"Sorry Ted, I told ya not to lean over the f**kin' hatch like that."

Sgt Ted Ramsey laughed and said, "You tankers man, you're like a jack-in-the-box, all ya need is a crank on the side of the turret to play music before ya pop out." The other seven men riding on the tank had a laugh at Peterson's expense.

"How'd ya like to walk back down that f**king trail?" Peterson growled.

The infantrymen looked back at the muddy trail and the closeness of the trees along the steep path. They were still amazed that the tanks had had trouble coming up. One tank had nearly slid off the track and only the skill of its driver kept it, and its riders, from tumbling down the mountainside.

"Ramsey!"

The infantryman and the tanker both turned to see Sergeant First Class Harold "Bud" Pedley, Thompson held comfortably across his chest, coming down the trail. He was the acting platoon leader since the death of their lieutenant a week ago, bets were already being placed as to how soon SFC Pedley got his field commission. It wasn't a question of "if" they figured, but "when."

"Lieutenant Oswald wants us to check out the woods ahead, it's even closer up there than it was coming up the hill. A tanker wouldn't see a Kraut with a panzerfaust until he almost ran him over. L.T. wants us to beat the bushes ahead of his tanks."

Ramsey and his very understrength squad dismounted from the back of Peterson's tank. All were grumbling, they liked riding instead of walking into battle. But they all knew that these Shermans would be easy meat for Kraut infantry in these woods. More than one man in the platoon remembered Normandy and the hedgerows and had seen the Krauts kill more than one Sherman in the tight quarters. A couple of men had even been there when Pedley had won his second rocker¹ by knocking out a German Panther tank with a bazooka.

But for now, it was into the woods in skirmish order to flush any lurking Germans to make a way for these four tanks of the 3rd Armored Division.

(Source)

Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz, wounded left arm now in a sling, was looking for his company clerk, then he remembered that the man was dead, Grenadier Johannes Schwartz had been shot through the head by an American sniper. His company first sergeant was badly wounded, the Sanitäter, Peter Krause, didn't think he would last the night. His left leg was nearly severed below the knee, his left arm was ripped up, he also had a number of superficial chest wounds from a mortar blast, he had lost a lot of blood.

"We should evacuate der Spieß, Herr Hauptmann. If we don't, he'll probably die like Dietrich. There was nothing I could do for Dietrich, a real doctor might have saved him. Same for der Spieß."

"I know Peter, but consider this, we started with thirty-four men, including me. Six were killed, Peter Böhm has extensive burns from the white phosphorus and can't fight, der Spieß is hurt badly, we have two men wounded but still in the fight. I'm down to one arm. That leaves us twenty-three healthy men, if I send four men to take Schmitz and Böhm to the rear, that leaves nineteen men to hold this position."

Opa Köhler came down the trench, "Sir, I've sent Fuchs and Stolz into the woods off our left flank with a panzerfaust each. There's a really narrow track down there, if they can pick off the lead tank, we won't have to worry about armor coming up that way."

Von Lüttwitz looked at Krause, "Make that seventeen healthy men Peter, including you. Are you ready to carry a rifle and kill?"

Krause looked at the captain and shrugged, "If it helps sir, of course I will."

"You'll need to remove your vest and armband marking you as a Sanitäter, and lose that white helmet."

"Of course sir, if you need me..."

Von Lüttwitz shook his head and looked first to the left, then down the slope. "What are the damned Amis waiting for?" he wondered aloud.

Three Americans were on point, PFC Leo Worth, Pvt Jack Gaither, and Pvt Herb Sullivan, they were scanning the woods to either side of the track and straight ahead, but it was tough to make out anything in the shadows. They were trying very hard, but all three men were new to combat. Worth had some experience but Gaither and Sullivan had arrived from the Replacement Depot only three days ago.

Sullivan didn't know it but he had looked right at a young German not ten yards into the woods, but hadn't noticed him. He continued on down the track. Some twenty yards back were another five infantrymen, just behind them was 2Lt Oswald in the lead tank.

If young Grenadier Hans-Peter Fuchs hadn't been dehydrated, he probably would have wet himself. He had sworn that that American had seen him, the man had looked directly at him, then had moved on. If that Ami had seen him, Fuchs would have been killed on the spot, he didn't know if he should even fire his Panzerfaust at a man. Sure, it would work, but his orders were to kill a tank, not a fellow with a rifle. Just like him, the thought passed briefly through his mind.

He saw the tank, and hoped that Willi didn't fire too soon, he had been surprised when the young fellow with spectacles had volunteered to go with him. Stolz and Pfeiffer were close friends and Pfeiffer had been burned in the mortar attack, not badly but it was a painful wound. Stolz had said that he wanted to "make the Americans pay." Fuchs thought him an odd little chap, but he did seem determined.

The second group of Americans were close now, they had passed Willi's position and were moving past Fuchs now, from Willi's position came the whooshing sound of a Panzerfaust firing. "Too soon Willi!" Fuchs thought.

2Lt Fred Oswald was scanning the forest to both sides, being in amongst these trees gave him the willies, this was no place for a tank. One Kraut with a cheap, one-shot panzerfaust could easily kill one of his tanks. Guy probably wouldn't survive the attack, but neither would the tank. He began to raise his hand to halt the platoon, there, off to the right, was that a Kraut?

He heard the sound of the panzerfaust firing from the other direction but didn't see it. As he started to duck down into his turret, the German rocket-propelled weapon hit his Sherman just behind the driver's position. It quickly burned through the thin side armor.

The stream of hot gas and molten steel cut loader PFC Sherb Morrison nearly in half as he sat in his seat. Unfortunately the same stream hit some of the ready ammunition, high explosive as they expected to meet infantry, not armor.

Pvt Jack Gaither saw the German who fired the rocket an instant too late. He brought his rifle to bear and fired a quick three rounds at the young German. Gaither noticed that the kid was wearing glasses, they actually reflected the light from the now burning Sherman he'd killed. But he didn't live long to celebrate his victory.

Grenadier Willi Stolz gasped as the first round passed close by his ear, a second round clipped his shoulder, and a third round slammed into his chest, just below the sternum. He dropped to the ground as all the air was punched from his lungs.

He remembered in school playing football, he was part of the wall, an indirect kick had hit him squarely in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. He remembered lying on the field, gasping for air until one of his teammates came to help him. Why was there no one there to help him now?

Desperately Willi tried to breathe, his mouth was filling with liquid at the same time. What was going on, where was his friend Fritz? Why does this hurt so much?

Willi Stolz managed to gasp out one word with his last breath, "Mutti!²"

Hans-Peter Fuchs knew that Willi had to be dead, after the first American had shot at him, so had the other two. He had seen Willi briefly, then he was gone. Fuchs didn't move, perhaps the Amis would think that Willi was the only shooter.

The Sherman that Willi had hit was burning fiercely now, he could hear its crew screaming as they burned. Mercifully, one of the rounds in the ready rack exploded, tearing the tank apart and ending the suffering of its crew. The explosion also killed two of the Americans who had been walking in front of the tank.

In the ensuing chaos, Fuchs slipped away into the forest. He was surprised that he was crying. Like a small child he thought, I'm weeping like a little kid.

SFC Pedley had been hit by a piece of 2Lt Oswald's tank, it had knocked him off the track and into the woods, which had saved his life. Moments later the tank exploded, Willis and Jefferson were both killed by the explosion, Morrisey and Jackson were both wounded, Morrisey badly.

SFC Pedley looked around, "Well this f**king tank attack is over before it began." he thought.

The word got down to Josephson's 1st Battalion command post nearly an hour after the tank attack had failed. He was with his company commanders discussing the called off attack which had cost his unit four dead and one wounded, all from his sniper teams. The main attack had been called off by regiment just before they were ready to go in.

"Who'd we lose Gus?"

1Lt Gus Chambers was now commanding Josephson's old company, so he was still used to talking with him, he'd need to get to know his other company commanders soon. He wasn't sure what was next up, but he was expecting bad news.

"We lost four men dead - McGraw and Charles from Charlie Company, North and Farnsworth from Baker Company, and we've got one man wounded and another missing from Paddock's 2nd Platoon." Chambers didn't need to read from the report in his hand, the names were burned into his mind.

"Who's missing?"

"Hebert is wounded, Doc says he's gonna be fine, but Charlie Gammell's missing. When the Kraut mortars began to land, one round hit near Gammell and Hebert's position, blew Hebert right down the hill, he's got bruises, a bad cut over his right ear, and a mild concussion. When he came to, he didn't see Gammell. He doesn't know what happened to him."

"Shit!" Josephson knew four of those men. McGraw and Charles were his old company's sniper team, Gammell and Hebert were from the best platoon, he thought, in his old company. The big kid from Vermont, Gammell, had turned into a really fine soldier. Probably dead somewhere up on that goddamned hill.

Night was falling when Gammell opened his eyes. He was disoriented and had a splitting headache. He didn't move at first, vaguely he remembered a shell going off as he and Bear were shifting position. Then it all came back, Kraut mortars.

He had seen Bear go ass over teakettle down the hill, silhouetted against the smoke from a burning tree. "Damn, I hope he's okay." Gammell said silently to himself. As his wits came back, he felt around for his rifle. There, there it is.

His hand was on the butt of his rifle, as he pulled it to him, he realized that his rifle was useless to him now, he held the shattered stock in his hand, the barrel was gone.

"Shit."

At least I'm still alive, the young Vermonter, still shy of his eighteenth birthday, thought to himself.

"Guess I'm camping out tonight." he mumbled. It was starting to get cold at night, but he'd seen worse back home.

"It's gonna be a long night." Gammell sighed as he tried to make himself comfortable in the small depression near a stand of small pines. At least he would be out of the wind.

Of course, it started raining.

¹ US Army WWII sergeant stripes consist of three chevrons pointing up, each promotion after sergeant adds a "rocker" (a curved stripe) under the chevrons. Staff Sergeant has one rocker, Sergeant First Class two, and Master Sergeant three. (See here.)

² Mama!

The Attack

(Screen Capture)

Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz, Hauptfeldwebel Hasso Schmitz, the company sergeant major or Spieß, and von Lüttwitz's radioman, Obergefreiter Werner Huber, were with Unteroffizier Sauer at his platoon CP. Der Spieß, Schmitz, had managed to scrape together an understrength third squad for Sauer's platoon by combing out some of the extraneous personnel in the company train.

These men were trained soldiers, but they normally fulfilled other duties, not involving combat. They were the company supply sergeant, Unteroffizier Beppo Fischer, the company clerk Grenadier Johannes Schwartz, the assistant armorer, Gefreiter Emil Müller, the company tailor, Grenadier Leopold Beck, the company cobbler, Grenadier Gottfried Kraus, and the three horse drivers, as the company had only one horse, to pull the field kitchen, these men had little to do. They were all Grenadiers by rank, and were Clemens Busch, Hermann Pohl, and Konrad Jansen.

When these men filed into the defenses, beefing up the rifle contingent significantly, one of the men quipped, "We have the tailor and the cobbler, so at least we can keep our uniforms and boots repaired!" To which Hauptfeldwebel Schmitz replied, "You'll need a Sani¹ to pull my boot out of your ass, see to your front Grenadier Böhm!" Which earned him a look from the captain, von Lüttwitz, der Spieß thought, coddled the men. Von Lüttwitz thought Schmitz was an old-fashioned Prussian bully, more concerned with square bashing than with soldiering.

Before he could chide his company sergeant major, Opa Köhler, sitting close by, bellowed "INCOMING!!"

The more experienced men recognized the sound of an incoming 60 mm mortar round and dove for cover. The round hit with devastating effect before all of the men could get under cover. The machine gun position manned by Grenadiers Hermann Dietrich and Hans Bauer was hit dead on.

By a simple stroke of bad fortune, this round fell without hitting any of the trees overhead and detonated right on top of the machine gun position manned by the two men, even had they been inside their dugout, they probably would have died. As it was, the fragmentation from that round tore into Dietrich's chest and into Bauer's back. Bauer was killed instantly, the Sanitäter, Peter Krause managed to pull Dietrich into the dugout and went to work on him immediately.

Unteroffizier Wolf Schneider, leader of 2nd Squad, slid into the dugout and swore loudly, Dietrich's MG 42 was badly damaged, the barrel and its sleeve were bent. Though the barrel could be swapped out, the sleeve would need replacing. Now the position was down to one machine gun.

Von Lüttwitz had been hit as well, a red-hot steel splinter had sliced his upper left arm open. Looking down at the wound, he knew it wasn't life threatening, but it hurt like Hell. As more Ami mortar rounds impacted, he yelled to his radioman, who was already talking to the mortarmen in the rear. As they had no organic mortars at the company level, Huber was talking with battalion. Seems the Americans were hitting the entire line, they would have to wait for any counterbattery fire for the moment.

Looking around for his sergeant major, he yelled at the men to stay under cover and keep their eyes down the ridge, the Amis might be right behind this barrage. He heard a weak moan after yelling for Schmitz.

"I'm here Herr Hauptmann." Schmitz was a mess. His left leg was torn to shreds just below the knee, his left arm was bloody, and he seemed to have multiple chest wounds, all superficial, but the leg looked bad.

Von Lüttwitz bellowed for the Sani, who was just coming out of the machine gun dugout, he yelled into his captain's ear, "Dietrich might live if we can get him back to the battalion aid station, Bauer is dead, and... Mein Gott Spieß, you look a fright!" Krause immediately went to work on the bloodied Schmitz.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the barrage ceased.

Gammell and Hebert were both watching the German trench line from a position lower down the ridge. They were well concealed and had spent three hours the previous night working their way up the slope. A daylight look had given Hebert an idea for a hide, which they were in now. It was a natural dip in the ground surrounded by small pine trees. Cover and concealment, but they also had a fallback position, which wasn't as nice, but should protect them should they be spotted.

"See him Charlie? He's just to the left of that funny looking fir tree."

Gammell knew which tree Hebert was talking about, he had slowly scanned over to that area. There was the top of a helmet behind some torn up earth. As he watched, it dipped down, then came back up.

Another mortar round detonated behind the enemy trench line, then all went silent. Gammell and Hebert watched intently, any minute now the Krauts would be tempted to take a peek. That helmet had drawn his attention, so he watched that spot.

Krause had managed to stop the bleeding from Schmitz's leg. The chest wounds were superficial, he had cleaned those and bandaged them, the arm was not as bad as the leg, but der Spieß needed a doctor, and soon. He bent down to check that the tourniquet on the leg was holding up, another mortar round hit and detonated to the rear of the position, which caused Krause to duck down even further. He wondered why that round had landed a good minute or two after the barrage seemed to have ended.

Next to him, Grenadier Manfred Dietz had been trying to keep an eye down the slope, expecting the Americans to follow up on their mortar barrage with an assault. But things were quiet, it bothered the experienced Dietz, though young he'd joined the regiment in early September and had seen some action. So he knew to keep his head down, but there was a dip in the front wall of the trench, imperceptible to the men in the trench, but visible from down the slope.

Gammell watched, he saw the helmet come up, a bit higher this time, he could almost discern the man's eyes underneath the brim of his helmet. Once again, he was almost surprised when his weapon recoiled against his shoulder. Sliding back down the slope, Hebert followed.

"Time to move, Bear!"

"Right behind you, Charlie!"

Dietz's head snapped back, the men around him heard the sound of something hitting, and penetrating, Dietz's helmet. A metallic snap followed by a wet sound which made them realize that Dietz was hit.

Not a sound escaped from the 18-year old from Moritzburg, about five miles north of Dresden. He slumped to the bottom of the trench and didn't move. While Krause suspected that the young infantryman was dead, he checked his pulse anyway. There was nothing. Rolling him slightly, he saw that Dietz had taken the round through his forehead.

Before anyone could react to Dietz's death, a scream came from further down the line from the position of the ad hoc squad. Followed almost instantly by the shout, "Geh runter, Heckenschütze!²

Von Lüttwitz made his way, painfully, over to Unteroffizier Beppo Fischer's position, the scream had come from his position. The captain's arm was starting to hurt a lot. Perhaps he should have let Krause bandage it, but things were happening so fast, he needed to get his people ready for what was coming. He had at least two sniper teams below his position and he began to wonder if there were more.

His company clerk, Grenadier Johannes Schwartz, was lying on his back, his helmet was gone, as was most of the top of his head. Next to him, crying and trembling was the company supply sergeant, Unteroffizier Beppo Fischer. "We're all going to die Herr Hauptmann!"

Von Lüttwitz grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him, "Snap out of it Beppo! We're not all going to die!" Then he slapped the man, hard, causing his helmet to fly off.

Bellowing at the company assistant armorer, von Lüttwitz said, "Emil, take charge here! Beppo, you are relieved!"

"Herr Hauptmann, battalion is on the radio..." crawling towards him was his radioman, Werner Huber.

"Werner, get down!" He yelled as the radio snagged on something and Huber got up onto his knees to free it. His head snapped to the right and he went down hard. His eyes were still open, he was looking at his captain, then the light went out in those eyes.

"Everyone try and keep your heads down, but see if you can spot those snipers!" Von Lüttwitz knew they couldn't just stay hunkered down in their position. The Amis were probably at this moment working their way up the slope.

Taking the handset from his dead radioman, he spoke and realized that he had battalion on the other end. Would he need any fire from the battalion's mortars?

"Yes, on my position plus one hundred meters, close as you can! I'll correct."

From the other end of the radio he heard, "Shot out!"

Charlie Company's sniper team, Cpl Max McGraw and PFC Oswald "Okie" Charles, were in the middle of a displacement. They had the Krauts' heads down and it was as good a time as any to move. Crouching low, expecting Kraut machine gun fire with every step, they were almost at their secondary position. Cpl McGraw looked up at a whistling sound above him, "Ah shit..."

The first German mortar round, 81 mm, struck a branch about ten feet over McGraw's head. It detonated and killed both McGraw and Charles. The Germans were starting to hit back.

Baker and Charlie Companies were just beginning to move up when the German mortars began, fortunately they weren't in the zone where those rounds were landing, but all four of their sniper teams were. Captain Josephson had been watching his team move when the round went off in the tree over them.

"Goddamn it! Max and Okie are down!" He had started to move towards them when 1Sgt Morton Saeger grabbed his arm.

"Stay down Tex, it's Hawk's company now, you've got to run the whole show. Be patient, we expected the Krauts to shoot back, did ya think they were going to just run away?"

The new commander of 1st Battalion watched the slope above him. Both of his companies were in a good position to advance once the smoke started landing, but this Kraut mortar barrage had indeed surprised him. He should have known better.

"Radio, to me!" He was mad that he couldn't remember either of the battalion radiomen's names, he'd fix that if he survived this day.

"Sir!" One of the men knew what his CO wanted and was already connected with the lieutenant coordinating the mortar teams of all three companies in the battalion along with the battalion's 81 mm mortars.

"This is Josephson, who have I got on the line?"

"1Lt Bob Rittenhouse, sir, whaddaya need?"

"Hold off on the smoke, give me another 15 minutes of HE, can you? Use the 81s as well!"

"Standby sir, will you spot?"

"Negative, fire for effect!"

Von Lüttwitz was starting to feel good about holding the position, the battalion mortars had completely suppressed the enemy snipers. He had seen two men take a direct hit in the hole they had been hiding in, he doubted they would be killing any more of his men. Then the American mortars had started in again, he recognized the heavier impacts now of 81 mm mortars, a popular caliber for mortars he thought, even the Russkis use them!

Oh no, was all he could think when the first white phosphorus round detonated over his left flank. He could hear the screams as at least two of his men were burned.

"What the Hell? Get me the weapons guys again!"

"Sir, it's the Colonel..."

"This is..."

"I know who you are Tex, this is Jeff, I ordered your guys to start firing Willy Pete from the 81s. 3rd Armored is trying to work a company up an old logging trail off your right flank, we might be able to turn the Huns out of this position. Hold your assault!"

"Roger wilco, standing by."

Turning to his other radioman, who was on the internal battalion net, he was gratified to see the man already on the radio, telling the company commanders to hold their positions for now.

Looking through his field glasses he could see that the Kraut line was getting pounded.

Unteroffizier Manfred Sauer was looking everywhere for his company commander, "He must be down with 3rd Squad still..."

As he worked his way down the trench, crawling through the dirt and climbing over his huddled Landsers, he saw Opa Köhler crawling towards him.

"Opa, what the Hell is going on?"

"Von Horn is dead, three men burned, one badly, by white phosphorus, I sent a scout out to the left, he came back with the report that he could hear tank engines coming up the valley!"

"The center is all right, except that we lost our MG and at least three men. Der Spieß is down and I can't find the captain..." Sauer was trying to make sense out of the chaos swirling around him, and not succeeding.

"Hauptmann von Lüttwitz is dead." A man from further to the right flank yelled out.

"What? How is that...  Report, who said that!?!" Sauer needed to quell any panic that losing the captain could cause.

"I heard he got hit. It's me, Gefreiter Emil Müller, the armorer."

"Scheiße. We're f**ked again Manfred if that's true. But we're safer in this trench than trying to fall back."

"I agree, Opa, you have Von Horn's squad, keep them in the fight!" Sauer paused, then said, "I'm going to find von Lüttwitz!"

As Opa started back the way he'd come, he looked back over his shoulder and shouted, "Hals-und-beinbruch Junge³!"

"Keep your head down, you old fart!"

In spite of what Müller had heard, von Lüttwitz was very much alive. He was in a great deal of pain from his wounded arm, Krause thought it might actually be broken, but he was still functioning. They had taken losses but the battalion mortars had taken away the sniper threat.

"Where the Hell is Müller?" he snarled, he'd sent the man to report to Sauer that the right would hold for now. Then he'd been told that a man had claimed that he, von Lüttwitz, was dead, according to Müller. He turned to Fischer. "Do you think you can be a man again Beppo? Or are you going to cry like a little girl again?"

No one had ever seen von Lüttwitz like this, it made the old hands feel like things were under control. As they grew confident, so did the younger men.

Unteroffizier Fischer nodded and said, "I'm sorry sir, I won't fail you again. We will hold this flank or we'll die in place."

"Good, prove it but spare me the melodramatics. Just get the job done Beppo, I'm counting on you!" He clapped the man on the shoulder then began to work his way back to the center. Where he met up with Sauer.

"Jürgen! You're alive!" Sauer said in amazement, though the captain's bloody arm gave him pause.

"Yes, Manfred, alive, not exactly well, but I'm still standing. Well, still crouching in the dirt with you commoners anyway." Which actually elicited a laugh from Sauer.

"What do you mean hold our positions, Sir? There's a lot of daylight left, we can drive these Krauts, I know it."

"You'll follow orders Tex, just like everybody else, I'm coming up to your CP. Division is pretty much done with Aachen, the city is ours but we paid a heavy price for it. Your battalion is the only one still in good shape in the entire damned division. Apparently Bradley has another plan up his sleeve and we play a starring role in it."

"Ah geez, sir, just f**king wonderful, pardon my French."

"I know Tex, I know. Hold where you're at, bring Able Company back on line..."

"They're pretty messed up sir, I thought..."

"They're still in the Army last I checked, you need them closer to your front, keep 'em in reserve. I'll let you in on what's going on when I get there. Jeff, out."

As Josephson stared at the now silent handset, he said, "Now what?"

1Lt Gus Chambers, his old XO, now commanding Charlie Company, looked at his commander and said, "I'm sure whatever it is Tex, it'll be no fun."

"Yup, like the man said, we're still in the Army, ain't we?"

¹ Short version of Sanitäter, medic

² Get down, sniper!

³ Break a leg kid!