took the lead on the right, and I took it on the left, since I already knew where the German panzerfaust team was on that side. The other sergeants brought up the rear.
On my side of the road there was no hedgerow for some seventy-five yards, until we came to the corner of a field. As we walked toward this hedge I carefully pulled the pin from my grenade, just in case it was needed quickly.
When I had walked only a few yards (which seemed miles) beyond the hedgerow corner in the glaring light, I heard German voices just over the hedge. Evidently they were excited about seeing American infantry walking openly down their road. I instantly threw my grenade.
The Germans yelled, “Grenade! Grenade!” and I could hear them scrambling for cover. I then yelled, “Let’s go!” at my men—and we broke the world’s record for the 440.
Somehow I threw my other grenades and emptied my rifle as we tore along the road. The Jerries fired machineguns and tossed grenades into the road. One grenade landed about three feet from me, but I was long gone when it went off.
When we passed our burning tank, we were too scared of enemy action to worry about any of its shells going off. It was very hot and bright, almost incandescent, and smelled of burned flesh. A couple of dead GIs lay by the road, but we couldn’t help them, so we kept on pounding down the road like a bunch of berserk Indians, firing all the while.
Suddenly we came upon the poor GI on guard in the road for our main body, and he just stood there transfixed, as though he’d seen a ghost. He couldn’t even open his mouth to challenge us.
I checked my twenty-four men and all had made it, though two were slightly wounded. We had been miraculously lucky.
It was now about 3:00 A.M ., and my longest day finally was over. We dug slit trenches just deep enough to get our bodies below the surface of the ground, then tried to get some sleep. Though I was totally exhausted, my mind was much too wound up to relax in sleep. The tragedies and excitement of the day kept racing through my mind over and over. Also, the Germans were famous for counterattacks, and I didn’t know at what moment they might come.
I knew two of my men had been killed and two others wounded, and I could only assume the eight riding the blazing tank had been killed. I hoped some of them might have escaped, but I didn’t see how.
I certainly did not consider myself any sort of hero in any of this action, but my men thought otherwise. They wrote me up for a Silver Star, for gallantry in action above and beyond the call of duty. It was duly approved and later presented to me in person by our division commander, Major General Barton.
Thoughts of a medal had never occurred to me, though I did appreciate it once it was awarded. My thoughts during the action were very rudimentary:
How in hell do we get out of this mess?
As it turned out, all we needed was speedy action—and a tremendous amount of good luck. Speaking of luck—I had indeed been very lucky to survive my first day of combat. In the tank shootout at Saint Gillis, if the Germans had knocked out our tank, I’m sure they would have turned machine guns on me and at thirty to forty yards would have mowed me down. Again, when the Germans hit our tank with the panzerfaust, just a foot to the left would have knocked out the tank and me with it. My rabbit’s foot worked great that day!
III
SAINT-LÔ BREAKTHROUGH
(Second Day)
T he few remaining hours of darkness passed uneventfully in the task force bivouac, a large field a half mile north of Le Mesnil Herman. Few of us settled our nerves enough to sleep, and the cold damp earth of our slit trenches had not eased our muscles.
At first light we were told to get ready to move out again. The orders were inevitable, but the part that galled me was that my platoon was to lead the attack again. Customarily, each of the three rifle platoons in the company took turns up front, which was only fair. Captain
On my side of the road there was no hedgerow for some seventy-five yards, until we came to the corner of a field. As we walked toward this hedge I carefully pulled the pin from my grenade, just in case it was needed quickly.
When I had walked only a few yards (which seemed miles) beyond the hedgerow corner in the glaring light, I heard German voices just over the hedge. Evidently they were excited about seeing American infantry walking openly down their road. I instantly threw my grenade.
The Germans yelled, “Grenade! Grenade!” and I could hear them scrambling for cover. I then yelled, “Let’s go!” at my men—and we broke the world’s record for the 440.
Somehow I threw my other grenades and emptied my rifle as we tore along the road. The Jerries fired machineguns and tossed grenades into the road. One grenade landed about three feet from me, but I was long gone when it went off.
When we passed our burning tank, we were too scared of enemy action to worry about any of its shells going off. It was very hot and bright, almost incandescent, and smelled of burned flesh. A couple of dead GIs lay by the road, but we couldn’t help them, so we kept on pounding down the road like a bunch of berserk Indians, firing all the while.
Suddenly we came upon the poor GI on guard in the road for our main body, and he just stood there transfixed, as though he’d seen a ghost. He couldn’t even open his mouth to challenge us.
I checked my twenty-four men and all had made it, though two were slightly wounded. We had been miraculously lucky.
It was now about 3:00 A.M ., and my longest day finally was over. We dug slit trenches just deep enough to get our bodies below the surface of the ground, then tried to get some sleep. Though I was totally exhausted, my mind was much too wound up to relax in sleep. The tragedies and excitement of the day kept racing through my mind over and over. Also, the Germans were famous for counterattacks, and I didn’t know at what moment they might come.
I knew two of my men had been killed and two others wounded, and I could only assume the eight riding the blazing tank had been killed. I hoped some of them might have escaped, but I didn’t see how.
I certainly did not consider myself any sort of hero in any of this action, but my men thought otherwise. They wrote me up for a Silver Star, for gallantry in action above and beyond the call of duty. It was duly approved and later presented to me in person by our division commander, Major General Barton.
Thoughts of a medal had never occurred to me, though I did appreciate it once it was awarded. My thoughts during the action were very rudimentary:
How in hell do we get out of this mess?
As it turned out, all we needed was speedy action—and a tremendous amount of good luck. Speaking of luck—I had indeed been very lucky to survive my first day of combat. In the tank shootout at Saint Gillis, if the Germans had knocked out our tank, I’m sure they would have turned machine guns on me and at thirty to forty yards would have mowed me down. Again, when the Germans hit our tank with the panzerfaust, just a foot to the left would have knocked out the tank and me with it. My rabbit’s foot worked great that day!
III
SAINT-LÔ BREAKTHROUGH
(Second Day)
T he few remaining hours of darkness passed uneventfully in the task force bivouac, a large field a half mile north of Le Mesnil Herman. Few of us settled our nerves enough to sleep, and the cold damp earth of our slit trenches had not eased our muscles.
At first light we were told to get ready to move out again. The orders were inevitable, but the part that galled me was that my platoon was to lead the attack again. Customarily, each of the three rifle platoons in the company took turns up front, which was only fair. Captain
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