| |
Grey clouds and cold mists blanketed the always drab landscape
around Mausbach, Gressenich, and Sherpenseel. It was the 16th
of December. Radios blared the news that large German forces,
concentrated in the vicinity of Prum, had made a breakthrough
in the weakest part of the American lines. Looking at our maps,
we found Prum, sighed slightly, and remarked, "That's south
of us, not even in our Corps' sector. Somebody else can worry
about that!" Satisfied, we finished our card games, letters,
made evening snacks from recently received Christmas packages,
and went to bed. We were, perhaps, more complacent about the
startling news than most of the world.
There was more air activity than usual that night. We could
hear planes strafing not far away, and there were larger ships,
too, bombers, we supposed. The steady pulsation of their motors
warned us that they were German. In the morning, we learned that
unknown numbers of enemy paratroopers had been dropped behind
our lines to destroy bridges, harass small groups of soldiers,
and generally to disrupt communications. Most of these were apprehended
during the day and no damage was done to Task Force Lovelady.
On the 17th and 18th of December, we became more interested
in the bold attack. The grave possibilities of this furious counter-offensive
began to dawn on us. Already, Field Marshal von Rundstedt's forces
were driving their wedge deep into our crumbling lines, destroying
normally rear echelon installations, capturing hospitals, and
supply dumps. They were headed towards Spa, Liege, then perhaps
the Meuse River and on to Paris, or north, behind the entire
United States First Army to Antwerp. The Fifth Panzer and the
Sixth S.S. Armies were throwing every ounce of strength into
this last bitter attempt to avert defeat. Rules of warfare were
thrown to the winds as the atrocity minded Germans massacred
American prisoners rather than transport them rearward. The weather
turned cold, the mists changed to snow, and soon the ground was
white. Roads were deep with snow, making cross-country travel
more difficult than ever.
The men of Task Force Lovelady made other plans for Christmas.
On the 19th of December, we packed hurriedly, driving as quickly
as possible to an assembly position near Spa. It was after midnight
when we finally halted in open fields, cold and wind-swept, atop
a hill.
We had seen occasional V-l "Buzz Bombs" before,
but now we must have been along their main route of flight to
Liege and Antwerp. All night, their throbbing, sputtering motors
droned, spitting streaks of fire from their exhausts, like dotted
lines across a great celestial map.
By dawn, we had more definite orders, and proceeded southward
to secure a road junction towards which the enemy spearheads
were rapidly advancing in their unabated dash from Stavelot to
Spa, Marche, Liege.
Spa, world famous for its mineral baths, had been the site
of United States First Army headquarters. In imminent danger
of capture, they had moved out, leaving behind only a few service
troops, who happily guided, with sighs of relief, the tanks of
Task Force Lovelady through the city.
A short distance further on, we passed through a tremendous
gasoline dump, millions of five-gallon cans stacked at intervals
through hundreds of acres of dense forests. Service troops were
hastily loading these in trucks, moving them to safety. We later
learned that the Germans were just as earnestly drawing gasoline
from the other side of the dump.
As we wound along the narrow, snowy roads, it became clear
that American troops were scarce. The only visible defense were
anti-aircraft guns, the larger ones being used for road blocks,
strategically dug-in on curves and tops of hills. Soon, these
disappeared and we were in no-man's land, approaching the road
junction we were to secure.
"E" company was in the lead that day, commanded
by 1st Lieutenant Hope. They reached their objective at the same
time an enemy column was driving through. This surprised the
Germans, all of whom were killed or captured before they could
fire their guns.
Leaving road blocks here, we received orders to move on to
Stavelot. An enemy armored column had apparently received orders
exactly contrary to ours, for they were coming, with equal resolve,
towards us. The two spearheads met, locking horns of hot steel
in ferocious mortal combat.
Lieutenant Hope was killed when his tank was hit, and Lieutenant
Stanko wounded. Casualties mounted but were not excessive, considering
the raging battle.
The day ended and we had lost four Sherman tanks by anti-tank
and tank fire. The enemy task force must have sent a gloomy report
back to their higher headquarters, too, because they lost a Mark
IV tank with a 150 millimeter cannon mounted on it, five armored
and two personnel and supply trucks, one towed 150 millimeter
artillery piece, two towed 75 millimeter anti-tank guns, three
large personnel carrying half-tracks, and one Volkswagen.
Thus ended our first day in the Battle of the Bulge, with
the promise of even harder ones to come. Von Rundstedt must exploit
his advantage to the fullest extent before we could get organized,
or lose his great gamble.
Our Combat Command was attached to the XVIIIth Airborne Corps
and the 82nd Airborne Division worked along our right flank,
also in the direction of Stavelot.
The "E" company battle group was still detained
in the vicinity of Trois Pont, when "D" company tried
to ease the predicament by a flanking movement to the left. At
Parfondry, they encountered large numbers of enemy infantry.
These troops were more than ordinarily savage, composed mostly
of S.S. and Paratroopers. Since infancy, they had been Hitler's
favorite children, whose only creed was "Victory or Death
for the Fuhrer!" Their minds had become warped by the narrow
limits of military training to such an extent that the commitment
of atrocities was a fascinating diversion for them. Human life
was the least precious of German commodities, and they dealt
their blows and gave their own lives with the same sadistic abandon.
It is difficult for Americans to develop the emotion called
hate. Good sportsmanship, fair play, reluctance to kill, failure
to beat the foe when he is down, will oftimes lose a battle,
for by these rules, a team dedicated to killing, cannot be fully
aggressive. Parfondry shall remain a monument to the birth of
the deepest, fiercest hate for the German people by all the ranks
in the command of Task Force Lovelady. When "D" company
with infantry liberated the tiny village, they found only a few
living civilians, huddled in dark corners of cellars, too terrified,
too overcome by grief, to move or welcome American troops with
their usual hearty greetings. For, strewn about the houses were
the corpses of whole families, from babies to parents and grandparents.
Obviously innocent bystanders, they had been killed by beating
or shooting in cold blood. Compassion for the victims and burning
hate for the foe welled up simultaneously in the hearts of the
soldiers who witnessed these gruesome scenes. We had read accounts
of the massacre at Malmedy, but no amount of reading can replace
a few minutes of seeing.
With doubled efforts, Task Force Lovelady suddenly became
a wild beast, stampeding enemy positions with increased ruthlessness
and ferocity, which often, throughout this memorable campaign,
made even the most rigorously disciplined enemy troops wither
in horrified amazement, their dying soldiers more than once expiring,
not with the word of their Fuhrer on their tongues, but a final
conviction, learned far too late, "Deutchland Kaput!"
By way of disposition of our task force, the situation was
peculiar. The command post, in order to maintain liaison with
both battle groups, split into two communications sections, one
at Maulin du Rui, one in the railroad station on the road to
Grand Coo. Driving from the command post to Grand Coo, a distance
of two miles in a southerly direction, one looked down into a
valley on the right side with a parallel range of hills rising
above it. Halfway up this range was the town of La Gleize, strongly
held by the 1st S.S. "Adolph Hitler" Panzer Division.
Task Force Lovelady and other units had cut them off completely,
then left them quite alone, while Task Force MacGeorge and his
First Battalion systematically set about to eliminate this potent
pocket. In the meantime, as one drove from our command post towards
Grand Coo, he would invariably be fired upon by enemy tanks in
La Gleize, which often could be plainly seen as they changed
positions.
At Grand Coo, the route turned sharply eastward, through Petit
Coo, whose only installations were the aid station guarded by
a platoon of light tanks from "B" company and the Reconnaissance
platoon. Half a mile further east was Trois Fonts, the right
boundary of the main line of resistance, held by "E"
company in charge of Major Stallings. North of this was Parfondry,
the left boundary of the main line of resistance, held by the
"D" company battle group, led by Captain Richard Edmark.
Thus a triangle was formed by the two battle groups and the aid
station, the left leg of which was exposed to enemy attack, unprotected
and unguarded except for occasional patrols. The right leg was
secure by virtue of a small river with units of the 82nd Airborne
Division on the other side.
To relieve the increasingly desperate plight of Hitler's finest
soldiers in La Gleize, the logical axis of advance would be behind
our two battle groups, the attack proceeding from the northeast,
directed towards Petit Coo, thence up the valley to their objective.
Unfortunately, this important probability, although it occurred
to us, was not seriously considered, since our chief interest
was directed towards organizing an attack to retake Stavelot.
Early in the afternoon on the 22nd of December, the present
writer returned to Petit Coo from the command post and engaged
in replacing a radio in the peep. One of the light tankers noticed
a group of soldiers walking towards us in the distance. The radio
was disregarded temporarily; its aerial left unconnected. Had
it been in operation, a frantic warning from Major Stallings
would have been heard, telling us to get out of there in a hurry.
Standing complacently in the doorway of the aid station, previously
a restaurant, we watched, with little more than mild interest,
the advancing soldiers, silhouetted against the sunlit hillside.
We recognized them as enemy troops when they were perhaps
200 yards away. There were about fifty of them, but more came
over the crest of the hill until approximately eighty were counted.
They advanced in approved infantry fashion, irregularly dispersed
and about six paces apart. Nonchalantly, and with no effort at
concealment, they marched towards us, utterly disregarding our
plainly visible light tanks, whose guns were now threateningly
trained upon them.
With admirable presence of mind, seen so frequently among
tankers, the "B" company men held their fire until
the enemy was about 50 yards away.
By that time, our aid station personnel were so intrigued
by the attack, in which no shots had yet been fired, and so confident
that our light tanks could annihilate what we thought was simply
a large patrol, that no effort was made to escape.
Finally, the tanks opened up smartly and in unison, with their
.30 caliber bow guns, spraying the thoroughly exposed German
infantry mercilessly.
Many fell, but many more continued their advance, still marching
almost at attention, polished black boots and aluminum mess equipment
shining brightly.
Then our tanks began firing their 37 millimeter guns loaded
with high explosive ammunition, among the foe. More fell, and
more advanced, seeking cover behind the buildings on their side
of the road.
Now the Germans began to fire rifle and other small arms at
us, the first round shattering a large mirror behind the doorway
we had been standing in. This brought us, the medical section,
to the shocking realization that we were not watching a training
film, and, in fact, were in the midst of a fire fight. Judiciously,
we repaired to the basement, there to discuss our sad predicament.
Another wave of enemy infantry came over the hill, followed
by others which we did not wait to see. Their mortar support
had arrived, and these unbearable missiles crashed around the
aid station until it became completely untenable.
The first groups of the attackers had reached cellars in the
houses across the street, from whose windows they fired bazookas
at our far from impregnable light tanks, knocking two of them
out, killing or wounding most of the courageous occupants.
A brief and trembling underground council brought us to the
decision that we should try to escape by dashing through a barbed
wire fence to the slightly sunken railroad bed, thence towards
Grand Coo.
This we did, but when the sixth man was shot to death by a
machine gun, the remaining two aid men returned to the basement,
where they spent a harrowing forty-eight hours waiting for us
to retake the village, at the same time performing valuable services
to the wounded left behind.
The rest of us escaped unharmed, and reported the details
of the incident. The reconnaissance platoon fared less well,
nearly all of them being captured, including Lieutenant Gray
and Corporal Dye.
In the meantime, the two battle groups were completely cut
off, and only the river prevented them from being surrounded.
By utilizing every bit of fire power they had, and by the
very close artillery support offered by the 82nd Airborne unit,
the main fighting elements of the task force held their ground.
We were still in radio communication and Major Stallings would
report at regular intervals that everything was "Just fine,
thank you!"
Since all of the infantry was with these isolated battle groups,
"B" company had to launch an attack against the intruders
alone. This they did, but it was simply impossible to retake
a diligently defended town with nothing but tanks. However, they
did lengthen the enemy casualty list and prevented further penetration
towards La Gleize.
On the second day, part of the 30th Infantry joined our light
tanks and what few medium tanks were available, retaking Petit
Coo, establishing contact with the battle groups, and sending
the remnants of the S.S. Infantry regiment back over the hill.
Many of the enemy soldiers were dressed in American uniforms
and wore American equipment. Almost all were S.S. troops, and
the most aggressive we had ever met.
Major Stallings reported that they had had a good time and
felt that they could kill more Germans when they were attacked
on three sides, than when they could fire in only one direction.
The La Gleize pocket had been expertly demolished, and the
30th Infantry Division resumed the attack on Stavelot as Task
Force Lovelady moved to another front on Christmas Eve.
The crunching of fresh, dry snow added another sound to the
ordinary noises that tanks make, as Task Force Lovelady rolled
through the crisp, moonlit night. Whole forest of Christmas trees
spread out before us, and could have been adorned no more beautifully
than by their natural trimmings. Paradoxically, some seemed to
be hung with silvery artificial icicles, the same as we used
to use on the trees at home. Closer scrutiny revealed these to
be bunches of narrow tin-foil strips dropped by Allied bombers
to distort enemy radar equipment. Real stars hung over our Christmas
trees and they were lighted by the dotted tinsel of exhaust flames
from the frequent flights of "Buzz Bombs." Shivering
in the cold steel of half-tracks, peeps, and tanks, we drove
into the night, finally bivouacking in the early morning hours
in a grove of scrub spruce. We made our beds on the snow and
were worn out sufficiently by the long cold ride to sleep for
a few hours. Awakening more from coldness than necessity, we
stretched our benumbed legs, beat our arms against our bodies,
and halfheartedly wished one another "Merry Christmas!"
By ten o'clock, we were again on the move, stopping in the
afternoon for turkey dinner served from the kitchen trucks. The
mess personnel deserved much credit for preparing such a heartening
repast under such untoward conditions. Spirits lightened and
we set up defenses around Oppagne, sleeping more soundly and
comfortably than we had on Christmas Eve.
On the 26th of December, we moved a few miles where we instituted
strategic defenses from the high ground east of Ny to the railroad
tracks in Melreaux. Never had the tanks of Task Force Lovelady
been so firmly entrenched against an anticipated enemy attack.
We had been brought here to thwart the most recent German threat,
whose cold steel fingers were already probing the area for a
weak spot. Daily the line of defense was elaborated upon. Tank
dozers scooped out tons of earth, where all but the turrets of
tanks were thoroughly concealed. Then they were camouflaged so
expertly that anyone who did not know they were there would have
difficulty finding them. Mines were laid, and concertina wire
stretched between trees for hundreds of yards.
During these days, Colonel Lovelady would go from outpost
to outpost inspecting his positions and talking cheerfully with
the tankers. His favorite question would be, "Have you killed
any Germans today?" And were the answer, "No, sir,"
he would good-naturedly remind us that the war would end quicker
if each of us killed at least one German a day. This usually
brought a grin from the prematurely lined faces of the tankers
and a hearty retort that "The day isn't over yet, sir!"
A few scattered rounds of artillery was all that reminded
us that the enemy was within shooting distance. On the 29th of
December we were directed to send reconnaissance in force into
Trinal, which appeared to be a center of activity. A platoon
from "D" company performed this mission, losing one
tank to a mine. Retribution was more than equal, for they killed
a hundred enemy soldiers in addition to knocking out a self-propelled
and an anti-tank gun. Returning to Ny after accomplishing their
mission, our artillery took over, singing a "Serenade"
to Trinal, by firing several rounds from every available piece
to our sector at the same instant.
Another job had ended and we were called for more important
tasks. On New Year's Eve, our tanks shook loose their camouflage,
crawled from their dug-outs, and marched to a new assembly area
in the vicinity of Borsu and Odet.
Anticipating a few days to at least thaw out, we billeted
in Belgian homes, unpacked to dry our equipment, and spent New
Year's Day devoid of celebration other than relative peace of
mind. This was unjustified, for suddenly a battalion of the 330th
Infantry Regiment from the 83rd Infantry Division was attached
to us, a new attack order was received, quickly studied and plotted
on our maps. Colonel Lovelady fell ill with influenza but would
not believe that he could not carry on. He was transported to
the assembly area in an ambulance, still feverish, and now scarcely
able to sit up. Finally succumbing to our pleas, he agreed to
stay with the 45th Armored Medical Battalion until he felt better.
We disliked losing him, even for a short while, but he left us
in thoroughly capable hands and we became Task Force Stallings.
Skidding along slowly on secondary roads, we twined around
curves, cliffs and hills, to an assembly area. One tank slid
over a cliff and was jolted to a sudden stop by a huge beech
tree. Others were stuck at intervals all along the way. Maintenance
sections labored through the night to get them back on the road
with the rest of the task force in time to fight.
Von Rundstedt's powerful counter-offensive had been contained.
His steel fingers had poked into Belgium as far as they could
go. Now these same fingers must bend, clutching onto what they
had so daringly, brazenly gained; failing in this, they must
slowly, painfully withdraw into Germany. To push them back and
cut them up, the United States Third Army from the northwest,
with the British from the south, would drive in unison to pinch
the bulge in two at Houffalize. With the 2nd Armored Division
on the right and the 3rd Armored on the left, General Hodges
chose this sector for his main effort.
On the 3rd of January, our task force began the most hard-fought
battle of its glorious career, which in fifteen endless days,
would leave frozen, exsanguinated, decimated of men, officers
and tanks.
Crossing the line of departure at Vaux Chavanne, the tanks
and infantry met a normal amount of small arms resistance whose
effectiveness was enhanced by the generous use of mortars. The
town was soon cleared; however, and the task force pressed on
over fire trails, wooded lanes, rutted and snow-covered, to capture
the village of Malempre. By the time this was cleared out, there
were seventy-five dead Germans rapidly stiffening in grotesque
positions on the bitter cold ground. Ten more were wounded and
sixty-three were captured. Many were wearing American uniforms
and equipment, and one group was firing an American .50 caliber
machine gun into our troops. As soon as the town was irretrievably
lost to the Germans, they began macerating it with the most intense
mortar, artillery, and rocket fire, we had ever experienced.
In a short time, six of our men were killed and twenty more wounded.
Screaming rockets, pounding in fifty or more at a time and amplified
in the winter air, sent chills up and down our spines, encouraging
us to seek whatever shelter was at hand. Shells burst all over
the place, adding to the difficulty of keeping our forces organized.
The attack resumed with even greater fury on the next day.
Enemy mines were buried by the blinding snow storm, and their
defenses were all but invisible until it was too late. Observation
was impossible, precluding all hope for artillery support. Frozen
feet and hands slowed our reactions and reflexes until we were
benumbed to all feeling. Infantrymen limped into the aid station,
feet wet, cold and blue, suffering the agonizing pain of Trench
Foot. Whenever possible they had been washing their socks in
steel helmets, afterwards pinning them on the inside of their
combat jackets to allow the body heat to dry them. There was
not time or even the minimum facilities for taking all the recommended
precautions, and trench foot became more and more alarming as
name after name was stricken from the list of battle-effective
soldiers. The battle raged on, and we gained scarcely two hundred
yards after having some sixty men killed and wounded, and losing
two tanks. The command post remained in Malempre, where an estimated
3000 rounds of enemy artillery poured in during the day. A large
mortar shell hit directly in the command half-track, killing
T/Sgt. Syrjala instantly, seriously wounding Tec/5 Allen and
several others. Lieutenant Luton, our dependable, highly duty-conscious
liaison officer, Technician Fifth Grade Farmer, Private Bugg,
all from the command group, were evacuated with wounds within
those few disastrous minutes. As time went on, key men in the
task force were lost as never before. The enemy lost three of
its anti-tank guns which were hidden in the edge of the woods.
On the fifth day of January, the line held steady, pitching
back and forth with nothing but losses on both sides. Only a
night attack could relieve the situation. This was launched and
we gained about 100 yards through dense, treacherous woods and
heavy snow.
Now the tide had turned temporarily, and after excellent artillery
preparation, our force jumped off with renewed vigor into the
village of Fraiture. The tank companies aggressively flanked
the objective in as neat a maneuver as ever was written in a
Field Manual, while the infantry, with more tanks to support
them, moved in, cleaning it out rapidly Two hundred and eighty-seven
prisoners were collected, 57 were killed, and 20 more wounded.
Four 75 millimeter assault guns were destroyed, the same number
of huge 120 millimeter mortars, 6 personnel carriers and much
equipment. Thirty horses were captured which were given to the
Belgian farmers. Task Force Stallings rejoiced and paid silent
homage to the eighty men and officers lost in the last four days.
The attack continued towards Regne against persistent opposition,
which slackened only after we had knocked out three Mark V Panther
tanks, captured 60 prisoners, killed 20 and wounded 5.
Gordon Fraser, reliable N.B.C. commentator, who with Ernie
Pyle, Dick Tregaskis, and men of similarly high caliber, did
much to bring the war close to the hearts of all Americans, had
a habit of turning up during exciting and historic occasions.
Though this was no place for anyone not positively duty-bound
to be, we were not surprised to see Mr. Fraser wandering around
Malempre through the snow, the death, the desolation, unconcernedly
making notes on the little human interest things that would make
good stories for the folks back home. Riding in a medical half-track
before the break of dawn, he went to the most forward positions
to talk with the men who were actually killing Germans and to
watch the evacuation of wounded from the place where they first
fell.
Major Stallings was leading the infantry across a field which
was being thoroughly sprayed by small arms fire. A "Burp"
gun bullet hit him in the back, breaking ribs and opening his
chest in a great sucking wound that threatened him with suffocation.
Blue and breathless, he was brought to the aid station by Lieutenant
Columella in a reconnaissance peep, which Major Stallings later
described as the roughest ride he ever hopes to take. On that
very morning, General Boudinot had radioed him the congratulatory
message that he had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross
for heroic exploits in Normandy.
Captain Ronald K. Bacon assumed command of our fast-dwindling
task force in this emergency, and reported the loss of its commander
to higher headquarters. Then he continued to prosecute the attack
with undiminished vigor, and with resolve undaunted by the loss
of an officer ordinarily above him in station. This trait was
not uncommon among the ranks of our task force, for we had long
been trained by our far-sighted commander to assume the responsibility
of the next higher position immediately as the one above us became
a casualty.
Colonel Lovelady had been propped up in bed, which had recently
been moved from the medical battalion to Combat Command "B"
headquarters, listening to radio reports and staying with us
mentally throughout the attack. Now he gingerly mustered his
slowly regaining strength, dressed, and returned to take command,
thus changing our name back to Task Force Lovelady.
The 1st Battalion task force was in Regne, and, working together,
it was quickly secured. We had lost one tank to anti-tank fire,
one to a mine, and one to a German tank destroyer.
After defending Regne for two days under harassing artillery
and rocket fire, we moved administratively to Hebronval, from
whence the remainder of the attack to Cherain would be launched.
Here we thawed out, reequipped partially, and on the 12th
of January, hastily moved out towards Langlir, there to engage
a stubborn foe in the final phases of an attack which was gradually
reducing the unsightly bulge into Belgium.
Arriving at the outskirts of Bihain, our jump-off to Langlir
was deterred overnight while infantry attacks routed the enemy
from acres of bazooka defended woods.
Before dawn, the tanks charged into action, skirting Langlir
and plunging down the road to Lomre. Here, "D" company
lost a tank to mines, but evened the score by knocking out a
self-propelled gun. Casualties were heavy, especially among infantrymen,
because of the artillery and mortar fire, which, during the past
two weeks, had been showered upon us in greater profusion than
we heretofore believed was within the realms of enemy capability.
Twenty-seven prisoners were captured, another self-propelled
gun was destroyed, and an 88 millimeter ground mount, in addition
to a signal truck and a half-track. A smoothly operated bazooka
team from our infantry disabled two Mark IV's, and two Mark V's.
Before dawn on the 14th of January, our tanks and infantry
were creeping along the fringe of woods southeast of Lomre. Across
the fields of snow lay Cherain, our objective. The lead tank
hit a mine but the attack moved on, and the task force knocked
out a Mark IV, a 20 millimeter anti-aircraft battery mounted
on a half-track, and a Volkswagen. Another Sherman died of wounds
inflicted by an anti-tank gun, when it poked its nose out of
the woods. Direct fire was coming in from every angle, rapidly
thinning our ranks. "E" company tried to dash into
Cherain and lost two more tanks. Angrily, Task Force Lovelady
coiled again at the edge of the woods, organized a coordinated
attack and struck with all its might. Three more tanks from "E"
company were lost along with most of their crews and many more
infantrymen shed their lives in what was swiftly becoming only
a monument to the memory of Task Force Lovelady.
To be sure, these were days to try the very souls of men!
The grimness of the day before was multiplied on the 15th of
January. Bitterly, the ten tanks left in our two companies, with
the remnants of the infantry battalion, again marched in the
face of death. One tank returned, while the larger part of a
hundred doughboys guarded the other nine with their lifeless
bodies.
Cold, wet, miserable with trench foot, frozen fingers, and
battle weary minds, men whose tanks had been knocked out would
plod back into the aid station at Lomre. Here they stripped,
sat by a hot stove while their clothes dried, ate and drank hot
coffee. In a few hours they were fighting mad again, apparently
offended by the effrontery of any German force who dared to defy
the tanks of Task Force Lovelady. What few Shermans could be
repaired, and others which could be mustered from maintenance
company, were manned by these crews, who plunged back into the
fray, more than once never to return. To them, we can but offer
humble thanks.
When all else failed, "B" company's light tanks
charged into that deadly German target range, dashing about wildly,
purposely drawing fire so others could localize it, permitting
artillery to be brought upon the offending pieces. This was no
more successful than previous attempts. Finally, with two tank
destroyers from the 703rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, three light
tanks and about 60 infantrymen left in the task force, we were
withdrawn into Lomre, while other units attacked the defiantly
held town of Cherain from every side, until it eventually crumbled.
Task Force Lovelady was down but not out. This once great
and powerful war machine was shattered, but not irreparably.
It was defeated but unashamed. Victory, like success, sometimes
thrives in the face of adversity, and oftimes is gained only
by a series of defeats. Task Force Lovelady would rise again,
as it had before, to avenge the lives of its comrades with the
same forceful blows that had been dealt to Hitler's finest troops
in three countries.
No sooner had we withdrawn into Lomre and been attached to
Combat Command "A," than our maintenance teams set
about recovering salvageable tanks and putting them in fighting
order. By the 18th of January, we had 17 Shermans and 10 light
tanks ready for combat. The infantry battalion was relieved,
and a similar unit from the 335th Infantry Regiment of the 84th
Division was attached. We were alerted to move through our nemesis,
Cherain, and proceed to Sterpigny, where another mission awaited
us.
This was done under the cover of darkness, which was extremely
difficult without lights, in the driving snowstorm. The fresh
and wonderfully trained infantry battalion led the attack on
the morning of the 19th of January, to secure the high ground
east of Sterpigny. The mission was accomplished by 1030 hours
through light opposition.
After the objective was secured, however, our troops were
again subjected to intense mortar and direct fire which came
crashing through the trees in a most frightening manner. It was
one of these which wounded Captain Bacon, who had never missed
a day of combat previously.
Shelling continued through the night but during the next day
our own artillery, and especially Lieutenant McGreevy's assault
gun platoon, did a lot of well observed firing which proved to
be unusually effective.
The bulge was dissolving rapidly now. We were pinched out
of contact with the enemy, and returned to our regular Combat
Command "B" control.
For us, the Ardennes offensive ended exactly one month after
we had entered it. We had seen the mighty threat first contained,
then slowly, relentlessly, sent the enemy through the hell of
their own making, back to the Vaterland.
Task Force Lovelady, along with the rest of the division,
and in fact, all of VII Corps, repaired far from the noises of
war for a rest which was never more deserved, more needed or
more appreciated.
We billeted in the unpretentious village of Bonsin, not many
miles from Huy, a city on the River Meuse, which we had liberated
together with its vital bridges, early in September. For two
full weeks we never once heard a single artillery shell coming
in or going out, the first glorious experience of that kind we
had enjoyed since landing on the beaches of Normandy seven long
months ago.
Our days were busily engaged with training the many reenforcements
who joined us, reequipping, providing needed maintenance. We
showered, and for some, it was the first bath since mid-December.
We were issued new uniforms where needed, and we laundered our
old ones. American Red Cross trucks came frequently, movies were
shown daily, and there were U.S.O. shows. Passes to Verviers
and Paris were again available in limited quantities. With practiced
efficiency, Task Force Lovelady groomed itself and soon became
the same highly spirited, combat effective machine of steel and
guts that it had been before the interlude which wrote its bitter
chapter 'ere the last was finished.
On the 7th day of February, our tanks marched confidently
and in full strength back into Stolberg, the same sector it had
departed from, and started to plan its part in the inevitable
thrust to the Rhine.
*******************************
The action between the Roer and the Rhine is described in
Chapter III.
|