|
28 July 1944
St. Lo Breakout
Our Combat Command "A" was detached from the 2nd
Armored Division and operated directly under XIX Corps with the
13th Cavalry Group attached. The Corps St. Lo Breakout objective
was to seize the area along the route of Villebaudon-Percy-Monterey-St.
Sever-de-Calvados. The road between the towns Villabaudon and
Percy were under heavy fire from anti-tank guns, Screaming Meemies
rocket fire and artillery. The enemy attempted to infiltrate
across the road from East to West between the two towns and set
up hasty road blocks along the road with numerous anti-tank guns.
The enemy had cut the road, but was driven back after fierce
fire fights. Our force attacking Percy terminated the attack
at 2150. Nightly attacks were made on our command by enemy bomber
aircraft using flares to locate our columns.
We drove into a field for the night and set up a perimeter
defense. Small arms fire from near by fields from Kraut burp
guns told us the enemy was still present and had not retreated.
As soon as the vehicles were covered with camouflage nets we
dug our foxholes for the night as exhaustion from the lack of
sleep over-came us.
Long before dawn we were required to be up and ready to roll
with a moments notice so eating a cold K-ration was the daily
ritual. Coffee, cigarettes and K-rations were the staples of
the day. Our Commander BG Maurice Rose existed on the same fare
only with much less sleep. Each vehicle was issued a portable
small single burner gasoline stove used for heating a cup of
water to which we added a package of instant coffee; that is
when we were stopped long enough to heat a cup. When your turn
with the stove came you would wait until the water boiled and
add the contents of the coffee packet, then burn your lips from
the mess kit cup used to heat the water - another daily practice.
It was during one of these early morning moments that a French
civilian appeared in our bivouac area excitedly babbling in French
something that I could not understand. When we got him to calm
down and speak slowly I picked up on the words, "Le boche"
- their hated term for the Germans. When I asked him "ou"
(where), he replied, "Ici" (here) waving his arms the
direction of the other side of the hedgerow behind which we were
standing. Holy shit! I then grabbed my carbine expecting a Kraut
to appear at the top of the embankment at any moment. Joe Elfer,
our Cajun from New Orleans, who only spoke New Orleans French,
asked him for details. The French civilian pointed to a path
leading around the hedgerow, indicating for us to follow him.
At this point, alarms went off in my head that he might be
a German sympathizer setting us up for an ambush, so it was decided
to only send four of us to investigate. Bill Veno carried a Thompson
sub-machine gun, so along with him, Larry Hull, Joe Elfer and
I crawled up the pathway following the Frenchman. Breaking out
into the open of the next field bordered by hedgerows on all
four sides, we cautiously peered into the field in the direction
he was pointing. About 25 yards away we spotted a lone German
soldier with the upper part of his body exposed from his fox
hole with his arms raised in surrender. A typical ruse used by
the Krauts to sucker unsuspecting Americans out in to the open
and then his comrades would suddenly pop up from hidden camouflaged
holes and open fire on us. A hurried decision to go forward or
not and it was decided that Veno and I would go forward part
way as the others covered us - then the last ten yards I'd go
alone, so as to cut our losses if it was a ruse.
I am a communications wire man, not a combat infantryman wearing
a CIB and wanting to be a hero, but here was a chance to bring
in a live prisoner who might render valuable intelligence. So
I went for it. Crouching low and keeping my carbine aimed at
him all the time, I crawled within a few feet of him and stopped.
Kneeling, I beckoned for him to rise up out of his hole and as
he stood up, I did as well. He still wore his helmet, which bothered
me as most willing prisoners shed the helmet quickly in a show
of cooperation, but he didn't. He was wearing the triangle camouflage
cape over the top of his uniform as many of the enemy infantry
did. His rifle lay on the ground next to his hole, but he never
looked at it nor took his eyes off of me. It was then as we stood
a yard apart that I looked into his eyes and saw not fear --
but utter sheer terror. One can only imagine the thoughts racing
through his mind - would he be shot, tortured or was I going
to kill him on the spot. In his right hand he held a palm sized
photograph of a woman and two small children, I gathered they
were his wife and kids as he repeated over and over "mein
Frau und kinder, bitte" - my wife and kids, please. The
tears began rolling down his cheeks as I moved to get around
behind him to prod him towards the way we came. I guess as the
carbine poked him in the back he thought any moment this was
it.
Reaching the bivouac area I was directed to take him to see
Major Crust, our Intelligence Officer. Major Crust quickly summoned
one of his German translators and before they began questioning
him, Crust flipped up his triangle camouflage cover and there
in the front of his belt was a potato masher hand grenade! Sweet
Jesus, I had fucked up royal, in that I failed to pat him down.
To say that Crust ripped me a new asshole is putting it mildly.
If the army ever gave out stupid medals I earned one that day,
and with a bonus cluster. After they questioned the new POW,
they instructed me to see that he was sent to the rear with a
guard to the MP's POW pen.
Lo' and behold, at that moment, up popped our French civilian
with the Kraut's rifle, retrieved from the field, slung over
his shoulder who volunteered to take him off our hands and walk
him back down to the rear to meet MPs on the road following our
route. Having passed that task off we soon mounted up and began
to move out. We were not back on the road more than 5 minutes
but who the hell do we see standing by the side of the road going
forward, but the Frenchman - all alone! So what happened to "Herman
the German"? Did he get to the rear? Did the Frog shoot
him? Did he ever make it back home to his frau and kinder? Some
how I hope he did make it back home, as I did. Perhaps today
somewhere in Germany, maybe Wolfenbuttel, are members of his
family who might want to know that I am the guy who remembers
their "Grossvater" - the German Soldier with the unforgettable
face. Just another one of those mysteries and fortunes of war
to which we will never know the answer.
Publication or reproduction, in part or whole,
is prohibited without written permission from the author, Don
R. Marsh. All rights remain the sole property of The Marsh Family
Trust.
|