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28 December 1944
Forsee-Mont Gauthier, Belgium
Winter extremes, late December 1944 - in less than sixty minutes,
I went from the passionate embrace and warm bed of a young Belgian
war widow to being sent back out into the subzero temperatures
-- without being given a choice. In a cruel twist of fate one
minute, I was in a soldier's paradise, and the next minute I
was back in a white hell. What had begun as a romantic night
turned into the coldest night I have ever spent in my lifetime.
While the human body can readily adjust to radical changes of
the elements, the human mind takes longer to rationalize unexpected
reversals of circumstances beyond a person's control. But I am
getting ahead of myself as I have to roll back the clock to 16
December 1944. At that time, we were holed up in Baseweiler,
Germany, defending the Roer River sector of the Ninth Army.
The World War Two Ardennes Campaign, better known as the Battle
of the Bulge, or The White Hell, to the GIs who fought in it,
began at dawn on 16 December 1944; miles to our south in the
Eiffel Mountains of the Ardennes Forest, Belgium. Our division,
the US 2nd Armored Division, had been assigned to a defensive
area on the west bank of the Roer River, north of Aachen, Germany,
also known to historians as Aix-la-Chapelle, the ancient French
gateway to the Rhine Province of Germany.
When the German blitzkrieg broke out of the mists and overran
the thin line of green troops in the Ardennes Forest to our south,
their ultimate goal was to capture the Belgium port city of Antwerp.
If they had succeeded they would have cut our supply lines. In
doing so, total chaos and turmoil would have ensued. The young
inexperienced troops were quickly overwhelmed then surrendered
in large numbers, were captured or killed in place for those
who remained to fight; while others fled in panic abandoning
equipment as they attempted to escape to the west and rear. Pandemonium
had set in as they fled. While Eisenhower and Bradley's higher
headquarters were slow to react, commanders in the First, Third
and Ninth Armies had taken steps to begin alerting troops for
a massive troop redeployment and movement to plug the widening
holes in the line.
The 2nd Armored Division was placed on a one-hour Standby Alert.
We were given orders to prepare to withdraw from our Ninth Army
positions and assemble in a final destination area near Les Avins,
Belgium, an estimated 100 miles in total blackout while maintaining
radio silence. Upon arriving we would wait for new orders from
General Omar Bradley. After a frustrating five-day delay, the
orders were sent on the night of 21 December 1944 to "mount
up and move out" to begin the long cold night march. That
was the exact moment our nightmare was to begin.
The crew, comprised of Larry Hull, Doug Donahue, John Yahne and
Walter Hogan, huddled together among the reels of field wire
under a tarpaulin in the back of my vehicle that had neither
a windshield nor roof over the cab with only two canvas-covered
bucket seats for me, as the driver, and our crew chief, Bill
Veno. Bill was wrapped from head to toe with what had been my
German down comforter to ward off the cold freezing rain that
had begun to fall as our column snaked out of town. Veno's incessant
snoring became so loud that I finally punched him. He simply
rolled over and continued snoring.
With the strict blackout of any type of vehicle illumination,
all I could do was to stare straight head at the twin small red
tails lights of Staff Sergeant Tom Speirs' radio half track and
more or less function by rote. Driving a stick shift vehicle
meant frequent double clutching and shifting gears up and down
repeatedly. My depth perception was critical and constantly being
tested as I attempted to maintain the proper distance between
our vehicles. The monotony and fatigue soon brought on a hypnotic
effect as I began losing my concentration. The snoring of Bill
Veno did not help matters and had a reversal effect on my determination
to stay awake.
Somewhere in the darkness of the suburbs of Aachen, the convoy
was into the accordion routine of stop, pause and go as other
columns merged onto the main road headed south. Our sibling 3rd
Armored Division, under the command of our former boss, Major
General Maurice Rose, was now on this same road from Stolberg,
Germany, enroute to meet the German SS Panzer Divisions wreaking
havoc on the American defenders. I fought sleep without benefit
of any conversation from the crew who remained fast asleep. Before
long the wind-driven ice-cold rain turned into sleet. I hunched
my shoulders to meet the back rim of my helmet to prevent the
cold water from hitting the back of my neck. The time seemed
to drag on as the column made our way in the pitch darkness guided
by road guards at crossing points. Engines were kept running
as we sat and waited, and waited endlessly, it seemed. In one
of these long delays, I dropped off to sleep. The next thing
I knew was that our Headquarters Commandant, Captain W. W. Lawler,
41st Infantry, was shaking me awake and raising hell that my
sleeping had caused the rest of the division behind me to be
halted after the whole column in front of me had disappeared
into the total darkness. Lawler had to back track in his jeep
to find us and he was definitely one unhappy Captain and told
me so, emphatically and explicitly! Like everything else, in
time, he got over it and so did I. After we connected with the
tail end of our column I had "lost", I stood up to
stretch and found my overcoat ice-covered and frozen in my sitting
position.
Dawn broke in the higher elevation and it was near zero or below
as our tracked vehicles slid off the dangerous mountain passes
holding up traffic until they were retrieved. The ice-covered,
two-lane, serpentine, secondary roads became a real challenge
to maneuver in the tight "S" turns in both ascending
and descending in the steep mountain range we were traversing.
One of our 702nd Tank Destroyers locked his steel tracks, slid
out of control and went over the side, end over end. Passing
an isolated Catholic convent, miles from nowhere, the nuns came
out bringing containers of scalding water to pass among us. I
recall Walter Hogan holding out his mess cup asking for seconds
to warm his insides. By this time, this had been the only thing
warm we had consumed in 12 hours and the hot water was a welcome
gift from these heaven-sent angels of mercy.
During the whole trip, no one spelled me behind the wheel and
I drove it alone. Days and nights all ran together, as well as
events, in rapidly moving from place to place in that hectic
week that followed as we met the spearhead of the German attack
on December 22-23rd. This action stopped the deepest penetration
of their offensive at Ciney in the famous Celles Pocket and blocked
them from reaching the Meuse River at Dinant. The German 2nd
Panzer Division was totally destroyed here.
The deep snow, thick pine forests with intensely frigid cold
days, and especially the nights without let up were among the
hardships I recall. Shelter from the elements in the forests
was impossible to find as we moved from one hot spot to another,
being shuttled back and forth, blocking the probing attacks by
the stymied Germans desperately seeking weak spots in our hurried
defenses. Tempers were short as I watched Vern Evans, a radio
man, fight with another GI who had placed his bedroll too close
to the spot on the frozen ground Vern had scraped out of the
snow and had marked as his. Nerves became frazzled among friends
over minor differences. In addition to coping with the extreme
weather, lack of warm food also became a never ending problem
for days on end.
After one firefight in a thick pine grove, a two-man German machine
gun outpost was knocked out. In checking it later, we found that
the dead gunner and his assistant, who had been holding the ammo
belt and feeding the machinegun as the belt passed through his
hands from the canister, had become frozen to the ground in life-like
prone positions. Many of these hated SS German soldiers killed
in the Ardennes are buried in a German military cemetery at Bitburg,
Germany, in the Eiffel. During his presidency, our then President
Ronald Reagan went to this cemetery to pay his misguided respects
to their fallen dead. I believed that it was a mistake then and
I still do today. Instead, he should have traveled to the nearby
Margraten American Military Cemetery in the Netherlands and to
our American Military Cemetery in Luxembourg to pay respect to
our own American fallen heroes who lie there.
Christmas Day found us in the vicinity of Rochefort and Humaine.
It was just another day in combat and one more cold day in the
forest, which the news correspondents properly labeled "The
White Hell," as it turned out to be for all involved on
both sides. We were attached to Lt. Col. Hugh R. O'Farrell's
Task Force "A," comprised of his 3rd Battalion of the
66th Armored Regiment, in taking Buissonville, Belgium. After
springing an ambush on a column of German tanks and destroying
them, in the mop up I obtained my prized souvenir - a German
Walther pistol (in mint condition) from an officer who no longer
had a need for one.
On December 28th we were relieved by the British and moved to
an assembly area near Forzee-Mont Gauthier, Belgium, in preparation
for the counterattack with the 84th Infantry Division on our
flank, with the objective being Houffalize to meet Patton's Third
Army coming up from the south, in a pincer movement to seal off
the Bulge. We ate our Christmas Dinner on December 29th. It was
our first "hot" food since departing Germany a week
earlier. Although the mashed potatoes and gravy congealed immediately
upon reaching our metal mess kits in the out-of-doors weather,
we devoured the turkey and holiday festive food. Our division
was spread among the neighboring hamlets and small villages to
find adequate winters quarters to obtain relief from the extreme
cold temperatures.
Our wire crew found a small cottage with a lone single occupant,
a young war widow in her mid to late thirties. Fortunately, my
two years of French class in high school gave me the opportunity
to converse with her, aided by her limited knowledge of English.
However, my old French teacher, James Hancock, would have cringed
had he heard my mangling of verbs, nouns, adjectives, modifiers,
mixed metaphors and dangling participles. Yet, he may well have
been proud of my ability to carry on a conversation with the
young lady. She gave us full use of her house and also offered
to heat and serve our ten-in-one rations, which we shared with
her. I exchanged daily banter with her, much to her amusement
and what I assumed to be mutual pleasure.
It was in the evening of New Year's Eve, December 31st, while
she was standing over the kitchen wood burning stove, with her
back to me, that I came up behind her and kissed her on the neck;
putting my arms around her waist in a calculated bold act of
flirtation as old as time. She spun in my arms to face me with
a smile that indicated that, while surprised, she was pleased
and equally interested. My play for her worked and the game was
on! She pressed her body against mine as we shared our first
long lingering kiss. I was certain she could feel my erection.
Words were translated and she readily agreed that I would share
her bed that night.
The rest of the crew, while not understanding French, knew what
I was up to and had laid out their bedrolls in the other part
of the house as she later led me upstairs to her bedroom. There
she had placed two towel-wrapped hot bricks at the foot of the
bed for us as foot warmers under the down comforter. The lust
was equal on both our parts as we quickly consummated the mad
rush to passion. Having both reached satisfaction, at this point,
I relaxed and had thoughts of going to sleep, only to hear her
softly ask, "Encore?" Hell, yes, I wouldn't mind seconds,
so we accommodated each other's mutual hot passions a second
time.
In the interlude passage of time that lapsed before midnight,
there was a tap on the bedroom door, and I heard Bill Veno's
voice say, "Marsh, Moll (Lieutenant. CCA Communications
Officer) wants you down in the kitchen, now. Get a move on."
At that moment as I drew on my clothes and carried my boots downstairs
into the kitchen, I knew full well that that was my last chance
of amour and I would be out in the bitter cold once more. Lt.
Moll said General Collier, our CO, wanted a new line connecting
to the 84th Infantry Division before daylight and Moll would
take three of us, Veno, Donahue and me, to put the line in; leaving
Hogan, Hull and Yahne behind, for no apparent reason I could
think of then or now. Later, Hull told me that as we went out
the door he went up stairs! Being unable to speak any French,
he had a handicap until she said "Encore" and that
he understood and willingly accommodated her wishes! Being foxhole
buddies, Hull and I always shared whatever we had between us
without any hesitation or qualms. Now, almost sixty years later,
when we exchange phone calls, invariably one of us will say to
the other, "Hey, encore!" and draw a hearty laugh from
the other.
The three of us and Moll departed in two vehicles just before
midnight. One was my ton and one half converted personnel carrier/wire
vehicle and Veno's jeep. It was a brilliant moonlit night, clear
and biting cold after the snow had stopped falling that night.
We tied off a line from a new reel and started down a strange
road leading to the coldest night I have ever spent in my lifetime.
Having been born and raised in the northern climate of the state
of Wisconsin, I mistakenly believed that I could adjust to any
type of cold weather; however, I never gave any consideration
to these consequential extreme circumstances and exposure time.
We had only proceeded two miles or so up the deserted road when
we came upon what appeared to be an empty and abandoned chateau
that was now windowless. All four of us dismounted and carrying
our weapons went in to check it out where we found a half dozen
infantrymen from some unidentified unit gathered around a pot
bellied wood stove attempting to get warm for the night. They
were not out on patrol, just there without explanation. I suspected
they were deserters from some infantry unit. Suddenly, for whatever
his reason that still remains a mystery, and without explanation,
Lt. Moll decided to return to CCA Headquarters with the jeep
after calling the CP on the new line we had run. He gave us instructions
to continue putting the line in to the 84th Infantry Division
as ordered by General Collier and turned the jeep around to head
back to the CP. He had pulled rank and left us shorthanded while
the other three men were sleeping back at the cottage when we
could have used their help in what was to come. They say "Rank
hath its privileges" and he sure exercised one of his!
With Veno and Doug walking behind, I drove mainly on the left
shoulder of the narrow road, hoping I would not strike a hidden
mine. As I approached each rise in the road to where I could
peer over the crest, I knew full well anyone out there could
also see me. Then it would be too late, so the apprehension had
my adrenal glands in overdrive and my anal sphincter muscle tightened
up a few notches to boot. Rounding a blind curve, I was shocked
to find a snow-covered German Panther tank with its long barrel
pointed directly at my position in the road. I totally froze
expecting to see machinegun fire coming straight at me any moment,
but the silence was more than eerie, it literally scared the
holy hell out of me. Meanwhile, Veno and Doug are 25 yards behind
me throwing the wire up off the road for protection, unaware
of my situation. When they caught up with me, seeing I am at
a dead stop, they came around to ask why, when they too saw the
huge monster facing us. Either it was empty and abandoned or
we were dead ducks. Too late to run and no desire to go forward
and check it out, after a brief discussion, we agreed to drive
up and see what fate had in store for us. What a relief to learn
that it was empty and probably knocked out by our fighter attack
planes previously.
Just past this point we reached a cluster of small deserted building
at a crossroads intersection that would require an overhead bypass
of the road. A tree on the left side of the road provided the
only object to climb and tie the wire high enough off the ground
to avoid being destroyed by any tracked vehicles on the road.
The tree was a tough customer as they took turns failing to climb
high enough to reach a branch to tie the line. By now they were
both physically exhausted and lacked the strength to reach a
branch. Time had taken its toll on me as well The long hours
seated in one position in this zero temperature had nearly placed
me in frostbite danger. Both my feet were numb and I had no feeling
in my fingers and hands. I was in dire straits.
To make matters worse, I urgently needed to void my bladder and
faced wetting my pants, which would only make matters much worse.
My call for help was answered by my good friend, Doug Donahue,
who offered to unbutton my overcoat, two pairs of wool trousers
and my long handle underwear; to then delicately reach in with
his cold fingers and expose my plumbing to where I emptied the
fully extended bladder. A friend in need is a true friend indeed!
After replacing the member and buttoning up my clothing for me,
they both assisted me in walking about and flexing my hands to
regain the feeling in both.
Now the three of us tackled the tree problem with Doug and I
boosting Veno high enough to reach a branch and pull the line
over it and making a tie-off at the base of the tree. Next was
to cross the road and throw the line over the church steeple
- easier said than done. Finally, after numerous repeated attempts,
they succeeded and made the splice, drew the line high and tight
across the road, and we continued on punch drunk with exhaustion.
Other than that group of half dozen GIs at that chateau, we never
saw another living person all that night, but always had the
feeling hidden eyes were following us at various times. Dawn
brought us to the general area where we expected to find the
84th Infantry Division. And, did we ever! They probably heard
us approaching from a mile away in the stillness of dawn from
the noise of the wire reel turning on the back of my vehicle
dispensing the wire. Suddenly, a voice coming from behind a large
tree hollered "Halt." I stopped on a dime. The voice
next said, "What's the pass word?" I answered, "How
the fuck would I know?" The voice said, "Who the hell
are you guys?" I told him we were the wire crew from Combat
Command "A" of the US 2nd Armored Division and we're
looking for your Division Command Post." They slowly came
out from behind their trees with their fingers on the triggers
of their M1 rifles, not taking any chances. They were wearing
the red circle shoulder patch with a white silhouette of an axe
imbedded in a log. Their nickname was "The Railsplitters."
This was the place. After answering the "Who's Babe Ruth"
type of questions, we were directed to where to find the CP.
We noticed that this roadblock had the trees on both sides of
the curve in the road ready to blow with blocks of TNT wired
to the trees with short fuses. We dropped the line at the CP
switchboard and immediately headed for their mess truck for hot
coffee. Mission accomplished. Returning to the switchboard afterwards
and calling our CP, we learned that our Headquarters was now
in the process of moving to a new assembly location in preparation
to launch the next major attack the following day on January
2nd. Our all-night work was for naught. As the crow flies it
was probably less than 5 - 6 miles from start to finish, but,
due to the extreme circumstances and conditions, it had taken
us all night for a line that would normally have taken but two
hours. In reflection, what transpired in that brief 24-hour period
was an experience of life and among the fortunes of war.
An edited and condensed version of this recollection
previously appeared in the 2n Armored Division Association Bulletin
in Issue #3 July-Sept 1981.
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.
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