I Marched with Patton, page 10
“What’s so special about her?” Snuffy asked.
“It’s them legs,” Al said. “Ain’t no woman in the world got legs like Betty Grable.”
The men laughed.
Snuffy turned to Walt Brandon. “You’re our preacher boy. Actually, Wes, I see you as being like a good luck charm in my pocket. The man upstairs ain’t gonna strike us down as long as we got one of his boys traveling with us. Ain’t that right?”
Wes looked at him but didn’t say anything.
Snuffy shrugged. “Ain’t joshing you none. Wes, you’re straight as a stick, and I know you got a girl back home. What you got to say about all this?”
I watched Wes because I respected him. He was one good soldier, and in cards he never dealt from the bottom of the deck. He was conscientious and always tried to do the right thing. I wondered what he would say.
Wes rubbed his chin. “I’m not a good luck boy. I’m just like any of the rest of you. But I do know there’s a passage in the Bible that I pay attention to and try to follow. ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’ That’s all that I’m trying to do. In the midst of all this killing and terror, I attempt to come in the name of the Lord. That’s my objective.”
Silence fell over the room. Nobody said anything for a while.
Finally, Snuffy turned to me. “Well, Frank, you never told us nothing about your girlfriend. In fact, you never admitted that you had one. Come on. Come clean with your brothers.”
I knew that once you opened a can of worms with these guys, you’d never get ’em back in the can. On the other hand, we could all be dead by tonight. No point in hedging my bets.
“Yeah,” I said. “I get letters from her as frequently as the mail comes through. Of course, we haven’t seen the mailman lately, but I suspect he’ll be around soon. Her name is Alice. Alice Anderson.”
“Interesting,” Snuffy said. “Tell us about her. She’s a good looker?”
“Oh, yeah. Alice and I went to school together from the grade school. She’s back there in Weleetka, waiting for me. When I get back, we’ll get married.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Snuffy said. “You got a genuine romance going on there.”
“Sure,” I said. “Her letters keep me going.”
Again, nobody said anything for a while. Mentioning letters from home pressed some buttons. Some men never received anything from the States, and I know that bothered them. I wondered if Snuffy got answers to whatever was on his mind. I kept hearing the trucks driving up and knew we’d soon be on our way to the next stop. Time to pack it up.
No rest for the weary.
21
Rapid Rampage
We started encouraging German soldiers to give up the fight. Most were average guys who had been conscripted into military service and never bought into the Nazi party line. The Wehrmacht was built on rigorous, rigid discipline that dictated blind loyalty to whatever was commanded. They could be a tough, resistant force. However, General Patton’s relentless attacks began changing some of their minds. They realized what was ahead. They weren’t going to win.
Our airplanes began dropping “safe conduct passes” that allowed the enemy to desert without penalty. In one day, thirty-two German soldiers from the 256th Volksgrenadier Division came across the battle line with their hands up. Though it was a small number, their surrender was encouraging. It was a sign that the Nazis were taking it on the chin. Air reconnaissance reported large columns of vehicles moving in a southerly and southwesterly direction from the German city of Bitburg. We could guess they were attempting to reinforce their front lines because they were being steadily pushed back. Since General Patton launched his late-January attack, the deadly numbers had started to mount. We had knocked out 936 enemy pillboxes, while other corps held similar records. The main obstacle holding us back were the mines and roadblocks that the Nazis left behind.
In mid-February, the weather cleared, and the sky opened. We went after the Luftwaffe. We hit them from every angle, and the score really added up. More than 445 of our bombers hit targets all over Germany. In addition, 770 bombers came up from Italy and attacked targets in southern Germany. The Royal Air Force represented Britain well in these clashes. General Patton stayed there behind the scenes, lending guidance and encouragement at every turn.
One story about him emerged when the army had to cross the Sauer River. Of course, we were still in the dead of winter, and the snow and ice had not dissipated. A newspaper correspondent snapped a picture of General Patton wading into the icy water with the current coming up to his knees. The reporter wrote a story suggesting that the general swam across the river ahead of his troops. Now, the pencil pusher was stretching the truth there, but the old man loved that type of article.
In the North, our troops made it across the Prüm River and fought their way into Bitburg. Even with constant counterattacks, the XX Corps held on. We were beginning to see that the Germans were scraping the bottom of the barrel to find recruits. Their soldiers had only carbines, and many had been thrown into battle only days earlier. On one day alone, the XX Corps gathered seven thousand prisoners. By the time this operation was over, we had captured forty thousand Germans.
We returned to the city of Trier, which was one of the oldest townsites in Europe, dating back to Roman times, when it was called Treves. Snipers had been everywhere. The city would not be easy to take. General Rundstedt had launched his offensive on the Ardennes from there. By the time the attack was over, Trier was a wreck. The area had once been a Roman resort, and oddly enough, this site of the baths wasn’t touched by the bombing. However, the equally well-known local hotel was smashed. The population of eighty thousand had been reduced to hardly a thousand, all scrambling to escape starvation.
In the final months of the war especially, the Germans acted like savages. Major General William H. H. Morris, commander of the Tenth Armored Division, had told a story that got back to us. A week or two earlier, an officer commanding one of his battalions had been badly wounded. Two medical corpsmen placed him on a stretcher and prepared to whisk him to the rear and out of the fighting. Abruptly, the Germans counterattacked and overran the defenses. As they rushed in, the Nazis shot the two medics. As the men tumbled to the ground, they dropped the stretcher. Seeing that the officer was still alive, the Germans shot the severely wounded, defenseless soldier. Other men in the battalion saw the murder happen and were outraged. When it was discussed among the unit, a decision was made: they would no longer take any German prisoners alive.
When that story reached my guys, it sparked a debate. Jack Postawaiet was adamant that we should shoot every German we saw, regardless. “Listen, those bastards are inhuman!” he hissed. “They are best dead!”
Walt Brandon shook his head. “Look, we’re here because we stand for higher values. If we turn into savages, we’re no better than them.”
Al Jackson took a long draw off his cigarette. “Now, boys, let’s face it. War is war. It’s all about killing. That’s why they sent us over here. We’re supposed to be killing the enemy.”
“But there must be justice,” Walt insisted. “There are three kinds of war,” he added thoughtfully. “In a revolutionary war, one side is trying to overthrow the other government. We’re not in that type of warfare. Then there’s a holy war, where one side or both sides believe God has called them to strike. They’re on a divine mission. Again, our war is not a holy war, but it is a war for righteousness. We believe the good is on our side, and the Nazis are evil. That rationale allows us to fight with a clear conscience.”
“Look!” Jack barked. “I don’t pay attention to philosophical talk. I just know that if we don’t kill the Nazis, they are going to kill us. That’s good enough for me.”
“This isn’t a bunch of nonsense,” Mr. Parker interjected, siding with Brandon. “Someday we are going home, and then we’ll have to think about what happened to us in this war. If we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives with a bad conscience, we’ve got to believe we did the right thing.”
Jack shook his head. “Hell, none of us may get home again! Good men are getting killed every day. If we don’t protect ourselves, we won’t make it off this hunk of land. The way we get to go home is by killing Germans.”
“But,” Walt broke in, “we can’t turn into killing machines without a conscience. We are still called to be righteous, even in war.”
“Righteous!” With that, Jack exploded. “Who gives a damn about being ‘righteous’ when we’re running at the enemy with bayonets drawn or dropping mortars on them that blow their heads off. Don’t talk to me about being a nice guy. Nice guys get killed.” He slapped on his helmet and stalked off.
For a long time, no one said anything.
22
Crossing the Rhine
As we advanced into the Third Reich, the Germans started digging in along the riverbanks. They knew what was coming and were bracing for our attack. The Eifel Hills, around the river, had steep slopes, and their banks made for good defense. A panzer division and the Sixth SS Mountain Division were among the German reinforcements. General Patton kept pushing and applying pressure, giving the enemy no time to get settled. His armored spearheads were able to advance thirty-five miles in two days and got within twenty miles of the Rhine. A regiment of the Fifth Infantry Division was able to plow another nineteen miles and reach the high ground overlooking the Rhine, just north of Koblenz. Our Third Army spearheads left the Kyll River and made it to the great river, covering fifty-five miles in just fifty-eight hours. For an army to travel at that speed was incredible.
We were still dealing with frigid weather. General Patton wrote later about how we dealt with that problem in rather ingenious ways. Obviously, some of the towns around us had not been occupied yet. Such a situation meant we didn’t have houses to sleep in and had to endure the freezing temperatures. Someone came up with the idea of making huge snowballs. One of these snow rolls would be placed on each side of where men would sleep. A third snow roll would be placed in the middle, facing where the wind blew. With covering on three sides, pine branches were placed over the top. Three or four men could sleep in between these huge icy balls of protection to keep out the bad weather. Fighting under these subzero conditions seemed impossible, but our soldiers were tougher than rocks. We found a way always. Clever indeed.
The wide, deep Rhine had always been thought of as a formidable barrier that would stop any attacking army. While its dark waters seemed to amble on, any observer would realize immediately that the current was not to be underestimated. In peacetime, the Rhine would make a beautiful site for a cruise, with green forests running down to the banks. In war, the breadth and the current created a fortress. However, the opposition had not considered the speed with which General Patton could move. The Allies made no air attacks or artillery advances that might have alerted Nazi military leaders to where we might hit. The crossing was such a complete tactical achievement that the Germans were caught by total surprise. When they finally realized what had happened, they responded with violent air assaults, weather permitting, but there were few counterattacks.
The weather didn’t do us any favors and generally made conditions for flying poor. When the sky cleared, we noticed for the first time the number of jet-propelled planes the Nazis had produced. The Ludendorff Bridge at the town of Remagen, roughly sixty miles inside Germany, was attacked by the first all-jet bombing raid. The four-engine Arado Ar 234 Blitz bomber came swooping out of the clouds escorted by Messerschmitt jet fighters and proved deadly. To the amazement of the Third Army, the bridge withstood the air assault. The Ninth Armored seized the bridge just minutes before demolition charges set by the retreating Nazis were set to detonate. The Rhine had stayed open, but the fighting hadn’t slacked off any. Even though the German infantry faced overwhelming odds, its soldiers continued to fight with professionalism long after their defeat had become inevitable. Armed with fully automatic 7.92-millimeter Sturmgewehr 44 rifles, they remained a formidable opponent.
As a boy, I’d hoped to see the Rhine River someday, but I never dreamed I might cross it. Here we were ready to do just that. General Patton’s Third Army lined up, prepared to come over. We would be crossing the river twenty-four hours ahead of any other unit. A pontoon bridge had been constructed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, and the vehicles started to move.
I was riding shotgun, with Mr. Parker driving. He always could make the truck work even when the temperature was way south of zero. Our crew walked in front of the vehicle. The bridge made a weird, creaking sound, and I wondered what would happen if one of those pontoons slipped or broke loose. A river with a freezing, icy flow would swallow us before we could swim a foot. I reached in my pocket to find that scrap of paper with Psalm 91 written on it. “I choose the God above all gods to shelter me.” I read those words three times and then put it back.
Just as I looked down the river, I recognized an airplane circling. I looked again. One of those new German jets was coming back toward us. Painted completely black, that Nazi aircraft looked like a monster flying up from the deep. It was probably a Messerschmitt Me-262 A. Undoubtedly, the pilot spotted the caravan when flying over and was coming back to knock us off. Maybe to destroy the pontoon bridge as well.
I jumped into the back of the truck and grabbed the mounted .30-caliber gun we kept back there for protection. Then I swung it around and lined up the sights. The jet wasn’t slowing. I put my hand on the cocking lever and pulled. It didn’t move. I pulled again. The lever simply wouldn’t move. We were doomed.
The jet came straight for us, barely feet above the river. The guns on the airplane weren’t hitting anything either. I couldn’t move. The jet zoomed by the rear of the truck. For a split second, the pilot and I locked eyes. He probably wondered why I hadn’t blasted him, while at the same time, I was thinking about how I had survived certain death. In that moment when we passed each other, we were both undoubtedly grateful to still be alive.
As the plane pulled away, the cocking lever unlocked and fell into place, but by then, the jet was gone. How was it that the hand of God made my weapon freeze? At that moment, I realized that if I had hit the German pilot, quite possibly he would have crashed into our convoy and maybe killed all of us. Had the Lord spared us both for some mystical, unknown reason? Who could say, but I sat there with my hands on that .30-caliber gun, bouncing up and down on that pontoon bridge with my teeth chattering.
Man, was I glad when we got to the other side! We rolled on and hit dry ground again. As the truck rumbled down the road, I sat there with my finger virtually frozen on the trigger. Just another one of those close calls.
I’m sure the irrepressible fury of Hitler exploded when the Ludendorff Bridge at Remagen was never destroyed and stood there inviting us to come across. Army engineers started building additional bridges up and down the river from the Remagen bridge. Because the Germans failed to destroy the big bridge, the Luftwaffe was ordered to mount a series of intense bombing raids. We kept two M3 half-track armored personnel carriers with .50-caliber machine guns ready and waiting for them to return. By March, the ice and snow were vanishing, but a heavy drizzle filled the skies, and this brought limited success to the Nazis’ flyovers. Eventually the bombing and heavy usage took its toll, though, and exactly one week after our successful crossing, on March 17, the bridge fell sideways into the river, killing twenty-eight U.S. engineers and injuring many more.
The forward push that captured the enemy was like sacking up a batch of marbles into a bag. We soon had more than 150,000 in Allied POW camps. No telling how many had been killed. By the end of March, our front ran from the English Channel to the Swiss border. Hard to believe, but we were only three hundred miles from Berlin.
Mr. Dobson and I stood on the bank of the Rhine and watched the current roll by. The river was broad like the Mississippi and the flow mighty.
“Man, is that something to see!” I remarked.
Dobson shook his head. “For centuries, everything from knights on horseback to blacksmiths have stood on this bank. And now we are here. Remarkable.”
A couple of soldiers from another unit came walking up. They nodded, and we responded.
“You boys waiting to cross the river?” I asked.
“Naw, we’re with the Army Corps of Engineers,” the first man said.
I didn’t ask them their names. After you’ve seen so many men killed, you get to the point where you don’t want to know any names.
“Understand we sent a good number of gliders over,” Dobson said. “True?”
They told us some of the gliders hadn’t done so well. We thought that we had neutralized the flak sites where they were supposed to land. Apparently, we’d missed a significant number of those guns, which opened up on our boys. About a quarter of the glider pilots got hit when they were coming down. Not a good number.
The glider boys that came down in that crossing were able to eventually join up with soldiers that had crossed the Rhine amphibiously, and they took the bridgeheads. The Nazis kept shooting, but our men took care of the problem. Of course, this was all preceded by two divisions of parachute troops that landed first. They delivered a hefty punch. We discovered later that it all worked to our advantage in the end.
“Well, the Germans certainly know where we are,” Mr. Dobson said. “Thanks for the info.”
The men walked on. Some of the American armies crossed at a more southern portion of the Rhine. Most of them came over south of Mainz between Nierstein and Oppenheim. The first wave was an assault regiment under the command of General Patton. Around midnight, under a brilliant moon, the assault boats started across. Soon the entire Fifth Division crossed the river. During the next few days, crossings were made at Boppard and Saint Goar. By the end of March, Darmstadt and Wiesbaden were ours, and armored columns were on their way to Frankfurt and Aschaffenburg.
