The Viking Battalion, page 17
10Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date, September 4, 1943 for this event.
11Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date September 15, 1943 for this event.
12Services of Supply, a logistical organization of the Army.
13Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date June 21, 1944 for this event.
14Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date June 29, 1944 for this event.
15The author may have meant Hameau de Haut.
16Stensby’s original footnote says, “Nickolai Nickolaison, A Co. Mess Sergeant.”
17Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date July 25, 1944 for this event.
18Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date August 14–20, 1944 for this event.
19Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date August 14–20, 1944 for this event.
20Stensby wrote a note in the margins, which gave the date August 21, 1944 for this event.
21Stensby had a note in the margins here stating that there were 86 German prisoners taken.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stensby Collection
In addition to the manuscript that Yngvar Stensby created of the 99th Battalion’s actions throughout the early training and to the battle of Elbeuf, there are additional materials that had been collected by him but not formally included in the manuscript. This chapter includes two such items of note.
The first is a typed document that was found in the materials collected by Stensby. It was written by Stensby himself, but he wrote on it “Recollections,” which were memories from individual soldiers and not put in the actual manuscript. It tells the heartfelt story of the death of the beloved Sgt. Skarning in the battle at Canal Drive in Belgium.
The second inclusion is a letter in which Stensby is responding to the book titled The Damn Engineers, by Janice Holt Giles, originally published in 1970. Reading this book, and what it said about the 99th, seemed to get Yngvar to reminisce about the war. He wrote this on November 14, 1984. The letter is assumed to be a copy of a letter that Yngvar Stensby sent to someone named “Gus.”
Canal Drive—Sergeant Skarning
In early fall the 99th, again with the Second Armored, found itself in the vicinity of Mechelen, Belgium, poised for the Canal Drive. A Company’s advance halted abruptly one afternoon when we found the bridge over the canal had been destroyed by retreating Nazi forces.
We were greeted by occasional bursts from Nazi Burp guns,1 as well as harassed by snipers hidden in trees on the other side of the canal. “Volunteers” from various squads in the 99th soon lined the canal bank intent on locating the snipers and putting them out of action.
Among the riflemen was Sgt. Skarning. He had a pleasant, reassuring air of confidence about him, and his ever-present smile was balm for the harried soul. At his urging, we sprang out along the bank so as not to provide a group target to the snipers. His eyes narrowed to slits as he surveyed the trees on the east side of the canal; then, without a word, he emptied several clips of ammunition at what he surmised was a suspicious-looking treetop. Riflemen to his left and right joined in until it was obvious at least one of the snipers had been dispatched.
The following morning several tanks arrived in our area. Riflemen climbed onto the rear decks of the tanks before they churned south along the Willems Vaart Canal on combat patrol.
Of the half-dozen men on our tank, the only one I distinctly remember was Sgt. Skarning. He was sitting on my left and slightly behind me. One moment he was there; the next moment he was missing.
Returning to the bivouac area someone asked what happened to Sgt. Skarning. The commanding officer assumed he had been pitched off the tank when it lurched across a small ravine. He also said that none of the tanks had drawn enemy fire, hence the possibility of being hit was ruled out.
We knew a tank would not stop for one dislodged rifleman. To do so would have made the tank vulnerable to enemy anti-tank guns. As it was hard enough to maintain one’s balance on a tank without anything to hang on to, we hopefully assumed that our amiable sergeant had, indeed, been bounced off the tank when it crossed the ravine.
A grim-face lieutenant approached. We sensed the gravity of his announcement before it was made. Call it a sixth sense; call it intuition.
“Sergeant Skarning is dead!”
A wave of resentment flooded over me. Hatred of the Nazis bored into every organ of my body. Why Sgt. Skarning? Why not me? I was sitting right beside him! It seemed he had so much more to live for than I. In a seething rage I checked my rifle and headed for the canal again. I was joined by every rifleman in the area.
“Some damn sniper got him!” cursed a 99er.
“Some damn sniper is going to get his just reward!” screamed another, as volley after volley of rifle fire poured across the canal.
The 99ers had suffered many deaths before, but none struck me as numbingly as the knowledge that our highly regarded, respected, talented, beloved Sgt. Skarning had been killed.
***
Sgt. Skarning’s smile still lingers in my memory. And never do I listen to the plaintive notes of a bugler’s “Taps” but what I feel his presence and hear again his reassuring assessment in a tense situation.
Yngvar Stensby
Co. A
99th Inf. Bn (Sep.)
Response to the Damn Engineers
Hi Gus…
Thanks so much for the report reproducing excerpts from the book The Damned Engineers. From personal experience I knew the situation at Malmedy was pretty much touch and go, but I hadn’t realized the situation was as precarious as the book described!
And your question, “Where was A Company?” set the ol’ noggin too grinding away. Seems strange that a war episode of such caliber as our defense of Malmedy leaves so many gaps in my memory!
Before the Nazis blitzed Allied lines in what came to be known as the Battle of the Bulge, the night headquarters were at Tilff, but A Company was assigned to patrolling highways in a half-moon that extended west-northwest of Bastogne up to where it turned northeast-east to La Roche. Part of A Company was at St. Hubert, about 15 miles west of Bastogne. Part of A Co. was stationed at a town called Libin, 9 or so miles west of St. Hubert.2
Night patrols, via jeep, were frequent on the Bastogne–La Roche route, and we were instructed to keep an eye peeled for “unusual activity” in the area.
The Libin detachment left Libin on Monday, the 18th, and joined the rest of “A” at St. Hubert for the advance to Malmedy. The most direct route would have been to Vielsalm and up to Stavelot, but due to an advancing German armored column, the “A” entourage had to detour west of Vielsalm and head north.
I remember so clearly the relatively narrow road was crowded with Belgians who were fleeing the German invasion. It was pathetic to see the scarce belongings they carried, and to see the fear etched on their faces and in their eyes. I guess that was the first time a lot of us really grasped the importance of our move.
We got into Spa after dark. It was a hell of a mess, what with military vehicles, uncertainty, buzz bombs roaring overhead. Spa was about 14 miles northwest of Malmedy.
Once in Malmedy, Capt. Svarstad and I had to hoof it to find Col. Hansen’s HQ. I clearly remember Svarstad telling me, “Keep an eye peeled—there’s going to be a German attack.” Keep your eyes peeled. Thanks. In the middle of the night, blacker than the ace of spades, not knowing if the Krauts were in town, and wondering what good one lousy M1 would do if the situation arose!
Where “A” was positioned after that I can’t recall. I do remember being at “A” CP which was a paper warehouse, which undoubtedly would have been close to the paper mill mentioned in the excerpt you sent. How long we were there is uncertain.3
In the period right before Christmas, though, “A” was defending a line on the crest of some hills between Malmedy and Stavelot. Shivering in a poor excuse for a foxhole, I remember it was Christmas Eve, and thoughts and emotions went to the comforts of home, in the hundreds or thousands of voices they’re singing “Silent Night” while in our corner of the world buzz bombs were growling their messages of death and destruction as they roared overhead. “Peace on earth” seemed a farce for me—and thousands of other GIs that Christmas Eve!
I also remember one of our officers getting the message that “B Company kicked the holy-hell out of the Krauts outside of Malmedy!” That sticks in my memory because that was about the only thing we had heard of a positive nature since we got into the mess.
While in that sector I also remember a guard relaying the information that “there’s a whole big mess of German tanks down there on the road!” Though artillery shells were in short supply, they dropped several rounds where they supposedly did the most good.
There was also a platoon on the south slope of a series of hills east of us. They had an artillery spotter with them. We were in contact with them until the Germans dropped five rounds of artillery right behind their position, cutting the phone line between us. A GI by the name of Forde in “A” [Company] and I, both of us having had a smattering of communications at Camp Hale, were given the assignment to go out and splice the break.
Forde “palmed” our end of the wire until his hands got cold, then I’d take over. Thus we leapfrogged our way until the break in the line was found. Then the parachute flares. Jeez, how I hated those things! I swore I was as noticeable as the rock of Gibraltar would have been squatting out there under the glare. Then the zing of a bullet which we knew damn well wasn’t “just a stray.” The line crew from the other end met us at last, and the break finally repaired, it was just as hair-raising returning to our position, what with understandably trigger-happy guards ready to blast anything that moved!
We must have relieved “B” at the railroad tracks sometime before New Year’s Day. On that day I was on guard, and a Kraut Me-109 [Messerschmitt] came barely in at treetop level. I could see the pilot in the cockpit, and I suppose he saw me. The plane climbed, then banked and returned, but a battery of anti-aircraft [guns] opened up on him and it was as though the Kraut had run into an invisible wall. BLAM! No more Kraut plane.
[Company] “A” returned to the Stavelot sector soon after that and began attacking the German lines. The Allies were pretty well consolidated by that time and were attacking the north and northwest flank of the Germans. I also remember Capt. Svarstad saying that the Second Armored had stopped the Krauts’ advance in a hell of a battle just north of La Roche. Daily advances of the 2nd Armored [were made] between Jan. 2 and Jan. 10 [where] they had advanced only about 6 miles. It took them until Jan. 16 to capture Houffalize, about 10 miles further on. (Houffalize was about 10–12 miles north-northeast of Bastogne.)
I got clobbered on the Stavelot front on Jan. 10, and didn’t get back to the 99th, as the war appeared to be “winding down” (ain’t that a hell of a way to describe it?) as the field hospital staff put it.
When “A” attacked on the 10th, I remember the aid station being filled with our wounded, as well as a couple of Belgian civilians. Outside were several dead, one of which I recognized as a rifleman named Nataas.
At about the same time, as I recall, “B” made several jabs at the Krauts in a town south of Malmedy—Hedamont and Otaimont, and that “C” was preparing to attack another town called Bellevaux, or something like that.
I’ve always been proud of being in the 99th, but after reading the excerpt you sent, I’m REALLY proud to have been a member of such a fighting unit!!! And material that [Morton] Tuftedal read at the business meeting in Colorado Springs bore that out also. Being regarded as one of the toughest fighting units in combat against the Krauts is really something, isn’t it!!!
Sincerely,
Yngvar Stensby
P.S. Enclosed is a rough map slash sketch taken from the 2nd’s book.4 The solid red line is A Company’s approximate patrol route. (I was in Bastogne at least three times on those patrols.) The broken red line indicates the route A Company probably took between St. Hubert and Malmedy via Spa. We spotted the German tank column in a valley south of the road between Vielsalm and La Roche. Obviously, not too far from the point where “A” left the Vielsalm road to cut cross-country up to Spa. I imagine there was reason to assume that the Germans were west of Vielsalm; they were also into Stavelot, which might explain the “detour” through Spa.
I also now recall that when we got into Malmedy, the church bells began playing “Yankee Doodle” supposedly to welcome us but I’m sure they were doing it to let the Germans know we were there.
1American nickname for a German submachine gun.
2In the margins, Stensby wrote that this was “2nd Platoon,” and that “1st PLT. MARCHE AND 3RD PLT AT ARLON.”
3In a handwritten note, Stensby wrote, “1st PLT. OF A CO. WAS AT RIGHT FLANK OF B CO. ON R.R.R ALL THE TIME IN MALMEDY.”
4No map was available in the archived materials.
CHAPTER FIVE
J. Jarvis Taylor
This next entry comes from a former board member of the 99th’s Education Foundation, James Jarvis Taylor, who was born June 26, 1922 in Raleigh, North Carolina. Taylor joined the 99th as a replacement in November 1944 after having served in the 106th Division. In the 99th, Taylor was a heavy weapons .30-caliber machine gunner in Company D.
In his writing, Taylor covers the time period from just before the Battle of the Bulge through to the end of the 99th’s time in Norway. With a sense of curiosity and adventure, Taylor captures many stories of the people he met and the places he saw. This includes quite a few interactions with the locals and relationships established at each leg of his journey.
Taylor had a personable nature and a knack for quickly getting to know people. The people he met had unique stories, including an interesting brush with infamy when, at the beginning of May 1945, Taylor’s company was billeted at a German estate. In this instance, Taylor made the acquaintance of the lady of the house. This woman was the widow of the German officer executed by Hitler for the failed assassination of July 1944, whom Tom Cruise played in the 2008 movie Valkyrie.
As is evidenced by Taylor’s writings, every soldier’s experiences were unique. Luck and chance determined each individual’s fortune, and on occasion a matter of moments or feet were the difference between life and death. For Taylor, this includes several experiences during the Battle of the Bulge in which he was spared as a buzz bomb passed 100 feet above his head, a night-time Nazi bombing that struck 25 yards from where he slept, and a patrol mission that fortunately just missed the Nazis’ round-up and shooting of soldiers known as the Malmedy Massacre.
One of many touching moments shared by Taylor came on Christmas Eve 1944, which was in the middle of their month-long Battle of the Bulge experience. He and some other soldiers of the 99th were gathered in the cellar of a farmhouse for an impromptu Christmas program. Taylor read from the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke and undoubtedly there were no dry eyes amongst the men.
There are no indications from Taylor of any resentment or challenges by not having a Norwegian background. His summary of the months that the 99th spent in Norway include stories of the warm reception and embrace that the Norwegians had for the 99th, for their heroic role in the war, and their visible presence during the Norwegian liberation. If there were challenges he faced being a non-Norwegian member of the 99th, he didn’t write about them.
Company D, Headquarters Section, from John Kelly’s Company D book. The photo includes many names mentioned in Jarvis Taylor’s account of his time with the company, including John Kelly standing at left, Arne Thomassen, Kenneth Raby, Andrew Hall, Ordean Halla, Karl Kjendal, unidentified, Andrew Hoiem, and Jarvis Taylor at right. Kneeling, the second soldier is Antony “Tony” Sciacca next to Clarence Becker, with Art Holm at right. (Courtesy of the 99th Educational Foundation)
Taylor’s extensive writing on his experiences as a private first class in the 99th are a living testament to the bravery that he and others exhibited throughout their experiences.
In recognition of his actions, he was awarded the Bronze Star; the Combat Infantry Badge; the Good Conduct Medal; the American Campaign Medal; the Europe, Africa, Middle East Medal; the World War II Victory Medal, and the World War II Occupation Medal. J. Jarvis Taylor passed away at the age of 94 on June 19, 2017 in Arlington, Virginia.
99th Infantry Battalion (Sep.)
It was the first day of November 1944. Our convoy had been on the road for three hours when the trucks came to a halt near the railway warehouse at Henri-Chapelle, Belgium, a small village 14 miles southwest of Aachen, Germany. We were met by a small contingent of soldiers who told us we were to wait here for the battalion commander. In the meantime, they gave us something to eat. About an hour later the battalion commander, Lt. Col. Harold Hansen, appeared. He gathered us around and gave us an official welcome to the 99th Infantry Battalion (Sep.), Norwegian American and gave a little of the history of the unit. The 99th Infantry Battalion (Sep.) Norwegian American was made up of mostly Norwegian nationals and men of Norwegian descent. It was activated in July 1942 at Camp Ripley, and trained at Fort Snelling, Minnesota and Camp Hale, Colorado. Their initial mission was a possible invasion of Norway. That invasion never took place. The 99th had landed on the French coast on 22 June 1944 and being attached to various other units from time, fought bravely and aggressively from Omaha Beach, France, Holland and into Germany. When I joined them, they had just returned from heavy fighting in Germany to close the Aachen Gap.
Col. Hansen said most of us would be assigned to rifle companies but would like to have 10 volunteers for D Company, heavy weapons. I thought for a minute and decided this would probably be better than a straight-line infantry so I stepped forward. After the assignments were finished, we were escorted down the road to join our new companies.
D Company headquarters was located in a large red brick barn beside the road that led to Aachen. It appeared to be a fairly new barn and more modern than most you see in Belgium or other European countries. We were greeted by the first sergeant, Andrew Hall. He didn’t appear to be very friendly at first but after you got to know him, he was a real nice guy. He told us the rest of the company was out on a hike and would return soon. Just before the Red Cross mobile unit pulled up with coffee and doughnuts.
