14 January 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

14 January, 1945

Sunday         1315

Wilma, darling –

It’s one swell day here today and I’d love to be taking you out for a ride this p.m. The roads are still a bit slippery, but we could go slowly and take our time about it. The air corps has been out and active today and that’s something for this time of year. We all like to see it. I suppose the news from home sounds better and that optimism is again the key note. I hope they don’t overdo it though.

Well last evening at 1730 I went to a movie – the Colonel and a few other officers went along. Our aid station is set up near a field artillery observation C.P. and they were putting it on and invited us. It’s still the most incongruous thing imaginable to sit in a shell of a building, in a war zone and see a technicolor picture, pretty girls, dancing etc . But so far in this war, at any rate, the movies have done a job in relaxing us, I think. The movie by the way was “Greenwich Village” with Ameche and Carmen Miranda. Ordinarily I don’t like a picture like that – but after the recent bleakness, cold and snow – the color and the costumes really seemed warming. Then too, ahem – this Vivian Blaine wasn’t very hard to look at – Did you see it, dear?

"I Like to Be Loved by You" by Harry Warren and Mack Gordon,
performed by Carmen Miranda in Greenwich Village, 1944



Vivian Blaine

After the movie we went up to the Colonel’s room and played some Bridge. I held some lousy cards – but a couple of nights ago I held beautiful hands, so I guess it all equals up.

This a.m. I didn’t have a very busy sick-call and I was glad because I had something big lined up. Guess what – a bath. Now anyone, darling, can take a bath – but without a bathtub – that’s something else again. It’s done with 2 basins, water and no mirrors – and it always ends up in a mess, but what the heck – it’s better than none at all – and showers just aren’t available around here. Anyway it took me until noon – and I was actually tired, dear, when I got through; No – not from scrubbing! It’s just that you have to bend down, stand up, stoop; you get the floor wet, you slip, you catch yourself falling and you upset one of the basins. Then you’re really all messed up and willing to quit. I got thru it fairly well and would consider myself about 70-75% clean.

Say I happened to come across a V-mail you sent me on 7 December. It had got caught between one of your other letters and I had forgotten about it. I’ve just re-read it and noted with a start your news of Les White. Gosh – he had such good plans and bingo – he ends up in the infantry and gets himself wounded. I sure hope it was nothing serious and that he’s up and around again. It must have been tough on Betty but she used the correct rationalization when she said he was out of the battle for awhile, anyway. Do you happen to know what division he’s with?

Well – I’ve just been interrupted, sweetheart. I’ve got to chase over to the Aid Station and see a fellow with bum feet – probably frost-bitten. I’ll close now ‘cause I don’t know when I’ll be back, dear. I hope all is well with you, darling, and that you’re managing to keep a stiff upper lip. That’s all-important these days and I know you’re capable of doing it. My love to the folks, dear – and remember – You’ll always have

My everlasting love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "Frozen Hell"

This story, titled "Frozen Hell," is about an experience of twenty year old Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine, 289th Infantry Regiment, 75th Infantry Division as written by his son, Dan Shine. It took place about 15 miles southeast of Greg's Aid Station.

Near Salmchateau, Belgium.
1500 hours 14 January 1945

A young soldier cautiously approached Item Company's line of snowy foxholes as the afternoon sky began to darken. To the men nearby he looked like a rookie; he was clearly timid about entering this place of death and destruction. His uniform was still almost spotless. No doubt he'd been eating hot "C" rations and sleeping under cover right up until now.

They observed him casually. A battle veteran could usually tell whether a new man would crack under fire, just by looking at him, and you didn't want a guy to crack up while he was sharing your foxhole. This particular guy had a baby face, and probably hadn't even started to shave yet. He couldn't be more than eighteen. The occasional German mortar shell that fell nearby made him jump.

From his foxhole, Sergeant Gilbert spoke to the new private and pointed to an open spot in the line of foxholes. The replacement turned and made his way to the appointed spot. He leaned his M-1 up against a tree, and took out his entrenching tool. In moments, he was chipping at the frozen surface of the Belgian soil.

Over the next twenty minutes, the sounds of chopping and digging filled the air. Twice as he dug, the replacement slipped and almost fell into his unfinished foxhole. The men watched silently as he glanced around and tried to regain his dignity. Finally, his hole complete, the replacement grabbed his rifle, climbed in, and took his position on the line. No doubt he was trying to figure out what would happen next.

He probably never heard the fluttering sound of the approaching mortar shell, but the men around him did, and they ducked deeper into their foxholes. An abrupt explosion shook the ground and threw bits of something through the air; there were the sudden smells of burned cordite and singed flesh.

The soldiers looked in horror at the foxhole of the new replacement. Smoke billowed out of it, and pieces of bloody flesh were everywhere. Tattered bits of his uniform and a length of intestine hung from broken tree branches above the burned foxhole, and next to the tree lay a boot with part of a leg still in it.

That was it, thought Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine as he sat in his foxhole watching the day turn into night. One minute you're alive and all in one piece; the next minute you're gone and nobody has even had the time to find out who you were. And God knows where your dog tags were blown to... Although he and the other men had seen this kind of thing happen before, nobody ever really got used to it. Night fell, and it began to snow, masking the frozen pieces of what had once been a man.

In the early morning hours Item Company assembled for their attack of Salmchateau. Today they would be facing elements of the 326th Volksgrenadiers and remnants of the 62nd Volksgrenadiers.

Shine was the bodyguard to Lieutenant Rocco Durante. He and the lieutenant led their platoon through the snowy predawn darkness and the day's first light. As it became fully light, they left the forest and followed a dirt road into the village. This was usually the moment when things began to happen, and as the second man in the advancing column, Shine was frightened. As was often said, "Any man who wasn't frightened at these moments would have to be insane".

They had almost reached a bridge leading into town, when there was a sharp "crack" to their right front, and the lieutenant went down. Shine, following him about three paces back, rolled Durante over and saw a bullet hole cutting the lieutenant's belt loop just to the right of the belt buckle. As he took the lieutenant's pants down, he saw the point of the bullet just breaking the skin near the lieutenant's groin. Evidently the bullet had ricocheted off of a bone.

To remain stationary in a spot such as this was to invite disaster. Shine and the others moved forward, and left the lieutenant for the medical corpsmen who would be following.

To the foot soldier of WWII, nothing was more reassuring than the feel of an M-1 rifle in his hands. It promised power and accuracy at the squeeze of a trigger. It also promised to be a heavy burden on a long march. The M-1 rifle weighed almost ten pounds--about twice the weight of an M-1 carbine. In the infantry, enlisted men carried the rifles and officers carried the carbines.

Behind Shine, Private Krizan eyed the M-1 carbine dropped by the lieutenant. Like most riflemen, his arms ached from carrying the heavy rifle; here was something more attractive. He picked up the carbine and resumed his advance. That was the last mistake he ever made.

There was another sharp "crack" from the high ground on their right, and Krizan went down and rolled over on his back. Shine looked back at Krizan; he lay there with a neat little bullet hole right between his glazed eyes. Beneath his head, a crimson stain began to spread in the white snow. The sniper, seeing a carbine in Krizan's grip had mistaken him for an officer, and killed him.

About this time Shine figured his number was coming up. He ran and caught up with the squad as they prepared to clear the first house on their side of the street. Private "Snuffy" Toth went into the front door, fragmentation grenade in hand with pin pulled, threw the grenade and turned to get out. As he turned, he slipped on the ceramic tile floor and fell. Before he could get up the grenade exploded. Snuffy staggered out the door and went down again. He was badly shaken up, and the squad left him behind for the medics as they advanced through the town from house to house, clearing them as they went. Most of the Germans had fled. There was no further sniper fire, but still some incoming artillery and a few pockets of resistance from the houses.

Late in the evening, they found three or four Germans holed up in a cellar at the far edge of town. One of them made a menacing move and the three Americans facing them fired at once. The result was devastating.

Item Company spearheaded the attack on Salmchateau and won the town, thus meeting their objective. Their ranks had been thinned that day by deaths, wounds and frostbite cases. Snuffy Toth was finished as a front line soldier; the explosion of his grenade had left him shell-shocked. He was eventually evacuated. Lieutenant Durante was also evacuated, and they didn't see him again.

Shine's squad spent the night billeted in the stucco and stone houses of Salmchateau, while outside, the dead of both armies froze into grotesque positions. And as the dead and the living slept, once again it began to snow...

Whitewashed Sherman in pursuit of Panzers
Salm-Château, Belgium - January 1945


Salm-Château, Belgium Today

13 January 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

13 January, 1945       1415

Dearest sweetheart –

Let’s see, where was I? Oh yes – I was just starting, dear. Well here it is Saturday afternoon and I haven’t had a chance to plan for tonight. I guess I’ll just let things ride and see what happens. I’ve been down to Charlie Battery today. I left here at 1120 and returned a short while ago. I saw Pete and had lunch with him and he sends his best regards, dear. I was busy the early part of the morning and I’ve got a few things to look after later on. Last night was quiet – but we finally got a decent lot of mail and every one was in good spirits – including myself. I got your letters of 2, 5 and 6 of December, several bulletins from the Salem Hospital, a nice letter of Christmas greetings from Walter Phippen, a couple of Christmas cards and some medical literature. In these days, sweetheart, that’s quite a haul.

Letters received nowadays are so old – but boy – are they ever welcome! Your letter of 2 Dec. was written at Marian’s house and it really sounds like a cozy spot. Too bad I couldn’t have been along with you, darling. I’d have kept you warm, I think. It’s really country up there though; I know the region fairly well – particularly Portland. I used to travel up there summers – working for my father and I had several accounts in Portland; on the whole – it’s a rather drab city as I remember it, although it livened up considerably with the influx of summer visitors from nearby beaches.

I was very much interested in your account of the evening spent at the house with several other people there – particularly your statement that “everyone tried to discourage me from marriage”. Why, dear? I could understand it if I were getting ready to go overseas and we were thinking of marriage. But we aren’t thinking of it naturally – until I get back – then why are they discouraging you? I can see only age difference as the argument. Am I correct, dear? I often wonder how many people discuss that angle with you and what the consensus of opinion is. That was always an important point in my own mind and I think about it quite a bit, still.

And then I read your letter of 5 December and although the contents worried me a bit, I couldn’t help but admit it smelled nice. Did you perfume that letter, dear, or can’t you remember. About the contents, darling – and my folks and sisters in relation to you; I don’t know what I can say or do. What you write me is strictly between us of course and I wouldn’t mention a word. As I’ve said before, I know things would be different were I at home and once I get back I’m sure everything will be easier. About my mother’s not calling – you should know by now, darling, that my mother is very retiring and I’ll bet she doesn’t call because she doesn’t want to disturb you; I can’t understand Ruth – unless she’s very busy and with Irv and his operation etc – she probably has been. I do think that both my mother and Ruth could and should call you – but at this point – I’m not going to write them that. I feel that you’re capable and diplomatic enough, darling, to work things out for yourself, but I do hope that everything remains smooth between all of you.

Sometimes I, too, wish we had been married before I left. If there had been some way to guarantee that I’d come back – and the same way as I left – I believe we could have been. As for getting along financially – that would have been very easy. I’m losing out on something like 120 dollars or so per month by not being married and that plus part of my salary would certainly have taken care of you. Any job you managed to get would have been so much gravy. Oh well – it’s pretty hard to plan ahead – when you’re going overseas for the first time, darling; guess I’ve got more experience now.

And no, sweetheart, thanks – but I don’t need warm clothing etc. I have available perhaps 20 or 25 blankets. I’ve got sweaters, gloves and a scarf and I’m pretty comfortable – but thanks for asking. We learned – this outfit did – on maneuvers – and in some ways I guess you could call us field-wise.

I would so love to see you, sweetheart, to talk with you and tell you I love you instead of writing it; to ask you a question and not have to wait 6 weeks for an answer. It is hard – so damned hard at times – but dammit – I can take it and I hope you can, too.

All for now, darling. My best regards to the family and so long for awhile.

My deepest love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the Counter-Offensive, Continued

Here is more of Sgt Theodore DRAPER's story of the 84th:

At 0730, 13 January 1945, the 1st Battalion, 334th Infantry, moved out from the La Roche Road to take a hill about 1,500 yards north of Berismenil.

CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES
LaRoche - January 1945


Berismenil, Belgium - Today

Only sniper fire was encountered and the objective was taken by 1100. At 1415, the 1st Battalion went forward again to take another hill about 750 yards northeast of Berismenil - one of our commanders once said wistfully: "Every time I see a hill, I know it's going to be our next objective." By 1800, the 1st Battalion had taken its second hill against light resistance. Nevertheless, the situation was confused because orientation in the dark was difficult. When a patrol carrying blankets was fired on from the rear, it was clear that the battalion was almost entirely surrounded by the enemy.

347th Infantry Regiment of the 87th Infantry Division
get a meal after getting winter boots near Berismenil
13 January 1945

Later that night, a reconnaissance patrol was sent to investigate the enemy's position south of the hill but failed to return. Then the battalion commander, Major Roland L. Kolb, decided to see for himself. Leading another patrol, he suddenly observed a German "command car" pull up to the base of the hill and halt. Two men stepped out and began to walk up the hill. When the pair approached near enough, the patrol jumped out of hiding. One of their prisoners turned out to be Captain Hanagottfried von Watzdorf, commander of the 1st Battalion, 60th Panzer Grenadiers, 116th Panzer Division. Unaware that his MLR had been penetrated to a depth of more than one thousand yards, the German commander was out on a tour of inspection. In perfect English, he exclaimed: "I am astonished." The commander of one battalion had personally captured the commander of the enemy's battalion opposite him and he had to keep him all night before he could deliver him safely. Berismenil itself was captured by the 2nd Battalion, 335th Infantry. It covered three thousand yards of trails, thereby achieving a considerable degree of surprise but giving up all possibility of using any vehicles to back up the attack.

As a result, Berismenil was captured almost without opposition. By the end of the day, 13 January 1945, the enemy had been cleared out of approximately half the 84th Infantry Division's zone. The other half was rapidly cleaned out the next day. Nadrin was occupied by the 1st Battalion, 334th Infantry, at 1130, 14 January 1945. Only some machine guns and small-arms resistance was encountered.

At 0800, 13 January 1945, the 2nd Battalion, 333rd Infantry, jumped off from Les Tailles for the third time in two days. After taking Collas, a little village southwest of Les Tailles, at 1000, it struck out for the woods. Immediately, the terrain became worse than the enemy, though the latter did his best to help. The roads were terrible, barely more than trails. Under the snow, which now had ten days to accumulate, they were invisible. By 1200, the enemy's activity became more stubborn. By the end of the day, we had penetrated only five hundred yards. The problem of getting through the woods was faced that night. Two narrow trails ran through the woods to Dinez and two special task forces were formed to get through these trails. Both started out at 8000 the next day, 14 January 1945.

Here is what became of Major Roland L. Kolb, the American battalion commander who took prisoner a German battalion commander, as printed on page 88 of the Sarasota (Florida) Herald Tribune on 15 May, 2001:

CLICK TO ENLARGE

12 January 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

12 January, 1945       1145

My dearest sweetheart

It’s late in the morning to be writing but I’ll get a few words in before leaving for lunch. Yesterday I didn’t get a chance to write you, dear. (What! Again!) I was away from battalion all day from 0830 until 1830. I covered about 130 miles and I didn’t really thaw out until about 1000 this morning – no fooling. I had to visit several hospitals to get some data on some of our soldiers and it was quite a day. There was no one else to do it for me either. By the way, I forgot to tell you – our dental officer is in the hospital – with asthma. I don’t know the latest rulings on that. They used to eliminate those cases from the service; then they re-classified them. I won’t be sorry if he doesn’t get back to us, frankly, although it leaves me short. Too bad Lawrence isn’t over here. Wouldn’t that be something if he could be in the same outfit as I!

This has been a tough month for us – there’s no use kidding about it. The weather is just like New England’s – maybe not as cold as the recent cold wave I’ve read about – but cold enough – and with plenty of snow and ice. Each new C.P. location we have is a bit worse than the preceding one – because the area here has really taken a beating in recent weeks. But all in all – we’re better off than the infantry and I wouldn’t classify any of the above, darling, as complaining.

1315

Hello again, dear –

Chow was only fair – but we have our best meal in the evening and the food has been very good – considering circumstances.

Some time ago, dear, you told me about a scrapbook you had started, and I failed to mention it in my letters to you. I guess you must have realized I had received the letter – because I’ve been digging through all my files and sending stuff on that I’d been saving. I’m glad you started the book, darling, because I’ll like to see some of the things after the war – and they’ll be safe with you. Anything else I come across – I’ll keep sending along – with or without comment, and you can put them where you like. Although I keep taking pictures – I won’t have any to send home until the war ends, I guess, because I don’t dare try to have then developed after having had 4 rolls confiscated. And by the way – in one of the packages I sent you a week or so ago – the largest one – a collection of photographs taken by Rothschild on a trip he once made – there are a couple of loose paintings. They’re not particularly good – but they’re colorful and definitely European. There’s also one etching – in black and white – and that is an original one. It’s a sketch of Stolberg Castle, Germany, given to me by a German patient from Stolberg – when I was there. I’ve taken some pictures of the Castle – but I liked the sketch particularly. We’ll have it framed someday, dear.

The paintings are about 10.5 x 14 inches
and somewhat cropped by the scan.

CLICK TO ENLARGE
   


Sketch (Etching) of Stolberg Castle, Germany

I don’t know if I told you about the 2 German novels I sent home – I guess I did – at that. We’ll put them in our library someday, too. And while I’m talking about packages – remember my telling you about the dagger I was sending to you? Well, darling, to make the parcel really morbid – I included a Nazi “Persuader” I happened to come across some time ago. It is not a riding crop. Seems to me you should be receiving about 5 or 6 packages in a row and not one practical gift, sweetheart! Well – I like to collect things, dear – anything at all – except girls, I guess. I don’t collect those, I just pick one and then I stop collecting. Is that all right with you, dear??

I’ll have to shut up now and get over to the aid station and do some work. Of all the g-d things, I have to write a medical history of the detachment for the past year – activities, experiences, suggestions and all that sort of hooey. What a hell of a thing to be doing in the middle of a combat zone!

All for now, sweetheart – I’ve really got to get going. No mail for some time, dear – but maybe today. For now, dear – so long and love to the folks. Just in case you’ve been in doubt, I love you, I love you, I love you – and gosh darling – how I mean that!

All my everlasting love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Medics in the Bulge
Part 3: Combat Fatigue

The following was extracted from "Medics in the Bulge," by Ralph Storm, as found on page 19 of "The Bulge Bugle, Volume 25, No. 1, February, 2006. The photos are from various places on the internet.

In 1941, the Army lacked a definition, a treatment system, or even a name for its psychiatric casualties. These casualties by the end of the war would amount to over one hundred fifty thousand, or a average for every three men killed or wounded, one other soldier became a combat exhaustion case.

Medical writer Albert Cowdry described some of the symptoms of the soldiers with combat exhaustion:

Intolerable weariness and baseless alarm. Some were stuporous and withdrawn, some tense and violent, some suffered from Parkinson-like tremor or from delusions... They were beyond self control and orders and threats meant nothing. Weeping, shaking, curling up in the fetal position... they had ceased to be soldiers for a time.

Traditionally, the shell-shocked soldiers had been treated administratively rather than through medical channels. In the Civil War many shell shocked men were treated as cowards and ere shot to death. At that time, women were supposed to be "fragile" while men were supposed to be tough and resilient. There was little medical aid for psychiatric casualties after that war, and in one state - Indiana - nearly three hundred Civil War veterans were locked up in lunatic asylums.

Veteran war correspondent Ernie Pyle was deeply touched when he met two GI psychiatric casualties:

two shock cases... staggering down the road. They were not wounded but were completely broken... the kind that stab into your heart. There were shaking all over, and had to hold on to each other like little girls when they walked. The doctor stopped them. They could barely talk, barely understand. He told them to wait down at the next corner until we came back, and then they could ride. When they turned away from the Jeep, they turned slowly and unsteadily, a step at a time, like men who were awfully drunk. Their mouths hung open and their eyes stared, and they still held onto each other. They were just like idiots. They had found more war that the human spirit can endure.

The "thousand-yard stare"

There were a number of instances in which high ranking officers revealed the traditional Army view toward combat fatigue. One of these involved General George Patton when he visited the 15th and 93rd Evacuation Hospitals in Sicily, slapped one soldier and threatened to shoot another whom he call "A God-damned coward, a yellow son-of-a-bitch."

Once during the Bulge, General Matthew Ridgeway encountered a dysfunctional sergeant. An hour later in the same spot, the tough airborne General Ridgeway came under enemy fire, and a sergeant nearby became almost hysterical.

He threw himself into the ditch by the side of the road crying and raving. I walked over and tried to talk to him, trying to help him get hold of himself. But it had no effect. He was just crouched there in the ditch, cringing in utter terror. So I called my Jeep driver, Sergeant Farmer and told him to take his carbine and march this man back to the nearest MP and if he started to escape to shoot him without hesitation. He was an object of abject cowardice and the sight of him would have a terrible effect on any American soldier who might see him.

There were basically two types of combat exhaustion. One occurred among new troops just before combat or during their first five days at the front. Some traumatic event of violence or carnage was simply intolerable. Michael Douler cited the case of a Ranger Battalion GI who witnessed a decapitation event in the Hurtgen Forest:

A new replacement in the elite 2nd Ranger Battalion saw the head of a fellow Ranger less than three feet away, blown completely off. The new soldier became speechless, did not know his name and could not recognize anyone around him. (The soldier was finally sent to a stateside psychiatric ward).

A second type of combat exhaustion occurred among veteran soldiers who had survived hard, continuous fighting for four months or more. Paul Fussell argued that what the U.S. Military learned about combat fatigue in world War II was that "men will inevitably go mad in battle and that no appeal to patriotism, manliness, or loyalty to the group will ultimately matter.

At times some officers suspected that some soldiers were feigning their "combat fatigue." Paul Boesch, a 28th Infantry Division platoon leader alleged that his platoon sergeant had deserted under the guise of combat exhaustion:

My platoon sergeant was missing. One sectional leader, a soft-spoken Georgian T/Sgt Arthur N. Clarke, explained his absence. "Lieutenant," Clarke said slowly, "Jim left. The first time that machine gun fired, he handed me his Tommy gun and said he couldn't take it any more. He took off."

I listened... stunned. "He said for me to take charge of the platoon," Clarke continued. I could hardly believe it. The platoon sergeant was the same man who, less than a week before when I had first joined the platoon, had stepped forward, his eyes shifting a bit, and regaled the replacements who had arrived with me. "Listen you guys," he had barked harshly, "I don't want any of you guys to turn yella, see! A yellowbelly sonofabitch is worse than a damn Jerry! If you see a man turn yella and run, shoot him in the back like a dirty dog!"

This, I thought, was the man who was going to shoot the first "Yellowbelly" in the back. To leave the platoon this way was just plain desertion. "Hey Lieutenant," one of the men shouted, "is that the guy who was going to shoot us in the back?"

An Army policy gradually developed that viewed combat exhaustion patients as temporarily disabled soldiers. Treatment consisted of at least a day's rest, sedation, hot meals, and dry clothing. More severe cases were sent to treatment centers at Ciney, Belgium and Luneville, France. Here is how decisions came to be made:

CLICK TO ENLARGE

Diagram of sorting choices
and labels for battle fatigue cases
from Global Security's chapter on Battle Fatigue
where definitions can be found

11 January 1945

No letter today. Just this:

The following photographs were taken by Greg and labeled only "January 1945" "Ardennes" or "Belgium." With dates unspecified, they are shown here.

CLICK TO ENLARGE PHOTOS


Greg and his Driver in the Ardennes
Belgium - January 1945


Aid Station in Abandoned House (Notice "WILMA TOO" on Jeep)
Belgium - January 1945


Village in the Ardennes
Belgium - January 1945


Battle was Going On on the Other Side of the Hill
Yup - That's a Foxhole!
Belgium - January 1945


Note Shrapnel Marks on Houses Following German Shelling
Belgium - January 1945


Stayed in this Town Several Days
Belgium - January 1945

* TIDBIT *

about Medics in the Bulge
Part 2

The following information is excerpted from "Medics in the Bulge," by Ralph Storm, as found on page 18 of "The Bulge Bugle, Volume XXV, No. 1, February, 2006. The photos are from various places on the internet.

During medical training

During medical training, army medics received training in the use of the carbine and .45 pistol since some medics went to the Pacific war in which the Japanese had not signed the Geneva convention. Although medics in the ETO were not armed, many medics carried pistols for self protection. Donald Ratliff, recalled how his 75th Division medics once captured a German in Vielsalm, Belgium:

One night in Vielsalm, Belgium, we went into a house to set up a battalion aid station. One of the men opened a closet door and a German soldier was sitting on the floor. He quickly surrendered when one of the men showed a .45 pistol.

517th PIR 3rd Battalion CP (left) and Aid Station (right)
Manhay, Belgium - January 1945

For the most part the Germans respected the rules of land warfare and did not shoot at combat medics while they did their first aid work and litter bearing in the forward areas.

Medic Transports Wounded Soldier

Medic Philip Hahn of the Medical Detachment, 13th Field Artillery observation recalled an extraordinary situation in which his German cousin in a German field artillery position observed an American army aid station near Walheim, Germany:

The last towns we were in before the Bulge were small towns near Aachen. One was Walheim. After the war I visited my cousin who was a Lt. In the German Field Artillery. In looking over his records I saw the name of Walheim. He said that he had the crossroads zeroed in… He knew exactly what farmhouse we had for an aid-station because of the Red-Cross hanging from a window and that there were probably German civilians living there.

There were many exceptions to the above incident. Peter Couvillion served as an evacuation Jeep driver with the 9th Armored Division in Luxembourg, and recalled one of these exceptions:

On the second day (of the Bulge) after all our line companies had been surrounded, we attempted to contact "C" Company. In route we encountered a battle line of Germans. They did not shoot at us. On this mission we evacuated 16 wounded and left the slightly wounded behind… Early that morning my assistant and I contacted our "B" Company. We found the Company Medic. Leading us to where he had some wounded, a sniper shot both the Company Medic and my assistant. Both died before I could get to them. Men from the platoon found the sniper and shot him.

During the early days of the Bulge

During the early days of the Bulge when German mechanized units broke through American lines at a number of place, some medical units were captured and sent into Germany as prisoners. Emil Keith Natalle of the 326th Airborne Medical Company of the 101st Airborne Division's Combat Surgical Hospital, was located at the Sprimont crossroads, southwest of Bastogne on December 19, 1944. On this "Day 4" of the Bulge and again during the night, the area was attacked by troops of the 116th Panzer Grenadiers. A number of medical vehicles carrying wounded were set afire:

Blood curdling screams were heard coming from the burning vehicles... The German officer told Capt. Van Gorder to select a soldier and go with one German soldier to the burning vehicles and try to rescue the trapped men… The German soldier (and Natalle) could not get closer than 50 yards from the blazing vehicles. Both soldiers returned to the officers…(Later this writer was assigned to drive one of the 2½ ton, 4x4 trucks carrying wounded. So with a German soldier beside me we pulled away from the site of capture, headed toward Germany and fearful of what lay ahead… It would take 12 days before some of us arrived at our first German prisoner of war camp - Stalag IV-B near Hulhberg.

10 January 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

10 January, 1945        1110

Wilma, darling –

I guess I’m writing more V-mails than either you or I like – but at the present time, it just can’t be helped, dear. I’d rather write one of these and make sure it gets out than to take a chance on a regular letter which I don’t think I could finish. I’m writing this – as I did yesterday – in anything but a comfortable or leisurely set-up, sweetheart.

The snowing has finally stopped – but I’ll be damned if it’s cleared up yet. Just gray skies, cold wind and low clouds. This has been a mean month so far. Last evening I went over to visit Baker Battery and got tied up – and didn’t return until 0045 this morning. So I’m a little bit tired this a.m. – but there’s lots to do.

No mail for a couple of days but maybe today. No shower or bath now for about 3 weeks and believe – that’s getting to be annoying – but again – not a damn thing to do about it. Enough about our troubles, darling. Aside from everything else, I’m feeling fine, eating well and as if you didn’t know – missing you more and more. Will try to write tomorrow, sweetheart. For now, so long, love to the folks and

My deepest love

Greg

Route of the Question Mark


[CLICK TO ENLARGE]

(A) Aisne to (B) Chêne Al Pierre (8 miles) to (C) Verleumont
(11 miles) 2 January - 10 January 1944

January 10...Chene al Pierre. All the snow and cold weather were concentrated in the two weeks that we were here, and we really hit rock bottom. We stayed as close to our stoves as possible, but we froze our feet anyway. The Battery split up, and part of it went to Verleumont, ten miles away...lived in barns and stables and were isolated by a blizzard from the rest of us. We received our sleeping bags here, and not a moment too soon. The Communications section nearly went insane trying to keep thirty miles of wire in working condition.

On a Wrecked Half-Track Stringing Communication Wires

* TIDBIT *

about Medics in the Bulge
Part 1

The following information is excerpted from a page posted by the Belgium-based "Center of Research and Information about the Battle of the Ardennes" (C.R.I.B.A.)", which was referenced in the February, 2006 issue of "The Bulge Bugle", Volume XXV, Number 1, containing "Medics in the Bulge," by Ralph Storm.

Usually the most difficult part of medical evacuation was in getting patients from the front line to aid stations. Keith Winston of the 100th Division medics in his V-Mail Letters of a Combat Medic wrote how it was done under ideal conditions:

A boy gets hurt on the line. Within a minute or less a telephone message is sent back to our forward aid station, a distance of 300 to 1000 yards from the front, where a Sergeant and four litter bearers are always on hand. They rush right up to the line with a litter.

During this time, the company aid man is administrating first aid on the spot... usually consisting of stopping the bleeding with sulfanilamide powder externally, bandaging and giving wound pills internally. By that time, another litter team is there and carries the casualty to the nearest point where a jeep can travel... anywhere from 25 to 300 yards, depending on conditions.

The boy is then rushed to the aid station, one to three miles behind the line. Here the physician removes the first aid bandage, makes a proper diagnosis, applies a more permanent bandage, administers blood plasma if needed, and in severe case, gives morphine... Next the boy is rushed by ambulance to a clearing station farther to the rear. Here he may be given an emergency operation. Then the casualty is taken by ambulance to an evacuation hospital further back where first class attention is administered.

One issue concerning seriously wounded soldiers was whether some should be sent back to the States on hospital ships. General George Patton had a somewhat unsympathetic answer to this question:

If you have two wounded soldiers, one with a gunshot wound of the lung, and another with an arm or leg blown off, you save the son-of-the-bitch with the lung wound and let the goddamn son-of-the-bitch with an amputee arm or leg go to hell. He is no goddamn use to us any more.

The Aid Station

Temporary Aid Station, Belgium, January 1945

The aid stations had no beds and were equipped only with bare essentials. After patients were diagnosed and treated, information was jotted down on a card which was attached to a button hole in the patient's coat.

Litter carrying was hard, exhausting work and often only two bearers were on hand. Glenn Ghrist Jr., of 32nd Battalion, 3rd Armored Division Medics recalled carrying wounded GIs near Sart, Belgium:

It was cold as hell… some of us survived the cold. A Captain Duffy and I volunteered to get some wounded soldiers from a field which was under artillery fire, etc. We had to wade a small river or creek to get these two soldiers and bring them to the Jeep. We carried them on our shoulders, sometimes crawling, sometimes running to get the hell out of there.

Glenn had been wounded earlier at the Falaise Gap in France, and was wounded again at Sart, Belgium. Glenn, on occasion, rode in a tank in which the tankers called him "Doc".

It was not unusual for battalion surgeons to sometimes act as litter bearers. Keith Winston wrote of his unit's being short of litter bearers in emergencies:

If an emergency arises your position means nothing. If it calls for five liter teams immediately, Doc and I will go up and haul. He and I were doing it one day with no facilities at all.

Gilbert Lueck of the 26th Infantry division medics recalled a night when he and the battalion commander carried out a badly wounded lieutenant. It was after darkness had fallen, and Gil was bedded down in his slit trench several hundred yards behind the front when he heard a Jeep pull up nearby and a familiar voice call out, "Medic, medic!" Gil had heard that voice before. It was the battalion commander and Gil had gotten into a heated argument with him once in the states. Gil recalled how the CO had chewed him out. Gil was thirty-one when he was drafted and not easily intimidated by higher ranks. Gil stood up and called out, "Here sir!" The Colonel described the situation as they climbed into his Jeep. They drove to a nearby village and eventually found the injured lieutenant lying next to a manure pile. They placed their casualty on the Jeep and drove him to the aid station. For Gil it was a routine event until several weeks later he was summoned to the battalion headquarters where he was awarded a Bronze star.

09 January 1945

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

9 January, 1945        1100

Hello Sweetheart –

I know you worry when you don’t hear so I’m trying my darndest to get some kind of letter out to you each day, dear – but sometimes it’s difficult – not always because of the time element, but more often now because of the conditions, environment, weather – need I go on?

It snowed like all get out yesterday. As a matter of fact, counting today – it’s the third day of snow and it’s more than I’ve seen for 2 winters. Last winter in England – there was practically no snow at all, and the winter before that we were South on maneuvers. It looks as if we’ll get our fill of it this winter though. But we’re doing all right and heading back steadily, if slowly, in the right direction – so don’t be discouraged, darling, and don’t worry, because I’m taking good care of myself.

All for now, sweetheart, except to remind you that – snow, rain and ice – make no difference. I still love only you. My love to the folks – and so long

All my love, dear

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the Continuing Counter-Offensive

From "U.S. Army in WWII European Theater of Operations: The Last Offensive" by Charles B. MacDonald for the Department of the Army's Office of the Chief of Military History, page 31, published in 1973 in Washington, D.C. comes this excerpt:

Near the end of the first week, on 8 January, Hitler at last authorized a withdrawal, not all the way back to a line anchored on Houffalize as General von Manteuffel had urged but only out of the extreme tip of the bulge to a line anchored on a great eastward loop of the Ourthe River some five miles west of Houffalize. Because of the point at which Hitler drew the withdrawal line, only a few troops of the Sixth Panzer Army, those on the extreme west wing near La Roche, were involved. Those authorized to withdraw were mainly contingents of the Fifth Panzer Army facing the British and the U.S. VIII Corps west of Bastogne.

While the units of the Sixth Panzer Army were to continue to hold, Dietrich's headquarters was to pull out, gradually relinquishing control to the Fifth Panzer Army. Thereupon, the two SS panzer corps headquarters and four SS panzer divisions that originally had belonged to the Sixth Panzer Army were to join Dietrich's headquarters in the rear near St. Vith, there to form a reserve to guard against attacks near the base of the bulge. This was, in effect, tacit admission - Hitler's first - that the Ardennes counteroffensive had failed utterly.

Reflecting the withdrawal, resistance on the right wing of the VII Corps gradually slackened. The fight was as dogged as ever on the other wing, where in deference to marshy ground and an impoverished roadnet leading to the final objectives on the southeastern slopes of the Plateau des Tailles, the 83d Division on 9 January 1945 assumed the assault role on the left wing of the VII Corps. It took the infantry two days to break into and clear a village south of the La Roche-Salmchâteau highway and another day to beat off counterattacks. Not until forcibly rooted out would the Germans budge from any position.

The 84th Infantry Division was given the right half of the zone. As far as the La Roche Road, the 333rd Infantry had advanced with relative ease. Once beyond the road, it ran into much more trouble. In Les Tailles and at the edge of the woods to the south, an estimated enemy battalion was dug in. On the other side of the Houffalize Road, an estimated reinforced company was holding Petites Tailles. The 2nd Battalion went out from the La Roche Road to Les Tailles, the 1st Battalion to Petites Tailles. The experiences of both were significantly similar.

84th Infantry Medics carry 333rd wounded,
some on litters over the hood

At the same time, the 82d Airborne Division had the job of protecting the left flank of the VII Corps. To do this, the airborne division was to press forward to the line of the Salm River. Assisted by an attached separate regiment, the 517th Parachute Infantry, the airborne division had jumped off along with the VII Corps on 3 January. Like the armored divisions, the paratroopers and glidermen had met resistance immediately from the weather, the terrain, and, to a lesser extent, the enemy. Close alongside the boundary with the VII Corps, the 517th Parachute Infantry had made only limited progress until it turned abruptly on 7 January to take the enemy in flank. The next day the paratroopers drove all Germans before them east of the Salm and sent patrols to range as far as two miles beyond the river. On the 9th they established a small bridgehead across the Salm to be used as a stepping stone when the offensive turned in the direction of St. Vith.

08 January 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

8 January, 1945        1300

My own darling –

I got your letter of 26 December late yesterday afternoon and I read it over and over again. You were blue, you were sad, you were romantic, sentimental. You were sweet, poignant; you were a woman. I always felt you loved me, sweetheart, before I left and more so after I came overseas. But never before have you expressed yourself so clearly, so warmly, so affectionately. You put me at a loss for words to adequately describe to you my feelings on reading that letter. I thought I had powers of expression, darling, but I don’t see how I could possibly do as well as you.

Sweetheart – you ask me to put aside any hesitation I might have about writing you a sentimental letter. Do you catch any sentiment in my letters at all or do I hide it too well? Every hour, every day – I’m filled with sentiment, and thought and love for you. It becomes so aggravating I lose my civility. I want to write you, to tell you all the things that run through my mind – and I stop; I become matter of fact, tell you some of my activities and let it go at that. I tell myself then what a good soldier I am.

I suppose I am, but it hurt me to read your letter asking me to tell you I love you, I miss you. It makes me feel I haven’t been a very good fiancé – when all the while my longing for you and my heartache that we must be apart are enough to drive me mad at times, enough to make me want to do almost anything to get out of here and back to you where I belong. Each hour, each day is interminable for me away from you; I’m so jealous of time I become morbid over it. I see a cloudy sky and realize the war is thus delayed another day and I’m miserable. I’m not the happy-go-lucky fellow I once was, darling, not by a long shot. I can’t be – although my nature is such. I see you in everything I do and seeing you I want you and not having you is frustrating to the point of agony. Lonely? How can a fellow become lonely with thousands of soldiers about him, with things popping around him – and I’m lonely, so terribly lonesome at times, so more lonesome than I’ve ever been before, darling – lonesome for you and your love and warmth and affection and intimacy; lonesome for you and you alone darling. I want you, I want us to be together, alone as man and wife, living as we should be living, dear – not in this strange way, waiting anxiously for letters, thinking into the dimming past about the few precious months we had together. I can sit by the hour and think about those times, about how I came to love you, how I was fighting against the time I had to leave and angry with fate because I hadn’t quite enough time to ask you to be my fiancée. I knew then how I felt, but I wouldn’t let myself, you or anyone else say or think I had tied you down at the last moment. I wanted time to dignify our engagement, and it did. But not before I worried about it, wondered what would happen, asked myself if I were going to lose you after having found you – the girl I wanted as my wife. Those were trying months, too, sweetheart. And then when we did become engaged – it was chagrin all over again at my not being able to see you, feel you, kiss you and tell you the things I felt in my heart and only partially said because I knew that we could take it better that way, that we could learn to miss each other more easily.

And what do you suppose combat has been like? You can read a lot about it in the papers – but you can’t find out what I’ve felt and experienced – not in the horrors of war, but in what goes thru a fellow’s mind when he’s in love and wants to get back to the one he loves – whole and sound as he left –

Sweetheart – believe me when I write that I believe the way I’ve written in the past is best for both of us. You must know in a hundred different ways that no one in this world means as much to me as you, that I love you as I’ve loved no one before, that my one goal is to marry you and make you happier than you’ve ever been before in your life. Have faith, darling, and patience – and when the time comes we’ll be the happiest, luckiest, most in-love couple in the world. Remember ever and always – that I love you deeply, sincerely, faithfully – and that now and always I’m

Completely yours,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the "Blunted Spear"

The following article, titled "Blunted Spear", comes from TIME magazine, January 8, 1945, Vol. XLV No. 2, giving a review of the Bulge so far. The photos are from various places on the internet.

The battlefield east of Celles was a white silence, darkly blotched with corpses and wreckage. At Celles, three miles short of the Meuse River, the German spearhead which had reached 50 miles into Belgium was blunted and turned back.

CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES

2nd Panzer Division near Celles, Belgium - December 1944

When Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt's advanced forces reached Celles they were jumped by First Army tanks, artillery and infantry, aided by U.S. and British planes. The enemy lost 63 tanks, 49 guns, 177 vehicles, 1,200 prisoners, uncounted dead. Then, in a wild two-day battle the German remnants were driven back to Rochefort.

Rocks in the Stream. The German drive had already been slowed down by the heroic stand of the 101st Airborne at Bastogne (see below), which confined Rundstedt's columns to secondary roads north and south of the town. The 82nd Airborne had put up a fierce defense around Stavelot, the 7th Armored between Saint-Vith and Vielsalm, the 1st Infantry at the north shoulder of the salient below Monschau, and the 4th Infantry at the south shoulder, around Echternach. The two infantry outfits had prevented Rundstedt from widening the salient's base. They were pegs that did not pull out.

In the path of the Germans, U.S. troops died with knives clenched in their fists, having run out of ammunition. Others, bypassed and trapped, lived for days on raw potatoes. The situation looked bad when the two German prongs merged in one bulge. It seemed the enemy might reach the great sweep of the Meuse from Liège to Sedan,dig in behind the river.

In the early days of the attack, General Eisenhower had hustled to a headquarters at Verdun, conferred with his top generals. In 15 minutes he had appraised the scope and probable aims of the push, taken his decisions, issued his orders. First Army reserves bore down from the north, compressed the salient's right flank, recaptured Grandmenil and Manhay. On the south, General Patton's armor blasted a corridor to Bastogne, pushed on to the north and then west to encircle the German tip south of Saint-Hubert. Patton also broadened his attacking front all the way east to Echternach.

Manhay Crossroads

Shrinking Salient. Last week Patton's wedge was only 13 miles from the First Army dents in the north. The German position was something like that in the Falaise-Argentan pincers of last summer. Could the Germans get out? It was well to remember that last summer, when the Wehrmacht was less ably commanded than it is now, the Germans who had seemed hopelessly bottled in the Falaise trap were able to extricate five divisions of armor almost intact. If Rundstedt was content with the delay and damage already wrought against his foes in the west, he might be able to pull back to the West Wall without serious loss.

Up to this week, however, he gave no sign of preparing such a move. His salient was contracting, but it was shrinking around a hard armored shell—in which he might be regrouping for another thrust at Liège, main Allied rear base for the Aachen-Cologne sector. The first heavy German blow in four days was an assault by three divisions on the Bastogne corridor.