| Remembering the Price of Freedom |
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| My first combat experiences occurred in late December 1944. It was as rifleman in the 193rd Glider Infantry Regiment of the 17th Airborne Division. Our first assignment was to defend the perimeter area around Bastogne. This was immediately after the Nazis commenced their Ardennes Offensive, called the Battle of the Bulge. There had been much previous combat in the area and there were numerous dead bodies of young soldiers, both American and German, lying around, and all were frozen stiff. |
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| As we dug in our foxholes, the burial patrol made their way into the area and began loading the frozen bodies into two separate military open trucks. One was for the American bodies and the second for the Germans. I watched them stacked like rail ties, one on top of the other. This was my first emotional experience with the real trauma of combat. I was a very naïve North Dakota farm boy and this sight affected me greatly. Those young German corpses I saw resembled the German and Ukrainian lads I had grown up with near Benedict, North Dakota. I had no desire to kill them or destroy them. I was not raised that way. |
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| But I knew that I had to condition myself to the task that was obviously ahead of us. |
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| I walked up to one of the dead German stiffs and looked at him for some time. He was young, tall, blond, and handsome. I was supposed to hate him and destroy his comrades.I felt a need to do something to build up my hate. I went over and kicked this corpse. I was proving to myself that I could destroy him. He was my enemy. This was war. |
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| On January 7, 1945, we made our first offensive attack. Prior to that time we were in a holding position. The weather was horrible. About a foot of snow was on the ground and a big blizzard was blowing in our face. We had no air or artillery support. We were to continue the offensive to the north and west in a pincher movement to reach the British, Canadian and American troops moving toward us. Our goal was to cut off the large number of German troops that advanced too far and were retreating. This had been the last hope of Hitler and the Nazis. We encountered a terrific barrage from their tanks and artillery. They were fighting to get back at all costs. Our objective was to capture a high-forested hill before nightfall. The Germans, meanwhile, were defending their path for a retreat back to the homeland. |
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| About five minutes before the time for attack, as we were moving forward, our platoon runner tripped over a wire for a "bouncing Betty" booby trap. He fell forward escaping serious injury, but my platoon sergeant, my squad leader and another assistant squad leader were severely injured. Our mortar squad leader was killed. We had 55 soldiers in our oversized platoon, made up of three rifle squads and a mortar squad. Five were taken out of action in that initial incident. |
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| This, of course, alerted the enemy and no surprise attack occurred, even though this was a half-hour before daylight. The Germans threw everything at us and I soon learned what damage the German 88mm cannon could do. After a couple hours of devastating artillery fire, we finally were able to move forward the 300 to 500 yards to the top of the hill and enter the wooded area. The Germans were in no mood to surrender or to retreat. Instead they threw all the firepower they could muster at us. This was no picnic. I was scared to near panic, but I had an absolute desire to survive. |
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| A young farm boy from Kansas was in my squad. He was petrified of getting into combat. I shared a foxhole with this man, Garald Tidball, the night before our jump-off. We had been alerted and knew that the time had come. Tidball kept repeating, "I know I am going to be killed." He had often said earlier that he knew he would be killed when we entered combat. Shortly after we entered the wooded area, Tidball and I were lying side by side behind a high mound. Artillery was being hailed at us. I could see that it was being calibrated in our direction and I said, "Tidball, let's get out of here." To this Tindball responded that one place was as good as another. I moved about 50 yards. Tidball didn't. The next barrage came in and one warhead landed between where our heads were resting. The right half of his face was completely torn away. He died instantly. This happened just three of four hours after we first entered combat. |
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| The Germans were not to be denied. They recaptured the area. We were forced out without attaining our objective. As I was retreating in the general direction of our entry, I encountered a good friend, Ed Morgenstern, in an upright position leaning against a tree. He was pale and in shock. Morgenstern had been with me while attending engineering classes at Massachusetts Institute of Technology in an earlier part of my military life. As I approached Ed, he pleaded, "Lynn, help me, I have been wounded." I could not help him and had to continue my retreat. For many years afterward, those words haunted me, and I thought he did not make it. Fortunately, a medic truck was able to rescue him. Beverly (my wife) and I met Ed again in 1998 at a 17th Airborne Division reunion in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania and, it was a thrilling moment in my life. |
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| Shortly thereafter, as I was moving into the open as dusk was setting in, a machine gun opened fire. It was less than 100 yards away. I dived to the ground. An 18 year old soldier who joined us just two weeks before was following me. His name was James Miller. Jim also hit the ground. After the machine gun burst stopped, Miller jumped up to move forward. As he moved ahead of me a barrage of machine gun bullets hit him. He fell just three to four steps ahead of me. He was dead. |
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| The Krauts knew I was there and tried to reach me with their machine guns. As it was getting darker, the tracer bullets were ricocheting off the frozen ground and just skimming over my shoulder and neck as I had it turned to watch. They must have fired 100 to 200 bullets with the tracers just a few inches above my head and shoulder. |
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I was pinned down for several hours. A snowstorm developed and I was able to escape. Surrender never crossed my mind. I remained behind the lines and finally returned to my unit the following evening after midnight. I returned to the position of the 101st Airborne Division, exhausted, soaking wet, and cold, finding a foxhole with Americans in it. The two men in the foxhole protected me until daylight when I was able to return to my unit. My unit had given up on me along with about one-third of our company.
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| For about 45 days we continued on the front lines. The winter was horrible, reputed to be the worst on record. |
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By mid-February 1945, we were walking in snow more than knee deep. We were cold, hungry and wet. We were pushing the enemy to the Siegfried Line. Digging a new foxhole about every other night, I recall sleeping inside a building only twice. One was in a Belgian barn attached to a house. Another two nights we slept on the floor in an old beat-up building in a hollow. High above us and to our immediate rear was a battery of large artillery, about 240mm firing all night.We received the muzzle blast all night long and our ears rang for days.
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| About every two weeks we received new underwear. Because it was so cold we merely put the new ones on the inside. At one time I had 3 pairs of long underwear and 2 pair of trousers on to keep warm. Then we got severe dysentery. You can imagine the problems we encountered. We never shaved, washed or brushed our teeth for about 45 days. We ate mostly K-rations and were always hungry. |
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| About February 25, 1945, we were given notice to pull off the line to retreat to the rear. My platoon had 55 soldiers when we entered on January 7th. On February 25, five of us walked out. It was Semington, Madoni, Mynx, Elzey and I. The rest were wounded, killed or gone because of frozen limbs or illness. |
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| Our 193rd Regiment was so destroyed that we were merged into the 194th Glider Regiment and added an equal number of replacements. We were shipped back to the Reims area of France to reorganize for the airborne crossing of the Rhine. |
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| Source: Joseph H. Quade, Letter to the webmaster April 28, 2010 |
