History - 49th A.I.B. - Headquarters Company
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(Pages 82-84)

Sibbe, Holland -- The first meeting we had with the hospitable and generous Hollanders. V-bombs and artillery Hashes in the night sky, evenings listening to American music over the 'wireless', drinking coffee and eating fried apple turnovers or maybe an egg with crisp waffles -- overshoes left outside the door, stuffed animals decorating the home-like rooms, and days spent with more wondering and readying. It rained. Besides oozes of mud, we picked up four 'new' men to fill out our platoon -- Maniace (pronounced: Man Ace), Leithleiter, Manfredi and Leap (pronuonced: Leap). The very first day that they were with us we learned, keep it under your hat, that Sammy Maniace's father was a BTO back home. Yes, 'tis true for Sam told us himself. And how about that trip we made through the awesome caves in Valkenburg? -- in the dim light of the caverns, our own Lt. 'Spook' Kellner was really 'spookin'. He got more bruises and bumps from walking through exits that actually weren't there (vision 20 - 500). It was only after several false starts and more of the ever-present rumors ala Lt. 'Good luck to you' Kellner that we at last said, 'So Long', to our Dutch benefactors and moved to --

The Roer River -- Where the platoon set up defensive positions as a precaution against kraut patrols from their main lines on the east bank of the river. It was the northern pivot point of the vaunted Siegfried and the days were all to short while the nights seemed an eternity. Here was the damp chill of the bottom-land and the black of a moonless sky that made a shift of two hours behind the guns a pandemonium of eyestrain and nervous tension, but with the eventual daybreak would come something at which to laugh and relax. For instance, 'Demolition school' Bailey became a dynamite fiend -- attaching charges to any and all trees in the vicinity and watching them blow down -- purpose, he explained, to make a field of fire! Then the rustle of grass and the pad of approaching footsteps, at which Lt. 'I got 'em' Kellner fired eight rounds from his rifle plus tossing a couple of hand grenades -- come the dawn and the cows were peacefully grazing in their unscathed innocence. Seitz and Batina spent their spare hours stringing trip wires and setting booby traps until it was a risk of life and limb, even for us, to go to the gun or sanitary positions. Sgt. Pepi's section was nearly over-run by our artillery as it blasted in their very ears and Whitson loosed a shot at a solid pile of mines which vanished midst a roar like some newly unleashed secret weapon. One morning we awoke to the steady whine of departing shells overhead -- the great allied offensive was on for the Rhineland and we were sucked into the tide for our first taste of real fighting, bitter fighting, unrelenting fighting. For us this was 'IT' --

Over the Roer -- Other pages have furnished the graphic detail and other conversations have filled the need for talk of actual battle. We remember, in addition, the filled cellars of the 'starving' Germans and the smell of their eggs and ham being fried at some brief stop, the milk still warm on the kitchen stoves and the tables set for a meal that wouldn't be eaten, the taste of 'Italian red wine' and 'French'~ champagne, Henegar and Culp, washing clothes that, never were hung out for weeks, the coming of Evans to the platoon while we were in Aldekirk the same indefinable odor of every German home. Bertolino earning the award of the Bronze Star for aiding a wounded soldier under fire -- Bailey counting his most fortunate day; shrapnel pierced his jacket and lodged in his field glasses slung around his neck, while he received nary a scratch -- Shepardson finding it difficult to carry Kerzner and his radio. Almost the entire platoon flattened (and we do mean flattened) themselves into a closet-like cellar when strafed by a plane, but Sgt. Lauterbach and C. W. Connelly had the resort to earnest prayer for they could get no more than an eyelash into the place. Sgt. J. J. Conelly was joined by the remainder of the platoon in his inspection of the underside of a sheltering tank. Yes, there were close shaves aplenty and they were closer than any shave that McDonald, the platoon barber, could ever produce. For once no complaints when we trekked back to --

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Venlo, Holland -- For a well-earned rest and a hearty welcome from people who knew hunger, oppression, bombing and, at last, liberation. Here there were women that you could talk to -- some young, ask 'Casanova' Bailey --some well built, ask 'Radar' Whitson -- some liked music, ask Bill 'You sing for me tonight' Bock (Vaughn Monroe the second) -- but all were friendly and could wash clothes. It was in Venlo (correct me if I'm wrong) that those platoon diplomats, Napples and Bigbey, inaugurated the lend-lease plan in the kitchen. They accepted the offer of the Dutch kids to lend them a hand in washing pots and pans and even in peeling spuds -- for which 'Nape' and 'Big-un' leased them several sticks of gum. John Bertolino, intimately called 'Johnny' by his Holland admirers, was a prime favorite because of the shiny silk topper he had rescued from Germany -- quite a lid for a junkman. But like all good things our stay was ended and too soon for all we were off --

Over the Rhine -- The encircling of the enemy was under way and it was stop and start, rain and sunshine, thrills and chills, for things happened fast in our dash toward a junction with the First Army. Here, near Paderborn, we suffered the loss of an old buddy, Joe Meyer, whose passing was felt by all for he was a close friend to every man in the company. Napples and Gold were along on the party that played tag with a German 20 mm., that wasn't joy they were trembling with when they finally crawled away, either! Then there was the morning that the radio hummed with our call sign, 'Cleaver, Cleaver you are out too far!' So in frantic haste we pulled into 'rear echelon' and found it was all a mistake. And it was somewhere along here that Lt. 'I don't want anybody going out there' Kellner and Levi 'Bodyguard' Michaud went to get an alleged kraut pistol from a haystack in the middle of an open field. Curiosity (or was it greed?) just about got the best of them when a shower of mortar shells introduced them to the advantages of mother earth. Holding their breaths and with heart in hand they crept and crawled, per the manual, several hundred yards back to safety. P.S. There was no pistol there to start with. Alter having a few A P shells miss the tracks by the proverbial hair, we found the 'Rose' (Ruhr) pocket was kaput and it was eastward once more.

We stopped at Derenburg to protect the flanks of the front companies and once more the guns were dug in and the 'two on four off' shifts prevailed. A few of the boys stayed in a box-car, some were in a windy hall-way and headquarters section made their home in the track where their morale was bolstered by the frequent calls over the radio by Lt. 'Wash tash neish' Kellner. Then the west side of the Elbe river was secured by our forces and we moved on towards the east to await the approaching VE day.

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Rubeland, Germany -- Here in the cold, but beautiful, Harz mountains, we spent a busy time scouring the soldier-infested woods and each day saw the bag increase. The catch to the deal was that then we had to guard the prisoners until 'higher Hdqs.' would come and haul them away. One dark night Batina and Seitz were searching two 'civilians' when suddenly one of them produced a pistol from his sleeve in true 'gangland' style and said in perfect English 'Hands up!' Now if he had said, 'Reach' or 'Hoist 'em', Batina, upon looking down the business end of the pistol, might have done quite differently; but, being fearless and maybe a little nervous, he reacted instinctively and quickly knocked the gun aside (it discharged into the air) and with his other fist landed a good right hook: This started an all out affair, but by this time Seitz had his wits generating and at the first opportunity let fly with his carbine and it was all over.

Then there were the two lovely (?) creatures that walked into C. W. Connely's room in the 'Hotel Grune Tanne' (Charles wasn't there so he was entirely innocent). Sgt. Pepi got a bang out of his work while here for he completely renovated the town's air-conditioning. That was one hell of a blast and when the bricks quit toppling and the glass quit falling, everyone came out their stills winging doors to see what these 'crazy' Americans were doing now. It was just Pepi destroying ammunition and dynamite and hoping that the government insurance was a good investment. From Riibeland we went back to school in --

Uslar, Germany -- For our billets were a former grade school. The war in Europe was over and our time was spent with a few classes, maintenance work, recreation, and scouting and patrolling. We consistently defeated the company in any and all sports and the boys held their own in the 'night problems'. We left the British occupational zone and it was southward to --

Rokyzany, Czechoslovakia -- Here we are waiting our ultimate redeployment and the future is still not too certain, but at this writing the platoon's days are numbered. Yes, we are going to be spread throughout the army, mostly to replace men who have seen and done much more than we, but no matter where we go or what we do we will all remember the comradeship, the laughs, the blood, sweat, and tears of being the MG Platoon, Headquarters Company, 49th Armored Infantry Battalion, 8th Armored Division.

'Let these sacrifices not be in vain, but let the events of the recent past be stepping-stones to a peaceful future for you, your loved ones, your home, and your country."



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