Chapter 7 - Holland and Combat

On the first of February the 8th Armored was transferred to the Ninth Army which was fighting in Holland and Germany. On February second we headed north from Pont-a-Mousson for Holland. The first afternoon we traveled through northeast France and passed into Luxembourg, which we passed through during the night. We were traveling just west of the front lines and; therefore, were traveling without headlights. A tank had inserted itself into the column between the machine gun squad's half-track and the mortar squad's half-track and stayed there all night. I'm not sure that his brakes were working, because every time we stopped the tank came rumbling up until the muzzle of its 76 mm gun was just above the back of the track and I could look up and see it silhouetted against the night sky. None of us got much sleep that night because every half-hour or so we damn near got mashed by the tank. By the next day we were traveling through Belgium and into the southern most tip of Holland. The evening of the second day we passed through Maastrich over a bridge that had a lot of rework done on it by the engineers. We moved through Maastrich to a small town to the northeast of the city called Cadier-en-Keer and about 4 AM the next morning were assigned a place to park our half-track. There were several other half-tracks parked in the block and I was assigned guard duty for the rest of the night.

About 5:30 in the morning a girl of about seventeen came up to me and asked if I would like a cup of coffee. The girl was very pretty and I was surprised to see her out on the street at that hour. I told her that I was on guard duty but when I was relieved in a half-hour I would love to have a cup of hot coffee. She pointed to the front door of a house just a few feet up the street and told me to come to the door when I could. This was the beginning of one of the most pleasant periods that I experienced when I was overseas. As soon as I was relieved from guard duty I told Balestrucci that I wanted a to get a cup of coffee and that I would be gone for a few minutes. I walked down to the door and knocked and the door was soon opened by a Dutch woman of about 40 years in age who invited me in. I was welcomed into the home of the Ackermans. The room I entered had a large kitchen with a stove in the center that was radiating heat into the room and was offered a cup of hot coffee. The family consisted of a mother, father, grandmother, three sons and seven girls. All the sons were older and helped their father run a flourmill. The seven girls ranged in age from about four to Jeanette, the lovely young lady whom I had met on the street. Soon this friendly family had invited the whole squad to share their home and adjacent barn. All of the children had tasks assigned to them and even the little four-year-old had a job of polishing the stove and keeping it clean. During the evenings all of us who were free of duty would gather in the kitchen and talk. Little Al spoke German, which was similar to Dutch, and the grandmother started teaching him Dutch. She would explain a word and ask him to pronounce it. She would then convulse in laughter at his attempts. We helped provide what food and coffee we could and it was shared by all of us in the form of evening coffee and desert. The squad all ate at the company mess hall which had been set up in a stable several blocks from the squads billeting area.

The weather had warmed up significantly during the first week of February and we started serious marches and tactics training during the day. We also were told to scrub off the white paint we had applied to our half-track while in France. Because of the losses of infantry officers and men during the Ardennes campaign two of my company were offered the chance to go to OCS which had been set up in France. I was only given a day to think about it. I decided that I would rather go into combat with the people I knew and I wasn't sure of what my obligations to the army would be after the war was over. I wanted to return to school as soon as I could. In addition, when I considered the maturity and wisdom of my Father, who had retired as a Major of the USMC after thirty five years as both an enlisted man and officer, I didn't think I was experienced enough to under take the leadership of fifty men in combat. This latter concern turned out to be unfounded as later experience showed. The other man accepted the offer and we didn't see him again until after the war in the ETO was over. He visited the company and then reported to another outfit for duty and I never heard what his assignment was or what happened to him.

Our squad was brought up to strength by the addition of Russell Pillott. The squad now was organized as follows. Squad leader, Balestrucci; assistant squad leader, Urbaniak; first gun gunner, Gibson; assistant gunner; Plessala; ammunition bearer, Andronis; second gun gunner, Drost; assistant gunner, myself; ammunition bearer, Bourget; rifle team, Dieter, Cuteri and Pollit; and finally our driver, Pastewka. Our original squad leader had been relieved of command and transferred to the company headquarters while we were in France. Cliff Tierney had been transferred out because he wasn't husky enough to keep up with the rest of the squad; however, he stayed in the platoon and we saw him often.

I usually slept in the hayloft of the barn along with about half the squad. One morning early I awaken, while flying through the air, by a terrific explosion. I thumped down on the hay and struggled out of my sleeping bag wondering what had happened. I ran down the hay loft steps out into the street. Nothing seemed amiss to the barn or the house and I looked down the street to the north. A big cloud of smoke was rising from an empty field where a V-1 buzz bomb had just landed. Fortunately no one had been hurt. A buzz bomb meant for Maastrich or Amsterdam had fallen short and landed about 250 yards from where I was sleeping.

During this period I was assigned to KP duty with another GI; however, the cooks wouldn't let us do a thing except help with occasional heavy lifting. They did feed us snacks the whole day and we got extra servings at mealtime. It was the last and best KP duty I ever pulled. I probably gained a pound while on KP.

During this two weeks of wonderful duty we were assigned to the XVI Corps, and on the eighteenth of February CCB and CCR were sent north along the Roer River to relieve the British 7th Armored Division, the famous Desert Rats of North African fame.

We said good bye to the Dutch family and loaded into our half-tracks, which had green flags attached to indicate a priority convoy and headed north. At the time the squad didn't know where they were going or how much of the division was going with them. After traveling for about an hour the column halted and we all dismounted and trotted up and down the road warming our feet. Some took the opportunity to relieve themselves. Captain Malarkey, Red Rider to the company because of his red hair, stopped his peep beside the half-track and the mess sergeant served us hot coffee from a five-gallon pot that was on the hood of the peep. "Where are we going" we asked, "and how far is it?" "We going near Roermond to fight with the British Second Army, and it's about another twenty miles. Be on your toes when we get there."

Soon the column edged back onto the concrete road again. The slap of the rubber tracks against the guide rollers and the whir of the bogey wheels against the smooth inside of the tracks soon rose along with the rattle of the armor plate as we gained speed. At any speed higher than ten miles per hour we had to shout at the guy next to you to be heard. An artillery-spotting plane circled over the column as it moved toward Roermond. The highway was straight and level and bisected the angle between the Roer and Maas rivers. The Roer, to the east, had flooded its banks and patches of fog that rose from the inundated fields concealed the ground. About two miles south of Roermond the infantry pulled into an east west line from the Maas on the west to the Roer on the east, a distance of approximately three miles. 'A' company was next the Roer, 'B' company in the middle and 'C' company was next to the Maas. The tanks and artillery were dispersed in the woods and farmhouses south of the infantry.

Company C stopped in the outskirts of a town two miles from Roermond. Between the town and Roermond were several groups of a few houses and a factory set in a large brown field. The highway ran about a mile east of the factory between the small groups of houses on to Roermond, the spires of which could be seen above the mist. A roadblock, manned by several British "Tommies," was across the highway on the north side of town. A large white sign with red and black letters read, " Caution, Enemy 500 yards". The mist drifted slowly across the drab, gray scene and the skies were the same dull slate color from one mist-enshrouded horizon to the other. Our five half-tracks of the second platoon guided by Lt. Elias moved to the north western corner of the town and then turned east and slowly growled and rattled back towards the highway along a slightly sunken road. The only noise was that of the half-tracks as they moved slowly down the cold dirt road to the positions that were assigned by the officers. To the left of the column of tracks was the last row of house along the north side of the village, beyond which was an open field and the enemy. The mist obscured the view across the field giving some security to the movement of our tracks but nothing could silence the low growl of their motors or the rattle of their armor plate. The whole scene was laced with tension as we waited for something to interrupt our actions. We searched the field through the mist for some indication as to what might be in store for us. The only sign of the Germans was the condition of the town. The buildings were freshly crumbled, the plaster and cement having deserted the raw, naked timbers that thrust their splintered ends towards the dismal gray sky. Only our company seemed to live in the damp chill of the afternoon.

We began unloading our weapons and moving towards the houses facing the field. There we met the only other occupants of the town, sixty British infantry from the British Seventh Armored Division. As we moved in the British shoulder their packs and moved south across the road and past the houses on the south side of the road. Several of the British stayed for ten minutes to brief us. There were two hundred and fifty GIs replacing sixty Tommies, so the logical conclusion was that we were going to attack shortly. The Tommies had crossed the African desert under Montgomery and the one I talked to said he hadn't been home in three years. He told us that if we didn't bother the Jerries they wouldn't bother us. Each side ran a few night patrols to keep things straightened out and that was about all. They also pointed out the factory about a mile to the northwest and informed us that they thought that there was a Jerry observation post there. They mentioned that the enemy had mined the field and that it was strung with mined barbed wire. There was a cluster of ten buildings about 250 yards down the road and it was often occupied at night by the Germans. The only other thing to worry about was an occasional artillery shell from across the Roer River. Parallel to the front line and north of it about a half mile was a heavily defended anti-tank ditch running almost from the Mass River to the Roer River. The British then showed us several well concealed fox holes along the fence that separated the field to the north from the back yards of the houses that we had moved into. The Tommies had extensively developed these holes, each having a firing step and a sleeping chamber dug into the side of the hole near the bottom to allow one or two soldiers to stretch out and sleep when off duty. It was suggested that at night we move some men into the holes in order to watch the field. After a cheery good-bye I helped one of the British Tommies get into his God awful heavy field pack. He grabbed his rifle and he staggered off to the south leaving one-inch deep footprints in the ground. I think he had every thing but the kitchen sink in the pack or tide to it. I noticed two mortar shells and several pots and pans tied to the back of his pack. I think it must have weighed over one hundred pounds. We were left in nervous possession of our first front line position.

My squad began exploring the building into which we had moved. In the vaulted cellar were three bedsprings, a chair, and a box with a candle waxed to its center. A window at the peak of the arch looked out at ground level across the sunken road to the barn in which our half-track was concealed. The cellar steps led up to a kitchen equipped with a wood burning stove and a table. Everything was covered with a coating of plaster dust and chips.

The three other rooms of the house contained a shambles of household articles and more plaster dust and chips. The "L" shaped barn that was attached to the house formed a courtyard that faced the road and was concealed from the enemy across the field. On the field side of the barn were several windows through which we could see the field, the few houses to the north and the factory to the northwest. We set up one of our light machine guns in the barn. The gun was placed on a table back from the window so that the shadows of the barn interior prevented a chance metallic gleam from revealing its position. Above the gun a plank and chair had been placed so that the field could be observed through a shell hole in the barn roof. With a pair of binoculars the whole field could be searched for movement, of which there was none.

While we were unpacking the half-track and arranging our gear in the cellar we experienced the first reaction of the Germans to our arrival. I was just leaving the barn that housed our track, Rocco was manning the observation chair in the barn and the rest of the squad was in the house. A series of muffled explosions came from across the Roer River, a shrill whine, which increased in volume, came from the mist, and then the whole town seemed to be engulfed in sharp explosions. I was in the middle of the road between the track and the house when I first heard the whine and I dived for the drainage ditch along the side of the road. Several shells landed just behind the barn I had just left. There was another series of muffled explosions from across the Roer and I made a headlong dash for the house and pitched down the cellar steps just as a shell landed on the crown of the road next to the house. More plaster fell from the ceiling onto us as we sat and waited. After several minutes and no more shelling we cautiously climbed the stairs and then ran to the barn to check on Rocco. When the first shells had come screaming over, Rocco had jumped from his perch to the floor, a drop of about fifteen feet, and then plunged headfirst into a potato bin. When we reached him he was still checking his arms and legs. However, he was unhurt and we all congratulated him on his first combat jump and his initiation into the paratroopers. As most of the squad moved back to the house the mortar squad leader, Dominic Zimmaro, came into the courtyard. He was a swarthy fellow of Italian descent. He was holding his canteen and cup up in shaking hands. He asked me to look at what the Germans had done and showed me has canteen with the bottom cleanly excised away. He was such a pale color compared to his usual dark complexion and, though obviously shaken up, he was just as obviously unhurt that I burst out laughing. He yelled 'You son of a bitch you don't have any feelings', flung down the canteen and stalked out of the courtyard. I don't think Dominic ever forgave me for laughing at his canteen yet I still smile when I think of his pale face and shaking hands. I suppose I would feel differently if he had been hurt during the war, but he survived unscathed. We had experienced the first of the intermittent shelling which were to pester us for the next eight days. The company hadn't suffered any casualties from what I think was a barrage of 105mm howitzers.

During the days that followed some of us pulled guard duty in the foxholes at night and returned to the house and barn during the day. We got several hot meals each day which was an experience all its own. The chow line ran down a street that had a barricade at its northwest end. The Germans had positioned a machine gun so that it could almost fire directly down the street and they periodically fired a burst of ten or twenty rounds during our meals. We ducked from door well to door well as we made our way down the chow line. It sure kept us from becoming bored by the wait in line. We learned how to get by on four or five hours of sleep each day. Little Al and I pulled guard with Pop Bouget one night and we found that he snored like a sawmill. To keep him quiet we kept nudging him during the periods when he was trying to sleep so that he wouldn't give our position away. By the time dawn's first light came and we moved back to the house he had been awake nearly the whole night and with the tension of being on guard was exhausted. From then on he was excused from pulling night guard. We found that when on night outpost that, after peering into the darkness for an hour the dim shapes of the night would seem to move, and it was time to momentarily rest your eyes and nudge your buddy to be sure he was awake.

On the fourth night we were in the line we saw our first air raid on Germany. The beams of searchlights and the flashes of bursting shells illuminated the distant skies; but, since the city under attack was on the Rhine River over forty miles away, none of the sounds reached us. We watched hypnotized as plane after plane was hit, burst into flames and fell like a glowing ember against the blue black of the cold clear night. The next night one of the downed pilots, a Canadian, crawled into the field in front of the company. A GI seeing a figure crawling towards him nearly shot him. The GI asked for the password but the pilot didn't respond. The GI yelled " Stick your damn head up and I'll blow it off." That got a response from the Canadian who recognized the American accent and called out who he was. He was wet, tired and hungry, so we fed and warmed him before we sent him to the rear. We wondered how he had made it into the little triangle of land formed by the Roer, the Maas and front lines.

On the sixth day a daylight patrol of about five men was sent out to reconnoiter up the road to Roermond as far as the anti-tank ditch which lay about three hundred yards past the first cluster of houses just north of the town we occupied. Lt. Elias was to lead the patrol and took volunteers from the second platoon's rifle squads. Little Al and I were posted in a foxhole about fifty feet west of the road to give automatic weapons support if necessary. A tank was brought up to the edge of town to lend 75mm cannon support.

The patrol started up the road and got all the way to the cluster of houses, a distance of about two hundred yards with out any opposition, and started out toward the anti-tank ditch. Nothing happened until the reached the ditch and then they received small arms fire and some artillery rounds. They immediately started withdrawing and asked for covering smoke from our artillery. Within a minute smoke shells of all colors started bursting on the ground along the road all the way from the edge of our town to the ditch. It was a surprising display of technicolor. A phosphorus shell landed about ten feet in front of the foxhole that Al and I were in and cascaded white phosphorus all around us. Fortunately none hit us, but it so blinded our view that we couldn't see what was happening and could offer no help to the patrol. They managed under cover of the smoke to make it back without any serious casualties. When coming home I met an artilleryman that remembered the incident and he told me that they got an emergency call for immediate smoke and had fired any thing that emitted smoke that they could grab. This explained the multicolored display and the indiscriminate accuracy.

One night while on guard duty in the foxhole I decided to clean the barrel of the machine gun with a ramrod I had in my pack. I unfortunately got the rod with a cleaning patch stuck in the barrel and pull as I could, I couldn't get it out. There I was with an inoperable gun in the middle of the night. The next morning Big Al grabbed the ramrod and I held the barrel, which we removed from the gun, and after Al pulled me all over the room we got the rod out. I never cleaned a weapon with a ramrod again unless we were off the line. One afternoon when I didn't have any thing to do I heard a tank move up to the north edge of town on the main road to Roermond. I walked over from the squad's house that was less than one hundred feet from the tank to see what was going on. Capt. Malarkey was climbing into the tank and Major Artman the battalion commander was watching. Several GIs were there with mine detectors and the road barricade had been moved to the side of the road. The GI's with the mine detectors started down the road with the tank about fifty feet behind them. The tank moved about ten feet and set off a mine that blew the captain's helmet and the right track of the tank off. Malarkey climbed out of the tank, retrieved his helmet, and swore he'd never ride in a @;**% tank again. They pulled the tank back into town with another tank. That ended that scouting expedition. The minesweeping had started just north of the mine that exploded under the tank and; therefore, it was missed. Fortunately no one was hurt and the tank was salvageable.

During another night I was in the my squad's fox hole when the guys in the next hole whispered that there was a dog moving down the front about fifty feet in front of them. They were discussing what to do and eventually asked me what to do. By this time the dog had moved down in front of my hole and I could barely make him out in the dark. It seemed to me that the dog had been trained and was being used to scout out our positions. As much as I hated doing it I felt that I couldn't let him continue his scouting work and shot him. He let out a yelp and disappeared into the night towards the enemy lines.

On the seventh day the second platoon was told to prepare to take and hold the houses just to the north. That afternoon we gathered behind the last houses in our town. A tank destroyer and tank was brought up to our position to give direct fire support if needed. The other two platoons were deployed along the north side of the town in order to give assistance to us if needed. Everyone was tense because this was the company's first offensive action. The battalion officers had come up to watch the show and they were inspecting the objective with their field glasses. The platoon divided into two columns, one on each side of the road, started up the road at a dogtrot with about three yards between men. We ran around some trees that had been felled across the road as roadblocks and then raced for the houses up the road. I was on the left side of the road about one hundred feet from the lead scouts. As I ran past a spot half way to our objective I noticed a hand grenade lying in the grass. Without thinking I reached down and threw it as far as I could into the field and kept on going. On looking back I don't remember hearing it go off or whether the fuse was burning when I picked it up. Someone could very well have dropped it ahead of me with the safety pin still in place. We quickly passed the houses, occupied them, and foxholes were begun along the northern edge of the houses. There was a railroad running east and west just north of the houses with several long piles of gravel. Some of us moved out the gravel piles and peeked over. Only a barren sugar beet field with piles of beets and the anti-tank ditch was visible between us and the next small village about four hundred yards farther. The rest of the day was spent organizing a defensive position around the houses. At sundown the Germans threw in a few shells to inform us that they knew we were there. The rest of the night passed quietly. At four the next morning the second platoon was pulled back to be replaced by the third platoon. As we assembled, preparatory to moving back, we were told that we had been chosen to lead an attack on Roermond scheduled for three in the morning of the next day, the 26th of February. I think we were picked because Lt. Elias was such an aggressive officer and we had performed well that day.

We were fed, cleaned our weapons and checked our equipment before climbing into our sleeping bags. At sunset we were assembled for a briefing in one of the larger structures in town. A new officer, a first lieutenant, was introduced as the new company executive officer. It was explained that he was a veteran of combat and would explain what we were to do and what our experience might be the next morning. He gave a detailed description of the route we were to take and the positioning of the various elements of the company that would follow us. We were to carry several light wooden bridges with which to span the anti-tank ditch and then we were to swing to the left and attack the factory that overlooked the banks of the Maas River. The rest of the company was to follow and spread out on the right flank after crossing the anti-tank ditch. When fully deployed the company would then begin the direct assault on Roermond. The Seventh Armored Infantry would be in reserve immediately behind, occupying our current position. The attack was to be a diversion for the attack across the Roer to the south. We were to be supported by artillery that would give us a preparatory barrage. We were told to not stop for the wounded since the best thing we could do was to leave them for the medics and to push the Germans back so they could be evacuated without coming under small arms fire. Intelligence reported a single battalion of Germans between Roermond and us. Although slightly outnumbered the Germans had the advantage of being dug in and knowing the terrain on which the battle was to take place. He then asked for questions and I stuck my hand up. "Yes soldier, what's your question," he asked. I asked, "How are we going to be fed." He replied, " God there's one in every crowd. You won't be worrying about eating tomorrow, I assure you." He then turned to Lt. Elias and asked who I was. We were dismissed and told to turn in until called next morning.

At two the next morning we were awakened. We carefully gathered and checked their equipment before moving out onto the road. I was carrying the machine gun on my right shoulder and had my rifle slung over my left shoulder. With my musette bag and all the rest of my equipment I was carrying almost one hundred pounds. As the platoon was assembling, someone mentioned that Piccard of the third platoon had been killed by machine gun fire during the night. This was depressing to us since most of us knew him and as yet we hadn't grown accustomed to the announcement of casualties. Piccard was the company's first fatality due to direct enemy action. Forming into a column of twos, with the first platoon immediately behind, we moved forward to the third platoon's position in the group of houses that we had taken the previous day. The third platoon withdrew from their position and formed up behind us. The headquarters platoon took over the location that the third platoon had moved out of. The anti-tank gun moved up and placed their 57mm guns to cover the road in case the Germans mounted a counter attack down the road.

It was three in the morning, the sky was overcast and the air was cold and damp. We huddled down in the ditches along the road and waited. We were shaking with the damp cold and nervousness. Hushed whispers could be heard up and down the line. We checked our weapons and wondered about the complete silence that hovered, like an evil omen, over the German lines. Suddenly the beginning of the preparatory barrage shattered the quiet. There was a rolling thunder behind us followed by the scream of shells passing overhead to burst with sharp reports a hundred yards past us. The erratic flashes of the bursting shells danced up and down the field turning the night into day over the enemy lines. We watched the running leaping flashes, felt the concussion, and dreaded moving toward the dancing death. For fifteen minutes the shells whined, screamed and wailed over us and erupted with violence on the German lines. Then as suddenly as the barrage had begun it ceased; complete silence embraced the night. Only the pounding of our hearts could be heard. Minutes passed and nothing broke the silence. The wind drifted the pungent odor of powder from the enemy's lines, but nothing else seems to have changed. The whole world seemed to be waiting and watching in the overwhelming silence. Then out of the night came the voice of Lt. Elias. "Lets go."

I felt a weakening sensation in my stomach, and fear dried my throat and seemed to stifle my breath. Slowly we rose and headed out into the unknown. Out into the field went the second platoon, across the railroad tracks, and up and over the gravel piles into the darkness. Only the clattering of the gravel and the soft tread of our feet could be heard. I wondered why we had walked over the gravel making all that noise when by walking a few yards west we could have gone around the gravel pile quietly. I not sure the Germans had regained their hearing after the barrage, but if they had, I thought this was a hell of a way to sneak up on them. The dark silhouettes of the men carrying the catwalks merged into one black floating shadow in the night. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred yards into the unknown blackness of the night we went and nothing broke the omniscient silence. The platoon was moving northwest across the field so as to strike its western edge near the anti-tank ditch. The scouts must have reached the ditch and the main body of the platoon was feeling its way through the first string of barbed wire. By this time I was cradling the gun in both arms as I worked my way through the wire.

A shot and then several more in quick succession split the night. A bullet grazed the knuckle of the middle finger of my left hand as I hit the ground. Those carrying one of the catwalks were in the midst of the wire just in front of me, they dropped their burden and sank to the ground. Several seconds had past since the first shots when all hell seemed to well up and engulf the company. German machine guns opened fire from both flanks, sending a reddish white curtain of tracers out across the field. Hand grenades and mortar rounds started falling on our position. We could hear the snap of bullets passing a few inches above our heads and see the flickering tracers spread like a lacework of light in the dark night.

The machine gun squad gathered itself to fight. Gibson set up his gun in a trench and began exchanging fire with a German gun several hundred feet down the trench. Andronis started to work his way up to Gibson with his ammunition. A mortar shell landed in the middle of the squad. Chris leaped up, groaned and sank to the ground bowed over in a kneeling position. Pollitt felt a searing pain above his eyes and lost consciousness. I felt a jab of pain and realized I had been hit in the left hand. I later found that I had only received a grazing wound on the knuckle of my left middle finger. Balestrucci, Drost, Bourget and myself were lying behind a mound of turnips when Lt. Elias decided that we had to retreat or move forward into a quieter section of the field. He passed the word down the column for us to move forward. Balestrucci rose, motioned the second gun team to follow, and faded into the night. The team began running forward. We crossed the barbed wire where the first rifle squad had been forced to abandon their catwalk, which had become entangled in the wire. We jumped a small trench that lay beyond the wire. Here I saw the figure of Balestrucci lying face down in a puddle of water. Gibson's gun team, the rifle team, and Urbaniak didn't hear the order to move up and continued to exchange fire with the German gun. The second gun team followed the rest of the platoon. The platoon swung left just before reaching the anti-tank ditch and headed straight for the factory. Behind us we could hear the exploding mortar shells and the ripping sound of the German machine guns and burp guns.

We were now behind the German lines and out of contact with the rest of the company. To our left was the German trench system and to our right the anti-tank ditch. Immediately in front of the platoon was a ditch running north and south with the factory about one hundred yards to our east and the Maas River another one hundred yards farther east. Lt. Elias had Demcovitz, our radio operator, put in a request for smoke to cover our assault on the factory. We all waited for the smoke. As the first light of dawn eased the blackness of the night it revealed the surrounding terrain. We lay along a mound of earth that had been thrown up from digging the ditch. The anti-tank ditch ran into this ditch as well as several communication trenches.

As each man moved across the mound, a stream of tracers from one of Headquarters Company's heavy machine guns chased him towards the anti-tank ditch. We later learned that they believed the company had nearly been wiped out and were firing at any thing that moved near the German trenches. In the half-light they couldn't tell us from the Germans. A German gun picked up the movement and being much closer recognized us and began firing down the mound. Demcovitz, who was lying right next to me, was hit on the first burst. I let out a curse and Drost and I rolled him over to see how bad he was hurt. The bullet had entered his waist at the left side of his body but we couldn't find an exit wound. He had lost consciousness but had groaned when we rolled him over. We put a bandage over his wound. When we looked around the entire platoon had moved toward the factory and Al and I were alone with Demcovitz. Al broke down and started sobbing quietly while I tried to comfort him. I finally told him the platoon needed us and I was going to move forward with the gun. He nodded and we started over the mound into the ditch. Again a stream of tracers followed our leap into the ditch. Drost and I were the last to reach the factory where the platoon was seeking shelter among the concrete walled buildings. We then moved through the factory and dug in along the top of a small six foot high cliff about ten yards past the factory buildings and overlooking the banks of the Maas. The river at this point was running nearly west after a big one hundred-degree bend. From my position I was looking down on a field on the northern bank of the river which stretched out several hundred yards before the river started to swing back to its generally running northern course. The field was only a few feet above the river level and seemed empty.

It was about five and the dimness of dawn was brightening rapidly. We were completely surrounded by Germans and exposed by daylight. We could do nothing but dig in and wait for further developments.

While the second platoon was moving into the factory the third platoon tried to withdraw from the field to regroup. In the darkness it was mistaken for a German counterattack and fired on by the Headquarters Company who thought that the Germans had decimated 'C' Company. Several more men were killed or wounded before the mistake was recognized. The first platoon successfully withdrew when confronted by a heavily mined portion of barbed wire. Lt. Hall of the first platoon was hit in the throat and despite the heroic efforts of the medic bled to death before he could be evacuated. Both platoons had suffered casualties and so were combined with the Headquarters platoon and started working their way back up the road as dawn broke.

When the second platoon had moved forward it had left Urbaniak, Gibson, Cuteri, Dieter, and Plessela returning the fire of a German machine gun. They had rolled Pillott, unconscious, into a depression behind a turnip mound for protection. When Urbaniak realized that they were alone, he decided to move forward looking for the rest of the platoon. They crossed the wire and the German trench system but failed to turn west at the anti-tank ditch. After making their way across the ditch they moved another hundred yards before reaching a road that ran west to the north end of the factory. They moved down the road until they were on the right flank of the rest of the platoon. They failed to see the rest of the platoon in the predawn darkness and moved farther west until Cuteri stepped on an anti-personnel mine that blew off his foot. The explosion of the mine attracted the attention of the platoon that, with the aid of binoculars and the light of a burning haystack, identified the missing men. Cuteri was carried into the shelter of a house and doped with morphine, for he was still conscious though completely paralyzed. Urbaniak bound Cuteri's leg then brought the other men over to join the rest of the platoon.

We remained near the factory for the rest of the daylight hours. In the early morning action the platoon backpack radio had been left with Demcovitz. I had the machine gun and Drost had the machine gun tripod. I think that if I had been more alert I could have had Drost carry the radio which he could have put on his back and still carried the tripod in his arms. The only communication equipment we had was a walkie-talkie that would only receive. All day long, powerless to answer, the man with the walkie-talkie could hear the company trying to contact the missing platoon. I offered to go back to get the radio and check on Demcovitz but Lt. Elias told me no that he wanted me to stay with the platoon. When the rest of the company regrouped and starting moving north, they called on heavy artillery support to suppress enemy small arms fire. Part of this fire suppression barrage was directed at the factory and for about two hours we were being fired on by both German and or own artillery. Fortunately the Germans who knew exactly where we were firing about a third duds. I suppose we had the forced labor used by the Germans to thank for the sabotaged artillery shells. We were finally spotted by a light planes used for artillery direction and the shelling by our own side ceased and our company was notified of our location. While we were waiting for assistance we cleaned the Germans out of the factory and drove them away from our immediate area. There was a machine gun nest about a hundred and fifty yards west of the platoons position. I crawled to our northern flank and wiggled under some barbed wire that was strung along the top of the little cliff that formed the west boundary of our position. I wanted to peek over the edge of the drop off and see if any Germans were dug in below us. Unfortunately my canteen got stuck in the wire and I was hung up right on the edge of the cliff. My desperate struggles to free myself from the wire attracted the attention of the German machine gun and just as I broke free and slipped back to safety they fired a burst of about twenty rounds at me. After a short pause I crawled a few feet south and stuck up my head for a second. I got another burst of fire. The feeling of being missed twice was extremely exhilarating so I crawled north about ten feet and stuck my head up and thumbed my nose at the Germans. This attracted another burst of fire. I played this game for about an hour until the Germans began firing only a few rounds at me. I then crawled to a spot I could watch the nest without being spotted and waited. Within fifteen minutes a German crawled out of the nest and started running westward. He only got about twenty feet before I hit him with a single shot. In ten minutes the second man tried the same thing with the same results. I then crawled back to the platoon. Shortly a German officer came out of the factory about a hundred yards north of us and Bill McClain the squad leader of the first rifle squad shot him. I can't imagine what the German had been thinking of. He may not have realized that we were stuck where we were and he seemed to be walking so nonchalantly as if he didn't have a care in the world.

By three or four in the afternoon the company had pushed the German back to a position even with the north side of the factory and we were able to reestablished contact. By dusk the first and third platoons were well up the highway to Roermond though the Germans still covered the field behind us with riflemen. As darkness fell McClain and Bourqet volunteered to retrieve the radio and with Lt. Elias blessing went of in the darkness. Urbaniak took several men and retrieved Cuteri. When McClain and Bourqet reached Demcovitz he was still alive though unconscious and stiff from the waist down. They brought the radio back to the platoon and returned with a litter for Demcovitz but when they reached him the second time he was dead. Rather than leave him in the lonely dismal field there they brought him back to the platoon.

With the radio, Lt. Elias asked for tanks to remove the wounded and to support an attack north from the factory. At ten a single tank came up the road to the factory from the highway to pick up our wounded. Word was passed that a cavalry troop would replace our platoon and we were to return to our original starting point. Slowly we formed into two columns and began moving out as the cavalry moved down the road in armored cars. We moved to the junction of the highway where Lt. Elias exhausted turned left and headed north. Someone said, "Sir we're headed the wrong way". He grunted, stopped the column and ordered us to reverse direction. A peep met us and Demcovitz's body was placed across its hood and the precession returned to our starting point of the early morning. The trees that had lined the highway that morning lay shattered by the terrific firing of the day. Only an occasional flare lighted the darkness and the front lines had quieted down for the night. As we moved into our old billets to sleep the few on guard watched a cavalry column move down the highway toward Roermond. Those not on guard fell into an exhausted sleep and didn't wake up until the middle of the next morning when we were awakened to eat and clean our weapons.

A few of us were selected to go to showers and get a change of clothes. We loaded into a six-by-six and headed south. We hadn't gone five miles when we stopped, turned around and headed back to our company where we leaned that we were moving out that evening. It was now fairly quiet in the town and we could now walk around without getting random shelling or bursts of machine gun fire. We only now learned of the casualties that the company had suffered.

'C' company had lost eleven dead and sixty wounded. One of the other machine gun squads had lost, killed or wounded all its men but the driver, squad leader and one other man. One of their gun crew had been hit by a burst of fire and the rest of the men were lost getting the wounded out of the exposed position and trying to retrieve the gun. 'B' company had lost most of its officers. They had been pinned down in an open field in front of some woods and eventually ran out of ammunition. A noncom had gone back to get additional ammunition but was refused by the driver of the truck because he didn't have written authorization. The noncom pulled his 45 and said this is all the authorization I need and drove off with the truck. All several tons of ammunition was distributed to the company which then fired it most of it up in about fifteen minutes and in the process chopped a swath through the woods about 400 yards wide and a half mile deep. The company then advanced into the woods without opposition. 'A' company had been pinned down in an open field by fire from east of the Roer and had only been able to move until several tanks moved into the field and by making tight turns cut deep tracks into the soft surface of the field. The infantry was able to crawl into these tracks for shelter, reorganize themselves and get off the field. In our company we had a full blooded Indian who had sewed an extra foot of skirt onto his overcoat which at a distance made him hard to distinguish from a German infantryman. In the middle of the afternoon he was asked to try to get some ammunition and had stoically plodded back across the field and returned with about fifty pounds of bandoleers of rifle ammunition. Neither side fired on him because our side recognized him and the Germans thought he was one of them.

Only later, when he returned to the squad in April did we find out what had happened to Pollitt. He was unconscious when he was rolled into a ditch. He came to just as dawn was breaking and wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He had a splitting headache and his face was covered with blood. He was trying to orient himself when a German infantryman crawled near him. Russ looked up at the German and the German looked at Russ. As the German started raising his rifle Russ pulled the trigger on his rifle that he was lying on and was pointing up out of his ditch. The Garand went off and the German was hit and killed. Russ had bled into his rifle and when it fired it added another splattered coating of blood to Russ front and face. A German machine gun crew picked up the action and began firing at Russ. He crawled behind a beet or turnip mound that was several feet high. The Germans continued firing at him and were slowly knocking the mound down beet row by beet row. Russ realized that he had to move and managed to crawl off when the Germans were distracted by artillery fire. When he made his way back to the aid station the first thing said to him was what's your name and serial number; you will get a Purple Heart. Russ replied " @#%@ the Purple Heart, I need help." He was put in an ambulance and taken to a field hospital.

Since the whole of the Ninth Army was attacking to cross the Roer at the time, the hospital was flooded with casualties, Russ was sent to triage. Since he was conscious and was not bleeding any more, he was put on a stretcher and placed in the open under a blanket to await care. He was fed and given water but stayed on his stretcher until the next day. He was then moved into an operating room and the small patch around the wound in his forehead cleaned and sterilized. The surgeon then probed the wound and found and removed a small triangular piece of shrapnel about a quarter of an inch on each side. The surgeon remarked "A little deeper and he would have been dead," and stitched him up. Russ was put back on his stretcher in the middle of the field for another night and then moved farther back to another hospital to recover. Here he was finally cleaned up and got a bed to sleep in. Eventually he was sent to a replacement center and then returned to us.