EDITOR’S NOTE: Each year on the occasion of Memorial Day and in honor of all those who paid the ultimate price in service to their country, I publish a series of war stories that hold a special value in my heart, because they were written by my father, Ted. He served as a low-ranking enlisted man in the U.S. Army during World War II. He captured these stories as a means to provide his children and theirs context for his participation in one of history’s most harrowing events, World War II, not for any commercial gain. The first of 12 installments appears below. Please read and share.
The Front: Northwestern Germany
We left our reassembly area and loaded onto trucks. We were driven several miles to an area just over the border into Germany itself. The official entry of the Allies into the Germany homeland is listed as having occurred at a later date and by a different Allied unit. This general area consisted of a plateau covered with soil that was under-girded by thick chalk beds.
The terrain was nearly flat with the tillable soil used to grow primarily cabbages and sugar beets. This was kraut country! The farmers lived in little villages spaced a few miles apart.
During the day, they went out to their farms to do their work and returned to their village that evening. There were scattered towns of larger size which supported various industries.
Considerable amounts of coal were mined within the region. The mines were usually located near those larger communities where workers, railroads and improved roads were all available. The slag from the mines was piled in huge mountains close by the tipples.
These piles of mine tailings were very conspicuous on the flat landscape due to their height As we were offloading from the trucks, we could hear the “swish” of large-caliber artillery shells passing overhead in both directions seeking the equivalent pieces of their opponent’s.
With the shells streaking above us as we stood there waiting to move out, the hair literally stood up on the back of my neck. This feeling soon passed.
Most of the shells caused a shrill sound that gained in volume as they neared you, and then the sound faded after they passed over. Others caused a much louder noise with a constant change in pitch. These were shot from large artillery pieces and the change of pitch was due to the shell tumbling end over end as they streaked through the sky. These unfamiliar noises served notice that we were truly near harm’s way.
None of the shells exploded anywhere nearby, so it made us feel like outsiders whom both sides chose to ignore. It appeared the fight was among giants while we were not worthy of their expending ammunition trying to kill us.
Shouldering our packs, we walked a short distance to an area where our company was to set up temporary camp. Canyons existed where the chalk had eroded deeply into the chalk formations. Our company was in one of these deeply eroded, east-facing box canyons which were about a block long, 30 to 50 feet wide and some 40 to 50 feet deep.
It was the eastern, weathered edge of the chalk plateau. The beds were made up of that soft material alternating with thinner layers of harder limestone interspersed between them.
We got there in late afternoon and ate a cold supper of K-rations, since our cooks and field kitchen had not yet arrived. We were told to dig ourselves into the banks of the chalk cliffs.
I took my G.I. shovel and dug horizontally into the soft chalk just above one of the limestone beds. This was about 10 feet up from the base of the canyon wall. I crawled in between my blankets with my feet away from the entrance. During the night, shells exploded nearby and shook the ground. I awakened to find myself with my head under my blanket which, to my surprise and dismay, was weighted down with fallen chalk fragments from overhead.
After a few moments of minor panic, I was able to dig and kick my way out. When I reached the fresh air, I made a mental note to relocate my bedroom. The next night, I slept beneath an overhang of hard limestone at the base level of the canyon. My new objective was to be able to roll out of my bed into the open without fear of being buried alive.
The second morning, we were awakened by a shrill whistling sound and then a sharp, ear-piercing, tremendously loud CRACK!!! The first round fired directly at us in our little canyon was an 88-mm artillery shell. The sound reverberated off the walls. That same shrill sound announced that another incoming shell was to be expected instantly. The same loud explosion was followed by the bluish-white smoke and the acrid smell of cordite which filled the little canyon. It was so nice of our hosts to act as our alarm clocks. I guarantee this will get you wide awake much quicker than any cup of instant coffee.
The Germans had found our location and were welcoming us to the real world of war. Approximately eight to ten 88-mm shells exploded around us or on the tops of the plateau surrounding our canyon. No one was hurt.
The cooks had arrived late the evening before and a temporary kitchen had been set up near the mouth of the canyon. A big container of oatmeal the cooks were preparing for breakfast became the only casualty. After the explosion of the first shell, the kitchen had been hastily abandoned. A few minutes later, a shell made a direct hit and nothing but fragments were left of the container.
We ate another cold meal of K-rations that morning and felt that we were lucky no one was hurt. The Germans knew the precise measurements of the topography of their country, so they knew exactly the elevations and azimuth readings necessary for their artillery to shell a specific geographic target.
Allied forces had to guess at the range and needed observers up front to help them locate targets and verify when artillery shells had hit on or near their targets. Their quick shelling and retreats gave the enemy time to move on before they could be hit with accurate return barrages.
This was our first baptism into the fraternity of war – a baptism via artillery fire. How dare they shell us! We hadn’t even said we were ready yet. We were not sure if we even wanted to fight. Now, the Germans were no longer a detached enemy known by name only. They were our personal enemy. We had made contact with the enemy.
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To read the remaining 11 installments, click here.
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