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Posted on 07/06/2005 2:11:03 AM PDT by SAMWolf
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 are acknowledged, affirmed and commemorated.
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| Our Mission: The FReeper Foxhole is dedicated to Veterans of our Nation's military forces and to others who are affected in their relationships with Veterans.
Where the Freeper Foxhole introduces a different veteran each Wednesday. The "ordinary" Soldier, Sailor, Airman or Marine who participated in the events in our Country's history. We hope to present events as seen through their eyes. To give you a glimpse into the life of those who sacrificed for all of us - Our Veterans.
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A retired soldier recounts the fear and excitement of his first day of combat as a nineteen-year-old GI in November 1944--and how his desire for a souvenir almost turned that first day on the line into his last.  As I traveled through the replacement pipeline, the few friends I had made during the crossing went to other units. I knew no one in the group who joined F Company, now in reserve building its strength in the village of Haute-Vigneulle in Lorraine. There were occasional shell bursts, but the unit was not seriously bothered by them. I was impressed by my warlike surroundings, though the veterans were unaffected. They had seen much worse and now luxuriated in the relative peace. This idyll was about to end. On November 24, an officer told us that the next morning we would descend the south slope of a nearby valley and cross a small stream, destroying whatever enemy we encountered. We would then drive up the north slope and seize its crest. The two Maginot Line bunkers glaring down from that promontory, sited for all-around defense, need not trouble us, he said; artillery would deal with them. Difficulties were minimized, and the briefing ended.  The officer did not disclose the purpose of the drive. In any case, the men of F Company did not care. The immediate front, not high strategy, was our real concern, and we replacements worried most about how we would endure the utterly new experience that awaited us. Actually, it was a major effort, involving the whole of the Fifth and Eightieth Infantry divisions against the Falkenberg Stellung (Falkenberg Position), defended by the Thirty-sixth Volksgrenadier (People's Infantry) Division. The Thirty-sixth was understrength and not well-equipped, though it was augmented by a battalion or two from the 347th Infantry Division. The Americans would attack with three infantry regiments, a tank battalion and two tank destroyer battalions in close support. A five-minute artillery bombardment would precede the operation. Late that afternoon we were led to the top of the south slope and told to dig in just below the crest in two-man teams. Excavating the thick, clayish soil, soaked by weeks of rain, was an ordeal. The day soon became night. When my foxhole companion and I had to answer the call of nature, we slid out of our hole as best we could. A faint light suffused our surroundings, for the heavy cloud cover could not completely hide the full moon. While we attended to our needs, there was a blinding flash and a shattering explosion. An enemy mortar had zeroed in on our position; its alert crew must have seen faint movement and dropped a ready shell into the barrel. It was almost a direct hit--all that saved us was that glutinous clay that had made our digging so difficult earlier in the day. The shell buried itself, exploded, and rained clumps of clay upon our prostrate forms. It was a narrow escape. A Hollywood war movie would have had us philosophizing at length over the meaning of this adventure in light of the experience we were to undergo the next day. Drenched and miserable, however, we exchanged scarcely a word as the two of us slithered back into our hole. We huddled in our watery shelter and awaited the dawn.  When it came, F Company assembled in the slowly gathering light and moved down the hill in a skirmish line. The rain had almost stopped, and the valley ahead could be seen through the trees. In the dimness, I could make out other companies on our right. As we moved forward, our shells were striking the north slope and its bunkers, but this activity and the closer sounds of machine guns and rifles went almost unheard by me. I was intent on keeping my place in the line and navigating the slippery slope with its brush and trees. I did feel adequately equipped. I carried five or six eight-round clips for my M-1 rifle, a first-aid packet, a canteen, and a shovel on my cartridge belt. Slung over my shoulders were my gas mask and two bandoleers, each containing six additional clips of M-1 ammunition. In my raincoat pockets were one concussion grenade and two fragmentation grenades. My augmented combat pack, containing items of varying value, weighed thirty-five pounds or so. I was as prepared as possible for whatever destiny might demand.  We reached the valley bottom to find that the "small stream" the briefing officer had mentioned was not merely a simple bubbling brook. Rain swollen, the stream had become a swift torrent four or five feet deep. We lowered ourselves into it and gained the opposite bank. After we crossed the stream, the open fields of the valley floor, laced by barbed boundary fences, lay before us. The whole north slope, including the two German bunkers, was in sight. Soon I saw my first enemy soldiers. On my right some twenty yards away, fifteen or twenty men in yellow raincoats moved about. The sight struck me as incredible. Here I was, trudging through a marshy field, climbing barbed-wire fences, drenched to the skin, trying to focus on all that was happening around me, and worrying about sticking to my unit, and then, suddenly, there was the enemy. But then I hesitated. Were they our own men who had unexpectedly gotten in front of us? The fear of firing on comrades was in my thoughts during my entire time on the front line; I could imagine nothing worse. Pushing aside my uncertainty, I fired at the left-most raincoat-clad soldier. He fell. Then, perhaps moved by the excitement of my first shot fired in anger, I fired four more rounds into his presumably lifeless body. The other soldiers in yellow were giving up. We moved on.  Continuing across the valley, I fired the three rounds left in my rifle at nothing in particular and inserted a fresh clip. Steady artillery fire hammered the two north-crest bunkers. Then their garrisons ran outside with white flags, and the shelling ceased. That was a relief; if the garrisons had fought seriously, we would have suffered heavily. Hugh Cole's The Lorraine Campaign notes that "these works were now in a poor state...[and] the Germans had little time to familiarize themselves with the Maginot system."
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Hey Samwise. We thought about you yesterday. History Channel was doing their show on the Aleutians during WWII.
We're you able to make the slide out of metal? I have fond memories of taking wax paper down to the playground and waxing up the slide to make it speedier!
Looks like the 80th avoided the brunt of the fighting in the Bulge - they were in Luxembourg. Still, what a cold, wet, miserable winter our soldiers endured. No gore-tex back then.
What does those tell us about you. Hmmm. She takes your socks and when that doesn't work she puts a bishop in your shoes.....Driving out something wicked? :-)
That business where it rains then freezes, rains more and freezes again, then again, ugh. Mud and ice. Wet to the skin all the time. The pits. Worse sort of weather to live in that there is, IMHO.
To all our military men and women past and present, military family members, and to our allies who stand beside us
Thank You!
Hi radu.
Howdy snippy!
How are things out your way?
She'll be a chess prodigy by age 3.
Things are great. Has it cooled down any for you yet?
We wouldn't be at all surprised. ;-)
Glad to hear things are going so well!
It's been hotter 'n Hades here, and though there have been scattered showers and storms, it's been too dry overall.
We'd hoped to get some of the rain from the remnants of TS Cindy but it's scooting underneath us. POOEY!!
Yes snippy I was able to fab the slide part out of metal. The slide is an 18" wide piece of plywwod wrapped with some 23 gauge valley flashing material. I then set the "slide" into a groove cut into the bottom 2" or so of the 2X12. This makes sidewalls that will about 12" tall after I attach the hand rails to the top of the slide walls.
This is the third slide that I have made. The first two slides pointed to the alley. The whole Pad on the first two was back closer to the house by about twenty feet or so. The first slide that I made the oldest daughter, who was about 12 at the time made the inauguaral run down the slide and was going so fast that she almost ended up in the alley !!!
He P.E. is that "N" gauge or "TT" gu8age running thru the tube
Regards
alfa6 ;>}
It looks "wrong" for N-gauge, I was guessing Z.
Wyatt, 19 in 1944 was born in 1925, making him 74 in 1999 when the magazine article was published. So may we understand his choice of pusillanimous.
L pusillus very small (diminutive of pusus small child) + animus spirit--today we would choose cowardly over pusillanimous--were we Wyatt--
I however find nothing cowardly in his getting the hell out of Dodge being surrounded by armed enemy, while his initial pursuit of the souvenir seems foolhardy from fool (L my momma didn't raise no) + hardy (L this is a fine mess you've got us into).
Was able to catch the large meaty chunks of Saving Private Ryan on the Cable War Channel yesteryesterday. Watch out for that first day in combat.
We are struck at how Wyatt can shoot. He shoots this guy, he shoots that guy, he "knows" he can't miss. Probably refused to play with dolls, too.
Dang! I wish I had known. I would've watched it.
Ah, fond memories of the Garand in high school. And no I did not get the dreaded M-1 thumb either
As always I enjoy your posts Phil :-)
Regards
alfa6 ;>}
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