H. K. Brown's WW II 1944--1945 Diary

Part 2 of 11

 
     Sunny France! What a gross misstatement. The days were cool and the nights were
downright freezing. I shared a tent with Pfc. Charles F. Carroll,  my squad leader. We
had 6 woolen blankets between us and the cold. We buttoned both ends of the pup tent
and by neatly arranging everything inside the tent, managed to get inside and button
ourselves in. There was only one problem; each of us on the average of 3 times a night
had to get up and go to the latrine--the combination of the cold and sleeping on the ground
did something to our bladders. What a mess, trying to get up, put shoes on and stumble
the full length of the street in the dark to go to the bathroom--just a hole in the ground.
Guard had to be pulled on the kitchen and along the company street. Food was valuable
because there was a shortage and everyone was hungry. The only guard I pulled was in
the kitchen one night between 10:00 and 12:00. I ate bread and raisins because that's all
I could find. Some days we had C rations--meat and vegetable stew, meat and beans,
or hash. Gradually we began receiving B rations, still in cans, but a little more variety.
 
Our battalion was ordered to Marseilles to help unload ammunition from the ships. We
loaded into trucks before daylight and traveled to town, arriving at the port just as it was
light enough to see. My first contact with the local population. Cigarettes were rare to the
local economy and brought a good price in French Francs. Other supply ships were being
unloaded. The French longshoremen would purposely drop a case of canned goods and
there would be a scramble for the cans. I brought back a tin of corned beef, which
incidentally l never got to eat, and 2 cans of peaches, I worked in the hold of an ammo
ship, unloading 105 mm howitzer ammunition. We would load about 6 crates onto a
platform and then attach a cable around it with the eye of the cable fastened to a hook,
which in turn was pulled by a donkey engine. The cable slipped tight up around the load
and the whole thing was hoisted out of the hold of the ship and directly into a DUWK
on the dock. Larger, 155 mm ammo was handled a bit differently; 3-round clusters each
were lifted by a nose ring. These rounds were somewhat larger than the standard 105 mm
rounds which were fuel for the work horse of the field artillery. There were plenty of
barrage balloons above the docks and although the whole area was one large mess,
having been bombed several times by the Germans, 80 of the 120 berths were to be
operational within the next 2 weeks.   Marseilles streets were full of outdoor latrines with
a small sheet iron screen about waist high. In other words, about all that was screened
was from the belly button to the knees.   Urine ran into a small trough, down to the gutter,
along the street, and from there to the sea. The GIs who served in the Port Battalion
worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, and were subject to ambushing and hijacking.
Back at the staging area life went on much the same. We did go out to the firing range one
day but there was no ammunition except pistol, so we had to walk all the way back. It was
about a 6 mile round trip and with full combat equipment. I saved 7 pistol rounds just in
case, although it was not allowed. I saw Carmen Carielli, a fellow who I went to school
with at Texas A & M, along the road that day; he was attached to the Engineers. I did not
attend any of the outdoor theaters, but rather spent much time writing letters.  We were
allotted one candle per tent, but this soon gave out. In order to get some light, we
siphoned some kerosene from the stoves and made a makeshift lamp. It gave some light
but soon blackened the inside of the tent so bad that we had to give up--it smoked us
right out. I got a pass to Marseilles the Saturday after payday.
     Each man was allowed 250 Francs. Tucker (from Sherman, Texas) and I took
several pictures but I was unable to get them developed. We ate doughnuts and coffee
at the Red Cross for 5 Francs. I got a shave and haircut from a local French barber,
but the shave was dry and felt like the hair was being pulled out. One cup of ersatz
coffee was enough--roasted grain of some kind. And I had a taste of wine. I liked
neither. I did not shave again until January. From November 4, 1944 to January 7,
1945 I shaved only under my neck and around my face enough to leave me an Abe
Lincoln appearance. I saw Russ (Marj's brother who was in the Cannon Co. attached
to the 411th) several times while we were in the staging area. Also I had a tooth filled.
We had two night problems also. Both were relieving a unit under cover of darkness.
We did the relieving the first time and the two battalion commanders had a few hot
words about who was making the most noise right at the time we were doing the
relieving. "Get your unit the hell out of my way." was heard very loud and clear.
Everything went OK except that Hudson dropped his helmet on a rock while
unshouldering the machine gun. The umpire said, "You won't last two seconds in
combat if you keep that up." During the other problem we had to dig the positions and
be relieved. That had some compensation--we got back to camp earlier. Then came the
day to unpack and uncrate the equipment. I cut my finger rather badly on the machete
and had go to the field dispensary for bandaging. Everything had to be unwrapped from
the waterproofing and cleaned. The T/O called for the 1st gunner to carry a .45 cal.
automatic pistol. Attached to my pistol belt was supposed to be: a pistol in a holster,
an ammunition pouch with two clips of ammunition, a wire cutter and case (for what I
don't know), a machete (for what I don't know, except to cut my finger), a shovel
(I was soon to find out what for), and a first-aid pouch. The bulk and weight were
too much. Before we left, it rained very hard. The whole camp was a washout. The
lucky ones were on high ground. The bare clay soil soon became sticky and slippery.
The slit trenches filled with water, as did all the elaborate drain ditches around each
tent. Soon every bit of clothing and equipment was soaked. One whole day was spent
in drying out the clothing and blankets.
     And then came Nov. 6, 1944 when the units began moving out. A funny thing
--stateside we had to get rid of all white underclothes, handkerchiefs, and the like
--too easy to spot by the enemy. However, most of the officers were conspicuously
drying white undershirts, etc. The day was one of road marches, exercises or in some
manner programmed and planned, "something to keep busy." Most of the other units
had been issued shoe-packs--we still had shoes and leggings. Rumors were flying thick
and fast. We were going to Brest or Bordeaux or one of the other seaports which were
still occupied by the Germans. Since we had no previous combat experience, we
wouldn't be assigned directly to the western front. Berlin Sally could be heard over the
motor pool radio. All units received new trucks and jeeps. Everyone was issued a small
amount of ammunition. I received 5 rounds for the .45. The main body of troops was to
go by 2 1/2 ton trucks. Those with heavy equipment went by jeep. Stanley Greenwood,
our driver for the squad, Carroll, Hudson and I shared our jeep. We had to mount our
machine gun in the holder on the dash, keep it at half-cock, and be prepared to use it as
an antiaircraft weapon. To do this, we had to lower the canvas top as well as the
windshield. For the most part we followed the Rhone River Valley north to Lyon and
Dijon. We traveled at about 25 to 30 miles per hour. Through the countryside, past
burned out hulks of German trucks, tanks, wagons, etc. We would crawl along; however,
when we came to a town, we zipped through at about 40 to 45 miles per hour, directed
by MPs. K rations for all three meals each day. Sometimes we would stop and
supplement our diet with turnips. Our first night was spent in a field just off the road;
we were still many miles from the front lines. Hudson and I did not pitch tents, but,
instead, got in between our shelter-halves. That night it rained pretty hard. The next
morning everything was soaked. That day the rain turned to sleet and it was miserable.
Wet blankets, no roof, no windshield. It was so cold that one person could not drive for
very long at one time, so we took turns. In one place some Frenchwomen gave us some
home baked bread, and was it delicious. Hudson put us in the ditch once as the road
was becoming slick. Fortunately we didn't overturn. The two of us in the back seat
were completely under blankets (even our heads) as the jeep slid off into the ditch at
a 45 degree angle. All out and we were quickly able to get back on the road.
 
     Nov. 8, 1944: On the evening of the 8th of Nov. we pulled into our staging area.
Snow was about 4 inches deep and everywhere that vehicles went was mud. We had
to pitch tents in the dark. Carroll, Hudson, and I shared one tent. I went to the motor
pool for the squad burner and later stood an hour of guard dry. We were told that the
bivouac area was within German artillery range. Nov. 9, 1944: Up early to build fires
to dry, or attempt to dry, our woolen blankets and clothes. No more GI shoes--replaced
with GI shoe-packs. These were heavy rubber, high top, galoshes--warm and dry. Last
minute orders and a last minute check of equipment. This was it--we were going up to
the front lines. I had no beanie (a woolen knit cap to be worn under the helmet-liner),
but finally got one from Lt. Sadin, our Motor Pool Officer, who was later put in charge
of the mortar platoon. Dry wood was scarce so we spent most of the time looking for
something that would burn. It was no use because everyone else crowded around and
I never got close enough to the fire to get anything dried. So, another night in a damp
bed (damp clothes on damp leaves on the damp ground wrapped in damp blankets).
     Nov. 10, 1944: We moved out after daylight in jeeps and trucks toward the front.
The roads were brand new, just a cleared area filled in with logs and plenty of mud.
We passed several 105 and 155 positions. Finally we came to a small clearing on the
slope of a mountain. A large tent with a stove inside on a wooden flooring attracted
everyone. Also all around this tent were piles of rations. Everyone was trying to get
warm by the stove, rustle through the rations and ask innumerable questions. We
picked up K rations that had been looted of the candy and coffee. Everywhere was
confusion; no one knew where we were supposed to go, so we all sat around with a
sort of empty, dread-of-the-unknown feeling in our stomachs. Finally, orders came for
a couple of fellows to meet Capt. Lincoln, our Co. D Commander, down the road.
As we didn't know what else to do, we followed. Eventually, after about 20 minutes,
we came to the "Spider" which was a place in the road where about 3 other roads
met. Everyone stood around and waited. Occasionally, one of our howitzers would
send a 105 round overhead. I had left practically everything in the jeep and only carried
my pistol belt, all attachments, and my .45 with me. About 5:00 that evening the rest of
the company showed up. Our 2nd Section of the 2nd Platoon was divided among the
rest of the sections. I went with Sgt. Long and Sgt. Katzmarek of the 1st Platoon.
Carroll, Seatter, Hudson and I were assigned to their squads. By dark we started for
the line. Down the hill, along the road--I was sent ahead by Lt. McCorquadale to
contact the other Section. An awful funny feeling walking out into the darkness alone,
knowing the enemy lines were ahead (What was I doing here?), but by staying on the
road and following the side trail I finally came to my destination. After waiting for
several hours, we finally got everybody together and took off down the road again--out
of the woods and finally along a road for several miles until about 10:00 PM on the
evening of Nov. 10 we came to a house and were told that it was our billets. We had
relieved a unit of the 3rd Division (30th Inf. Reg.). Only 5 men were left and they seemed
to have given up hope--they were listless and seemed to be without feeling. It was all
of their unit that was left. Nov. 11--18, 1944: We were on the front line. This was our
position for the next 8 days. The house was located near the village of St. Michel,
Rue La Muerthe. The only toilet was the outdoor variety. There were two ways to
go--hold it all day and go only after dark--or climb out the back window and crawl
some 20 yards to it. Three Frenchmen and a woman lived in the house, but they
stayed in the cellar (a trapdoor in the living room floor, down a ladder, into a hole under
the house, fully dirt-lined) about 95% of the time.  I slept on some straw in a room
facing the front lines. There were two rooms upstairs, but no one stayed there except
to scan the enemy lines with field glasses.   The house was a stone affair, whitewashed,
with the only source of heat a wood stove in the kitchen. The fact that it was located
at an intersection of three roads also made it stand out. Built on the end of the house,
so all you had to do was step outside the dining room, was the barn and hayloft, all
enclosed.  There were two cows, two goats, and several chickens, all shut up inside
the barn. Part of A Company and our section of D Company had to put a guard at the
door, and a guard at the window, during the day. At night, we posted two roving guards
and two guards in a shed near the house, in addition to the door guards. I was one of
the two men who stood guard with the machine gun in the shed near the house.  My
first night at guard duty in the shed was with Seatter. The foxhole, dug in the dirt floor
of the shed, by the gun was very small and full of water, so we stood up in the shed
and watched the gun flashes through the door, as our artillery was trading rounds with
Jerry. There was a thin covering of snow on the ground, but the night wasn't too cold.
Seatter and I had been there for about 15 minutes of our 2-hour shift when we heard
a rustling in the part of the shed on the other side of the machine gun. Neither of
us had been in the shed in the daytime so didn't really know the layout of it. The
noise sounded like someone was crawling in straw. After sweating for about 3 minutes
to see if the noise would stop, I started crawling toward it with pistol drawn. It didn't
take me long to find out--first, I crawled into the hole and got my foot and leg wet--next,
I felt a wire and cage and could tell that it was full of little animals--rabbits.  We found 6
cans of Argentine beef that the Germans had left and the occupants of the house had
tried to hide. With this we made stew, using all sorts of canned meat from packages,
carrots and cabbages that the Frenchwoman went outside for, and potatoes and
cow turnips stored in the barn. This was topped off with hot lemonade from the
K rations. Harrington and I served it with part of a 5-in-1 ration we had.  Everyone,
including the French civilians, joined in. One night I volunteered to walk back to our
vehicles and order supplies, and also get our squad burner.  I started back just after
dark with Doc Thorne, the medic from the 1st Platoon. He was going as far as the
Aid Station and I would continue on from there. While we were at the Aid Station, a
fellow from one of the rifle companies was brought in. He had been wounded that
afternoon by artillery fire. He had a small cut running into his eye, not too serious, and
a large gash in his back just below his shoulder. It looked as if someone had scraped
a large chunk out of his back. There had been little bleeding because of the high
temperature of the shrapnel. It was the first casualty I had seen. He wanted a cigarette
and said he couldn't wait to get fixed up and get back with the rest of his outfit. I then
went up the road a little further to the Company CP. There, I saw Capt. Lincoln, Lt. 
Barnes, Thomas, Girard, McGuire  and the cook, all taking it easy. Lincoln persuaded
me to turn around and go back, so I took some candles and magazines and  started
back. I picked up Thorne at the Aid Station and, after almost losing our way, made it
back just before daylight.  All went well until Friday evening, Nov. 17. We pulled guard,
ate rations, wrote letters, talked and argued. Things got to be dull. However, on this
particular Friday evening, conditions changed. Seatter and I had the midnight shift in
the rabbit shed. The other shift had done a little work on the foxhole--enlarged,
deepened and put some boards in the bottom. It now could protect one person fairly
well. About 45 minutes after we had relieved the guard, as we were standing in the
doorway of the rabbit shed, Jerry started to wake us up. I could plainly hear 3 distinct
"pops" which seemed to come from somewhere in front of us.  About 5 seconds later
these 88 mm rounds came in. There was a steadily increasing hissing and swishing
sound that ended in a long drawn-out whistle and a deafening explosion. All
3 rounds landed about 75 yards to our left as we faced the lines and slightly behind
us. I didn't remember trying to dodge live artillery shells as part of our training.
 

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