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

Part 4 of 11
     Nov. 22,1944: So, we were up and prepared for anything long before dawn. The night had
been extremely quiet except for the noise of digging near us. When dawn finally did break,
nothing happened. We were overlooking a bend in the Muerthe River and could see St. Die 
located next to it. There was not a sight of the enemy. We stayed hidden among the trees at 
the edge of the forest until we felt sure that no action was to be expected. Several of the 
fellows  were sent back for rations and water, but before noon we packed up our equipment 
and walked back down the mountain to the town we had just passed through. There I changed
woolen socks and started to prepare something to eat. But the order came to move out in
support of an attack on the outskirts of St. Die. We shouldered our equipment and marched
down the road only to find after an hour's walk that there was no resistance and so back we 
went to the first town. Our stay was short because we were ordered to the top of the 
mountain to continue our advance. So we carried all our equipment up the mountain after
replenishing our K rations, water and ammunition.
     It was early in the afternoon when we continued our advance toward the edge of St. Die. 
Several antipersonnel mines were seen on the trail leading to the edge of town. The tips of the 
trip release could be plainly seen sticking up through the mud along the side of the trail. The 
other units had not been contacted so we stayed in an abandoned school house, a very modern 
brick building, with nothing but straw on the cement floor. We moved out at dusk, trying to
outflank St. Die and block the road leading to the East. We stopped at a small barn and 
woodshed about dark.  Some .30  cal. machine guns opened up with tracers in the valley. 
Although the tracers were going away from us, almost everyone hit the ground and started to
crawl toward the shelter of the buildings. I slept in the hay and got a very good sleep for a
change.
     Nov. 23, 1944: We were up before dawn that morning. Somehow we managed to scramble 
around in the dark and find all our equipment and get assembled. Off in a single column  along 
the hillside. We were supposed to attack a small town which A Company was trying to 
outflank. We kept shifting positions in the column but, as the town was already taken, were
assigned to another town further on. Toward noon it started to rain. We dug in along a hillside
road, ate K rations and tried to keep dry under the trees. No soap--the rain came through.
Finally, late in the afternoon, the flanking company got in the village. One doorway was
booby-trapped and we found a house to rest  in for a while. Inside were 12 Kraut rifles 
minus bolts, standing in a closet. A closer inspection revealed the missing bolts in a drawer 
of a chest. We played German and French records on an old phonograph. Late in the 
afternoon we started out again, staying away from the roads and taking to the hillside. I 
packed the tripod almost all the way up and down very steep hills, a real rat race. Along 
toward dusk we came out to some level fields. In the distance we could see a small village. I 
carefully set up the machine gun to cover the approach and give the riflemen support. The men 
started to move out.
     All of a sudden dozens of men seemed to pour out of the town, running  toward us with 
hands up, hollering and shouting. We felt elated; we had captured a company of Germans 
without firing a shot--or so we thought. We were wary, however, and kept them covered. 
They turned out to be men, women, and children running to greet us. Several of the fellows 
were hugged and kissed before they could escape.  We wanted to know where the enemy 
was and how long since they had left the town. Here was a good chance to polish up my 
German. I approached one of the civilians and was going to ask him, "How many hours 
since the Germans had left?" Now the German expression for "What time is it?" is 
"Wie viel Uhr ist es?" Instead of asking "Wie viel Stunden (hours).....", I just got out 
"Wie viel, " forgot that "hours" was  "Stunden" and said "Uhr". That was all that was 
necessary. The fellow quickly pulled up his sleeve displaying 6 or 8 wristwatches on his 
arm. He was quick  to tell me and show me the time--just as quick were several riflemen 
who relieved him of every watch. So much for my exercise in German grammar.
     We finally found out that the enemy had left about two hours before in a few wagons. 
We were hot on their trail. Across more fields we went; it was really getting dark. We were 
all sweating, but Capt. Neely was determined to try to enter the next town situated on the 
river. Some of the little Alsatian boys were carrying our ammunition. When we finally reached 
the river road, it was quite dark, so it was decided to spend the night in the first house we 
saw. It was right next to a bridge (demolished). We could see gun fire flashes and reports 
on the other side of the river. D Company bedded down in a garage. I was so sleepy and 
tired that I didn't wait to clear the wagon from the shed or bring in hay, but instead, crawled 
on top of a pile of small logs, laid two chicken wire screens down and went to sleep. I first
removed my shoe packs and as I was so warm, my wet feet stayed warm all night. I missed 
pulling guard completely.  I got down and went outside once. I was lucky--Seatter, that 
night had to throw his long-johns away.
     Nov. 24, 1944: We were up before dawn that morning. It had rained the whole night 
and as it became daylight we approached a bombed-out railroad crossing. The underpass 
was  blocked with the wreckage so we had to climb over the embankment. Our 
ammunition jeeps had caught up with us the previous night, but had to be left at the 
underpass. We were walking along the road in double column toward the town of Lusse 
when burp guns could be heard to our rear. We entered Lusse and stayed under cover
of a farm house while some of us returned to the jeeps for ammunition and food. I was in 
the carrying party. The jeeps were being sniped at, so we had to double-time over the
embankment and down the other side. There was nothing to do but return by the same 
route. After sneaking up the embankment we zigzagged down the other side and at a fast 
walk hurried back to Lusse. Among the equipment brought were new lightweight bed rolls. 
These we assembled and rolled as compactly as possible. Our unit then split up, half 
going up the main road and half climbing the steep hill and flanking the next town. I was 
among those who climbed the hill. After two hours of  maneuvering without meeting 
opposition, we came out upon an open hillside overlooking the town.
     From there we could see dozens of prisoners being marched toward the rear. Our other 
unit  had met and captured the opposition and had also been fired upon by the 3rd Battalion 
on the left. The two men wounded in C Company had been mistaken for enemy troops by
riflemen. By this time an effective detour had been made and our vehicles were once again 
with us. In addition, we had 4 tank destroyers, tank type vehicles with a 90 mm gun each 
but no cover hatch on the tank. The town we stayed in that night was located at the foot 
of one of the highest peaks of the Vosges Mountains. The next day would mean climbing 
straight up.   Roadblocks were established, machine guns set up and two-hour guard duty 
was the order. Seatter and I, Hudson and Harrington, Carroll and someone from the other 
squad manned our gun. We slept in a haymow in our new sleeping bags.
     Nov. 25, 1944: We started walking early that morning behind the 4 tank destroyers. We 
were  loaded down with walnuts and apples from the town. As the road became steeper, 
much of our heavier equipment was put on the TDs. Around noon we came to the summit of 
the Vosges; there we met the other two battalions.  Ahead of me I saw our Regimental
Commander and two other officers. One was our Battalion Commander; the other was
apparently the commander of another battalion. Just as I walked by the three of them, I heard 
our Battalion Commander say, "Colonel, let my battalion take the lead; we're fresher." I 
thought to myself, "How does he know how fresh I am?" He must have won, because our
battalion took the lead and started down the steep slope into the Rhine Valley. The scenery 
was Alpine in nature, with the steep slopes covered with a thick carpet of grass. I hopped 
a ride on a jeep trailer near the bottom of the slope. It was dusk as we approached the 
outskirts of Grubbe. (Note: After the war, the local people changed the name of 
this village to Fouchy)
     Our point was met by machine gun fire. Immediately the vehicles were abandoned by
everyone. The lead tank destroyer with fifty-calibers firing eased toward the first  roadblock. 
We were held up about l5 minutes before the roadblock was cleared and we entered town. 
Our section was billeted in a bakery at the extreme eastern end of the town. A huge pile 
of logs lay stacked up between the two end buildings, effectively blocking all entrance or 
exit from the town. From this pile ran an electric wire, indicating an explosive charge under 
the roadblock. I set up the machine gun beyond the roadblock right next to the road and 
alongside a half-finished stone wall (about 2 ft. high). I sighted the machine gun down the 
road and locked the traversing mechanism just where the road took its first bend (about 
100 yards). I put the gun at half-cock and as it was already 8:00 PM by this time, Seatter 
and I took the first shift at guard.
     So--the stage was set for one of the many strange incidents of war. Behind us was 
a riflemen and in the doorway of the house across the street from us was another rifleman. 
Seatter, who usually carried a carbine, had tentatively been assigned as a jeep driver and 
had left his carbine in the jeep. About 10 minutes before 10:00 PM I asked Seatter to go 
in and wake up our relief. He told me to go in instead, as he had gone in early in the past. 
I went inside the bakery where the warmth and smell of baking bread was sweet. I went 
through the first room into the second where the ovens were located. I had no more than 
just closed the second door when I heard the sound of a jeep coming up the road full 
speed from the direction of the enemy lines. Seatter later told me what happened. Down 
the road coming very fast appeared a vehicle, just its blackout lights visible. It stopped 
short of the roadblock in a skid and a German officer got out and began to spout German.
Seatter tried to swing the machine gun around to cover the vehicle (one of those right
hand Austin-type touring cars). But the gun was locked in position  covering the bend 
in the road 100 yards away. He then tried to lift the whole gun, tripod and all, but couldn't. 
He didn't have a  pistol or rifle, so he yelled "Jawohl" and "Fire--they're Germans." That 
little car did a double-time about face and took off in a cloud of mud with the two riflemen
opening fire. Seatter immediately ducked down behind the stone wall, but as the vehicle
disappeared, he went back to the machine gun thinking he would start firing as soon as it
approached the bend in the road.  He forgot that it was on half-cock; it wouldn't fire unless 
the bolt was pulled back one more time. I got back to the outside door just as the driver 
shifted into second gear.   I never saw anything happen with so much of a coincidence. 
That it should come when we only had one man on the gun; that the enemy was more 
confused than we were to come tearing down the road into our lines; that it was our first 
experience of that kind; that Seatter didn't have a hand gun; that he didn't react fast enough 
to unlock the machine gun to cover the vehicle; that he wasn't able to put the gun in a 
full-fire position; and maybe best of all that I wasn't the one who had to face the situation. 
I've often thought since just exactly what I would have done under the same circumstances.
     Nov. 26, 1944: Sunday. We cleaned up and wrote letters and about 11:00 AM had a 
turkey sandwich (I guess this was our Thanksgiving dinner). We pulled guard all day until we 
left at 3:00 that afternoon. Everyone was quite aware that the enemy knew where we were 
and was expecting us--he had checked us out personally the night before. Grubbe was 
being shelled off and on all day by German 88s. In one instance while Hudson was pulling 
guard on the steps of the bakery, an artillery round landed on the roof showering him with 
bits of broken tile. We took off in a two-column formation down the road and across a 
small river. The next town,  Ville, was only about 2 miles away. German artillery began to 
fall in an increasing quantity in Grubbe and along the road. One unit tried to outflank 
Ville from the left by climbing a small hill, while our section supported the frontal attack of 
C Company. The 4 TDs were firing at the outer defenses of Ville while riflemen were 
following the ditch along the road in order to find cover before our expected artillery 
barrage. The air was full of small arms fire. Bullets seemed to be flying everywhere.
     Three of the TDs were behind a cover of the curve of the road while the lead vehicle 
was firing from a position at a crossroad in front of the first road block.
     My squad was ordered to give covering fire to the riflemen by peppering all buildings 
facing our front. We ducked into a small courtyard and while Lt. Geckler was knocking 
the door down we attempted to stay clear of the ricocheting lead and shrapnel. Plourd, 
our Medic, was extremely nervous. He grabbed my arm and pointed to an upstairs 
window of an adjoining house, shouting for me to fire at something he had seen in the 
window. With the tripod on my back, I pulled my .45 pistol and fired three rounds into 
the window. The frame window was open from the bottom and white curtains were waving. 
I never saw where my three shots went; there was no broken glass and no evidence of a hit 
on the outside of the house. I like to think that, at about 60 feet, I put all three shots right 
through that window. By this time the door had been broken down and we carried our 
equipment up to the second floor. The window facing the town of Ville was too high for 
using the tripod, so we set the gun down on the window sill and fired about one belt. 
Hudson wanted to fire the gun so we put in another belt and he fired at the church steeple, 
just in case it was being used for a German artillery observation post.
     The town of Ville was being softened up by our artillery. Our section was pulled out of 
the house and ordered to positions near the front of the lead rifle platoon in order to give 
support to the riflemen. Our squad was first. Carroll took off, following the embankment of 
the road around to where the first tank destroyer was positioned. We had to run crouched 
low to stay below the hail of lead going both ways. I followed next, running across a little 
open space where the embankment was open to allow for drainage.  Hudson followed with 
the gun and then came the ammo bearers. Next came our section's 7th squad, with Tucker
carrying he tripod. Tucker slipped in crossing the open space, fell and cut his knee wide 
open on a broken bottle lying in the grass. That was all for him for the duration. Plourd went 
back to help him, while someone grabbed his tripod. Our artillery was coming in (105s).
A short round landed about 20 yards to our rear in the open field, and a piece of the 
shrapnel tore a chunk  out of a rifleman's arm and back, the third man from me along the bank.
     Capt. Neely was calling for the heavies (our .30 cal. machine guns). I set up my gun 
among some logs a little to the rear and to one side of the TD.   I had to keep firing at the
roadblock, windows, doorways--anything to keep the enemy from firing back, while our 
troops circled the first two streets and tried to outflank the roadblock strong point. I must 
have fired 2 or 3 belts, intermittently, because the gun was starting to steam. The last of the 
riflemen started to move up and so did our section. We had to run, first behind the TD, 
then dart around it and run for the shelter of several buildings near the roadblock. We were 
ready to move into the main part of town when we discovered that the 2nd 
Section was nowhere to be found. I was sent back to contact them and to tell them to 
hurry up, that they were holding up operations. By that time it was getting dusk. I dropped 
my tripod on the ground and Hudson set the gun in the mount with the muzzle pointing toward 
the ground (a temporary position, since we were going to pick them up very soon and move out). 
I got as far as the TD when I saw Sgt. Stanley Panoske and told him to hurry up. When we 
were all together, I stooped over to pick up the tripod, waiting for Hudson to first lift the gun,
when a loud explosion nearly took my helmet off. My ears rang. The machine gun had not 
been cleared--there was still one round in the chamber--I had been too excited and had 
forgotten a very important basic safety precaution, that is to always clear the gun if you 
don't expect to be firing it. Just as my head was level with the gun, it had gone off into the 
dirt, since Hudson had picked up the gun by the trigger grip. I hoisted the tripod with my 
ears still ringing, both from the explosion and from a few choice words from Lt. Geckler.
     One German soldier was flushed out near the roadblock. Half way through town we met 
up with B Company who had circled it. We then returned to find billets for the night. We 
decided upon a large 3-story building near the main square. Lt. Geckler, after knocking 
twice, shot the lock and pushed the door in.  All occupants were in the cellar. It was an 
apartment house, very modern, clean, and attractive. We decided to let the people stay 
in the cellar and we occupied the two top floors. We set up a machine gun in a little 
balcony facing the square and proceeded to find something to eat.  I acted as interpreter
--made one trip to the cellar and finally got the landlady to scramble us some eggs. While 
there, a young woman

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