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

Part 5 of 11
accosted me, wanting someone to accompany her to her apartment down the block
and bring back some of her possessions. She told me that the soldiers there wouldn't let 
her back in. I told Capt. Lincoln and the three of us went to her apartment which was 
occupied by C Company. She started collecting silverware under the bed and odds and 
ends including the radio. Her bedroom, a beautiful display, was showered with wood 
and plaster because of a large hole in the ceiling caused by an artillery shell. This woman 
later put a claim in to the U. S. Government for two expensive cameras which she said
were missing from her apartment. I later found out that her name was Frau Fischer. We all
returned to our billets where I bedded down in one of the kitchens.
     Nov. 27, 1944: Up early that morning, cleaned our weapons and lazed around in 
general. From the balcony we could see PWs by the hundreds marching back toward 
Grubbe. Richard Winik took pictures of them with his 16 mm movie camera. The German
artillery was getting the range. Every so often a round or two would land in the town. We 
loaded our equipment on jeeps early in the afternoon and started off again. One fellow 
had several million Marks piled on a jeep. Several of the store buildings were still being 
looted by GIs. Our battalion radio section was set up in a kindergarten. The town was 
the cleanest and the nicest looking I had yet seen, even in its dismantled condition. East 
of town someone thought he saw a movement near and old barn about 350 yards across 
the valley to our right. Immediately someone ordered a gun set up and the barn was 
peppered--nothing ever came out--certainly the dead cows didn't show themselves. We 
still had our 4 TDs with us as we came into the town of Weiler. The inhabitants were 
very friendly and there were plenty of offers of wine. The town ended in a dead-end 
street. There were no good roads leading over the last little range of mountains. It was 
decided to stay in Weiler for the night and send the TDs around back through Ville and
over the good road. When we received supplies from our jeep that night, we learned 
that the Germans were using heavy rockets on Ville and Grubbe. We slept in a haymow, 
but ate hot milk and home made bread with a family in one of the houses.
     Nov. 28, 1944: We were up before dawn. With no breakfast, we formed two columns 
and started off over the mountain directly back of the town. We were following a trail 
made by ox-drawn wagons. The morning was cool and very foggy--observation was 
good for only about 15 yards. We were directly behind C Company who was leading 
the advance. We here held up several times by sharp outbursts of gunfire a few hundred 
yards ahead, and a couple of times prisoners were relayed toward the rear. The cry of 
"Medic up front" was frequently heard. Finally, after the fog cleared and the sun came out,
the opposition seemed to melt away. We began walking at a very fast rate--the tripod 
was getting heavy. The mountain road seemed not to have been used for a long time. We 
had come to the main road linking the two valleys and our TDs were once again with us. 
That didn't last long because we came to places where trees had been felled across the 
road, making passage with vehicles impossible. We moved right along still carrying our
equipment.  Several of the roadblocks were covered by German artillery because we 
could hear an occasional round winging over our heads. Finally, we came to a road
junction where the enemy had just recently left--still steaming pots of cereal were sitting 
in German field kitchens--huge pots on wheels. Everything seemed to indicate that the 
enemy had left in a hurry. We were spurred by the thought of eventually finding the 
enemy in unorganized flight.  Another main junction of the paved road. Tracks indicated 
that the enemy had taken off across the fields. Our 2nd Battalion was assigned the trail,
while we were to stay on the surfaced road and continue down the last slope on to the 
Rhine plain.
     Going around a curve in the descending road, our lead scout saw a German
Volkswagen (German Army issue) coming up the hill toward us. He immediately
dropped to one knee and began firing into the vehicle. It stopped and two men leaped 
out--one ran for cover of the brush and trees on the lower side of the road, while the 
other came running up the road with his hands up. He was the driver--the officer with 
him had escaped. We were rapidly descending onto the plain. There were two houses 
on the hill to our right and at the bottom of the grade was another farmhouse located 
right at the junction of our road and another road coming from the other side of the hill 
to our left. Our lead platoon had come abreast of and had passed this house when 
German artillery and mortar rounds started to come in. I was almost even with the
house when this happened. Everyone threw down their equipment and forward
progress was halted. The cry for a medic was heard from the rear. Just before this 
happened our lead rifleman had taken two prisoners and had sent them back along our 
column. Someone later told me that both had been shot while being taken back.
     I left my tripod on the left side of the road near the entrance to the house and stooped 
down behind the cover of a woodpile on the right side of the road. A light mortar crew was 
busy firing from behind the woodpile.  Shrapnel was flying everywhere. At the next lull, I 
ran for the house.  There, in the cellar, were gathered the inhabitants, a man and his wife.
A rifleman, very seriously wounded in the arm, was being cared for. Our section was 
ordered to ascend the slope of the hill immediately behind the house. There I set up the 
machine gun and Grusecki spotted several of the enemy to our left with his field glasses. 
I could see a truck and several men trying to get it started. It appeared that the Germans 
were not aware that we were in the vicinity. Grusecki fired a belt into the scene. The two 
men soon disappeared. It wasn't long before an 88 mm barrage was laid down again 
by the Germans. They couldn't find our position. Because our hill was small, in order to 
miss the larger hill near their guns, they had to elevate too much, and so overshot our hill. 
From our position atop the knoll we could see the effect of our own artillery barrages. 
These sprayed the hillsides with phosphorous shells and high explosives. San Martin and 
someone else went down and drove the German truck back to the road junction. We still 
had nothing to eat.
     It was getting along toward dusk and Hudson was at the gun while the rest of us were 
waiting around for orders where to dig in. All of a sudden we heard the grinding, creaking 
and groaning of a tank--a German tank. A self-propelled 88 mm had come around the 
bend of the road and began firing point blank into the farmhouse just below us. The house 
was only about 40 yards from where we were standing. The high velocity shells penetrated 
the house, going into, through, and out of the house and exploding harmlessly in the hillside 
right below us. After firing about 6 rounds the tank withdrew, making a lot of noise. Our 
4 TDs sitting just around the bend in the road didn't move a muscle or make a noise. One 
couldn't move because of engine trouble, but Capt. Neely cussed the rest of them out.
     After dark, some of us raided the beehives located in a little shed near the house close 
to where the shells from the SP gun had landed. The honeycombs were mostly dried up--
nothing there. I then went down to the house to get some straw and try to find something 
to eat. The first floor of the house was in shambles. Wilkes had been in the house when 
the SP gun had opened fire. Just as soon as the first shell exploded, he, being in the kitchen, 
dove for the window and ran up the hill toward us. As he lay there winded, he told us how 
it felt being fired at point blank by a German 88 mm SP gun. There was nobody in either 
the first floor or the attic. After about a half hour of exploring both floors with a flashlight, 
I found a pint of strained honey in a can and about two dozen walnuts. I then went outside
to the stable and barn and carried some straw to line my foxhole. The hole I dug was very
shallow, since it was between two trees. The roots and the rocks together with the fact 
that I had to borrow a shovel made me give up easily. We were short handed, so it was 
decided that I was to sleep next to the gun while the rest were pulling guard, one at a time. 
I stood watch for an hour and then went to sleep. It rained slightly around midnight but 
the new sleeping bag was perfect. We had lost two men, both from the 2nd Section, 
Nick Pogrmich had been peppered in the shoulder and Richard Hoffman had received 
powder burns from the same shell--both while walking down the road. On my trip to the
farmhouse I had gone into the cellar; there an aid station had been set up; each medical 
officer had a huge wine barrel, with one end removed, for a bed.
     Nov. 29, 1944: And so dawned the fateful day of Wednesday, November 29, 1944-- 
but I don't remember the dawn. I was awake about 4 AM and had my bed rolled and 
was waiting for something to happen. Nothing to eat except walnuts. Without changing 
positions, we waited until 9:00. Orders finally came through. C Company was to take the 
hill on the right side of the road and B Company was to take the hill on the left. Our 
platoon was assigned to support C Company, which was just fine with us. C Company, 
led by Capt. Neely, was noted for being a crack outfit, for having fewer casualties. It
was well-disciplined and its leaders were primarily interested in the welfare and safety of 
their men. B Company, on the other hand, was noted for poor leadership, poor morale 
and bad luck (heavy casualties). We had to cross the road and assemble near a small 
creek in the lowest part of the small valley. We lined up expecting to follow C Company 
to the right. A last minute change reversed the positions of the two rifle companies. We 
did not change--much to our displeasure, we stayed to the right, but were attached to 
B Company.
     Sgt. Slyford, somewhere, had gotten hold of a loaf of GI white bread and was handing 
out slices with his trench knife just before we were to move out. I opened my can of honey 
and was pouring some on each slice (whoever wanted any). Maurice L. Plourd, our medic,
wanted some honey on his bread, but each time he would get near me a German shell would
come in and land nearby on the hillside. As soon as he would hear the whine, he would run--
try to get away from everyone else. He must have tried to put honey on his bread three
times, but never succeeded. By this time most of us could tell by the sound of the whine just 
how close the round was going to land and would duck in relation to our sense of danger. 
B Company was lined up on the right side of the creek and was already moving into the 
trees on that side of the valley.  Our platoon hadn't crossed to the other side of the stream 
yet but as the line was moving, we prepared to follow. Just then, a stream of bullets from
a burp gun chewed up the grass between us and the creek. We were forced to run for it. 
One and two at a time, we had to cross the bare patch of grass and the creek. Eventually
everyone made it without getting hit. That was a warning--the enemy was close.
      There wasn't much heavy artillery in action (from either side) as we wound our way 
among the trees and brush, going slowly, sometimes stopping for 5 or 10 minutes as a 
brisk fire-fight erupted ahead. Our 1st section (5th and 6th squads) was ahead of us 
supporting the lead rifle platoon. The hillside was steep and covered with tall fir trees and 
low brush. It wasn't long before the cry of "Medic up front" was heard. Soon the cry for 
litter bearers was also heard. We were going much slower now. It was there that I saw 
my first dead GI--a B Company rifleman lying on the trail, a waxy white, not over 15 
minutes dead. I saw two more dead GIs and several walking wounded before we came to 
a complete halt.
     Artillery and mortar rounds swept our positions at an ever-increasing volume. The real
problem was tree bursts, where the shell would detonate on a tree limb or branch overhead 
and literally spray lethal shrapnel fragments downward on everything below. Foxholes 
were of little value without overhead protection. We could tell that the GIs up front of 
us were taking a terrible beating. Here we were, a machine gun section (2 guns) with 
both weapons unassembled, our men scattered out among the low brush, unable to see 
the enemy, waiting for orders to do something. I had no shovel, in fact, had had no shovel 
since the second evening of the jump off. The slope of the hill was fairly steep and I was 
lying flat with my feet downhill and my hand on the tripod. Then came a close one--an 
88 mm round landed uphill and to my right. I hugged the dirt and covered my face with 
my right arm. The shrapnel was whizzing and bouncing off rocks and trees. All of a 
sudden I felt a terrific blow on my right forearm. It felt as though I had been hit with a
sledgehammer. I knew I had been hit, but did not know how badly. I immediately slid 
down the hill about 20 yards from the tripod. Carroll asked me if I had been hit and I 
answered, "Yes." Upon examination, I found that a piece of ricocheting shrapnel had 
hit my forearm cutting through my field jacket, shirt, and woolen undershirt, causing 
the blood to flow slightly, but doing no damage other than making my whole arm sting. 
I refused to go back for aid, partly because I wasn't wounded badly and partly because 
a good percentage of the rounds coming in were landing to our rear, along our supply lines.
     Hudson put the gun on the tripod and sat behind it in readiness. He appeared very 
casual and unconcerned as some rounds came fairly close. The barrage began to 
become more intense--it seemed to sweep our line from one end to the other. I crawled 
about 10 yards to my left and by borrowing a different person's shovel for a few minutes 
at a time, was able to dig a hole about big enough for my head and shoulders. I was 
digging with my canteen cup by this time--had laid my belt, bed roll, canteen and pistol 
near me and was frantically digging. About that time one round in particular was 
whining for a target--it was going to be very close--I could sense that it was going to land 
down the back of my neck. I shoved my head and shoulders into the hole and held my 
breath. The ground shook--but nothing happened. It had been a dud and had landed in the 
pile of soft dirt nearby that 3 riflemen had thrown up in digging their holes.
     Soon I had a hole I could get below the level of the ground in. Only the tops of my 
shoe-packs stuck out. Off and on for about 3 hours we were subjected to artillery fire. 
Finally, as it was nearing dusk, we were told to move out. Firing had ceased except for 
an occasional round from our own batteries of 105s. We began to move a little faster now. 
I passed several dead Germans, most of them wearing bandoliers of machine gun 
ammunition. We were to set up a perimeter defense; our gun was to be set up just over 
the crest of the hill. Our squad climbed the hill and Hudson and I went crawling over the 
top and set up the gun at the left end of a small rotten log. Seatter and Harrington dug in 
near Carroll and Grusecki just on the back side of the hill. Hudson and I were alone, or 
so it seemed.

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