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

Part 6 of 11
     I knew there were riflemen scattered along the top of the hill also.  Hudson dug his hole a 
little to the left of the gun position. By this time it was almost dark among the trees. I couldn't 
see much over 20 feet in front of me. As I had no shovel, I sat behind the gun, cracking walnuts
into the now half-full can of honey. About that time, a Corporal from B Company, a friend of
Hudson's, came over the hill and told us that B Company and our 1st section had taken a 
terrific beating. He said that practically everyone was hit and that about half were dead. 
Among the names he mentioned as being dead was Mike Colacarro, a fellow from Seattle, 
our platoon runner. (This was since proved to be in error) It was hard to believe--I couldn't
picture it, but we were much too busy to reflect at that time. Seatter was ordered back to 
contact the Company CP and help bring up litters, supplies and water. I asked Hudson 
if I could borrow his shovel, and after he had his hole about 2/3 dug, he handed it to me. 
He reminded me that I should have taken one from one of the bodies along the trail. I started
digging while he sat up in his hole. I told him to keep a sharp eye peeled for anything moving
down the hill. The brush was very thick and it was getting dark. I sat on my heels to the right 
of the gun, facing it. I dug around near the trail leg, cutting roots with my trench knife and 
digging among the rocks with the shovel. I then turned around with my back to the gun and
Hudson, and started digging in the other direction, making a trench long enough to lie in.
     I had dug several inches down when, without warning, a loud explosion was heard to 
our right--it was close and I could hear the shrapnel whining among the trees and bushes. 
Without hesitation, I immediately hit the dirt, lying flat on my face, with my shoe-packs 
up against the trail leg of the gun. I heard someone cry out in pain about 30 yards to right 
of the gun. It was a mortar round--and we hadn't even heard the slight "pop" as it left the 
mortar tube--no warning at all. I must have lain there about 15 seconds, not wanting to 
raise up, in case more were on their way. That was the only thing that saved me, because 
just then--a tremendous explosion--very close--my ears rang and I could smell the 
nauseating smell of German gunpowder. That one had been meant for us, I knew. I lay 
there perhaps another 30 of 40 seconds before lifting my head up. There, before me, within 
arms reach, lay a helmet with several holes in it, and closer, slightly to my front-right lay 
a woolen knit cap--bloody--and full of holes.  Someone had gotten it, I knew.
     I don't remember what I did first, but I think I called to Hudson--3 times. I crawled 
close enough to see that he had been sitting up in his hole and that the mortar round had 
landed practically in his lap. It had landed slightly to his left and in front of him. I looked at 
the machine gun. The cover latch had been thrown open, the belt was twisted and shredded 
in many places, the bolt handle was gone and the whole receiver was sprung. My bed
roll, lying against a tree, was full of holes. And I hadn't received a scratch. That was enough 
for me--I grabbed my equipment and crawled over the top of the ridge and called down 
to Carroll--I could see him doubled up in his hole. He didn't answer. What was going on? 
Was everybody dead? I went down a little further and came to Grusecki's hole. He was 
digging. I told him that Hudson and Carroll were dead. About that time Carroll crawled up
and asked, "What's wrong?" I looked at him and said, "Hudson's gone. "Gone where?"
 he asked. "He's dead, God damn it," I replied. That was all. The gun was out of 
commission and nothing could be done for Hudson. I holed up with Harrington while 
Grusecki went down to contact Slyford. The entire first section of 16 men was missing 
except for Wagner and Dell. The dead were Horejs, Gentry, Ng, Doris and San Martin,
in addition to Hudson from our second section. Among the wounded were Foecking, 
Lt. Geckler and McMahon. I heard later that both Foecking and McMahon had legs 
amputated. (Foecking showed up at a 410th reunion with both legs intact) Lt. Geckler 
rejoined our outfit in June.
     It was very dark that night. Harrington had a square hole dug alongside of a small tree and 
I climbed down in and helped him dig for about 2 hours. Everything was unearthly quiet 
except for the occasional groaning of the rifleman who had been hit earlier in the evening 
with that first mortar round. We pooled our resources--that is, food and water. Between 
us we had about a half canteen of water and 4 D ration bars (dry, hard chocolate) plus 
my can of walnuts and honey. By 3:00 AM we had eaten and drunk everything available. 
There was no sleeping because of the danger of a night attack. As it would have been 
hopeless to remain in our advanced position with so little of our strength remaining, our 
whole unit pulled back under the leadership of Lt. Boyle, a forward observer for the 
field artillery, attached to our unit. All of the officers of B Company had been killed or 
seriously wounded. Also, we were cut off from our rear echelon. We found out later that 
a German tank and infantry had approached the house at the crossroads during the night 
and had captured all equipment and personnel there, including the aid station. Plourd, 
our medic, and Purcell, our driver, and his jeep were among the 25 or 30 men captured.
     Nov. 30, 1944: We retreated about 500 yards along the side of the mountain and dug 
in again. By daylight Lt. Boyle was directing artillery fire on the town of Itterswiller. The 
Germans were making strange noises continually until sun up. Their tanks would rumble 
up and down the road, with a motorcycle or a truck also in evidence every so often. 
Sometimes they would wind up their screaming meemies, multiple barreled rocket launchers.
We remained in that position the entire day. Our only contact was with the field artillery 
radio. About dusk we got the word that the town had been cleared of the enemy. That 
came as a surprise because it had seemed impregnable only a short time ago. Slowly, 
in single file, we made our way down the side of the hill, across a creek, and up into the 
town of Itterswiller. We were ushered into a bakery, given K rations, and went to sleep.
     Dec. 1, 1944: We awoke feeling very tired and hungry. The mail had come in. I had 
two packages. Dell had 19 packages. We gorged ourselves on the rich food, mostly 
fruitcake, cookies, candies and other goodies from Christmas packages. We had a change 
of clothing and generally took it easy. I was not among the few from our unit who returned 
to the hill to help carry our dead to the Graves Registration Office.  We also received 
replacements--Spurr, Seiber, Phillpots, Morris and LaPoint.  The effect of the rich food
on our empty stomachs was too much for us. I got very little sleep that evening. I could 
not lie still for more than 10 minutes because of stomach cramps. I was as sick as a dog--
I would vomit, vomit again, and then vomit some more. I wasn't exactly constipated, 
either--in fact, just the opposite. I had a very severe case of GIs, as did almost everyone 
else. The stomach cramps and related condition lasted for the better part of 2 weeks.
     Dec. 2, 1944: Our rest was short, however, because the following morning we were 
again on the road. The broad Rhine plain was before us. We walked south, coming to 
the town of Nothalten where the dead German soldiers had not yet been picked up 
around the roadblocks and railway station. We filled our canteens from the town watering 
trough, using water purification tablets. From there we walked further south to Dambach for 
a halt of several hours. While there, Spurr, LaPoint and I took a walk back of the church, 
where several civilians were digging graves, up a small path where we met a strange sight. 
There were a great number of dead German soldiers scattered over the open hillside in 
various positions. Upon examining them closer, we could find no blood, no evidence that 
the ground had been disturbed, or no indication that they had died fighting. They seemed 
to have been hit by shrapnel. To this day, I am unable to account for the facts; unless they 
were victims of timed, overhead, American artillery fire. Around noon we pulled out past
Dambach in the general direction of Selestat. But before we swung into action, orders
came through that we were to join the French First Armored Division and remain with it 
until the Colmar pocket was cleaned out. We then backtracked, on foot, through Dambach,
Nothalten, east through Epfig, finally coming to a small village where every house seemed 
to be occupied by French Army tankers.
     Finally, we found an empty barn and persuaded the owner to let us use his kitchen to 
heat water and cook 10-in-one rations. We did prepare supper and upon leaving the next
morning, much to his surprise, made him a present of everything we couldn't carry.
     Dec. 3, 1944: Orders canceled again--so back to Dambach we walked. The road was 
lined with trees but practically every one had been dynamited to fall across the narrow 
paved road. Thousands of slit trenches and dugouts lined the road. The enemy had 
employed the laborers of the surrounding countryside to prepare elaborate defenses 
but the French Army had driven north, outflanking them and making them impossible 
to defend. Periodically, dozens of our men would leave the column and run out into 
the field, succumbing to the stomach cramps. Arriving in Dambach once more, we 
found another barn in which to sleep. The owner was a tailor with a 16 and an 18 year 
old daughter. In the barn was a large draft ox; he milked her and most of us had a good 
portion of fresh milk. I was one of the few to sleep in the house.
     Dec. 4, 1944: Up that morning with the announcement that our battalion was to 
receive a short rest. We boarded trucks and journeyed to the town of Wingersheim, 
a small town near Strasbourg. We had to find our own billets, and soon found a house 
that had two rooms to spare. Six of us stayed there. It was owned by a barber and his 
wife who had two sons in the German Army, but had already received notice of the 
death of one. While there, we rested, washed, slept, wrote letters, had our hair cut 
and got professional shaves. But not me--I got a haircut and had my Abe Lincoln 
beard trimmed. We received our duffel bags for the first time. Many of the pictures I 
had with me were ruined because of the way duffle bags were handled. We slept 
there the nights of December 4th, 5th and 6th. Fresh milk every day--I watched 
the woman milk the three oxen one evening. She spent most of her time cussing the beast 
or beating it with her stool. All were so big that they continued to eat and switch their 
tails--they shook off the blows as though they were gentle pats. The barber invited us 
to eat with him one meal. We had boiled potatoes, boiled beef and bread. We would 
have liked jelly with the bread but were too embarrassed to get it from our own rations. 
The meal was very appetizing, especially the meat and gravy, but we were too polite to 
eat as much as we would have liked. The last day we were there the barber butchered
a hog. I had one picture taken in front of the house while we were there. The sky was 
cloudy almost the entire period but once the German Luftwaffe strafed the town. They 
were able to give the streets a good going over. Our latest replacement was Tom Haley 
from Burdine, Ky. He immediately found a potato still and spent most of his time trying 
to persuade the hired girl who ran it to let him sample the potato schnapps. From this 
incident, he was known as "Schnapps" Haley.
     On the evening of the 6th of December we were trucked north again to the town 
of Pfaffenhofen. We debarked from the trucks at the square in the center of town and
immediately were walking in the direction of the largest town in the area, Merzwiller. 
It had started to drizzle by that time, and about 30 minutes later we had relieved the unit 
that had been watching the town. They had attacked the town earlier but had been driven 
back. We dug in as best we could in the marshy ground, and even though there was no 
sign of snow on the ground, the temperature wasn't very high. It was cold enough  for the 
rain to turn to sleet. No one got any sleep that night.
     Dec. 7 and 8, 1944: Just before dawn we pulled back about 30 yards onto a drier 
piece of ground, but still in the woods, and dug in again. I dug in with Harrington. E. A. Brown
was now the new squad leader. That day and the next were spent in receiving mail, eating 
C rations and in general improving the holes. In the meantime, artillery was being brought 
up for the general assault on Merzwiller, just across the Zintzel River.  We were to have 
Corps Artillery support, 48 pieces. It made itself noticeable about noon of the 8th. 
A short round, just skimming the tree tops, crashed into the top of one of them. The tree 
burst sent everyone hunting for a hole, and the artillery received a good GI cussing. It 
was during the evening of the 8th of December that Harrington began to talk about his 
home. McCarthy had brought the mail up early that evening together with orders to 
attack Merzwiller early the next morning. We were to give supporting fire to the assault
troops crossing the river. We even had a .50 cal. machine gun in position manned by 
some of our unit.
     Harrington and I had crawled into our hole which was covered with logs, dirt and 
shelter-half. We lit a candle and read our mail. He had received a "Dear John" letter 
from his 18 year old wife. Harrington had married young--he at 18 and she at 14. He 
had been drafted early, sent to Alaska, and from there to the 103rd in Texas. He had 
not seen his wife except for 5 days in California since he was drafted. Soon after he 
was sent to Alaska, she moved to California and got a job. His letter that night said 
she was getting a divorce and marrying her boss. Harrington acted very blue and
discouraged--he said he didn't care what happened to him.

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