SESSENHEIM

            It all started about 5:00 a.m. on January 19, 1945. Patton had recently helped beat back the German

offensive at the “Bulge,” but in so doing had left his right flank spread very thin. The Germans, aware of this, attempted to make one last breakthrough just north of Strasbourg, France. During the morning of the 18th, we

had been pulled out of our defensive positions near Forbach and trucked behind the lines to a woods about

two miles west of Sessenheim, France, not far from the Rhine River. We slept in the woods that night.

            At the early morning meeting with the Jumper on the 19th, we were told that little resistance was

expected since scouts had entered the town of Sessenheim the previous day without incident. The plan for

the Company L attack was for the Third Platoon (under Lieutenant Al Eagler) to advance in a line as

skirmishers; First Platoon (of which I was the platoon leader) with the machine gun section, with the

mortar section and the Second Platoon following on the right flank of the Third Platoon in a column.

            We were to advance to a road about 200 yards from the town and await the arrival of our supporting

platoon of tanks, at which time the town would be thoroughly shelled for 10 minutes. At 7:00 a.m., just at

daybreak, the shelling would be lifted and we could walk into town and round up any prisoners.

            We reached the road without incident, having traversed the flattest mile of ground I had ever seen.

The town was then given a thorough blasting by our artillery. The first inkling I had that we might be in

for a bad day was the sight of many German gunners bellying up to their machine guns and 20-mms, like

so many snakes going through a field.  What’s more, our tanks hadn’t arrived and the sun was coming up.

            Realizing that we were about to get caught in an exposed position, it was decided to make the advance

without the tanks. We had pushed about halfway to town when the tanks came out of the shadows behind us.

They were now to my left and providing supporting fire for our attack.  Sergeant Chester Czopek, the

weapons platoon sergeant, suddenly came running to tell me that the tanks had mistakenly fired through the

Third Platoon, killing several men and pinning down all the others.

            We decided that the only possible plan was to swing the remainder of the company behind the

tanks and continue the attack.  The tankers, by this time, had become confused and they stopped in their

tracks. We were finally able to get the attention of one of the tank commanders to point out the disadvantage

of our position with the sun coming up.  He headed for town; but when he found the other tanks weren’t

following, he beat a hasty retreat. Within 10 minutes, all eight supporting tanks had been destroyed. I was

about 20 feet from a tank when it was hit. It had the appearance of being struck by lightning. The crew

cleared the hatch in about 10 seconds and ran off through the field.

            Because of the increasing daylight and the burning tanks, I was able to see the men of my platoon

more clearly and realized that we had no choice but to run for the town.  Supposedly to set an example, but

actually to build up my own morale, I started firing my Tommy gun and moved toward town.  I had gone

about three steps when a tremendous force picked me up and slapped me to the ground.  I was numb from the

waist to knee but felt no pain, only nausea. I was to find out about an hour later that a bullet had entered the

front of my left thigh and exited between my legs.

            The men around me seemed to stop, so I told them to get into town while there was still time. The last

thing I saw of them was their white helmets bobbing as they ran. A blanketing snow had fallen several days

before, which prompted an order to paint the helmets white. But the snow melted on the 18th, one day prior

to this action.