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Some Stories Of The Battle Of The Bulge



Belgian Freedom Fighters

It was the early days of the Battle of the Bulge. Germans were advancing into Belgium, and the supplies they needed to strengthen their force were close at hand, until the bravery of a lone rifle company helped halt their advance.

On Dec. 18, 1944, in the Belgian town of Stavelot, “The U.S. Army evacuated the city, and the 5th Battalion was the only one between this treasure and the Germans,” recalled Robert Lemaire, a Belgian soldier who was assigned to the company.

The day prior, German Col. Joachim Peiper and his 1st SS Panzer Regiment were quickly moving through Belgian villages destined to reach the Meuse River and Allied supply ports in Antwerp. His Army plowed through towns like Honsfeld and Büllingen, capturing and killing unarmed Americans.

While the SS Regiment faced casualties and lost tanks and vehicles along the way, Peiper moved them on toward Stavelot. His tanks crossed the only bridge leading into the village and launched a morning attack, capturing the city. Lemaire, who was guarding the American fuel depots while his company was attached to the First U.S. Army, recalled that Peiper executed 132 civilians in Stavelot, including numerous children.

Americans repositioned their forces to set up a perimeter defense. However, Lemaire’s company was left behind along the Malmedy road.

“In a hurry, packed in a truck,” he recalled, “we left our billets in direction of the depot. As we came closer, our lieutenant asked for 10 volunteers.”

Lemaire was among the first to jump off the truck, along with Sgts. Harpigny, Magain, Vermeulen, Cpl. Suinen and fellow Pvts. Robert Delbois, Robert Tille, Alfred Cantigneau, Elomir Cambier, Jean Lesire, Paul Wantiez and F. Ingels. Their mission — to set fire to the fuel depot to prevent the SS from retrieving the supplies needed to rejuvenate their offensive.

“The lieutenant ordered us to set fire to the three first piles,” Lemaire recalled. “As the first attempt to shoot tracer bullets with a Bren gun failed, we then pierced jerry cans with our bayonets and spread fuel on the three first piles, as well as, a trail of fuel on the road ahead of the piles. We set the fire with matches.” Within moments, the entire depot was engulfed in a trail of flames, stretching seven miles long. “It was impossible for the armored tanks to go through this wall of fire,” said Lemaire.

According to the Office of the Chief of Military History, as the gasoline roadblock was still enflamed, the Americans launched a full-fledged ground and air assault against the Panzer unit, reclaiming the town.

Engineers had destroyed the Amblève Bridge that would have allowed the Germans to retreat to their fuel depots to the east, and Lemaire and his company had destroyed the fuel supplies in Stavelot, preventing Peiper from advancing much further.

“We began to realize that we had insufficient gasoline to cross the bridge west of Stoumont,” Peiper said in January 1945. The German powerhouse of heavy vehicles became meager road debris inefficient against the Allied forces. On Christmas Eve, the regiment was forced to abandon its vehicles and continue the battle on foot.

At the time, Lemaire didn’t realize the impact that striking a match would have on defeating the Germans. “We just did our job,” he said. It was a job that he had waited four years to accomplish.

Lemaire and a fellow Soldier, Marcel D’Haese, began fighting the Germans in 1940. The Belgian Army had surrendered that year, and the Germans put out an order that all young men were to report to Germany as laborers. Therefore, D'Haese said the Belgians made the choice to start a resistance.

“At the beginning of the war, I received an obligation to go to Germany,” said Lemaire, “so I became a resistance fighter.”

“The resistance was really active in Belgium,” said D’Haese. “We were doing sabotage to the Germans, like cutting the communications lines.” But despite their heroic actions to defend their nation and “four dark years of underground fight and suffering”, D’Haese said, “We waited and we prayed for the Americans.”

Americans brought power, engines and weapons. They were like God to us. They were the only ones that could help to liberate us,” he said.

After the Alliance jumped into Normandy and later liberated Belgium, the Belgian government called for volunteers. D’Haese said 53,000 men answered that call and joined the newly-formed Belgian Army.

D’Haese and Lemaire joined the 5th Belgian Fusiliers Battalion, which was made up of six companies from the Mons, Tournai and Charleroi regions. D’Haese, who is now 84, was assigned to the Headquarters Company and Lemaire, who is now 86, the 3rd Company.

The unit was officially activated on Oct. 7, 1944, and the volunteers, who had already been defending their country unofficially, enlisted on Oct. 9.

After two months of training in Charleroi, they joined the First U.S. Army and deployed to the Ardennes where the battalion was divided amongst the American forces. The battalion had 800 men dispersed over 30 miles, according to D’Haese.

    “They call us war volunteers. Indeed, we are freedom volunteers,” stressed D’Haese.” We were sick about war. We helped the Americans to finish it. We were ready to do anything we could for the Americans.”

“If the U.S. did not liberate Belgium, the Germans would still be here,” he added.

The 5th Fusilier partnered with the First U.S. Army until June 1, 1945. Throughout the war, five members of the battalion were killed and 80 more injured.

The unit and its actions were recognized by Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, the supreme commander, on July 13, 1945, in a memo that stated: “This battalion contributed materially to the successful operations of the unit with which it served. The high Esprit de Corps and great determination displayed by the officers and men of the Fifth Belgian Fusilier Battalion enabled it to carry through to a successful conclusion each and every assigned mission, thereby contributing immeasurably to the glorious victory of the Allied Nations. The outstanding achievements of this battalion bring credit not only to itself but also to the Belgian Army.”



Captain Seymour Green

Captain Seymour Green of the 9th Armored Division was commanding a small supply unit that had spent the night of December 16th in Ligneuville, three miles south of Baugnez. It was a Sunday morning, and he was awaiting orders to move out when a bulldozer driver came roaring down the hill road from Baugnez, screaming that German tanks were right behind him. Green had good reason to think that perhaps the excited bulldozer operator was exaggerating. He decided to check things out for himself.

Grabbing a carbine, he ordered his men to get ready to move out and grabbed a jeep and driver. They proceeded up the road to a sharp bend; there Green told the driver to stay behind while he went ahead for a look. Creeping forward stealthily, he rounded the bend -- and came face to face with the lead tanks of Kampfgruppe Peiper. Green stopped dead in his tracks. So did the Germans. For a long moment, the most powerful thrust of the German offensive was stopped cold by one petrified American captain armed with a carbine. Then the Germans started laughing.

They waved him aside and drove past, laughing. Green stood sheepishly by the side of the road.

This incident would NOT go down in history books as "Green's Last Stand".



Germans In American Uniforms

Sometime on December 16th, seven jeeploads of soldiers raced westward from the Losheim gap northeast of St. Vith. Fanning out, they spread word of the huge German attack. Hundreds of tanks were coming, they screamed at terrified GIs. "Run for your lives," they shouted. At empty crossroads, they rearranged road signs, cut telephone wires, and redirected traffic in the wrong direction.

They were German commandos, fluent in English, using captured American uniforms and equipment. Their assignment was to sow chaos and confusion. This they did well for their tiny numbers, but their greatest impact came after three of them were captured the next day and revealed the plan for Operation Greif ("Greif" is the German word for terror.) When it was learned that their commander was the notorious Otto Skorzeny, American security officers panicked.

The word went out: the American rear areas were crawling with German agents who spoke perfect English. They were dressed just like Americans, driving regular American vehicles, and had American papers. They were, according to the rumors, up to all sorts of dastardly schemes, the most sensational of which was a plot to assassinate General Eisenhower. As a result, Ike was smothered with so much security that he could hardly function for two weeks.

Just one of the seven teams made it back to German lines after a week of wild adventures behind enemy lines; the others were all caught or killed. Three of the captured German commandos -- Officer Cadet Gunther Billing, Corporal Wilhelm Schmidt, and Private First Class Manfred Pernass -- were court martialed by the Americans for fighting out of uniform. They were shot as spies.



Over Kill

"Back up!" screamed Heinz, the tank commander. "Schnell! Schnell!" The driver threw the tank into reverse, and with a great grinding of gears and treads, 50 tons of Panther lurched backward with a start. An instant later, Gunther Bermann, the gunner, heard the whoosh of an antitank shot passing just inches in front of the turret. There was no time to contemplate the whims of fate; already the turret was turning towards the ambusher who had nearly killed them all. Gunther hunched over his gunsight waiting for the turret to stop. "There -- you see? To the left of the fencepost!" Heinz shouted. Gunther already had it in sight, an American tank destroyer that had lain in wait for them coming down this road. They weren't backing away, either, so they were reloading for another shot. But this time Gunther had the initiative. He lined up the shot carefully; an old pro at 22, it took him less than two seconds to register the crosshairs. Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger. The kick of the mighty gun rocked their big tank. Before the tank had stopped rocking, before Heinz had whooped triumphantly, Gunther had verified the kill.

Already he was traversing the turret further. American TDs didn't travel alone; there were more out there. Sure enough, he spotted a towed antitank gun, probably one of those weakling 57mm guns. "HE!" he called out without looking up. The gunloader had already popped out the shell casing; he grabbed a high-explosive shell instead of the armor-piercing shells they used for antitank fighting. By the time he rammed the breech closed, Gunther was ready. A second later, the big gun roared again, and Gunther noted with satisfaction fragments of gun and bodies leaping away from the explosion.


Out Of Gas

Private Sadi Schneid of the 2nd SS Panzer Division gripped his Mauser and clung to the back of the Panther tank. The German tank column was moving slowly down the road, straight toward the American positions in Manhay. In its lead was a captured American Sherman tank. Would the Americans be fooled? Or would they open fire on the Germans, sitting ducks bunched together on the road? The night was dark; perhaps the ruse would work.

The German column rolled straight into Manhay, unchallenged. Suddenly shots broke out. One of the German tanks opened fire. Panic broke out as Americans everywhere scattered and ran. A whistle blew. Schneid and his companions leapt off the tank and spread out, firing at fleeing Americans. The fight was short; the Americans were completely routed. They abandoned all their equipment, their trucks and guns and tanks. Schneid and his friends laughed; this was too easy.

"Back on the tanks! We've got to keep moving!" came the order, and once again they were rumbling down the road to another American defensive position. Speed was their greatest protector; if they reached the next roadblock ahead of the refugees from the first roadblock, the trick would work again. Once again they were right on top of the roadblock before the Americans recognized them; once again they routed the green troops and captured all their equipment.

But now a new order came: spread out in defensive positions. Schneid and other eager SS troopers gathered around a command tank, frustrated and angry. Why couldn't they push on now that they had the Americans on the run?

"Not enough gas," a sturmbahnfuhrer explained. "The rest of the division is stuck a few kilometers behind us. We've got to wait for them to get enough gas to catch up."



Colonel Alois Weber's Men

Colonel Alois Weber surveyed the wretched lines of men retreating down the little country road. What a sorry lot his division had become! He remembered when the 79th Infantry Division had been one of the top infantry divisions in the Wehrmacht. It had a long and proud history spanning the war in Europe: Poland 1939, France 1940, and Russia 1941. The Russian campaign had been a meatgrinder, culminating for the 79th Division in the disaster at Stalingrad, where the entire division had been lost. The command staff had been flown out and then broken up, reassigned to other divisions. But Hitler refused to accept the total destruction of any of his divisions, at least in name. So it was that, in August of 1944, Weber as the highest-ranking survivor of the original 79th had been assigned to rebuild the division using new recruits.

But the new 79th Volksgrenadier had gotten the dregs of everything. The recruits were all "stomach soldiers", older men who had been passed over in earlier drafts for physical ailments. There were no assault guns or self-propelled artillery. Even the horse-drawn artillery was old and worn-out.

On the morning of the 24th they had launched their first assault. The men showed surprising elan in this their first fight. But soon the Americans counterattacked with a tornado of artillery fire, and Weber's men had been slaughtered. Now they were retreating to regroup. Weber looked hard at the men shambling down the road. There was no fight left in these men. On paper, the 79th Volksgrenadier Division was strong and ready. In reality, it was a collection of tired and beaten refugees.


Loss Of 53 Tanks In 3 Days

Late on Christmas eve, Lt. Colonel Walter Richardson was commanding a tank battalion at Manhay when the 2nd SS Panzer Division began its attack on the vital crossroads. The timing of that attack was perfect; another tank battalion from the 7th Armored Division was pulling out just as the attack began. In the confusion of the attack, the Germans got across the small bridge before it could be destroyed. Then two German tanks snuck into the retreating American armored column. A few minutes later they swung out into a field beside the road and began pouring fire into the defenseless American vehicles. The Americans scattered. Richardson jumped into an abandoned Sherman and took a shot at a Tiger, but the round bounced harmlessly off the huge German tank and its countershot destroyed Richardson's tank.Richardson hopped into a jeep and bugged out, stopping a mile away in Grandmenil. There he found two American M10 tank destroyers. He positioned them to intercept any approaching German armor. Within a few minutes, two Panthers appeared, churning through a field in the blinding snowstorm. The first TD knocked one out with a shot into its side. But a third Panther blew up the American TD with a lucky hit on its ammunition rack. The second M10 now tried a frontal shot against a Panther. It bounced off, and the Panther returned the fire. The Panther's second shot knocked out the TD.

Realizing that he'd been beaten again, Richardson called down an artillery barrage on the little village and bugged out for the second time that night. In three days of continuous fighting his command had been reduced from 65 tanks to under a dozen.


German Christmas Eve Party

It was Christmas Eve in Bande, a little village northwest of Bastogne. The Abbe Jean-Baptiste Musty was celebrating Mass. The Germans had been in the town for two days now. During the German occupation, the Belgian resistance operated out of Bande, and there were reprisals, but the American army had arrived before the Germans could finish the job. Now soldiers from the SD, the security service of the SS, were here to even an old score. They quickly moved through town, arresting all the men. They even took four of the Abbe's young philosophy students. Seventy men, all the men from the village, were gathered in an old sawmill.

They freed one man and his son in return for some wine. Then they separated the older men from the younger men and marched this younger group down the road to some burned-out houses. They lined them up, 33 in all, in three rows of eleven, with their hands over their heads. Then they went through their pockets, taking everything of value. Six soldiers guarded them.One of the soldiers put his hand on the shoulder of the last man in the last row. He led him to the burned-out house. The officer in charge was waiting at the doorway. He grabbed the man, shot him in the neck, and kicked him into the cellar of the burned-out house. The soldier came back and put his hand on the next man's shoulder. He too was led to the house; he too was shot.

One by one, the Belgians were led to the cellar and shot. They were too frightened to offer resistance. Leon Praille was the 21st. When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he walked partway to the house, then hit the escorting soldier with his fist and ran away. In the gathering darkness, he made his escape. Nobody else ran. 32 men were killed. When they were done, the SD officer emptied his machine pistol into the pile of bodies. Then the soldiers piled wood on top of the bodies and left.



Silent Night

Sergeant Wallace Hancock was the acting commander of a little group of five Sherman tanks stationed just east of St. Vith during the last day of the desperate American defense of that town. They had held their position but the fighting seemed to pass them by. So they sat in the dirt next to their tanks, waiting for orders or Germans. Neither came. Snow started to fall, blanketing them and their tanks, and they sat motionless under their blankets, trying to stay warm.

In the silence and darkness of the snowfall, soldiers quietly trudged by the silent, snow-blanketed tanks. Nobody spoke; all were too tired. But then a flare went off somewhere and in its harsh light Hancock saw that the soldiers marching by them weren't retreating Americans; they were advancing Germans. He very quietly climbed into his tank and radioed headquarters. They'd been forgotten in the chaos of the retreat from St. Vith. There was nothing to do but head west. They piled into their tanks, cranked them up, and headed for St. Vith.

All was chaos in the town. Germans were everywhere; American stragglers, overjoyed at the appearance of friendly tanks, emerged from their hiding places and climbed aboard. Hancock gunned the engine and the little convoy blasted its way through town, scattering Germans and destroying vehicles. Somehow they all made it through the mess. Outside of town and danger, the tanks settled down to a normal road speed. With snow still falling, the GIs on the back of  Hancock's tank sang "Silent Night" over the roar of the diesel engines.



Corporal Gerd Schenklauer

It was late afternoon on the 26th of December. Corporal Gerd Schenklauer was marching down a road with about 150 other men of the 277th Volksgrenadier Division. They'd been at the rear when the offensive started and had spent days struggling through the icy mud, manhandling wagons, guns, and trucks down the winding roads. Now at last they were approaching the front.The company commander seemed confused. He was just a lieutenant; the captain had been killed by a mine four days ago and his replacement had not yet arrived. The lieutenant stopped the company while he consulted his map. Several others argued with him but he folded up the map and made his decision.

They had gone only a kilometer further when they saw a halftrack on the road. Once again the company halted. Corporal Schenklauer eyed the halftrack suspiciously; it didn't look right that it was standing there on the road, doing nothing. The lieutenant called out to the halftrack commander, who called back and waved at them. They couldn't make out what he was saying but he seemed happy to see them. The lieutenant waved the company forward.

When they were only 20 yards from the halftrack, its 50-caliber machine gun opened up, pouring fire into the men. Schenklauer was in the ditch in an instant; a cascade of bodies rolled over him. He struggled to free himself and bring his rifle to bear. But then, realizing that the firing had stopped, he paused and listened. There wasn't a sound coming from the German side except the groans of the dying. Nobody else was shooting back. He was the only survivor.He lay there for an hour, until it was dark enough for him to creep away undetected. That was the Battle of the Bulge for him: ten days of marching, followed by three seconds of action.


Lighter Moments

Wihle traveling to Bastonge, General Omar Bradley, commander of the American Twelfth Army Group, was stopped at a military checkpoint.General Bradley leaned forward as the big staff car squealed to a halt. "Not again!" he protested. "Fraid so, General!" his driver answered.

An MP tapped on the window. Gen. Bradley rolled it down and started to speak. "I'm General Bradley, and I'm getting tired of these roadblocks every half mile. At the last one they wanted me to give the position of a guard in football; at the one before that they wanted to know the capital of Illinois. What do YOU want?"

The guard was apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir, but these hills are crawling with Nazis dressed up like generals. Some of them are out to kill Eisenhower. They got women who seduce GIs and then knife 'em in the back. They already massacred an entire division up north that surrendered. We can't take no chances, General."

"OK, OK, so what's your question, soldier?"

"Who's Betty Grable's husband?"

General Bradley hesitated. He hadn't been watching many movies in the last few months, nor did he read the papers for that kind of thing. Commanding a million soldiers didn't leave much time for keeping up with Hollywood. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "To be honest, soldier, I don't rightly know."

His driver covered his face with his hand. Now they were in trouble.

"Ha! It's Harry James!" announced the MP. Then he stepped back and waved them on.



Infectous Determination

Late on the night of December 23rd, Sergeant John Banister of the 14th Cavalry Group found himself meandering through the village of Provedroux, southwest of Vielsalm. He'd been separated from his unit during the wild retreat of the first days and joined up with Task Force Jones, defending the southern side of the Fortified Goose Egg. Now they were in retreat again. The Germans were closing in on the village from three sides. American vehicles were pulling out, and Banister was once again separated from his new unit, with no ride out.

A tank destroyer rolled by; somebody waved him aboard and Banister eagerly climbed on. They roared out of the burning town. Somebody told Banister that he was riding with Lieutenant Bill Rogers. "Who's he?" Banister wanted to know. "Will Rogers' son," came the answer. It was a hell of a way to meet a celebrity.

An hour later they reached the main highway running west from Vielsalm. There they found a lone soldier digging a foxhole. Armed with bazooka and rifle, unshaven and filthy, he went about his business with a stoic nonchalance. They pulled up to him and stopped. He didn't seem to care about the refugees. "If yer lookin for a safe place," he said, "just pull that vehicle behind me. I'm the 82nd Airborne. This is as far as the bastards are going."

The men on the tank destroyer hesitated. After the constant retreats of the last week, they didn't have much fight left in them. But the paratrooper's determination was infectious. "You heard the man," declared Rogers. "Let's set up for business!" Twenty minutes later, two truckloads of GIs joined their little roadblock. All through the night, men trickled in, and their defenses grew stronger.

Around that single paratrooper was formed the nucleus of a major strongpoint.



Some Statistics Of The Battle Of The Bulge

The Battle of the Bulge which lasted from December 16, 1944 to January 28, 1945 was the largest land battle of World War II. More than a million men participated in this battle including some 600,000 Germans, 500,000 Americans, and 55,000 British. The German military force consisted of two Armies with ten corps (equal to 29 divisions). While the American military force consisted of a total of three armies with six corps (equal to 31 divisions).

20,000 young American boys, mostly under 20 years old, DIED and 80,000 more were wounded or captured because of some incredible blunders up the line of command at Regiment, Division, Corps and Army headquarters who had been advised of suspicious activity at the front, which they ignored.

The Two Divisions which were on the extreme front were the 106th (The Hungry and Sick, as they called themselves) had just arrived at the front. The other was the 28th (Bloody Bucket, as they called themselves).

The 28th had been nearly destroyed in the month before in the Huertgen Forest and was put in an erstwhile quiet, rest area to be re-equipped and re-supplied with green replacements mostly fresh from the States.

Neither Division could have been considered ready for battle. The American Generals KNEW this but so did the German Generals.

The Americans had suffered from several tactical and strategic blunders before, and the frontline troops knew that they would be miraculously lucky if they got home alive.

A "million dollar wound" which would get one out of combat was a fervent prayer, and possibly thousands either shot themselves or exposed themselves to enemy fire or the severe cold just to get out of a deadly no-win, no-hope situation.

The frontline combat forces could see that if an officer got even a slight wound or “battle - fatigue”, that officer was usually sent way back or home never to be seen again.

If a Dogface “broke down” he was given heavy sedation for 2 or 3 days and usually sent back to the front. About one-fourth of battle casualties were said to be “battle fatigue”.

General Patton didn’t believe in “battle fatigue” but he slept in a warm bed every night, had warm meals and NEVER got cold, wet, dirty, shot at or scared beyond his wits.

The Dogface Infantry, who were only about 10% of the armed forces, were usually cold, wet, dirty, hungry, dead tired, and scared out of their wits.

The frontline scouts reported enemy tank and troop movement several days before Battle of the Bulge attack started. An Army scout can detect German tank track noise in his sleep. Nobody paid any attention.

Even Generals Eisenhower and Bradley were eating oysters and drinking champagne in Paris, 200 miles away, when it became evident that a big battle was on its way. General Montgomery was playing golf.

The 106th Division slowed down the German Panzer Army, but, about 20,000 were captured, killed or wounded and the Division ceased to exist.

The 28th Division, especially the 110th Regiment, was out- numbered about 10 to 1, but still held up the German advance for two days to give the 101st Airborne time to get to Bastogne and dig in.

If the 28th hadn’t held while it was being destroyed, there would have been no “Battle of Bastogne” and the total battle would have been much worse than it was.

Other Divisions had high casualties but none as bad as the 106th and 28th.

In the Battle of the Bulge the 101st Division, because they were dug in in defensive positions at Bastogne, had only 1,641 casualties. Other defenders: the 10th Armored had 503, the 9th Armored somewhat more. The remaining defenders suffered 1,400.

The British had a total of 1,400 casualties with 200 dead.

 For the Germans it was much worse. They started with at least 500,000 men. About 100,000 were killed, wounded or captured, but the rest escaped back to Germany where we had to fight them again in The Rhineland, The Ruhr Pocket and Central Germany.