The following is an excerpt from my WWII book, You Can’t Get Much Closer Than This: Combat with the 80th ‘Blue Ridge’ Division, World War II Europe, published in 2005 by Casemate Publishers. It’s my dad’s story of his time in Europe, fighting the Germans.
My battalion (2d Battalion, 317th Infantry Regiment, 80th Infantry Division) first tried to cross the Moselle River on September 5, 1944. The 2d Battalion’s task was to ford the river near Pagny-sur-Moselle, take Hill 385, then continue to attack southward to secure Hill 358. The 1st Battalion was to cross in assault boats near Blenód-les-Pont-a-Mousson, then maneuver to capture Hill 382 across from Pont-a-Mousson. The 3d Battalion was in reserve and was ordered to follow the 1st Battalion to help expand the bridgehead and allow our follow-on troops, artillery, and supplies to cross.
St. Avold, France, WWII (DEC 1944)
Lt. Saul “Kad” Kadison, Lt. Henry Leonard, Captain Jim Farrell, Lt. A.Z. Adkins, Jr., Lt. Bill Mounts
For two days, officers and noncoms of the battalion had worked their way to an old chateau on top of a hill overlooking the town of Pagny-sur-Moselle, France, the Rhine-Marne Canal, and the Moselle River. To cross the river at this point, it was necessary to go through Pagny. The French told us there were Germans in the town and that they were well supplied with artillery, including mortars and heavy and light machine guns.
To take the town of Pagny, LtCol Russell Murray, our battalion commander, ordered us to attack in a column of companies. Company G was to lead the attack with Lt Doug Brown’s rifle platoon in the lead, followed by Company E, then Company H. Doug thought perhaps he might need some mortar support in his attack, and since I was a mortar section leader in Company H, Doug requested I go with him as an observer.
Before sending the first squad to attack, Doug, his squad leaders, and I went to a small knoll about three hundred yards from the edge of town. To our immediate front lay an open field with a row of houses on the opposite side of the field. A small farm enclosed within a stone fence was on our right. At the edge of the fence was a ditch. Doug’s first objective was to clear the houses across the field.
It was about 11:00 A.M., the sky was clear and the temperature a comfortable seventy degrees. Doug ordered two squads abreast, led by their scouts. As usual, Doug was up front with his scouts. A sniper opened up on them from the center house when they were about a hundred and fifty yards away from the row of houses. Everybody hugged the ground. Doug and his platoon were momentarily pinned down.
As Doug Brown started to move his platoon again, another sniper opened up from a barn in the small farm yard to our right. In order not to hold up Doug Brown’s advance, Lt Doug Cox brought up a section of 81mm mortars from Company H to take care of the nuisance in the farmyard.
Just as we thought we could continue our advance, the Krauts started throwing in artillery from the hill east of Pagny-sur-Moselle—105s and 88s. The artillery caught me and Lt Charlie Raymond, my mortar platoon leader, as we tried to lay telephone wire from our guns to the little knoll we were using as our OP. Although we had been under artillery fire before, we were still not used to the stuff. The first few rounds landed in open fields to our front. The next barrage landed in the woods behind us, where our battalion was concentrated.
Charlie Raymond Bill Mounts George McDonnell
One shell had landed near Doug Brown. Although there was not a scratch on him, the concussion threw him in the air and knocked him unconscious. His runner carried him to a barn in the farm yard on our right. Doug Brown’s platoon was disorganized, so Lt Jim Bob Simmons brought his rifle platoon through Doug’s, cleared the row of houses and crossed the Rhine-Marne Canal, all under heavy fire.
I went to look for Capt Jim Farrell, my company commander, to find out why we were delayed. I found him leaning against a railroad embankment on our side of the Rhine-Marne Canal. He was nonchalantly nibbling a chocolate bar. I asked, “Captain, what’s holding us up?” He said, “I don’t know. Simmons got across the canal and was headed for the river when he got orders to pull back on this side of the canal.”
Around 6:00 P.M. we started moving cross country, about a mile to our south, toward a small town called Vandières. Lt Bob Strutz, of Company G, had taken his rifle platoon to a little town on the edge of the canal area to reconnoiter, patrol, and build a bridge across the canal where the Germans had blown out the original bridge.
Bob had just leaned his rifle against a tree while he helped his men move two barges they needed to build the bridge. That’s when a small Kraut patrol showed up. A German hollered, “Halt!” In true western style, Bob whirled, drew a .38 Colt, which he always carried on his right hip and fired at the Kraut. The Kraut took a shot at Bob and then pulled out. After a few shots, the whole German patrol withdrew. Bob had a neat little hole in his raincoat where the bullet went between his legs.
The rest of the battalion reached the Rhine-Marne Canal about 2:00 A.M. on September 6, 1944. The canal was about fifty feet wide at this point. The barges they had tied together made a nice foot bridge, and with Company E in the lead, we went over single file and reorganized on the opposite bank in a column of twos. The entire battalion was across the canal by 4:00 A.M.
The battalion moved south along the edge of the canal for about a thousand yards until we came to the river’s edge. There was my first close-up view of a little creek they called a river.
The Moselle River normally was about six to eight feet deep with an average width of 150 feet. Because of recent heavy rains and opened dams upstream, the current was very swift, about five to six knots. To make matters worse, the Moselle’s flat flood plain varied in width from four hundred to one thousand yards. We knew the Germans were observing everything from the high hills on the eastern bank.
We turned left and followed the bank of the winding Moselle, heading north. The rain had ceased, the night was bright and clear, and the only noise was the sound of infantrymen walking. We continued to walk for about a thousand yards. I looked to my right and saw that the river must have been about a hundred yards wide in this sector. Our column was stretched in a horse-shoe manner, bending to the south, then to the north, alongside the river.
The gunner behind me was griping about having to carry this damned heavy mortar base plate all over this godforsaken country. Suddenly, practically the whole battalion heard the word “Halt!” from across the river. The men instinctively hit the ground—not a moment too soon. The Krauts opened up on us in an intense grazing fire with machine guns across the river and swept the spot where we had just been standing; first one gun fired and then another until there were four or five of them.
My platoon was close enough to the guns that we could see the muzzle blast, hear the Krauts work the bolt when the gun jammed, and hear them talking. As always, they fired not in bursts of six, but in bursts of belts. Some of us fired back even though we couldn’t see. I fired a magazine from my carbine and then the damn thing jammed.
The Krauts fired tracers about four or five feet above the ground while another gun would fire, grazing fire with ball ammunition parallel with the gun that fired tracers. We knew this because we could hear the bullets cutting the grass around us and yet see tracers going over our heads. We lay there for a few minutes, trying to catch our breath and figure what next to do. Then the Krauts fired a red flare.
Mortar shells dropped all around us. We were in a tight spot. We were completely disorganized and pinned down with no artillery support. The Moselle River was to our front and the Rhine-Marne Canal was to our rear. Word came down to draw back to the canal, and everyone started back immediately. When I looked around, only Sgt Ralph Freeman, Sgt John Quinn, Cpl John Binnig, and I were left in our sector.
The four of us started back to the canal, which was about three hundred yards to our rear. I crawled for a time and then got up and ran like hell. The Krauts had slowed up a little on their firing. They had been caught with their pants down, too.
At daylight, we pulled out our smokes that we had wanted for so long. We reorganized and waited for word to come down. Some men had dropped their equipment—mortar and machine gun parts—near the river. Why the whole battalion hadn’t been wiped out while we were near the river is a mystery. (A battalion in a column of twos caught in the crossfire of four machine guns)!
Word came down we were to work our way toward the blown-out bridge. We were going to try to get back across the canal. Everyone was eager to get out of that tight place. When we got to the bridge, Charlie Raymond and Doug Cox went across the canal first. I was to direct the men from our platoon to them.
Our platoon assembled in an orchard in town. It wasn’t long before artillery started falling in the orchard, so I went farther into town and found a gutter behind a stone wall to house the platoon. Pvt John Concini was hit by artillery while in the orchard. Charlie fed the platoon to me. I reorganized the platoon while he and Doug Cox went to look for a gun position to place our mortars. Company F, with Bill Butz’s machine gun platoon, stayed in position along the canal while the rest of the battalion took up position in the town and on the high ground behind the town.
The men crouched there in the gutter with a few shells falling around while we reorganized. They were dazed and tired. They had been in a death trap and knew it. This was the first really hot spot we had been in. Some men were missing, but they came straggling in later on. Sergeant Freeman, the platoon sergeant, came up and told us Concini was dead. That really hurt his buddies. He was the first to go.
My company had crossed the canal with five complete mortars, but now we had only three and a couple of pieces left over. A heavy weapons company normally carries a compliment of six 81mm mortars.
Down to our front, in the valley, we could see the Rhine-Marne Canal. It was glass smooth. Behind the canal was the snakelike Moselle River. Behind the Moselle, the terrain rose to high hills. Charlie and I searched the high ground across the Moselle. We looked through our glasses hoping we could find something to shoot at. It would do the men good if we could fire for Concini. Although we looked for what seemed like hours, we saw nothing move. The Krauts were continuously throwing artillery and mortar our way, but most of it was landing on the canal near Bill Butz.
We were hungry and thirsty. We had no food, and the men had last filled their canteens thirty-six hours earlier. We were on our own, scrounging whatever we could for food and water. We found some plums in the orchard and ate them. They tasted good.
Shaultz, one of the ammunition bearers, came in from the south and said Capt Jim Morgan and Lt George McDonnell, Company G’s executive officer, were there and that there was a big wooded draw to the south where we might get out. We looked it over. It was a regular jungle and would have taken us hours to get around the series of hills to where we were supposed to go. That left but one thing: go west for approximately a thousand yards over open, exposed ground and then bear northwest down the hill to the river junction at which we were to meet up with Charlie.
It was getting late, and we had to hurry. I started the men infiltrating west across that long stretch of open ground where the Krauts could look down our throats. We kept five hundred to six hundred feet between men. I told the men to run, but they were exhausted and carried heavy equipment, so they couldn’t run fast or far. I got the men started and then set out myself to find Charlie Raymond. Sergeant Freeman was bringing up the rear. It was about three quarters of a mile to Charlie’s location, in a draw to the north of the river junction. I was tired as hell. I looked back at the men as they came down off the hill. It was good to see them. They were really spread out. Artillery couldn’t hurt them now.
We moved out in a hurry and headed toward a hill to our north. Capt Jerry Sheehan, the battalion S-3 (operations), met us there to guide us to the battalion assembly area. Company G and Bill Butz’s machine gun platoon were to stay on the high ground overlooking the town. We walked until about 10:00 P.M. Pvt Karol Jaworski, one of our ammunition bearers, fell out, so I carried his ammunition the rest of the way.
We were now in rolling, wooded hills just west of Blénod-les-Pont-a-Mousson, a feature known as Foret de Puvenelle. We stayed there a couple of days to rest, draw equipment, reorganize, and train the newly arrived replacements.
The division staff tried to determine the best way to cross the Moselle River—in a different location and in a different manner from our first attempt. Reconnaissance patrols were sent out many times during these two days. Two Red Cross girls brought up their trucks and served us coffee and doughnuts.
Subsequently, we moved north to another and better bivouac area about a mile away, to the southern edge of Bois Le Pretre. We moved through the woods for concealment, to keep the Germans from knowing about troop concentrations in connection with the planned river crossing. Word came around that we would try to cross the Moselle again shortly. This time there would be no turning back come hell, high water, or Germans. Any officer leading his men back across the river once we had crossed it would be court-martialed. We knew other outfits had also caught hell trying to cross the Moselle.
The surrounding artillery pounded the Krauts across the river night and day. We tried to relax,, but we knew elaborate plans were being made for the river crossing. My battalion was to spearhead the division across, with Company G leading, followed by Companies E and F, then by the attachments. On several occasions, the officers went to OPs overlooking our perspective crossing point. They also scouted the high ground across the river that was our objective. It looked mean. Every prospective crossing point seemed to provide the Germans with excellent observation.
We were in Alsace-Lorraine now. The people were different here than they had been in Normandy. The people in Normandy were very glad to see us and kept us supplied with bread, wine, champagne, and eggs. Here, they more or less took us for granted and were very cool toward us. These were the kind of people, as a prisoner later told us, who would yell, “Vive l’Amerique,” if the Americans came marching into their town. And if the Germans came in, they’d yell “Vive Germany.
The division staff finally completed plans for the river crossing. About fifty heavy machine guns were to be placed on the high ground near Bois de Cuite, on the west side of the river, to give us overhead fire. In addition, eight battalions of artillery were at our disposal. The engineers were to carry us across the river in assault boats. But to cross the Moselle River, we first had to cross the Rhine-Marne Canal again.
Our first attempt to cross the Moselle had been a failure. In our mad dash across France, we got to the river before the Army was ready; supplies couldn’t keep up with us. When we got to the river, we didn’t have enough time for proper reconnaissance. Intelligence information, usually gathered from reliable sources, underestimated the enemy strength, both in men and in artillery. We had no air support, as originally planned, and very little artillery support. Besides that, we had tried to cross in broad daylight. We would be better prepared for our next attempt.
The date and hour of the crossing were not disclosed until the last minute. At 6:00 P.M. on September 11, word came around to be prepared to move out at dark. This was it. We were tense but determined. We were going to cross the river and stay across. We moved under cover of darkness to our LD (line of departure), a wooded hill overlooking the river, north of the town of Dieulouard, which was about five miles south southeast of Pont-à-Mousson.
The artillery was to lay down a fifteen-minute concentration starting at 4:30 A.M. Company G was to lead the river crossing. We had about a two-hour wait when we reached our LD. The routes from the assembly area down to the boats had been well marked by the engineers. The markers were supplemented by men who were to lead the columns to the spot where they would climb into the assault boats.
Regimental S-2 (intelligence) had informed us that there were an estimated five to six thousand enemy combat troops across the Moselle on the east bank. They were from the 29th Panzer Grenadier Regiment and the 3d Motorized Division. They also had great observation points from the hills, automatic weapons, and an unknown quantity of artillery. We had our orders, and we had learned some tricks from our previous attempts to cross the river a few days earlier.
It was pitch black. Trying to keep contact was hard, even though each man had a square inch of luminous tape on his back. Company E followed Company G. Each had a machine gun platoon from Company H with them. The 81mm mortars were to follow Company E across the canal and then take up the rear in crossing the river.
Our artillery opened up at 4:30 A.M., right on time. Tracer bullets from the .50-caliber machine guns arched through the night sky. It sounded good going the other way. We pulled out a few minutes later. The 2d Battalion was on the left and the 3d Battalion was on the right. The 1st Battalion was in reserve and would follow the 2d.
Our objective was to cross the Moselle and take Genevieve Hill (Hill 382), the high ground east of Dieulouard. Somewhere along the line, someone from Company E lost contact with the man in front of him and, as a result, everyone behind him was led down the wrong way. Charlie Raymond was mad as hell. He found a guide to show us the right way down. When we reached the road, our artillery opened up again. We lay down to wait for it to lift, then headed for the canal, about six hundred yards away. Guides directed us to the pontoon bridge that Lt Jim Bob Simmons had built earlier. We had to jump across a shattered body at one end of the bridge. One of Jim’s men had gotten it while helping to build the bridge.
After we crossed the canal, we assembled in a draw to reorganize and find out which way to go. We had to be real careful, too. We knew the Germans had placed antipersonnel mines all over the place, and we could only hope the engineers had cleared all of them. A few days later, we learned the 305th Engineer Combat Battalion had removed forty-four booby traps. The mines were blown in place by exploding the charges on top. God, I love those guys!
We were in the draw only a few minutes when the Kraut shells started coming in. Several landed in the draw with us. We didn’t hear it until it was right on top of us. As usual, we hit the ground. Several of my men were hit. Cpl Sidney Folmsbee was hit in the arm. I got a small piece of shrapnel in the butt, which hurt like hell! I reached around and felt blood. I thought for sure that my ass had been shot off, but I could walk and yell, so I knew it wasn’t too bad.
Charlie Raymond and Doug Cox went to find the rest of the battalion. It was getting close to daylight and we still hadn’t crossed the river, although most of the battalion was already across. I started out to look for Charlie. I met him on the way back from the river. His messenger had “gotten lost.” The engineers were there and had rubber and plywood assault boats to carry us across.
We put fifteen men into each assault boat—three engineers and twelve riflemen. The men paddled while one engineer in the stern guided the boat with a paddle. Seventeen boats sufficed to carry a rifle company across a river. Sergeant Freeman and I stayed to take up the rear of the platoon. Daylight was coming quickly. That was bad.
Our artillery barrage had done some good—scattered the Germans and pushed them out of our way. The few who were left fired machine guns and 88s at the boats. Some boats were hit. We all helped paddle because the current was strong and was carrying us closer to the Krauts downstream. I looked at my watch. It was 6:30 A.M., September 12, 1944.
Andy Adkins is the author of multiple books, including You Can’t Get Much Closer Than This: Combat with the 80th ‘Blue Ridge’ Division in World War II Europe and NEVER FORGET. Visit his website at www.azadkinsiii.com for more information.