Hello veterans and friends of the 75th Division !
I thought that the last email was good for the Veterans Day, but then I recieved the messages below from Dan Shine. He wrote down the experiences of his father, Daniel R. "Bob" Shine.
It is hard for me as a german to describe, what I felt when reading the stories. I never read a story before that let me feel better what happend that years ago.
It´s a bit crazy: I am almost (3 Jan 99) 40 years old, german, had no
personal experience of WWII, living in Plettenberg, Westphalia, Germany, the
city where the last command post of the 75th Div was in April, May and June 1945
before returning home.
My uncle lives in the States since about 30 years and
I visited him for 6 weeks when I was 15 years old.
During a vacation in
Spain, I made some friends at the Rota Navel Base, had BBQ weekends with
soldiers of a Pershing barrack in Neu-Ulm (Bavaria) and spent almost every
weekend with members of a US Coast Guard Station (Loran C) when living on the
island of Sylt, the northest part of Germany.
I started to search for missing flags in 1993, hold a speech before veterans of the 75th at the Atlanta reunion in 1995 and met a lot of nice people.
In 1997, I had 75th Div veterans as guests here in Plettenberg, that I am still in contact with and I consider friends. Veterans, that fought in my country, veterans, whose buddies died here.
Now it´s the end of 1998, the movie theatres are showing „Saving Private Ryan“ describing the horror of WWII and I am exchanging emails with veterans and friends of the 75th around the world.
This would not be possible without computers and the internet. Can it be, that the „bad internet“ has also a good side ? That people, that would not have met, are meeting electronically and find other people to share their common interests and experiences and become friends ? That american buddies, that got separated about 53 years ago, meet in the Internet via a newsline from Germany to find out, that they lived all the years very close together ?
Because of the Internet, the world is getting smaller, you can make new friends every day or night in the web, no matter where they live. ( I posted a business question in an american P.I. newsline and got an answer from New Zealand).
The more friends you make in another country, the less is the chance that you
want to fight against it, because you know, that there a people with the same
problems, hopes and good times that you have.
Let´s use the Internet
for good, make friends, share experiences among vets and with their sons and
grandsons, daughters and granddaughters to prevent another war like that.
Write down your story, preserve it for the next generations, share it here with other veterans and give it to the historian George Tachuk of the 75th Div veterans association to be collected there.
Use the Veterans Day to talk with the next generation and tell them, what had to happen to turn „The Diaper Division“ into „The Bulgebusters“.
Stay healthy !
Rolf G. Wilmink
„German by birth, american by heart, P.I. by
profession“.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
For your
calendar:
Next 75th N.E.C. meeting: May 12-16
1999
Shoney´s Inn
2420 Music Valley Drive
Nashville, Tennessee 37214
615-885-4030
Rates: $ 72.00 Single or Double +
8,25% sales tax and 4% room tax.
Events: Boat for
Dinner
Grand Ole Opry
Next 75th Div reunion: Houston, Texas, 1999
75th Div reunion year 2000: Peoria
(more infos as soon as we have them or contact the
75th Div Vets. Assn.
President Parker, see adress below).
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
List of contents:
1.) Feedback regarding newsline No. 22 ( 02 Nov. 1998 )
2.) The Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine Veterans Day Special
\\|//
(o o)
----------------oOOo-(_)-oOOo------------------------------75th
DIVISION online
**********************************************************************************
DON'T BE A LURKER.... GET INVOLVED... YOU ARE A MEMBER... MAKE
THE MOST OF IT
**********************************************************************************
(actual count: 120 members online worldwide !)
1.) Feedback regarding our newsline No. 22 ( 02 November 1998):
From: "Ken Kaiser" Ken_Kaiser@stercomm.com
Date: Wed, 4 Nov
1998 08:12:40 -0500
subject: 86th division film
I saw your page on the internet and am very interested in film you may have concerning the 86th Blackhawk Divsion, esp. the clip of Eisenhower visiting the 343rd reg. on 13 April 1945, as that was my father regiment and he was wounded on that very day. Is it possible to purchase film ?
Gratefully yours.
Ken Kaiser
Columbus, OH USA
ken_kaiser@stercomm.com
kkaiser@m5.columbus.rr.com
---------------------
Dear sir,
you just missed my email newsline no. 22, which contained my answer to your
question. I am sending you the issue again, you will find everything that
you need. I have some contacts to the blackhawks, if you need more info.
I
already included you in our newsline, so that you from now on, recieve it for
free.
P.S.: Attendorn is a 20 minutes drive from my place here !
Greetings from Plettenberg, Germany
Rolf G. Wilmink
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: rmsmith1924@webtv.net (Robert M Smith)
Date: Tue, 3 Nov 1998
09:04:52 -0500 (EST)
To: glenn.booker@net.ntl.com,
mkw-detective@t-online.de
subject: : Bronze Star
To Glenn and Rolf, Greetings:
I wrote to Dan Shine, the author of "Bronze Star", the web site for which I recieved from both of you. I received the attached reply which may be of interest to both of you.
GREETINGS FROM FLORIDA - U.S.A.
--------------
From:
dshine@light-sources.com
Date: Tue, 03 Nov 98 08:25:45 -0500
To:
rmsmith1924@webtv.net
subject: Bronze Star
Rob,
Many thanks for your eMail. It was a very pleasant surprise to learn that my story, "Bronze Star", had been seen in Wales and printed in Plettenberg, Germany. No, I hadn't seen the story in print, and yes, I would very much like to find out who printed it.
I am the son of D. Robert Shine, the private mentioned in "Bronze Star", "Bloody Ridge" and "A Different Kind of Christmas" (all three are on that website). Dad had never revealed anything to us about his time in combat--until just recently, that is. I wrote his stories after several long discussions with him about a year ago. A fourth story is in the works, and will be posted this winter.
There has been quite a flood of gratifying feedback to my stories, from veterans and their children and grandchildren. Amazing, isn't it, that fifty-four years later, such interest could still exist.
Yes, you are correct, Dad was in Item Co., 289th Reg. He presently lives here in West Haven, Ct. I telephoned him just this morning to read your eMail to him and see if your name rang a bell with him. He indicated that typically you didn't know the men in other regiments, and that no, he didn't recall your name.
Anyways, Rob, if you get a chance, please let me know what the newsletter was that printed my stories. And if you have any questions I can answer, feel free to write to me at either eMail address, or call me at (days) 800-245-4458 x 3110.
Best Regards,
Dan Shine
475 Jones Hill Road
West Haven, Ct. 06516
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: glenn.booker@net.ntl.com
subject: Bronze Star
Rob and Rolf,
Good Day and Gruss Gott!
Thanks and Vielen Dank!
Three cheers for the
Web !
I've sent an e-mail to Mr Shine in Ct.
Take care und bis bald.
Glenn
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: dshine@light-sources.com
Date: Wed, 04 Nov 98 08:20:23 -0500
subject: 75th Inf Div newsline no. 22 (2 Nov. 1998)
Dear Mr. Shine,
please allow me to send you the issue, where the "Bronze Star" was
mentioned.
You will also the next issues of our newsline (newsline is free).
Greetings from Germany
Rolf G. Wilmink
-------
Thank you for sending me the information, Rolf. Also, many
thanks for the wonderful job you are doing for the veterans of the 75th
Infantry.
I found your website and archives last night and will print down
some of the accounts therein for my father.
I can't help but wonder how you got involved in this enterprise. I suppose it has to do with the flagsearch. Anyway, your efforts are certainly appreciated. This gives some of these old veterans and their families a forum for discussion.
My very best regards,
Dan Shine
475 Jones Hill Road
West Haven,
Ct. 06516
USA
***************************************************************************
2.) The Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine Veterans Day
Special
From: dshine@light-sources.com
Date: Tue, 03 Nov 98 12:10:57 -0500
subject: A Different Kind of Christmas
Rolf,
My father served with the 75th Div. in WWII, and in the past you have helped me find a friend of his (Joe Feeny). I attach one of three stories I have written from his anecdotes about his time in combat. Perhaps you would like to insert this into your next newsletter; it might be of interest to other 75th Div. veterans and their families.
By the way, I would like to be added to the mailing list for this newsletter;
please send them to me at:
danshine@iconn.net
My best wishes to you sir, and thanks for your efforts.
Sincerely,
Dan Shine
475 Jones Hill Road
West Haven, Ct. 06516
--------------------------------------------
A DIFFERENT KIND OF CHRISTMAS
Near Grandmenil, Belgium
December 25, 1944
Just after midnight...
Twenty year old Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine squatted in a roadside ditch in knee-deep icy water, clutching his M-1 rifle; there was nowhere to go.
Moments before, he'd been advancing eastward with his rifle Company in near total blackness. From around a bend in the dirt road had come three tanks. As the tanks got closer, the G.I.'s had realized that they were facing German Tigers. The soldiers on the right had climbed an embankment and sought cover behind rocks and trees; for those on the left, the only available cover was a drainage ditch covered with ice. As they jumped into the ditch, the ice broke, soaking them.
Closer and closer came the Tigers. Just as the lead tank had almost reached Shine, one of the G.I.'s on the embankment panicked and began firing his rifle at it. The tank came to a sudden stop just an arm's length from Shine; the turret began to traverse toward the slope as the tank started to fire its cannon and rake the American positions with machine gun fire. Shine lookedaround; there was nowhere to escape to. He could only continue to squat in the muddy water and hope for deliverance--or a quick end. The combined noise of the tank's engine, cannon and machine guns was almost deafening; in the distance he began to hear the screaming of the wounded infantrymen.
In moments, the column of tanks began to advance again. What now?
Would there be German infantry following? Shine thought of the previous
Christmas he had spent at home with his family in Connecticut, and suddenly felt
lonely and forsaken; would this be a slaughter? To his young eyes, the
situation appeared hopeless.
Their landing in Europe hadn't been a dramatic one; Item Company, 289th Infantry had come to France on a troop ship, and docked at Le Havre. Their division, the 75th, was one of many that had been hastily formed for the final big push the Allies would make into Germany. The weeks that had followed their landing had been filled with long, monotonous autumn days, bivouacked in a muddy French meadow.
Then, on Christmas eve, without warning they had been loaded onto roofless semi-trailers. Packed too close to do anything but stand, the infantrymen had watched in amazement as their trucks roared eastward for four hours through the cold night, down the narrow dirt roads of France and then Belgium.
No one had told them what to expect; they had no idea of the massive German penetration of the Allied lines that was taking place. German tanks and infantry had, in a surprise attack, created a huge "bulge" in the American lines in the Belgian forest known as the Ardennes. The Battle of the Bulge had not even been named yet; but it was to be a widespread and bloody conflict, as Nazi Germany fanatically attempted a last breakthrough and the Allies fought desperately to hold onto their positions.
Shine estimated that they were speeding along the dirt road at about sixty miles per hour. Other vehicles on the road tried to make way for the convoy of trucks which were traveling through the darkness without the aid of headlights. If another vehicle failed to clear a wide enough path, it was smashed out of the way by the semis, which never even slowed down. The realization began to grow within Shine that something was seriously wrong wherever they were headed, and that they would be expected to help make it right.
The Allied generals had ordered the 75th to move up and relieve the 7th Armored division. Outside of Grandmenil, the men of Item Company disembarked from their trucks and set out on foot toward the village. As they advanced, they were met by elements of the 7th, who were retiring from the field.
"What's up this road?"
"Nothing. All
clear!" Item Company moved forward, reassured. They
advanced in two files, one along each shoulder of the road. Down the
center of the road came the 7th, who were pulling back to regroup. Shine's
company passed troops moving toward the rear on foot, along with a number of
Sherman Tanks, jeeps and halftracks. Some time after the last of the 7th
had passed through them, they saw three more tanks approaching, and hadn't
recognized them as the enemy until it was too late.
It was almost 0100 hours, and Shine continued to crouch in the ditch. The Tiger had stopped firing now, and had begun to move toward their rear. When the Tiger was about 100 yards away, an American bazooka team fired one round into its radiator, disabling the tank. The other two tanks, seeing the flash and the disabled tank blocking the road, turned and made for the safety of their own lines. The threat eliminated, Item Company re-formed on the dirt road and continued their march on Grandmenil. Shine's boots and wool trousers were now soaked, and would remain so for many days.
Throughout the early morning hours, the infantrymen marched up the snowy dirt
road, through the forests of the Ardennes, and onward toward Grandmenil.
Shine and his squad led the advance, marching warily forward with their rifles
poised and ready for instant action. With the moon and starlight obscured
by the heavy overcast, it would be nearly impossible to spot a dug-in enemy
until they were almost on top of him. Such were their fears as they
emerged from the sheltering woods and entered the fields surrounding Grandmenil.
The M-1 "Garand" rifles the infantrymen carried were a familiar
burden on these marches. They weighed almost ten pounds, and quickly
sapped the strength in the soldier's arms. But the G.I.s loved their M-1s
for their awesome firepower and deadly accuracy. The M-1's 30-'06
cartridges could propel a copper-jacketed slug through a tree and drop an enemy
soldier hiding behind it, if such was necessary. To be among a rifle
company firing M-1s in battle was truly a deafening experience.
At dawn on Christmas day, Item Company waited at the edge of Grandmenil, a village so small that it could be crossed by foot in less than five minutes--unless, of course the village was filled with waiting German soldiers--and it was. The task of liberating the village had fallen upon the Americans' young shoulders. As the soldiers waited for the order to attack, the Germans began an artillery barrage of their positions.
Item Company was to attack the village with the support of Sherman tanks. Two of Shine's friends huddled behind one of the tanks, seeking shelter from the German small arms fire that had just begun. As Shine watched, a shell landed and exploded near to the two and flung their bodies against the tank. They were killed instantly; there were almost no visible wounds, but the concussion from the explosion left the two dead Americans looking like lumps of bread dough thrown and flattened against a wall.
The Americans commenced their attack. The Sherman tanks advanced up the village streets first, firing their cannons point-blank into the occupied houses of Grandmenil. Then the riflemen followed. First they threw hand grenades into the houses; immediately after the explosions, they sprayed the insides of the houses with rifle fire, and then entered.
Shine and another young soldier entered one house. Inside the house, a dazed German reached for his gun. There was no time to ask him to surrender; the soldier with Shine quickly raised his Colt automatic pistol and fired. The .45 caliber bullet hit the German soldier squarely in the forehead, and the top of his head was blown completely off.
The Germans fought desperately; the Americans were forced to take Grandmenil one house at a time. As Christmas day progressed, many young Americans and Germans made the ultimate sacrifice for their countries.
At day's end, Item Company had driven the Germans from Grandmenil, and had dug their foxholes in a defensive line along the edge of town. Twenty four hours earlier, none of them had ever seen battle; now they were veterans.
Christmas night would be another cold, cloudy night with temperatures below
twenty degrees.
The winter of 1944-45 would be remembered as the coldest
winter in forty years, and the men of the 75th spent most of it outside, with
frozen feet. As he settled down for his first sleep in two days, Shine
became aware again of his feet, which were painfully cold. Funny, but he
hadn't noticed them all day.
Behind him, Grandmenil's ruins smouldered and burned. Shine thought of his grandmother's hometown of Zell, in Germany's Moselle valley fifty miles to their east. He couldn't help but wonder if he had been fighting against any of his German cousins that day, or if he would face them on some future day.
They couldn't use their sleeping bags that night--"Purple Heart Bags" they were called. If the Germans counterattacked during the night, the Americans could be bayoneted in their bags before they could free themselves and reach for their weapons. So Shine and the rest of Item Company lay in the frozen earth, with their frozen feet and shivered themselves into a fitful sleep. A sleep filled with thoughts of those whom they had killed, and those friends who would never be going home; friends who now lay frozen on the snowy ground of Grandmenil.
And meanwhile, back at home, choirs were singing of Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.
America! Christmas! As he drifted off to sleep, Shine wondered if
he would ever see home again; indeed he wondered if he would live to see another
Christmas.
----------------------------------------
Freedom. We cherish and abuse it. As Americans, we all enjoy our freedom, but relatively few of us have been called upon to defend it with our bodies and our lives. Seldom do we stop to think about the contributions and sacrifices of those Americans who have fought in past wars.
This, then, is intended to remind us of those unwarlike warriors who have
fought under our nation's flag in the name of freedom. Further, it asks us
to recall the contributions of those gentle infantrymen among them. Men
like my dad.
BLOODY RIDGE
Salmchateau, Belgium
January 16, 1945
Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine stared up at the snow-covered ridge in disbelief. This would surely be the end for him. The lieutenant's words rang in his ears, "When we charge the ridge, you three run straight for that big foxhole and knock it out."
Sheltered within the high foxhole were three German soldiers firing Schmeisser machine pistols down at the Americans. As the rifle company's first wave advanced up that ridge, it would fall upon these three young G.I.'s to eliminate that particular threat.
The three Germans seemed to have every advantage: they were elevated,
they had adequate cover, and they all had rapid firing weapons. Shine
could hear the Schmeissers distinctly now.
They fired so fast that it
sounded like cloth tearing. To charge straight toward that foxhole seemed
practically suicidal.
Shine thought of his parents and his girl, Muriel back at home; how he wished he could see them all just one more time. Well, things at home would just have to go on without him, he guessed.
Shine took a moment to say a prayer for his survival in this assault. If he was to be hit, he hoped that the wound would be enough to send him home. If it was his fate to die on this day, he hoped the end would be quick and clean, and not a lingering death like so many he had seen. He couldn't help but wonder if God was listening to American or German prayers this day.
Before they had attacked the village of Salmchateau, the soldiers in Shine's
squad had traded in their M-1 rifles for M-3 "grease gun"
submachineguns which were useful for house-to-house fighting. The grease
gun was capable of putting a lot of lead in the air, which was also good in
times like this. Shine hated the grease guns however, because they had a
deadly design flaw.
The magazine release stuck out in a bad spot where the
soldier often bumped it against his body, dropping the ammunition magazine on
the ground at his feet. This left the G.I. with an empty gun, usually at
the worst possible moment. Like right now.
At the signal, the three riflemen, along with the rest of the first wave were up and running at top speed, dodging left and right to evade enemy fire. Spaced just six feet apart, they made excellent targets for the Germans above them. Up the steeply sloping ridge ran the three, consumed by the noise and fury of war, and firing their weapons in short bursts as they ran. To the left and right, running soldiers suddenly fell, turning the snow bright red beneath them. At any moment, Shine expected to feel the sting of a bullet hitting him.
By the time the Americans had reached the foxhole, all three Germans had been hit. They lay in the snow, writhing and bleeding from ugly wounds, and making the strange noises that dying men make. A wounded German, however, could still shoot you in the back as you passed him. So, the three Americans, themselves miraculously unhit, finished the Germans off and continued their charge. On either side of them, other surviving members of the first wave advanced, some firing, some falling, as they closed in on their objective.
The Germans were driven from the ridge above Salmchateau that day, but the cost was dear. Many of Shine's friends in the company were killed, and many more were wounded. They'd all watched helplessly as their sergeant, Roberts had bled to death after receiving a shrapnel wound in the back. The medical corpsmen and the riflemen in Roberts' squad had tried to reach him, but were pinned down under heavy fire. So Roberts had died, alone in the bloody snow.
They dug in on the ridge for another frozen night in the field. Salmchateau and "Bloody Ridge" as it would become known, were now in American hands.
Shine crouched in his foxhole and peered off through the darkness toward where the enemy must be. Somehow today, his number hadn't come up. The three Germans in that foxhole had been very young and inexperienced "Volkssturm" troopers, and not combat-hardened veterans. This stroke of luck alone had saved the three Americans, and had cost the three young Germans their lives.
But what of tomorrow, and the next day? Today he'd lost his
sergeant. Yesterday, they'd evacuated his lieutenant, Durante to a rear
area hospital after he was shot in the hip by a sniper.
Just how long would
Shine's own luck hold?
There were--and there would be--no medals for the three Americans who charged that foxhole; today had simply been business as usual. Nor would there be elation, nor remorse; just the weary realization that they'd survived another day, and were one day closer to the end of the war.
As the blackness of sleep met the blackness of the Belgian winter night,
Shine, filthy, hungry, exhausted and frozen, prayed for his luck to hold just a
little bit longer--and for the war to end before that luck ran out.
---------------------------------------
..decades have passed since those terrible months when we endured the mud of
Lorraine, the bitter cold of the Ardennes, the dank cellars of Saarlutern . . .
We were miserable and cold and exhausted most of the time, we were all scared to
death . . . But we were young and strong then, possessed of the marvelous
resilience of youth, and for all the misery and fear and the hating every moment
of it, the war was a great, if always terrifying adventure. Not a man
among us would want to go through it again, but we are all proud of having been
so severely tested and found adequate. The only regret is for those of our
friends who never returned.-Memoirs of a WWII G.I.
BRONZE STAR
Appenwihr, France
February 1, 1945
As the screaming artillery shells fell and exploded around them, a dozen G.I.s sprinted for the safety of the distant woods and their own lines. The deep snow sucked at their feet and caused them to slip as the bursting shells showered them with clods of frozen dirt. The German artillery seemed sure to annihilate them at any moment.
Private Daniel R. "Bob" Shine felt as though his lungs would burst. As radioman for the reconnaisance squad, he carried all of his normal fighting equipment, plus their SCR-300 shortwave radio, which was housed in a large backpack. In all, he was running with more than seventy pounds of equipment strapped to his body. Shine felt as if he couldn't run another step, but run he did. Run or be blown to bits in this open field outside the village of Appenwihr.
BOOM! One shell fell much closer than the rest, landing less than forty
feet away. A running G.I. stumbled and fell. When he got back onto
his feet, it was clear that the force of the explosion had rattled his
head. The woods were getting closer now, but so were the explosions.
Would they make it in time?
The Allied Forces had fought and won the Battle of the Bulge. It had taken them over a month to retake the ground they had lost to the Germans in those few days before Christmas, 1944. For the front line infantrymen, it had been a month of stark terror. Every soldier had vivid memories of comrades who had been killed in the effort. Memories of those who had died stoically, and those who had given up their lives in fits of terror while calling for their mothers and their God to save them. No matter what their rank or how they had died, death had brought them together as equals now, lying silent and numb beneath the fields of Belgium.
At the close of the Bulge, the survivors from the 75th Division had been
loaded onto railroad boxcars. These were called "40 and
8s"--French boxcars left over from WWI. On the sides of the cars were
signs saying in French, "40 men, 8 horses." The 40 and 8s were
unventilated and unheated and they had no sanitary accomodations. But the
G.I.s didn't care, for it was rumored that they were to be taken from the battle
line and sent to the rear area for a much needed rest.
This was not to be.
The steam locomotives had pulled the long troop trains south for two miserable days, and the infantrymen had then disembarked in eastern France, where the foothills of the Alps come together with the Vosges Mountains. There, the Germans had chosen to stand and fight in a corner of France known as the Colmar Pocket.
In the closing months of the war, Hitler had bolstered his shrinking armies by the use of 15 year old boys and 45 year old men as his Volkssturm troopers. They were generally not as effective as seasoned combat soldiers, and often surrendered or got themselves killed needlessly. The Germans in the Colmar Pocket however were regular army, members of the 305th Volksgrenadiers and the Wermacht's 198th Division. They were hardened veterans and well equipped. And they were still able to make the Americans pay dearly for every town they captured.
As the Americans had disembarked from the trains the realization hit them that they were merely trading one snow-covered battlefield for another. The previously hopeful mood of the troops quickly became somber and fearful.
Nonetheless, they'd immediately taken the towns of Holzwihr and Bishwihr, and in a coordinated attack, they'd captured the heavily defended town of Andolsheim. Still, there were more towns to be taken, and still the American infantry fought with wet and frozen feet. And through the long nights, they continued to sleep in foxholes hacked from the snowy ground.
Near-starvation was as life threatening as enemy fire at times.
Recently, the G.I.s had been forced to steal their food in order to eat.
It was a real challenge in the face of all this adversity to keep fighting an
honorable fight and not become the animal that one's circumstances might
dictate.
Before dawn the next morning, the Americans received the order to attack
Appenwihr.
Thankfully, their advance was preceeded by an artillery
bombardment. Then the tanks moved in ahead of the foot soldiers, who
carefully walked in the tracks of the tanks to avoid any waiting land mines.
Shine's squad was one of those chosen to lead the attack, and Shine, who was the lieutenant's bodyguard, was close to the very front of the action as the infantrymen headed out across the open field.
"Infantry," he thought. Literally, "the children." That was exactly what Shine felt they resembled as they moved forward. Small, seemingly defenseless, yet hurling themselves relentlessly against a dug-in enemy. He could picture their advance as seen from a distance, tiny soldiers dwarfed by the forests and the surrounding mountains. Enemy fire was intensifying; they were getting close now . . .
CLANG! Shine's head was suddenly wrenched to one side, and he fell, not knowing whether he was alive, dead or dying. An intense ringing had begun in his ears, and suddenly his head and neck ached. Reaching up, he ran his fingers over his steel helmet, searching for the cause of his pain. On the left side, just above his ear, was the smooth entrance hole made by a bullet. Just above his other ear was the jagged exit hole of the same bullet. Through the pain and the dazedness of just having rerouted an enemy slug, Shine realized that he had once again been incredibly lucky. The bullet had traveled between his helmet and liner and exited the helmet without ever touching him.
Before the G.I.s attack of Appenwihr, the German cannons had been destroyed by American howitzers, directed in their efforts by brave artillery spotters flying single seater Piper Cubs. Without artillery support, the Germans were forced to retreat. But it was a slow, grudging, organized retreat, and in no way a rout. The Americans would continue to pay a high price for their real estate aquisitions.
At dusk Shine's platoon had dug a line of foxholes just outside of Appenwihr. The Germans had been pushed back to the next village, Hettenschlag.
Midnight. Another night, another town, another frozen foxhole. In this, the heart of the night, a man could be so terribly alone. Alone with the ghosts of those he had killed as they sought to kill him. Alone with memories of his home, his family, and above all, his girl. He smiled as he thought of Muriel in her white nurse's uniform, and contrasted it with his own uniform, which stank of sweat and mud and worse. He smiled again as he thought of his last shower, which was weeks ago. Hot water. And soap. How good it had felt! Their uniforms had been far beyond cleaning, so they were issued new wool trousers and tunics. Now those clothes too bore the stains of food and mud and gun oil.
Shine couldn't sleep. His stomach churned with the diarrhea that
was plaguing most of the men.
He thought of the taking of Andolsheim a few
days before. During the fighting, his friend Joe Feeney had run up to him
yelling, "Your coat's on fire!" There directly above his heart,
a large piece of shrapnel had come to rest. Still hot from the explosion
that had freed it, the steel shard had caused a smoldering in his overcoat
before Shine had even noticed it. How was it that he had been spared from
death or terrible injury so many times and in so many ways?
In the darkness, he removed his boots and wet socks and began to rub his feet as the G.I.s were instructed to do to prevent frostbite. Like every front line soldier, dead or alive, Shine had his second pair of socks hanging around his neck to dry. He removed them from his neck and put them and his wet boots back on. The wet socks were then hung around his neck, and the process continued. The army's leaky leather boots ensured perpetually wet feet for everyone, and Shine's feet had been bright red for weeks. Everyone knew that waterproof, insulated bootpacks were plentiful in the rear areas. Someday, maybe they'd be delivered to the guys who needed them the most. The numbers of frostbite evacuations and amputations had become epidemic.
In the frozen darkness, his mind whirled. He thought back to the night they'd spent billeted in a Belgian barn. They'd slept on a bed of hay that night; the barn was warmed by the bodies of the cows kept within it. One of the dogfaces had rolled over carelessly during the night and had set off one of his fragmentation grenades; luckily, he was the only one killed by it.
In his mind's eye, the face of Captain Applegate passed before him.
Good old Captain Applegate, Commanding officer of Company K. Shine, in
Company I looked up to and respected Applegate, as did all the soldiers who knew
him. Just that day, Shine had seen Applegate's jeep and driver parked in
the rear area. "How's Applegate doing?" The driver gave
him a funny look and jerked a thumb at the small G.I. blanket folded up in the
back of the jeep.
Wrapped in that blanket was all that remained of the
captain, who was blasted into eternity that day by some distant German cannon.
And Shine thought of that backpack radio of his. That damned SCR-300 that attracted the attention of snipers everywhere. Snipers. He thought of the team of snipers that had briefly halted their attack of Appenwihr that day, until a bazooka team had blown up the church steeple in which they were sheltered. Shine had rejected repeated invitations to become a noncom, so they'd placed him alongside of the lieutenant, at the head of every charge, it seemed. And, he noticed, he was losing a lieutenant a month; this was not a healthy spot to be in.
A choice target, that's what he had become. At last Shine
drifted off to sleep, haunted by the tormented image of himself in the
crosshairs of a sniper's telescopic sights.
As the 75th completed the liberating of the villages surrounding Colmar, the French 1st Army took Colmar itself. Subsequently the combined American and French forces joined up in pushing the Germans back across the Rhine and on into Germany itself. From then on, the German would no longer fight on foreign soil; now he would fight for home and fatherland. No doubt this would strengthen his resolve, and he and his comrades could be expected to fight like demons from hell.
The men of the 75th prepared to board trucks taking them onward to some distant and unknown battlefield. All roads led to Berlin it seemed, and one of those roads would be theirs. The trucks would take them to a railroad siding where they would board trains headed north to the Netherlands.
February 9 was to be the 75th's last day in the Colmar Pocket. It was,
by coincidence, the beginning of the warm spell that the G.I.'s had been praying
for. At last, their wet feet would be safe from the dreaded
frostbite. As they prepared to depart for their next assignment, several
trucks suddenly roared up and were unloaded. The G.I.'s stared,
dumbfounded. At last they had what they no longer needed--the insulated,
waterproof bootpacks!
For his months of service as the bodyguard to his platoon leader, and for his
faithfulness to duty and for the extreme risks taken in combat, Shine earned a
citation and later the Bronze Star for valor. In all, he served under four
lieutenants. During that time three of them were killed or wounded.
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Greetings from Germany
Rolf G. Wilmink
75th Inf Div WWII Veterans
Association Unofficial homepage
www.mknet.de/75th
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