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According to Tank Driver Bonifacio "Fish" Yraguen, his tank "Mad Dog", alone and without support was sent in the dark of the early morning to support an infantry attack on Heiderscheid.  Normally, this would have been the job of an entire platoon of five medium Sherman tanks.  However, just prior to this, 3rd Platoon, Company C, 702nd Tank Battalion "Red Devils" had lost all but "Mad Dog" to the ice and snow packed roads.  All that remained operational of the 3rd Platoon, was Platoon Leader Lt. John Prestridge's own "Mad Dog".  After driving through the dark on barely passable roads, "Mad Dog" reached Heiderscheid but found no American infantry.  There were no signs of activity in the town.  Not knowing who had possession of the town, Lt. Prestridge ordered "Fish" to move closer.  It was too quiet.  Lt. Prestridge ordered "Fish" to pull the tank in between two buildings.  "Fish" backed the tank into the spot, and kept it's guns facing outward, toward the road, and the main part of the town.

After they shut the tank engine down, they sat there listening.  There were no sounds, nor could they see anything in the darkness.  Lt. Prestridge checked his .45 caliber pistol, and announced to the crew that he was going to get out and recon the area.  He ordered them to stay put, and stay alert.  Lt. Prestridge exited the tank and was gone for some time.  When he returned, he informed them that they were in a German-held town.  "Fish" asked what they were going to do.  Lt. Prestridge said that they were going to sit still and quiet and hope the infantry showed up.  Soon after daylight, the worst happened.  A German armored column came down the road towards "Mad Dog's" position.  With no support, "Mad Dog" was facing certain destruction.  "Fish" himself, best describes what happened:

"We left out of Ettelbruck on December 23, at night.  We went seven miles.  I never saw the road.  We got to Heiderscheid in the night.  I asked the Lieutenant afterwards; "How come we came in the night?  Couldn't we wait until daylight, in the morning?"  He said; "Yes, we could have, but do you realize that we infiltrated through enemy lines?"  I said; "Jesus Christ, did we?"  He said; "We did!  That's why we came in the dark."  The next morning, when we got the tanks, they just thought they were just coming just as safe as they could, in God's pocket.  Well, there we were, between the two buildings.  They came broadside to us, about 350 yards from us.  Broadside!

The first one, he [Lt. John Prestridge] kind of let it go by.  Then he whammed at it, the second one.  God, he knocked it right out!  Then he whammed at that first one that went by.  He could have got him in a closer position.  Wham, one shot, and he got him.  Another one come through.  It was a big one, and two or three shots, dead in a row.  He hit it with every shot.  We knew the yardage.  We guessed the yardage.  It was perfect!  The Lieutenant was dynamite up to 1000 yards.  Right on, every time.  They just kept on coming.  Until we got six of them.  Then they quit coming.  Boy, we was looking and waiting.  We wanted to make sure that they weren't coming in behind us or something.  The Lieutenant jumped out of the tank, and he looked behind.  He sneaked between the buildings to have a look.  They had taken a great wide circle, and went where we couldn't see them."

We got seven armored vehicles at Heiderscheid.  Then later, we got two Tiger tanks one day.  Which I thought was pretty damned good.  "Pappy" Beard, from Texas, was the Tank Commander, after our Lieutenant [Lt. Prestridge] got wounded at Kassel.  He did a pretty good job as Tank Commander, but he could never fill the shoes of Lt. Prestridge.  That man was something else.  He was damned smart.  He knew how to fight a war!  He was a damned good Commander.  Everybody thought alot of him.  Especially the infantry!  When they got into the bad spots, Lt. Prestridge did his level best to get up there and help them, as soon as he could.  We did!  We helped them out of a hell of alot of places.  I figured that we did a real good job for the 80th Infantry Division.  This was the top-notch infantry division, the 80th!

If we hadn't infiltrated the enemy lines, from Ettelbruck to Heiderscheid, that night, we would have never got that many tanks.  They didn't even know we were there.  When they came road marching on by us, we got them just like a bunch of sitting ducks.  We damn well took care of them.  I wished that we could have gotten them all, but we didn't.  We sure as hell got a good part of them.  I'll bet those were some surprised Germans!  They thought that town belonged to them.  It did, except for our tank.  It was there by itself, and ready!  Ol' "Mad Dog" got 'em!  That was the name of our tank, "Mad Dog".  I'm sure those Germans didn't know what in the hell was going on, until they got three quarters of them wiped out.  Then their tail end turned on us, and went back the other way.

We would have been firing on them, but there were buildings in between us.  We couldn't see what the hell happened.  They re-routed, and never showed themselves around us anymore!  I still remember driving from Ettelbruck to Heiderscheid, which is right close to seven miles.  I never once saw the road.  I went strictly by the commands of the Lieutenant.  "Right rudder.  Left rudder.  That's enough right.  That's enough left."  That's the way we went in there.  It was kind of a spooky deal, I'll tell you!  We were ready for them, when they came.  General Patton once said; "Don't let those Germans slip in behind you, and hit you with a sock of shit.  Well, we just reversed that.  And we hit them in the back of the head with a sock of shit!"

At the time Mr. Yraguen gave his taped interview, neither he nor I were aware of the fact that at Heiderscheid, Luxembourg, his tank, "Mad Dog" had knocked out the two Tiger Tanks in addition to the other seven armored vehicles of the "Fuehrer Grenadier Brigade.  According to Ms. Tilly Kimmes, Secretary of C.E.B.A., a Luxembourg based society devoted to remembering the Battle of the Bulge, there were no Tiger tank wrecks left in Heiderscheid after the battle.   What became of the knocked out Tigers?  A logical answer could be, that as was their inclination, the grenadier crews managed somehow to remove their knocked out (but not completely destroyed) Tigers from the scene.  "Mad Dog" was beyond any doubt, the first American presence in Heiderscheid.  When the 319th Infantry troops reached the town and relieved "Mad Dog's" crew, there followed a series of counterattacks, and the town officially went from German to American hands several times.  Whether the Tigers left immediately after being hit, or while the town was in German hands, no one seems to know.  In any case, they are clearly and duly recorded in the 702nd Tank Battalion S-2 or Intelligence Journal.

As this Writer was assembling the material for this book, I came upon the S-2 Journal entry regarding the Tigers, for the first time.  This is significant in that, in the last year, I had the very great pleasure of nominating "Mad Dog's" crew for the Combat Tank Ace Award, at the Armor School, Ft. Knox, Kentucky.  The crew was given this award, the highest ranking of the four awardees at the time.  When I read the 24 December 1944 entry in the S-2 Journal regarding the knocked out Tiger tanks, I immediately called the Armor School to make them aware of the additional armored vehicles.  The officer in charge of the Hall of Honor, where the awards are held, assured me that the Combat Tank Ace Award Citation for "Mad Dog's" crew would be changed to reflect the "kills" of the two Tiger tanks.  This brings the wartime total for "Mad Dog's" crew to four Tiger tanks, two Panther tanks, two Mk IV tanks, three armored personnel carriers and hundreds of German troops killed or captured.

The actual citation, written by the officials at the Armor School, at Ft. Knox, Kentucky, reads:

"The German winter offensive of 1944, better known as the Battle of the Bulge, was the scene of some of W.W. II's fiercest fighting.  Many heroic deeds were performed on both sides.  The crew of C-11, an M4A3 tank nicknamed "Mad Dog", of Company C, 702nd Tank Battalion exemplified the uncommon courage, skill, and discipline displayed by the American soldiers who fought in that battle.  The crew consisted of Lt. John Prestridge, Tank Commander, Cpl. George Gearhart, Gunner, Cpl. Tom Winford, Loader, Cpl. Emil Gothier, Bow Gunner and Assistant Driver, and T/4 Bonifacio Yraguen, Driver.  On Christmas Eve [Actually Dec. 23], 1944, Lt. Prestridge received the order to conduct an assault on Heiderscheid, Luxembourg.  Despite the fact that his was the only tank left from his platoon, and that the infantry assigned to support the assault failed to show up, the crew of "Mad Dog" faithfully executed the mission.  Once in Heiderscheid, the crew spotted a column of eleven German armored vehicles approaching their position.  After allowing the Germans to come within close range, the crew fired a devastating volley, which destroyed the lead tank, a Panther, as well as the last vehicle, a troop carrier.  The engagement was short but deadly.  The final tally revealed two Panther Mk. V's, two Mk IV's, two Tiger tanks, and three troop carriers destroyed.  Approximately fifty-three enemy soldiers died in the encounter.

On Christmas Day, after several failed attempts by an infantry regiment to secure a heavily fortified and well dug-in German position, "Mad Dog", once again alone and without support, was given the order to attack.  With all guns blazing, the tank rolled forward.  Those Germans who got in the way were crushed beneath the tracks.  Forty-four Germans died resisting "Mad Dog's" successful assault.

Lt. Prestridge was wounded in April 1945.  S/Sgt. "Pappy" Beard replaced him as the tank commander.  Under his leadership the crew received credit for knocking out two [more] Tiger tanks.  In Bitburg, Germany, "Mad Dog's" luck ran out when a Tiger tank ambushed and destroyed it.  The crew survived.  By war's end, the crew had eight confirmed tank kills as well as numerous pieces of equipment, pillboxes and enemy soldiers to it's credit.  Regarded as one of the finest tank crews in the 702nd Tank Battalion, these men epitomized the courage, discipline, and teamwork required of armor crews for survival and success in battle."

For a tank crew to receive the Combat Tank Ace Award, its "kills" must be documented, but this makes for a very difficult criterion to fill.  Undoubtedly, there was many other 702nd Tank Battalion "Red Devil" tank crews who would qualify for the award.  However, during the war, nobody was concerned with awards.  Records were rarely kept, and even when kept, were generally sketchy at best.  If the truth were known, there would be many Combat Tank Aces in the "Red Devil" Battalion.  However, the proof of that truth has been lost to history.

An Infantry Perspective Of The Battle For Heiderscheid

My thanks to Bill Krehbiel for bringing these to my attention!

Memories Of Heiderscheid

By Captain George Wallace Harmon

HQ Company, 319th Infantry

"December 18, 1944.  A cold, steady rain failed to dampen the spirits of the officers and men of the 2nd Bn, 319th Inf.  The Bn had just come off ten days in Merlebach, France where rest, recreation, leaves to Paris and some rather interesting local liaisons had reminded the personnel of what the war was all about.  After reluctantly leaving Merlebach on December 17th, for Rohrbach, they had proceeded to Hoelling, France, a tiny village in the wilds of Alsace, not very far from Saarbrucken, a city firmly in German hands.  Bn Command Post was located in the loft of an old, leaky barn.  All Company Commanders had assembled to discuss and plan a limited objective operation the following morning.  The Bn had relieved elements of the 25th Cavalry, and was preparing to reach out and grab some high ground immediately to the front.  From there they would spearhead an attack designed to capture Saarbrucken.  They would not attack Saarbrucken directly, but rather hook around the city and join with another division, thereby cutting off Saarbrucken from food, ammunition or physical help.  The city would fall with much fewer casualties than if it were frontally assaulted.

The mood of the meeting was relaxed as the officers awaited Col. Bandy's arrival.  They joked, laughed and generally deported themselves more as young boys than young men hardened by four months of almost-continuous combat.  There were no chairs; the officers lay on piles of hay.

Conversation was lively, full of jokes, teasing and the special kind of jailhouse humor, which passes between men bonded by combat.  William (Little Chum) Chamberlain, Capt of F Co., arrived.  Captain Godby (E Co.) jumped up, pulled his pistol from its holster, pointed it at Chamberlain's chest, and yelled "gotcha" or something similar.  Frank Hayes (G Co.) drew on Godby and soon there was general confusion as to who intended to shoot whom.  This was done with laughter and raucous comment, but soon abated as the conversation turned to the philosophical.  One of the officers pointed out that we had gone through a lot to have as few casualties among the Company Commanders.

"Wouldn't it be hell", someone ventured, "if we came this far, only to get it (killed) tomorrow." This conversation didn't seem to bother or even touch their sensibilities, and this subject was explored in detail.  Actually, combat soldiers don't think ahead.  They live, play and act for the moment.  Tomorrow is a big question mark and something to be ignored lest the brain rebel against the gruesome possibilities.

One of the officers had heard on AFN radio that the Germans had counterattacked in the Luxemburg-Belgium sector, with some success.  The general consensus prevailed that the Allies would soon put an end to that little counterattack!

Col. Bandy arrived and the meeting began.  He outlined the general plan, and then turned toward the next day's battle.  F and G companies would jump off at about 0600 and fight their way up to the top of the ridge.  There, they would dig in and defend against any counterattacks.  At this point, the telephone from Regiment jangled.  Capt. Harmon (S-1, HQ Co. Commander) answered.  The message was short and to the point: "Advise Col. Bandy to cancel all plans, prepare for a long truck movement." Second Battalion's involvement in that "little counterattack" had begun.

December 19, 1944 - 2nd Bn. troops were relieved by units of the 12th Armored division at 1400 and the battalion assembled in the village of Hoelling, ready for movement to the Luxemburg area.  The trucks arrived and the Bn departed at 1830.  It was a dark, rainy night.  For the first time since arrival on the continent of Europe, the members of the battalion were treated to the sight of headlights blazing as the giant convoy snaked its way over the rugged terrain of Eastern France.  Where normally, convoys crawled along the roads with "cats eyes" giving almost no illumination, the word was out to turn on the lights and get the hell up to Luxemburg.  The sight was most nostalgic.

December 20, 1944 - The Bn. rolled through the streets of Luxemburg and proceeded to Beggen, a suburb on the northern edge of Luxemburg City.  Companies were assigned streets for billeting purposes.  A German-speaking G.I. from each company went around asking for any "zimmers" that were "frei" for the night.  By mid-afternoon, the Bn. was billeted and dry from the moist, cloudy weather.  There were no definite orders for movement into the combat zone.

December 21, 1944 - The Bn. was alerted and at 1330, proceeded by motor and foot to a very small village of Tuntigen, a distance of approximately 9 miles.  The regiment was ready for combat.  The 2nd Bn was in regimental reserve.

December 22, 1944 - The Bn woke up to a wintry scene of heavy snow falling, turning a dreary landscape into a fairyland of clean, white purity.  The battle was joined up ahead and the sound of artillery fire gave all-too-familiar notice that combat had returned in earnest.  At noon, trucks moved the Bn. to the village of Boevange and an hour later to Vichten.  Snow blanketed the visible world.  The temperature had plummeted during the night before and stood near zero.  However, morale was excellent: they were inside houses, out of the wet and cold.  Fires were raging and there was a bottle of spirits nearby.  What more could a soldier ask?  Another warm, cozy night.  Rumors had filtered back all day, telling of spectacular victories against the enemy.  So this "little counterattack" was meeting its assigned fate after all.  Why the fuss?

This dream was soon shattered by the telephone from Regiment.  "Ask Col. Bandy to come to Headquarters, have his company commanders ready for a meeting when he returns."

Once again, the key officers assembled and speculation was rife.  The Bn would replace one of the frontline battalions.  No, they would be committed through a gap and make an end run to tie up a batch of the enemy.  Maybe they don't need us here, so we are being sent to relieve Bastogne!  The full import of the "little counterattack" was now common knowledge.  Well, whatever they thought up, The Wreckin' Second could do it!

A jeep whined up on the outside; Col. Bandy alighted and strode into the room.  His face told the story: It was common knowledge that the Colonel wasn't fond of personal involvement in combat, but this must be worse than they thought!  There was white showing all around his irises and he had the look of a man sentenced to the electric chair.  John Leake, his S-3 who had accompanied him to Regiment, towered behind him and although there was not the fear in his face, he, too, shook his head as if to say, "This is gonna be rough!"  The assembly became quiet.  The Colonel spread his map and the officer's gathered around.  Pointing to the edge of town, the Colonel said:

"Here are the front lines.  They cut up the Krauts pretty bad today and by dark, things were disorganized, but our troops are strung out along this line." He paused as though he hated to say the next words "They want us to take the whole battalion, sneak through our lines, get behind their lines, cross this open field to this road, proceed up this road and take this little town, Heiderscheid.  If we can do it, they'll get to us by tomorrow night."  In silence, the officers leaned forward as one to look at the map.  It didn't look promising.  There was an open field to the front, but it disappeared into a forest.  The road ran through the woods for about three kilometers.  Heiderscheid was just on the other side of the wooded area.  The Germans would be in that forest, to be sure.  It was easy to visualize a Kraut behind every tree, firing at a surrounded battalion standing in the open road.  It was hard to believe they would get through those woods without taking heavy casualties.  To top it off, the snow had stopped and the weather had cleared: the moon was turning hoped-for cover of darkness into daylight.  The element of surprise was lost.

"Why Heiderscheid, Colonel?" The speaker echoed the sentiments of all present.  Bandy pointed to the map.

"You see this road here?  If we control Heiderscheid, we control one of the main supply routes the Krauts are using to attack Bastogne.  General Patton himself ordered this thing." He didn't have to add that the Germans weren't about to let anyone in that town without a hell of a fight.

Talk returned to a rational assessment of the situation.  Fear was replaced by concentration on how the job could be done.  What were the chances without taking tanks along with all their noise?  It was decided that concealment was impossible in any case; take all the firepower possible.  They had also been offered a platoon of new, self-propelled 90-millimeter anti-tank guns.  It was claimed that they were better than the German 88mm.  More noise, but another four vehicles wouldn't make any difference.  Take it all and tell them to be ready to fight!  A transformation had taken place during the half-hour or so since the Colonel's arrival.  Fear, apprehension, indecisiveness was gone.  The officers who ran the battalion were now engrossed in planning the operation.  With Major Sam Williams (Bn Executive Officer) showing the way, determination replaced apprehension.  By God, they were going to make it work.  Col. Bandy said all the words, but his eyes told a different story.  Every officer in that room knew whom the strong man was, however: as long as Sam Williams was with them, they would be one hell of a fighting machine.

The battalion packed up and left on foot at 2300.  E Co., in the lead, reported that they were passing through friendly lines.  Soon after, it was reported that they were halfway across the open field and had received no fire.  Soon the radio crackled that they had reached the road; still no enemy fire!  By midnight, the entire battalion was strung along the road with the lead elements entering the forest about three kilometers from the objective.  Scouts were sent out to a distance of about fifty yards to the right and left of each company.  These men were to locate any enemy forces and ensure that the battalion was not taken by surprise.

December 23, 1944 - The road was covered with an inch of ice, causing the tanks and tank destroyers to slip, slide and yaw as they labored to climb the incline going through the woods.  The noise seemed deafening to the soldiers who wished for library-silence instead of boiler-factory din.  Still, no response from the Germans.

E Co. reported emerging from the edge of the woods overlooking Heiderscheid.  They had made it!  The Germans had not occupied the wooded area!  A collective sigh of relief.  Capt. Godby was in a farmhouse on the edge of the woods and could see no movement in the village about a half-kilometer away.  Col. Bandy ordered a halt in place.  Security would be maintained in all directions.  All company commanders were told to report to the farmhouse.  Maybe the town was unoccupied!  Hopes ran high and all officers drew a deep breath of relief: at least, they hadn't had to fight their way through the forest.

It was decided to send a patrol to see if the town was occupied.  Sgt. Harrell from the I & R platoon led four of his men toward the town.  It was about one o'clock in the morning, but the moon on the snow was all too light for comfort.  The dark figures darted forward, first one and then another.  The staff convened in the farmhouse waited breathlessly, hoping against hope.  All at once, small arms fire erupted from the village, signaling end to hopes of an easy victory.  Sgt Harrell was able to extricate his men and return to the farmhouse to report there were enemy troops in almost every house and a direct-fire cannon located at a junction leading into town.

By four o'clock, a battle plan had been formulated, troops moved into place, ready to jump off.  Company F was on the left of the road, Company E on the right.  The platoon of tanks was placed on the road with instructions to knock out the heavy gun at the entrance to town.  Orders were given to move out.  The dark line moved forward, the tanks gunned engines and small arms fire came from the village.  While the infantrymen were trying to cover the ground between the woods and the town, the tanks raked the houses with direct fire.  Lt. Shutt, platoon leader of the tanks, had assumed command of the lead tank, determined to knock out the self-propelled gun at the entrance to town.  He instructed his gunner to watch for the muzzle-blast when the gun fired, then lay on the light made by the blast.  Sure enough, the gun fired.  The tank stopped to fire more accurately.  The gun firing at the tank struck the road just in front of the tank and Lt. Shutt was horrified when the entire road blew up in front of his tank!  What kind of gun was that?  The gunner, however, concentrating on his orders, had, indeed, laid on the blast, and was firing at the gun.  He hit the gun, putting it out of commission, which was a blow to the defense of the town and a lift to the attackers.  At this minute, Shutt realized that the gun had struck a Teller mine just before his tank would have run over it!  In trying to kill him, the enemy gunner had saved his life!

Companies F and E, meanwhile were inching toward the buildings.  When they were quite near, they signaled the tanks to stop firing and rushed for the houses on either side of the street leading into town.  They poured though holes made by the gunfire, and quickly captured the houses.  Members of the "Wreckin' Second" bragged that any time they could get into a house on both sides of a street, they could capture all the houses on that street.  Heiderscheid was no exception.  The infantrymen, boys-next-door to their friends and neighbors back home, became brutal animals.  They would throw a grenade through a window, let it explode, and then follow it through the window, firing at anything they saw.  If the enemy within happened to wish to give up, it was too bad.  He was killed before he could get the message across.  The men yelled, cursed, gunned down anything that moved, had no regard for property or anything except survival.  It was a savage, cold-blooded assault, fueled by fear and an animal-like excitement, which comes from legally killing fellow humans.  For the duration of combat, ordinary decent, God fearing men become savage, bloodthirsty killers, capable of the most inhuman practices.

One soldier began climbing a flight of stairs.  The steps led past an open window, so he cautiously peered around the bottom corner.  Sure enough, out in the yard was a German soldier, peering up to see and shoot anyone who exposed themselves to his watchful eyes.  The American gathered himself, sprung into view, and before the German could adjust to shoot, he was dead.  Entering a house, the soldiers threw grenades into rooms, then entered firing in every direction.  It was terrible in its efficiency, but it saved American lives.  In taking the village of Heiderscheid, there were 6 American casualties.

By 1100 hours, the village was secure and preparations were being made to repulse the counterattack.  The Germans go by the book.  If they are beaten out of a town, they will counterattack in one hour.  You can set your watch by it, and be certain they will come down from high ground, if there is any to be found, or up a draw if that approach is available.  In this case, there was a fairly large draw leading from the south into the village.  Col. Bandy directed that the draw be zeroed-in by the heavy mortars, the heavy machine-guns were to be set up so as to sweep the part of the draw leading into town.  Infantrymen dug in, the battalion was ready for the expected counterattack.

At this moment, someone looked north of town and about a mile and a half away, along a road running parallel to the village, enemy tanks, half-tracks and trucks were bumper-to-bumper!  Obviously, it was a Panzer division on its way to Bastogne.  Temptation was great to lay low and let it pass, but Sam Williams would have no part of that.

"Shoot at the bastards!", he yelled, "that's what we're here for!" Col. Bandy, who had probably favored the be-quiet-and-maybe-they-won't-know-we're-here approach, reluctantly gave the orders and the tanks and tank-destroyers swung into position and opened fire.  The tanks couldn't reach the enemy very well, but the 90mm guns of the destroyers hit home.  In a fit of surprise and chagrin, the Germans went off the road on the other side of the ridge.  Soon there was nothing to shoot at.  At about this moment - exactly 1200 noon - a company of German infantry with four tanks came up the draw.  Firing commenced on both sides, and the mortars thumped all around the wooded draw.  The Germans were out manned from the outset.  With the mortars and machine-guns sweeping the infantry, the tank destroyers swung their guns into action and in a blaze of gunfire and acrid smoke, three of the four enemy tanks were set on fire.  The fourth turned tail.  The battle lasted less than fifteen minutes.  More elaborate defense plans were made.  The Germans certainly didn't want Americans in the village and they were sure to try and recapture it.  At 1400 hours, a larger force with seven tanks came storming up the draw.  Again, the 2nd Bn responded beautifully.  The defense plans, made by Bandy and set by Williams, proved too much for the Germans.  The infantry attackers suffered terrible losses and six of the tanks were knocked out.  Four of those tanks were eliminated by bazookas manned by "E" Company soldiers.  Hiding in cellar positions, they would let the tanks come abreast, then fire into the side, sending a projectile through the side to engulf the men inside the tank with a shower of steel splinters.  The last tank hit, however, was by the tank destroyers.  The range was 2600 yards; the projectile hit the light tank in the rear and turned it over - back to front!  Yes, the Americans at last had a gun to rival the German 88!

The weather was cold, icy, but clear.  About the time the Bn had secured the town, a distant buzz became louder until it turned into a roar, then a thousand roars as the sky filled with American planes of the 8th Air Corps on their way to bomb the supply chain of Germany's effort.  It was a heady sight and the G.I.'s yelled and waved like youngsters on a picnic!

The Bn settled in for the night.  Regiment couldn't or wouldn't get wire communications up to them, so they used radio to report the operation.  The entire battalion was housed, but elaborate security was the order of the day.  They hadn't forgotten the Panzer division they had driven off the road, but hoped the Germans were more interested in Bastogne than Heiderscheid.

December 24, 1944 - The still, quiet and extremely cold air was shattered in the wee hours of the morning by a single bomb, dropped by "Bed Check Charlie".  It landed in the yard nearest the Bn CP, made a hole that would hide a jeep, tore out the window sills on that side of the huge, pock mocked, house where the Colonel, his staff and Headquarters Company slept.  In the room where the Colonel and his staff slept, the entire wall was blown away, leaving the room open to the elements.  Capt. Harmon (Bn. S-1, HQ Co. C.O.) was asleep in his bedroll (after 48 hours with no sleep).  He actually didn't hear the bomb go off.  He was awakened by the yells of those trying to find if anyone were injured or killed.  He half rose and heard glass tinkling all about him.  "What was that?" he stammered.

"Oh go back to sleep," Sam Williams said.  Harmon did and slept like a baby until the sound of artillery shells bursting around the village alerted the entire battalion that another day had begun and, with it, one hell of a counterattack!

The time was 0700.  Outside, the clear, crisp weather had given way to murky, foggy, cold and damp weather.  Light snow was falling and as soon as the artillery stopped, the well prepared battalion looked out and saw panzer tanks, halftracks disgorging white-clad German soldiers.  The tanks were raking Bn. positions with fire, the infantry were advancing.  The battalion opened fire, and a German fell occasionally, but the weight of numbers were decidedly in enemy favor.  Had the Bn stopped to consider the odds, they would have certainly ruled their position hopeless: About 5000 of the enemy were attacking 539 officers and men!  The tanks circled back and forth along the north side of the village, the white hooded infantry crept closer, firing into the windows.  The officers in the Bn kept going from room to room, telling the men to keep their heads down, to aim their fire, make their ammunition count.  Still the enemy came into the village until they were in the streets, clustered around the houses.  Outside, elements of the 2nd Bn. locked in battle with the German infantry.  Sam Williams was like a bull.  He was in the streets, fighting with the G.I.'s, his eyes blazing, his deep voice yelling insults at the enemy and his gun taking more than a few out of the world.  Meanwhile, in the Bn C.P., the Colonel sought the relative safety of the cellar.  He set up wire communications with his companies, and advised them as well as he could what with his limited view of the proceedings.  The battle seemed hopeless.  The Germans got up to the houses.  They threw grenades through an open window.  The G.I.'s stepped out into the hall, let the grenade explode, then stood at the door-jam with rifles aimed directly at the window.  As the helmeted head came into view over the windowsill, it was blown off by an accurate volley.  This procedure was repeated all over the village by all companies.  Headquarters Company, normally a rear-echelon unit, was a front-line company and did its share of the fighting, acquitting itself remarkably well.

Capt. Harmon received a call from the I & R platoon which was billeted on the edge of town.  The conversation went like this: "Captain, this is Sid Rowling!"  "Yeah, Sid, what's up?"  "It's hotter than hell out here!"  "Well, son, it is pretty hot all over town."  "Look.  I got eight prisoners down in the basement of this house.  The krauts are in the hall and I need help."  "Sid.  We haven't anyone left who isn't fighting.  We are fully committed.  All I can tell you is to do the best you can."  (short pause)  "Captain, tell you what I'm gonna do.  I'm gonna hold out as long as I can, then I'm gonna shoot these son-of-a-bitches and run like hell."  "Good luck, Sid." He needed it. 

The battalion fought well, but their capture or demise was merely a matter of time.  Sam Williams came into the C.P. from outside.  His eyes were blazing; there was sweat on his brow in spite of below-zero temperatures.

"Where's Colonel Bandy?" he snarled.  A soldier pointed to the stairs leading to the cellar.

"He's down there, Sir." Williams looked disgusted and ran down the steps.  He approached the Colonel.

"We need some artillery out there!  The Krauts are in the streets and we are in the houses.  Have our own artillery knock this damn town down.  They'll get hurt more than our men!" The Colonel hesitated.

"Goddammit, Colonel, we can't hold out.  They got too many men! Let's get our artillery working!"

Fran Kutsch was working an SCR-300 radio in contact with Regiment.  He was standing by the blown-out window, seeing to it that the antenna wasn't blown off and that contact was kept.  He received a call and was told that Colonel Davidson, Regimental Commander, wished to speak with Colonel Bandy.  Fran looked up and yelled above the din,

"Tell Colonel Bandy Regiment wants to talk with him." The news was relayed down the steps into the cellar.  There was a long pause, and then a helmet bearing Lt Colonel's insignia appeared at floor level.  In classic training-camp style, the Colonel slithered across the room to the radio.  He reached up and Kutsch handed the handset down to him.  The Colonel rolled over on his back and began the conversation.  He told the Regimental commander the situation as though he had just come from combat.  Sam Williams who had walked erectly behind the Battalion Commander, smiled ruefully.

"Yes, Colonel, our situation is pretty desperate.  I don't know how long I can hold out, unless I get some help! (Pause) Yes sir, I know that.  They couldn't get here in time to save us, anyhow.  Tell you what, Sir.  Have the artillery to shoot at this village. Oh I know Sir, but we are in the houses and the Krauts are in the streets.  They will catch more of it than us.  Yes, sir....  You can count on us, Sir.  We'll hang on.  Just get that artillery on us right away....Thank you, Sir."

He handed the handset up to Kutsch, turned on his belly, slithered back to the stairs and disappeared into the cellar.  Sam Williams snorted, then radioed the companies, telling them what they could expect.  He cautioned them to get low as soon as the shells started exploding.  Then he smoked a cigarette, scowling into the distance.

The Regimental Commander quickly arranged to have all Division artillery trained on Heiderscheid.  There were three battalions of 105MM guns and a battalion of 155mm.  The first volley was a T.O.T. (time on target), A condition whereby all the guns would shoot at intervals ensuring that the projectiles would arrive on the target at the same moment!  This was the ideal way to achieve the desired results, as the enemy didn't have a forewarning so as to hide.  Their first inkling was a great rush of projectiles through the air, and then increasing whistles from countless shells, and then the town literally and figuratively blew apart.  The sound alone was enough to freeze the blood, and the flying shrapnel turned the village into a beehive of death.  That was the last sound a great many Germans heard.

Inside the houses, the air seemed to be alive with the sound of the projectiles screaming their way into the town, a cacophony of sound and fury, closely followed, by incoming artillery shells slamming into the entire village with death and destruction.  The upper stories of the houses were blown apart; brick, glass, dust, snow, ice and shrapnel flew through the air and rained down into the rooms below.  The carnage outside was terrible.  Caught in a firestorm that no human could survive, the Germans who lived through the first onslaught turned and ran.  The very excellent forward observer from the 702 Artillery, who had been with the battalion from the start, was set up with his radio to adjust fire.  His orders were directed through his normal channels.  He was as cool as the ice outside as he spoke into his radio, his voice striking a sane note in the midst of an insane world.  As he observed the Germans withdrawing, he calmly spoke into his radio, "Up 200.  Fire for effect." In seconds, the artillery reached out of town into the fields and exploded among the fleeing Germans.  "Up 200.  Fire for effect." came the quiet voice, following the routed enemy across the fields, into the woods, until no Germans were in evidence.  At last, "Cease firing.  Thanks."  Always the gentleman, these 702 observers!

The Bn. pulled itself down from the exaltation of victory and began to ready for an expected counterattack.  This time, plans included early use of artillery to keep them out of town.  Although The Wreckin' Second was ready, the second attack never came.  Heiderscheid was in American hands and would never return to the Germans.

The battalion Morning Report read;

24 Dec. 44 Heiderscheid, Luxemburg (7344) Bn in defense positions to north of Heiderscheid.  Bn. beat off enemy counterattack of Infantry and Armor at 0700. 

Notes of interest:

1. German bodies were strewn all over the town and across the field where they retreated.  They were identified as Der Fuehrer's Brigade of the famous Grossdeutchland Division specially trained troops in reducing fortified positions.

2. The battalion sustained surprisingly few casualties almost none from the artillery bombardment.

3. Sid Rowling survived the battle, but almost lost his life moments later.  He survived with his prisoners intact.  He was loading them on a truck for transport to the rear, when a German artillery shell came whistling in, exploded near him and wounded him severely.  He was evacuated more dead than alive, but survived to reach a ripe old age.

4. Capt. Harmon, (Bn.S-1) wrote up a recommendation for the 2nd Bn, 319th Inf. to be awarded a Unit Citation.  A week or so later, he was called by Colonel Davidson.  He was told that a Unit Citation was difficult to obtain, but the Colonel would "honor the battalion" by putting Colonel Bandy in for The Distinguished Service Cross for bravery under fire!  Sam Williams, who earned a Congressional Medal of Honor that day, got nothing.

HEIDERSCHEID TURKEY SHOOT

By Garland Godby, C.O., Co. E 319

It is difficult for a participant to remember when the fight began.  When it was all over memory was erased by a self-preservation instinct, which does not permit the remembering of the awfulness of close combat.  What is remembered is only some of the more humorous or crazy incidents in the midst of great peril.  The front-line soldier cannot function who dwells on the gruesomeness of killing and being killed.  He must somehow blot out the certainty that he will be killed or severely mangled going face to face with a determined enemy.  He lives solely for the moment because he knows only an uncertain future.

To the front-line soldier, Heiderscheid was really the first time to actually see masses of German soldiers along with their tanks and the artillery together with the bicycles and horse drawn equipment.  A vivid memory remains of watching a great mass of men and equipment debouching from the woods in an attack and seeing the results of many battalions of our artillery firing "Time on Target".  The carnage was indescribable.  But, I must confess to feeling good about the savage destruction wrought by tons of artillery exploding at the same time.  One thing I felt sorry for was the fine horses being torn apart, but not sorry for the enemy soldier.  After all, we had been the victims of dug-in riflemen and machine gunners, plus the hidden artillery all across France.  About the only thing we ever saw was surrendering prisoners or dead soldiers who didn't make it out ahead of our attack.  This was sweet revenge.  They were being repaid, in kind, for the many, many personal losses I had suffered in the death and wounding of my friends and fellow soldiers.  Sad to say, my company had fewer than 110 frontline soldiers and only one officer when the fight began.  Only a precious few of these gallants had more than a few hours of close combat going into Heiderscheid.

One cannot verbalize the thoughts that race through the mind of a company commander upon receiving an order to attack blindly in the face of a skilled., determined enemy.  The initial attack was not truly a textbook attack but rather a tentative move to find out what was in Heiderscheid.  Those who were there will remember the confusion at the time.  No one knew what the Hell was going on; where the Germans were, or where our troops were.  I can't forget going to contact the troops holding the line and seeing, in front of them, a battery of Long Toms emplaced behind a road.  I asked the battery commander what he was doing there, and he replied: "I'm out of contact with my battalion and decided to dig in and support the infantry".   I said: "We'd all feel better if you were behind rather than in front of the troops."  Without urging he moved the battery to the rear and set up new aiming stakes.  In talking with the company commander of the unit we were to pass through, I found out his left flank was completely open and his unit was spread out at least a quarter of a mile, hunkered down in the freezing cold.

Speaking of cold! Remember our winter equipment?  You bet not! We had no parkas nor sno-paks.  What we had was field Jackets and the old four-buckle Arctic's.  The only parkas I had seen were those worn by the Quartermaster Corps truck drivers who brought us from Merlebach.  But during our brief stay in Heiderscheid I liberated one of those warm leather coats worn by the Wehrmacht officers.  Talk about first class "warm".  I wore it only one time.  My outpost guys thought I was a Kraut and after a BAR burst on a wall above my head, I made a quick, chilly decision to throw the thing away.  Another fond remembrance is eight of us piling into a shell hole to get out of harm's way.  I thank the I&R platoon for that remembrance.  They made one of their quickie reconnaissance's to the edge of Heiderscheid; drew heavy fire and came pell-mell back to cover.  I can't forget how cozy it was and how much body heat eight scared guys can generate.  We finally got into the attack mode to move on the town.  It had to be serious!  E and F companies actually had four tanks and two of the new 90 mm self-propelled anti-tanks guns in close support.

I can't describe the feeling I had by knowing we weren't going in alone, especially knowing that this was a town on the German's main supply route.  We finally had a weapon that could kill panzers at long range, so we didn't have the fear of a heavy tank attack.  We did fear, and with good reason, the German 88 and knew one or more was lying in wait near the road junction.  However, our armored was aware of the danger and carefully followed us, leapfrogging along the road.  After proceeding awhile alongside the road, I halted the company to talk with the lead tank commander to get a better fix on our position.  I got into the tank, after taking off my helmet, and knelt down very near the gun mount to look at the map.  The lieutenant turned on his flashlight and the next thing I knew all Hell broke loose.  The tank rocked violently, throwing me into the edge of the gun mount, giving me a good whack on the head.  Needless to say, I bailed out of that tank and they got the 88.  Really, it was a beautiful sight to see that devil machine in flames from the extra gasoline stored around the weapon.  Also, it gave us hope of getting into town without too much trouble.  I did have a headache and an egg-sized Jump on my head, but we went into town anyway.  We finally began trying to clear Heiderscheid.  Those warm buildings looked good to us cold, cold footsloggers.  The cleanup was messy.  We did some heavy work at close quarters; threw lots of grenades in windows and cellars and fired at anything that moved.  This also provided a memorable incident.  The 2nd platoon was notorious both as fighters and as food scroungers.  I was understandably nervous and edgy; scared half to death.  I heard a heavy burst of firing in a nearby house and immediately thought of a counterattack.  I rushed to the house to find out what was going on.  Seeing no enemy in the vicinity, I went into the house and found four men shooting up through a wide kitchen chimney.  I thought: "Sniper".  When I asked: "What's going on"?  The platoon sergeant replied: "Oh.' they're shooting down a ham".

After cleaning out our part of town, we began to establish defensive positions for the counterattack we knew would be coming.  We made strong points in several houses and arranged infantry protection for the armor.  Sure enough, we got our counterattack.  Waves and waves of enemy infantry and armor coming out of the woods about 800 yards to our front; across an open field then up a slight incline leading into town.  It was mind boggling to witness this sight.  We dumped everything we had on them.  Our artillery observer had plotted almost complete coverage to the front and called in several battalions of artillery, but still they kept coming, slowly inching their way into town.  When they got within range of small arms fire, we opened up; mowing them down like ducks in a shooting gallery.  I'll never forget the cries of the wounded and the awesome clanking of the tanks as they moved slowly forward.  In my case, I personally fired all the available .50 caliber ammunition from the heavy gun we had removed from our 2 1/2 ton kitchen truck, but still they kept coming up a small ravine that led into town.  When they got closer, we threw grenades, which stopped them temporarily.  Also, our 60mm mortars raised havoc in the small ravines and gullies.  Tanks were following the infantry, blasting away with high-explosive shells.  However, our tanks and the 90mm self propelled guns out dealt with them at long range, knocking out several.  A few tanks made it to the bottom of the slight rise, defiladed from our heavy guns.  As luck would have it, those heavy, awkward, cumbersome bazookas came to the rescue.  Bazooka teams from the two forward platoons managed to knock out four tanks at almost point-blank range.  They finally broke off the attack and we began regrouping and getting ready for the next onslaught.

Sure enough we got a big one the next morning, just after daylight.  We could hear the revved-up tank engines and shouts of the enemy soldiers; then saw what looked like an entire army closing in on the town.  Our defense could not hold against those odds and we were almost out of ammunition.  They swarmed all around like angry hornets.  We were in the houses and they were in the streets.  Finally it was decided to level the town with artillery fire.  It was a gamble born of desperation; either be killed by our own artillery or slaughtered by the Wehrmacht.  The intensity of artillery firing "Time on Target" was nothing less than horrifying.  But, it did the trick and they abandoned the attack, leaving a meager few, tired, seared and hungry infantrymen wondering if we just might get to enjoy Christmas dinner after all.

Oh Yes!  We got our dinner and the mess sergeant and cooks got well-earned combat infantryman badges, plus a couple of other decorations for helping out in the Heiderscheid Turkey Shoot.  Also we managed to scrounge plenty of winter parkas from the fallen Wehrmacht heroes.  Then we began to get ready for the next show on the road to Berlin.  Ringel, I think.  But that's another chapter in the book of the infantry soldier.

The consequence of this whack on my head on December 23d came to fruition about January 17th when I was evacuated.  The battalion surgeon thought I had severe concussion because I couldn't get over the headache or completely close my eyes.  I had innocently gone back to the aid station to see what he could do for me.  Well, he did it with a big cup of cognac and a couple of pain pills.  My next memory was the Evac Hospital then on to a hospital plant in England.  In the hospital they found I had a skull fracture initially, and after six weeks, when they let me out of bed, found out I had 3 compressed vertebrae in the neck and 3 in the lower back.  In October 1945 I was discharged from the hospital and having no better offer at the time stayed in the regular army.  They always said you didn't need brains to be an infantryman.  I'm living proof."