CHAPTER 10
Enemy Situation Unknown
“Wir Kapitulieren Nie”(“We Will Never Surrender”)
Nazi slogan, 1945
The men of Troops A and C waited in their vehicles at their start lines, their company and platoon leaders glancing nervously at their watches while the men smoked their issues, rechecked their personal weapons for the thousandth time and tried to stay warm. The engines of the Chaffee tanks, Howitzer Motor Carriages, M8 armored cars and jeeps rumbled and growled as they idled, hot engine exhaust pluming in the cold air. H-hour had arrived. A light rain was falling and visibility ahead was poor, the roads slick with water.1
The low mountains that in the distant past had protected Czechoslovakia from invasion from Bavaria were thick with stands of timber that gave way at the lower altitudes to ancient fields and clearings. The forest was so thick that little light penetrated to ground level, giving the impression of permanent dusk.
Then a sound cut in over the burble of idling engines—from the west, a deep rumbling like summer thunder. The experienced soldiers among the platoons had heard this so many times over the past nine months. It was the percussion herald to an assault—played not on kettledrums but by the cold steel of American artillery.
On the 512th Field Artillery gun line far to the rear, the 105mm Howitzers mouthed shell after shell in a precisely timed opening barrage, the barrels slamming back on their recoil mechanisms as the gunners turned away, hands over their ears and mouths slightly open to protect against the concussion. More and more shells were fed into the hungry gun breeches, while piles of steaming brass casings soon lay abandoned in the mud around every weapon.
On the start lines the GIs instinctively glanced up at the leaden gray sky as the shells passed over with an insistent whine before dropping onto their pre-registered targets along the border area. “Kraut serenade,” remarked the GIs, the slang term for a TOT (Time on Target) barrage designed to cut down the enemy before he could go to ground. The shells burst in the distance, the thumps comforting to the men waiting for the signal to advance. Colonel Reed was doing what he could for Task Force Andrews, helping them to kick in the door to Hostau with a short, sharp opening barrage along the troop lines. There was no reply from the German artillery.
The American attack would not come from one direction; rather, Colonel Reed had ensured that Task Force Andrews would approach Hostau in three small battlegroups. Troop C, under the able First Lieutenant Bob McCaleb, would make the initial thrust, advancing on Weissensulz, and then on to hopefully liberate what was understood from hazy intelligence to be upwards of 300 Allied prisoners-of-war in a column at nearby Schmolau. McCaleb would have half a platoon of Chaffee tanks to help. Staff Sergeant Joseph Carpenter, commanding Troop C’s 3rd Platoon, would be spearhead, with McCaleb in the next M8 behind and the bulk of Troop C’s platoons strung out in a fighting column.2 The distance was believed to be about seven or eight miles to secure the prisoners.
Troop A, commanded by Captain Carter Catlett was to rendezvous with C at Weissensulz, and once Weissensulz was secure it would pass through C’s positions and capture Hostau town from the north and secure the horse stud opposite the castle. Riding with A was Major Andrews, with Captain Tom Stewart as second-in-command.
Troop C would in the meantime establish patrols and checkpoints to cover the road back to US lines, designated the MSR (Main Supply Route). Troop B remained in position screening the villages of Rustin, Waldorf, and Ples to the south, but would push out patrols to the east side of the forest and help secure Troop C’s flank.
One element of Troop A would move on secondary tracks towards Hostau separate from the rest of the troop. This was First Lieutenant Bill Quinlivan’s 2nd Platoon, reinforced by two Chaffee tanks from Company F. Bill had orders to follow the route that Captain Stewart had recently ridden during his negotiations with the Germans, bypassing Weissensulz. The plan meant that Troop A had two chances of getting to the stud: should one of its components become embroiled with the Germans, the other should make it.3
The task force would have to reach several miles into enemy territory to complete its mission,* with a single main road running from Bavaria through Weissensulz to Hostau to be secured and held open to permit the evacuation of the Allied prisoners, the horses and German POWs. It was a tenuous connection to the rest of the 2nd Cavalry Group and presented plenty of opportunities for any nearby German units to cut the link and isolate Troop A at Hostau or Troop C at Weissensulz, or both. Speed was of the essence—Reed had impressed this upon the task force leaders several times. Get in, get the POWs and horses, and hold the stud until relieved or given further orders.
Major Andrews looked again at his watch. The barrage ended as abruptly as it had begun and the thunderous detonations subsided, leaving only the rumbling note of the engines.
“Move out… repeat, move out,” Andrews ordered over the radio, and within seconds the vehicles started to roll east. A low mist hung like a blanket over the dark Bohemian Forest as the men and vehicles of Task Force Andrews began their advance into the unknown. It was deeply overcast, adding to the oppressiveness of the countryside. Rain dripped incessantly from the tall firs and the American soldiers’ helmets shone with wetness as they huddled in their jeeps or stood in the turrets of their tanks and armored cars.
Staff Sergeant Joe Carpenter’s platoon was in the most vulnerable position. The formation march for all units was the same—by column along roads. Each platoon was arrayed exactly the same, in a time-honored and battle-tested formation. Leading was the point squad consisting of a .30 cal.-armed jeep, an M8, and a jeep carrying a 60mm mortar. The vehicles were spread out over about 150 yards. About half a minute behind the point section came the platoon’s other two squads, arranged in the same vehicular formation and spread out over 500 to 1,100 yards.4 On the front of the M8s were masses of tire chains hung on the bow plates as protection against Panzerfaust rockets.
Machine guns were manned on the M8 Greyhounds and jeeps while the turrets of the little Chaffee tanks traversed left and right as they jerkily surged forward, their commanders giving instructions to the drivers by radio microphone, standing with their heads and shoulders out of the open turret hatches.
The effects of the American artillery barrage were horrific. In the town of Waier the shells had arrived suddenly and without warning, catching both townspeople and local defense forces in the open. As the smoke and dust cleared, moaning and screaming mingled with the crackling of burning houses, as the wounded and stunned lay scattered about the streets. Bodies, and mangled body parts, were thrown all about. The Germans recorded that twenty-eight civilians were killed by shellfire.5
The local Volkssturm commander, Colonel Wastl, immediately ordered the rest of the civilians to their cellars until the inevitable arrival of the Americans. They ran in panic, mostly women and children and a few old people, pushing and shoving to get under cover before another barrage went up.
Eventually, the German defenses woke up to the American threat and opened fire.
“Contact!” came the familiar call crackling through the intercom headsets as Major Andrews’ lead platoons pushed on. Within minutes of crossing the border, incoming fire was received by the point platoons of Troops A and C. Germans opened up with their fast-firing MG42s from concealed positions, with rifles joining in, the bullets smacking into the American armored vehicles and ricocheting off into the woods, red tracer rounds stabbing through the trees or across the open fields as the columns started to pull out into more open terrain. “Watch your spacing!” ordered the platoon commanders, conscious that bunched-up vehicles made for juicy targets.6 “We got troops on the ground,” crackled voices in the armored vehicle commanders’ headsets as they strove to locate the enemy firing positions. “Get that machine gun,” was the familiar cry and suppressing fire was ordered immediately, the tanks and armored cars returning fire with their heavy .50 and .30 cal. machine guns that thumped hollowly and slowly as their thumb-sized slugs shredded the German positions. Sometimes the tank guns joined in, their turrets traversing on to the target before blowing it to pieces with high explosive rounds.7 “Cease fire—target destroyed.”
“SOL,” muttered more than one GI at the demise of a German position—those Krauts were “shit outta luck.”
For the first mile or so of the advance Task Force Andrews was constantly assailed by small pocket of enemy resistance, and though it suffered no serious casualties, the advance slowed and much ammunition was expended eliminating the German front-line positions. Major Andrews, further back in the Troop A column and riding in one of the headquarters’ M3A1 half-tracks, received a steady stream of reports from the lead platoons, and he was acutely conscious of time.
Many prisoners were swept up as the columns advanced and these had to be guarded or sent to the rear. In Troop C’s sector, sixty-five Germans were captured at 1300 hours when the lead platoon rolled through the village of Vjezd su Krize.8 Carpenter’s 3rd Platoon took three prisoners at 1405 hours. These men helpfully informed Lieutenant McCaleb that there were three German officers commanding an infantry company dug in at Schmolau, the objective where the main concentration of Allied POWs was located, giving the Americans some idea of likely enemy resistance.9
In Waier, the artillery barrage launched by the German defenses had proved somewhat desultory, and now Volkssturm commander Colonel Wastl was horrified to see groups of his men fleeing out of town towards nearby high ground, many throwing away their weapons and ammunition as they ran when news of the approaching American column was received.
“Everything is lost!” cried one of Wastl’s lieutenants, his eyes wet with tears of impotent fury when he reported to the Volkssturm command post. “Two hundred men have fled!”10 The unwillingness of the Volkssturm to sacrifice themselves in battles that they had no hope of winning with the limited weapons at their disposal led to many either surrendering quickly to the 42nd Squadron’s advance guards the moment they appeared or going to ground and waiting out the passing storm. Any serious resistance mostly came from the regular army or particularly fanatical Nazis among the Volkssturm or Hitler Youth.
The men of Troop C quickly took Waier’s surrender. The mayor emerged, madly waving an improvised white flag at the approaching American armored vehicles. Two Allied prisoners-of-war, a Briton and an Australian, who the Germans were using as cooks in the building where the Volkssturm garrison was lodged, were hastily called forward by the mayor and his party. The British prisoner, a Londoner who spoke good German, translated the mayor’s words.
“I, as mayor of Waier, surrender the place and assure that no German soldier is left in the place,”11 he said. An American officer climbed down from an M8 and the little ceremony was concluded with everyone lighting up cigarettes and shaking hands. Waier had been saved from serious devastation. In order to minimize US casualties, the Americans normally blasted any town or settlement that attempted to resist; here the local leaders had averted such a fate. An immediate curfew was imposed and the GIs dismounted from their vehicles to institute a weapons search.
A large number of Allied POWs were liberated from their working parties in the forest close by and the joyous news was immediately transmitted by radio back to Colonel Reed. Lieutenant McCaleb detailed a couple of squads to babysit the POWs and hold the road through the town until transport could be sent up to evacuate the prisoners into Bavaria.
“Town ahead,” crackled Staff Sergeant Carpenter’s voice in Lieutenant McCaleb’s headset. McCaleb acknowledged his sergeant’s warning from his position some 500 yards back in the column.
“Heads up everyone,” broadcast McCaleb to his platoon commanders. Once clear of the thick forest the road wound down across rolling farmland towards a small settlement, really more of a village than a town. It was basically just a main street lined with two- and three-storey German-style houses and shops. From a distance it looked quiet. Carpenter asked McCaleb whether he should stop and send in a recon squad.
“Negative, Sergeant,” replied McCaleb, against every tenet of cavalry reconnaissance. Speed was of the essence. They’d have to chance it. “Proceed.”
Carpenter’s M8, with a jeep front and rear, picked up speed and led the long line of American vehicles straight through the town. Weapons were pointed ahead and up at the windows that lined the road. Carpenter and McCaleb and the other GIs tried not to think of the ease with which they could be ambushed as the line of green vehicles snaked through the narrow medieval street, with most of the platoon riding in open-topped, soft-skinned jeeps that offered no protection. If the proverbial hit the fan McCaleb’s command would be trapped like rats in a barrel.
The few Sudeten German civilians that the column surprised stood on the pavements or in doorways, their mouths agape in astonishment. They had clearly had no idea of how close the Americans were to their little town.12 There were no soldiers in evidence, mostly just women with shopping baskets, old men, and young kids. Anyone left who was capable of bearing arms had already been drafted into the army or the Volkssturm. They stared at the Americans with undisguised hostility. The few Czechs among the populace were friendlier, smiling and waving at the Americans.
As the cavalry drove through the town one or two Nazi flags still fluttered from official buildings, and along one wall was painted in neat white letters the optimistic statement “Wir Kapitulieren Nie” (“We Will Never Surrender”). And then the troops were through and continuing on a good road across open countryside dotted with occasional farms and patches of forest. McCaleb consulted his map. So far all was going to plan. The Germans had stopped shooting at them, and in a little while the column should reach the outskirts of Weissensulz. There should be no further major settlements ahead until they hit Weissensulz.
“Column… halt!” crackled the radioed order down the Troop C vehicles. The troop, with Staff Sergeant Carpenter’s platoon still on point, came to a halt, vehicle brakes complaining as the heavy armored vehicles and little jeeps stopped. Precautions were immediately taken to defend the column during the temporary halt, with each platoon placing its vehicles under any available cover, such as roadside trees. In case of ambush or air attack, the vehicles were dispersed at least fifty yards apart from each other, and all main and secondary armament manned.13 “Heads up!” was the common order among the sergeants and corporals to their squads as the column sat immobile deep behind enemy lines. The GIs looked along the barrels of their vehicle weapons and waited, or sat inside smoking and monitoring their radio sets for fresh orders. There was some grumbling among the enlisted men, conscious that German eyes could be watching their every move and perhaps preparing an ambush.
The town that they had passed through shortly before had seemed to make sense at the time; but now, going by the American military maps that they held in their hands, the expected next objective had failed to materialize when it should have.14 It was evident to the officers of Troop C that they had taken a wrong turn.
The troop was now well into its cautious advance towards Weissensulz, and had already stopped several times to deal with pockets of enemy resistance. Officers and senior NCOs nervously scanned the road ahead and the surrounding fields and woods with their binoculars. It was easy to get lost—the country all looked the same, and the little roads meandered through multiple intersections or led to isolated farms or to tiny settlements. And of course there had been no opportunity to properly reconnoiter the route to Weissensulz before setting out.
Colonel Reed confirmed the halt order via Major Andrews over the radio net until the correct route to Weissensulz could be discerned.15 The operation was too sensitive to permit one half of the available force assigned to wander off and attempt to feel its way to Weissensulz along any available road—it would have to be turned around and put back on the correct agreed route.
The advancing troops had to stick to the plan if at all possible for one other very important reason—cavalry reconnaissance officers were trained to react to any unexpected vehicles that appeared on their line of march as hostile, and if one of Task Force Andrew’s two cavalry troops went off reservation and blundered into the other, the chances of a friendly-fire incident were high.16 Staff Sergeant Carpenter was not happy with the enforced halt—he was champing at the bit to get moving again.17
In the meantime, a reinforced Troop A continued its own separate advance towards Weissensulz, and Lieutenant Quinlivan’s platoon pulled further ahead on its own special and separate mission towards Hostau following Captain Stewart’s horseback route. The advantage of this route avoiding all major highways and roads was quickly obvious to Quinlivan—his platoon encountered no opposition.18
At length, the radio confirmation came through from 2nd Cavalry Group headquarters to First Lieutenant McCaleb and the temporarily halted Troop C: “You are one town west of where you are supposed to be.”19 Maps were consulted again and the precise position of the troop recalibrated. The go signal that Joe Carpenter awaited with bated breath was finally transmitted.
“’Bout Goddamn time!” cursed Carpenter as he clambered back aboard his M8.
Within seconds, engines were restarted the length of the column, and men who had been standing around chatting and smoking beside the vehicles quickly jumped aboard. “Mount up!” yelled Carpenter, throwing away his cigarette and glaring down the column. “Move your asses!” Troop C was back in business.
“Three POWs captured at vicinity 598249 state that about ten enemy 600264 also others in woods southeast of town,” ran a typical report from Troop C transmitted to Major Andrews as the unit crawled towards Weissensulz, now back on the correct road following its earlier temporary halt. As task force commander, Andrews was receiving a constant stream of situation reports, or “sit reps,” from Lieutenants McCaleb and Quinlivan and Captain Catlett. This information was transmitted back to Lieutenant Colonel Hargis at 42nd Cavalry Squadron HQ and to Colonel Reed at 2nd Cavalry Group HQ at Vohenstrauss. “Road block at 568255. More enemy reported 621260 and 628238.”20 The coordinates were marked on the officers’ maps accordingly and fresh orders issued as necessary. The situation was, to use military parlance, “fluid.”
Weissensulz was close now. It was Troop C’s 2nd Platoon that made first contact. A radio message back to headquarters merely stated that the unit was “involved in a small fire fight.”21 Heavy gunfire erupted from the woods close to the right side of the town, codenamed “Objective 306,” as Troop C cautiously approached. German troops, mostly Volkssturm, were firing from slit trenches and small log bunkers, the bark of Mauser rifles and the occasional burp of machine guns rippling along the edge of the trees. The fire started to be directed against Staff Sergeant Carpenter’s 3rd Platoon, the Germans trying to stop the point squad from advancing further. Carpenter immediately established a base of fire, bringing forward the platoon’s other two armored cars. Bullets pinged off the M8s, which began to return fire at the German positions with their 37mm cannons and machine guns, while the platoon’s 60mm mortars were offloaded from the jeeps and added to the barrage. A single 37mm shell from one of the M8s destroyed a hastily assembled roadblock.22 The German positions were plastered with mortar bombs, the detonations pluming among the trees, flaying the trunks with shrapnel and cutting down any Germans not deep under cover. Carpenter’s maneuver force, assisted by 2nd Platoon, left the road and outflanked the Germans on the extreme right flank, the combined fire of the armored cars, mortars and the dismounted troopers’ personal weapons driving off the enemy without loss to Troop C. Some Germans stubbornly held on to their positions, returning fire as best they could with their infantry weapons, while others broke and fled.
Intelligence gleaned from prisoners had put the German force at the strength of one company but the resistance was heavy enough to cause Major Andrews and his senior officers some concern. Was the German force the precursor to the arrival of some much larger and better-armed formation, or simply a token defense of the town? Either way, the little fight put the Americans even further behind schedule.
The bulk of Troop A arrived at Weissensulz as the Troop C fight was winding down, and the fresh forces under Captain Catlett helped to disperse the remaining Germans from their foxholes and bunkers. The overwhelming firepower that the Americans could bring to bear decided the issue. Troop C took prisoner twenty-five Germans who emerged waving white flags.23 The remainder fled, or died in their positions.
“C asks 166 Engineers to have their truck return to C to collect POWs,”24 came a message from Lieutenant McCaleb, desperate to be rid of the German prisoners and free up the manpower that was tied up in guarding them. Soon one of the engineers’ big six-by-sixes was rumbling along the liberated road to Weissensulz to oblige.
At 1702 hours Troop C reported up the chain of command to Reed that Weissensulz was in its hands. Now it was necessary to liberate the POWs at Schmolau. “German officer prisoner-of-war states sixty enlisted old men guarding POWs at eight-oh-oh,”25 reported McCaleb by radio to Major Andrews, giving the code number for Schmolau. It didn’t appear that C would face much opposition from such troops, though it would have to be cautious, given the potential for so many unarmed prisoners-of-war to be caught up in a firefight.
Staff Sergeant Joe Carpenter and 3rd Platoon found the column of Allied prisoners right where they had been told they would, spread out along a lane near the village of Schmolau. The guards offered no resistance as the M8s and jeeps cautiously approached the hundreds of Allied prisoners, most laying down their arms or fleeing. Within minutes, hundreds of thin and bedraggled men crowded around the American vehicles, mostly weeping openly, and more than one GI among the liberators wiped away a tear of joy. The Troop C soldiers handed out whatever rations they had to the liberated British and American prisoners, as well as packs of Luckies. As the rest of C arrived on the scene, McCaleb organized a defense of the released prisoners, safeguarding them26 while a handful of medics were brought forward to minister to the sick and the injured. Part one of Reed’s plan had passed off without any significant hitch. Now there remained the problem of snatching Hostau and the horse stud.
Back at the 2nd Cavalry’s headquarters at Vohenstrauss, Colonel Reed had been busy organizing a force of trucks ready to drive straight through and begin evacuating the liberated Allied prisoners and any captured German personnel.27 One of the problems he faced was a shortage of trucks—as a cavalry reconnaissance squadron the 42nd had only nineteen trucks spread among its various elements, and those were busy hauling ammunition, fuel, food and supplies to its various troops.28 He couldn’t borrow trucks from the 2nd Squadron, as they were engaged elsewhere on their own operations. The only other appropriate vehicles were the handful of half-tracks that were used by the various HQ elements of the 42nd Squadron. Shortage of transportation was to prove to be a problem that would continue to dog the mission as it unfolded.
In Baron von Dobirsch’s elegant dining room, Dr. Lessing was still tucking into his soup when the baron’s manservant appeared at the door to inform his master that there was a telephone call for him. Lessing continued to eat, but was startled when the baron suddenly burst back into the room, his face split by a huge grin.
“One of my tenants reports that American vehicles passed by his house not five minutes ago.” Lessing jumped to his feet.
“Where?” he demanded, pulling on his riding gloves.
The baron told him the location: a hamlet not far from Weissensulz.
“I have to go,” announced Lessing. “I have to get back to Hostau and warn them.”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” replied the baron. “It’s momentous news, truly momentous.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Lessing, pumping the baron’s hand.
“Have the Captain’s horse brought to the front of the house at once,” the baron ordered his manservant.
“Good luck, my friend,” said Baron von Dobirsch seriously, “and take care of yourself. These are dangerous times.” Lessing pulled on his service cap and nodded before striding out through the manor’s main door where the baron’s grooms were hastily preparing Indigo. He quickly mounted the stallion and tore off across the courtyard towards Hostau, the horse’s shoes clattering on the cobblestones like machine-gun fire.
* The actual distance was 18 miles—much further than they believed it to be.