I rejoined the company on February 6, 1945. It seems that in my absence they had fought a whole war that had ended essentially in a draw. Between the day I was wounded, November 18, 1944, and December 16, the Division had slowly progressed toward Bitche through the Maginot line. The Maginot line was built by the French to thwart future German invasions, and worked like a charm - no army had ever breached its massive concrete and steel bunker system (even the Germans never captured Bitche - it was surrendered by the French only after the rest of France had fallen and was outflanked by the Germans). On December 16, the Battle of the Bulge began, and had a drastic effect on the operations of the 100th Division. As the book "History of the 398th Infantry Regiment" put it, "As the Battle of the Bulge progressed the extend of our lines contracted and expanded accordingly. Supporting arms of Corps Artillery, tanks and chemical mortar units were now in the north leaving us with little help in the event of an enemy thrust. Men and weapons were deployed to create an outward appearance of strength over the thinly spread lines...Roadblocks were set up; roads, trees and bridges were mined."
By January 6, the German winter offensive had lost steam in the north, and had shifted to the South, to our thin defenses. The Regiment moved again to occupy and defend the Maginot Line in their sector, and was still in this defensive posture when I rejoined the Company just outside the town of Lemberg, southwest of Bitche, on February 4, 1945.
Although most of the Company had been captured, the same cooks and supply people were still there. They welcomed me with open arms, gave me a new snow parka, new combat boots, a brand new Remington Rand .45 pistol and even some good food. Anyone who has ever dealt with either supply people or cooks knows that this was extraordinary behavior for these professions, but I was very thankful, anyway. Before Wingen, most of us would have killed for any one of these items after a few weeks in the Vosges.
There were no familiar faces in the old weapons platoon, of course, except that Lieutenant Bill Henson was still there. He had been our platoon leader since Bragg, and had somehow gotten the idea that I knew all there was to know about the machine gun. There had been a guy at Bragg who did know all there was to know, and his name was Reed. Maybe Bill got us mixed up, but I never batted an eye when he introduced me to the others as the best machine gunner in the ETO. I needed the boost, because the "new" guys were veterans of some of the most bitter fighting of the war, having captured and then being forced to give up the key forts protecting Bitche, and I was really the new kid on the block. But they all turned out to be great guys, as were their predecessors, and helped me get readjusted pretty quickly.
It was here that I first fired the machine gun for what might loosely be described as for real. We were in a bunker with a log roof overlooking an open field, and presumably the Germans were on the other side, in the line of trees. Since we were spread so thin, we used various devices to make it look as if there were more of us. One way was to illuminate the scene with "artificial moonlight," searchlights reflecting off the cloud cover created an eerie bright moonlight type of effect. The other was to fire every weapon we had for a while. I suppose the idea was for the Germans to think we were mounting another D-Day invasion. It was a relief from boredom, but since there were obviously no targets the Germans may have held back on the idea that we must be crazy, and you don't want to fight with crazy people. So they left us alone.
I remember that one of our ammo bearers was an elderly (38) replacement who had joined us a few days before. He was one of the very last of his age group to be drafted, also thought we were crazy, and refused to engage in the charade with his carbine. He also refused to leave the bunker even to eat the hot meals, the cooks brought up occasionally. It was only after returning home and growing up some that I realized why he did this and why it takes young kids to fight wars. Older people are simply too smart to do stupid things like that.
A few days later, we moved into Lemberg. Our squad took over a house on the edge of town facing an open field. On the other side of the field, in the hills were, we were told, a million Germans who had an excellent view of the town's road intersections and would lob a few 88's and mortars into town if anyone dawdled in getting across the road.
We stayed in that house for over a month, with the gun set up to sweep the open field, and booby traps everywhere to keep from being surprised. One night I was on duty, sitting in the easy chair that we had placed behind the gun, when I heard a whistle from the sound-powered telephone connected to the artillery battery that supported us (there was no way to ring the telephone, so the sender just whistled to be heard by the receiver if held close to the ear). He asked me if there was anything to shoot at tonight. I told him nothing other than some chopping sounds I had heard from the line of trees about three hundred yards in front of our position. He said well, they were due to get their ration of artillery shells tomorrow and they still had a full magazine and needed to get rid of some of it. So I told him to go ahead and fire at the imaginary target where I had heard the sounds. The sudden onslaught of dozens of 105mm artillery shells in the middle of the night may or may not have impressed the Germans, but the chopping sounds stopped.
Rations of artillery shells? In the U.S. Army? It was a fact. A combination of two things had made supply a sometimes iffy thing. The first was the effect the Battle of the Bulge had on logistics in the European Theater for some months. But the second was the enormous diversion of supplies to the local black markets by Transportation Corps troops had a major effect on everything from artillery shells to cigarettes. Now that was serious.
To add to the uneasy situation, the few locals remaining in town were not at all happy with us. Lemberg was in Alsace-Lorraine, an area with a long history of rebellion against French control and besides, the French in general seemed to think we were worse than the Germans in tearing things up and invading their homes. As a result we had to watch all sides, even though most of the civilians had been evacuated.
It was in Lemberg that we were herded to the Aid station to get typhoid fever shots. I removed my field jacket for the shot, and thought about leaving it off but decided to replace it. It was a wise decision, because for two weeks I could not use my left arm, and remember lying on the floor of the kitchen for days, hoping I would die. No one seemed to pay any attention, maybe because they had the same trouble.
Along about this time, I came as close to killing someone as I ever want to get. On guard duty one night, I heard some commotion outside, and instinctively charged out to find a dark shadow on the walk by the house. I drew my .45 and jammed it into the dark shape's midsection. I may or may not have squeezed the trigger, but could have, because the muzzle safety prevents firing when pressed against something. In any event, a split second later the dark shape turned out to be what we called a "raider." These volunteers would roam behind the German lines at night destroying their supplies and equipment and generally creating havoc and hopefully disappeared into the night before the Germans could react. This raider had returned from such a mission, had proceeded to get drunk on some of the bad wine the residents had left and had lost his way. After over 50 years, this still bothers me, even though I would probably have missed if the gun had not been on safety (my ineptitude with a pistol is legendary).
Our stay in Lemberg was about as calm and peaceful as war gets. On one occasion, we even got to go back to the next town - Montbronn? - to see a movie. I remember the road between the two towns was lined with tall trees, and our demolitions experts had tied blocks of TNT to each of them and connected the trees with primer cord (a sort of fuse that explodes along its entire length when set off) so that all of the trees would be blown down across the road simultaneously if the Germans should mount a counterattack. They didn't, and I suppose the trees are still there. By the way, the movie was "Keys To The Kingdom." We had to go in two installments, because the first film kept breaking. It was (and still is) and excellent movie.