Bob McCarty Writes

On the occasion of Memorial Day and in honor of all those who paid the ultimate price in service to their country, I decided to publish a series of war stories that hold a special value in my heart, because they were written by my father, Ted, who served as a low-ranking enlisted man in the U.S. Army during World War II. The stories appear in his 1992 autobiography, Some Events in One Life: Mine! Please know he captured these stories as a means to provide his children and theirs context for his participation in one of history’s most harrowing events, World War II, not for any commercial gain. This is part ten of twelve.

We set up the company command post in the basement of one of the houses in a town, the name of which I also do not remember. It was in the very late afternoon. I was tired and after eating my K-ration, I spread one of my two blankets in a corner of the basement nearest to the action. I covered up with the second blanket. If a shell came through the roof or the wall, it would hopefully hit the opposite portion of the basement and miss me. I slept through until early morning. Then I got up, washed, shaved, using my helmet, cold water and hand soap. I ate my portable breakfast – cold cereal covered with water from my canteen. Upstairs, the morning was beautiful, lots of sunshine and everything was nice and quiet. Then I heard the “swish” of one lone motor shell. Instantly, it hit the roof of the building I was in, our command post at the time. Clay tile fell from the roof, making considerable noise. I waited for more shells to come, but all remained quiet.

Later, I was standing outside enjoying the late morning when I noticed an elderly German gentleman at his back door on the street behind where I was located. He was standing behind the bottom half of his Dutch type door. The man was dressed in a typical German gentleman’s attire – a shirt, brown tweed coat with leather patches on the elbows and a snap-brimmed tweed cap. He probably wore knee-length tweed trousers but I couldn’t see them. The man was smoking an expensive looking, curve-stemmed pipe. He, in turn, looked my way but made no sign he saw me. He seemed very intent on surveying the local area.

We had been told to take notice of any civilian we thought might possibly be gathering information concerning American troops and their locations. This man may or may not have been doing that, but I decided to put an end to it if that was his purpose. I yelled at him. Then he turned and looked at me. I motioned for him to go back into his house. He hesitated even when I yelled a second time and again motioned for him to go back indoors. Then I raised my rifle and pointed it at him. He slowly withdrew. In a way, I felt sorry for the gentleman, because he may have been only enjoying the unusual quiet and the sunshine as was I. If so, he probably had decided he could not change things so he was taking life as it come.

The house we were using for our headquarters had been inhabited by a German SS (storm trooper or Schutzstaffel) member. They were an elite military group that kept tabs on everything and everyone. If anything was not the way it should be, they reported it or took violent action themselves. They had the power of life and death. Some of his boots and uniforms, with insignias attached, were still in the closets. In the attic were bags of coffee, bolts of silk and other cloth. These and other articles found there were forbidden by his government. This SS member either was apparently given special privileges or was a hoarder of forbidden products.

There was a complete setting for eight of solid sterling silverware in a cupboard. One of our platoon commanders took it and a typewriter and was going to send them home. An enlisted man could not do this, and I doubt if the lieutenant was officially allowed to do it but he was going to try. All outgoing mail of the enlisted men was supposedly censored by our officers, and the articles confiscated from the Germans were removed by those officers before the mail left the unit.

We were told not to destroy the contents or the homes unless necessary. This order was not strictly enforced. One buck sergeant came into the SS member’s house, took one look at a display of commemorative plates setting upright on the fireplace mantle. He raised his rifle and, with the butt, swiped the whole assortment off the shelf. The only attention paid to this was a brief glance by our captain who looked up from studying a map to see what all the noise was about. By the time we vacated that house, there was not much left of the furnishings for the SS man if he ever returned, which was doubtful.

It was about this time when our neighboring regiment, the 405th, got word that the 84th Division, with British tanks in support, would be coming through their area soon. General “Monty” Montgomery, commander of the British 11th Army, along with his staff – two colonels and a major – asked for a guide to observe the front lines in that sector. Needless to say, they were taken to wherever they wanted to go.

Concerning the action in this area, Life magazine reported:

“In the seething 25 miles facing Cologne and the Ruhr (River), the U.S. First and Ninth Armies and the British Second still worked ahead yard by yard. On the thickly populated plain, which leads to the Rhine, the Germans fought ferociously for every house and trench. The three Allied armies ground forward by the weight of men and arms in what the as-yet-unreleased casualty lists probably will prove to be the most-costly fighting since Verden in 1916.”

Getting back to the action at Gereonsweiler, I believe the attack began Nov. 20. My battalion – the 2nd – remained in Apweiler after its capture, but later was moved up to help defend Gereonsweiler from the onslaught of a fierce “Jerry” counterattack. The 1st and 3rd Battalions of the 406th Regiment were active at Gereonsweiler. About 200 prisoners were taken by the two battalions. German artillery and mortar fire remained intense and prolonged which resulted in much of the town being reduced to a pile of rubble.

In another area town, Linnich, a Ruhr River town, lay to the northwest. It was a transportation hub and larger than most urban communities in the general area. It was to be attacked at 1400 hours (two o’clock) in the afternoon. The 406th was to furnish infantry from the 1st and 2nd Battalions. Fighter bombers were to bomb the town at 1:15 p.m., but they came under attack by enemy fighters, which was uncommon at this stage of the war, and had to jettison their bombs wide of the target in order to engage in dogfights. The 2nd Battalion met with support tanks which were assigned to furnish assistance beginning at the line of departure. Artillery shells burst ahead of the advancing troops as they pushed forward across the flat plain. Mud and fierce resistance by German tanks and 88-mm guns – situated upon slightly higher ground outside the town – held up the advance of our troops. Our tanks were stopped by a ditch excavated by the Germans for that purpose. Our infantry, without tanks, surged into the edge of the town, passing the first row of houses. They met approximately 150 to 200 enemy infantrymen. It was decided that the troops would not try to advance further until morning.

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My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part One

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Two

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Three

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Four

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Five

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Six

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Seven

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Eight

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Nine

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Eleven

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Twelve

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