The Battle At The Gates Of Gleboff Monestrykriget Kommer

1. Cached
2. See Full List On Lotr.fandom.com
3. Taking The Battle To The Enemy's Gate - Kindle Edition By ...

I was huddled in my foxhole in the Buchholz Forest the night before the Battle of the Bulge started. Of course I had no idea that one of the most brutal battles of World War II was about to begin. Rather, I assumed that for me and my comrades in the 393rd Infantry Regiment, 99th ‘Battle Baby’ Infantry Division, December 16, 1944, would be like all the rest. Endless combat preparations punctuated by patrols and attacks had been our daily routine since we had relieved the 9th Infantry Division along the Siegfried Line in November. Little did my platoon or I realize that the dawn of a new day would find us directly in the path of the Sixth Panzer Army as it drove toward its objective of Antwerp, Belgium.

Taking the Battle to the Enemy's Gate - Kindle edition by Olukoya, Dr. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Use features like bookmarks, note taking and highlighting while reading Taking the Battle to the Enemy's Gate. The mission of The Battle of Franklin Trust is to preserve, understand, and interpret the story of a people forever impacted by the American Civil War. The Battle of Franklin Trust is a 501(c)(3) organization. We manage two historic sites in Franklin, Tennessee, that witnessed the 1864 Battle of Franklin: Carter House and Carnton. Dec 06, 2019 On the anniversary of the start of Nazi Germany’s last gasp attack at the Battle of the Bulge, explore eight surprising facts about the fight Winston Churchill called “undoubtedly the greatest.

The 99th was a relatively green unit as far as combat goes, but we were well trained. Most of us had been with the division from its early days at Camp Van Dorn, Miss., through advanced instruction at Camp Maxey, Texas. By the time we shipped out of Boston Harbor in September 1944, most of the division’s citizen soldiers had nearly two full years of training. And with the influx of men from the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP) to replace some of our own men who had earlier been shipped out as replacements for the 85th and 88th Infantry divisions, we also had a solid contingent of bright young minds to complement our soldierly skills.

I was a 22-year-old technical sergeant with 3rd Platoon, L Company, 3rd Battalion of the 393rd. Becoming a platoon sergeant wasn’t something I anticipated when I was drafted in 1942. I was a country boy and had always been backward in school, even though I was involved in athletics. Leadership didn’t seem like my gift, but the Army saw something in me and I advanced through the ranks rapidly.

The 99th arrived in the British Isles in October 1944. Then on November 2, we boarded LSTs (landing ships, tank) for the trip across the Channel to Le Havre. It took three days for the whole division to unload, but given the need for reinforcements, some of our units set out as soon as they landed. By the end of the first week of November the entire division had reassembled near Aubel, Belgium. It was here we saw our first buzz bomb go overhead and began to realize we were in a war.

Our next stop was three miles east of the villages of Krinkelt and Rocherath, where my regiment relieved the 39th Infantry, a regiment of the 9th Division. We were now directly opposite the Siegfried Line.

When my lieutenant jumped down from our vehicle, he broke his ankle and was carted off, and I never saw him again. With the manpower shortage all along the front at that time, no officer was reassigned to take his place. Suddenly, I found myself completely in charge of my platoon as we prepared to enter combat for the first time!

As soon as the relief was complete, we busied ourselves adding our own touches to the foxholes the 39th had left behind. The weather was noticeably colder and snowier at the front, and we wanted to make our positions as ready as possible for whatever lay ahead.

While we settled in, the other regiments in the division made similar preparations. The 395th Infantry was to the north of us, taking over for the 102nd Cavalry Group, the 85th Reconnaissance Group and elements of the 39th Infantry. The 394th Infantry moved to our south toward Wirtzfeld and relieved the 60th Infantry Regiment. By November 14, the 99th Division had responsibility for a front 22 miles long– five times what we should have had. Other divisions on either side of us were spread just as thin.

Our new sector was comparatively quiet, but being green to combat, it was hardly relaxing for us. There was always sporadic rifle and artillery fire, and we took casualties almost daily. Our most exciting times occurred on the reconnaissance and combat patrols we ran between the International Highway, a north-south road near the Belgian-German border, and the first belt of the Siegfried Line. Some platoon leaders had trouble getting men to volunteer for these patrols, but I never did. I had a good group who trusted me, which made my job much easier.

On December 13, as part of a V Corps plan to capture the Roer River dams, the 2nd Infantry Division and the 395th Regimental Combat Team, which included the 1st and 2nd battalions, 395th Infantry, plus 2nd Battalion, 393rd, launched an attack north of us toward Arenberg, Germany. The 3rd Battalion, 393rd, supported this assault by sweeping through Rath Hill while the 1st Battalion, 393rd, and the 394th Infantry Regiment staged demonstration attacks of their own farther to the south.

Fortunately, our part of the mission went better than expected. By day’s end, we had cleared Rath Hill and were digging foxholes to its west along the International Highway. Our defensive position consisted of Companies L, I and K in a line that ran from north to south. Company I nestled itself in to the north of an unpaved road that ran west from Hollerath, Germany, and intersected the International Highway at a point we soon began to call ‘Purple Heart Corner.’ Company K was located south of this road.

For the next two days, we made the customary improvements to our positions and listened to the battle for the pillboxes that raged to our north. A few of our more optimistic members, bolstered by the good news we’d been getting in Stars & Stripes, predicted Germany was finished and that the war was as good as over. As we hunkered down in our holes on the night of December 15, the rest of us hoped this was true.

Those hopes were soon dashed. At 0530 our quiet was interrupted by German artillery that began hammering positions around and behind us. For a few minutes we didn’t think much about the incoming rounds. We had already become familiar with the Germans’ habit of repeating their barrage patterns with clocklike precision. At the same time each day, the pillbox periscopes would come up, the Germans would survey our positions, and then, all along our line, they would launch a few shells our way. After that, we wouldn’t hear from them until the next day. We’d taken to calling this our ‘daily allowance’ and figured they were finally breaking with tradition and getting things done a little early that morning.

As the tempo of the shelling picked up, it quickly became apparent that there was something different about this morning’s greeting. To begin with, we’d never experienced anything like it in terms of intensity. Second, it went on without letup for two hours. My platoon wasn’t being hit, but units around us were catching it good. We couldn’t figure out what the Germans were shooting at and concluded that they were trying to knock out our artillery.

When the barrage lifted, the 3rd Platoon stayed low and on the alert. The main bombardment seemed to be over, but we still heard significant rifle and shellfire around us, even though we had not yet seen any German soldiers. We were confused and knew only that our quiet sector was no longer quiet.

I could feel the growing weight of my responsibilities as platoon leader and hoped that my company commander, Captain Paul Fogelman, would radio to tell me what was going on. His call finally came, but it wasn’t what I expected. ‘Bob,’ he said,’some Germans have infiltrated our kitchen. Take your platoon and clean them out.’

I assembled my men, and we started back for our company kitchen area, located roughly three city blocks behind us, carrying only the weapons and ammunition we needed for the job. Everything else we left in our foxholes. After all, we’d be coming back to our positions. Why carry stuff we couldn’t use?

Not yet halfway to our objective, we began running into Germans– a lot of them. Instead of simply hiking back to our kitchen, we ended up having to fight our way in. When we got there, I radioed Captain Fogelman about our situation. ‘Something’s wrong, sir,’ I said. ‘There’s more Germans back here than there are in front of us!’

We began clearing the kitchen area, and as we moved in, the Germans moved out. It seemed they were more interested in continuing west than in fighting us. Before long, we had the area secure except for one building that I wasn’t sure about. I asked one of my men to toss a grenade at it, but he couldn’t hit it. Several others also tried, but they had no better luck. Since I’d played a lot of ball, I decided to lead by example. Rising to my feet (we were all on the ground by this time), I ducked behind a tree, pulled the pin on a grenade, released its handle and heaved it toward the building.

Cached

The grenade exploded as it was going over the roof. The noise inside must have been deafening. No one came out, so we decided the place was deserted. At the same time about 30 feet away, a white flag rose out of the foxhole used by our kitchen crew. Its current occupants turned out to be three German soldiers with a machine gun. Why they didn’t shoot when I stood up, I’ll never know.

We took those Germans prisoner, then took what cover we could in the area and waited for orders. By now the firing was coming from all directions. Being on your feet, even crouched, would have been suicide. In the woods all around us, we could hear the shouts of German troops as they headed west. They seemed unconcerned about the noise they were making.

While we waited, Private Snow crawled up beside me. He was a quiet kid, a good soldier but obviously frightened. ‘Sergeant, can I stay near you?’ he asked. ‘You seem kind of lucky.’

‘Help yourself,’ I answered. Snow moved in so close that we were actually up against each other as we lay side by side. After about 10 minutes, I asked Snow something. He didn’t respond, so I glanced over at him. A bullet had caught him between the eyes and he was gone. I had not even felt him twitch.

Masses of German infantry were now pouring through the area, and we could see we were hopelessly outnumbered, so I decided not to wait any longer for orders. We began withdrawing from the kitchen area. Now we experienced something you can only understand if you’ve been through it: the helplessness of being carried along by a battle. Sometimes no matter how well you’re trained, in the face of superior enemy forces, you can only react to what the enemy is doing. That’s what happened to my platoon.

We were not really retreating but simply doing our best to stay out of the enemy’s way until we could figure out what was happening and what we should do about it. Dodging and praying– fighting only when necessary– we looked for any friendly unit we could hook up with.

Staying together was impossible. Some of my men were cut off while, at the same time, we picked up stragglers from other outfits. One of my squad leaders, Staff Sgt. Vernon McGarity, got separated and fought his own battle that resulted in his being wounded. Over the course of several days fighting, a number of courageous actions led to his being captured and, later, receiving the Medal of Honor– the only 99er to receive that award.

The ebb and flow of our withdrawal pushed us southeast, through I Company’s sector across the road from Hollerath, and into the area that was supposed to be under the control of K Company, but when we got there we were practically alone. The main German attack that morning had been pointed right at that company; all but one of the platoons had been wiped out. Understandably shaken by what they had endured, the survivors told us wild stories of German troops using their bayonets to slit open K Company men they found wearing German belt buckles.

The news unsettled us and caused my little group to think. Several days earlier, my squad had come across a hollow tree packed with German money. Not being ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, we filled our pockets, thinking it would come in handy when we got to Germany. By this time I had also picked up a beautiful jeweled pin in Krinkelt. I was told that the pin was given to any Belgian woman who became pregnant by an SS trooper, as a way of recognizing her contribution to the ‘master race.’ Frightened of the fate that awaited us if we were captured with this booty, we all quickly emptied our pockets of any souvenirs.

Almost as soon as we had reached what remained of K Company, scores of German tanks began rolling in on the unpaved road from Hollerath. We couldn’t believe it. Everybody thought that road was impassable, and we figured it was mined as well. With nowhere to go and nothing at hand to fight this new menace, we hid in the woods beside the road and watched the procession go by.

It took two days. From our vantage point we could see an endless stream of enemy vehicles passing us. After a while, the squeaking of the tank tracks really got to me. I was so close that, had I had one, I could have touched the armored giants with a fishing rod as they passed. Eventually, one of my riflemen took a shot at a panzer, but the next tank in line fired a shell in our direction as if to say, ‘Get the hell out of the way.’ Luckily he couldn’t get his barrel down low enough to do more than frighten us. All this time, we stayed hidden in the trees and bushes or burrowed down in the snow. Somehow we convinced ourselves that if we couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see us. I’m sure they knew we were there, but they were more interested in keeping to their schedule.

At some point on the 16th I had finally reestablished contact with L Company headquarters. Like us, they were surrounded. My commander had no orders for me other than to sit tight at our current location. Then he said something that made me realize how serious our situation was: ‘If you surrender, there will be no repercussions.’I never shared this part of our conversation with my men. I didn’t want to surrender and was certain they didn’t either. Instead, I told them we were going to lie low and hold our fire until we could find a way out. I spent many anxious moments thinking, ‘What are we going to do?’

Early on the 18th, Captain Fogelman radioed that a route back to our lines had been located. The company was going to attempt to pull back, and he wanted my platoon to conduct a delaying action while the rest of the company moved out. When the moment came, we gave covering fire as ordered while everyone else withdrew through a small valley to their rear.

See Full List On Lotr.fandom.com

Soon after the pullout started, we heard mortar fire and everything else dropping into that valley. It was obvious the move hadn’t gone undetected. I gave the company an hour and then decided it was time for us to get out as well. Not far from where L Company withdrew was a low hill. I told my guys: ‘We aren’t trained this way, but you see that hill behind us? Personally, I’m going over it. You can follow me, or, if you think you know a better way, you can take it. The main thing is to get out of here and back to our lines.’

Every soldier there went with me, and we withdrew without losing a man. Our escape was only a small victory. We were still well behind the front of the German advance and traveling cross-country through snow that was now 2 feet deep. To further increase our discomfort, it was snowing hard. The wind was blowing the flakes around so hard you could barely see. What was worse, we were not properly equipped for that type of weather. It was the most miserable hike of my military career.

We had little choice but to continue on our way. As we slogged along we ran across American jeeps and artillery pieces that had been abandoned when the Germans attacked. To prevent their use by the enemy, we would take grenades and place them in the gun breech or engine compartment to ensure that our foes did not have any more of our own equipment to use against us than they already had.

Fortunately we also found some outfit’s food dump– and I do mean dump. We hadn’t eaten for two days, and by now some of our fear had given way to hunger. Rummaging through the garbage, we ate whatever we could find, things that, only a few days before, others had seen fit to throw out.

It was harrowing, but we finally reached L Company on the evening of the 18th near Krinkelt. Our assembly point was a clearing in a small wooded area. The Germans knew what we were up to and spent the entire night firing phosphorus shells into the woods, trying to light it up and turn us into targets.

The next day we stumbled across the last few yards of hostile territory to the new American defensive position, a boomerang-shape piece of high ground on Elsenborn Ridge. Grateful to be reunited with comrades, we were told, ‘The only way you’re leaving here is on a litter!’

The position along the ridge was located on the northern shoulder of the German penetration and had become a collection point of sorts for units that had been shattered at the start of the enemy offensive. With so many troops from different units arriving in every kind of condition, organizing a coherent defense was a huge task, but one that occurred with surprising speed under the circumstances. It’s a good thing, too, because on December 20, the Sixth Panzer Army made several all-out attacks trying to smash our lines and continue to Antwerp. Artillery, tanks, infantry, self-propelled guns– whatever they had, they threw at us. And they just kept coming, too, attacking at 0900, 1100 and 1730 that day.

The firepower on both sides was unbelievable, growing so loud and vicious that at one point I and another soldier had to drag back one man who had gone berserk and was starting out after a tank with his rifle. Later, we called in artillery strikes on our own positions to knock out panzers that had closed to within 60 yards of our foxholes. Through it all, we managed to hold.

The Germans made two more massed attempts on the 21st and 28th. Then the struggle for Elsenborn Ridge settled into a long-range affair, with the enemy in the woods to our east. The fight was far from over– German artillery now became our biggest problem. As bad as it was, however, at least we weren’t facing the mind-numbing fear of tanks and infantry bearing down on us. Layered defense, outposts and patrolling now became our routine.

I’ve often said, ‘A guy can talk to someone who was only 200 yards away during the Battle of the Bulge, and his experience will be totally different.’ It was certainly that way along Elsenborn Ridge. Every day, it seemed, I experienced something that amazed, amused or horrified me.

On one occasion, one of my patrols came back with a German soldier it had captured. They brought him to me for interrogation. This fellow’s English was impeccable. He asked me what state I was from and I told him Ohio. Then he asked me what city in Ohio. ‘Fostoria,’ I said. ‘I know Fostoria well,’ he replied. It turned out that before the war he had attended the state university in Bowling Green– and was better acquainted with Fostoria than I was!

Another time, the members of a patrol I’d scheduled showed up driving a jeep they’d stolen from regimental headquarters. They were carrying white long johns, also pilfered, that they intended to wear over their uniforms to camouflage themselves against the snow. The thought of their ‘risque’ camouflage still amuses me.

Artillery strikes were a constant worry. My foxhole mate was our platoon messenger, Art Molter. One evening, as Molter was returning from our command post, a shell exploded beside our foxhole. Leaping out, I found him lying on the ground. He was alive, but the top of his head had been peeled back like a can lid– and I could see his brain! Reacting with a combination of instinct and Army training, I flipped the top of his head back in place and called the medics. He survived.

Equally terrible was the night I went forward to an outpost whose two-man crew wouldn’t answer my radio calls. I found them dead. They’d both been suffocated by their desert stove– a small warming device made by pouring gas into a C-ration can filled with sand and then lighting the fumes– when they failed to vent their foxhole properly.Early one morning, I noticed a small procession of people trudging along a fence row in the no man’s land between the Germans and us. Instead of an enemy patrol, it turned out to be a Catholic nun and several small children braving the danger, snow and freezing temperatures just to reach the safety of our lines. It was a deeply moving sight.

As big as the Battle of the Bulge was, sometimes my corner of it seemed like old-home week. The third day after arriving at Elsenborn Ridge, I glanced out of my foxhole just in time to see Les Lindower, a kid I knew from school, walking by. I had no idea Les was in Europe. ‘Hey, Les!’ I called, ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Is that you, Bob?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘The same thing you are,’ I answered. ‘You’d better jump in.’ Les hopped into my foxhole and informed me that he was running wire for an artillery spotter and needed to find the front line. ‘You found it,’ I said, ‘and if you go any farther, you’ll be in German lines.’ Les decided he’d gone far enough.

Later, I ran into another Fostoria native, Bob Kramb, who provided details on tragic news I’d received in a letter from my mother at Christmastime. My brother Paul, a member of the 3rd Armored Division, had been killed at Aachen on December 5 while trying to rescue another man. Bob had been in Aachen when Paul was killed and was able to tell me how he died. Somehow it helped to know what happened.

By the end of January 1945, the southern shoulder of the Bulge, which now stretched almost to the Meuse River, had been flattened to a point where the Allied lines were once again nearly parallel. Beginning on January 30, the 99th went back on the offensive, and by February 3, through some strange act of war, my platoon found itself back in the kitchen area we’d been forced to abandon December 16. We were able to recover Private Snow’s frozen body.

My war ended the night of February 11 when a jeep overloaded with men returning from a patrol crashed head-on into another jeep on the International Highway. I wound up with my legs pinned between both vehicles. Having survived some of the most intense combat of the Battle of the Bulge, I was now sidelined by an ordinary traffic accident.

The attack hit the right flank of C Company and, to the north, in the seam between B Company and K Company. The Germans, many of them SS, all but destroyed these two companies before continuing their advance. What remained was a platoon from K Company, which joined up with elements of I and L companies to form a defensive perimeter around the 3rd Battalion command post. There, as historian James Arnold has stated, this hastily assembled band ‘held off all comers,’ slowing the German advance and forcing them to expend resources badly needed elsewhere.

South of this Alamo-like stand, the regiment’s 1st Battalion continued to launch small-scale attacks and hold defensive positions that further upset the German timetable. In the process, the battalion suffered terrible casualties.

Determined to crush this unexpectedly fierce American resistance, the Germans committed more troops supported by armored formations. Both the 1st and 3rd battalions found themselves completely surrounded but refused to fold. By the afternoon of the 17th, what remained of the 3rd Battalion had fought its way back to just east of Krinkelt, which was a vital link in the American-controlled road network in this area of the Ardennes. Here, the battalion joined with the 3rd Battalion, 23rd Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division, to form a new main line of resistance, which it held until the 18th, when the survivors pulled back to Elsenborn Ridge.

The exhausted remnants of the 393rd now collected on the ridge. The 1st Battalion arrived on the evening of December 18-19, and the 2nd Battalion pulled back from its own forward blocking position on the 19th. Once there, the regiment, and the rest of the division, defended the area directly in front of the ridge and the critical supply routes that ran through the village.

On the morning of December 20, the 393rd repulsed two large-scale frontal assaults and later that day turned back an attempt to flank the neighboring 394th Infantry to the north. Walter’s regiment helped stop another enemy drive on the 21st and a week later was instrumental in stopping two reinforced German battalions that tried to split the line held by the 393rd and 394th.

For the next month, like every unit on Elsenborn Ridge, the men of the 393rd endured brutal winter conditions. Then, on January 30, 1945, it began its own counterattack as part of the larger Monschau Forest drive. The 99th Division moved forward until it was squeezed out by the 2nd and 9th Infantry divisions that had been advancing on either flank. Its role in the attack over, the 393rd was pulled out of the line after 84 days in direct contact with the enemy. Jay Marquart

Wounded twice, Robert Walter never received the Purple Heart. His first wound went unreported and the second was due to the jeep accident. After recovering from his injuries, he returned to Ohio.

This Jay Marquart is a freelance writer whose work has appeared previously in World War II.

This article originally appeared in the March 2006 issue of World War II magazine. For more great articles subscribe to World War II magazine today!

Taking The Battle To The Enemy's Gate - Kindle Edition By ...

This sensitively told story teaches the values of bravery, kindness and forgiveness, and promotes racial reconciliation.

On April 29, 1864 the Battle of Gate Pa (Pukehinahina) was fought between British troops and the Ngai te Rangi Iwi led by Rawiri Puhirake. Outnumbered by eight to one, the 225 Maori warriors routed the British soldiers upon their initial charge into the pa. They fired on them from hidden trenches at close range, then appeared suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, to fight. Most of the officers were killed or wounded during the approach and entry into the pa, and the leaderless men panicked and fled when warriors re-entering the pa from the rear were thought to be reinforcements from another tribe.

Under cover of darkness the warriors prepared to leave. The sole woman in the pa, Heni Te Kirikaramu, heard the cry of a wounded soldier calling for water. At the risk of her life she carried water to him and helped him to drink.

This story is poignantly told by Jenny Jenkins. Presented as a picture book with graphic illustrations by Bruce Potter, this story, although written for 7 to 12 year olds, captures the attention of all ages with its mix of action, tension and compassion.

‘Battle at the Gate’ RRP $19 (ISBN 9781869780579)

Sorry, this book has sold out as a paperback.

Selected pages from the story are available for viewing.

This book may be loaned from your local library.

A play for school students aged between 8 and 16, telling the story of the Battle of Gate Pa from the perspective of 4 different individuals, can be found at: https://sites.google.com/site/gatepareport/home

Other New Zealand History Stories by Jenny Jenkins

are available free at: www.valueslessonsnz.com