The following account is by Charles Masters, C/274,
and appears in the Summer 1997 issue of the Trailblazer, pp. 6-7.
Editor's Note:
Carrying new Garand
M-1 rifles that had just been issued to them at Camp Miles Standish,
274th troops loaded on the SS Mariposa in Boston Harbor. Sailing was
delayed a day because of a bad storm. They arrived at Marseilles,
France, 10 days later on Dec. 10.
In about three days we traveled north by truck and jeep up
the Rhone valley, around the Colmar pocket and toward Hagenau. We
were put in defensive positions, relieving elements of the 44th
Division.
We were soon loaded on some DUKW's and driven all night to
a town near Philippsbourg. We walked into the fight at morning.
I was the platoon runner and assigned to Sgt. Talley. We
dug foxholes on the side of a hill. The hole was shoulder-high on
one side and waist-high on the other. I was sitting in this foxhole
with my new rifle butt in the bottom of the hole on my right side
and the muzzle against my left shoulder. We were being shelled by
artillery and one shell hit a tree in front of me. A piece of
shrapnel hit my rifle and literally destroyed it, but I was not
scratched. The rifle had not been fired yet.
During the next day we had reached our objective, the hill
on the southwest side of Philippsbourg. Sgt. Talley was hit by a
sniper and I was told to go back and guide some Medics to our hill.
As I was running across an open field and in the act of diving
behind a low stone wall, a rifle bullet loudly cracked around my
head. I proceeded on beyond the wall and soon was in the midst of
falling mortar rounds. I looked for cover but could find only the
foundation of an old building.
A herd of sheep was pasturing in this field and they
became very excited. One sheep came over and lay on top of me as if
to protect me. Neither of us was hit.
I made it back to the CP and picked up two Medics and a
doctor.
On the way back, the four of us were caught in another
mortar barrage. We all jumped into an old foxhole, which was about 6
feet square and about 3 feet deep, each taking a corner. A small
mortar round hit opposite me right in the foxhole. One of the Medics
sat on it before it exploded. When it did explode, it raised him up
about 2 feet. But because of all his clothing and heavy overcoat he
was not hurt.
We decided to turn back at this time. I found out later
that Sgt. Talley had died shortly after I left. Several days later,
we pulled back from the hill southwest of Philippsbourg and were on
a hill northeast of Philippsbourg. We had had only C- and K-rations
for about a week. It was ordered that we should have a hot meal. A
jeep with a trailer loaded with hot food came to the bottom of the
hill, about as close as it could get. Since we were under almost
constant artillery barrage, two men at a time were instructed to go
to the trailer and fill their mess kit and canteen. Soon it was my
turn and I started down. An artillery shell came in and I hit the
dirt. The shell hit about I 0 feet away, a dud.
During February we were attacking small Saarland villages
and taking them one at a time. On Feb. 17/18 the 1st platoon was on
guard duty on the outskirts of the village of Bahren. I was with Lt.
Inman who, just three days before, had become our platoon leader. In
the morning, we rolled up our sleeping bags and walked into town.
The company CP was in a two-story house which had an
attached barn. We placed our sleeping bags in a pile in the wide
doorway of the barn. A nice squared pile of manure was outside,
between the barn and street. Since we had been two hours on-two
hours off all night, most of the platoon was catching some catnaps
while others were picking up K-rations for the day's meals. I was
half sitting, half lying on the bed roll pile. Lt. Inman was right
beside me. I had the platoon's 536 walkie-talkie radio cradled in my
right arm.
All of a sudden, an 88 shell hit in the middle of the road
in front of the barn. Eight men were killed, eight wounded. My 536
radio had two holes in it. Lt. Inman was killed; the man on my left
was wounded in the legs. Two men were relieving themselves in the
back of the barn and they were not hurt. I felt all this dirt
falling on me and the concussion from the shell explosion seemed to
drive me deeper into the bed rolls.
I finally shook myself and realized that I was not hurt.
Two more men who were the last ones on guard duty joined us and we
five were the only ones left in the 1st platoon. Our platoon had
been over strength, having 44 men, when we left Boston. After
Saarbrucken, only seven of us were left and only two of the seven
were not wounded. I was one of the two.
