The bare records of the life and death of an infantry company supply no hint of the things that actually happened. A three letter entry in the morning report of KIA and MIA or WIA is a weak replacement for the nimble brain and the pulsing blood of a young American, but our records are cold and on those must rely for bare facts. An entry in the morning report of December 15, 1944, says brusquely, "Arrived port of Marseille, France." Traveled by motor transport to staging area of CP2 to set up administrative camp. The boys who were there remember the cold, uncomfortable journey from the ship to shore, cramped and chilled, eased only a few half-hearted attempts to sing. And the unaccountable chill as they first set foot on earth that had felt the heel of the Nazi.

Then the truck trip through the sleeping town, an occasional glimpse of an inquisitive mademoiselle at a window, or a recognized sign, interpreted by one of the few who could read French. CP2 has a formal sound. Actually it was a field of fine, gummy mud of a type that Europe and our own Fort Dix seem to have in common. The rows of tents, the roaring bonfires in the chill of dawn and the spine-curdling news that German planes visited the camp several evenings before are small threads in our tapestry of France. (Many of you will recall the big bonfire in the middle of the pup-tent area of Company C and most of the company present for duty singing around it. Also, you will recall MP jeeps rushing around the entire area having men putting out the fires because the German plane was coming. It came and to this day I can hear that strange sounding engine. It had a most unusual sound like a missing engine. Wonder why it was not shot down!(tsh)

Perhaps we'll all most remember the days and nights in Aix and Marseille, the wine, women and song that relaxed us for what was to come. Some small thought of the original gang, the boys you came with, your own gang, crowd you as you think of the roistering, heavy-drinking, life-loving squad that used to be yours.

But even that didn't last. The one delight of taking off for the front was the thought that you had the supply sergeant licked at last. No damned statements or charges now.

No one who has seen one can forget the sign, HOMMES-40-CHEVAUX- 8. In other words, the old French Forty and (or) Eights that looked as though they had seen service since Napoleon. No complaints about ventilation there. Every car fitted out with a perfect cooling system. Cooling did I say? Forgive me, I meant, freezing!

At the time we thought that we were as close to hell as we could get, eating 10 in 1s, griping lurching to and fro with the old cheese-boxes every whim and relieving ourselves in the most undignified positions ever thought of in man's perverted dreams.

The highlight of the trip of course, was Christmas. A little tough for Santa to catch up to us, but we did have 6-ne bottle of red wine that passed around and started the conversation going a little more easily. Every man in turn told of what he had done the Christmas before and what he hoped to do on the next Christmas. Amazingly, little real honest-to-God griping. Complaints, yes, but they tell us that is healthy. Then those stops along the road, the track, when the tall commanding figure of our CO. 1st Lt. Karl Grotheer would saunter along the row of cars, exchanging a word here and there with one of the bearded gang that dwelt in the portable telephone booths on wheels that the French were pleased to call railroad cars. Here too, the men got to know their platoon leaders, and sergeants. Of course, our Lt. Colonel was the target of much bitching when the order came to shave, regardless of the temperature. (It happened to 2nd Pl in our foxholes on the-Rhein. I recall Lt. Bussy Holme's words of wisdom regarding our COLONEL. tsh) The six officers we had with us then have all vanished, lost in the turmoil of war, some of them still in hospitals here, and one paid the supreme sacrifice. But we did get to feel a little closer to our officers living in that proximity.

The detraining was another memorable point, principally because it was the first time we had seen our artillery. Off in the black velvety sky, we saw small flecklike sparks, and the dull late thump of distant explosions.We lined up and walked alnng a highway into the coming dawn. Then into our first city near the front. Double column along a bare street, hands sweating unaccoumtably twitching at the trigger, not realizing that we were still quite a distance from the foe. Then followed several light-hearted days of catching up on our sleep in a small beer and dance hall which served as our CP. There we drew our ever welcome PX rations, strolled the streetst got our first taste of wartime beer. For many of us that was our last beer. That small town was GEUDERTHEIM and although the paper says "France" we all felt that we were indeed in Germany at our first conversation with the civilians. They were friendly though and the gutteral language made us think of every Nazi movie we had seen. The smiles and handshakes dispelled our fears.

We moved out of there on 29 December 1944 (note: the 2nd Pl moved out from Brumath on 27th December 1944, some believe the 28th; there is no confirmation either way.) and went to our first touch of the front, where our first and second platoons already were and held positions, west of the Rhine River. I remember well those days, the third platoon was detached to service company to guard rations and a very pleasant job it was too. (This proves that the unknown author was a member of the Third Platoon. tsh) We lived, 15 of us in a house with some French people with two small daughters who within three hours of our arrival were doing a very comfortable manual of arms, when given "rest" would shout, "Hubba, Hubba"! Finally Thrid platoon joined the company again and we felt that we were finally about to take off.

On the 31st of December, 1944, we moved off in convoy to Niederbronn, France, and set up our CP in a wire factory, the most cold and uncomfortable building I am sure I've ever been in. Please note that officially Company C/275, all platoons did not go directly to NIEDERBRONN-Many have thought so; however, Company C's first stop was the WIRE FACTORY in Reichshoffen, a small village some 4 or 5 miles from Niederbronn. Here, Company C spent New Year's Eve and then all but the 2nd Platoon, went to THE DIETRICH FACTORY in Niederbronn.

The Dietrich factory, at that time, had been in the same family for 200 years. It manufactured RR Engines, the boilers and all related items. On 1st January 1945, Company C, less the 2nd Pl., moved on to Niederbronn and on 2 January the 2nd Platoon moved to Niederbronn where they remained until evening of the 3rd January. The rest of Company C moved to Philippsbourg on the very early AM 2nd January 1945.

There came the disquieting rumors that disturbed our sleep. Hints of near combat, the story that the Krauts had broken through and that we would catch the snapping end of the whiplash advance that was threatening to engulf the Allied lines. Then, suddenly the rumors were washed away, it was real tense, wordless, we marched slowly along a road, in the dark of night. (Most men recall Lt. Grotheer led the march out of Niederbronn just before sun-up.)

Then came the hum of engines and a column of half-tracks moved up to us, stopped and we cramped in, grumbling occasionally, mostly silent in the throes of the nameless dread that strikes you when you know you are going to get it. (Bill Pierce and Kern Dibble recall that the half-tracks met the column just south of the entrance to the village of Philippsbourg. Lt. Col. Pierce was on hand!)

One occasionally saw the glow of a cigarette in the darkness, a few hesitant bars of a song hummed to reassure the man, heavy gulping, and an occasional muttered prayer - more often just stone silence. Then the town none of us will ever forget - Philippsbourg! Just another little village, a nameless cluster of houses, we thought, with the usual mounds of horse dung, bulging women, guttural words and that ever present smell of the farm. Nevertheless, that name is engraved on all our minds, I am sure. We dismounted from the half-tracks, listened, gathered into gossiping groups, waiting. Then suddenly an officer rushed up - "My God, you got here. I want some men quickly!" The company came to life. Gone was the lethargy - they broke into groups. Lt. Harry Durkee's Third Platoon spread and moved down along the hill that commanded the road into Philipsbourg. From a hill a mortar grunted and the whistling shell roared of into nothingness. "It's ours," someone muttered. The Third Platoon moved into the ready made (some remained along the road, others moved up, tsh) dugouts on the crest of the hill. Thirteen men were there. (George Kwant has advised that he moved his squad to the very top, south end into small fortifications that were there, tsh). The other platoons moved into the hill surrounding the town. (Most of the 1^st Platoon were in the village at the north end and they took the brunt of the original german attack with tanks from that entrance. Source Bill Rorabaugh, tsh). As the sun came up, fears vanished, doubt turned to absolute assurance and later when an anti-tank gun was brought up to fire into the nest of snipers, the day took on the aspects of a circus. (This 37mm gun must be the one that I saw later blasted out and some dead GI's close to it; it was in the open at the intersection. tsh). Then the capture of a Kraut vehicle by Lt. Nelson and a few enlisted men helped build our confidence. (This is the first time that I have heard of a German vehicle being brought back by Lt. Nelson and his Pl. Sgt. , Purvis. This happened early AM, 2^nd January 1945, shortly after the arrival at Philippsbourg by Co. C. Many men recall Lt. Nelson and Purvis marching a group of POWs through the village on the main street. The number varies from 12 to 15 men. tsh).

A rigid, strict guard roster, a long uncomfortable night in a hole and then it broke! On the side of the town to the rear of our positions about one hundred Germans broke through. (This special German attack unit came back into the village from the south on the Niederbronn road. They had bypassed the village during the night to do this. Estimates by the men who saw them coming in, namely Lt. Harry Durkee and others, indicate as many as 40 Germans, perhaps a few more. They were soon devastated by Harry calling to Cannon Co. for assistance and our very good Cannon Co. wracked them with mortars. The German attack from that end was broken up and many prisoners taken. The POWs were herdedinto a small field at the south end of the "deadly right ridge". Some few holed up in the first house, left side, entering the village and that is another 2^nd Pl. story. tsh) - The main German attack came from the northwest into Philipsbourg and that appears in the 7^th Army Offensive, indicating the attack was led by six German tanks. (Men of Co. C who were there still insist that the attacking Germans from the south were SS troopers in full SS regalia. tsh) We sat in what we thought was complete safety till we heard the bark of rifles below us. We crawled from our holes dazedly and looked cautiously out. Then, we saw them! There C Company's first combat was fought and there too, died her first man, Sid Roberts, BAR man, who crawled out of his hole, opened up on the advancing horde with his gun, gritting hjs teeth, grinned and poured clip after clip into the enemy. He was happy then, I think, and he knew he made a Kraut unhappy. He reached back for another clip of ammunition and one Kraut bullet, undoubtedly zeroed in on Sid's BAR bursts, for it was still misty dawn, found its way into his spine. He fell gasping back into my arms and died there a few minutes later. Then all hell broke loose. From our advantage point we opened up with everything we had. There we got to appreciate one of Company C's greatest heroes, Bob McDaniel, veteran of the Attu campaign. (Bob was commissioned and later KIA. tsh) Bob, who later became a 2^nd Lt., one of our first field commissions was completely without fear. He leaped into the open with his beloved grease gun, (only squad leader I knew who carried one instead of the M-1. tsh) blasted at the now halted Krauts - shouted, rallied us and did everything he could to win the war single-handedly.

There were too many single acts of heroism to be related here. How Howard Leonard won his Silver Star, the story of the attack up main street of the town into the largest group of Germans. Finally, however, the attack was broken, and the battered remains of what was once Company C limped up a hill toward a new position. But the names of those who died there still come back. Fred Toro, our mail clerk, Bill Blackwell, medic, killed while attempting to help one of our wounded. (S/Sgt Floyd Bondy, early AM 4 January 1945) Robert Beardsly (scout in my squad. tsh), Teddy Grabowski (runner 2^nd Pl.) Clarence Chester, Arthur Brafman (also runner at the time in 2^nd Pl.), we'll remember them all. (Many more were kileed. tsh) And the numerous ones who were captured there in a vain but valiant attempt to contact the third battalion who were nearby. (I assume that he refers to contact A & B companies which were out of touch.) Now we receive good news of most of these boys. Here is wishing them luck in the future - they deserve it.

The valiant little band that gathered on the hilltop felt that there would surely be a few days respite, at least a good night's sleep, a chance to get rid of the shakes but no - they were off again for (here the writer's memory is at fault The remainder of Company C made that well-known all night climb to Anglesburg and remained there from early AM 6 January to about noon, 10^th January 1945, being relieved at the time by 3^rd Bn, 274^th under Colonel Landstrom.) Baerenthal where Sig Rusley, Platoon Sgt., Wps. Plt., distinguished himself by an almost single-handed attack in on an enemy position. He died there. Sgt. Harry Hamlin joined him in his advance. (Many others of the 2^nd Pl. and Wps. Pl. died there; Hill 364, 12 January 1945 and my last action. tsh) Then finally came a few days relaxation, however, a hand grenade expolded in a pillbox, and impossible as it may seem, it burst in the midst of a group of men and no one was seriously hurt.

Then Kadenbronn - a small town in the side of a mountain, with the enemy's front lines just a short walk from the CP. This was sheer hell, not the sudden, soul shattering hell of combat but the slow, nerve-wracking torture of sweating it out. Front line foxholes, a midnight gunner who crawled up the hill and opened up with tracers every 15 minutes, sometimes less often, never far from combat and the enemy to relax a moment. Here PFC Quinn fell, struck by enemy action of artillery. (Quinn, who was a friend, died 17 Feb 1945 in the Lixingen area) Just enough action to make you worry and wonder who would be next. And the snow, more hell for the linemen, who gallantly worked day and night to keep communications in to the water and mud filled foxholes. Twenty-four hours of misery everyday and always just beyond us the source of all out trouble, the almost legendary little town of Lixingen. The name Lixingen even now holds for most of us a sort of dread. We waited everyday for the order to move out, take Lixingen. We were firmly convinced that it would be a fight to the finish. We had seen by the reports from the many patrols who braved the enemy fire to learn what they could about the strength of the defenses.

Here another saga of Company C heroism took place when Lt. Russell Holmes led a patrol into the woods near Lixingen to capture enemy soldiers for information purposes. The patrol ran into heavy fire, but Lt. Holmes and Sgt. Mearse (my ex-BAR man. tsh) who volunteered to go with him, made their way into the town, walked down the main street and brought back the desired prisoners. They were each awarded the Silver Star for that. (Mearse was killed in Lixingen and the Silver Star wa awarded posthumously. tsh)

Then in the midst of rumor and conjecture, suddenly we were dragged back form the lines to the town of Hundling, several miles behind the lines. One day of unbelievably wonderful relaxation with a movie, a big meal, church and other intimate things to put a guy at ease, then with a choke we realized just what the "big picture" was. We plunged into several days of morale-cracking training for the Lixingen push, it seemed obvious.

We moved back to Kadenbronn and began to sweat it out. Not long to wait this time. On Feb 17, 1945, word came - "We're moving oot." After the few heart-in-the-throat moments that always followed announcements like that, the calm of battle preparations began again. We waited anxiously for the radio reports that Lixingen had fallen, for our mission was to take the heavily fortified woods on the other side of the town from which most of the enemy fire had been coming.

The word came and we moved out, a long thin line following the valley down past the totally demolished city of Lixingen, through the open field, each man thinking what a perfect target he was out there in the open, wondering when the silence would break and the battle begin. (I have had a number of men describe crossing the field(s) in the open but they were not quite as polite about that leadership as this unknown author is. tsh) We had not long to wait. We passed through a small wood and found ourselves facing a great valley on the other side of the objective, the Hardwald Forest. We started across the valley and up the almost perpendicular hill opposite, when the first German 88 shells to which we had been formally introduced at Philippsbourg, opened on us. They weren't to close; however, the scream, and whine, and final resounding crash made us jump and move a little faster. We kept to our course till we were in comparative cover of the woods. Capt. Grotheer, our CO, whose promotion had just recently came through, took a look at the map and we called in on our radio that we had reached our first objective. Then the order came to move on and clear the woods. The column moved on, slowly, relentlessly until suddenly the long-awaited moment came. A German machine-gun opened up point blank on our front troops - three men, S/Sgt Fran. Hetzel, Louis Paschall, and Alfred Casey were killed. The column stopped. The men dropped. It was a tense moment. Then someone yelled and a small group of our men led by PFC Mejia and PFC Jensen rose and advanced into the teeth of the nest, blasting with a BAR and M-1 as they went. The brave move had the desired effect. The Germans surrended, filed out meekly, and shuddering, lined up to be searched. Many of our men came close to murder as they looked at the men who had so cold-bloodedly slain their comrades, then surrendered to save their own hides.

After the blood was up, someone shouted the old battle-cry of "Hubba-Hubba." It sounded eerie in the still of the forest, had a haunting sound and it boded ill for the Krauts within hearing distance. Another man took up the cry a third gave an Indian yell, soon the forest was reverberating with spine-chilling cries of men out for the kill. The front line advanced unhesitatingly, steadily, with every gun blasting. In fifteen minutes the farthest reaches of the forest had been covered and the area cleared. The Company dug in for the night, then spent one day of rest in the sunshine before pushing on to the next point of their objective. On that hill we learned a lesson the hard way when one of our men was killed in his hole by his own grenade.

The next notch on our company's collective rifle was the town Alstingen which was the boy's first real taste of clearing houses. (Except Philippsbourg. tsh) Casualties were low and everybody had their fingers crossed for the next push. Here we lost our Silver Star holder, Sgt. Wm. Mearse, who was killed by enemy artillery. As the victory flushed soldiers girded themselves for the next step, few realized they were preparing for the most costly and terrible single combat yet encountered. They moved up into the forest and ran into stiff resistance. Things were not too bad at first. They cleared pillboxes, bypassed enemy positions, and the line of prisoners grew by leaps and bounds. With the incentive of taking a certain position by nightfall, Capt. Grotheer's men pushed on till they held the desired territory, an advantageous position crossing a road and in the midst of many great felled trees which made it easier to dig in for the night.

The evening was well on its way to darkness, and tense and tired soldiers slept fitfully through a comparatively quiet night. Morning brought scattered small arms fire and bursts of artillery but it remained for the night to create an aura of horror that will live forever in the minds of all the men who were there. Things were quiet and the men more relaxed. They smoked under cover and reassured each other that the worst was surely over. At first no one paid attention to the distant hum that pervaded the air. It grew and took on a more gradual, more definite and sinister significance. There was only one answer, much as they dreaded to think of it. Tanks: there was no doubt of it now as the blasting guns and machine guns opened up on the foxholes. The tanks were advancing up the the road and the tank gunners were firing point blank at single men. There was screaming and terror - the terror of a man fighting a machine in a battle he feels he cannot possibly win, and behind the tanks came German Infantry, shouting scattered phrases in English.

(This battle, which about wiped out one whole flank of Co. C appears in the 275th Narrative Report. Also, Bill Rorabaugh explained it to me a long time ago as pure HELL. tsh)

"Give up, verdammt Schwein - surrender!" The front lines of Americans dazed by the terrific impact of point blank firing, several dead from sheer concussion of explosions, others torn  and ripped to shreds. The panic was on, men running pellmell through the forest tripping, falling, and in the midst of the confusion a cool figure came forward, a medic, PFC Sampson Stephens, made his way forward with PFC Henry Woelk beside him. (This is the first information that I have ever had of who was with Stephens. tsh) Under heavy guns of the tanks this amazing duo stood calmly loading and adjusting a bazooka, sending a smashing missile into the iron monster. The tank stopped, bewildered, another struck, the tank retreated slowly taking with it the remainder of the infantry. But the price of our victory was high. We had lost among many other men, 2nd Lt. Bob McDaniel, and T/Sgt Ed Topp, two of the finest and best loved guys of the company. Pfc Stephens was killed later, and awarded posthumously the DSC, making him the first man to receive this highly coveted award inour battalion. (Only two DSC's were awarded to the 275th Regiment, Charlie Pence, CO of B/275 (Maj. ret.) and Stephens. tsh)

The following morning was a continuation of the hell of the night before. The scraggly reformed line of the company was just a sketchy ghost of the powerful defense of the evening before. The combat had forced the line back far beyond the original forward point, and orders came back for the company to advance to its farthest forward position and form a defensive line. All day casualties came back, Capt Grotheer, wounded in the ankle, Lt Durkee, by a sniper in the head, Lt Purvis, shrapnel in the back. In this scene came First Sergeant Jimmy Mercy who as the highest ranking man in the company, was automatically company commander. Under Sgt. Mercy the company advanced under fire and reached their objective where gradually resistance lessened until eventually, except for the occasional burst of a mortar, the roar of an artillery piece, things were comparatively quiet. In the combat there we had lost in addition to many wounded and captured, Lt. Nelson, who was killed and Ross Carlisle, Roland Tennis and many others. Many wounded died as the result of artillery shelling.

Even the rear areas weren't safe. Kennedy's kitchen commandoes and Hindman's supply found themselves have little things dropped on them from heaven also. The cooks solemnly swear that when the shells were falling the pancakes turned themselves over. Take that for what it is worth! Then there is the story of two men who were thrown out of bed when a shell struck the corner of the room in which they were sleeping and hurled them against the wall.

The days that followed were a curious combination of horror and peace. There was always the ever present possibility of further shelling. It came often too. Many a man can tell you of hair-breath escapes from fragments of shells,of falling trees during these trying times.

Across from our vantage point on the hill there lay our ultimate objective -- the tremendous city of Saarbrucken. But between us and Saarbrucken lay the much heralded and greatly feared Siegfied Line. Its concrete and steel dragon's teeth seemed to be daring us to attempt to pass through them. Then came a period of sweating it out again. Now if possible the anticipation of the attack was even more horrible than our previous moves. It was obvious that the strength of the Siegfried Line would have to be tested before a formidable attack could be launched. Accordingly, a daylight (patrol) set out from our CP led by Pfc James Jensen of C Go. and including Pfc Don Smith, Walt Killion, and Brison Koger. These boys all volunteered for the hazardous patrol duties. They moved from their hill position down to the line, checked carefully, and started back. Then occurred one of the greatest tragedies of Co C's history. They walked unknowingly into a machine gun cross fire that ripped the patrol to bits, left only one man unwounded, the rear guard. Killion and Smith were killed and the others were wounded. Therefore, the vital question was still unanswered.

Second Lt. Albert Olson, a new addition to the company, was chosen to attempt what the previous patrol failed to do. Technically his orders were to occupy the German pillboxes. His patrol started out and moved toward the dragon's teeth, reporting by radio the whole way. They passed successfully through the

teeth and up the hill to the pillboxes. The pillboxes investigated were found to be unoccupied and the patrol received orders to return. On the way back they ran into one of the dreaded German shoe mines fields where S/Sgt. Store lost an arm and a leg. The German Infantry aroused by the explosions moved down the hill and opened fire on our patrol. In the fire fight that followed Pfc Carl Johnson was killed and Pfc Lynn Fisher was wounded in the arm. Lt. Olson succeeded in withdrawing the patrol without further casualties and

returned with the desired information. The proposed attack planned was changed and Co C was drawn back to Altingen for a three-day rest period. In the midst of the movement an exciting rumor came down. The Germans had evacuated Saarbrucken, the story went we were preparing to move in. At last the frightening bugaboo of Saarbrucken was to be faced. The company, apparently delighted with the move, piled into vehicles and drove off with their morale at its highest point since they left the states. There was no question about it. They were prepared to face anything that day! The lead jeep, with our new CO, Lt. Harry Weeks, pulle dup opposite the battalion commander's vehicle, received instructions, dismounted the troops, and the occupation of Saarbrucken had begun. The troops, mainly now fresh replacements, reacte dlike seasoned veterans as the column made its way through the smashed and shattered main street of Saarbrucken. The column spread and units moved up side streets to cover our entire area. A few scattered sniper shots were investigated and the occupation of Saarbrucken was successfully negotiated without a single casualty in Co. C. By sunset we had our CP set up, orders had gone back to bring up our kitchen and supply personnel, and one of the swiftest occupations in history of a great and modern city had taken place. For Company C the war was over. Our last and greatest accomplishment was a fitting climax for a short but brilliant combat career. We had spearheaded the 7th Army advance across the German frontier and the pleasant days that followed in Saarbrucken were well earned.