Guest Blog: Long, Bloody Battle for Metz

I recently discovered a third cousin once removed in my Jennings line served in the 5th Infantry Division during World War II as did my father-in-law, Peter Charles Dagutis. Sadly, my cousin Haskins Thomas Farrar, died near Metz. So I asked my brother, amateur World War II historian, to write a post about the battle for Metz, providing context for my father-in-law's wartime experience and the death of my cousin.

Over to John.....

As Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force in Western Euorpe General Dwight D. Eisenhower's mission was to "undertake operations aimed at the heart of Germany and the destruction of her armed forces.”  He intended to approach Germany along a broad front, taking advantage of all of the historic invasion routes between France and Germany.  One of those invasion routes was the swath of open terrain between the Ardennes and Vosges Mountains.  Situated along the northern edge of the invasion route the city of Metz had been a kind of gatekeeper since ancient times and was unsurprisingly one of the most heavily fortified cities in Europe.  In all its long history Metz had never fallen to direct assault.  Its fortifications included a line of eleven forts constructed by the French prior to the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 that lay in a ring approximately 2½ miles outside the city.  The German defenders of World War II used this “inner ring” as infantry strongpoints.  An outer ring of eight, more modern forts—built by the Germans before the First World War—formed a line some six miles from the city.  Among the fortications was the impressive Fort Driant, which housed five 150mm guns and was protected by a deep, dry moat and covered by infantry trenches, machine gun nests and barbed wire fences.  The guns of the fort commanded a large sector of the Moselle Valley.

Eisenhower entrusted the advance past Metz and into Germany to Lieutenant-General George S. Patton, Jr.’s US Third Army.  The difficulty of Patton’s mission was three-fold:  his army had to cross the Upper Moselle River, reduce or bypass the forts and finally capture the city of Metz.  The American effort to take Metz began on 6 September, 1944 with the unconventional tactic of using 7^th Armored Division as a kind of reconnaissance-in-force to probe for crossing sites over the Moselle both north and south of Metz.  They reached the Moselle the next day and were soon followed by two infantry divisions, the 90^th being directed toward Thionville north of Metz and the 5^th toward Metz itself.  Despite turning back a German counter-attack the Americans could not get across the Moselle in the Thionville sector due to deadly shellfire from several German forts.  Closer to Metz 5^th Infantry Division, along with elements of 7^th Armored Division, managed to establish a bridgehead at Dornot, but the guns of Forts Driant and Blaise prevented the building of a bridge so the crossing had to be abandoned.  Another bridgehead was achieved on 6 September farther north at Amanvillers and a bridge was successfully erected that night.  A breakout was not to be, however; gunfire from Fort Driant destroyed both the treadway and pontoon bridges and determined resistance from German panzers denied all attempts by American armored units to breakout of the bridgehead.  Although Patton felt the German reserves were thin and a breakthrough imminent if he could just keep the pressure on, by mid-September it was obvious a set piece battle would be required to defeat the defenses of Metz.

Soldiers of Third Army crossing the Moselle River; courtesy of a United States
Army in World War II, Pictorial Record: The War Against Germany: Europe
and Adjacent Areas

Another major effort against Metz would have to wait until supplies could be stockpiled.  In the meantime, Patton initiated what he called a “pecking campaign” to reduce several forts southwest of Metz, particularly the troublesome Fort Driant, whose guns had been so effective in turning back the attempt to cross the Upper Moselle in early September.  Taking the fort would unlock an avenue directly into Metz via the valley of the Moselle.  The task of taking Fort Driant fell to 5^th Infantry Division, which launched its attack on 3 October behind one of the most concentrated artillery bombardments of the war.  For all of its intensity the shelling proved ineffective, for nearby German forts returned the fire, catching American infantry in their assembly areas.  Although the Americans reached the fort and gained entry the following day via a ventilator shaft, the fort’s defenders fought back skillfully in savage subterranean gun duels.  The underground battle raged for several days but the Americans failed to breach any of the fortified casemates.  By sweeping the exterior of the fort with artillery and machine gun fire the Germans denied American reinforcements from entering the battle and eventually gained the upper hand.  Patton finally decided the fort could not be defeated and called off the operation; the last American troops withdrew the night of 12-13 October.

The final battle for Metz began on 8 November.    Patton prepared an envelopment of Metz by concentric attacks from north and south.  90^th Infantry Division crossed the Moselle just north of Thionville.  The combination of German artillery and rising flood waters frustrated all attempts to erect bridges until the second night, but the defending Germans could not take advantage of the precarious American situation because they were not expecting an attack so soon after the torrential downpours of the previous few days.  By the time panzers were able to mount a counter-attack the Americans were secure enough in their bridgehead to turn the enemy tanks back just short of the bridge.  After Forts Koenigsmacker and Metrich had been reduced 10^th Armored Division was committed as the northern encircling pincer and from 15 November they began picking their way carefully over muddy roads to the southeast toward the Nied river.  Meanwhile, 5^th Infantry Division had crossed the Seille southwest of Metz and skirted round the city to cut its eastern approaches.  They met troops from 90^th Infantry Division at Pont Marais on 19 November to encircle Metz.

Third Army Soldiers entering the outskirts of Metz; courtesy of the United
States Army In Europe, Pictorial Record: The War Against Germany: Europe
and Adjacent Areas

Despite Hitler’s decree to hold Metz until the last, the Germans withdrew most of their forces out of the closing jaws of Patton’s pincers, leaving only a volksgrenadier division to garrison Metz.  95^th Infantry Division closed on Metz proper from Maizieres-les-Metz while 5^th Infantry Division invested the city from the southeast.  American troops entered the city on 11/18/44 after Nazi officials and many German civilians had been evacuated.  Firefights erupted throughout the city as the American infantry rooted out the last pockets of German resistance.  The garrison commander gave himself up on 21 November, thus ending the struggle for the city proper.  The outlying forts, which had been contained but not assaulted, were gradually smoked out over the next several weeks; Fort Jeanne d’Arc was the last to capitulate on 13 December.

Some historians have made much of the fact that Patton was perhaps too keen to capture Metz, that the lure of going down in history as the city’s first captor led him to direct too much attention upon the city.  Was it even necessary to capture Metz or could Patton have ensured the security of his northern flank by merely masking the city?  Patton believed it was necessary, thinking it unwise to leave the dangerous enemy concentration around Metz on his flank while transiting the invasion route into Germany.  An interesting opinion was offered by the Germans themselves in their post-war appreciation of the campaign in Europe.  Although they respected Patton as the Allies’ most aggressive general, they criticize his handling of the Lorraine campaign, particularly noting the failure of American forces to concentrate at a single point.  Patton directed his two corps toward separate objectives (Metz and Nancy), preventing them from gaining overwhelming superiority at any one sector.  Had Patton concentrated his corps for a single thrust at either Metz or Nancy, the Germans believed he would have easily broken through.  The fact that Patton did not concentrate everything on Metz (when his enemy expected him to) would tend to discount the theory the city held a kind of vainglorious attraction for him.  Those that fell in the long, bloody battle for Metz gave their lives for a legitimate and necessary military objective, one of many such objectives on the road to ridding the world of Hitler’s evil regime.

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For other World War II guest posts written by my brother, visit War Stories.

Greenfield, Kent Roberts (General Editor). United States Army in World War II, Pictorial Record: The War Against Germany: Europe and Adjacent Areas, (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951), pages 147-260.

Guest Blog: When Pursuit Comes to an End

My brother John is back with another guest blog, describing the conditions in which our third cousin once removed, Wallace Jennings Horton, died during World War II on 13 September 1944.

By John Edward Jennings

Napoleon famously said “An army marches on its stomach.”  It was his testament to the importance of logistics to the success of a military operation.  More than a hundred years later Napoleon’s wisdom was still evident when the Allied armies in Europe during World War II found that long, fragile logistical trails sapped every bit as much strength from their fighting forces as a determined enemy counter-attack.  When the German Army fighting the D-Day landings finally collapsed in Normandy the entire German western front was laid bare.  As the American, British and Canadian troops leapt over the Seine River, they began a pursuit of the fleeing enemy the like of which has seldom been seen in history.  Generals Bradley, Patton and Montgomery pushed their forces forward in a mad dash across Northern France and into Belgium and the Netherlands toward the German frontier.  With the Germans in complete disarray the Allied spearheads plunged ahead ever farther, advancing up to seventy-five miles a day against negligible opposition.  But they advanced so far, so fast that they outran their supplies.

Military historians often use the term ‘tyranny of logistics’ when describing how constraints of supply imposes its own cruel authority over operations.  For the Allied armies in Western Europe in 1944, the tyrant proved less want of supplies than of transport.  Each mile their armies advanced toward Germany took them that much farther from their supply depots near the Normandy beaches.  By the time the troops approached the German frontier in early September their lines of supply stretched over 500 miles.  Every truck that could be rounded up was pressed into a transport service called the Red Ball Express, but even this expediency could not quench the thirst of the field armies.  The thirty-six Allied divisions at the front needed some 20,000 tons of supplies per day, including 800,000 gallons of gasoline.  The Red Ball Express delivered an average of less than 7000 tons per day and consumed 300,000 gallons of gasoline to do so.  Under such tyranny the Allied advance simply could not be maintained.

Operation Cobra, photograph courtesy of Battle of Normandy Tours

US 30^th Infantry Division experienced fully the tyrannical lessons of Napoleon.  The division had come ashore at Omaha Beach on 10^th June, 1944, just four days after the bloody battle there on D-Day.  In late July the division took part in Operation Cobra, the breakout from the Normandy beachhead.  And then early the next month they made one of the great defensive stands of the war around Mortain, where a battalion was surrounded for several days.  Undaunted, the encircled troops fought on, calling down artillery on enemy columns streaming past, thus helping to check a German counter-attack aimed at cutting off the American breakout.  During the pursuit 30^th Infantry Division marched through Cambrai (France), Tournai (Belgium) and Mesh (the Netherlands).  In the process they retraced some of the same ground the division had traversed in World War I and became the first Allied soldiers to enter both the Kingdom of Belgium and the Kingdom of the Netherlands.  But gasoline could not be brought up to them fast enough and one-by-one vehicles dropped out of the march line as they ran out of fuel.

30th Infantry Division personnel looking east toward Maastricht;

The Germans used the respite brought about by the Allies’ logistical difficulties to good effect to reorganize their shattered forces and reestablish a coherent front.  German histories refer to this as the ‘Miracle in the West’.  Particular attention was paid to the sector opposite US 30^th Infantry Division, where fresh reinforcements occupied well-entrenched positions along the Meuse River and Albert Canal to guard the approaches to Maastricht.  So when the troops of 30^th Division set off again the second week of September to attack Maastricht the complexion of the fighting had completely changed.  Long gone was the double-time march of the pursuit.  They were instead confronted with the long, hard grind of positional warfare in which a successful advance is measured in yards, not miles…and which takes such a terrible toll on the poor foot soldier.

Men from the 119th Infantry Regiment, 30th Infantry Division, October
1944; courtesy of Old Hickory

Tune in tomorrow to read about the experiences of our ancestors, Wallace Jennings Horton.

Guest Blog: A Star in Heaven: Chelsea Ann Tucker (1989-2015)

Chelsea Tucker would have been 26 years old today. She was beautiful, vibrant and tragically was killed earlier this year. Chelsea was my brother's niece. Aunt Celeste and Uncle John loved her very much and wanted to share their memories of Chelsea on this special day. I am honored they asked if they could do so by posting a guest blog.

Chelsea Ann Tucker (1989-2015)

By John and Celeste (Tucker) Jennings

Aunt Celeste remembers...

I remember when John and I took you and Heather to Disney World three months after we were married. Yes, we were brand new newlyweds. Heather was 12 and you were 9. We took you guys to eat at the Pizza Hut; and, when the waitress took our drink order, I told her I wanted the biggest beer she had. Boy, did I get a look from her! We left Orlando and drove all the way to St. George Island, driving across the whole state of Florida. You and Heather sat in the back seat, singing at the top of your lungs and singing different songs, of course. That was when Walkman's were popular.

Heather and Chelsea at Disney World; personal collection

Heather and Chelsea clowning around at Disney World; personal
collection

I remember the time when our family went to St. George Island, Florida, over the 4th of July. We were all sitting around drinking fuzzy navels, not paying you any attention. You picked up someone's drink and started drinking it. Your Daddy wasn't very happy when you did that. So he carried you up to bed and you looked up at him and asked, "Is this a waterbed?" You were a little bitty thing then.

I remember you had a little bit of tomboy in your blood. You and your Daddy loved to go dove hunting together. He would shoot a dove and you would go retrieve them. He even bought you a gun and gave it to you. I didn't know they made guns that small with barrels so short. I don't think there was anything you wouldn't try. You were something else! Definitely a Daddy's girl; both you and Heather loved your Daddy.

Chelsea and her Daddy, Mark Tucker

I look to the stars in the sky in heaven on this day, which would have been your birthday, and send love, hugs and kisses. I miss you like crazy!

We remember...

I remember not long after your Daddy died, we took you, Heather, your Mom and MaMa to visit Washington, DC. We all stayed at Pete and Schalene's (Uncle John's sister) house, but spent most of our time sightseeing. All the usual stuff...the monuments and museums along the mall, etc. We also toured a winery (whoever thought northern Virginia had wineries?) We all favored the white wines over the reds. We went to Mount Vernon -- George Washington's house -- where an impromptu concert by period musicians caught everyone's attention. We had dinner, our last night in Washington, at an authentic Chinese restaurant in Chinatown where the world's largest margarita was liberally shared. WARNING: photograph may be incriminating!

Heather and Chelsea at a Chinatown restaurant in Washington, DC;
personal collection

Uncle John remembers...

I remember when you were 10 or 12, you came to Anniston, Alabama, to visit us. Your Aunt Celeste looked at me and we said, "What are we going to do with a kid? What is there to do in Anniston?" We took you to a local baseball field to watch a Little League game. At least you would be around kids your own age. We sat in some folding chairs along the fence just past the end of the dugout. The players soon caught sight of you. One boy would peek around the corner at you and then go back to tell his friend -- a whisper and a sly pointing of his finger towards you. Then another boy would come around the corner of the dugout for a glimpse. At the on-deck circle, they had their chance to impress. The boys would come out, head held high and chest out, pick up a bat with more practice weights than they could handle and take a Major League swing. You know how boys are when they are trying to impress! Next, they would take a peek over their shoulder to see if you were watching. You created a buzz at the Anniston Little League baseball field.

Chelsea, her MaMa, and Aunt Celeste; personal collection

I remember when you bought your first car -- not the first car you drove, but the first you bought -- a black Acura. You asked for help and advice negotiating the purchase, so several of us went with you to the dealership. You got a LOT of advice, didn't you? Most of it was contradictory. You wanted the car but were worried the insurance premiums might put it out of reach. Some of us encouraged you to buy the car and go with your heart. As your cold, analytical, dispassionate engineer-type uncle, I counseled you to wait until you knew all the facts before you bought the car. You listened to all of us, then worked out a way to take the car home but not purchase it until you figured out the insurance premiums. I was so impressed by how you handled the situation and thought you had such a good head on your shoulders.

The first car Chelsea bought; personal collection

I remember you were the first to call me "Unc John." I remember it well. We were at your house on a Sunday afternoon.  Celeste and I were still just dating at the time. When Chelsea called me Unc John, Celeste told her quietly behind my back "Don't call him that, you might scare him off."  She didn't know I heard. I smiled to myself: there was no scaring me off by that time. Before long I was shopping for a ring and a bottle.

  

I remember Celeste and I took you and Heather to the Atlanta Zoo.  You were both young kids at the time.  After a long day of walking around the zoo, looking at all the different animals, we got back in the car to head home.  I pulled off at an exit in Jonesboro.  At the stop light at the end of the off ramp I announced it was time to eat and asked everyone what they wanted.  "Chucky Cheeeeeeeeeze!" came the reply in unison from Heather and Chelsea --the 'cheese' being drawn out in a long, excited, high-pitched syllable.  Celeste and I didn't know what Chucky Cheese was, so out of total ignorance we agreed.  We soon learned that Chucky Cheese is a place parents take their kids when they want to quit being parents for an hour or two.  The kids were literally wilder than the animals at the zoo.  I think the lions would have been afraid of them.  I'm happy to say you and Heather were the best behaved children there.  We left full of extra cheesy pizza and with a ringing in our ears of a thousand screaming kids.

Guest Blog: Leber’s Optic Atrophy

By Sarah Semple

My dad came from good working class stock.  He was the fourth child of five and there was nearly a six year gap between him and his next older sibling. His mother decided to hold him back from going to school until his younger brother was old enough, so that the two siblings could keep each other company.  Dad had very little in common with his youngest sibling who was always getting into strife.  But being dad, he just went with the flow and didn’t question the decision.

Dad was a good sportsman, an average performer at school and had decided to become a teacher. He was 19 years of age, in his second year of teacher training when something extraordinary happened to him.  He lost his eye-sight.  He lost the sight in one eye in January 1954 and then the other in May 1954.  The medical system couldn’t explain it.  He could see nothing in front of him, and just shapes in his peripheral vision.  He spent 10 weeks in hospital and was told that his eyesight was bad but it wouldn’t get any worse.

Life was turned on its head.  He had to withdraw from teacher training and his beloved sport.  He lay in the hospital bed feeling very sorry for himself.  To cut a long story short, he heard a girl come in to his ward and tell people to breathe in and out.  He thought that this sounded like an easy job and enquired about it.  She was a physiotherapist, and he found out that there was a School for the Blind for Physiotherapy in London.  He got sponsorship from the New Zealand Foundation for the Blind and off he went -- alone on a six week boat trip, first time out of New Zealand with minimal eyesight. He had a fabulous three years training in London, establishing friendships with other blind physiotherapists that lasted a life time.

John "Jack" Alexander Semple in England, 1958; photograph courtesy of
Sarah Semple

So how does this relate to genealogy? Well, it all comes back to the rare eye disease called Leber’s Optic Atrophy.  When researching this disease, I found out that it is genetic, but that it is only passed on from the female.  So a male can inherit it (like my dad), but his children can never get it.  His sister however could both inherit the gene and develop the disease, as could her children.

So with this information, I approached a renowned Opthamologist who confirmed that as far as he knew there were only two families in New Zealand with this disease.  He had studied the other family to understand the heredity patterns of the disease.  

Jack Semple playing bowls; photograph courtesy of
Sarah Semple

I found that one of my dad’s aunts had also inherited the disease and had died after accidentally drinking a bottle of poison that she thought was a soft drink.  I also found women in dad’s family with poor eyesight that people had attributed to old age, however may well have been the same eye condition.

So when I come across or hear about people (especially young men) who lose their eyesight at an early age to Leber’s, I always ask the question… what was their mother and grandmother’s maiden names?  Chances are, we could be related.

52 Ancestors #6: (Guest Blog) Flung to the Far Corners of the World

Ancestor Name: Alfred Wolfe BRISK (1880-1942)

I have many immigrant ancestors so one of their stories seemed like a natural fit for this week's theme, So Far Away. Many emigrated from Scotland to far-flung places like Australia, New Zealand, Canada, or the U.S. Others left different parts of eastern Europe in pursuit of a better life in places like Brazil or Guyana. But the person I kept thinking about wasn't even one of my ancestors. He was the great grandfather of the husband of my 4th cousin once removed. I first read about him in a book my cousin had written about the Brisk family.

Sarah, lives in New Zealand, and found me in through Ancestry.com. I live in the U.S. How's that for so far away?! Thanks to modern communications technology, we work together researching our common Scottish Semple family. And she has taught me a lot about proper research. I seem to learn more when working with her, plus it's always more fun to have a collaborator!

I thought Sarah would be the best person to tell Albert's story, so over to Sarah......

Albert Wolfe Brisk was the grandson of Jewish immigrants who had fled Belarus with their young family (including Albert’s father) during a sustained period of anti-Semitism in the mid-1860s.  The family settled in Safed, Palestine which is where Albert was born in 1880.

As a teenager, Albert moved to Switzerland where he trained as a watchmaker, completing his training in 1897.  He had an uncle who had recently moved to Singapore and so that was where Albert moved to next.  He opened a store in Kling Street for the Anglo-Swiss Watch Company in Singapore in 1898.  Albert became very successful and paid for his parents and half-brothers and sisters to move to Singapore. 

He married Betty Cornfield about 1902 in Singapore and they had six children. Betty was born in Constantinople (now Istanbul). 

Albert Wolfe and Betty (Cornfield) Brisk with their six children, circa 1920;
photograph courtesy of Sarah Semple

He became a naturalised Singaporean citizen in 1910.  He had a number of rental properties and his children were educated at the local convents in Singapore.  One of the nuns set aside a room so that the Jewish children could have somewhere to eat their Kosher lunches together.

Albert and Betty used to travel to places like Antwerp and Zurich to buy diamonds.  They were a very close couple who were seldom apart.  However in 1936, Betty took her youngest daughter to Shanghai in China to visit one of her sons, and then to Yokohama in Japan to visit another son.  Betty died unexpectedly in Yokohama.

Albert continued to live in Singapore where four of his children still lived.  The first Japanese bombs fell on Singapore in December 1941.  Albert managed to get his youngest daughter Lulu out of Singapore on one of the last ships to leave in January 1942.  He gave her some jewellery to sell and she successfully made it to England where she worked twelve hour shifts in a munitions factory in Leeds.

Albert and his five remaining children were interned by the Japanese.  Albert and three sons were interned in Changi in Singapore, one son was interned in Shanghai and his daughter Esther was interned in Sumatra. 

Esther had tried to flee Singapore on board the SS Kuala which sailed from Singapore on 13 February 1942 with approximately 500 evacuees on-board.  The ship was bombed by the Japanese with at least 100 people dying on-board.  The call was made to abandon ship, and as evacuees were swimming to the nearby island of Pom Pong, Japanese planes were bombing those in the water.  Esther spent nearly eight hours in the water before being rescued by some Chinese fishermen.  She was then captured by the Japanese and spent the remainder of the war in a women’s camp.  She never spoke about her experiences in the camp.

Albert died from starvation and a cerebral hemorrhage at the hospital attached to Changi on 19 December 1942.  His children managed to survive their internment although all came out of camp malnourished, grossly underweight and most had suffered from diseases like tuberculosis.

His son who had been in Shanghai ended up emigrating with his family to Australia and the remaining children eventually made their way to England to where their sister Lulu was waiting for them. 

The phrase “so far away” must have been felt with great frequency by Albert and his family.  First by Albert leaving his family in Palestine and moving to Switzerland and then Singapore.  Albert’s wife dying away from home in Japan, his daughter Lulu fleeing to England, his other daughter Esther surviving the Japanese bombing and being interned in Sumatra.  The family was displaced after the war with surviving family members leaving Asia to begin again in a new country. So many changes, so far away.

This is my entry for Amy Johnson Crow's 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge optional theme So Far Away.

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I first discovered Albert Wolfe Brisk's story in The Brisk Family of Brest-Litovsk, Palestine and Beyond, by Sarah Semple and published in 2011.

Other stories of ancestors who found themselves civilians in the midst of war:

Odessa to Vancouver:  The Long Way
Living in War-torn Europe
Escaping from Eastern Germany
There's a Nazi in the Family
Trip Around the World: New York to Egypt (Franco-Syrian War)

Other guest blog posts by Sarah:

Am I Related? Definitely. Maybe.
What's in a Name?

Guest Blog: When Things Went Sour on the Sauer

My father-in-law, who served in the 5th Infantry Division of the U.S. Army during World War II from 1941 until 1945, saw much bitter fighting. He rarely talked about his experiences until I started researching his unit and asking questions. Then he opened up. One story he told was of a brutal river crossing. I always assumed it was the historic assault crossing of the Rhine when he was strafed by a German plane early the next morning. Militarily speaking, though, it was a relatively easy crossing.

My brother, who is an amateur historian, has been helping me identify the crossing my father-in-law so well remembered. We thought it might be the crossing of the Sauer river soon after the Battle of the Bulge, but my father-in-law's regiment, the 2nd Infantry Regiment, had been held in reserve. So we continue our search.

But the crossing of the Sauer is a story that should be told; after all, if his regiment hadn't been held in reserve, my husband may not have been born! Today is the 70th anniversary of that crossing, which began during the night of 6-7 February 1945.

So over to my guest blogger, my brother, John:

Rivers have always made for a natural defense line during times of war.  The lack of cover (unless submerged, of course) and unobstructed views make for a ready-made no-man’s land.  Conversely, an assault crossing of a well defended river line can be one of the most harrowing tasks a soldier can be called upon to undertake.  In February 1945 the men of US 5^th Infantry Division found out just how harrowing it could be when they attempted an assault across the Sauer River, which separates Germany and Luxembourg.  A common misconception of World War II is that the Battle of the Bulge was the last hurrah of the German Army, and that afterwards the Allies advanced almost effortlessly into Germany against only sporadic and dispirited opposition.  The truth was that much hard combat remained and the Germans were still a dangerous enemy, especially when fighting from prepared positions behind natural defense line such as the Sauer.

The Sauer operation was part of the larger Eifel offensive, an ill-fated attempt by Lieutenant-General Omar N. Bradley’s 12^th Army Group to continue the momentum it had gained after the relief of Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge and push its way through the rugged Eifel Mountains.  The mission of 5^th Infantry Division was to cross the Sauer between Bollendorf and Echternach and take the first line of hills beyond the river to safeguard a march route toward the town of Bitburg.  In order to preserve the element of surprise it was decided to forego the usual artillery preparation that ordinarily is used to soften up enemy positions prior to an assault.  As the troops prepared to cross on the night of February 6^th the weather turned cold and snowy.  But the river was swollen and turbulent from a recent unseasonable thaw.  Climbing aboard small inflatable boats (which were actually Luftwaffe left-overs from a captured depot) the troops set out from the western bank, eight men to a boat.  The little boats proved unequal to the fast 12 mph river current.  Many capsized almost immediately, dumping their occupants into the icy water.  Others careened out of control.  Those boats that stayed afloat and on course long enough to reach mid stream became the targets of a fusillade of fire from the German held bank.  Under the light of flares German machine guns raked the little dinghies plodding across the river.

Sauer River; photograph courtesy of ibiblio.org

Out of two regiments sent across the river that night only two boats and sixteen men made landfall on eastern bank.  It is a testament to both the tenacity of the American soldiers and the aggressiveness of their leader, divisional commander Major-General S. LeRoy Irwin, that these sixteen refugees on the enemy side of the river were not viewed as a lost cause to be rescued but rather a toehold to be supported and reinforced.  Irwin ordered all available artillery to fire just beyond the toehold, tanks were even driven to the river’s edge to give direct fire support against enemy pillboxes on the opposite bank.  But try as he might Irwin could not get any more men across the river.  As night fell on February 7^th those lonely sixteen men were still the only American soldiers on the eastern bank of the Sauer.  Every effort to span the river with footbridges failed due the strong currents.  Finally, on February 8^th the tiniest of reinforcement got across:  a heavy machine gun section and six additional boat loads of infantrymen.  It was not until February 11^th that the river was successfully bridged—on the 12^th try—and the tactical situation was thus transformed in the American’s favor.

Maj. Gen. S. Leroy Irwin (right), commanding general 5th Infantry
Division; photograph courtesy of ibiblio.org

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Historic Crossing of the Rhine
"Stay Alive in '45"

First Shot at Pearl Harbor

My brother John wrote a guest blog in honor of the 73rd anniversary of Pearl Harbor. I knew about the Japanese submarine but I had no idea people doubted its existence or that it had been sunk by an American ship.

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Just as President Franklin D. Roosevelt suggested it might, December 7^th 1941—the day of the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor—has indeed “lived in infamy.”  Seventy-three years latter most everyone is familiar with the general narrative of the events of that day.  At 7:55 am on a quiet Sunday morning Japanese carrier-based bombers attacked the ships of the US Pacific Fleet anchored at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.  Of the eight American battleships present four were sunk and the others damaged.  Numerous other ships and shore facilities were destroyed or damaged.  2403 American sailors, soldiers, airmen and civilians were killed in the attack.   The USS Arizona, which sunk with the loss of 1177 men when her magazine exploded, is now a memorial operated by the National Park Service.  Visited by over a million people a year, the memorial keeps alive the tragic events of December 7, 1941.

USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor; photograph courtesy of the
US Navy

Another important part of the Pearl Harbor narrative are the warnings that went unheeded and the radar contacts of the incoming Japanese striking force that went unreported.  These failings contributed to the Pacific Fleet being caught by surprise at anchor.  But perhaps less well remembered are the actions of USS Ward, whose skipper and crew reacted quickly and decisively when a Japanese submarine was spotted trying to sneak into the harbor an hour and a half before the Japanese attack began.

An old World War I four-piper destroyer, Ward was manned by men of the Minnesota Naval Reserve when she joined the Pacific Fleet in 1941.  On the morning of the Japanese attack she was conducting a routine patrol off the entrance of Pearl Harbor.  At 0637 skipper Lieutenant Commander William W. Outerbridge was alerted when a periscope was spotted behind USS Antares, which was towing a lighter into the harbor.  The unidentified submarine was apparently trying to sneak through the anti-submarine nets behind Antares in an effort to gain entrance to Pearl Harbor.  Accelerating to 25 knots Ward closed on the submarine in a few minutes and initiated an attack by guns and depth charges.  A shell from #3 gun was observed to strike the submarine at the base of the conning tower, after which the submarine heeled over and sank.  A large oil slick was observed where the submarine went down.

USS Ward; photograph courtesy of the US Navy

To fully appreciate Outerbridge’s actions one must understand how easy it would have been to succumb to self-doubt before ordering the attack.  Obviously, the war had not yet started, so technically speaking he was operating in a time of peace.  Although aggressive actions on the part of the Japanese were not unexpected, most believed if anything happened it would be in the Far East.  It was certainly possible for a Japanese submarine to operate off Hawaii in peacetime, but highly unlikely for one to attempt to enter the harbor.  How easy it would have been for Outerbridge to assume the suspicious submarine was a friendly one?  Instead Outerbridge charged in for an attack without hesitation, and his actions likely saved further destruction and loss of life at Pearl Harbor.  Contrast his response with those manning Hawaii’s radar defenses that fateful morning.  When alerted to radar contact of an unidentified flight approaching Oahu’s north shore, officers of the Army’s Intercept Center assumed it to be the expected arrival of a flight of B-17s.  Consequently, they took no action and failed to pass on the information to higher staffs.

Captain William W. Outerbridge; photograph courtesy of USS Los
Angeles (CA-135) veterans website

For many years historians doubted the claims made by Ward’s crew to have successfully sunk the submarine engaged.  This was mainly because no wreckage was found; however, on August 28, 2002 a team from the Hawaii Undersea Research Laboratory spotted the sunken remains of a Japanese Type A midget submarine in 1200 feet of water.  It had a shell hole at the base of its conning tower, the result of the first shot fired in World War II in the Pacific.