An Odyssey With Patton

By Bruce W. Reagan and Jack N. Duffy

Merriam Press World War II History

Very complete history by two of the unit's veterans (Reagan was Commanding Officer).

Contents

(1) In the Beginning

(2) Joining the War

Appendix 1: Chronology

Appendix 2: Bailey Bridge Across Sarre Was Built in Blood and Sweat

Appendix 3: XII Corps and the 150th Engineer Combat Battalion

Appendix 4: Bridging Data

Appendix 5: The Bailey Bridge

Appendix 6: The Crossing of the Rhine River

Appendix 7: Annex to Narrative of Engineer Bridging Operations on the Rhine River

Appendix 8: Commendations

Appendix 9: After Action Reports

Appendix 10: Presidential Unit Citation

51 photos, 2 illustrations, 1 map

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merriam Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781576384404

Book preview

An Odyssey With Patton

An Odyssey With Patton

Bruce W. Reagan

and

Jack N. Duffy

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D:\Data\_Templates\Clipart\Merriam Press Logo.jpg

World War II History 7

Bennington, Vermont

2015

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First eBook Edition

Copyright © 1988 by Bruce W. Reagan and Jack N. Duffy

First published in 1986 by International Graphics Corporation

First Merriam Press edition published in 1988

Additional material copyright of named contributors.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The views expressed are solely those of the author.

ISBN 9781576384404

This work was designed, produced, and published in the United States of America by the Merriam Press, 133 Elm Street, Suite 3R, Bennington VT 05201.

•

Notice

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

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A Revised History of the 150th Engineer (Combat) Battalion, XII Corps, Third Army, Europe, 1944-1945

On the Cover

F:\Working Data\WW2 History\WH008_Odyssey\Images\m063_024.jpg

Engineers, building a bridge across the Saale River, pull an M24 light tank across on one of the pontoon sections.

Map

F:\Working Data\WW2 History\WH008_Odyssey\Images\WH008_001.jpg

Map of the route of the 150th Engineer (Combat) Battalion.

Chapter 1: In the Beginning

Picture a young engineer battalion commander scarcely three years commissioned standing within earshot of the great George Patton, but fourth or fifth rank down, in March 1945 overlooking a two-bridge stretch of the very active Rhine River at Oppenheim, Germany, and hearing the scratchy voice demand, Where’s my third fucking bridge? I ordered three friggin’ bridges and see only two.

As the chain of command would dictate, Yeah, Clyde, Third Army Engineer to XXII Corps Engineer, Where is the third bridge?

Hence down to the battalion commander with the aside query, sotto voce, Do you have any bridging left over from last night’s action and if so any place to put it?

The answer, A little and yes, provoked the reply, It’s about to get underway, General. Obviously with General Patton’s stern emphasis wheels started rolling and a third bridge resulted, though barely used since by completion it was in the relative backwater of the action.

But to start further back… When the gleam in the Pentagon’s mobilization eye ended in conception some eight officers and twenty non-coms, as cadre, under command of then-Major Ward Van Atta, were ordered to Camp Devens, Massachusetts, in February 1943 to activate the 150th Engineer Combat Battalion. Shortly thereafter the recruits arrived—and what a lot. Almost all were 17- to 19-year-olds, all from New England, many just out of high school, quick-witted and eager for adventure. They were so sharp, in fact, that when the Administration decided it had better look to a long war and began the short-lived program of sending selected draftees to college (the Army Specialized Training Program [ASTP]) our transfers to it were many and resented. Some may be aware that Henry Kissinger, at Lafayette College, Pennsylvania, plus many others enjoyed this brief respite. A gallant effort not gone awry.

Despite these losses, other eager youths soon displaced the cadre as our training intensified. It was marred, however, by a tragic occurrence that presaged the hazards of war. While engaged in a mock assault crossing of the Merrimac River near Nashua, New Hampshire, a power boat laden with full field-equipped men plunged under the swollen stream. Two were drowned and Van Atta plus several others were awarded the Soldier’s Medal for their success at rescue.

After Camp Edwards and West Virginia maneuvers we embarked on the Queen Mary, 23 December 1943, for Europe. This voyage, to some only recently known, was when the Queen, in its worst storm before or since, exceeded its design list and barely avoided capsizing as we approached England with some 20,000 troops aboard. What a tragedy that would have been.

Our principal chore while on board was to supplement the food service staff. Feeding was at 30 minute intervals from 5 a.m. to 10 a.m., one or two thousand per sitting and repeated starting at 2 p.m. We, as kitchen police, would deliver a huge wooden bowl, often of poorly shaven mutton with tomatoes, to each table and clean up for the next sitting. In contrast, typically British for the era, the officers had napkin rings with cloth napkins and occasional servings of kippered herring for breakfast—not conducive to stabilizing the stomach. Many fish were fed from the rails.

At dock in Greenock, Scotland, it fell to our lot to remain aboard, New Year’s night, to secure the ship for the night. By this time appetites had returned and all were hungry. On two occasions the duty officer was called to quell onslaughts of the galley where the odor of a variety of cooking goodies was the attraction. It seemed that as the pies and cakes were put out to cool, a sneaky group would approach under cover, grab the pies and charge off. Little enthusiasm went into the orders to desist, particularly after it was learned that some of the galley crew were peddling cheese sandwiches at two dollars each.

England, suffering from limited imports and surplus Americans, was a six-month way station to the invasion. At our first bivouac while digging some drainage lines we uncovered a regularity of stone placement just below the surface. Our British liaison officer declared it to be the trace of an old Roman-built road, hence inviolable—so on to another spot.

The austerity and simplicity of life for the long-involved British were notable. Every former rose garden seemed filled with Brussels sprouts. One exception to such austerity, however, is recalled. With idle equipment, the need for practical training projects and in the interest of comity it was decided to help a neighbor build a swimming pool. At the delightful lawn party of the opening, a maid of some courage shocked the gaiety with, Sir Esmond, I think this is a bloody shame. Here we have so little to eat, our boys are dying all over the world and you have the bad taste and audacity to use all these materials on such frivolity. We’d put in training effort only—no materials—hence, were not censorable.

Among the few diversions was a miniature steamboat ride on the upper Thames River, where the hinged smoke stack would be lowered as we passed under the many arched footbridges. A stop at a beautifully greened riverside haven, strangely enough still recalled as The Rose Revived. The gracious manager was quick to remind us that this was a favored trysting place for many past British monarchs, that now, however, its claim to fame was as a part-time home to a son of our President, then commanding a nearby photo reconnaissance unit.

We were encouraged to not intrude on the local economy, however, on one occasion a few of us visited a local posh restaurant. Here we were greeted by a maitre de in white tie and tails. With obviously top-notch ambience and table settings, the only items on the menu were pheasant or victory sausage with a boiled potato and Brussels sprouts. The alleged pheasant turned out to be about the size of a robin.

One of our tasks was to put the finishing touches to an Air Force P-51 fighter base. While awaiting their aircraft some of the pilots had access to small reconnaissance planes. One came along one day having fun by holding on the runway as long as possible, heaving back on the stick almost straight up for 300-400 feet, then dropping to the runway for a repeat. Our Lieutenant Stretch decided it looked like fun, so flagged the pilot and got in the rear seat. In neglect of the added weight, at the peak the plane nosed into a half turn and into the ground. Thus our first casualty, though he returned, but the pilot bought the farm.

150nazi

The Engineers

From the shores of Maine to Frisco—

Fighting Engineers are we!

We build our Country’s bridges,

To make way for victory.

First to fight for right and freedom,

And to keep the pathways clear,

We are proud to claim the title of

Combat Engineers

Wherever we are needed

To build or repair,

You can bet that you will always find

The 150th there.

Bob Mahoney

Company B

150th Combat Engineer Battalion

Chapter 2: Joining the War

In late June we were called into Plymouth port for the Channel crossing. The advance party moved out and a week later the main body. Things were relatively quiet on the beaches by this time and when the Navy landing craft beached there remained some 200 to 300 feet of water to dry land. No seaman, and concerned with off-loading of the heavy equipment, the battalion executive officer hailed a passing DUKW, went ashore and ordered a dozer to build a ramp to the ship. Despite the operator’s enjoinder that when the tide went out the ship would be high and dry, the ramp was prepared. Sure enough, when unloading started a few hours later even the ship’s screw was dry.

We were just settling down, near dawn in one of the hedgerow-bordered fields of Normandy when a German recon aircraft set off a most spectacular July 4th fireworks display of anti-aircraft incendiaries and airbursts—from us to them.

The next few weeks were spent in widening and maintaining roads and bridges and in maintaining trafficability in the many supply dumps of the beachhead area. One memorable event was when a petroleum dump fire evoked the alarming cry of Gas! which spread among the tightly-packed million or more men in record time and brought on a scramble for that cumbersome appendage—but just then appreciated—the gas mask, which was not needed anyway.

Then there was the bombing attack softening for the Normandy breakout. An awesome sight—those Air Force B-17s and B-24s, wave after wave in groups of three, nine and twenty-seven, almost blackening the sky. An occasional airburst would start one pulling away or heading down with white puffs of opening parachutes, some not opening.

In early August, as St. Lo fell, the same Van Atta came in one afternoon reporting good news and other. The good news—he was being transferred to First Army Staff and that Patton’s Third Army is becoming operational and the battalion with you in command is assigned to XX Corps of that Army. You are to hit this I.P. at 1800 hours and head south toward Angers. Here’s our only Michelin map. Goodbye.

After an all-night convoy trek marked by an occasional effort to arouse some hesitant French to help define our position, we settled down in a Brittany apple orchard. No sooner settled than a half-track with machine gunners fore and aft and one later known as the legendary and aptly-named Terrible Tom, the Corps Engineer, made an appearance. Are you in charge here?

Yes, sir.

Send five trucks back to Normandy. Get mines and explosives and head on toward Angers. Clear all road debris and if I see one tank, gun, truck or horse that projects more than six inches onto the pavement, you are relieved.

Yes, sir. Thus ended the first day with Patton’s Army.

Now to find empty trucks. The last cleared was loaded with drums and bugles, scrounged in England by the battalion commander’s effective effort at esprit enhancement. Have often imagined the chagrin of some French farmer having as his legacy of the war a truck load of drums and bugles under his favorite apple tree. But on with the action.

Moving south we removed the debris of war from the road—trucks, tanks, guns, an occasional well-splattered horse artillery element, patching craters, removing mines and disposing of abatis (fallen road side trees)—and on to our first action under fire at Angers.

Fortunately a surprise infantry effort resulted in the capture of a railroad bridge across the Mayenne River, though not without casualties as noted by the sight of bodies with 5th Infantry Division patches on the typical back-to-the-surface drowned and floating men. This capture took some pressure off the ensuing but under fire floating bridge and two Bailey (steel panel) bridges. This bridging was the first of what was to be an approximate total of two miles of bridging, in small increments, before reaching Czechoslovakia.

One sight at the railroad bridge was of a German security guard with head plastered by his blood to the abutment as he rested, apparently by a rifle butt.

We had several nervous days in the area while out-posting as the infantry moved on with no attack, however, as the Germans had apparently decided to head for the Fatherland.

Getting back into the mainstream we moved through La Ferte Bernard and Le Mans to Chartres, with the only action en route construction of two fixed wooden bridges. The view and visit to the famed cathedral was marred, however, by word that a young XX Corps staff colonel had just been killed by a sniper from atop.

At a breathing spell all ten or twelve battalion commanders were called into the command post of the same Terrible Tom and among other things were lectured on the merits of the chain of command.

It is the lifeblood of any organization. Never tell a platoon leader what’s to be done. Take it through the company commander. He has to know what is going on.

Then: I want to see all your supply officers here at ten tomorrow morning. All this in the absence of our intermediate commanders.

The next memorable stop was east of Paris in the Fontainebleau Forest awaiting General De Gaulle’s entry into Paris. Heretofore we had conformed to U.S. teachings and had bivouacked in the fields away from any habitation, but this time, with a pattern set by others, the chateau grounds were too tempting. No sooner were we settled than an invitation was received for all officers to dine at the manor house. Our host was an elderly Marquis whose delight at the departure that morning of the Germans prompted the Marquessa to dig up some champagne, buried the four years of their occupation of the manor. Needless to say, a delightful meal was laid out and the typical French hospitality was extended several more days with C rations going into the kitchen door and, Voila, near exquisite dinners on the table. Despite a reported ancestry from Ferdinand de Lesseps, of Panama Canal fame, word was out that the hostess had bicycled some twenty miles to Nemours to supplement the C ration meals.

Paris had been partially evacuated of many women and children in expectation of being devastated. Some had moved into nearby institutional buildings and were happy to accept an invitation to dine. With the children abed, the social amenities aside from the gustatory were highly stimulating. Not much action but happy.

From here we went through Rheims, bivouacking with care in the still pock-marked battlefields of World War I, Epernay, where we sampled some of the product, Verdun, and onto the Moselle River with its far side Maginot Line, now facing us. En route we lost our Lt. P., captured, and his driver KIA by an intruding German ambush.

Supporting the 7th Armored Division as it butted the Maginot Line was no delight. Here, among others, is where Terrible Tom got what was called in some circles the Million Dollar wound, but not by him, during determined and often personal efforts to take out Fort Driant. There were no tears in our eyes either when, in a realignment of forces we were transferred to the adjoining XII Corps, though there were some two months later when the bodies of three of our reported missing in action were found alongside the battlements of the same fort, only just then captured.

While crossing France, largely in support of the infantry, our morale was buoyed by the high good spirits and occasional hand-out of goodies by the populace. Rations were