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MEMORIAL    MILITARY    MUSEUM,   INC.

Newsletter,   July  2008-2009

LIBERTY SHIP ARMED GUARD
By Robert “Dick” Fitz
Gunners Mate Second Class
U.S Navy, World War II
As told to John Denehy

In the summer of 1942 after graduation from high school, I enlisted in the United States Navy. They called me up in January of 1943, and I was sent to boot camp at Sampson, New York.  After completion of boot camp, five hundred of us new graduates were sent to Brooklyn, New York, and we were told that we were going to be navy armed guard gunners on merchant ships.  I asked, “ If that’s the case, when do we go to gunnery school?”  We were told not to worry; we would learn all we needed to know on the job.  It was obvious to us that the navy needed a lot of armed guards in a hurry.  We were put on an old cargo ship that was loaded to the gills and as the ship was sailing out of Philadelphia, we went aground at Chester.  We were immediately reassigned to a brand new Liberty ship, the SS George Weems.

 Our new home was like a palace compared to our previous ship.  At that time, Liberty ships were being rapidly mass-produced on both coasts and along the Gulf. Two thousand and fifty one Liberty ships were built between 1941 and 1945.  They were needed by our merchant marine to ship war equipment and supplies overseas and to help replace British cargo ships which had been sunk earlier in the war by German U-Boats.  The ships were not riveted.  Instead, large prefabricated segments were welded together to speed up the ship building process.  It seemed that they could build a new ship in one day.  In actuality, the average amount of time to build a liberty ship was 42 days.  When President Roosevelt launched the SS Patrick Henry, he cited the patriot’s speech, “Give me Liberty or give me death,” hence the name “Liberty Ship.”  The ships were built to last about five years.  There are two Liberty ships I know of which are floating museums and are still in excellent shape after more than sixty years. Our mission was to get a load of cargo safely overseas to the war zones which could be anywhere in the world.  Even if we were sunk on the return trip, it would be the opinion of the high command that, as long as the supplies had been delivered, the voyage was a success despite the loss of the ship.  No doubt, we were expendable.

 There were 28 U.S. Navy armed guards on board our ship.  Our commanding officer was Lieutenant Henry Geer from New York.  He was an outstanding, well-liked navy officer.  The merchant marine crew averaged about fifty crewmen.  They handled everything that had anything to do with running the ship.  We got along very well with the merchant marine sailors on our ship.  A good bunch of guys, but we were billeted separately from them.  Six of us were berthed in the port forecastle - approximately in the middle of the ship so that we would be close to our assigned guns that were located on or near the bridge or on the bow.  The bad news about our compartment would be that it was the most popular aiming point for German U-Boats.  The rest of the armed guard were berthed in the stern section where they could quickly man the guns located there.  We had our own mess hall and the food was very good.  The only problem was that we had very little variety when it came to meat.  When we took provisions aboard, our food was loaded tightly into freezers and packed in vertical layers. The cooks had to wade their way through the food lockers and take whatever popped up in front of them.  As a result we would get chicken for a couple of weeks at a time and then the next run would be pork, etc.

 We made our first trip across the Atlantic to Liverpool, England.  There we experienced our first taste of the war in the form of buzz bombs.  Following our third voyage to England, we returned to Brooklyn, New York where our ship was to be heavily insulated.  Then we were issued all kinds of navy Arctic clothing that included parkas, gloves and woolen facemasks.  There was no doubt that we would be going to a very cold part of the world.  Sure enough, when we went over to the pier we could see tons of equipment with Russian writing on it being loaded on our ship.  They had everything you can think of, planes, tanks, trucks, foodstuffs etc.  We now knew that we would be making the notorious Murmansk run which was one of the most hazardous places to be during World War II. 

 We left New York in a big convoy and got over to the north coast of Scotland where we laid up for two or three days in Loch Ewe.  We were trying to find out what was going on.  Finally ten major surface warships of the Royal Navy showed up, and then we left for Murmansk, Russia.  The warships were going to follow our convoy from a distance and we were going to be the bait to try to draw out the German battle cruiser Scharnhorst. The Scharnhorst was hiding in one of the Norwegian fiords in the area of the North Cape.  We were off the coast of Norway when we ran into a humungous storm.  I had never seen waves like that.  It was the second week of December 1943, and the waves were hammering us to pieces.  It was the worst storm I experienced in all my years in the navy.  The raging sea was blowing us off course by at least ten miles.  The British battle fleet was a day and a half behind us.  We pulled watch around the clock, two hours on and two hours off.  When we went out to our gun tubs, everything would be covered with ice.  We chipped ice almost all the time.  We were cold, wet and miserable and our lieutenant would not let us stay out there a second more than two hours.  Sometimes he pulled us in sooner.  About this time, a German reconnaissance plane was detected approaching our convoy.  Our commanding officer felt that this was as good a time as any to show off our anti-aircraft guns.  The ship was equipped with one three-inch bow gun and two 37-millimeter bow guns.  We also had one five-inch stern gun and another six 20-millimeter machine guns scattered around the ship’s bridge area.  I was the gun captain of one of the 20-millimeter machine guns.  We opened up with everything we had and filled the sky around the plane with anti-aircraft explosions.  That was enough for German pilot and he flew away.  Editor’s note:  The reconnaissance plane reported Dick’s convoy as being made up of troop ships preparing to invade Norway.  This report prompted the German Navy commanders to order the Scharnhorst to attack the convoy.

 After we arrived safely in Murmansk, we found out that the fleet had indeed flushed out the Scharnhorst and sunk the ship after a major sea battle in gale force conditions on Christmas Day 1943.  The German battle cruiser went down in the icy sea and the British picked up only 36 German sailors out of a crew of 1900.  A serious threat to our merchant ships had been eliminated.  While our ship was docked in Murmansk, we saw some of the British cruisers and destroyers that had been in the battle come into the harbor for repairs.  Some of them were badly damaged with gun emplacements blown totally away and other major damage.  All the ships were flying a black flag, which meant that they had dead sailors aboard who were pinned in the wreckage.  We were anchored in Murmansk harbor for about two or three days where we endured two German air attacks.  The ship next to us took a direct hit in the number three hold and sank in the harbor mud.  It was a miracle that the bomb killed no one.

 Because of the threat of more German air attacks, we were ordered to pull up our anchor and follow two Russian icebreakers, the Lenin and the Stalin, out of Murmansk and south through the White Sea to Archangel.  We had to travel through ice that was at least three feet thick.  When we got to Archangel, there was another Liberty ship at one of the piers.  The tugs were pushing us towards the pier without realizing that ice was beginning to jam our rudder.  We were pushed into the other ship and sustained some significant damage to our bow.  A Russian repair party was summoned and they welded some steel plates to our damaged bow.  The repairs took about a month.  We were surprised to see that, for the most part, Russian women were unloading our ship’s cargo.  They wore heavy coats, boots and babushka kerchiefs.  Their faces were reddened from the cold.  When it was mealtime, a male supervisor brought them a piece of black bread with some kind of cheese on top.  They were given a short period of time to eat, and then it was back to work.

 Archangel was a cold and miserable place to be with long, dark nights and short, cold days.  We were getting bored out of our minds with nothing to do, so we organized a softball game and played a game out on the ice.  The Russians thought we were crazy.  We were greatly restricted as to where we could go when off duty.  There were Mongol soldiers with burp guns who guarded the supplies and warehouses in the port area.  They shot a Russian thief while we were there.  The Mongols were big, unfriendly guys.  They were known to shoot first and ask questions later.  I remember that they smelled like fish.  Our lieutenant told us to avoid them and not to upset them in any way.  Sometimes we went into Archangel for liberty.  It was an empty, drab city with few stores.  There were annoying loud speakers on utility poles which blared propaganda messages throughout the day.  We would go to a club that was set up to serve Americans.  We could buy woodcarvings, pins and other handicrafts there for almost nothing.  I still have a pile of Russian souvenirs at home that I bought there. When we finally sailed away, we by-passed Murmansk and traveled through U-boat infested waters south to Belfast, Northern Ireland where we had our repaired bow reinforced with concrete.   The Irish people sent out a barge that was loaded with lots of fresh milk, fruit and vegetables.  What an improvement that food was to our diet, especially the fresh milk.  Previously, all we had was canned condensed milk or powdered milk.

 From Belfast we set sail for the Mediterranean and continued our operations in that theater of war.  I never had to make the Murmansk Run again.  Between 1941 and 1945, 79 Liberty Ships and other types of cargo ships were sunk by U-boats and Luftwaffe planes off the coast of Norway with heavy loss of life.  Some ships went down with no survivors.  For those poor souls there was no hope of survival.  An agonizing death within minutes in freezing water would be their fate.  I had been one very lucky guy indeed.  In my remaining years in the navy, I sailed on every ocean, set foot on every continent except Antarctica, crossed the equator, prime meridian, and Arctic Circle, and saw action in every war theater.  I was in Naples, Italy on VE Day and Saipan on VJ Day.  As the saying goes, “Join the navy and see the world.”   On May 11, 1993, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the Russian Consulate in New York City.  The letter contained a message from President Boris Yeltsin thanking me for being part of the Allied support of his country during the Great Patriotic War against Nazi Germany.  The letter included a beautiful Russian Commemorative Medal. Along with my American Medals, I am also very proud off my Russian medal.
080724

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Newsletter,   September 2007-2008


FEATURED  MILITARY  ARTICLE:
The following story was donated to the museum by the late Alfred Greenleaf. Al was a decorated World War II veteran who served during the Italian Campaign as a T/Sgt. with H Company, 87 th Infantry, 10th Mountain Division. The author is unknown. The 10th Mountain Division is still in existence and is presently defending our freedom battling the Taliban and other terrorists in the mountains of Afghanistan. The wars may change, but the miserable conditions of mountain warfare are, in many ways, still the same.

THE  VICTORY  DRIVE
Author - Unknown Soldier of the 10th Mountain Division
Edited by  JOHN  DENEHY,  Memorial Military Museum, Inc.

Typical weather conditions during the winter in northern Italy: it was cold enough to make you miserable, but not cold enough to turn the slush underfoot to ice. You slipped and swore.  It was dark, but not dark enough. You were under Jerry observation and you could not smoke or talk to lift your spirits. It was wet and it was snowing and raining at the same time, but it was not enough to stop the war. It was strange and grew stranger as you approached the front lines. You were leaving the main highway and were going into the lines for the first time: date February 3rd, 1945, in the Apennines of Italy.

Soldier thinks back to where it all began for him
You remember now what had gone on before to prepare you and take you to this place - Fort Lewis, Camp Hale, Kiska, Camp Swift, Fort Patrick Henry. You remember boarding the U.S.S. West Point and leaving the States for "destination unknown." You remember crossing the Atlantic while being seasick and trying to eat and keep down poor chow. You remember trying to sleep on smelly "D"  deck where two men occupied the same one-man space, and the forbidden, but enjoyable, crap games and the Wacs on board ship you connived to meet. These things and places go through your mind, although your mind should be on Jerry and your next step.

You had disembarked at Naples  where you were jammed into freight cars which headed for another mysterious destination. You passed by the battle-scarred ruins of Cassino - a prelude to what you can expect to undergo. You saw historic Rome where you drank forbidden wine. You arrived at Leghorn and saw the leaning Tower of Pisa. From there you were loaded into trucks which headed for another unknown place. Suddenly you heard that you are going up to the front lines. Now you are sweating and swearing as you slip and stumble while moving forward, adjusting your equipment and peering ahead into the darkness.

Arrival on the front lines
You relieve company "M" of the 86th Regiment ... Your quarters are some Italian farm houses, not only smelling of cow dung but of human dung and the residue of filth accumulated during months of warfare. You black out the buildings and try to rest, awaking in the morning to the task of cleaning up the mess. There is little to cheer you up - only confidence in yourself, your comrades and your faith in the U.S.A.

Germans occupy the high ground
You are to occupy and rebuild gun positions to begin your assault on the enemy by firing into his various lairs in the Viaiciatico and Querciola (Coca-Cola) sector. Jerry is looking right down on you from Mt. Belvedere. He haqs the advantage. He shoots back using his 88s and everything else in his arsenal. The papers back home report the exchange of fire "Only slight patrol activity and artillery duels on the Italian front."  You are being baptized in fire and death, just "slightly."  All this activity transpired in the miserable snow, rain, and bitter cold. On February 19th you jump off supporting the 2nd Battalion's rifleman to drive, with other units, to Mt. Belvedere, key to the Apennines and our advance ...

Battle for Mt. Belvedere
There are a few million land mines blocking your path and enemy snipers concealed behind every rock. The weather turns good and the soil is good for digging foxholes. It could be more difficult and deadly. Jerry has done his best to make his position impregnable. You do better than Jerry. You take with your flesh your part of the mountain on February 21st. You loose Corporal Hollingworth who is killed near Polia. You know all the while when you assault this fortress that it will be the first of many. The jagged Apennines peaks stretch endlessly up and beyond Mt. Belvedere, and you know that you will have to hit them all.

A Brazilian unit comes up on line to relieve us on February 25th. You can take a break and prepare for the next job. The break, as all breaks are, is a happy one, but all too short. Vidiciatico is a nice town. You do a great deal of sleeping and drinking, take baths and see movies. It is a good week, ... the calm before the storm.

You are going into position after 8 hours of heavy enemy shelling and intense waiting in the fog and cold. On March 3rd, we will be supporting the 3rd Battalion, afterwards supporting the 2nd Battalion. You are moving up and over ridges and hills, over Mt. Castello and down the ridge line of Mt. Vella de Vetta, repositioning your mortars and machine guns minute by minute as you advance. You continue your fire on through the night under barrage of enemy artillery and mortar return fire. It was another one of those "duels" the papers back home would write about. The air is full of hot lead and death, and you are full of fear and cold. Foxholes do not seem to be good protection from the shelling which covers almost every foot of ground, and a foxhole certainly does not protect you from the cold. You tremble and sleep is impossible. You wish it was daylight.

Victory in battle and German prisoners
The next day some of you are given the unglamorous task of mule-leaders in order to bring supplies over the rugged hills for the battalion... The company jumps off over two miles of exposed terrain in support of the battalion's riflemen to capture Hill 962. The ground is covered with dead and wounded men, burning vehicles and the air is filled with dust. This is the reality of war. These are the things you will remember. The great happiness of victory is tempered with death and blood. On a lighter note, you can chuckle now when you see the German prisoner who is losing his pants while being forced to keep his hands over his head by an American prisoner guard. The GI is chewing out the German with a poor command of the German language causing the prisoner to loose his superiority complex. Victory is real.  The prisoners you take in great numbers are real. You have taken Hill 962 and the regimental objective of Castel di Aiana and Mt. Della di Croce.

You take time to care for your wounded. You are tired. The weight of the mortar and machine gun you have carried on your back during the fighting has exhausted your body and your nerves. There is no celebration. You want only to sleep. You can not relax in the company of a beautiful signorina, or enjoy some cognac or vino. All civilians are gone from the battle zone. You desire and deserve more, but Tedeschi  "tutti portato via", so you sleep in your foxhole to the sound of crashing German artillery.

The morning after the night's rest bring up the question, "What today?"  You rest as much as possible and you wonder. But rest is not to be because our artillery rocks your spot on earth. The shelling continues for three days and it seems like you are on the front lines. However the 3rd Battalion of the 86th Regiment is on the front along with the 2nd Battalion which went up as a relief. Their next move will be to go to Montecatini for a rest and your question is, "When do we go to relieve them?"

Back on the line
You relieve the 3rd Battalion on March 8th by passing through a road crossing at Canovecchia. We call it "Shrapnel Junction" because Jerry has the crossing zeroed in and is plastering it. You live through the Junction, but Lt. Baker is hit and killed by a Jerry mortar shell as he is moving up  to a mortar O.P. in front of Montese. You are eight days on the line where we pound them and they pound us. The weather is sunny for a change, and some of the guys, despite the risk, leave their foxholes to take a sun bath. Jerry is above you in the Montese where he can dominate us. You are hurting, and it is another period of "routine shelling being reported on the Italian front" which consists of Jerry's 88s, mortars. You have to live in foxholes and eat  "C" rations. This is going on night and day. Sleep is sketchy and baths are only a dream.

Rest and relaxation in the town of Montecatini
It is the routine that you were bucking for - a rest in Montecatini. It is a good deal filled with delights such as very bella signorinas riding their bicycles, staying in hotels, eating "B" rations, ultra-soft army cots, hot baths, cognac, vino, champagne, vermouth and the smiles of the signorinas. Life is wonderful and you are enjoying it thoroughly. There is a lot more to this town than its world-famous sulfur baths. You study the Italian language - words such as Quanto Coste? Dove casa? Buono giorno, Buono sera, etc. You figured it is going to be a long stay in Italy. You recall your missing comrades who were lost in the battles in which you had participated, and you wonder how you were able to endure and survive 37 days on the line. There are too many bull sessions with your buddies when you should be resting. You are more tired from the rest than you would have been had you been training strenuously. Now you can look back and actually see some humor which happened in combat and which did not seem humorous at the time.

The final push
April 14th, 1945, opens with beautiful weather. The sun is shinning and the skies are a clear blue. The Apennines and Mt. Della Spe are literally sparkling in the morning light. In peace time this would be a fine day. You are well prepared. A General Order of the Day from Field Marshall Alexander of the British Army conveys to us the momentous job ahead. We are to vanquish the German forces in Italy with one sweep. The whole valley around you is filled with military equipment and supplies. The peaceful air you breathe is actually charged with the electricity of the coming combat. You check your weapons and ammo. Our tanks began to growl into position and our heavy artillery jockeys forward. Mules and Alpine mule skinners attached themselves to your platoons. For the previous six days the Jerrys were hit with artillery fire, and our P-47 fighter bombers pounded them with bombs and napalm. There had been several delays to the big offensive, but you can smell that the order to begin the big push is imminent.

Finally the order comes and we take off to annihilate completely Nazi power in Italy. We storm the formidable mountains which are fortified with the enemy's mine fields, artillery, machine gun fire and snipers. To break German might you have to hurdle natural obstacles and man-made ones as well. The 87th Infantry spearheads the 5th Army's dash while leading the rest of the 10th Mountain Division. Your fire and fury breaks a link in the Nazi's Apennine chain. The hills and villages began to fall to our advance. The day is memorable because of "Hell's Corner," a name we gave the area consisting of hills 903, 840, 847 and the village of Torri Lussi, all of which are our first day's objective. We certainly see hell there. When night comes, you dug in. Sleep is impossible. People don't sleep when the earth is rocking from artillery concussions and when you need to keep one eye open. A comrade, Clarence Lynn, is killed by artillery while descending Mt. Della Spe. We tend to our wounded, and replacements join us to fill our vacant ranks. The moon-less night is stabbed everywhere and every minute by gun flashes, tracers and flares. Nobody worries about chow this night.  Just being alive is a miracle in itself, a kind of spiritual food.

On the next day, April 15th, you reposition mortars and machine guns time after time. You are constantly on the move running, sweating, climbing, then stumbling and falling down. You fight up and down seven more mountains, Mt. Pigna, Mt. Sette Croci, Hill 834, Hill 766, Hill 807, Hill 802 and Mt. Le Coste. You are cheered up when it is reported that the whole 5th army is in motion. You take more prisoners and then dig in for the night. On the 16th, you received direct support from tanks and tank destroyers. You would like to cheer them on but you are much too busy. Battalion riflemen are riding on top of the tanks as they churn up the dust. The Germans are laying down a smoke screen to hide their retreat. You help knock off San Trinita, Mt Croce, C. Bacucchi, Hill 753 and the battle-flattened town of Tolei. The Po River is ten air miles away. You sleep very little that night.

The next morning brings the attack on Mt. Serra and the village of S. Prospero. Our left flank is exposed and Nazi artillery from both our front and from the left flank pour it on us. Fred Anetsberger and Lester Allison are killed on the approach to Mt. Serra. With the capture of Mt. Serra a good roadway became available to our advance. Fatigue hangs like a cloud. You remain in position over the 18th and still take artillery fire from the exposed left flank which kills Corporal  "Tex" Dalton while he is manning his mortar. Enemy aircraft strafe our position this night. Luckily, the Luftwaffe inflicts no casualties or damage. The air attack only disturbed our relative peace. We are loaded into trucks and head for Mariano and renew the attack on Lavino and the Samoggia River in the Monte San Pietro sector. The push on the 20th takes you to the promised land, the Po River Valley. Now the geography will no longer be against you. We can really put together a big drive.

The end of the campaign seems to be in sight. If Jerry couldn't stop you in the mountains, how can he stop you in the valleys? Jerry throws everything he has at us, but the towns of Tomba and San Bucca fall to our advance. The Po Valley is blanketed with haze, but you can see the green, fertile farmland. It is going to be strange fighting on flat land, but strange in a nice way. The region looks like a giant garden, though not a peaceful one because there are tanks battles going on. You ride in trucks and civilians welcome you everywhere with flowers, food and wine. The road is littered with Jerry equipment and there are long lines of German prisoners, some are unescorted. The date is April 22nd. When we reach the Po River itself we meet renewed Jerry resistance. Our high spirits sink when we are hit by Jerry artillery, bazooka rockets and planes. Even though the banks of the Po is bristling with enemy opposition, you knew that the river had to be crossed and there are no bridges left standing. On April 23rd, we have to cross the Po in assault boats which are jammed to the gunwales. Prior to embarking we are under a hail of air-bursting shrapnel which kills Ed Ringlein. You pray as the boats inched across the river, hoping not to be killed or wounded. Many are getting wounded.

A bridgehead is established at Camatta in spite of the enemy's opposition. You are up against a new Nazi tactic, snipers dressed in civilian clothes. The bridgehead is held until the engineers erect a bridge and our tanks come across as the Division's advance continues. We depart in a cloud of dust on captured German vehicles, which come in handy. German soldiers surrender as they are met. There is a halt for two nights at Bagnola San Vito to clean up the rear, but generally the road to Verona from the Po is a swirl of duct and rapid advancement. Outside Verona Jerry is now setting up road blocks with artillery and tank fire, but these are mere annoyances and we clear them away. You head for Lake Garda's eastern shore. Hills and mountains are ahead of you. Now the mountains are the mighty Alps which are greater than the Apennines and tower out of sight. Again Jerry digs in and more road blocks and snipers have to be cleaned out. On April 28th, you took an old wagon trail up to Mad Della Neve after dark. You pass over a treacherous ridge to the highway below in an effort to trap Germans who are re treating to Austria. The Jerries are disorganized and beaten. They offer only token resistance and oppose you in small, halfhearted groups.

You proceed to Toree Del Beaco on Lake Garda where you await ordersto advance towards the Brenner Pass. You will be against an Alpine fortress, the redoubt of Hitler, a seemingly unconquerable task. You sweat and wait. On May 2nd, 1945, your war in Italy ends. The news hits like a thunderclap, a pleasant one which seems to be too good to be true. It takes some time for you to digest the news and believe it. But it is official. Gradually you relax and sleep with out nightmares. You sleep without artillery and mortar fire. You sleep like a baby. You sleep in peace.
 

RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  THOSE  WHO  MADE  THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE

FRANK P. BAKER
ANDREW L. DALTON, JR.
JOHN HOLLINGSWORTH
LESTER L. ALLISON
FRED J. ANETSBURGER
CLARENCE W. LINN, JR.
EDWARD J. RINGLEIN
071015

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Newsletter,   September 2006-2007

NEW  ACQUISITIONS:
S/Sgt. Christopher Sharry and SFG Greg Lebeau have donated a variety of captured war souvenirs which they obtained while serving with Bristol's Company C in Bagdad.  S/Sgt. Sharry also donated a photo of Specialist 4 Robert Hoyt of Company C who was killed while on duty in Iraq. Some of these items are now on display at the Bristol Historical Society where we have our summer traveling display. Mr. & Mrs. Leonard Kowalski have donated the army uniform and locker box of S/Sgt. Charles Sakowski who served with the 43rd Division during WW II. Gary Wyrebeck, a Vietnam War marine veteran, donated a copy of the Bristol Press Extra which came out when Japan surrendered in 1945. Emily and Norman Taillon donated US Navy souvenirs which were accumulated by Maurice Taillon during World War II. Rocky Cipriano, a navy veteran, has donated a small piece of the flight deck of the USS Valley Forge. Rocky was a plank owner of the ship (original member of the crew), and the piece was sent to him when the ship was scrapped in 1971.

FEATURED  MILITARY  ARTICLE:
Clarence Hultman of Bristol shares with us his experiences as a World War II B-17 bomber pilot. Clarence flew a B-17 across the Atlantic Ocean via the northern route to the 8th Air Force which was located in England.  U.S. aircrafts made the dangerous journey many times during World War II.  Fortunately, losses were very minimal despite the ever-changing dangerous weather conditions and, by today's standards, primitive navigational equipment available to air crews.


ACROSS THE  ATLANTIC  OCEAN  IN  A  B-17  BOMBER
By  CLARENCE  "Clancy" HULTMAN, Second Lieutenant,
 600th Sqd.,  398th  Bomb  Group
As told to  JOHN  DENEHY,  MEMORIAL  MILITARY  MUSEUM  INC.

In late March, 1945, my combat-ready crew and I picked up a brand new B-17G bomber at Hunter Army Air Field in Savannah, Georgia. From Georgia we were to proceed to England where we would join up with the Eight Air Force. Before departure, we did a number of night training flights to sharpen up our celestial navigation and other navigation skills which would be needed by both myself and the navigator. Being the pilot of the plane, I would do most of the flying. I often kid about my copilot. I said he was along for the ride, and his main duty was to operate the landing gear and the flaps. All kidding aside, I needed him often to relieve me while we were making long flights. We were about to make the longest flight of our lives. I was twenty-two and he was twenty. There were seven other crew members besides myself.

Our first destination was the airfield located at Fort Dix, New Jersey (now called McGuire Air Force Base) where we refueled. I can't remember if we stayed over night. Our next destination was Grenier Army Air Base located in Manchester, New Hampshire. Our route would take us right over Hartford, Connecticut which is only seventeen miles from my hometown - an excellent opportunity to divert a bit from my flight plan. Before leaving Fort Dix, I called my sister and gave her the approximate time I would be over my hometown to say goodbye. We were about two thousand feet high at the most when I flew over Bristol. I easily knew where I was because I could read "Bristol" which was written in big letters on the roof of Sessions Foundry. Coming in from the west, I banked left and went down South Street buzzing Dunbar's where I had worked before leaving for the service. I banked left again and flew over Page Park and up to Vanderbuilt Road, Jennings School, and Birge Pound. I finally flew over my home on Concord Street while rocking the wings at my family who were all out on the front lawn waving at the plane.  Among the family members were my parents, my sister, my fiancée and even my dog.

Interviewer's note  - Clancy Hultman wasn't the first military airman to buzz Bristol during World War II.  Warren "Gus" Beach did it a number of times in a P-47 Thunderbolt, and Phil Rokota, a bombardier in a B-17, did it on his way to Europe. Phil persuaded his pilot to let him have a last look at his home town.  He dropped a note to his family.  Eventually both airmen were shot down over Europe and would spend many months as prisoners of war.

From Bristol we headed north to Grenier Army Air Base near Manchester, New Hampshire. We stayed there for a couple of nights and then departed for Goose Bay, Labrador, a distance of 569 miles. It was late March, but the winter was still well entrenched at Goose Bay. It was cold and there was snow everywhere.

Interviewer's note  - The hazards of flying in this desolated area can perhaps be best illustrated by the tragedy which befell a B-26 crew from the 319th Bomb Group in December 1942. The B-26 got lost in bad weather on a flight from Greenland to Goose Bay when the radio direction finder went dead and the navigator made an error in the heading he gave the pilot. The plane ran out of gas, and the pilot crash-landed on the coast north of Cape Skaglet. The whole crew survived the crash without a scratch. They managed to survive for almost two months on the plane's skimpy emergency rations before they eventually starved to death. They did not know that they were only fifteen miles from an Eskimo village. Several members of the crew attempted to find help by using the plane's life raft, but they were never heard from again. No attempt was made by the rest of the crew to walk out because of the snow and barren landscape. They hoped and prayed that a search plane would find them and they thought that they would have a better chance of being spotted if they stayed near the plane.

After we arrived at Goose Bay, the base commander requested that one of our crew members join him for dinner. Cpl John Swords, one of our gunners and occasionally a bomb togglier (bombardier) was the lucky guy. John's father and the base commander were old buddies back in civilian life. Being that we had time on our hands, we went ice fishing. What a job it was to try to chop a hole in that ice. The ice must have been about four feet thick. I had chopped a hole which was about three or four feet wide at the top and only about six inches wide at the water level. Used a hand line and caught a beautifully colored salmon. All that work for nothing because the fish was only about six inches in length, so I threw it back in. We finally got clearance and departed for our next stop Bluie West 1 which was a steel-planked runway located at the end of a long fiord on the southeast coast of Greenland.  This would be a distance of about seven hundred plus miles. We were about two hours away from our destination when the radio operator received a message instructing us to return to Goose Bay because the base in Greenland was obscured by bad weather.  However a B-17 which had taken off ahead of us landed at Bluie West 1 in perfectly clear weather.  We wondered if we had been misled by English-speaking Germans who had access to our radio traffic. I made a 180 degree turn and headed back to Goose Bay as the weather quickly began to deteriorate. What a long day that was. We made our landing approach into Goose Bay in the middle of a heavy snow storm.  Finally we could see two black objects on the ground surrounded by snow. They were jeeps which were parked there so we could see the beginning of the runway. Thank you Goose Bay for your help. In another day or two we departed again for Bluie West 1.  Making a landing at Bluie West 1 necessitated following a radio beam to a fiord which would lead us to the runway. We were about eight hundred feet high, and there were steep mountains on both sides of the fiord. I had to really concentrate because there were two fiords near each other and you could easily get them mixed up, especially in poor visibility. There were also landmarks, one of which was an old, half-sunken ship, another clue which helped us to know that we were following the right fiord to the runway. We had previously received detailed instructions at Goose Bay to help us navigate into Bluie West 1. The instruction included a very good training film which also helped to make my approach little easier. We landed on a steel runway which ran up hill. Up hill when you land and down hill when you take off. There was a glacier a few miles off the end of the runway and mountains in every direction you looked. We followed a jeep over to our parking place.

From Bluie West 1 we flew to Reykjavik Iceland, a distance of about seven hundred and seventy-six miles. After a brief layover we departed on the last leg of our journey to Valley, Wales which was a long flight of about 850 miles. From Whales we flew to a large airplane storage depot in England where newly arrived planes from the U.S. would be assigned to the various groups located throughout East Anglia. I was directed to taxi the bomber right up close to another B-17. There wasn't more than a foot or two away from me and the other plane. There were hundreds of planes packed on the airfield, mostly B-17s and B-24s. That was the last I saw of the new plane I brought over. Ultimately, we ended up as a replacement crew assigned to the 600th Squadron, 398th Bomb Group, First Air Division. Our base was located at Nuthampstead, England.

I flew five combat missions before the war in Europe ended. Two of them were what we called "milk runs", like flak and no enemy fighter interceptors. The other three, to say the least, were frightening. My first mission was on April 10, 1945. Our target was a SS barracks in Oranienberg, Germany. I was flying in the lead squadron and my position was on the extreme right of the first  "V" element. We were on our bomb run when all of a sudden a ME-262 jet fighter came flashing down from above. First jet I ever saw. Man that plane was fast. He was firing 20mm shells into Lt. McAfee's B-17 which was in the second element on my extreme left. I only caught a glimpse of the action out of the corner of my eye, but I could tell that the bomber was badly hit and was on fire. Lt McAfee's bomber went into a dive, leveled off for a brief moment and then blew up. Only four crewman managed to bail out. The copilot, Lt Don Jones, like me, was on his first mission. He and four others were killed. I believe that our escorting P-51s later shot down the jet.

On April 13, 1945, Friday the 13th, I flew my second mission. This time the target was an ammo dump at Bad Klenen, Germany. We were told that there would be no flak of enemy fighters - a milk run. The lead squadron was from the 601st Bomb Squadron. We in the 600th Squadron would be the low squadron. I was flying in the second element, 1st  "V", 2ndbomber on the left. Our target was changed while in flight to a railroad marshaling yard in Neumunster, near Hamburg. We dropped our bombs, but Lt. Palant's bombs were stuck and did not drop. All of a sudden they all went out. The bombs were "RDX" bombs which were unstable and dangerous and were not supposed to be salvoed. Shortly after the bombs fell away, they blew up. There was a tremendous orange-colored blast which set off a colossal concussion wave and sent shrapnel flying into almost every B-17 in the 601st Squadron. Crewmen were wounded, control cables were severed and fires were started. All of us were in shock. We could hardly believe our eyes. The force of the explosion threw on B-17 over on its back, cracked my copilot's windshield and rocked our plane. Badly damaged B-17s to the front of us were falling out of formation, a number of them on fire. I believe that we lost four or five bombers. Several crash landed and burned up. Other crews were parachuting out, but some never got out and perished. The war was in its final weeks, but I was starting to feel that, after my first two missions, I might not survive my tour with the Eight Air Force.

My fifth and final combat mission was the last mission flown by the 398th Bomb Group and the 8th Air Force in World War II. Our target was the Skoda Armament works in Pilsen, Czechoslovakia. The Russians were advancing into the area and we apparently did not want them to get such an industrial prize. The mission was an all-out effort which included our group as well as two others, the 91st and 381st. This was the only mission of the war where a warning was issued by allied radio as the bombers were in the air winging their way towards the target. This was done to warn the Czech workers in the factories. Many did leave their work and the loss of civilian lives was minimized. However that warning did give the German antiaircraft gunners plenty of time to get ready for us. We had been ordered to bomb visually, but the target was partially obscured by low clouds and we couldn't drop. The flak wasn't bad, but then we were ordered to turn back to the IP and make another bombing run. This time the flak was murderous. Our group last two B-17s. There were only three survivors from one of the bombers. Seven managed to bail out, but four of the crew were later executed by the German soldiers who had captured them. One of the gunners never got out and was killed in the crash. The other B-17 had one killed and the others were taken prisoner. There was a total of four bombers lost by the other groups. Four of our aircrafts received major flak damage and nineteen received minor damage, which included mine. One thing I learned about flak was that when it was black in color it was usually far enough away and wouldn't hurt you. But when it was orange in color, you better look out. After we made our "360", the ball turret gunner kept telling me that orange colored flak was following me close behind. They sure had our range and altitude. There were a small number of flak holes in the plane which we noticed after we landed eleven hours later. The war would be over in a little more than a week. My final "mission" was what we called  "trolley rides", a sight-seeing flight  over a number of devastated German cities so that the ground crews could see the results of their hard work. By the middle of May, I was piloting a B-17 on my way back across the Atlantic. My last stop was Bradley Field right here in good old Connecticut. What a wonderful sight. What a wonderful feeling.

Interviewer's note - Bradley Field was the first stop for hundreds of B-24 and B-17 bombers being flown back from England after V-E Day. Clancy"s group flew all their B-17s out of England within a two week period. As a ten-year-old boy, I can clearly remember seeing B-17s and B-24s flying right over my home at all hours of the day heading west. Every day was am air show. Within a month they stopped coming. Most of the bombers were flown to Kingman, Arizona, where there was a huge storage depot in the desert. Within a year or two, almost all the war birds were melted down to become aluminum ingots, pots and pans etc.

Interviewer's note - Clancy went home to Bristol, Connecticut on a well-deserved 30 day leave. After his leave, he reported back to the 398th which was then based in Tampa, Florida. He later was assigned to Boca Raton, Florida where there was on B-29. Those with the most hours in B-17s got the first shot at getting checked out and qualified to fly the Super fortress. The group was being prepared to be sent to the Pacific. Clancy continued to pile up additional hours in the B-17 to qualify for the B-29, but the atomic bomb made the B-29 transition no longer necessary. The war ended, and Clancy Hultman came home to stay as a married man with a family. He then went on to a long career with the Wallace Barnes Company.
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In Memoriam:  Our museum membership has been greatly sadden by the passing of Russ Herold and Tom Gage. Both Russ and Tom were World War II veterans of the Pacific Theater. Tom served as a defender of the Bataan and survived the infamous Bataan Death March and forty-one months as a prisoner of the Japanese. For many years, Tom was the author of a popular newsletter entitled "Philippine Notebook". Russ Herold served with the 20th Air Force, 500th Bomb Group, as a B-29 gunner and flight engineer. Russ's experience was the subject of one of our past museum newsletters. Several years ago the Confederate Air Force B-29  "FiFi"  paid a visit to East Hartford.  "FiFi" is the only B-29 in the world that still flies. I had the pleasure of bringing Russ over to see the plane. This was the first time he had seen a  B-29 since World War II. It turned out that Russ was the only visitor in attendance who actually had flown in a B-29 during World War II. A local T.V. station channel featured Russ on that evening's broadcast.  Our deepest sympathy to Marge Herold and her family and to Mrs. Gage and her family. These two gentlemen were truly members of the  "Greatest Generation".

Museum Acquisitions:   Member Earl Dube has donated a large, framed painting of the Battle if Chipyoung-Ni which took place in Korea in 1951. Earl's unit participated with great distinction in this battle. Mrs. Tish Dietz has donated a World War II Army uniform which was worn by her late father, Edward J. Quinn, and also a 77th Division mug which was owned by her uncle, Joseph Seger. Joseph Biron has donated a beautiful model of the destroyer U.S.S. Mulany. Joe served on the Mulany as the executive officer during the Korean War.

Featured Military Article:   Museum member Earl Dube shares with us his recollection of the Korean War. Earl was an artilleryman with the famous Second Infantry Division. The Second Division was one of the first American units to participate in the Korean War. 
 

WITH  THE  ARTILLERY  IN  KOREA
By EARL  DUBE
Corporal, Headquarters Battery, 37th Field Artillery, Second infantry Division, United States Army
As told to  JOHN  DENEHY,  MEMORIAL  MILITARY  MUSEUM  INC.

I enlisted in the Army in the autumn of 1949 shortly after graduating from high school. The job market was pretty tight, and I was ready for a little travel and adventure. I took my basic training at Fort Devens as well as some infantry training. In February of 1950, I reported to the 2nd Infantry Division at Fort Lewis, Washington. The Division was being brought up to strength, and I was one of thousands of new recruits from all over the country who were arriving on daily troop trains. Hundreds of us were assembled in a field and our names and assignments were called out : the assignment was  "infantry".  "Infantry, infantry,"  was all I was hearing. My name came up and then the word  "artillery !"  Why? I will never know.  The next day another train pulled in and on it was my friend Walt Depatra from Bristol CT.  Walt was also assign to artillery.  Walt went to a firing battery and I went to headquarters battery.  Again, I knew absolutely nothing about being an artilleryman. I really didn't know what to do, but they put me into a radar section. You know what? I got to be pretty good with the radar and I learned to distinguish little things like the difference between a tank and a truck.

On June 25, 1950, the Korean War broke out and things started to happen. I got orders to the Far East. No one else in the battery got any orders. Just me!  I was given a bunch of shots and a thirty-day leave. I was one unhappy guy because I was leaving my unit, my friends, and heading off to only God knows where as a replacement. Just as I was getting ready to go home, all leaves were cancelled. The entire 2nd Division had been alerted and was shipping out to Korea. Boy, I was sure happy that I was going to stay with my Division and buddies. Within three days we were loaded onto some ships and then sailed west across the Pacific. It took sixteen days to get to Korea, and I was sick as a dog almost every day. We were originally supposed to stop off in Japan for further training and combat preparation, but the situation in Korea was very bleak and reinforcements were desperately needed. UN forces had their backs to the sea and were dug in around the Pusan Perimeter. The thought of going into war didn't bother most of us because we were young and naive. We felt that we would have no problem kicking their butts.

On August 4, 1950, we arrived at Pusan. What a shock it was when we disembarked. I had never seen such poverty and the smell was absolutely overwhelming. It is hard to describe, a combination of oil fumes in with garbage and human excrement. After we formed up, we got into trucks and headed up to the front. I carried a M-1 carbine.  All of us were issued a lot of live ammunition for our weapons and we were sent out to provide perimeter defense. Our battery was going to augment a section of the 24th Division's line. They had been the very first US force sent in to Korea about a month before us and the Division had been badly mauled. My first night was a scary experience. Three of us were in a foxhole. We divided up the night so that one guy would stay awake for two hours while the other two slept. Sometime in the middle of the night, one of the other guys heard something moving around and opened up with his M-1. We all were now wide awake and shook up. It seemed to take forever until it was dawn and light enough to see what had happened.  Well, guess what? The guy had riddled a goat. The US Army was going to have to pay some farmer forty dollars for the damage.

It was not long before I saw my first death. Five of us were formed into a patrol, and were ordered to go up to the top of a nearby mountain and burn down a large farm building. Intelligence believed that the North Koreans were using the building as an observation post. We had a lieutenant and a radio man with us. On our way out we came upon a lone MP at a road junction who directed us to take a different trail because we were heading towards an infantry fire fight. We could hear the gunfire off in the distance which faded away as we climbed up the mountain. We were quite apprehensive of what might be awaiting us as we climbed up to the farm. We would have been easy targets. Thankfully no bad guys were there.

Let me tell you, the place was beautiful. It must have belonged to a very influential family. The building was a perfect model of a traditional Korean architecture with a tile roof which curved up. We walked all around and checked everything out. Intelligence was right. From this vantage point you could see the entire battalion and the location of all our field pieces. The house was loaded with oriental antiques, artifacts, etc., and we were going to burn it down! I told the lieutenant that we should salvage some of the stuff as souvenirs, but he was afraid he would get in trouble. We were just starting to pour gasoline around when we got the word by radio to get back down to the battalion and not destroy the building. We came down from the mountain and arrived at the place where the MP had been stationed. Something was not right. He was sitting in a hunched over position on the ground. When we got to him, we could see that he was dead. Someone had run a bayonet into his back. Since day one we had been plagued by North Korean infiltrators who outfitted themselves in white peasant clothing and passed themselves off as South Korean peasants or refugees. They were everywhere and caused us a lot of grief. We looked around in the nearby rice patties but we could not find anyone. We wanted to get even. When a stretcher was brought up and the MP was placed on it, rigor mortis had set in and they could not get his knees down. I'll never forget that sight. Welcome to the Korean War!

During the months of August and September we must have moved around the Naktong River Perimeter to a hundred different firing positions because our defenses were thinly spread out. However, we were getting plenty of experience, and according to feedback from prisoners we were taking, we were getting quite good. They could not believe the quantity of artillery fire we were pouring down upon them. All this success despite the fact that we were limited  to twenty-five shells per gun per day. Let me tell you that having enough artillery ammunition was always a problem during the early phase of the war. What helped to make the difference was the weather. The summer turned out to be quite wet which bogged down the enemy in the mud and we would go a few days without a firing mission. We still got twenty-five shells a day whether we used them or not so they added up.

A lot of our fire missions were directed by L-5 light planes which were attached to our outfit. Because of the numerous rugged mountains, radio communications with our ground forward observers was often a big problem. As long as it was daylight , or if the weather was good, the planes were the way to go, but we found it was necessary to run phone lines to our ground forward observers.

There is a misconception that being in the artillery is a safer job than being in the infantry. Not if you are a forward observer or attached to the fire direction center. FOs are out in front with the infantry, and fire direction centers are right behind the infantry and about a mile in front of the guns. We got shot at plenty of times. I well remember in those early days of the war when the 15th Field Artillery took a direct hit on their fire direction center. They were totally wiped out. Right after this happened, a major decided to set up a double shift at our fire control center so that if a similar disaster were to happen to us he would have ready replacements. Because of the mountains, our radar was useless and those of us in the radar section were considered to be excess baggage. We were reassigned to fire direction centers and promoted to corporal. I could not believe they gave me this job.

I was sent to Charlie Battery and I had six guns which could not fire until I gave the order. I had a lot of responsibility, but I also had a lot of authority, more than I had ever had before in my young life. I was the one that the FOs talked to. My job was to handle all the computing, deflections, slide rule adjustments, and chart plotting and I got along well with the gun crews. There was a time when the colonel came in to direct artillery fire at his command. I saw him coming and worked out the adjustments with the guns beforehand. He could not believe how quickly the guns were ready. He told me to tell the range officer that he was very pleased with their readiness. I suggested that the colonel tell them himself because it would mean a lot to them. He did and after that I always had the fastest guns in the battalion.

One day, a North Korean mortar zeroed in on our fire direction center and started to drop shells almost on top of us. One of the shells went off only yards away from our tent and seriously wounded a bunch of our guys. They were sprawled out on the ground, screaming in pain and covered with blood. GIs were running every which way to take cover and my first instinct was to do the same. Somehow I hung in there and immediately coordinated a return barrage with the FO, and we knocked the mortar out in a few minutes. I am not a hero. Believe me, I never was so scared in my life. I was later awarded the Army Commendation Medal for knocking out the mortar. The major in charge was awarded the silver Star. Do you know where he was when all this was going on? Hiding under the table!

The guns I was working with were 105mm Howitzers which had an accurate range of about eleven miles. Most of the time we worked with a range of only a mile or two because of the steep mountains. The traditional sights we trained on back in the States were useless. One of our West Point officers improvised a high-angle technique similar to that of a mortar by which we could lob shells over a mountain and onto the reverse slope with great accuracy. When I returned to the States after my tour in Korea, I was assigned to West Point to teach the same tactics to the cadets.

Things happened fast after the Marines landed at Inchon on September 16, 1950. Almost simultaneously, we in the Eighth Army began a big offensive to break out of the Pusan Perimeter. It was slow at first and many units participated in furious and deadly battles. But MacArthur's end run had worked its magic, and North Korean opposition began to collapse. Within a few weeks we passed through Seoul and crossed over the 38th parallel and into the North Korean capital of Pyongyang. We bivouacked in Pyongyang, and for me there were other duties now that the war had taken a brief lull. By the way, there was a railroad junction near our location in Pyongyang with a lot of rail equipment standing around. The wheels on one of the big steam locomotives had this inscription:  " Session's Foundry, Bristol CT ". I will tell you, I was thrilled and proud of my home town. I called all my buddies over to show them my discovery.

I became a truck driver for the Red Ball Express and drove a two-and-one-half ton truck every day between Pyongyang and Seoul carrying everything you can imagine to keep the 2nd Division provisioned. I was one of about five hundred drivers who drove one hundred and seventy-five miles each way everyday for two weeks. On one of my trips I did manage to take in part of the Al Jolson Show in Seoul. My last few trips were used to carry nothing but winter-type sleeping bags because the October nights were beginning to get quite cold. I helped the supply sergeant to load up my truck so he gave me an extra one. Boy, did it come handy later on in November and December when the temperatures at night would go down to twenty below zero.

At the onset of November, I returned to the artillery and the Division moved northward in what we thought would be the final phase of the Korean War. The North Korean Army was a shattered remnant of what it had been and there were rumors that we would be home for Christmas. We advanced to an important North Korean communication center by the name of Kunuri which was near the Chongchong River. I do remember that when we bivouacked near  that river a lot of guys came down with severe diarrhea and sickness. Turns out that they got lazy and were washing their mess kits in the river and leaving them on the ground. Miniature mice were eating food remnants and leaving their waste products in the mess gear. Simple solution was to use the hot water and soap solutions the mess personnel had set up for us. The days were getting colder and shorter and we prepared to celebrate Thanksgiving. What a wonderful meal our cooks prepared for us. Turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie and all the trimmings. All of this and plenty of hot coffee. Being not far from the mess tents, we always were supplied with hot coffee. Unfortunately, for thousands of my comrades in arms, this would be their last Thanksgiving. Our fire missions in support of the infantry had been picking up noticeably and now our intelligence was receiving ominous reports of contact with Chinese forces. The day before Thanksgiving, the major and Sgt. Turner wanted me to drive them well to the north to reconnoiter the area. This was one of my duties as part of the advanced party. We didn't see anything unusual, but we did talk to an old farmer and he told us through an interpreter that there were many, many Chinese in the area. On the morning of November 24, 1950, the entire 8th Army jumped off on a fifty mile wide front, and we fired the largest artillery barrage yet up to this point of the war. By the end of the day, the 2nd Infantry Division had reached a town called Kujang-dong which was about 10 miles north of Kunu-ri. This would prove to be the furthest north we would ever get in North Korea.

On the night of November 25, 1950, the Chinese launched a massive assault all along our front. The ROK II Corps on our left flank was specifically targeted and was overwhelmed. As a result, the Second Division was in great danger of becoming cut off and surrounded. For the remaining frigid days and nights of November, all elements of the division would be desperately fighting for their lives. A withdrawal was ordered. An entire Chinese Division occupied much of the high ground above the road. Deadly mortar and machine gun fire was zeroed in on the Second Division as truck convoys traversed the road of death which would become known to military historians as "The Gauntlet".

As the division began pulling back, we got word that we going to be the rear guard. I thought that meant that we would go back to the rear of our withdrawal and guard. Not quite. In reality we were going to stay put at Kunuri and provide protective fire while the rest of the division would pull out. Other artillery battalions were firing until they ran low on ammunition and then they would pull back a few miles and try to set up again. Some units fought to the death and were overrun. At one point we were called out and assembled in a line with our rifles and small arms. Everyone was going to be a rifleman, no matter what else may have been their military specialty. It was about one o'clock in the morning and the Chinese bugles were sounding to our left, right, and center. We were being prepared for  "Custer's Last Stand". We were so scared that some guys messed their pants. Much to our relief, the Chinese attack did not materialized in our sector - they hit somewhere else. On the day before we finally withdrew, I fired all day and up to midnight. My relief fired from midnight until six in the morning. I was awakened  out of a deep sleep and told to get ready to drive one of the two 3/4 ton trucks which was loaded with all our firing equipment, tents, etc. Next to me in the front of the truck was M/Sgt. Turner. Four other guys were in the back in the most uncomfortable seating arrangement you can imagine. It was dark and freezing cold. A light snow was falling. All of us were cold, exhausted and hungry. We were the next to the last truck in our convoy. Behind us were thousands of Chinese. 

When we turned the corner to proceed down the Kunuri-Suchon road, I could hardly believe my eyes. There must have been six thousands civilian refugees clogging up the road. Old people, kids, and women with babies on their backs trudging south in the frigid landscape. Hundreds would die. There was nothing we could do for them. On both sides of the road were wrecked military vehicles of all types. Many of them were burning and exploding. There were dead bodies all over the place - GIs, Chinese, Turks, and civilians. I noticed that many of the dead GIs were missing their combat boots which obviously had been looted by the Chinese who were equipped only with cheap sneakers. They suffered as much, if not more, than we did from the horrible cold. The burning vehicles illuminated a  "Hell on Earth"  situation. I really thought that we were not going to make it out of there, but dawn was beginning to break. As soon as it got light, US Air Force F-80 jets and F-51 Mustangs arrived and began to put bombs, rockets, machine gun fire and burning napalm onto the Chinese positions. God bless the US Air Force!  Incoming Chinese fire dropped off significantly. Another good development for us occurred when a bunch of guys from the 82nd AA brought up a quad fifty and some 20mm guns mounted on flat wagons. They proceeded to rake the surrounding ridges with devastating results. Never the less, we lost ten of our artillery pieces and most of their crews in the Gauntlet. It took me eight hours to navigate six miles around the dead bodies and destroyed vehicles which blocked the road. I helped push a jeep into a ditch to help us get by. Groups of GI infantrymen were organized by their officers and NCOs and supported by thanks in an effort to rid the Chinese from our left flank. Some of these courageous men succeeded, but most were killed, wounded, or captured. Our battalion S-3 officer, Major Thomas Hume, was last seen heading up a ridge with his favorite  "long rifle"  which was a special rifle he had used as a member of the American Olympic Rifle Team. He never returned to us. We found out months later that he had been captured by the Chinese. They tortured him to death by beating him and splashing cold water all over his body. He was tied to a pole and succumbed to the freezing temperatures. I was not surprised to hear of his death because nobody was going to get anything out of him. He was a soldier's soldier and those who served under him admired him greatly.

As we were coming out of the Gauntlet, we pulled over to the side of the road to allow some of our artillery pieces to go by. They had priority. Much to my delight, Walt DePatra was on one of the trucks - we were so happy to realize that both of us were alive. We started up again after the guns went by and proceeded through what also became known as  "The Pass". Just beyond the pass was a bridge which crossed a shallow river. As we drew near the bridge, we were informed that the Chinese had the bridge zeroed in with their machine guns and small arms. Fortunately for us, a large eight inch gun had fallen through the bridge as it was being towed by an artillery unit to our front. We could not pass over that bridge even if we wanted to. I wheeled the truck off the road away from the bridge and headed for the river. While looking through my rear view mirror, I could see  the shadowy outlines of Chinese soldiers looting our dead as darkness once again began to descend. We went right into and through the river to the other side. The frigid water came right up the floor boards, but thank God, we made it across. After I got back onto the road we went for a few more miles. Suddenly there was a bright light ahead of us in the middle of the road. It was an MP with a flashlight. He told us we could turn on our lights and proceed safely on our way into friendly lines. At last I was able to put up the windshield and to continue with some comfort from the blowing wind. Try driving your car in below zero weather with your head out the window and you will see what I mean.

I drove for another hour and then we saw a big glow in the sky. It was a truck compound where a bunch of vehicles had pull over and a large bonfire fueled by burning truck tires was roaring.  I just had parked my truck when another truck pulled up behind me and a bunch of GIs got out. I asked the driver if he was going to join everyone to warm up by the fire. He told me he would be right over and not to bother to wait for him. After a while by the fire, I noticed that the driver hadn't showed up. When we went back to his truck to check on him we could not believe what we saw. The poor guy was sitting behind the wheel and he was dead!  He had taken either a bullet or a piece of shrapnel when he went through the Pass and evidently had not told anyone. It was hard for me to understand how no one else in that truck did not realize that the man was seriously wounded.

We sat by that bonfire until the break of dawn. When it was light enough for us to see each other, guess what I saw? The smoke from that rubber fire had turned our faces black. We looked like performers in one of those old-fashioned minstrel shows. Everyone had white streaks under their eyes where tears had washed away the smut from the smoke. We sure looked like a bunch of  "Sad Sacks". I refueled the truck and got ready to head south. Do you know that they couldn't get anyone to drive the truck of the dead GI had been driving. They said that no one else knew how to drive a truck. That was a bunch of bunk. There was a M/Sgt who could have driven it. I guess that they figured the truck was too bloody or jinxed or who knows what? We left a perfectly good truck for the Chinese. What a shame. On the plus side, a couple of drivers went back to the Pass to try to pick up some of the wounded that had been left behind. For some reason, which I will never be able to understand, the Chinese did not fire on them, and a few lucky wounded guys were rescued. Most of the others either died from a combination of their wounds and the cold, or from medical neglect and brutal treatment as prisoners of the Chinese and North Koreans.

I must have driven for about another six hours. The truck was sputtering because of ice in the gas filter, but I was not going to stop. We wanted to put as many miles as possible between us and the Chinese, and I was not going to stop even to let the guys pee. Sgt Turner yelled back and told them to pee off the back of the truck. I know that if II stopped we probably would not be able to start the truck again. It took us two days to reach Seoul and cross over the Han River to Ascom City where some remnants of the division were bivouacked. At least we had an opportunity to get some rest. The only food we had with us for the past four days was a #10 can of cheese and four cases of butterscotch lifesavers. Within a day, my buddies and I were hit with a mysterious foot malady. We could hardly walk. The pain was almost unbearable and the doctor could not do anything for us. He thought that we might have some kind of nerve condition that occurs just short of frostbite. After a few more days the pain went away. I have not been bothered with any foot problems since then. Our Division had taken an awful beating. Of all the men lost in Korea, the Second Infantry Division took more casualties than any other American division during the Korean War and over one quarter of our casualties took place when the Chinese intervened in 1950. However we did come out of that rap intact, and once we got reorganized and re-equipped, our division would be destined to go on and exact a terrible revenge on our enemy. We spent Christmas 1950 in Seoul. Just before Christmas, the major had me check out a 3/4 ton weapons carrier and drive him over to a MASH compound. He had arranged to pick up five nurses who were going to an officers' Christmas party at the Chosan Hotel in Seoul. I think it was the only hotel left standing. When we picked up the girls, the major got out of the front seat and go in the back with them. When we got to the hotel, he came out of the truck his face was covered with lipstick. I should mention that there was one nurse who seemed to be really interested in me. There was no doubt in my mind, the chemistry was there! I asked the major if she could ride up front with me. You know what he told me?  "Corporal, don't you know that enlisted men are not supposed to fraternize with officers?" What a beauty! I waited outside in the cold for four hours while the major and his friends drank and danced the night away. I did however enjoy listening to the American music that the GI band was playing. After we dropped the nurses off, the major took the truck away from me and went back to the nurses' compound to have a rendezvous with one of his girlfriends. I told him that he was not authorized to drive the truck. However, he drove off, despite my objections, grinding the gears like you could not believe. Rank does have its privileges.

We went back up on the line in January, 1951. Once again, we were a component of the 23rd Regimental Combat Team. A large Chinese force was advancing towards the important crossroad of Chipyoung-ni. Our orders were to deploy in a defensive perimeter around Chipyoung-ni and to stop the Chinese advance in that area. Besides my unit, our force was composed of the 23rd Infantry Regiment, the French Infantry Battalion, "B" Battery, 82nd AAA Battalion,  "B" Battery, 503rd Field Artillery Battalion,  "B" Company, 2nd Engineer Battalion, 2nd Clearing Platoon, 2nd Medical Battalion and the 1st Ranger Company. The advancing Chinese had already wiped out a South Korean infantry division during their approach to our positions, and they were occupying all the hills around us. They outnumbered us six to one and we began to realize that we were totally surrounded. When our Commander, Col. Freeman, requested permission to withdraw, he was ordered to hold our positions at all costs. We knew that we were in for a big fight, but our spirits were good and we were well prepared with about two dozen big guns and an enormous amount of ammunition.

Of this particular battle, I have several clear memories which perhaps seem trivial in the whole scheme of things. Keep in mind that this was one of the major battles of the entire Korean War. For five days, we were totally surrounded, and without massive air drops of ammo and other supplies, as well as close air support, I don't think I would be telling this story today. As a result of our superior artillery, total control of the air, and the magnificent courage and spirit of our infantry, the Chinese forces pitted against us were dealt a major defeat. Their casualties were horrific. We had pre-registered our eighteen 105s on every possible approach to Chipyoung-ni. When they attacked us, they ran right through our deadly box barrages and we pulverized them with artillery fire. Out of thousands of Chinese, very few of them survived the barrage. I wondered how our side was going to get rid of so many dead bodies. It was pay back time for those of us who had survived the  "Gauntlet"  and the  "Pass".

I remember one incident right at the beginning which involved one of our tanks. I had just come out of the fire direction center after being on duty all night long. All I wanted was to crawl into the lean-to and get some sleep, but I could hear a tank racing its engine again and again. The tank was on the other side of a small hill from where I was. Well, nosy me, I wondered over to see what was going on. A bunch of guys were trying to push a tank up an icy hill so that the tank's gun could be better positioned to fire on any possible Chinese attack. This was in broad daylight and no Chinese were going to come at us because the Air Force would wipe them out. The Air Force made night fighters out of the Chinese. Well, a captain with the tank drafted me to help push the tank. Every time we pushed the tank a few feet, it would slide back on the ice. It almost ran over me once. I finally got myself out of that stupid detail. However, they did end up getting the tank in place by breaking up wooden ammo boxes and placing the wood under the tank's treads.

There was a high hill  to our south which we believed was occupied by the enemy. Yes, we found out they were there when the patrol we had sent up there to check things out ran into a fire fight with the Chinese. They pulled back, but several men received minor wounds. One guy got hit in the arm, and the other guy got hit in the hip. About half way down the hill, the wounded men were made as comfortable as possible and left with a few cigarettes to hold them over. The other patrol members came back to get some stretchers and additional help to bring in the wounded guys. When they got back to the wounded men, they found both men dead. The men had gotten cold and had gone into shock. Boy, was the colonel mad when he found out about the wounded guys dying. I had never seen him so mad. Our doctors had made it very clear that anyone who was wounded had to be kept warm. There was three feet of snow on that hill and a stretcher would have been useless to begin with. Everyone involved in that incident felt terrible. Combat deaths that should not have happened.

I also remember how difficult it was trying to dig in. The ground was frozen so hard that our entrenching tools were incapable of penetrating the surface. Do you know that the entrenching tool now used by the military has a pick attached to it? That change came about as a result of our experience in Korea. The only way you could break through the ground was with explosives or you could use a shell crater which already had been made  by an exploding mortar or artillery shell.

At one point during the battle, the Chinese overran my position. It was dark and there was a lot of snow on the ground. After a long tour of duty, we were exhausted and sound asleep in our snow-covered shelter. There was a lot of noise and commotion outside, much more than normal. When I glanced out of the shelter, I was horrified to see Chinese soldiers all around us and on the move towards our rear. They had just overrun  "B"  Battery of the 503rd Field Artillery and were advancing towards our guns. They did not see us because we were obscured by the darkness and snow. None of those Chinese came back because they ran into our cannon guys who mowed them down with small arms fire. We did see other Chinese to our front taking a large number of prisoners (about sixty-one) from the 503rd, but there was no way that we could help those guys because a large number of our own men were mixed in with their captors. If we fired at them we would have killed a lot of our own guys.

On the third day of the battle of Chipyoung-ni, a large formation of C-119s dropped ammunition and other provisions on our positions. The cargo planes flew over one hundred sorties that day. The first of the lumbering aircraft came right over us and began to drop large packets which were attached to parachutes. Right away, Chinese machine gun tracer fire started to arch up towards the transports from a near by mountain top. All of a sudden two Air Force jets roared in and dropped napalm right on top of those gunners. Man, they plastered them! The fire flowed down the side of the mountain like lava from an erupting volcano. A bunch of us were sent out to gather up the ammo dropping down from the shy. If one of those packets landed on you it could break every bone in your body. One guy told us to point straight up at the packets and follow your arm down. Then step either to the right or left and the packet would miss hitting you. He was right. Do you know that most of those fuses for the artillery ammunition being dropped were made by the E. Ingraham Company of Bristol, CT - another product from my hometown surfacing in a remote country in the middle of a terrible war. I understand that those fuses had been a military secret for some time before we got them. They were timed to go off about twenty feet above ground. We had set up our box barrages so that fifty rounds would go off in front of our target and fifty more would go off behind the target. We could get six rounds per gun into the air before the first one hit target. The effect was absolutely devastating. The Chinese tried to run right through our fire. At times we would fire to the north and then turn around and fire to the south. We got them coming and going in every direction.

On the fifth day, a column of tanks from the First Cavalry Division broke through from the south and we were no longer surrounded. The defeated Chinese forces withdrew to the north to lick their wounds. I went over to Walt DePatra's firing battery to see if he was OK. We had a joyous reunion because we had both survived another tough battle. You would not believe the enormous amount of shells casings which were piled up all around our guns. We could have built the Great Pyramid of Giza with them. Later that day, I was driving the major up to our forward positions because we were once again part of the advance party. We passed a lot of our infantrymen whom we had supported during the battle. When they realized that we were from the 37th Field Artillery, they broke into cheers and applauded to us. What a wonderful surprise. We were very proud and humbled by this honor from the infantry. I must admit that it affected me emotionally. We waved and smiled back at our infantry brothers, and everyone of us had tears flowing down our cheeks.

Earl Dube continued on in the Korean War until he acquired enough points to rotate back home. He was among the first to return after a full tour in the Korean War in July of 1951. Following Chipyoung-ni, Earl also participated in Operation Killer and Ripper. For the first time in Earl's experience, the Chinese would attack and then be defeated and be forced to fall back. Now the 2nd Division would follow up the Chinese retreat with an attack of their own.  "From then on, we were the ones on the offensive,"  Earl remembered. What also helped was an unlimited supply of ammo, better equipment for cold weather, even better air support, and more experienced and improved South Korean military.

Beside the Army Commendation Medal with the Combat V, Earl earned the Korean Service Medal with seven battle stars. After returning to the USA, Earl participated in Operation Snow Flake at Fort Drum, New York where new cold weather gear was being tested in 1952.  "It was colder there than it was in Korea" recalled Earl. He finished up his enlistment as an artillery instructor at West Point. He is now retired from his successful auto parts business and lives with his wife, Betty, in Bristol CT.  He is active with a Korean veterans group in the Bristol American Legion Post 2.

061025

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