Cartoon 1--"I'm going straight to my CO and
demand a Battle Star for my good conduct ribbon."

Cartoon 2-- "C'mon! We're Movin' Up!"

George Barber

At the age of twenty-eight, George Barber, a six foot five or six graduate of Princeton University ROTC program, and a no-nonsense Major, became the Commanding Officer of the 87th in the fall of 1943. He brought with him a West Pointer, George Aubrey, who became the Plans and Training and Gunnery Officer.

In retrospect, considering the campaigns and engagements we were in, our casualties appear to be light compared with other units like ourselves. We were most fortunate having good leadership, not only with our commanding officer, but with the people he and George Aubrey trained. It paid off!

A case in point was clearly evident when George Barber was wounded amd George Aubrey took command. By that time, all of the non-performers had long been weeded out and the systems and techniques had been tested and proven so that an effective machine was performing. There were hundreds of other units that were as awesome, however, the 87th was one tough bunch, and none of us would have wanted to face it in battle.

In the years since the exciting and sobering days of the war, the citizen soldiers of the 87th who survived have come to appreciate people like George. Their contrubution during the critical days in our history is priceless.

To let us know that his feet are made of clay, here's a story told in George's own words:

"Here's a tale that I cling to that really could have ended my WWII experiences had the reactiom of "friendly troops" not been sufficiently disturbed and mystified."

"Seems it was late fall, before the Roer and Rhine crossings, and like all bad days for our "3" ("3" standing for S-3, the Battalion Gunnery Officer). The battalion had moved late in the afternoon, really gone into a new position as always, but without time to find any Forward Observers available, or Forward Observers in the front lines, and it was almost inevitable our "3" would not have the battalion registered. Without the registration his map data would be basically worthless when firing any battery, even dangerously inaccurate (Editor's Note: especially if a lousy survey had been run).

So now I heard George Aubrey say, "Colonel, (and well I remember his tone of voice) I don't know what we're going to do. I can't get any of our batteries registered and if Corps calls for interdiction fire, as they usually do each night, I just can't respond."

So I volunteered saying, "I'll flash forward and I'll register the battalion for you. Stand by!". And off I went to the front lines, as I understood them to be, with Sgt. Adler and Cpl. Elrod at the radio and wheel respectively. We found us a ridge with a road along it with a vast set of fields directly below and heavily, easily identified, wooded area, split by a wagon trail going away from us, and all of it on the map. I was delighted.

Once the "3" had the coordinates and constructed his firing data, passing it on to one of the batteries, I called for firing with red smoke ammunition. Red! In no time the radio at my back sounded off with "On the way", then I heard a pop of a gun firing, and then a whistle as the round passed close overhead, and it burst forth a cannister of Red Smoke, which dribbled downward and all but landed in my wagon trail as it entered the deep forest! Amazing!

Before I could really send back a sensing by Sgt. Adler, out of that very wagon trail as we three stared at it from our jeep, came an American Flag and a whole line of armored vehicles, pausing a bit to wonder. "Red Smoke? What's all this?" and then they continued (fearlessly, I'm sure) without taking up any firing or defensive positions, which gave me time to see in my binoculars that it was the 4th Cavalry Squadron with Colonel Jack Rhodes standing in a ring mount and waving his column onward to my right.

Such a surprise! We three kept quiet, you better believe, and the Red Smoke was still a mystery to them. And we chose not to ease their thoughts of what it meant. With a "Cease Fire", we let the "3" have his registry from Captain Olson's survey data and sensing of the "target" sent back as I saw it.

But retrospect tells us that had we attracted enough attention, for the ridge road to have been spotted, we'd have been blown to pieces with .50 caliber machine gun fire, or even light tank 37mm or 75mm shells and no where to hide.

I later told Lt. Col Rhodes about that Red Smoke shell. He couldn't believe it, and, I think, although I am not sure, it was actually a target behind our own lines (which the Squadron's appearance defies any other argument about that).

It was an "A" moment. Not an "RHIP" (rank has its privelages), and the war progressed.........AMEN!

Cartoon 3--"French Welcome"

Bill Grembowicz

Master Sergeant Bill Grembowicz was the Operations Chief in Headquarters Battery from our training in Ft. Knox, through our five long campaigns, and on until the end of hostilities. He was a big man which included a big heart. He and his crew spent much of their combat time in holes along with George Aubrey and Bob Casler, the officers. We called them the moles. They were the nerve center of the battalion. Our memories of Bill are sweet. Here is his contribution to our collection of stories:

THE STORY OF THE TWO DUDS

This story is documented in the battalion history on page 36, 17 July 1944. Again a hole had to be dug for the FDC (Fire Direction Center) tent. You had to be there to appreciate the bitching of the hand labor crew. Their choice and use of four-letter words was classic.

Their opinion of the FDC crew was lower than a snake's belly button. But, a GI is not happy unless he has something to bitch about, so the FDC made a lot of guys happy digging FDC holes all across Europe.

It was an eerie feeling in the FDC hole that night. You could hear the "88" batteries firing harrassing rounds along our front. And then one came. That shell had a special whine. At the crack of the gun you knew it was coming our way. All activity stopped and the wait seemed forever. The shell passed through the leaves of the tree above the tent that covered the hole. Twigs and branches rained down hitting the tent, but there was no explosion. We realized that the shell was a dud. If there had been a detonation, I would probably not be writing this story. Anyway, there was a chorus of "Thank God" and we began to breathe again in the FDC.

What about the second "dud"? Well, he was the one (who shall remain nameless) who was going to dig up the gift God saw fit to bestow on us the night before.

Ed Jackson

Ed Jackson was a half-track driver in Headquarters Battery and was with the battalion from Panama days. Ed has the great gift of seeing the ludicrous, and not only remembering it, but telling the story, thus keeping the laugh alive.

Over the years he and Bea have been close to most of us and love the 87th and its people. He corresponds with many of us and he also catches squirrels. He is a nut on the subject. Here are a couple of his stories:

It was quite cool and we had just entered Germany and the slumburners had pancaked us to death every morning. I went over to get my mess kit filled and my canteen cup filled with coffee, and was looking for a place to eat when I found this old house that had a wide bannister like the old brownstones in Brooklyn. So I went in.

In the meantime the officers had to have a tent to eat in. (Editor's Note...They always do). The kitchen boys had put the tent up, Sanchez, Ruis, and that Dutch fellow that worked in the HQ kitchen crew---the guy's family had all been killed by the Nazis and some of the boys felt sorry for him and gave him a GI shirt and pants and he helped the kitchen crew.

It was cold and frost on the ground holding the tent stakes so they warmed them up in order to drive them into the ground. I was eating as fast as I could because I didn't want my chow to get cold. All of a sudden I looked up and the tent was down. I started to laugh as I saw the flailing of hands moving over to the tent flap. First out comes a messkit in one hand, and then the head, and then the helmet in the other hand and George (Colonel Barber) sticks his head out to look to the right and then to the left, but he didn't see me laughing so much that I almost peed my pants. I said, "Jackson you better get out of here or you will be in trouble." It sure was funny. I left.

We were in this town outside Aachen, Germany and it was cold and muddy where I parked my halftrack. Plenty of mud and a big crater nearby. I was on guard duty that night with Champ Chiaramonte, he was something! I was sitting down in the crater and could look up and see everything around the area. I had my Tommy Gun across my legs and we heard a noise like someone sloshing in the mud. Champ halted him and it was the OD (Officer Of The Day). He said to Champ, "Are you alone on this post?" Champ says, "No, Jackson is here." I didn't say a word. "Where is he?" asks the OD, "I don't see him." Then I spoke up and told him that I was in the crater. He said we should be especially alert because the Germans were going to drop paratroopers that night. Champ said, "Where are they coming from?" The OD said, "Out of the sky, you damned fool." Again, I almost peed my pants laughing.

If you didn't know where to walk you could be up to your knees in mud. It was awful. The OD asked Champ where the next guard post was and Champ directed him to it. Crow Eagle and Domingo manned that one. All I heard was the OD cussing as he went up to his knees in the mud.

We were on the drive to the Rhine and had this old house with a stove giving off good heat. I was shaving and there were some footsloggers (Infantry in the room with us. Doyle says, "Jackson, would you like some beans?" I said, "Sure," and kept on shaving. Doyle was shooting the bull and didn't pay any attention to the beans. All of a sudden they blew up, and Doyle was picking hot beans off his face and neck. In the meantime someone shouted, "Mortars!" and we all hit the deck. When it was over, I was shaking like a leaf.......those were the times.

And that's the way it was.

And here's another story coming out of Headquarters Battery barracks at Ft. Knox, KY. Ed Jackson was still waxing eloquent:

We came up from Panama in 1943 and were stationed at Ft. Knox. One day, as I was sitting on my bunk, writing to my mother of course, who comes in but Domingo and Crow Eagle (two Native Americans in the battery). "Jack," they said, "Will you cut our hair?" "Sure," I answered "do you have tools?" They had them and I proceeded to cut Crow Eagle's hair. His hair was like wire. After I finished him, I gave Domingo his cut also. They stood up and examined each other and said that I had done a good job, and that they would not scalp me this time. Then they took off for Louisville.

Some years ago when I had to go to Orlando for a cauterization, I met a former soldier from the 87th who had been in Panama. While we were recouping in the beds in the same room, I told him I was in the 87th and he lit up like a Christmas tree. He proceeded to tell me that one time when the moon was coming up on the horizon, one of the batteries opened up on it until they found they were shooting at the moon. How do you like that? He lived in Longwood, FL and I went to visit him.

Rogers McCrae

Rogers McCrae, Headquarters Battery, was the eye witness to most of the history in the making of the 87th up through WWII. He went to Panama, fought the battle of Ft. Knox, endured the training for the invasion, was put on Utah Beach on D-Day, and continued in the communications section until the Armistice. After the war, the battalion was sent to southern Germany, and while there, he was given a special assignment, and here's his story:

The location was Ludwigsburg, a German town just north of Stuttgart. The time was mid 1945. The 87th was now post-war billeted in former Wehrmacht barracks in the center of town. Routine guard patrols were sent over German roads in two or three man teams traveling by jeep.

Pat Murphy, Hq. Btry. First Sgt., and Capt. Earl Schrader were working on the battalion history in an area on the 2nd level of the billet. Murphy asked me to write an account of the battalion's experience in Panama

At this point, I was called in to battalion headquarters, and ordered to be the Sergeant of a detail headed by a new replacement Lt. whose name, or the names of the men on the detail, I cannot remember.

The Lieutenant, with threee men and myself, were to catch a train of boxcars loaded with Italian prisoners that was on its way to Brenner Pass, at which location we would be relieved by a detail from 5th Army.

Our orders were to ride in the last boxcar, and when the train stopped, we would climb the car tops with our M-1 rifles and shoot any prisoners who might try to get off the train to loot adjoining cars. The trip sounded great, we went south through Munich and started up the grade through the German Alps. Our transportation was in a German boxcar...not the best to say the least. If I remember right, we had two chairs that flexed as we went around curves, while the rest of us hung to the sides of the doors, or laid on the floor. The view of lakes, chalets, and pine forests I will always remember.

The plan was that when we stopped at the crest of the pass, the train would meet an empty north-bound train returning from Italy. At this point we were to run across the tracks and catch the train north and ride the tail-end car again, hopefully bound back to Ludwigsburg.

Night was coming on and as we returned down the mountain, darkness was coming on fast. All I could see were railroad signal lights, and the lights of small villages.  I kept watching for Munich, but after I knew we had passed time for going through this large town, I realized we had slowly turned to the East heading for the Russian Zone. This was a place that we, as American soldiers, had no business being in. The other guys seemed not to worry and pooh-poohed my concern.

We were traveling at a fast clip and I was growing more and more worried as I saw from the stars and the signs that slipped by that we were definitely headed east.

After a period of time the train was beginning to slow, and I told our crew that when the train stopped I was going to jump out and run ahead to the engine crew, which I did. When I got to the large steam engine. The engineer looked down at me from the cab. When I motioned that I wanted to talk, he motioned for me to climb up. Through the hissing steam and stoker noise, I made, through my limited German, my concerns known. They told me they were definitely headed for the Russisan zone to pick up more Italian parisoners from the Russians. Our best bet was to get off the train and catch a west bound train at their next watering stop, but we would have to run for it as they would not be there long. The engine crew was very friendly, even offering me to ride with them in the engine cab (this I would have dearly loved, being a train buff), but I told them "No, thanks." I had to get back and fill in my buddies.

They waited for me get back to the last car and then they took off. Relating my findings, all listened, but when I told them we had to run and catch an east bound train back to Ludwigsburg, the Lieutenant balked and said we could not do this as we had no such orders.

I nicely told him that he could do what he wanted, but I and any of the men who wanted to, were running for the other train as soon as it appeared on the east bound track. I still had objections from the young Lieutenant but, when I saw the other train pulling to a stop, I took off running. I looked back and all were running behind me.

Fortunately, the rear car was empty and we pulled into Ludwigsburg early that morning. I don't know how the Lieutenant's report read, but I heard nothing more about the experience.

Cartoon 4--"The Jeep"

Cartoon 5 --"Excess Baggage"

HQ BATTERY RECON SECTION COLD TURKEY

Just prior to Christmas 1945, the invasion of a large force of German troops and armor exploded in the Ardennes Forest, an area we had just left. The American forces newly arrived from the States were quickly overrun by the attacking Nazi troops. This developed into a campaign called "The Battle of the Bulge".

We were in the process of having the barrels of our howitzers replaced and performing maintenance on our other equipment when orders were received sending us back into the line in support of 2d Armored Division and other armored and infantry units in an effort to stop the German attack.

The retreating American units clogged the roads as the troops moving up were organizing the defense. The traffic was stopped in a Belgium village named "SPA" which was General Eisenhower's forward headquarters. The town and headquarters had been hastily evacuated when the Reconnaissance and Survey team arrived on the scene. We were moving ahead of the battalion toward the front lines to prepare for thre occupation of the firing batteries in their gun positions.

At SPA was a supply depot and there were hundreds of frozen turkeys in huge piles along the side of the road. The birds were to be distrubuted to the troops for Christmas dinner. No one was thinking about dinner. The big concern was to stop the attack and to keep the Germans from getting to our supplies. Standing beside the piles of turkeys were troops furnished with five gallon cans of gasoline obviously waiting for orders to set the turkeys on fire.

Our vehicles were stuck in traffic and we called over to the guards and they told us they expected to fire the turkey bomb at any minute. We asked if we could have a couple of birds to take along, and were told to help ourselves, whereupon we filled the jeep and halftrack with a big flock of frozen birds. Other people in the column loaded up as well. After a while we moved to our assigned area, all of us sitting on the rock hard turkeys.

It was winter of course, and the combat troops on the move did not have their kitchens with them. Carrying food was a problem and even making hot water for coffee did not come easy. Little Coleman stoves were used. Some soldiers near running vehicles used the engine manifolds for heat. Another source of heat was using a coffee can half full of sand which would provide quick, smoky, smelly heat when gasoline was added to the sand and set fire.The latter course of action was not encouraged for obvious reasons.

Undaunted, we passed out the turkeys as the vehicles arrived. We were considered to be "master scroungers." Undoubtedly, the frozen soldiers anticipated a hot turkey meal as soon there was a lull and the Recon section were heroes until the boys tried to thaw, cook, and eat the frozen meat.

Here was some poor yik nik who had chopped a drum stick from his block of ice with a bayonet or an ax trying to prepare his dinner using his coffee can of sand and gasoline as a roasting oven.

It turned out to be a real bummer. Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of the bummers as any survivor would readily testify.

Cartoon 6--"Screen Credit"

Buford Dobbs Interviewed January 31, 1982

I, Buford Dobbs, joined the Regular Army in June 1940. Served basic training with the 36th FA at Ft. Bragg, NC on 155mm howitzers. In January 1941 I wound up with a broken leg which restricted field duty for some time. The Regiment (13th FA Reg't.) shipped out without me.

After various assingments, I joined up with the 87th in Panama, then back to Ft. Knox for changeover which you are well aware of.

While in England my first vivid recollection of meeting or working with Ferd Moyse was when "Muggsie" Maguire lost his life in a truck accident in South Wales (the above is off the subject).

Shortly before D-Day a small group of guys from the 87th was assigned to the 82nd A/B if my memory is right. They were Capt. Moyse, Rogers McCrea, W/O Roberts, Sgt. Zieger, Sgt. Severns, Joe Remich, and myslef. We were stationed somewhere outside Torqay, England, I think. Boy!! the chow was good with this bunch.

I recall a briefing with a small group, in a tent, by General Ridgeway, in which objectives were explained. This was possibly June 1st or 2nd.

The section, with the exception of Capt. Moyse, was assigned to a Capt Houaron of the 82 A/B. We had a halftrack, "Hell On Wheels" and one jeep which we spent some time water proofing as the halftrack was equipped with an SCR 193 radio with Rogers McCrae being the #1 operator. The assignment was to establish communications with 7th Corps, I think.

I remember a couple of nights before loading out that the Germans were dropping flares and bombs, scared as hell I was, and some others, too.

This bunch was loaded onto a British LCT possibly June 3rd with the halftrack and jeep chained down. Then out in the channel where the water got rough. Here, I experienced sea sickness, sitting on one can and my head in another. Rain and wind. Using the halftrack for shelter, one of the British gave me some hot rum which was much appreciated.

The long nights of June 5th and 6th were spent off the shore of Normandy observing the firing from allied battle ships into France. As daylight approached we could see shells exploding in the water around us, but none damaged the LCT that we were on.

The infantry had already gone ashore and were in a little way before we landed. All the waterproofing done previously was not necessary for this particular equipment as the water was not too deep as we drove ashore thanks to the crew of the LCT.

There were many soldiers lying on the beach. After working our way some distance from the shore, possibly a quarter of a mile, the shells were going overhead to the beach proper by this time, 9:00AM or so. We proceeeded to de-waterproof the equipment. The clouds were dissipating and the sun was breaking through.

A short distance from our location the medics were setting up a Field Hospital in a large tent. The shells continued overhead as well as P-51's, P-40's, not too many; one was shot down close by.

Later on in the day some gliders were being towed in, cut loose, and the tow planes heading back towards England, some with large holes in their wings and fuselages, but still going...How far????

After a long day, sometime in the afternoon, Capt. Moyse appeared at our location. I recall his request (order) that I return to Houseville ????(maybe the wrong name) with him. I was scared as hell and started out just behind him and close to him until he told me to get on the other side of the road. Here we saw some of the paratroopers hanging in the trees and the destruction that had taken place...a few bodies in piles, etc. The daze I experienced was mental not from any other type of shock.

A few days later we were back with the battalion and heard of the sinking and the others' experience. Sometime late in June or July (well before August 2nd), I was assigned to the Recon and Survey Section under Dave Olson where I remained until the end of the war. I won't list all, but Wendell Word, Harry Candiotti, Nichols, Alvin Cowling and others still stand out in my memories.

Bust up. I found myself in Stuttgart until late September. Back in the US and discharged Oct. 8, 1945.

Rogers McCrae adds to Buford's story: 6 June, 1944 was D-Day when we landed on Utah Beach at 07:30 by my watch via a British LCT. General Powell of the 82nd A/B requested a radio halftrack from Mr. Roberts, 87th Communications Officer, to land with him on D-Day. He assigned one of his staff to be with us, a Staff Sgt. The halftrack had two transmitters, an FM to contact the Command Headquarters of the air-dropped troops at St. Mere Eglise, and an AM for morse code to contact Command at sea.

The halftrack was Capt. Allen's. Sgt. Severens may have joined us later. We followed General Powell to St. Mere Eglise where Dobbs described what we saw. The beach was mined and the Krauts had it zeroed in with 88's. Engineers had de-mined an alley through, their bodies were lying where they fell, and I remember digging sand and praying. The 88's were close enough to smell the smoke and I could never get the sand dug deep enough. The traffic jam was between the tapes laid down by the engineers. I never saw Ferd Moyse but I do remember the gliders going overhead later in the day.

Stu Morrison, radio technician, and Clifton Edgerton joined us later in the afternoon. They had gone in on Omaha Beach via an LCT, and from there to Utah Beach where we were, and had been on the "Susan B. Anthony." Several days later General Powell released us back to the 87th where we were joined by Capt. Allen and Sgt. Severens.

That's how I remembereed it, how could I ever forget it.

Cartoon 7--"Good Neighbors"

Cartoon 8--"We got to blast 'em out.
They found out we feed prisoners C-rations."

Carroll Harrod

Carroll is one of our most colorful members. He was the Executive Officer of "B" Battery which fired the first round of what was to be over 162,000 rounds of 105mm howitzer ammunition in WWII by the battalion. After being seriously wounded on 15 August, 1944 he returned to the battalion just in time to participate in the battalion's occupation duties. He was discharged on 18 January, 1946 and returned home to complete his college education. In 1948 he returned to active duty with the Army, was in the Korean War, wounded again, captured, escaped and was retired from the Army on 30 September, 1951 for reasons of disability. Here he tells us of he and his Battery Commander going into the hedgerows of Normandy to organize their assigned gun position after leaving Utah Beach. He calls this episode "The Challenge of the French Cows."

It was shortly after we had landed in Normandy and Captain Charley Burke had been given an area in which to establish a Baker Battery gun position. He had been ordered to displace and occupy the new position at daybreak, so there was wasn't much choice but to reconnoiter the new position that night.

He "requested"(?) that I accompany him, and, being the Battery Executive Officer, it made sense that I have a hand in organizing our new position from which I would be firing the battery. We were under strict blackout conditions so it was pretty much a matter of groping our way in the dark to find where we were going. As we climbed over a hedgerow, we both heard movement in the field before us and stopped short with our .45 pistols at the ready. The movement sensed was unhurried and not really very threatening, but, thinking it could be the enemy, we made our way slowly into the field. Suddenly we found ourselves face to face with several friendly cows, chewing their cuds, and grazing peacefully. We started breathing again, holstered our .45's, and congratulated ourselves on having won our first encounter with a French cow without firing a shot.

Cartoon 9--"Sad Sack"

Walter Voss

Walter Voss is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, of the stalwarts of the 87th. A member of "C" Battery, he tells a story which he calls, "You Asked For It":

My army career starts out with three years in the National Guard in my hometown Redwood Falls, MN. It was in the early thirties. We boarded a train for encampment in Little Falls, MN which is still in use to this day.

I will go on to say my father was in the feed business, grinding and mixing feed for livestock and poultry. He asked me to help him as his age was against him. I did so until the mill was sold, and then I had many odd jobs until WWII. My brother-in-law was a Staff Sergeant at Fort Snelling, MN which I am sure many of you have heard about.

He arranged for me to see a doctor at that time and I was red lined due to a heart condition. As the war progressed I was again red lined, but it was overlooked because I was able to speak fluent German.

My first assignment as an army private was to teach the nomenclature of the army rifle which I did for three months at Camp Bowie, TX. From there I was put on a troop train for four days, landing in Pine Camp, NY. While there I was put in a school for nine monthe to be a Red Cross nurse (Medic). I did enjoy going to school, but as soon as I left, my Army Red Cross band was removed and I went to a camp in Kentucky. I do not remember the name, but I was there for three weeks. I never did a thing, except eat and sleep. I got tired of it and went to the First Sergeant and told him who I was. I don't remember what transpired between that time and the time I left to join the 87th at Fort Knox.

In closing, I will say that after the war I was a heavy duty scale inspector for fifteen years, and ended my state employment by testing grocery store scales.

George Aubrey

George Aubrey had the job of planning and supervising the training of the 87th in anticipation of going into combat. He was with the 87th until the end of hostilities in 1945. He was a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point His expertise and leadership in gunnery and tactics contributed greatly in making us a great fighting unit. Together with George Barber, our Commanding Officer, their combined skills saved many of our lives and made possible our reputation as an outstanding field artillery unit.

To continue our collection of vignettes, George relates two stories:

INTRODUCTION TO THE 87TH

In March 1943, I was transferred from the 83rd AFA Battalion at Fort Sill, OK to the 20th Armored Division at Camp (now Fort) Campbell, KY with a short stay at Fort Knox, KY. The 20th Armored Division was giving alumni of Basic Training six weeks of additional training, basically in infantry training. First assigned to Division Artillery headquarters, I was reassigned to a battalion as S-3.

My wife and I lived for some time in a one room (share-the-bath) tourist home. We finally found a very nice furnished apartment at Clarksville, TN about fifteen miles from the post. We were very comfortably settled and I liked my job.

One day in early September, I believe, my Battalion Commander returned from a meeting at Division Artillery and informed me that I was to be transferred to another battalion at Fort Knox as "Executive Officer." I didn't want to move again so soon and I didn't want the job as "Executive Officer." I asked my CO to check to see if I could get out of the transfer. He checked and told me I had no choice.

As I remember, I received a call from the CO of my new battalion, George Barber, who stressed the urgency of the transfer and informed me that he had arranged accommodations for my wife and me at the Fort Knox Officer's Club. In those days moving was not very complicated, just load everything in the car and go.

We arrived at Fort Knox in the evening, had dinner and went to bed. Soon there was a knock at the door and I was informed that there was a call for me in the lobby (no phone in the room). It was George Barber telling me that a jeep was on the way to pick me up at 4:00 AM (as I remember) to take me to obserrve practice for Battery Readiness tests. Quite a start.

With considerable difficulty, my wife found a place for us to live. It was a former roadside liquor store converted into two apartments. We shared a bath with another family, had to burn all waste because there was no garbage pick-up; had water so hard that soap would not produce suds; had a water pump that was constantly losing its prime, and a furnace which frequently suffered minor explosions that exstinguished the fire of the worst coal I had ever seen.

I don't have to complete this tale for the veterans of the 87th who were in the battalion at that time. We all remember the next two or three months very well.

I did have one pleasant surprise. I was to be the S-3 and not "Executive Officer".

THE DOWAGER EMPRESS

Shortly after the war ended in Europe in May 1945, the 87th was detached from the 4th Cavalry Group and attached to a Field Artillery Group in the area of the infamous concentration camp of Nordhausen. The 87th Battalion Headquarters was located in a little town Rossla, occupying a little country bank building.

One day a young German girl entereed the headquarters bearing a note for "the Commandant of Rossla". Of course there was no one officially bearing that title, but since I commanded the troops in the area, it seemeed that it was I. The note stated that the "Dowager Empress Hermina" wished to see the "Commandant of Rossla" either come to see her or she be permitted to see him to discuss personal matters. Dick Holtz, Battalion Executive, said, "Why that's old Kaiser Bill's wife." The Kaiser had married her when he was exiled in the Netherlands after WWI. We decideed that the "Dowager Empress" should come to see "The Commandant of Rossla", so we set a time and date.

She arrived a bit late. I interviewed her in my office. She was a rather attractive elderly woman who spoke excellent English. She said she had come from the east (as I remember, East Prussia) to avoid the advancing Russians.

She had three personal matters to discuss. First, some Polish DP's had stolen her car (apparently she knew very little about the car except the interior). Second, she wished to get a pedicure; and third, she wished to get a letter to Prince Bernhardt of the Netherlands requesting permission to visit her husband's grave in the Netherlands.

I told her I could do nothing about the first two problems, but I would try to get a letter forwarded to Prince Bernhardt. I also told her to furnish me an English translation which I still have.

I did deliver her letter to Corps Headquarters, but I do not know if it was further delivereed.

Later, after I returned to the U.S. in October 1946, I read in the newspaper that the "Dowager Empress" had been murdered in a jewel robbery.

George Grevis

George Grevis was just a youngster when he joined the Army and was sent to join the 87th in the jungles of Panama. From later reports, the duties there included the guarding of the canal, slapping mosquitoes, and learning bad habits. One of the unique accomplishments was an overland movement of the battalion from one ocean to the other. He returned to Fort Knox and as a member of "C" Battery, he made the five campaigns in Europe with the battalion. Here's George's story of excitement with the 87th in Panama:

Today a highway 82 miles long runs across the Isthmus of Panama, but on 28 January, 1942 there was only a rough road partly washed out by tropical rains.

I should know, because I was among the US soldiers in the 87th AFA Battalion who slogged across the Canal Zone in the first military crossing by land since the explorer Vasco Nunez de Balboa made the trip.

The crossing made headline news in the States, but for military reasons the unit designation was kept anonymous.

And now you know.

Herman Calmes

Herman Calmes was a member of "A" Battery who was assigned for temporary duty to the 5th Rangers for the assault on Omaha Beach in Normandy on D-Day 1944. Several other members of the battalion were on similar assignments. Herman was made a part of Shore Fire Control Party to direct fire from a ship in the invasion fleet. Here's an excerpt from his account sent to George Barber on 27 July, 1951.

It must have been the second or third of June 1944 we were put on a small ship, the Prince Charles, as I remember. We were terribly uncomfortable and we were sure we were going in for a landing. We felt that it would be better than what we were going through on the ship. Before daybreak on 6 June the ship began firing on the beach.

They started us down the rope netting. We had to drop a few feet and lit in the landing craft if we were lucky. The boat I was on was sunk. I had to swim and wade a good distance. I was never as tired in my life.

After we got to the beach which was before 0600, I rested a short while behind a water breaker. I put on dry clothes which were water proof. I checked my rifle, .03, and found it full of sand and of no use. I crossed the beach road and got into a water hole with three or four other guys. One guy was laying next to me in the hole with his right buttock torn up by shrapnel who gave me his rifle to bring him a medic. I had seen one behind a water breaker and went and got him.

Before long I knew we had to get out of there. Mortars were coming in closer all the time. I told a buddy, "I believe if we could make it across to the hill and get near the top of the hill, they would fire over us."

We stayed there that night. The 2nd Rangers were cut off on the cliff to our right. We went to break them out. The enemy let us walk in and then opened up on us. It was a hot spot for a while and then the enemy withdrew. We were mixed up with other outfits.

About three days later we got with what was left of my party and what was left of the Rangers which was estimated 40% of the 5th and 30% of the 2nd.

We kept moving up every chance we got. We had the Glagow and two more ships assigned to us. They fired direct as long as they could. Then we took over and directed fire in support of the 5th Rangers and, of course, some others.

Sometime after St. Lo, we were put in a rest area to be picked up by our outfits. The Shore Fire Control Party which I was in, was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation for our job in helping establish the beach head.

Robert C. Keeler

Bob Keeler was born in Colorado and was a typical kid raised by mother and older brother to survive hard living in the West, the depression, and finally the harrowing experiences of combat, followed by months in army hospitals. Taken from his interesting autobiography are some of his observations about combat written in 1996. He received a battlefield commission as 2nd Lieutenant in France in September 1944. He was assigned as an artillery observer working with the infantry.

One night we left with the infantry shortly after dark to take a town a few miles away. The tanks were to follow with back-up support. They had to cross a river by bridge, but the Germans kept blowing it up and they couldn't cross. We got into the town during daylight hours and secured one row of houses with a couryard to the north. I called for fire on the courtyard, but headquarters said it was too close to us and declined my request. So I had to fire ahead of us and bring it back to where I wanted it. It came just in time as the Germans were close enough to throw hand grenades through the windows. I had taken this mission for another fellow, and he hadn't checked his radio batteries before leaving, and all of a sudden my radio receiver batteries went dead. Boy, we were in for it. Hoping they could hear me, I sent messages that I could not receive, and not knowing if they could hear me, I requesteed intermittent volleys that I had previously designated, and requested it continue all through the night. Boy, was I glad to see the first volley come in. They were landing on both sides 25 yards from the buildings. After that night, the infantry had a lot of respect for the artillery. The tanks arrived early the next morning and it was a welcome sight after a long night of tension. We were also getting hungry as we hadn't eaten since the night before. I never missed any meals, but postponed a few.

I will tell you about one other time; it was when we got ahead of a German halftrack. We had pulled off the side of the road to relax and to decide our next move. I was sitting beside my halftrack when the German halftrack came by at full speed firing his machine gun. Two bullets hit my helmet, went around the liner, and came out the other side, the way it was supposed to happen. After that I had a lot of respect for my helmet as it had saved me.

I was wounded on 14 April, 1945. I was with the infantry at the time. I and a mortar sergeant had gone ahead to try and get an "88" German gun that was blocking the entrance into a town that we wanted. It was in a burned off area and we crawled up a fire ditch behind a small pine tree that was still standing. We had a perfect view of the gun and I was figuring out its location on my map so I could send fire instructions back to my outfit. Here came the commander of the infantry in plain sight to see how we were doing. We had been doing just fine until he gave away our position. Then the Germans opened fire for they knew our position. One shell hit the trunk of the tree, blowing it to pieces. One of the shell fragments hit the other fellow in the arm and he took off. I moved down the ditch, but didn't have the best view. So, not using my smarts, I crawled back to where the tree had been. They hit me with a direct hit, which threw me up in the air, then exploded behind me. I guess I thought I had a sacred life. I crawled back into the trees where the medics picked me up and took me to a MASH unit. I was wounded in 22 places.

(Editor's Note: for the preceeding action, Bob was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross)

A couple things happened to me in the hospital: the temporary protheses was not made as good as the final ones.

One time when I headed back to the hospital from the Officers Club, and was going past the plate glass windows of a fancy restaurant, my foot broke off at the ankle and I grabbed a telephone pole that was handy to keep from falling flat on my face. Of course, those in the restaurant thought, "Another loaded GI." I sat down on the curb and waited until some caring soul stopped. He went up to the hospital and got me a wheelchair.

One time Barbara, my wife, took me over to the Park across the street in a wheelchair. She sat on my lap while we were talking. We were parked on a hill, and the brake came loose and down the hill we went. I had enough trouble keeping the chair from running into trees let alone stopping it. After a wild and fast ride, we finally stopped at the bottom of the hill. A cop said that he should give us a ticket for speeding, but would let us go with a warning. We thanked him and went on our way.

I will tell you about the trip to the big city of Cleveland. I was in a wheelchair and it started to snow as we departed from Battle Creek, MI. We were hungry and stopped in a small town for lunch with snow about six inches deep by now. Bill said it would be hard pushing the wheelchair in the snow, so he just carried me in, setting me in a booth. After we had ordered, one of the local residents who couldn't stand it any longer came over and, as we were in uniform, asked if I had been wounded in the war. Before I could say a word, Bill answered saying, "That is the sad part of the whole thing. He was drafted this way and we are on our way to Washington, D.C. to try and get him discharged." And we let it go at that.

My Army outfit was having it's first general reunion in Chicago. Colonel Barber called to make sure I was coming, and only those who were planning the reunion knew I was coming. When we walked into the lobby, Earl Perkey, a member of my section, was getting off the elevator and nearly fainted. He thought that I had passed on to happier hunting grounds. Many were surprised to see me. We had a wonderful time and I was named Man of the Year at that reunion.

Ferd Moyse

In 1983, Ferd Moyse wrote a personal account of his experiences with the 101st Air Born Division during the invasion of Normandy.  The 87th had been given the mission of supporting the 101st which was to be brought into France by gliders and parachutes. The 87th was to come by sea and hopefully join the battle as quickly as possible inasmuch as much of the 101st artillery was expected to be lost during the landing of the gliders. Ferd was to be the liaison officer who represented us with their headquarters.

The complete account appeared in our newsletter in 2000, however here are a few of the interesting episodes which were in his essay:

My job was liaison with the primary mission being to see that our artillery unit did not fire into friendly troops since we were actually headed toward one another on a collision course: airborne dropping inland and heading for the beaches, while landing forces at sea were to drive inland and make contact. This was a part, in general, of the OVERLORD battle plan.

Lt. Col Barber and I were invited to meet with Brig. Gen. MacAuliff and his staff for a briefing and we arranged to go to his headquarters. We were hardly back to our outfit from this meeting when we learned that the plans were altered and we now would support the 82nd Airborne Division. This is when Lt. Col Barber volunteered my attachment to the 82nd A/B Division who were in bivouac at Leichester. Incidentally, Brig. Gen. MacAuliff was the same person who won fame with his defense of Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge, when he made his reply, "Nuts" when asked to surrender.

Originally, I was offered a choice between jumping into France or riding with the glider troops. Upon advice from troopers whom I had met, I chose to jump and so began training. However, after a few days, my option was removed and I was assigned to go by glider. The explanation I was given was that there was insufficient time to receive proper training for what could be a dusk or daylight jump, the most dangerous or critical of times to read the horizon.

Remember, we were young with no combat experiencee. I suppose my mental picture indicated a most heroic figure rescuing the French population from the Horrible Hun while sipping champagne and accepting floral bouquets. It didn't turn out quite that way. There were bull sessions at night led by seasoned troopers who already had been in combat. The stories they told were interesting and scary, always bloody. I suppose there was a basis of some truth in their tales  becaise I have never ceased to be amazed at what I saw, and what I have read about the warlike conduct of the highly trained paratrooper in action.

Now it was time to saddle up...home was a canvas tent. Weather, wind, and rain. Activity was exercise, sharpening anything that had an edge, and telling lies.

So much has been written about the horrible weather and the off and on departure plans. What agony and courage General Eisenhower showed when he made the decision to go for broke on 6 June, 1944, with "iffy" weather at best predicted.

We were given our first "red alert" on 3 June. Fever pitch excitement followed by "stand down." At midnight on 5 June we were told to begin the loading up operation, and we began to straggle to the gliders, expecting to be called back every forward step we took.

When we took off, it began to turn first light, and we could see the townspeopls out in the streets waving us good luck as we passed overhead. What a sight that must have been.

As we flew over the water, we saw hundreds of ships on the way, and in the distance we could see flashing lights.  Planes flew overhead and nearby. They had to be close because there was practically no side view and the flashbys from the forward plexiglass cockpit were our only view.

All I can say about our landing is that we survived. I don't know how because we sheared both wings off during the approach. The landing area was covered with trees and artificial hazards; poles set in the ground to cause us misery. We lost a few men in the landing, but I didn't stop to see the cause of their injuries. Our instructions were to head for the woods and regroup. We were being shot at by small arms fire and light anti-aircraft weaponry. Whistles were blowing and orders yelled for assembly. It was noise and pandemonium.

We ran toward a nearby wooded area and formed a defensive line within a sunken roadbed that gave us the imptression of security. It was similar to the bocage we were to fight through later, but mostly it was trees and thicket we could creep into and feel protected. As it turned out we took most of our casualties from artillery exploding on contact with the tree tops and sending shrapnel in all directions.

We spent a nervous, sleepless, night, not knowing what to expect next, and troubled by man's historic fear of the dark. One could see hazy movement at mazimum visual distance, but we didn't know whether friend or foe, afraid to yell a password, and too far for the cricket noise (a metal indentification device). The latter was used by most everyone. There were frequent exchanges of small arms fire and identification challenges.

At daybreak we first heard, and then saw armored movement, and it wasn't long before we verified the white star painted on the hulls of friendly tanks. Our recognition signal was orange smoke grenades, and these were fired with verve and excitement. We felt reasonably safe for the first time in hours and we learned we were just outside Ste. Mere Eglise.

I tried to make radio contact with Jeopard, but no luck. My two radios had apparently been damaged in the landing and I was unable to communicate with anyone. I decided to walk the five or six kilometers to the beach area to check on the landing status of my unit.

How to describe the carnage? Broken and burned planes and gliders. Dead soldiers, all wounded having already been evacuated. Paper strewn everywhere, and bits and pieces of military equipment. A strange quiet with light and heavy firing in the distance. An occasional "whoosh" of artillery shells, some incoming that we didn't know whether from enemy or navy fire, but generally not too close.

My concern now was minefields. Warning signs were already posted and strings of white tape marked safe lanes that had been swept for mines, however, much of my journey was cross-country and I never felt relaxed during my walk.

Finally I was picked up by two Generals, one being Major General Barton, CO of the 4th Infantry Division, who were in an M-8 armored car and offered me a lift to the beach area. There on the beach I passed near General Matthew Ridgeway. He beckoned me to approach. When I came near he asked me who in hell I was representating with an armored patch on my shoulder (over which was an armored designation) and Airborne above that, and on the other sleeve an American flag designating the D-Day invasion forces.

When I explained that I was basically armored artillery flown in with the airborne troops, he laughed and said, "You might be worth more to me if you were captured, since the Germans might then think we had airborne armor".

I answered, "General, what do you think this would add to the misinformation?" and I showed him the lettering inside my webbed belt which read, "Brig. Gen. Maxwell D. Taylor." When I had joined the 82nd A/B, the supply room issued me the webbed equipment formerly issued to Gen. Taylor, and his name was prominently stenciled inside. Many years later I saw General Ridgeway in Washingyton, D.C., and asked him if he remembered the "lost Captain of Airborne Artillery", and this got an affirmative hearty laugh.

The subsequent reunion with my friends at Jeopard was a joyous one and now was the time that I was able to function with my unit and begin the serious fight back. I stayed with the 82nd Division Artillery for thirty-three days without a bath.

Here's the result of Ferd's part in the D-Day action:

CITATION FOR AWARD OF BRONZE STAR w/V MEDAL

FERD L. MOYSE, O-411987, Captain, 87th Armored Field Artillery Battalion. For heroic conduct in action on 6, 7, 8 June, 1944, near HANDIENVILLE, FRANCE. Captain MOYSE, Liaison Officer to Division Artillery from the 87th Armored Field Artillery Battalion, voluntarily participated in the hazardous glider flight with Division Artillery Headquarters, without having had any previous glider experience. Landing at dusk on D-Day in enemy held territory, he played an outstanding part in the defense of a detachment isolated in enemy territory from landing until 0900 hours on D plus 2. A shortage of men fit for duty made it necessary for officers to man defensive outposts. Captain MOYSE acted as relief for long hours and remained at his post firing at the enemy, under heavy machine gun and mortar fire. His adaptability to airborne tactics, his courage and coolness, was an outstanding example and exemplified the best traditions of the military service. Entered military service from GREENVILLE, MISSISSIPPI.

Cartoon 10--"The Shoelace"

Dave Olson

The Forced March

The 87th was stationed at Fort Knox in July 1943 training for the invasion of Normandy. The weather was hot and muggy. The days long and arduous.

I was assigned to "A" Battery along with some 160 enlisted men and a few officers. I was a second Lieutenant at the time and low man on the totem pole.

The day began about 0500 in the morning and training continued often into the night time. The heat, humidity, and dust out on the ranges, and aggravation in general, left the participants in a state of complete exhaustion, at least until it was time to go on pass. At that time revival was miraculous.

The training schedule called for forced marchees during one phase and these were schedled at 2:00 PM which was preceeded by noon chow where everyone ate too much. I was assigned to supervise and participate in the marches which were to last until retreat which was at about 4:00PM.

These marches were not very popular and there was a scramble to get excused. Out of the 160 men in the battery, usually about 90 reported present for the formation, the others being cooks, medics, mechanics, drivers, radio operators...you name it. Like the 90, and being the lowest of the lowest, I had no options but to participate.

After a week or so of marching, I happened to go into the battery orderly room after noon chow looking for a manual I needed to teach a class. The Captain's door was closed and the manual was in his office. I questioned the First Sergeant about going in to get the book, and he advised me no one was to enter the "inner sanctum" because the Captain was in conference and was not to be disturbed. I retreated leaving the orderly room by a side door, and happened to look into the Captain's office and saw him and his executive officer sound asleep, and I could hear the snoring from my vantage point.

The soldiers not excused from the march were formed for the daily march and I ordered them to proceed out of the cantonement area towards a woods about a mile outside the post area. We went into the woods and I had them gather round me. I advised them that we were on a tactical exercise and were required to hide ourselves in the underbrush. I further pointed out that it was a secret mission, and if anyone disclosed our mission and activity, I would cut his throat and knew where I could get help. A guy that could not sleep agreed to act as a sentry, and the rest of us picked up welcome and much needed rest.

I did not realize it at the time, but that forced march made me famous and I was not forced to cut anyone's throat.

Name Calling 

George Aubrey had called a meeting of all officers in a hot barracks at Fort Knox, KY. He was to announce the lucky officers that were to train and go overseas with the 87th Armored Field Artillery Battalion. Many of the people in attendance did not feel that they were privelaged later on.

The plan had been to place several lieutenants in many positions, observe their performance, and select the more qualified people who were to continue to be with the battalion while the others would be reassigned somewhere else. It was a tense time. Competition was keen.

Colonel (then Major) Aubrey was weary and harrassed, but proceeded to read off the names of the lucky winners who had made the first team, or as they say in the big leagues "missed the cut." One 2nd Lieuitenant Peake was quite agitated when he learned that he had not been selected and when George Aubrey turned away for a moment, Lt. Peake called out in a loud voice, "George Aubrey is a son-of-a-bitch!!"

George turned to see the bunch of blank faces: "Who said that?" No one responded, least of all Lt. Peake.

As time passed, Captain Harry Russ often made a point to tell George that "Peake was right."

The Doctors

The 87th was preparing for their role in the invasion of Normandy during the spring of 1944. Our headquarters was in Adderbury, England where we were billeted with the officer's mess in an old chateau in the little town.

Two officers were attached to us for rations, one a dentist, and one a surgeon. Doc Paull was our assigned Battalion Surgeon, and the three of them hung out together. Doc Paull knew he could beat the army, and the attached surgeon and dentist were hoping they could.  All three of them were trying to disassociate themselves from the 87th that quite obviously had some role to play in the imminent invasion.

There was much talk about the education and background of professional people and their responsibilities compared to the soldiers who did not understand the rigors of getting a medical degree. Doc Paull was working all of headquarters and hospital units in England, and was quite confidant that one of his leads would provide his escape and some younger and less experienced doctor would be his replacement. He was wrong of course.

The "attached for rations" guys were less aggressive and spent much of their time commiserating with one another and expecting the worst. We poor soldiers had little choice in the matter. The doctor allowed that the sight of blood made him ill and light-headed. The dentist could not imagine a situation that could require a "mouth cobbler's" expertise in an invasion. Could anyone conceive of a dentist repairing a molar or performing a root canal in the heat of battle? It was absurd.

As a matter of interest root canals and most cavity action was usually reserved for field  grade officers by most army dentists. Enlisted men and junior officers usually had to settle for a quick extraction. This policy was established in the Civil War when cleavers and butcher's saws did most of the dirty work in the operating tent where the flies were.

Obviously, the poor doctor and dentist would be excess baggage on the journey we were about to take. However, the wags in the headquarters were not quick to let an opportunity to have some fun pass by unnoticed. An order was prepared under the heading of a fictitous headquarters transferring the attached doctor and dentist to a uinit ordering them to train with this unit as they rehearsed atrtaching explosives to beach obstacles in order to open holes in beach defenses prior to the assault.

This official appearing document was delivered to the two doctors at dinner the following day. Everyone watched in astonishment as they read the phoney orders. Neither of them could believe this unfortunate turn of events. The dentist turned to the surgeon, and with resignation said, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire."

The assembled audience could hold it no longer and everyone roared. Rest assured, the two professionals found their niches somewhere, and Doc Paull hung his shingle in the 87th ambulance as we went off to face the foe.

Cartoon 11--"She's all right on water, and OK
on land, but she ain't worth a
damn in this half and half crap."

2 August, 1944

Whenever 87th veterans get together, sooner or later they talk about 2 August, 1944 even though there were many other infamous days in our history.

The 87th was in direct support of Combat Command "B" of the 3rd Armored Division. A breakthrough had taken place in Normandy and an attempt was being made to capture thousands of Germans by closing a trap that was to be called the Falais Gap. Truck loads of prisoners were being evacuated, the roads were packed with columns moving forward, and destroyed enemy weapons and personal equipment was strewn across the landscape.

An abbreviated version of the event taken from the Battalion History follows:

Our troubles started on 29 July when enemy planes dropped personnel bombs on Service Battery. Fourteen enlisted men were seriously wounded that night. On the night of 1 August, 1944, a column was formed to push through the enemy lines to organize positions for occupation the following morning. While driving in blackout down the roads behind the lines, German planes were flying at tree top levels unaware of our presence.

A fire fight ensued during the night, however, positions were surveyed at daybreak and the battalion moved up to occupy them. On the trip forward, Capt. Omans and Pvt. Mersch bumped into a retreating German tank and were seriously wounded. Also at the same time, Capt. Allen was wounded. They were evacuated, and Pvt. Mersch finally died.

The battalion closed into position and dug in.  The enemy pressed in and we were in direct contact with the German infantry. Lt. Col. Barber's halftrack received a direct hit, but luckily no one was in it at the time. Heavy artillery and mortar fire poured into the Headquarters and firing battery positions. "A" Battery had a hedgerow battle. Tommy guns,carbines, .30 and .50 caliber machine guns and bazookas were manned to defend the battery. The Battery displaced to a new position.

"B" Battery was hit by incoming volleys of artillery shells. One round hit the back deck of their 4th gun section M-7 catching it on fire. It burned all day with the ammunition exploding. "B" Battery displaced.

"C" Battery lost Capt. Frensley, Battery Commander, Cpl. Freer, George Thompson, Glen Davison, and Wesley Giesser. Nine others were wounded.

Hq. Battery had five wounded, Lts. Bidwell, Olson, and Nelson adjusted fire on enemy positions from an observation point a few hundred yards from Fire Direction Center.

Service Battery had two non-battle casualties.

Major Holst successfully obtained tanks and infantry from "CCB" headquarters to help drive the enemy from the immediate battalion area.

Cartoon 13--"Lost"

Panama Kitchen

The accuracy of the following story cannot be authenticated. However it has been repeated many times and there must be some truth in it. The tale begins in Panama where the 87th was stationed just after the United States entered the war in 1941.

The troops were in garrison and each battery ran their own kitchen. The Mess Sergeant in "A" Battery was an old soldier and was not averse to pushing the young KP's (kitchen police) around a bit. In addition to his sharp tongue, he would often harrass his help by punching them in the upper arm with one knuckle extended. On this particular day he had "knuckled" one GI several times.

The noon meal was beef stew. It was the main course and it steamed away on the stove and chow call was just about to sound. The Mess Sergeant exchanged a few words with our hero, the private, and threatened to punch him again. The kid said "Sarge, if you hit me any more, I'm going to throw that mangy old cat in the stew pot." The cat had been hanging around the mess hall and looked like a refugee from a mouseless barn.

With that, the Mess Sergeant knuckled the kid again who picked up the cat and threw it into the stew pot. There was a mad scramble while they fished the cat out of the stew. The poor beast took a few steps and started to trip to cat heaven, in other words, it bought the farm. The troops quickly chucked the body in the garbage can where uneaten food was placed when the diners finished their meals.

"What do we do now?" There's no time to cook another dish. A meeting was called in the kitchen. It was decided to tell the truth and as the chow hounds presented themselves in the chow line, the food handler told each soldier that the cat had met his demise in the stew pot and did they want some? Every last one of the diners laughed and many said that it probably improved the flavor. Others pointed out that they were sure that many of the meals provided by "A" Battery would be improved with some mangy cat as an ingredient.

The stew went like free beer at the ball park.

The first of the diners that had finished his noon meal went to the line of garbage cans to clean his mess kit and saw the corpse in its burial place.

"Oh, my God!" he shouted. "They did put the crummy cat in the stew."

The Normandy Shave

Colonel Barber was very careful to shave every day in the field. Like everyone else in the battalion he used his steel helmet as a wash basin. If a field kitchen was nearby, he would get some hot water from the mess kit cleaning line. Otherwise, like everyone else, he'd get his shaving and washing water from a five-gallon water can that accompanied most vehicles.

Normandy is a great apple orchard country and apparently the drinking water was, or is, not to be trusted, and the wines made from apples and other fruit is on every table. People drink wine with every meal and the children often have trouble getting through their day in school because they are half in the bag, having brought some vino in their thermos jugs...at least that seemed to be the case at the time.

Most villages had wine cellars and American soldiers were not adverse to sampling the local specialties stored therein. The enterprising members of the survey and recon section had located some table wine in of these cellars and in an effort to beat the hoarders, had filled one of our water cans with white Zinfandel.

You know what happened. The Colonel reached for the water can which was filled with wine to get water for his morning shave. He poured the wine into his helmet, produced a bar of soap, and commenced working up a lather. No suds were forthcoming. He mumbled to himself and pumped away. No luck.

He allowed as to how it was no wonder the French only drank wine. The water was so hard that it was impossible to make soap suds. Whether he got a good shave or not is not known. Apparently he smelled pretty good though.

Jack McCarthy

Jack McCarthy, "C" Battery, submitted two essays to be added to AFTER ACTION REPORT sent to you recently. The first is his own which we will call "PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT ON UTAH BEACH" and the second is written by his grandaughter, MEAGAN which we will simply call "GRATITUDE."

PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT ON UTAH BEACH

While in the staging area near Cardiff, Wales in May, 1944, I arranged, as the Battalion Athletic Officer, to take three 6 X 6 trucks each afternoon to an athletic field in town so that the 87th soldiers could exercise and get into top shape. My friend, Lt. Calvin Cantwell, went along with us, and while the men were exercising and playing ball, he went to the local pub and filled three five-gallon jerry cans with Welsh beer. Even though the beer was warm, it was better than nothing, for the evenings were long in the staging area.

The only trouble we encountered was the failure, after one of the afternoon workouts, of Lt. Cantwell's return, so we proceeded to look for him in the local pub. He was there and had just finished the hymn entitled, "The Old Rugged Cross" and the local miners were yelling, "Good job, Yank, sing us another one."

That was his last song however, and I rushed him back to the trucks with the threee jerry cans full of beer.

And MEAGAN, the MCCARTHYS' GRANDAUGHTER writes about GRATITUDE.

GRATITUDE

Gratitude is the expression of sincere thankfulness. When a person is truly grateful for something, they never forget the gift they have been given. Gratitude is one of the best qualities one can express during their life because it enriches everyone else's lives around them.

My grandfather, like many men of his generation, fought overseas during WWII. He was in Europe for over two years, fighting mostly in France. When he relates events of his war days, none stick out in my mind more than how he became wounded. He had been surrounded by death for months, watching friends and strangers brutally killed every day. My grandfather's life since the war exemplifies gratitude as one of his strongest qualities. He realized over fifty years ago how easily his life could slip away, and has not forgotten the fact. His experience in France installed a stronger belief in God that has not dissipated in over half a century. Not a day goes by when he doesn't remember how God could have taken his life from him.

Keeping one's word is not always easy, especially when it means doing so for years at a time. Since my grandfather had such a dramatic experience, the memory never left him. The strength of the events that caused him to make a promise helped him keep to his word all this time. When you see your own death so clearly, even for an instant, your life after that is never seen in the same light. My grandfather contests that even though he does not wish a similar experience on us, he does hope that one day we realize how easily it could all disappear. It only takes an instant.

Grandpa McCarthy adds: May you be poor in misfortune; rich in blessings; slow to make enemies; quick to make friends; but rich or poor, quick or slow, may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.

Webmaster Carroll Harrod adds: I am sure every member of the 87th joins me in thanking Jack and Meagan for these thoughtful words.

Bob Kubista

One of the most colorful members of the 87th was Bob Kubista who joined the 87th rather late in the game on 24 September, 1944, but made up for his late arrival as a forward observer.

In his personal history he describes himself growing up skipping grades and having an IQ of 174, Einstein did him one better, as his was 175. At the age of 18 he found himself a sophomore at the University of Chicago knowing about everything. He was not able to drive a car, had never had a date, and was a kid that did not fit in. He joined the National Guard in Chicago and went to field training with an artillery unit and was called into federal duty in March 1941. He was relieved, he had found his niche, and liked army life.

He was assigned to several artillery units in various capacities and in 1942 went to OCS and was commissioned a 2d Lt in March 1943. He joined the 87th as a replacement officer in September 1944 when we were in Wirtzfield, Germany where he was assigned to C Btry and became a forward observer...which was right up his alley.

Before being assigned to the 87th, he had a tour of duty with a Ranger Battalion. Being a writer (he sent stories to publishers and magazines continuously), his imagination was vivid and in reading his material one wonders what was fact and what was fiction. In one of his essays he talks about cloak and dagger operations in Paris which he says have never been told.

It was not long after he joined the battalion when someone dubbed him "Killer". On his observer missions with the infantry or the cavalary, he carried among other arms, a sawed off shot gun, perhaps prompted by his being brought up near Cicero, Illinois where sawed off shotguns were popular in the twenties. He had a medium tank at his disposal which he used on various missions although the other observers shied away from them. He dug into ruins, searched for documents, looked for strange equipment, talked to everyone in his inquisitive way. His search discovered caches of poisoned gases, he (according to his writings) uncovered V-2 rocket equipment and fuel installations. His digging and nosing around located a cave filled with jeweled prayer books and religious treasures, some of which were shipped to Texas by one of our people who had been responsible for the safeguarding of the loot. It was a case of the fox being left to guard the henhouse. But that is another story.

He was a busy guy. He writes of being involved with a CIC team searching for a secret list of Nazi personnel assigned to all of the concentration camps: only three were in existence so he said, one of which was introduced as evidence in the Nuremburg trials. While helping this team, Bob found one list behind a sealed wall in a former Hitler Youth building. Bob sent word to the court of the existence of the list when a man was accused of being a camp guard. The list was located and the man's name was not on the roster, and the man was exonerated.

Prior to the CIC incident when the rezoning of Germany was in progress, the 87th was assigned to an area in the Harz mountains where V2 rockets were assembled. This area later became part of the Russian Zone. Closeby was the infamous Nordhausen concentration camp.

Many unassembled rockets, parts, plant buildings, and equipment had been abandond by the Germans. Thousands of impressed foreign workers had worked in these plants.

Bob observed the complex and discussed the situation with the battalion pointing out how vital the rocket program was and how unfortunate it would be if the Russians took over the facilities. Werner Von Braun and his assistant Dieter K. Huzel had departed for the US and the occupying troops were very much involved with complete chaos as the war ended. Bob writes that he deecided to take matters into his own hands.

He tells that he found three box cars full of poison gas artillery shells and getting experts to remove them. However, the remainder of the V2 weapons, parts, and equipment was left intact. He made an inventory of every rocket, rocket engine, and important equipment, traveling by jeep from Nordhausen to Halle. He reasoned, so he says, that the Russians would soon have this sensitive material unless some action was taken. He and his section systematically sabotaged all of the engines, several hundred assembled rockets, and made the total complex inoperative. He claimed that he kept this story quiet for over thirty years.

November 1945 found our hero heading back home to civilian life, geetting married, and having a family. Leaving Berwyn, Illinois behind, the Kubistas settled in Tucson, Arizona where he was in a retail business, was active in a clerk's union, and continued his writing. He had a thing going with a local columnist who printed many articles concerning the Kubistas. Also, continuing in his story telling, some of his stuff created interest in official circles. He assumed the pen name of Arizona Bob which he used when sending his essays and prose to various publications.

The Cold War is in progress and in reading about a grand niece of Emperor Haile Sellassi of Ethopia named Melissa Ogurgguka, Bob wrote the State Department complaining about Melissa's treatment as a guest of our government while a student at the University of California. She had been encouraged to come to this country, go to school under a scholarship program, and was left high and dry with no means to live or get home. Bob told the State Department that one day the world situation might change and we would be soliciting help from Ethopia.

She had a house bill of $6000.00

One day two men arrived in Tucson and advised Bob that he was right about Ethopia. The State Department had approached her and she refused to talk to them. If they gave Bob some money would he please go out and placate the girl? Bob agreed to try and assuage her pain. She was pleased when he paid her bills and became his friend. He headed home.

Sometime later, according to Bob's story, the State Department called on him again asking if he would be willing to meet with Melissa and together go to Ethopia where they would help release two dozen members of her family who were held in house arrest by the communist government. The deal included all expenses and a bonus when the task was complete.

Melissa was anxious to get her family to the US and Bob had vacation time coming, so he agreed to help her. According to Bob, she trusted him and not the State Department.

This was accomplished under the cover story of US interest in an international effort to combat a locust invasion which was devastating Central Sudan. The operation also involved food airlifts from the US. He left with her, a white middle-aged man, and a young black girl, traveling initially to Europe, facing many hotel space problems, toilet facilities not accessible to the girl, food service refused, and unpleasantness at every turn. They finally arrived in Rome where a Navy refugee organization decided to help.

In a Navy DC3, using Navy vouchers for gas, they flew to Alexandria and on to Barbera, then to Mogadiscio Somalia which shares a border with Ethopia--he says, a primitive, desolate land.

The plan involved Bob and the girl being landed inside Ethopia on a deserted road, then the plane leaving to a predetermined place across the border, and the two people then being met by the "hostages" and the plane then returning to pick them up and make their escape.

Before dawn on the big day, Bob and Melissa boarded a Navy helicopter and it discharged them out where Moses left his overshoes. They had nothing but the clothes on their backs and the only sign of civilization was a dirt road. Not a tree or shrub as far as they could see just rocks and desert.

After several hours they saw trucks approaching in the distance. The trucks stopped and men observed them with binoculars, and after they appeared to have been reassured, the trucks approached them manned by rough customers obviously bribeed to execute the mission. They relieved Bob of his watch and released their passengers. The trucks left and the large chopper re-appeared almost immediately, and climbing aboard the group flew off to Somalia with the seventeeen refugees and the rescuers.

This event took place many years ago. Bob related the story and produced a copy of the Army Times which tells this story. Bob's name is not mentioned.

Another incident involves a British Mosquito bomber which he heard about stored disassembled in a huge crate in a warehouse in Perth, Australia. Bob stopped to see us enroute to the British Consulate in Chicago where one of the people had blueprints and instructions for assembling the bomber. He planned to have it shipped to an airport in Tucson where he and his kids were going to put the beast together and no doubt try to fly it.

Prior to moving to Tucson he called me one day to let me know he had purchased a Swedish trench mortar and some ammunition as well. He had located an abandoned stone quarry suitable for a firing range and wondered if I would like to join him in service practice. I was timid and declined his offer.

On another occasion the State Department approached him and asked if he was willing to take on an assignment which would take him back to Europe for a short stay. They gave no details and pointed out the need for him to take on a new identity for the mission. He agreed.

He was given funds to purchase a new wardrobe, and he was also given a passport with a fictitious name and occupation. He was told to go to an area in Germany where the 87th had been, check into the hotel in the little town, and was told someone would contact him.

He arrived on the continent, rented a car, and finally settled in at the suggested hotel. After a short while a man met him and told him that some other people were meeting him, and he was to take them to Switzerland. It was to be a woman with two children and they were to travel as a family with Bob being the husband and father. Documents and travel tickets were to be provided.

Nothing happend for some time and, just as he was packing up to go home and call the whole thing off, the messenger arrived to tell him the plan was to go into effect, and at the scheduled time, the woman and her children met him and the intercontinental trip began. She and her children could speak little English and Bob could speak little Russian. They stopped in Switzerland and getting new instructions, moved on to the north coast of Africa then on to South America ending up in Mexico. At each stop someone was there to pass on the locations of the next stop, the plane or train tickets required, and the proper currency.

The last stop was the US-Mexican border where they were met by State Department officials and Bob returned home. He later learned that his "family" was delivered to the United States as part of an agreement between the government and an important Russian intelligence officer who was to defect to the United States when he was assured his family was safely within our borders.

These stories are a few of the many Bob put together in his day.

Note to the reader: The Bob Kubista story is gleaned from essays and letters sent to me over many years. I have not authenticated or reseearched any of the stories as to accuracy and we must remember, Bob had a vivid imagination and my memory wins no prizes. I simply wished to give the reader the flavor of Bob Kubista who, in anyone's book, was a piece of work.---Dave Olson, June 2002

Recollections Of Tad Kiebzak former Staff Sergeant, Ammunition Section, Service Battery

In August, 1944 I and 27 other fellows from the battalion took our trip back to England after being strafed and bombed on August 27th or 28th.

One thing that stands out in my mind is when we got on French soil and we were supposed to meet at Ste. Mere Eglise to de-waterproof our vehicles. As we drove down the road after dark, we thought we saw troops when we were stopped by the 82nd Airborne sentries who asked us where we were going and we told them. They said to go ahead, "but this is the front line." So I told them, "No thanks." So now there are 10 six-by-sixes with heavy armored trailers loaded with ammunition on a two-lane road with hedge rows on either side of the road. So I make the decision to unload all the ammo from the trailers onto the trucks, unhook the trailers, and dump them along side the road. We turned around and left. I had cussed those damned trailers from the day we got them.

A few days later I ran into "Geo" (Col. Barber) and I told him what I did, and he said he didn't care as long as the firing batteries had ammunition. I'm sure we bent a few truck frames with overloaded trucks, but at least you could escape quickly if necessary. I believe that we were the only Armored Artillery battalion without the trailers, and I am sure that not having them made our drivers happy.

One other thing that comes to mind was that after the storm on the channel, there was an ammunition shortage so we were rationed, especially as far as white phoshporous shells were concerneed, so I took it upon myslef to go back to the ammunition dump after dark and steal them.

I missed the rat-race from St. Lo until January 1945 when I rejoined the outfit. I'm sure that Fremont Peterson and the other fellows could recall many experiences such as trying to find ammo dumps and firing battery positions.

THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD By Master Sergeant Ermie Wilson

The story that is about to be told is about the 87th Armored Field Artillery Battalion and the rold it played in the Campaigns of Continental Europe from early June 1944 until the end of the war in early May 1945. Dates, in themselves, are relatively unimportant, but it is important to place the events in proper sequence.

This is written for the officers and enlisted men and their families approximately forty-five years after the war. Some recollections may be a bit hazy or fuzzy at this time, while other memories may be as clear as if they happened only yesterday.

It is important for us to relive the few years before we were drawn into the war.

During the mid 1930's, Europe was in a severe economic depression and the morale of the people was very low. One of the quickest and easiest ways to get out of depression is the preparation for war. This brings about almost full employment and the people are bonded together with a spirit of nationalism. This is all well and good up to a point, but I do not know of any country having a big military buildup without trying to flex its muscles in actual war.

On September 1, 1939 the German army blitzed into Poland. Poland was subdued by the end of the month. A few months later Hitler turned his forces toward France which was not nearly as strong as expected and France fell in a few short months.

With the start of the war in Europe, there became a strong feeling of nationalism here at home. A large number of  young men enlisted in the Regular Army. I believe that during this period all enlisted men were members of the Regular Army and nearly all officers were graduates of West Point.

The 87th Armored Field Artillery Battalion was formed in the Panama Canal Zone as a Regular Army unit and it was early 1941 when a few draftees were assigned. Included in the relativley small group were Otto Neidens, Marvin Fink, and Paul Breitenstein. To say that these men were merely disliked by the regulars would be a gross understatement. They were hated and their lives were made miserable.

When the group I took basic training with was assigned to the 87th we had more of a fighting chance, there were a hundred of us. Many of us took Mule Pack artillery training. Our group included Ken Bishop, Cap Kelley, Arvid Frederickson, Howard Elliott, Joe Raklovitz, Bill Weaver, Walther Wisniewski, Rogers McCrae, Alvin Cowling, and Ernie Wilson. We were all assigned to the 87th at that time.

The regulars would tell us that we were trying to shirk our duty by having to be drafted. We countered by saying that we were selectees and had a letter from the President of the United States inviting us into the Army. We also told them that we were not given the option of going to prison or joining the Army which wzs the option many of them had had. They were a tough and ornery group, but they did not scare us in the least.

We returned to the United States in early April 1943. In a few short weeks Lt. Col. Dwyer was relieved of his command and Major Georgee F. Barber assumed command of the battalion. His job was a very difficult one and he demanded discipline from his officers and men and was given only a few short months to get the unit combat ready. The firing batteries trained extremely long hours each day in order to get razor sharp. We knew that we would soon be headed for England and eventually take part in the liberation of France.

Major Barber would not have won any popularity contests at that time, but he did what had to be done and he did it very well. He soon became Lt. Col. Barber and became a very good leader.

Immediately after Thanksgiving dinner 1943, Capt. Isadore Alderfer, CWO William A. Hart, Sgts. Frank Kairunas, and Ernie Wilson left the unit for New York City and then to England where they settled in the Banbury area. They were the advance party with the mission of making arrangements for the housing of the battalion, to make pay arrangements for the officers and men, and to requisition canned and packaged foodstuff for the entire group. The perishable foods were ordered the day before the battalion arrived and were delivereed shortly thereafter.

While we were awaiting word on the arrival of the battalion, one person had to be at our billet at all times after 4:00 PM daily. Capt. Alderfer took that assignment personally. He stayed at our billet every evening and kept the rest of us supplied with money.

We ate our meals with the 58th, 62nd, or 65th FA Battalions which had just returned from combat in North Africa. They were fun people. I happened to make friends with the Mess Sergeant and every night I was invited to a late night meal with three or four other men. Our dinner was prepared by the Mess Sergeant and quite often it would be steak or something equally as good. It was always tasty.

In mid-January 1944 the full battalion landed in Scotland aboard the Queen Elizabeth. Ernie Norman was a good friend of one of the crew members and ate many meals with the crew. Needleess to say, the crew ate much better than the soldiers aboard the ship.

After landing in Scotland, the troops went by rail to Atterbury, England, and were billeted either in Atterbury or Banbury in Oxfordshire. We remained there until mid-May 1944 when the forward echelon traveled to Wales in preparation for the liberation of France. A few days later the rear echelon traveled to Bournemouth which is on the English Channel.

The master plan was for D-day to be June 4, 1944. The weather man did not cooperate and the channel became very choppy. The decision was made to postpone the landing for 48 hours, making D-day June 6, 1944.

The enemy laid numerous mines in the channel. In spite of all the mine-sweeping equipment used by the Navy, many mines went undetected and ships carrying Allied personnel and equipment were either sunk or damaged in the crossing of the channel to Normandy. Our forward unit was originally scheduled to land D plus 3; however a number of our people were in Normandy on D-day, H hour landing in gliders with the airborne troops.

My section landed at Ste. Mere Eglise on June 19. Every once in a while you could hear enemy artillery shells being fired toward the beaches. There were a few enemy snipers perched in trees. I recall picking up a lone paratrooper walking along a road and driving him a mile or so before he asked to be let out. His mission was to rid the area of snipers.

On July 20 Captain Alderfer saw me and told me to report to Doc Paull, the battalion surgeon. Doc saw that my skin was yellow and the whites of my eyes were yellow as well. He asked for one his famous short arm inspections. I said, "Doc, you have to be kidding." He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Do as I say." I obliged and he shook his head and told me that the war was over for me and that I would not return. I was sent by ambulance to a large hospital tent located on Normandy beach. I laid on a cot for two days before I was evacuated by air to England.

Within a week I felt real good. I was put on a no-fat diet and was fed about five meals a day. They were very small meals with all possible grease removed.  I drank a lot of juices. A new hospital unit, the 124th or 126th General was sent from the States to England. I was sent there and thought it would only be for a few days. Instead I was kept there for several more weeks. When the Captain called me in to tell me that I was being discharged from the hospital, I got the feeling he was apologizing.

I was sent to a replacement depot, and was told that my unit had been notified and if they wanted me back, they could requisition me. I roamed around the grounds one day and met Lt. Joe Moudy. He told me that Major Holst was going to pick him up the next day and to meet him at the gate. Major Holst told me that the 87th was not notified that I was there and that he would return the following morning with the proper papers.

That was about October 1, 1944 and the personnel section was in Roetgen, Germany. The weather was much cooler by that time and we no longer slept in the open fields. Instead we managed to sleep inside with the farm animals. They slept on the main level of the barn while we slept in the hayloft above.

When we got further into Germany, housing got better. We were the conquerors and lived much better than before. I recall being in Brand (about five miles from Aachen) at the time the German Army broke through the Allied lines in the Malmedy area. Most of the battalion was together and the men were working on the M-7's, half-tracks, trucks, and jeeps preparing for a later push. During the late morning of December 18th an unmarked enemy plane flew over our position and the anti-aircraft units opened fire. James Heneghan, Raymond Porter, and I stood in the middle of the street and observed the action. Suddenly Raymond Porter grabbed his chest and said in a loud voice, "I've been hit!". Jim and I took to the front porch of the house we were in which was no more than twenty-five feet away from the middle of the street while Elmer went a few feet away to get his jeep. Jim and Elmer took Raymond to the hospital in Aachen where he died in the emergency room.

The irony of the story is that Raymond had made bet with someone that the war would be over by Christmas and when the Germans made the break-through, he conceded the bet. He had not paid off his cash bet, but he threw a good party with ample drinks.

As I recall, all hostilities ended by May 7, 1945 and the surrender agreement was signed on May 9, 1945. In that President Harry Truman was having a birthday on May 8, that is the date given in this area as the date of the end of the war in Europe: V-E day.

LIBERATION OF THE CONCENTRATION CAMP NORDHAUSEN

By Rogers M. McCrea, Hq. Btry, Communication Section

In response to business meeting held in Tucson, AZ on September 1989, I am prompted to set on record an eye witness account of the Liberation of the liberation of the concentration and death camp located at Nordhausen.

No attempt is made in this report to pin exact dates, but a bracket of the time had to be before April 13 and after April 10, 1945.

Several years prior to the Tucson Reunion, the Kansas City Star printed an article quoting several Kansas University professors, that the "so called German death camps" were highly exaggerated and went on at length about historical records, etc., which brought out an angry resolve on my part, as an eye witness, to set out an account of what I actually saw.

The "sands of time" are fast running out for those who were there, so I began researching the different libraries in the Kansas City area to refresh my memory after forty-six years.

Nordhausen has not been one of the favorites of the media, but certainly no less unspeakable with its horrors.

This account is meant to show one of the many historical experiences of this combat battalion as it fought across Europe from Normandy where it landed. Some of its liaison units landed in the first hour of D-day.

Personnaly, I believe this account is not a pleasant subject, and I can't say I enjoyed writing this part of the record; however, in later years I have heard various people say that the Americans did little to stop the Holocaust. I wish some of the wretches we saved at Nordhausen could respond to that statement.

In regard to conditions, activities, and disposal of discarded human shells; General Eisenhower stated it the best: "We are continually finding German camps in which they have placed political prisoners where unspeakable conditions exist," and from my personal observation, I can state unequivocally that all written statements up to now do not paint the full horrors.

The previous quotes were made several days following the over-run of the camps as well as the photographs, which were apparently taken at the time personnel from "Graves Registration" had moved in. These latter always followed behind the front line units.

Photographs used in this report are from United States Army Signal Corps taken one to three days after the 87th went through. Some of the quotes are taken from the book by Robert H. Abzug, "Inside the Vicious Heart", which he used.

Abzug, in his book, mentions Patton's 3rd Army as the liberating unit which is obviously confused with the 3rd Armored Division, which the media often mostook at this time.

Actually the 87th was fractured at this time with parts supporting the 24 Squadron to the north, and the 4th Squadron to the south, both from the 4th Cavalry Group.

Parts of the 1st Infantry and parts of the 104th were in our combat team. The 3rd Armored Division was further south. From my memory and using the above as background, the story unfolds as follows:

THE STORY

The war was beginning to run down. Buford Dobbs and I were in the communications section operating an SCR 191 AM radio on one side, and a SCR 608 FM radio on the other side of the rear end of an armored half track.

Upon entering the Harz Mountains, radio reception was difficult and we picked up and relayed messages betweeen forward observers, who were with forward units, and the firing batteries or battalion fire direction center if it was set up at the particular time.

The time had come when many of us were beginning to believe we might get out of this "thing". When this happens the fear actually increases, inasmuch as when you don't think you have a chance, the fear is actually less. My thoughts wrere often of my friend, Alvin Cowling, who had taken a battle field commisssion, and was killed outside Houffalize by a sniper. We had become close friends in Panama, and later, in Europe, we would see each other when Captain Dave Olson's Survey Section would cross our paths.

The combat unit I was with at the time suddenly came to a halt on the north side of the town of Nordhausen. Radio activity picked up and we could tell on our assigned frequency that we had met stiff resistance. Small arms, "burp" guns, and heavy gun firee went on through the night. At one point aircraft appeared and flares were dropped. From our position off the road and under cover of some trees, we were fairly certain ME 109's were doing the bombing and low strafing up ahead. But it sounded too far ahead, and later it was suggested that it was US planes...we never found out for certain.

We broke out some "C" ration cans, a choice of corned beef hash or vegetable beef stew, with hardtack biscuits. With our Coleman stove we heated up the "C" rations and made coffee. This was done out the back armor plate door of the half track.

88 shells and nebilwerfers were going off not too far away, so slit trenches were dug and we slept with one blanket wrapped around ourselves for warmth and to keep off the falling dirt. The next morning we moved out slowly at daylight with a column of half tracks, light tanks, and jeeps.

When we finally entered Nordhausen a strange sight appeared, walking skeletons clothed in filthy stripped prison suits wandering or really staggering along the sides of the road. Some were lying on their sides at the curbs lifting an arm in a wave as we passed. Others were just lying there too weak to move.

A strong odor of dead bodies soon became quite strong and when we came to what was the center of the concentration camp, we left our vehicles and went over to observe what was going on. The gates, barbed wire, and entrances had been broken down and in thecenter of an open area surrounded by one-story, flimsy, barrack-type buildings, the infantry had captured the SS Commandant of the camp and tied him to a stake located in the center of the prison yard. Their purpose was to allow the ex-prisoners to stone him, but they were too weak to do much more than spit on him. The Commandant himself fit the picture---tight fitting riding boots, Wehrmact SS black breeches and shirt, shaved head, with a Heidelberg dueling scar down one cheek. Other SS prisoners were taken and we would tear off their shirts to see if they had the SS tatoo on their right shoulder.

There appeared to be more dead in and around the prison than there were alive. One of the units quickly moved forward and set up a kitchen tent to try and feed the poor souls, but few were able to eat.

Moving south on the road, we passed a railroad switching yard lined with box cars in which dead bodies were lying grotesquely. some hanging out of the box car doors, and some almost up to the road where they had crawled before they died. The information was that the SS were trying to evacuate these prisoners before we overran the town, then when they saw they weren't going to make it, they called in the luftwaffe to bomb and strafe the trains in order to kill as many as they could. The survivors are what we saw in the camp and along the road when we came in.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, Dobbs and I became separated, and the following is his story:

"The scene in the railroad yard was so awful that I have tried to put it out of my mind. What I do remember was being part of a detail pulling bodies out of the box cars and lining them along the station platform while Doc Paull, 87th battalion MD, with other doctors checked each body for signs of life and separated these for medical attention. Not many were still alive."

Following are quotes from Robert H. Abzug's book, "Inside the Vicious Heart" Editor's Note: (Abzug's quotes are in orange)

It was April 11 when the Timberwolf Division pulled into Nordhausen. It came upon 3,000 corpses and more than seven hundred barely surviving inmates. The vast majority of both the living and the dead lay in two double-decker barracks, piled three to a bunk or half-hidden in mounds of excelsior and straw on the floor. Many were too weak to move, and the rooms reeked of death and excrement. Already prey to starvation and tuberculosis, the prisoners had also suffered from numerous casualties from American bombings of the V-2 factories the week before. Only a handful could stand on rickety, pipestem legs. Their eyes were sunk deeply into their skulls and their skins under thick dirt were a ghastly yellow. Some sobbed great dry sobs to see the Americans. Others merely wailed pitifully, and one poor semi-conscious Jew kept crying "Ey yaah."

"We laboriously tried to pick out the ones who still showed signs of life. And we used German civilians to help us in that, and frankly, I must say that they were as sick as our guys were...they always said that they had no idea that these things were going on, and in many instances it is possibly true, because certainly these attrocities were not publicized. Some of them refused to lend a hand because they said, 'We had no part in this.' But at that time nobody would accept that as an excuse, and then they offered to pitch in"---Fred Bohm

"We started getting these bodies and we wound up, I was told, with a total number of about 2,000, and we just had them in big long lines and I know our chaplain was just running up and down the lines, straining, cursing, and everything...it was just a silent, putrid death stink. I mean, you know, we would even communicate with each other in whispers and things like that. I don't know why you do that...you just do. I guess half my thought were really prayers, but right at that point we were trying to get these bodies out. We were afraid of disease and this kind of thing, and we wanted to get them under the ground and restore some sort of dignity to them, but then we had another mission after that one...I guess really later the profoundness of the situation gradually came to me."--C. W. Doughty

As I think back over the years, I realize that God used us to uncover this evil and release these prisoners, whether Jew or Gentile, but what a price was paid before we got there.

May God forbid the human race from ev4er again descending to such a level. /s/ Rogers M. McCrae

AN ACCOUNT WRITTEN BY DAVE OLSON

First of all, according to the history, Headquarters Battery was involved with some political prisoners who greeted us from a town called Munchehof. This was on 11 April, 1945. The battalion passed through Nordhausen on 17-18 April, 1945. So it appears from what the history reports, that there were two encounters with concentration camps.

At the close of the war and the fighting, I was assigned to a small concentration camp out in the country that was to be cleaned up and used as a collecting point for DP's. We went into the nearby towns and rooted out the mayors and local inhabitants and had them clean the camp up, which was really a pig sty. We made them bring in their own bedding to replace the straw ticks which were full of lice and bedbugs, and had them bring in food as well.

Word was passed that the camp was ready for DP's and they began to trickle in. There was looting, raping, burning, and general raising cain. What a rough bunch!!! It was a sight to see eight or ten of these people pushing an upright piano down the road...or carrying a sofa. While waiting for the trucks, bands of marauders would leave camp and proceed to set the local towns on fire and we finally put guards on the camp and kept them in.

It was the young men who caused the problems. Most of the people were Russians or Hungarians and I have heard that those that were finally picked up in US Army trucks and driven back to the Russian Zone were never heard from again. Anyway, anyone who whitewashes the issue of concentration camps should have had a personal tour.

Somehow our educators, bless them, do not usually have much contact with the real world and so the students have to "unlearn" much of their philosophy and wisdom once they leave the classroom.

WEBMASTER NOTE

This section "Afteraction Report" has now been updated with the material from Dave's June Newsletter