The 3rd U.S. Infantry Division Crosses the Meurthe

by E. A. Reitan

Author’s Note: On 15 August 1944 the U.S. Sev­enth Army landed in southern France, moved quickly westward to take Marseilles, and then swept north up the Rhone Valley, reaching the Vosges Moun­tains by mid-October. At this point the attack stalled; German resistance stiff­ened, supply prob­lems became acute, and the rugged terrain proved hard going for battle-weary troops.

I was briefly part of this story. I joined Com­pany F, 2^nd Bat­tal­ion, 7^th Infantry Regiment, 3^rd In­fan­try Division, as a replace­ment rifleman on the Anzio beach­head. I got my baptism of fire during the Anzio breakout, enjoyed our tri­um­phant entry into Rome, stood guard at Mussolini’s headquarters on the Piazza Ve­nezia, participated in six weeks of stren­u­ous training for the landing in southern France, and landed with the first wave at Cavalaire.

Although the landing did not compare in cas­u­al­ties with Sa­lerno or Normandy, the 7^th In­fan­try had fifty-eight men killed, includ­ing eleven from Company F. I got mine the next day when I was wounded in the knee and sent back to a hospital in Naples. Thus I missed out on the fabled “Champagne Campaign.” In Oc­to­ber the doctors decided, in view of the great shortage of riflemen, that I was sufficiently re­cov­ered to return to combat. I re­joined my unit in mid-November, just as the Sev­enth Army was preparing for its push toward Strasbourg and the Rhine.

•

The Army’s immediate objective was to break through the “Winter Line” that the Germans had spent several months pre­par­ing in the Vosges Moun­tains (see Map 1). The 3^rd Division’s as­sign­ment was to cross the Meur­the River above St. Die and then cut through the mountains to Sa­ales, where it would be on the main road to Stras­bourg. To the north, the 100^th Division would attack from Raon L’Etape, while to the south the 103^rd Division would take St. Die it­self.

Nestled in the valley of the Meurthe, St. Die was a tough obsta­cle similar to St. Lô in Nor­mandy. The most likely strategy was to outflank it, and for this reason the Germans had built ex­ten­sive fortifications north of the city along the river. The Meurthe is not a large river but it flows rapidly down the valley, and in November it was swollen by autumn rains. The riverbanks were soft and muddy. Just north of St. Die at LaVoivre, however, there were two good sites for the Bailey bridges that would be needed to move the division’s ar­mor and other heavy equip­ment across the river.

The division decided that the most dangerous part of the com­ing operation would be the actual crossing of the swift-flowing Meur­the. The Ger­man for­ti­fi­ca­tions were weakly manned, and once our infantry got across the river they could be taken by as­sault. The land west of the river, though, was bowl-shaped: a flat plain surrounded by mountains, over which the Germans had ex­cel­lent observation, and in the days before the attack, the Ger­mans used this advantage to shell the division’s crossing area. A daylight attack would certainly come under heavy artillery fire, especially at the vulnerable time when the troops were crossing the river. For this reason the di­vi­sion decided to cross the river at night, at­tack­ing at dawn after heavy artillery preparation. Com­pany F had had a brief respite from combat, the time being used for training, repairing equip­ment, and practicing night maneuvers and river cross­ings. The date for the crossing of the Meurthe was set at 20 November.

LaVoivre and the bridge sites were assigned to the 2^nd Bat­tal­ion commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Clayton Thobro, one of the most respected bat­tle­field com­mand­ers in the division. La­Voivre was a village of about twenty houses, one and one-half miles north of St. Die, which had been converted by the Germans into a strongpoint. It was situated on rising ground about 1,000 yards from the river. The plain be­tween the river and the town had been mined, and the rising ground in front of the village was blocked by felled trees, barbed wire, and trenches. The hills and woods behind the town provided ideal lo­ca­tion for the German ar­til­lery units, who were zeroed in on the riverbanks where we were likely to cross.

The houses of LaVoivre had been converted into fortifications, with buildings connected either by breaches in the walls or by underground tun­nels. Because the buildings were sited on a slope, their basement walls were open on the side facing the river, from which connections were made with trenches. Isolated houses on each end of town had been re­in­forced by sand-bagged win­dows. If La­Voivre had been adequately manned, it would have been a tough nut to crack. For­tu­nately, division intelligence had learned that La­Voivre was defended only by approximately sixty men. There was no Ger­man armor that might counterattack.

When the attack began, the 7^th Infantry was bivouacked at Fremifontaine, about fifteen miles from the crossing point. At 2300 hours on a chilly, damp evening, the 2^nd Battalion left Fremi­fontaine by truck but encountered a traffic jam when a battalion of tanks from the 14^th Ar­mored Di­vi­sion wandered into 3^rd Division ter­ri­tory. The delay was short, but the tanks chewed up most of our telephone wire.

We left the trucks at LaSalle, about a mile from the rivers, go­ing the rest of the distance by foot. We were under strict orders to maintain complete si­lence, an order we scrupulously obeyed, since no one wanted to draw en­emy fire. Our 1^st Battalion moved into position on our left about the same time. The 3^rd Bat­tal­ion was in reserve, ready to move through the assault bat­tal­ions when the initial ob­jec­tives were achieved.

Earlier in the evening, Com­pany F’s third pla­toon had gone ahead, crossing the river in wooden boats, and established a perimeter on the east side of the river, and the combat engineers installed two footbridges down­stream from the planned Bailey bridge sites. These were standard floating bridges with a three-foot gangway and attached cables for hand guides. One was 84 feet long and the other 96 feet. For­tu­nately, the Ger­mans were una­ware of the bridge building, and their random artillery fire dur­ing the night was apparently routine harassing fire.

At 0345 hours, Company F, commanded by First Lieutenant Earl Swanson, led the battalion across the footbridges (see Map 2). (I still re­mem­ber the black­ened faces of the engineers as we crossed the bridge.) We spread out quietly on ground that I recall as hard, damp and cold. There was no thought of digging in, which would have made noise. Company E, under Lieutenant James Powell, followed and took its place to the right of Company F. Lieutenant Leonard Han­ney’s Com­pany G remained in reserve back by the river in a line of trees. It was in a column of pla­toons parallel to the river with orders to make a large loop to the south end of the town. Sections of Company H, the battalion’s heavy weapons company, were attached to the three rifle com­pa­nies. The 1^st Battalion crossed on footbridges to our left, and far­ther north two battalions of the 30^th Infantry also crossed.

Once in place, we lay for two hours in the silent darkness. All was quiet until about 0600 hours when the German artillery rou­tinely shelled the riverbanks and hit several men in Company G; I do not recall that any of the wounded cried out.

An important part of the plan was a massive artillery barrage to precede our infantry attack. The firepower devoted to this rather modest op­er­a­tion was indeed awe­some. The official history of the Seventh Army summarizes it this way:

H-Hour was preceded by thirty minutes of the most in­tense artillery preparation fired for the 3^rd Division since the breakout at Anzio. This was followed by thirty min­utes of counter-battery and deepening fires on enemy po­si­tions. The initial preparation was fired on the enemy’s main line of re­sist­ance, from which infantry elements were but 200 yards away… Over 6,500 rounds were fired by 3^rd Infantry Division artillery alone, in addition to that fired by corps and group. In sup­port of the VI Corps assault across the Meurthe sixty-four sor­ties were flown by the XII Tac­ti­cal Air Corps prior to noon.

Our regimental cannon com­pany also provided indirect fire while direct fire was provided by anti-tank guns, tanks and tank de­stroy­ers from hull-down po­si­tions, and anti-aircraft guns. The division’s reconnaissance troop manned six .50-caliber ma­chine guns and the 7^th Infantry’s battle patrol manned twenty, all of which were mounted along the riv­er­bank to provide overhead direct fire support for the advancing in­fan­try.

At 0617 hours the barrage be­gan. It alerted the Germans, who assumed that the river was being crossed at that time. They placed mortar fire on the riverbanks and plain and we could do nothing but lie there and take it. Seven men in the company were hit. One mor­tar shell landed about three feet behind my right foot. It seemed like the ground dropped out from under me and I fell back on my stomach with a thud. I can still see that smoking black hole.

Despite the shelling, we held our places and maintained si­lence. Nobody panicked. Be­sides, there was no place to go.

The battalion jumped off at 0645 hours (see Map 3). By that time LaVoivre was burning and a cloud of smoke from it rose in the pale No­vem­ber dawn. Our artillery was still flying overhead and the direct fire weapons poured fire on the town. One report attributed the Germans fail­ure to occupy their trenches to the volume of direct fire support. In the meantime, dive bombers at­tacked the German ar­til­lery po­si­tions in the rear, thus pre­vent­ing German counterfire while the advance was in progress. I still have a vivid mem­ory of a dive bomber swooping down on the town and dropping its bomb, which at that dis­tance looked to me about the size of a jelly bean.

Our advance was delayed about half an hour by felled trees, and this gave the Germans time to get out of their cellars and pour machine gun fire on us. Most of it came from a fortified house on the north end of town. We needed another half-hour to reach the wire and the trenches, which fortunately were un­manned. The company then took shelter on the hillside north of town while Lieutenant Swanson directed the 1st Platoon to attack the house; he later estimated it contained ten men with a heavy ma­chine gun and other automatic weapons. The 2^nd Platoon (where I was) swung around in back of the town and then began working its way down the street, clearing houses.

In the meantime, on our right, Company E did not encounter the obstacles that slowed our ad­vance, and its soldiers attacked the town in quick rushes, reach­ing the wire and trenches in about fifteen minutes. The leader of Com­pany E’s 1^st Pla­toon was new to combat, and many of his men were new replace­ments. The pla­toon was sup­posed to link up with Company F, which was still work­ing its way through the felled trees and re­ceiv­ing fire from the fortified house at the north end of town.

Company E did not receive any fire from this house until its 1st Platoon veered southward to the main part of town. Then the Germans in the house opened up on them. The platoon scattered for cover until Lieutenant Powell, the company commander, got it organized and firing back. The platoon stopped firing when they saw our 1^st Platoon attack the house. The rest of Company E stayed busy clear­ing houses and taking prisoners.

Company G attacked by loop­ing to the right, its purpose being to take the road that led south­ward to St. Die. It ran into a mine field and lost an entire ma­chine gun squad from Company H, plus several of its own sol­diers. But then it ad­vanced rap­idly and reached the south end of town about 0730 hours and prob­a­bly took most of the prisoners the battalion claimed that morn­ing.

A secondary objective of the battalion’s attack was the site of a blown bridge south of town. Here the Germans had a roadblock com­posed of a squad of men with a machine gun and automatic pis­tols. The division’s battle patrol forded the river at this point about 0830 hours and attacked the roadblock with support from Company G. Eight or ten pris­on­ers were taken, and other Ger­man defenders fled into the hills. German ar­til­lery and mortar fire fell on the road, however, and cost Company G an estimated sixteen casualties. The bridge site was secured about 1045 hours and the engineers immediately began in­stall­ing a Bai­ley bridge for the armor to cross and continue the division’s advance. By that time, too, other en­gi­neers were already building another bridge at the site near the footbridge.

By 1100 hours the battle was over. The 1^st Bat­tal­ion took the village of Hurbache and the 3^rd Bat­tal­ion was committed, cross­ing on the foot­bridge and taking Denipaire (see Map 1). We were sent back to catch our breath and re­or­gan­ize. The 7^th Infantry Reg­i­ment had 167 casualties that day, includ­ing thirty-one killed and 136 wounded. The 2^nd Bat­tal­ion had eleven killed (three from Com­pany F) and fifty-seven wounded. It captured forty-five pris­on­ers.

When we dug in for the night, I opened my pack to take out my blanket. I found it was full of holes. My first reaction was: “Somebody took my blanket and gave me this moth-eaten one.” Then I looked again and saw that a piece of shrap­nel had passed completely through the pack and blanket about two inches above my back. Obviously, this was from the mortar shell that had blown me off the ground in the early morning shelling.

What can we learn about in­fan­try combat in World War II from this account of the crossing of the Meurthe? An official report prepared by the Seventh Army historical team, which I have used to flesh out my own recollections, shows the extensive planning and coordination that was necessary to launch an attack by one battalion on one small vil­lage, an attack completed in less than four hours. Most of the men who planned and led the op­er­a­tion were ordinary Americans with minimal training who had learned how to do it mainly through experience. Common sol­diers like me had little knowl­edge of what was hap­pen­ing, but we did our duty anyway. The 7^th In­fan­try relied on heavy sup­port­ing fire to destroy the enemy’s willingness to resist and then sent in rifle companies to occupy the ground, mop up any remaining resistance, and take prisoners. 

The Germans in LaVoivre put up a respectable fight and then sur­ren­dered or fled. By the time the ri­fle­men got into the town, most of the enemy were gone or were ready to surrender. As a ri­fle­man, that’s the way I liked it!

Crossing a river at night was unusual and re­quired careful plan­ning, good leadership, and well-disciplined troops. In this respect, the 7^th Infantry per­formed well. The risk in the plan was premature discovery, for when the two battalions had crossed the river and taken up their jump-off positions, they were vulnerable to German ar­til­lery and mortar fire. In the dark­ness, they could neither attack the town nor retreat across the river. The gamble paid off, but the 2^nd Battalion paid a price, the least of which was my ruined blan­ket. We were fortunate the price was not higher.

The crossing of the Meurthe established a method of crossing rivers at night that was used suc­cess­fully by the 3^rd Division on several oc­ca­sions during the Colmar Pocket operation. Clearly, the division was capable of or­gan­iz­ing and carrying out a so­phis­ti­cated and risky op­er­a­tion.

At LaVoivre, as is inevitable in a citizen army, leadership de­ter­mined what happened. The ri­fle companies were greatly un­derstrength, and the constant turnover of riflemen meant lack of battle experience and inev­i­ta­ble confusion. The com­pany com­mand­ers were proven lead­ers, and with com­pa­nies at half strength or less they ex­er­cised con­sid­er­a­ble personal control over the ac­tion. Sometimes the lack of experience may have been an asset.

What about the riflemen? In 1947, S. L. A. Marshall’s Men Against Fire astonished a nation whose view of World War II had been shaped by wartime news­reels, movies, and morale-building articles, plus the tales of personal daring and danger told by returning veterans. The theme of Marshall’s book was the lack of aggressiveness on the part of U.S. ground troops, which he dem­on­strated by showing the unwill­ing­ness of ri­fle­men to fire their rifles.

After surveying numerous bat­tles in the Eu­ro­pean Theater and in the Pacific, Marshall found that in any battle no more than twenty-five per cent of the ri­fle­men fired their rifles, and much of the time the figure was closer to fifteen per cent. I know I did not fire my rifle at LaVoivre, and I am confident that most members of the 2^nd Pla­toon did not, al­though other platoons did. Coming around the back of the town, firing by the 2^nd Platoon was more likely to injure friend than foe.

The crossing of the Meurthe showed that the riflemen would fire their rifles where there was a target and when their officers or NCOs showed the way. There are enough deadly missiles flying around a battlefield anyway with­out adding un­nec­es­sar­ily to the congestion. The purpose of in­fan­try is to advance on the enemy and occupy ground. When this purpose is carried out, the ri­fle­men are fighting the war, whether they fire their rifles or not.

In retrospect, the crossing of the Meurthe River, although it had some special features, was the kind of small unit action that took place con­stantly in combat and would be repeated over and over until Hitler’s Reich was no more. All along the great front that stretched from the North Sea to the Alps, other battalions were doing approx­i­mately the same thing. Although it is important to understand war in its broadest context, if there is any lesson for the modern U.S. Army in this account of the crossing of the Me­urthe, it is that war eventually comes down to small unit ac­tions. It is at that level that doc­trine, training, lead­er­ship, weap­ons and morale prove their worth.

GIs rush to the aid of a fellow soldier who has been shot by a sniper while crossing a footbridge.

 

Map 1.

Map 2.

Map 3.

Don’t Forget the Privates: The Infantryman Won the War in Europe

by Albert H. Smith Jr., Major General, U.S. Army (Retired)

Each year on May 8th, much of the world commemorates the anniversary of V-E Day, and heaps praise on those World War II political and military leaders who directed and led the Allied armed forces to victory in Europe.

This is as it should be, I suppose. But on this day I would like the world to remember that infantry privates also won the war in Europe. Of course, the Army Air Force, the Navy and the Coast Guard contributed mightily to the final victory in Europe. And in his own way every man in uniform helped defeat the German Armed Forces. Infantrymen, though, did more than all the others, and young infantry privates proved to be the cutting edge of the U.S. war machine—the teeth of the shark, the claws of the tiger. In fact, if it were not for their courage, determination, initiative, and sacrifice, we might not have a V-E Day to commemorate.

Ernie Pyle, the beloved war correspondent who died on a small Pacific island in 1945, probably best described these low-ranking, rough, tough warriors when he wrote:

The front-line soldier I knew lived for months like an animal, and was a veteran of the cruel, fierce world of death. Everything was abnormal and unstable in his life. He was filthy dirty, are if and when, slept on hard ground without cover … The front-line soldier has to harden his inside as well as his outside or he would crack under the strain … A front-line soldier has to fight everything all the time.

Major General Ernest N. Harmon, a tough man in his own right who commanded armor divisions in North Africa and northwest Europe, notes this difference between tankers and infantrymen:

It must be a point of honor with every tanker that he never permit an infantry unit to be overrun by enemy tanks … I always insisted to my tankers that in their rolling fortresses they were secure from most of the hazards of battle, and post-war casualty figures for the European Theater of Operations bore me out; infantry divisions suffered seventy per cent of the casualties, armored divisions ten per cent.

I have talked with many soldiers during the past few years and have found them interested in the lessons we learned during World War II. Junior enlisted men in particular seem to enjoy hearing about their counterparts of fifty years ago—what part they played in the fighting and what they accomplished. In fact, after I would tell them that I believed the privates also won the war in Europe, invariably some would approach me and ask if I could prove it.

This challenge eventually triggered on my part a concentrated research effort. I was hopeful that this research would prove my contention that low-ranking combat infantrymen won the battles that led to ultimate victory in Europe. I believe it has.

My research plan was simple—I would start by investigating Medal of Honor statistics and then focus on Medal of Honor awards at the division level and Distinguished Service Cross awards at the regiment level.

In analyzing all of the Medal of Honor awards made to Army and Army Air Force personnel during World War II, for example, I learned that seventy-seven of the 292 medals awarded had been received by privates. Put another way, twenty-six per cent of all Army Medal of Honor recipients came from our lowest enlisted grades.

In considering just one infantry division—the 1st—I discovered that during its eight World War II campaigns, sixteen of its soldiers had been awarded the Medal of Honor. Five of the sixteen (thirty-one per cent) were awarded to privates. Here are summaries of those five citations:

Private Carlton W. Barrett

St. Laurent-sur-Mar, France, 6 June 1944. On the morning of D-Day, Private Barrett, landing in the face of extremely heavy fire, was forced to wade ashore through neck-deep water. Disregarding personal danger, he returned to the surf again and again to assist his floundering comrades and save them from drowning. Refusing to remain pinned down by the intense barrage of small arms and mortar fire poured at the landing points, Private Barrett, working with fierce determination, saved many lives by carrying casualties to an evacuation boat lying offshore. In addition to his assigned mission as guide, he carried dispatches the length of the fire-swept beach; he assisted the wounded; he calmed the shocked; he arose as a leader in the stress of the occasion. His coolness and his daunting, daring courage while constantly risking his life during a period of many hours had an inestimable effect on his comrades.

Private Robert T. Henry

(Posthumous) Near Luchem, Germany, 3 December 1944. He volunteered to attempt the destruction of a nest of five enemy machine guns located in a bunker 150 yards to the flank which had stopped the advance of his platoon. Stripping off his pack, overshoes, helmet, and overcoat, he sprinted alone with his rifle and hand grenades across the open terrain toward the enemy emplacement. Before he had gone half the distance he was hit by a burst of machine gun fire. Dropping his rifle, he continued to stagger forward until he fell mortally wounded only 10 yards from the enemy emplacement. His single-handed attack forced the enemy to leave the machine guns. During this break in hostile fire the platoon moved forward and overran the position. Private Henry, by his gallantry and intrepidity and utter disregard for his own life, enabled his company to reach its objective, capturing this key defense and seventy German prisoners.

Private First Class Francis X. McGraw

(Posthumous) Near Schevenhutte, Germany, 19 November 1944. He manned a heavy machine gun emplaced in a foxhole near Schevenhutte, Germany, on 19 November 1944, when the enemy launched a fierce counterattack. Braving an intense hour-long preparatory barrage, he maintained his stand and poured deadly accurate fire into the advancing foot troops until they faltered and came to a halt. The hostile forces brought up a machine gun in an effort to dislodge him but were frustrated when he lifted his gun to an exposed but advantageous position atop a log, courageously stood up in his foxhole and knocked out the enemy weapon. A rocket blasted his gun from position, but he retrieved it and continued firing. He silenced a second machine gun and then made repeated trips over fire-swept terrain to replenish his ammunition supply. Wounded painfully in this dangerous task, he disregarded his injury and hurried back to his post, where his weapon was showered with mud when another rocket barely missed him. In the midst of the battle, with enemy troops taking advantage of his predicament to press forward, he calmly cleaned his gun, put it back into action and drove off the attackers. He continued to fire until his ammunition was expended, when, with a fierce desire to close with the enemy, he picked up a carbine, killed one enemy soldier, wounded another and engaged in a desperate fire-fight with a third until he was mortally wounded by a burst from a machine pistol. The extraordinary heroism and intrepidity displayed by Private McGraw inspired his comrades to great efforts and was a major factor in repulsing the enemy attack.

Private First Class Gino J. Merli

Sars la Bruyere, Belgium; 4-5 September 1944. He was serving as a machine gunner in the vicinity of Sars la Bruyere, Belgium, on the night of 4-5 September 1944, when his company was attacked by a superior German force. Its position was overrun and he was surrounded when our troops were driven back by overwhelming numbers and firepower. Disregarding the fury of the enemy fire concentrated on him he maintained his position, covering the withdrawal of our riflemen and breaking the force of the enemy pressure. His assistant machine gun-ner was killed and the position captured; the other eight members of the section were forced to surrender. Private Merli slumped down beside the dead assistant gunner and feigned death. No sooner had the enemy group withdrawn than he was up and firing in all directions. Once more his position was taken and the captors found two apparently lifeless bodies. Throughout the night Private Merli stayed at his weapon. By daybreak the enemy had suffered heavy losses, and as our troops launched an assault, asked for a truce. Our negotiating party, who accepted the German surrender, found Private Merli still at his gun. On the battlefield lay fifty-two enemy dead, nineteen of whom were directly in front of the gun. Private Merli’s gallantry and courage, and the losses and confusion that he caused the enemy, contributed materially to our victory.

Private James N. Reese

(Posthumous) Mount Vassillio, Sicily, 5 August 1943. When the enemy launched a counterattack which threatened the position of his company, Private Reese, as the acting squad leader of a 60-mm mortar squad, displaying superior leadership on his own initiative, maneuvered his squad forward to a favorable position, from which, by skillfully directing the fire of his weapon, he caused many casualties in the enemy ranks, and aided materially in repulsing the counterattack. When the enemy fire became so severe as to make his position untenable, he ordered the other members of his squad to withdraw to a safer position, but declined to seek safety for himself. So as to bring more effective fire upon the enemy, Private Reese, without assistance, moved his mortar to a new position and attacked an enemy machine gun nest. He had only three rounds of ammunition but secured a direct hit with his last round, completely destroying the nest and killing the occupants. Ammunition being exhausted, he abandoned the mortar, seized a rifle and continued to advance, moving into an exposed position overlooking the enemy. Despite a heavy concentration of ma-chine gun, mortar, and artillery fire, the heaviest experienced by his unit throughout the entire Sicilian campaign, he remained at this position and continued to inflict casualties upon the enemy until he was killed. His bravery, coupled with his gallant and unswerving determination to close with the enemy, regardless of consequences and obstacles which he faced, is a priceless inspiration to our armed forces.

In the matter of Distinguished Service Crosses, and again considering just one unit—the 16th Infantry Regiment—my research turned up the fact that eighty-seven DSCs (our second highest combat award) had been awarded between November 1942 and May 1945 to forty-two officers and forty-five enlisted men of the regiment. Of that total number, seventeen, or twenty per cent, went to privates. (Twenty-three of those DSCs were awarded to members of the regiment for their extraordinary heroism at Omaha Beach on 6 June 1944. They received their awards from General Dwight D. Eisenhower during a special ceremony on 2 July 1944. Three of those soldiers were privates.)

 Other Considerations

Aside from the awards for valor, there is abundant evidence that Army privates can do it all. Take, for example, Private Clarence R. Huebner. A business college graduate, he left a good railroad job to enlist in the Army at twenty-two years of age. The year was 1910. Shortly afterward, he became a top-notch soldier and was his regiment’s best rifle shot. He was commissioned in 1916, and his distinguished service in World War I earned him two DSCs and the command of a regiment in the 1st Infantry Division. During World War II, he commanded the division and, later, the V Corps. He retired as a lieutenant general and was then commanding the U.S. Army in Europe. He received many accolades, but he never forgot to give credit to our infantry privates. Under his leadership, they had fought and won his battles.

Another of my favorite soldiers is Private Ted Dobol. Now a retired command sergeant major, he enlisted just before World War II when a private’s pay was only $21.00 a month. Serving as a squad leader and then as a platoon sergeant in the 26th Infantry Regiment during its eight European campaigns, he earned a reputation for coolness and courage under fire. His battalion commander described him as “the bravest of the brave.”

Following World War II, Dobol’s outstanding professionalism was recognized when he was selected as the Army’s first command sergeant major. He served as the 1st Division’s CSM until his retirement. But that did not end his service, for he visited the “Blue Spaders” when they fought in Vietnam and later when they were in Germany. In 1984, the Secretary of the Army honored CSM Dobol by inviting him to Washington for the planting of D-Day commemorative trees. That’s the road to follow: Private to command sergeant major to national hero.

Two privates I particularly appreciated in 1942-43 when I commanded my first company in combat were a Private Plotast and a Private Martin; they were my most important and trusted assistants. Plotast (my runner and enlisted aide) unfailingly delivered my orders and instructions to the platoons. Martin (my jeep driver) was always able to find his way along unfamiliar North African roads and through German minefields, and he always managed to get us where we had to be. Both saw that the “old man” had something to eat and a place to sleep; they also guarded our company command post.

There is little question that privates distinguished themselves in the fighting on D-Day. One young infantryman, however, a Private First Class Milander, contributed to the division’s success without firing a shot. After his unit, Company L, 16th Infantry, had fought its way off the beaches and secured certain critical high ground on the division’s extreme left flank, Milander led a three-man reconnaissance patrol southwest to the fortified village of Cabourg. The threesome failed to return because (as we later learned) a platoon of enemy defenders had quickly surrounded them. During the night, Milander somehow talked the Germans into surrendering and took them prisoners. Next morning, American troops holding the town of Colleville cheered three weary GIs bringing in fifty-two of Hitler’s finest. Everyone was happy that Cabourg had fallen without a fight and without another casualty.

The above examples could be multiplied many times over. As I said earlier: Army privates are special soldiers.

In his 1943-45 Biennial Report, General George C. Marshall, the Army’s World War II Chief of Staff, provided the following totals on Army decorations for gallantry during the war: 3,178 Distinguished Service Crosses, 52,831 Silver Stars, and 189,309 Bronze Stars. With the infantry receiving 34.5% of all decorations for valor, and with privates earning one of every four such awards, it is evident that our young infantrymen distinguished themselves many times throughout the war.

The evidence clearly shows that American privates during World War II were rough, tough warriors who rose to the occasion. Our infantrymen did what needed to be done to accomplish the mission. Their initiative, drive, and ingenuity were unmatched by their counterparts in other military forces.

Infantrymen waiting in a shallow zig-zag trench before advancing.

 

Major General Ernest N. Harmon.

Private Carlton W. Barrett, U.S. Army, Medal of Honor recipient.

Private Robert T. Henry, U.S. Army, Medal of Honor recipient.

Private First Class Francis X. McGraw, U.S. Army, Medal of Honor recipient.

Private First Class Gino J. Merli, U.S. Army, Medal of Honor recipient.

Private James N. Reese, U.S. Army, Medal of Honor recipient.

Lieutenant General Clarence R. Huebner (seen here as a Major General).

Cmd. Sgt. Maj. Theodore (Ted) Dobol, U.S. Army (post war).