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| “Former Star Boxer … Grappled with a Heinie…” From the Stars & Stripes, Saturday, 2 October 1943. |
by Matt Urban, Lieutenant Colonel, U.S. Army (Retired)
Matt Urban was a one-in-a-million soldier, one to be remembered in all of history. An infantry officer in World War II, he was wounded time and again, but he always kept coming back, and each time his presence brought something extra to his men when they needed it most. He galvanized them, inspired them, and he led them to success while repeatedly risking his life to save others. —John G. Hubbell, Reader’s Digest
For over ten years, Colonel Urban has devoted his time to recreating and capturing the true essence of World War II in his book, The Matt Urban Story: The Hero We Nearly Forgot, a dream that began shortly after the war.
“I wanted to write a book that veterans could associate with and understand the tremendous military contributions they made to the cause of freedom.”
It’s a story of personal valor and the heroism of the men with whom he served. It pays tribute to the soldiers of the 9th Division who gave their health, and sometimes their lives, for freedom.
The following is from his book.
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In the bloody battlefields of North Africa, American GIs were reinventing war. American ingenuity and daring disrupted the traditional methods of the German armies. They didn’t charge into fortifications like the British. Their attacks were not accompanied by music like the Scots. There were no vodka-inspired, human-wave attacks as those of the Russians. They lacked the noble battle cries of the French. Quietly, methodically, they approached each objective as a unique problem to solve. Their silent efficiency was unnerving to a Nazi military machine that was accustomed to having its way. They just kept coming… with a power and performance that proved to be unbeatable.
General Eddy’s stealth and General Patton’s speed shocked the Nazi war machine. Their heroic approach, using ‘sweat and stealth’ instead of ‘blood’ epitomized the modern approach to war. American servicemen were considered to be a most valuable, trained, and precious commodity. Applied intelligence replaced ‘bravado’, and ‘strategy’ replaced raw force. Here was a new form of warfare for the German military forces to digest. The lessons were costly! In only twelve days, the highly touted Afrika Korps and its reinforcements were routed! Southern Tunisia was in Allied hands. Rommel, the celebrated ‘Desert Fox,’ was on the run!
Urban’s ‘F’ Company maneuvered over difficult terrain to the final northeastern mountain range of Tunisia. The final objective was Hill Number 409. This formidable German position was perched on a controlling peak at the edge of the mountains. Beyond lay the desert and access to Bizerte. Yonder to the north was the Mediterranean Sea. Southeast lay the Mareth Line, the desert, and the ‘Fox.’
General Rommel was finally about to be flushed out into the open. This was the beginning of the end of the war in Africa.
Lieutenant Matt Urban’s weary, sweaty troops pushed their way onto an adjoining ridge in view of Djebel Cheniti. This was the last piece of dominating high ground overlooking Rommel’s flight to the sea. Movement was difficult. They had marched a long distance over mountains and ridges that were considered impassable. They moved by mule train, carrying whatever heavy weapons could be packed by men or animals. By day they concealed their whereabouts in the sparse vegetation. Night travel was used whenever possible.
Days were hot under the blistering sun, and nights were freezing. To survive the wet, cold nights, the men were forced to sleep in piles, stacked one on top of another in foxholes to preserve precious body heat. Urban shared his blanket with Miller (who was a giant of a man) and Panzon, nicknamed ‘Pinnochio’ because of his slight frame. They slept in shifts, each man taking a turn in the middle. There warmth was optimal and weight was minimal. Despite the cold and intense discomfort, they had to snicker when it came time for Panzon to sleep on the bottom of the heap.
Chances for rest were rare. Most of the march was conducted in days of pain and bone-tired weariness. Matt Urban felt that no one could ever visualize or realize what his men were going through. There was no way to describe this animalistic existence. No words Lt. Urban had ever heard could communicate this agony. IT WAS HELL!
When it seemed that they could not push ahead any longer, Urban ordered a rest. He mounted one of the stronger looking mules. Matt planned to ride ahead to the crest of the hill and reconnoiter. The mule was a pack animal. It was not accustomed to passengers, especially not to this energetic Urban. The tired, obstinate mule wanted to stay with the pack. It first bucked and kicked. Then the stubborn beast balked with all four feet planted firmly on the ground. That mule wasn’t going to move, even with a fire beneath him. Eventually, the more stubborn of the two won out… and Matt Urban rode off to scout the situation ahead.
From his vantage point on the highest ridge he could see the entrenched enemy. They appeared to be of regimental size. Another mobile regiment was staged in reserve a few miles away.
The final objective for Urban’s troops was a heavily fortified ridge, Kef Domous, held by the German Army. They had successfully withstood months of pounding by the British.
Once more, silence, concealment, and their unexpected presence gave the American troops an advantage over the superior enemy force. They were poised for the attack, unnoticed, and right under the nose of the superior German military strength.
Urban’s troops rested briefly to prepare for the attack. An imposing figure, the tall Second Lieutenant John Allen, stood up and emptied his can of cold beans on the ground. He bore a striking resemblance to the actor, Jimmy Stewart. He had the same precise accent and mannerisms. “C’mon, Urbie,” he drawled. “There’s not as many of us as the British lost altogether on this hill, so what have we got to lose?”
“We licked ’em so far, and we can lick ’em again!” Miller joining in, exclaimed. “Let’s get to it!”
The German troops had scheduled time for mess. This was followed by ‘siesta-time.’ This African custom was scheduled from 1200 to 1400 to avoid the burning heat of the desert sun. Consequently, only a minimal crew manned the mighty fortifications. Enemy troops felt secure in a belief that they were far from the scene of battle. The time for a surprise attack was ripe.
Urban and the men of ‘F’ Company were positioning themselves for attack. The Germans were ‘changing the guard’ in a relaxed fashion and moving most of their guard troops to the rear. At the moment of maximum opportunity, Urban’s men struck.
Fortifications were seized suddenly. American soldiers swarmed over the area. They rapidly occupied empty enemy machine gun emplacements. They cut loose a hail of machine gun fire on the defenders with captured German weapons. The rout was over before the defenders had time to regain military discipline.
As the German troops ran for cover, ‘F’ Company was consolidating its gains. They were forming a protective, dug-in double line staggered throughout the sturdy buttress. Sergeant John Miller, Staff Sergeant Joseph Boylan, and Pfc. William Nichols positioned themselves near the end of the defense line. They planned to bolster the right flank against any counterattack.
None too soon! The first wave of a counterattack struck within minutes. Enemy flanking forces showered them with heavy machine gun fire. Sergeant Miller, standing upright, shuffled forward. Firing his Thompson submachine gun with deadly accuracy into an advancing German machine gun squad, Miller seized their gun. He fired it from the hip into a winding line of German troopers attacking up the slope. There he remained, fully exposed to enemy fire, withstanding repeated waves of attackers throughout the day. He was later awarded the ‘Silver Star’ for gallantry in this courageous action.
American soldiers of ‘F’ Company were vastly outnumbered, yet they had seized the winning initiative by bold action. Now they were assisted by the firepower of the captured enemy machine weapons. The German-built guns had a faster firing rate, and they were loaded with tracers. This line of lightning-white fire spewing death was terrifying.
The attacking Germans were having to face their own diabolical defenses! To overpower the thin, heavily gunned skirmish line of American troops, they had to cross a wide open slope. There they could be fired on effectively without being able to return fire. Next was a labyrinth of barbed-wire fences constructed so it was impossible to crawl under them. Defying all odds, these Hitlerite fanatics were about to plunge into the ‘jaws of death.’
As the first wave of men reached the obstacles, they were swept away by a blaze of automatic weapons fire. The entire regiment must have been coming up the hill. The troops in front were being forced ahead by the press of men behind them. Casualties were enormous. Bodies fell, twisted in bizarre contortions, limbs bent, as if they had been dropped there. Dead and wounded piled up around the fences. The German attackers had to climb over bodies of their dead comrades to move ahead, becoming bodies themselves in the process. The hideous screams of the wounded and dying could barely be heard above the noise of the heavy caliber guns.
The suicide attack nearly worked, as the fanatical Nazi troopers made it within a few feet of the defenses. Clusters of hand grenades tore holes in their ranks. The desperate Americans beat back this horrible onslaught. In a wave of hellfire, Rommel’s elite rear guard was pushed back and off the mountain. The few determined American defenders again earned battle success by grit, perseverance, ingenuity and daring initiative.
For a moment Urban reflected on the dangerous situation they were in. He felt the desperation of their predicament. He needed reinforcements… at least an acknowledgment of the whereabouts from his adjoining units, if there were any! Matt needed to know that others were aware that ‘F’ Company had taken the dominant objective in miraculously quick time.
Suddenly the table top of the ridge erupted with earth shattering explosions. It seemed as if the world was coming to an end. The retreating Germans had turned their heavy artillery around. An enormous concentration of shellfire burst all around the perimeter. It was turning the entire area into an inferno! There was nothing to do but hold and wait. Urban knew their chances of survival were slim. Then came the sound of men screaming in the distance. Another Nazi attack wave was upon them.
Mercifully, there was no time to think or feel anything. Survival was the only consideration. German burp guns, machine pistols, and potato mashers were counteracted by ‘F’ Company’s M1s, machine guns and hand grenades in a horrifying confrontation. Again, the headlong rush was crushed temporarily by the murderous barrage of the American defenders.
A loud cheer burst forth from the besieged American troops. They had repulsed a second major attack! Casualties were mounting, yet nothing could dislodge them from their hard-won victory. They were ‘boxed in’ and endured direct fire from the heavy stuff that was being thrown in around the clock. ‘F’ Company was surrounded! If there was to be any food, medical supplies, or ammunition, it would have to be air-dropped.
Night followed day. Through its light fog and mist, moans and cries of the wounded could be heard throughout the long night. A single dead GI stood upright in full view of his comrades. His body had become jammed against a rock. A single bullet hole was showing through his helmet.
This is an emotional phenomenon known only to those who have endured combat and seen the battlefield deaths. Every man agonizes for them. They realize the pain and suffering of their buddies. There were no doctors and few medical supplies for the marooned Americans of Urban’s ‘F’ Company.
The two medics performed wonders on many shattered American bodies. They could do little or nothing for the pleading screams of pain. A heavyset young private was shot through the leg. No bones were broken, and he seemed to be fine. “You have a million dollar wound,” the medic told him. “You’ve got your ticket home.” But he died suddenly in the night from complications arising from shock and injury trauma.
By far the most unbearable injuries were to those infantrymen whose faces were torn apart. One man had his nose and part of the surface of both cheeks blasted away. His agitated thrashing evidenced his agony. Another was left with only a dripping, bloody stub where his lower jaw, mouth, and bottom teeth should have been. With indescribable pain, he was slipping in and out of consciousness, driving fellow infantrymen close to the limit of their emotional endurance.
Pitiful moaning became more eerie with the passing night. The men’s yelps and pathetic pleas tore at Urban’s insides.
In a delirium of pain, the soldier cradled in Urban’s arms cried out begging, “Captain! Shoot me! Shoot! Let me die!” In vain attempts, Urban could only force himself to bring his .45-caliber barrel inches in front of the man’s imploring eyes. Then he placed the gun barrel to the back of the suffering soldiers head, but Urban’s trigger finger would not move!
Matt’s shoulders drooped, heavily laden with inner thoughts spinning. “Did I renege on my responsibility?” An unsolved dilemma flooded the Captain’s thoughts: “Why the turn-about in mercy. How come I forsook my soldier in his plea to be put out of his misery?”
Urban made his way past several of his on-looking soldiers. They glared motionless, tensely awaiting the climax. The watching men released their breath, reflecting a sigh of relief. Their response eased Urban’s pent-up emotional trauma.
His compassion and brotherhood was with his men. With the sound of their release of breath, relief engulfed Urban. By far this was the most dreadful moment; the most incredible night of his life! He had just faced the worst nightmare imaginable. He now knew that he could deal with anything. Urban’s agony gave way to a sense of tranquility.
Easter Sunday
Oh, to be at home! Every man preciously reminisced of home and family even though the air was full of death.
The men of the Ninth Division expressed their Easter feelings right there in the middle of a world of hell! They mentally fabricated the mood of going to church, the blessing of food in Easter baskets, and of Fifth Avenue—that Easter parade song: “In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it…”
Vividly they recalled family dinners, Easter egg hunts in green backyards, the gardens blooming with multicolored flowers. Treasured scenes of hometowns, villages, family—there were so many pleasant things to remember. The stark reality of their surroundings cast a cloud over beloved memories during the few early morning hours before pandemonium erupted.
The American troops—eyes closed in reverie—basked in the sun of the area’s serene background, yet they were so close to death. All conversations were of peace and home; not of hatred, not of killing, but of love.
They took turns comforting the two whose faces were half blown off. Holding the warm, quivering body of a person you loved like a brother, with no face, was unbearable. It was a horrible experience to try to comfort a fellow man in such dire agony and to look at an oozing, bloody, coagulating mass of flesh, the lower half of the nose, lips, teeth in shreds.
Urban said this description may sound exaggerated, because it is difficult to conceive the way it was. Every impression is essential to express the way it was on that bloody mountain top.
To look at them, to hold them, to console them, to try to talk to them—what words can you attempt? What tone of voice, if any, would help?
You shoot dogs! You shoot horses!
What to do? What can you do?
“Maybe someday I will understand,” thought Urban. “I will try to understand! I hope and pray—I will—someday.”
The Battle Rages On
“Here they come,” shouted Preston. The GIs settled back into the cruel warfare, and survival became first and foremost for each infantryman. After two more long days of battle and shelling were endured, they still held their position. Late on the third day, medical supplies were air-dropped to Matt’s area. Urban thought, “Thank you, Lord, for this miracle from heaven!” Packages of sulfa and morphine were grabbed up quickly. Urgently needed ammunition and food supplies were also air-dropped that day.
On the last day they engaged in a particularly bitter fight with the Germans. A foggy, misty dawn surfaced with an enemy on an all-out attack.
Urban was awakened by his men stampeding past him in full retreat. He tried to stem the rush, yelling and holding up his hands, bumping into several with shouted orders: “Return to your foxholes; hold your positions!”
Mass confusion had erupted. Everything was made more difficult by the fog-shrouded visibility of just a few feet. Urban pushed his way up to the ridge crest where he heard what appeared to be one of his troops in perfect English loudly commanding, “F Company, fall back!” His men had picked it up… and followed the order.
Urban worked his way up to the source. A German paratroop captain waving a ‘Burp’ gun was yelling in clear English for Urban’s men to fall back! Urban jumped on the man’s back, stuck a trench knife into his windpipe, slitting his throat, and grabbed the German ‘Burp’ gun.
Urban instantly put the German’s gun to good use. He reported, “It was like shooting ducks off a pond.” Matt opened fire on German troops as they emerged in clusters from the fog.
The first wave of men dropped like dominoes as Urban fired at close range. Another cluster followed. Urban leveled them as they came into view. The only gun firing for a few moments was the German-made machine gun. It’s much faster firing rate made a different sound than the American made ‘Tommy Gun.’
The ‘Jerries’ pressed towards the sound, thinking that it was one of their own men firing on the Americans.
Urban began yelling for his men to heave grenades into the area. “Get back to your positions,” he roared. Almost immediately his men now realized the ruse of the German paratrooper order for Company ‘F’ to fall back. Men of Company ‘F’ now dug in for battle. It was the most determined counterattack of the three days. Once again the stubborn Company ‘F’ defenders repulsed Rommel’s zealous, fanatic troops and held onto their defensive position.
As full daylight cleared the fog, a white flag preceded a German request to collect their wounded. German medics moved in to pick up injured men who had fallen in the last attack. First Sergeant John ‘Whip’ Miller counted 116 dead Nazis.
The wary Americans watched carefully. Too many comrades had fallen following German deception in similar circumstances. In this case, however, the mangled, bloody enemy troops were removed without incident.
The 60th Regiment of the 9th Division goes by the name of “The Go Devils.” They acquired fame for their wide flanking movements through terrain the enemy regarded as impassable in the Green and Bald hill area. With the French Goums, they constructed a thirty-four mile road through the wilderness to bring up their heavy artillery. It was so rugged that supplies sometimes had to be dropped by plane. At times the mules could not make it.
The battalion was commanded by Lt. Col. Michael B. Kauffman of Laramie, Wyoming. His battalion received a special citation in beating off a German counterattack in the Sedjenane Valley. In that counterattack, Captain Matty L. Urbanowitz [Urban], a former star boxer for Cornell University, grappled with a Heinie, grabbed his machine pistol and turned it on the advancing German squad.
Lieutenant Colonel Matt Urban, recipient of the Medal of Honor, seven Purple Hearts and numerous other combat awards (after the Pentagon located files misplaced thirty-five years earlier) is now recognized as the most combat decorated soldier of World War II.