Christmas 1944
MIchaelConnelly.Jigsy.com
The frigid night air cut through the
Lieutenant’s army issue coat as the stopped in the
knee deep snow to survey the perimeter. A heavy snow
continued to fall on this Christmas Eve 1944, but it
was not a silent night. The flashes of artillery lit
the sky and generated a rumble like distant thunder
as the young officer finished his tour of the unit’s
outposts. He was an officer in Company B, 87th
Chemical Mortar Battalion, the men who fired the big
4.2 mortars which were so critical to the effort of
the infantry to advance. They were someplace in
Belgium, he really had no clue where, and for the
first time in a while the battalion was together
again. All four companies had been brought in to
help stop the German breakthrough. They didn’t know
it, but the 87th was about to be thrown right into
the heart of the Battle of the Bulge.
As the Lieutenant finished his rounds
he wearily dragged himself into the monastery where
the command had taken refuge for the night. The
warmth that enveloped him as he entered the large
community room was certainly welcomed. He glanced
around and saw his comrades sprawled in every
available space. They were bedraggled and exhausted
after 201 days of almost continuous combat, and by
the looks on their faces you could tell that it was
only going to get worse. Despite the thickness of
the monastery walls, a new sound intruded, the quick
crack of tank gunfire.
Everyone
knew what that meant, American tankers were making a
last ditch stand against the German armored columns
in the area. They were outnumbered and outgunned and
their Sherman tanks stood no chance against the
awesome German Tiger tanks, but they fought anyway.
When the battle ended, and it would before dawn,
then the 87th became part of the last American line
of defense. The war hung in the balance, and so did
the lives of everyone in the ancient house of God.
The Lieutenant found a place to sit
against one wall and sank down in exhaustion,
gratefully accepting the wine, bread and cheese
being offered by the monks. In the corner of the
room, a soldier fiddled with the dial of a radio,
finally picking up the armed forces station.
Christmas carols filled the room, but only added to
the loneliness. Then as, the sound of the tank
battle increased in intensity, a new song started on
the radio, Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas."
For the Lieutenant the song
immediately invoked memories of the sights, sounds
and smells of Christmas on the farm in Mason City,
Iowa and of how far away he was from
those he
loved. He could not help himself, the tears began to
flow and embarrassed, he glanced around the room to
see if anyone had noticed. His eyes fell first on
the Company Commander, Captain J.J. Marshall, one of
the toughest men the Lieutenant had ever known. The
Captain sat ramrod straight, unashamed, as tears
streamed down his stubbly cheeks. It was universal
that night, strong men, the bravest of the brave,
cried over a Christmas carol, and over the homes
many would never see again.
As dawn broke the next morning,
Christmas Day, the battalion was again split up with
Company B assigned to take up mortar positions in
support of what was left of the 289th infantry, 75th
Division, and defend a Belgium village called Sadzot,
a key location in the thin American defense line.
For three days they fired their mortars in support
of the hastily assembled defense units, and then
disaster struck. Early in the predawn hours of Dec.
28th enemy elements of the 12 SS Panzer Division,
the infamous Hitler Jugend, broke through the
infantry lines and overran the mortar position.
They hastily assembled all of the men they could, and the
mortarmen fought a delaying action, fighting hand to
hand and house to house against overwhelming
numbers. As the fighting retreat continued, they men
of company B were joined by remaining elements of
the 509th Parachute Battalion which had formed a new
defensive position north of the village. There they
held until reinforced and then joined a
counterattack which retook the village, and
recaptured six of their nine mortars and most of
their vehicles.
It was later learned that this
makeshift force of Americans had successfully
stopped a major attack by German troops designed to
capture a major highway intersection which would
have broken the American line. No one has ever been
able to tell me how they won. History recorded it as
a classic situation where the attacking enemy held
all of the advantages, yet was stopped by the cold
determination of a hand full of defenders on the
verge of physical and mental collapse. Somehow, they
emerged victorious, with Company B reporting almost
half of its men killed, wounded, or missing.
For his actions during the defense of
Sadzot the Lieutenant and the other men of the
company received both the French and Belgium Croix
de Guerre medals. I know the story of that lonely
Christmas Eve and the ensuing days from my Father’s
diary. He was the young Lieutenant, Roy E. Connelly,
Co. B. 87th Chemical Mortar Battalion. He would read
that story to us on Christmas Eve every year until
his death in 1987, and then I took over the job with
my children.
He never read it without crying over
the friends he lost during that Christmas season of
1944, and to this day, I can not read it or even
write about it without the same reaction. What was
done during that six day period by the men of Co. B
and the other companies of the 87th, who also held
the line, surpasses the ability of most of us to
comprehend. They fought for each other, and they
fought for us. We must never forget.
FOR MY DAD, AND THE MEN OF THE 87TH
Michael Connelly: Author of “The Mortarmen”