A FEW CAME DOWN

Late November, 1944

"Move over John, it's time we changed positions I can't feel my feet."

"It's not my fault you decided to join this war without bringing your overshoes," John grumbled pulling his saturated army blanket over his shoulders.

Join the war. Yeah, I joined the war as soon as possible. I wanted to do my part. I was going to blowout the Germans single handed. That's why I became a Ranger. Bud Potratz, PFC. attached to the 2nd Ranger Battalion, D Company, assault section. That's what I wanted and that's what I got. The Rangers were trained to attack enemy strong holds, hit hard and be relieved by other infantry troops. hopefully.

We were under-staffed as usual, maybe that's why we were doing infantry work. We had lost many of our officers to wounds or death. Our staff sergeant was promoted to acting Company Commander. He was replaced by a new guy, Sergeant Mike Sharik. We had our B.A.R. team, Corporal Ed Secor and his assistant, PFC. Tex Lawson. Two guys from the HQ plus John Gorman and yours truly who were point and lead scouts.

"Boy, it sure the hell is cold," I muttered as I sat up in our four-and-a-half by five-foot foxhole. I couldn't sleep anymore, my toes were numb. It wasn't my fault the army didn't have goulashes big enough for my feet. I couldn't button my overcoat either. Jesus, I wasn't fat. Hell, I looked skinnier than that inch sapling Tex and I were hiding behind during that brief air strafing, yesterday,

Some rest area, I figured we were a mile behind our lines. Still they managed to truck in a real Thanksgiving dinner - turkey, stuffing, mash potatoes and gravy. We even had cranberries, cornbread, Brussels sprouts and hot black coffee. We all ate like pigs! Now many of us were paying the price. Our bellies were not used to the rich food. All night long I could hear my fellow Rangers retching or groaning with dysentery. Later I joined them.

I made my way down to a small creek. The dead remained in the creek with clotted blood clinging to the frozen mud pooled and lingered with particles of dead flesh. Hell I'm no Dracut! I closed my eyes and took a long sip of the frigid water to disintegrate the acid taste in my mouth.

Soon it would be daylight. Then we could build fires to dry our clothes and warm our frozen limbs. Around three o'clock in the afternoon we would put the fires out. We would warm our filthy army blankets on the hot ground. Later, when the frigid night would set in, we would have at least an hour of warmth wrapped in our blankets.

On December 6, I heard the call, "Combat load. rack it up. we're moving out in twelve minutes."

My gut ached and the unknown took command of my senses. I packed my personal belongings in a duffel bag, not to be seen until after the battle. if at all. My eyes were fixed on the task at hand. I dare not look at anyone for fear of telescoping my dreaded fear.

"Dear Dad," I spoke out loud while packing my gear. "We're going on the line again. Gotta be big! I can see it in Sergeant Sharik's actions. He's muttering about his infant daughter, Penny. He's scared."

That night carrying my M1-rifle, two grenades, and the two bandoleers, a sweater underneath my field jacket, wool knit cap under my helmet, finger-mittens and my unbuttoned overcoat I climbed up into a truck. The truck would take me to a nightmare that would haunt my sleep for the next fifty years.

Nobody talked as our convoy rumbled across the shell-pocketed, deeply rutted terrain. Our thoughts strapped our strength and breathing was a rhythm of fear. Finally, our truck stopped outside a small hamlet. Later I found out the small town was called Klienhau. We were told to fall out through the shadows of Klienhau. Curtains flapped in the wind casting flickering shadows on burning shell-gutted buildings. Quickly I ran past exposed areas to the darkness of the road.

I slogged on foot down the road through the cold slushy mud. The road was like a giant cemetery. Instead of tombstones there were eerie silhouettes of knocked out tanks, occupied by dead G.I.'s blackened by the cold. I would not have to suffer the sweet smell of death, nor the buzzing of the vampire flies sucking exposed organs, that was prevalent in spring and summer. No one cares to stare at the dead. I fought back the fear that I may look like this in a few daylight hours. I can't ever remember walking over more dead bodies as I did that night on the road to Bergstein.

In the very early hours of the morning we arrived at Bergstein. Our company and F Company were to secure the town. A, B. C companies went to the northeast to set up foxholes. E company made a line of fire to the southeast.

We were told our mission was to attack and take a strategic hill called "Sugarloaf." Later I learned its correct name, Castle Hill 400. Our Battalion was the furthest point of the American lines. Hill 400 stuck out like a thumb that penetrated the enemy's lines. Our only access was from the west. The enemy was located on the north, south and east.

We stumbled into deep dingy cellars. My spirits began to raise because I was out of the cold pelting sleet. All of us took off our heavy, sodden overcoats. Some of us would leave them behind. They would only slow us down in our charge up the hill.

The tension broke for a little while. I smoked a few of the Lucky Strikes my aunt had sent me. I shared one with Wayne Prentice, a lanky guy from the mortar section. "Wayne," I said taking a drag of my cigarette.

"Yeah, Bud?" said Wayne.

"If I don't make it back I want you, Tex and Eddie to have my Luckies."

I thought of my mom's fruitcake, heavy with assorted nuts. The cake was never dried out after weeks of crossing the ocean and dusty trucked miles. "You can have my mom's fruitcake too."

Wayne smacked his lips. "Thanks Bud, but let's eat it together."

I thought how lucky John Gorman was he would miss this attack because a bug had crawled into his ear a few days before causing a severe ear infection.

So there we were seven men from the second section and twelve from the firs.t Nineteen men that would lead the rest of D company into battle. History said there were fifty in our company, but history is wrong at last count we were thirty.

At day-break Sergeant Sharik said, "Let's go."

In the pale light of dawn I saw Hill 400 starkly enshrouded in the misty fog. It was said that from its peak the "Jerry's" had a view for miles.

The minute we hit the road the mortar and artillery fire started. Somehow I managed to make it to a small bridge located in the center of the village. For some ludicrous reason my thoughts turned to what a quaint town this must have been in peace time. Now it was a death camp.

I ran forward toward the church and through a small cemetery using ripped open graves and knocked over tombstones for protection. Shrapnel showered down from the sky all around us. By an act of God I made it to the sunken road, located about 100 yards from the base of Hill 400.

When I raised my eyes over the ridge I saw a few shell-riddled buildings. The whole base of the hill was surrounded with enemy machine gun nests. Unlocking my rifle, I began to shoot over the 100 yards of flat open terrain toward the buildings.

Captain Masny from F company, called for us to fix bayonets. I fixed my bayonet and reloaded my rifle. I wouldn't use my bayonet, I would blow a hole in the guy first.

To my right Sergeant Mike Sharik started to stand. The time had come to start our frontal attack. Mike shouted, "Come on you unholy bastards, let's go!"

Running across the open mined fields, firing from my hip I shouted in fear, "Hi Ho Silver!"

Slamming my body against one of the small buildings, I realized I had made it. Suddenly our bazooka man Charlie Kyer came running around the building screaming, "I'm hit!"

Quickly I grabbed him by the cartridge belt and pulled him to the ground. "Stay down," I roared. Looking down I saw spittle of chewing tobacco rolling down his face. I couldn't stay to help him. I had to move on.

Within moments we had secured the buildings. Using the butt of my rifle, I began to climb the steep, treacherous hill. Machine gun bullets pelted the ground all around me. I believed I must be the only survivor because I didn't see anyone else.

Miraculously I made it to the top. A large concrete bunker flanked by an odious tower loomed before me. Then from my left came Captain Masny. He ran up to the large bunker and leaned against the wall to protect himself from enemy fire. Captain Masny called for a bazooka, but we didn't have one. Taking his massive foot he kicked open the huge iron door. Rapidly he threw in grenades securing the bunker.

With only a few casualties we had taken Hill 400 within less than thirty minutes. Moments later Captain Masny ordered five of us to go over the hill and setup a line of fire. I thought he was nuts! If the "Krauts" were to counterattack there was no way we could sustain a defense. A hundred troops of "Jerry" paratroopers fresh in the front against five men! When and how was I going to die?

I could hear the others on the top of the hill laughing enjoying their victory, while I was sliding on my buttocks down the opposite side of the hill I had just climbed. My shovel had fallen out of my belt. Oh hell! I wouldn't have time to dig in anyway. Just watch and be ready to fire my M-1 rifle.

Sergeant Sharik, Lieutenant Lomell, two guys from F company and myself set up a line of fire on the east side of the hill and waited.

Lying in the cold wet ground without my ill-fitting overcoat I began to shiver. Mike and I chain-smoked to ward off the fear and the cold. Mike began to pull on a few fir branches, hoping to place them below us for protection from the wet and icy ground.

I said in a whisper, "Mike don't expose yourself," but he wouldn't stop. The Germans must of seen him because the next thing I knew a shell exploded within feet of our position. It struck a mammoth tree that had to be three feet around. Crashing down in front of us, the tree took the full force of the shell, saving our lives. The tree blocked out line of fire so we changed our position.

We had just settled in when a hissing sound penetrated the quiet. A barrage of shells hit the hill on three sides. Shrapnel fell like hot molten lava being spewed from a volcano. I could hear the hacking and vigorous digging of shovels as my comrades on top of the hill tried to dig themselves into the frozen slate ground. Blanket thick smoke burned my eyes and nostrils. Rock-earth and tiny shreds of steel mixed the soil in a strange collage.

Mike began to dig in. I watched and prayed, then I began to dig with my bayonet. The creams for medic were echoing all over the top of the hill. Men were dying a violent death. Who got it? How and where/ Thank God for Captain Masny, his order saved our lives. For now anyway.

The after fifteen minutes there was silence. Lieutenant Lomell decided he was going to go back up to the top of the hill to see who was left, to bring back reinforcements. That left only four of us to hold off the advance of a counterattack. I didn't know at the time, but the "Krauts" were getting ready for the "Battle of the Bulge."Hill 400 was the southern beacon crucial to their attack.

An hour passed and when Lieutenant Lomell never returned, we decided to split up. The two guys from F company went to the north and Sergeant Sharik and I went to the south.

There was death all around us. Bodies littered the hill. We stumbled onto Eddie Secur and Tex Lawson. They had dug under a large rock near the observation tower. I was happy they were still alive. I wondered if the four of us, where the last survivors of the second section.

Further up the hill I saw others. Pop Adams, from the first section was badly wounded. He had a bloody bandage on his neck. Being twenty-eight, he was the old man of D company. Pop would bleed to death during the night.

Next to him I saw three Rangers, who didn't make it. One still on his knees, clutching his shovel. The other two could only be identified by their dog tags.

I grabbed Pop's shovel and began to dig in near Pop and the other three dead Rangers. God, will another shell find this spot? I struggled and dug in frantically. The Jerry's would soon attack again.

I just settled in for another long frosty night when a guy by the name of Brown jumped into my foxhole. He only had a 45 pistol. An aid station was setup in the bunker at the top of the hill. During the night they would move the wounded. I figured the bunker must have been getting crowded. They threw out those who didn't need aid. Damn! This foxhole wasn't big enough for the two of us. The night was going to be even longer than I expected.

Day break, December 8, the Germans started tremendous artillery fire. German tanks were dug in to the south, artillery fire came pouring in from the east and mortar fire pounded us from the northeast. The Germans bombarded Hill 400 for over thirty minutes.

Mike called out, he had been hit twice in the leg. A white-hot pain pierced my left hip. Blood oozing down my left leg and buttock, I was hit! Screaming, penetrated the air. Brown was holding his hand. His thumb had been severed clean leaving a bloody stump. He scrambled out of the foxhole, running for aid in the bunker.

When the barrage stopped, I rolled onto my right side to look at my hip. I struggled to see if I could help myself. Then almost like magic a medic came crawling to my position.

"Lie still," he ordered. Rapidly he cut a hole in my pants and poured sulfur powder over y wound. Stuffing a loose bandage over the mangled flesh, he said, "You're lucky, the guys to your right are dead and almost buried."

My stomach reeled. That could have been me! When I looked up the medic was gone. He disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared.

Braced in my foxhole, looking at the dead Rangers on my right and Pop Adam's gray face behind me, there was no fear. I became determined to stay and fight to the quick. I couldn't run in the event of another attack. I was a lame duck. My only sadness was how my parents would feel upon learning of my death. I prayed God would be gentle with them.

I would stay and fight, I felt secure in that thought. Armed with two rifles, four grenades and four bandoleers I helped repulse the Germans several times. We didn't quit. The price was too high. We would never give up!

Around eleven o'clock that night we were relieved. I was taken to the battalion aid station and later flown to England. After several months I returned to D Company to finish our assault in Germany and into Czechoslovakia.

Historians will say 130 Rangers charged up Hill 400, and only 25 lived to tell the tale. But I know differently. 65 Rangers charged up that hill and only a few came down.

Written by Bud Potratz and Denise Cycgosz of Waukesha, WI