Death Traps: The Survival of an American Armored Division in World War II (28 page)

Major General Maurice Rose Is Killed in Action

As the battle grew closer to Paderborn, the concentration of American and German troops in a small area became more dense. Our columns constantly crossed over German columns, and in some instances our columns crossed over one another.

During one such incident, Gen. Maurice Rose was trying to pass up to the task force commander’s half-track when a German tank column cut into our column. General Rose’s driver slammed on the brakes and brought the Jeep to a quick halt as it came up against the rear of a King Tiger. Suddenly, the young German tank commander, armed with a burp gun, opened his turret hatch and started screaming at the American general. The general, his driver, and his aide got out of the Jeep and held up their hands. For some reason, the German tank commander became extremely agitated and kept pointing to Rose and hollering at him, all the while gesturing toward the general’s pistol.

In the armored force, officers carried their pistols in shoulder holsters. It was reported that Rose carried a second pistol in a hip holster on his web belt around his waist.

What happened is a matter of conjecture; however, we believe that the general thought that the tank commander wanted him to surrender his pistol. When he lowered his arms to release his belt, the German tank commander thought Rose was going to draw his pistol. In a screaming rage he fired his burp gun and struck Rose in the head, killing him instantly. As the general’s body pitched forward, Major Bellinger, his aide, and Technician Fifth Grade Shaunch, his driver, took off and under cover of darkness escaped into the woods. Major General Maurice Rose was the first and only division commander killed in World War II in the European theater.

Right after the Battle of the Bulge, in early February, Generals Rose and Patton reportedly had a conversation. Rose had served under Patton in the 2d Armored Division. Patton said that when his time came, he would like to die in battle leading his troops. Rose had replied that he did not think anything this glamorous would happen to him, that he probably would be killed in an automobile accident after the war was over. Two months later, General Rose had been killed in action leading his troops. Several months after the war was over, General Patton died as the result of an automobile accident. Such a twist of fate was one of the great ironies of war.

The news of General Rose’s death shocked the men in the division. Although few knew him personally, those who had survived since Normandy, when he became our division commander, knew him by reputation. My closest contact was when I had the honor of receiving a Bronze Star from him during a decoration ceremony in Werbomont, Belgium, right after the Battle of the Bulge. We stood at attention as the general passed down the line to each man. When he got to me, he stepped forward, pinned the medal on my combat jacket, stepped back, and said, “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, and threw him one of my smartest VMI salutes. He returned the salute and stepped to the next man. For a brief moment he looked me straight in the eye, and I returned the look. I felt as though I had just been knighted by a king.

To a soldier, a general was surrounded by an aura of mystique. Although from time to time a soldier may have felt that the orders coming down to him were stupid, he still had to believe that, when the chips were down, his general was looking after him and would make the right decisions. A healthy respect for one’s general was an essential part of esprit de corps, which was an important part of morale. The higher the morale, the better the chances for survival. At the time of his death, General Rose had been key to the division’s survival.

Annihilation of a Task Force

Following General Rose’s death, confusion was rampant among our leading elements. The general was trying to get Task Force Doan to secure our left flank when he was struck down. German groups of tanks and infantry counterattacked our task forces whenever possible. One major engagement just south of the Paderborn airport exemplified the tragic inferiority of our tanks.

One of our columns proceeded up a slightly inclined straight road. A narrow, winding road met the straight road about half a mile from the point where our column entered it. Heavily wooded, rolling hills lay on the right side of the road, and a level, open field was on the left with woods set back about three hundred yards. The column consisted of a company of M4 Sherman tanks followed by a company of armored infantry in half-tracks. These were followed by several GMC trucks and Jeeps and three M36 tank destroyers.

Suddenly, seven King Tiger tanks appeared along the crest of the forward slope on the left side. As the tanks advanced toward our column, they turned to the right into a column formation and opened fire. We had no time or room to maneuver, and the Shermans could not utilize the advantage of our gyrostabilizers. Three more King Tigers emerged from the hilly woods road to the right. Our tankers and infantrymen were faced with their worst fear: to be caught in the open by King Tiger tanks at close range, without the ability to maneuver or seek cover.

The seven King Tiger tanks on the left proceeded down the entire length of the column, then turned around and came back. At extremely close range, a hundred yards or less, they raked the column from stem to stern. Some observers said it was more like a naval engagement than land warfare.

The infantry immediately took cover in the ditches on both sides of the road. One of the Sherman tanks, with a 76mm gun, broke out of the column and took cover behind a small stucco farm building to the left, just off the road in about the middle of the column. As the Tigers came down on their first pass, the Sherman crew swung their 76mm gun 180 degrees to the rear and let go at close range. The Tiger’s thinner armor over the engine compartment was penetrated, and the tank started to burn. The victory for this brave crew was short-lived, however, because the Sherman was knocked out by another Tiger on its return pass.

Although the entire column was trapped, some of the veteran crews stayed cool and utilized their advantages. One of the crews of an M4 Sherman with a short-barreled 75mm M2 gun was near the middle of the column when the three King Tigers appeared on the right side. The alert tank commander immediately saw two possibilities. First, he knew that the King Tiger had a manual traverse, and it would be extremely difficult and time-consuming for him to swing the turret and elevate the gun to zero in on him. Next, our tank commander knew that an armor-piercing shot from his low-velocity 75mm would just bounce off the King Tiger.

In a split second he told his gunner to load a white phosphorus round. It struck the glacis plate right above the driver’s compartment with a blaze of flames and smoke. Although there was no possibility of penetration, the shock in the tank must have been terrific. The entire faceplate in front of the turret was covered with burning particles of white phosphorus which stuck to the sides of the tank. The smoke engulfed the tank, and the fan in the engine compartment sucked the smoke inside the fighting compartment. The German crew must have thought the tank was on fire and immediately abandoned it. Although the tank suffered little damage, had the crew stayed inside they would have been overcome by the deadly fumes.

The Sherman immediately turned its gun on the second tank in the column and fired white phosphorus, with the same result. Although the ingenious tank commander knocked out two King Tiger tanks (without ever getting a penetration), his tank was then knocked out by another Tiger.

The King Tigers on the left proceeded all the way to the end of the column, where they knocked out one of our M36 tank destroyers, which blocked the rear of the column. The lead tank in the column had already been knocked out and trapped the entire column. As the German tanks returned to the front of the column, they swung their guns around to the other side and picked off the remaining tanks and half-tracks. It was like shooting ducks in a pond. The remaining King Tigers withdrew, leaving our entire column bleeding and burning.
²

When our maintenance crews arrived on the scene, we found a catastrophe. The Germans had knocked out seventeen M4 Sherman tanks, seventeen half-tracks, three GMC trucks, two Jeeps, and one M36 tank destroyer. The column had been annihilated. Fortunately, the personnel casualties had not been as high as the appearance of the wrecked column indicated. The German tanks were so close that the machine guns in the turrets would not depress low enough to reach the men in the ditches. We immediately started drag- ging back those vehicles that had not been totally burned. The burned-out vehicles were pushed off to one side of the road and abandoned.

I was shocked to see the devastation. It was obvious that our tankers did not have a chance against the Tigers. Unfortunately, for us, there were no M26 Pershing tanks in this column. I couldn’t help but think that if we’d had them, the outcome would have been far different.

We got the “W” numbers off all the vehicles that had been damaged beyond repair. These numbers plus the map coordinates were all I needed for my combat loss report in order to get replacement vehicles. While the maintenance crews worked, I examined the three King Tigers that had been knocked out. The upper left side of the rear armor on one of them had been penetrated by a 76mm, which had gone directly into the fuel tank and set the tank on fire. The projectile had been fired at such an angle that it went through the fuel tanks into the fighting compartment and struck the inside of the six-inch faceplate. Because it did not have enough energy to penetrate the faceplate, the projectile ricocheted inside the tank and created havoc with the crew. The tank was completely gutted by fire, so it was impossible to tell which had been worse for the crew. I had always been curious about the actual penetrating power of a
panzerfaust
and also about the strength of the armor on a King Tiger. I felt it was a good time to test out both. I told Wrayford to give me one of the 100-meter
panzerfaust
s.

I took the
panzerfaust
and paced off approximately thirty yards directly in front of the tank. I set the sight for thirty yards and aimed directly at a ten-inch-square patch of the forward turret faceplate just to one side of the gun mantlet. I fired, and the
panzerfaust
struck it dead center. There was a tremendous explosion, and we were showered with small cement particles. (The Germans covered their tanks with a thin layer of cement to protect them from magnetic mines.)

The blast center was about four inches to the right of the aperture where the machine gun came through the faceplate. Upon closer examination, I could see a distinct penetration about a half inch to three-quarters of an inch in diameter on the outside that went all the way through the faceplate of the turret and opened out about half an inch in diameter on the inside. The hole was complete all the way through the eight-and-a-half-inch turret faceplate. The particles from the blast that showered inside would have killed any of the crew who was still alive.

I examined the two Tigers that had been knocked out by white phosphorus. To save time, the Germans used an unusual technique in welding the six-and-a-half-inch faceplate to the three and a half inches of armor on the upper sponsons. Normally, the edge of the faceplate and the sponson plate would be V grooved approximately three inches deep, then filled with weld metal to the surface. They would have then been welded inside so that the inside bead met the outside bead to produce a solid weld throughout the entire thickness of the plate. Because this welding process would have been extremely time-consuming, the Germans used a substitute method. They notched both plates in a tongue-and-groove castle-head fashion. The notches were trimmed to a tight tolerance and the plates were brought together in a trilock type of construction, similar to one’s hands brought together with the fingers overlapping. In this manner they got a very close fit. Then they welded a zigzag bead into the castle-head sections, which penetrated to only about half an inch. They did this both inside and out to complete the joint.

The point of impact of the white phosphorus shell was similar on both Tigers. It struck the upper-right-hand corner of the front glacis plate about a foot and a half from each edge. The detonation probably deafened the driver, and the blast opened up cracks in the welds. These cracks let even more of the white phosphorus gas into the tank and apparently contributed to the crew’s horror that their tank was on fire. There was no other apparent damage to either of the tanks.

Three companies of the maintenance battalion established a VCP south of Korbach and started collecting the many tanks and other armored vehicles that had been shot up. I headed south about fifty miles to battalion headquarters, which was just north of Marburg. We had bypassed many isolated units, and the Germans constantly crossed our communication lines. Armored vehicles escorted supply columns; our liaison officer to 1st Infantry, on our left flank, had to be escorted there by light tanks. I finally realized that “running the gauntlet” had taken on an entirely new meaning, and I had to exercise every precaution.

Major Arrington was shocked when I told him about the annihilation of the task force south of Paderborn. Word about General Rose’s death had gotten back and everyone was keyed up. The anti-tank platoon and outer perimeter defenses were beefed up accordingly, and everyone was on constant alert for an encounter with a roaming German unit. Major Arrington told me I would have to take several replacement medium tanks and half-tracks back to C Company. As I went out the door, he hollered, “Cooper, watch your butt and don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

I instructed the tank and half-track crews to be extremely alert, and we proceeded north back to C Company without further incident.

On arrival, it was obvious that C Company had its hands full. Replacement tanks and other vehicles were immediately issued. One of the damaged tanks brought into C Company had its 76mm gun barrel completely missing six feet from the tip. Our first thought was that it had been hit from the side by a lucky German armor-piercing shot. Further examination indicated a long, jagged sliver type of break that did not look like one caused by a single armor-piercing shot. The fracture appeared to be caused by an internal explosion.

Had the crew been firing a 76mm HE that exploded in the tube, the projectile would have never left the tube; as a result, the tube would not have retracted to its full recoil position, thus opening the block. In this case, the breechblock was open, with the resulting severe blast damage back inside the tank. We concluded that a rare event, perhaps a one-in-a-million chance, had occurred. It was assumed that the American tank crew had just fired a round and the tube had recoiled, opened the breech, and ejected the shell case into the turret. At the same moment, a German 75 HE struck the end of the American gun tube dead center. The 75mm projectile went down the 76mm tube approximately six feet before it exploded and blew off the end of the gun barrel. The nose of the German projectile proceeded down the barrel, through the open breech, and into the turret, killing two of the crew.

The two bodies still inside the tank had been dismembered by the blast. When two of our tank mechanics got inside the turret to remove the bodies, they were both overcome by the horror of the blood and gore. Sergeant Fox immediately called for volunteers to remove the bodies. This turned out to be one of those instances, often repeated in combat, that separates the men from the boys. There were several big, rough men in the group, the boisterous, heavy-drinking, cussing type who constantly tried to convey the impression of extreme masculinity. You might have expected several of them to step forward, but there was dead silence. Everybody looked around at everybody else, and nobody moved.

Finally, a high-pitched voice from the edge of the group called out, “I volunteer, Sergeant.”

Out stepped a tall, young soldier who was pale and thin to the point of looking emaciated; I wondered how he had passed the physical exam to get into the army. He was Technician Fifth Grade Smith, a fire control instrument repair mechanic in the headquarters section. He was a hard-working, low-key individual who kept more or less to himself. A skilled watchmaker in civilian life, he had long, delicate fingers. He normally worked in an enclosed, well-heated shop truck; because there was a shortage of skilled instrument mechanics, he had only a few men to help him. Indeed, there were plenty of other men with less precise skills who could have been spared for the time-consuming job of removing the dismembered bodies.

Two other men volunteered to help Smith. Care had to be taken to make sure that the dog tags were kept with the correct body and all the connecting parts were put in the same shelter half. The shelter halves were then closed, placed on the ground, and marked for the graves registration people to pick up. The interior of the tank compartment then had to be thoroughly scrubbed with disinfectant. The artillery mechanics replaced the gun barrel and the electricians repaired all the wiring. Finally the paint crew painted the entire interior with a heavy coat of thick white lead. This covered up all the blemishes and pockmarks inside the tank and at the same time the persistent odor of the drying paint tended to offset the pungent stench left by the mutilated bodies. Some said the odor never completely left the tanks; however, by this time the new crew would have gotten used to the tank.

The new tank crew were always reluctant to accept a tank in which crew members had been killed. We often painted the numbers on the transmission and changed the company and battalion designation of a particular tank. The tank was issued to another company so the new crew never knew its history, and we never told them.