In early April 1944, during a two-week training layoff from combat, Phil longed desperately to see Marilyn. He fell asleep and woke up gazing at her picture, which he carried in a pocket next to his heart. He was growing more concerned about not receiving any letters from her, but mail delivery was spotty.

On April 11, the 3rd Infantry Division moved into position to relieve the 45th Division. By 0600 hours on April 16, the 3rd was in command with a mission to straighten out its lines, alleviate enemy pressure on vital strong points, and improve its defensive positions. The regiment spent its first day locating sniper posts, improving their defensive works, and establishing outposts and listening posts.

The men and their commanders were convinced that the Allied positions on the Anzio Beachhead were more robust than ever after eighty-four days of reinforcing and digging in. They believed the Germans, now on the defensive, didn’t have the faintest chance to drive them back into the sea. The Allies were finally showing superiority in every department—artillery, air support, and troops.

In the previous month, the situation on the beachhead had transformed a bitter holding battle to bustling preparations for a massive offensive. Patrols were sent out at night for the sole purpose of giving them combat experience and to test the leadership and initiative of younger officers like Phil.

Thanks to increasing air supremacy, the Americans flew single-seat Piper Cubs over the beachhead as artillery and combat aircraft spotters. Initially, the Germans fired at them, but that quickly changed when the Nazis realized that they were giving their positions away. The Cub spotters—known as Grasshoppers—would call in their locations. Within minutes, those positions received an avalanche of artillery fire with devastating results. This was why German fighter pilots received twice as many points toward an air medal for shooting down a Grasshopper rather than a fighter plane.

For three weeks, Phil’s command post or CP was on the ground floor of a two-story stone farmhouse with an attached barn. Artillery observers occupied the home’s upper story, while the owners lived in the top of the barn. The older Italian couple cooked for Phil and his men and washed their clothes to earn money.

A barn-like smell permeated everywhere. Just outside the home, in an “L” created by the junction of the house and the barn, was an area the men thought was hidden from the German observers. Phil parked a half-track[1] with a large antenna and radio system inside the “L” to serve the A&P Platoon and the artillerymen. They were spotting targets and using the radio to call back German artillery positions.

Phil befriended the Italian farmer, who had a small pack of mules, which he called a “barren.” That was a word Phil had never heard used for mules. The farmer employed the mules for transporting supplies to other farmers.

The farmer, whose English was impeccable, explained that when a male donkey breeds with a female horse, the offspring is called a “mule.” All mules are sterile and incapable of reproducing themselves, the farmer explained. Now everything made sense to Phil about why a group of mules was called a “barren.” The farmer was quite proud of his barren and declared, without equivocation, that mules were smarter than donkeys, which were much more intelligent than horses.

“Do you really think a mule is smarter than a horse?” Phil inquired.

The man nodded. “In almost every way. Mules endure heat better than horses, they have fewer feeding problems, and they eat less. Mules rarely have hoof problems, excel in physical soundness, and are far more sure-footed and careful than horses.”

Phil cocked his head. He had never heard such things. “Really? More sure-footed?”

“Si,” the old man replied. “On the physical side, the mule has a narrower body than a horse of the same height and weight. He gets this from the ass side of the family. His legs are strong, and his feet are small with a narrow structure. The small hoof configuration enables him to place his feet carefully. On the psychological side, mules tend to assess situations and act according to their views, most of which have to do with self-preservation. When I take my mules into the mountains, I usually let my mule pick the safest way down a bad path.”

Phil and one of his men, a private from Missouri experienced in handling and training mules, came up with an idea: Why not train the mules to carry ammo to the front lines at night? As the private told Phil, “Mules have much better night vision than we do.” When they ran their idea by the farmer, his enthusiasm to say yes was fueled when Phil said he could get him paid for allowing his mules to work for the Army.

Phil’s superiors quickly approved his request for mules for several reasons. Off the roads in the mountains of Sicily and on the Italian mainland, weapons and supplies had been carried by mules where motorized or tracked vehicles could not navigate. Also, the U.S. Army had a fond affection for mules. Most of Phil’s commanders were West Point graduates, and the Academy’s mascot was a mule that attended all Army home football games.

Each morning, Phil and several of his men worked with the farmer to train the mules. The farmer emphasized to the men, “In trying to communicate with mules, the first thing to understand is that they want to please you. Underneath what may appear to be an unsympathetic character is a willing and intelligent creature.” Phil quickly found that mules—after communication and trust had been established—were some of the hardest working and most devoted animals that he’d ever dealt with.

Within days, the remarkably intelligent beasts were carrying cases of ammunition and other supplies to the front lines and the outposts each night. The A&P Platoon was able to carry out its work far more quickly and efficiently, whether under fire or not.

The men even trained the mules to lie down instantaneously when a flare exploded in the night sky, making them less visible and less likely to be shot by the Germans. Finally, the mules also gave the lead soldier a barrier to get behind when an attack started.

At the company CP during breakfast, Ross commented with a wry smile, “Phil, I think the reason you get along so well with the mules is because you’re a jackass too. Doesn’t like attract like?”

Phil chuckled. “Well, Ross, you certainly get along well with horses. Does that make you a horse’s ass?”

The two friends shared a much-needed laugh.[2]

[1] A half-track was a heavy-duty vehicle with regular wheels at the front for steering and continuous tracks at the back to propel the vehicle and carry most of the load.

[2] Larimore. At Frist Light. pp 99-101.

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