When dawn broke, Happy made his way among the dead Germans to gather their guns, grenades, and ammo. When finished, he distributed the arms and the remaining ammunition from the small dump Phil had set up in the middle of their little OP. The goal was to be sure each man was as equipped as possible for the coming onslaught.[1]

After a lull, the battle restarted and dramatically intensified. All morning the raiders, armed with BARs, small arms, and several German rifles and pistols, continued to hold off wave after wave of ever-more-frenzied attackers. At one point, Phil and Morris ordered their men to fix bayonets on their rifles. They were hoping they wouldn’t have to use them, but bayonets, knives, pistols, and hand-to-hand combat would be their only defense if they were overrun.

The remainder of the task force was still unable to reach the raiders due to the 201st Mountain Battalion’s aggressive attacks against them. The cloud cover still hung over the mountain ridge, which turned out to be a blessing since it prevented the Germans from using tree bursts, which would have likely ended the men’s lives quickly and mercilessly.

By early afternoon, their ammunition nearly exhausted, Phil and Morris had the men disperse the remaining ammunition so that each man at least had a few rounds. Happy told Phil he had counted at least fifty enemy soldiers lying around the hill occupied by the raiders. Most were dead, but some were still moaning and crying.

Although several of the raiders had been wounded, only two were dead. Morris’ radio, crackling as its battery began failing, informed the lieutenants that Company F was preparing to attack and relieve pressure.

“It can’t come soon enough!” Morris said into the mouthpiece, just before a bullet exploded into his handheld radio, knocking it to the ground. Morris, Phil, and their courageous men began fighting off what they were sure would be the final attack. As man after man ran out of ammunition, the small squad prepared to be overrun. Phil found himself uttering a quick prayer.

Just then, the forest exploded with an astonishing eruption of suppressing fire and hand grenades. The men automatically positioned themselves for what was undoubtedly the end. Vales silently crossed himself and then drew and and held his knife in one hand and his bayonet in another.

“Thought you were Methodist, Vales,” Phil commented, smiling at his partner.

“Just adding a little insurance to my prayers, Lieutenant,” the private chuckled.

“If this is it for us, Happy,” Phil added, “I’m honored to have fought alongside you.”

“It’s been that way since you joined us at Anzio, hasn’t it, Lieutenant? Ain’t a lot of us old men left.”

Phil shook his head.

Vales growled. “If I had any ammo, I’d kill one German for you, one for me, and one each for our mothers, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve got six bullets in my .45, Private,” Phil said. “I’ll see your four and raise you two.”

The two men chuckled.

“How about we split my six bullets?”

Vales smiled and expertly rotated his knife and bayonet, one in each hand. “You’re a better shot, Lieutenant, and I’m better with these. I’m kinda looking forward to the first line of Germans charging and leaping over our wire perimeter. It’ll be the last thing they do before tasting my steel and meeting their maker.”

“Or mine.” Phil touched his wounded leg, but he wasn’t feeling any pain.

He was as ready for death as he’d ever been, but he was not crossing the Styx—the boundary separating the living from the dead—without taking as many Krauts with him as possible.[2]

TO BE CONTINUED LATER TODAY.

~~~~~

[1] Larimore, At First Light, 161.

[2] Ibid, 161-162.

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