On March 13, 1945, the 30th Infantry began moving by truck to an assembly area sixty miles away near Schmittviller, France, still in the Alsace region but only about fourteen miles from the German border. The invasion was imminent.[1]

The regiment traveled under cover of darkness and in complete secrecy. The numbers on vehicle bumpers were covered over, and shoulder patches were blotted out with adhesive tape strips, as were the blue-and-white patches of the 3rd ID that decorated helmets.

Other combat units of the 3rd began moving to assembly areas also just inside the Franco-German border. Almost all were anxious about what lay ahead.

The frontline men debated in great detail the attitude they thought the Germans would take about fighting on their own soil—in defending their dear Vaterland, or Fatherland.

While some believed resistance would quickly collapse because they sensed Allied victory was inevitable, most men were confident the enemy would make a last-ditch stand.

Desperate German soldiers, no doubt spurred on by propaganda regarding the “Morgenthau Plan” to leave Germany a wasteland, would make the fight increasingly difficult as the GIs drove deeper into their homeland.

Given the fanatical response he’d already seen on the front lines, Phil and most of his men were certain the latter would be the case.

The men were poised, awaiting the signal for attack. D-Day was to be March 15, 1945; H-hour was 0100.

In a special, last-minute briefing, General O’Daniel told his regimental commanders: “Within one hour after the jump-off, you will be in Germany.”

At long last, the 30th Infantry was about to smash through the portals of the enemy’s Fatherland. The end was in sight.

And Phil and his men were ready for the final dance.[2]

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[1] Larimore, At First Light, 209.

[2] Ibid, 209-210.

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