After being in division reserve for five days, the 30th Infantry returned to action on April 5, 1945, leaving its assembly area west of Rieneck early that morning in cold, rainy conditions. The men encountered steep terrain and quickly outpaced their armor, thwarting the speed of their advance. The men’s progress was radioed back to battalion as “slow, but sure.”[1]

At 1305 hours, they met their first resistance entering the town of Wolfsmünster. Phil’s Love Company pressed forward, followed by several tanks. When one of his rifle platoons encountered stiff resistance, the officer leading the platoon was shot through the head and instantly killed by a sniper. He was an OCS grad, a recent replacement, and must have been leading from the front. The phrase Follow me can be fuckin’ fatal from Benning flashed through Phil’s thoughts once again.

“We’re pinned down and can’t move up!” the radio blared. Phil and his Executive Officer, Abe Fitterman, ran up and found the men crouched behind a building. The officer’s body was lying in the middle of the street; what was left of his head rested in a pool of blood.

“Helluva sniper,” the sergeant warned them. “He can shoot a fly off the top of your helmet. We think he’s shooting from the town square—maybe an office building or the church. About 250, 300 yards up the road. There must be Krauts in every building up and down the street, firing on anything that moves. Want to call in artillery?”

Phil took off his helmet, leaned over his sergeant, who was kneeling, and slowly pushed his helmet around the corner. He was not surprised when the helmet was cracked out of his hand by a sniper bullet.

“Damn! He is good!” Then again, Phil knew that most German snipers were accurate up to 400 yards.

“German sniper rifles have a five-round internal box magazine, right?” Abe asked.

“Haven’t seen one with more,” Phil answered. “Yet.”

“If he didn’t reload, and I doubt he did, he’s got four shots left.”

Abe came around Phil and crouched down behind him and the kneeling sergeant. “I’ve got an idea, Lieutenant.”

“I’m all ears.”

“You guys each have a fifteen-round magazine in your carbines?” Phil and the sergeant nodded.

“Sergeant, you take the low position. Phil, you take high. On my signal, aim your rifles around the building and begin rapid fire toward the church, but don’t expose any body parts and only release six or seven shots.”

“What do you have in mind?” Phil asked.

“After he shoots back, I’m going to sprint across the street and see if I can get a bead on the guy. I ought to have a better angle from over there. So, cover me by blasting out the rest of your magazine.”

Phil nodded and moved into position alongside his sergeant, their rifles poised.

“On the count of three,” Abe instructed. “One-two-three!”

Phil and the sergeant began firing blindly. Within seconds, three or four sniper bullets blasted the corner of the brick building, spraying fragments over the men, who pulled their guns back. A second later, Abe hotfooted it to the other side of the street without drawing a shot.

The three-second rule, Phil thought, happy that Abe had just enough time to sprint the thirty feet or so across the road. Fortunately, the sniper had emptied his magazine and did not have time to snap in another and shoot.

Safe behind a building on the other side of the road, Abe yelled to Phil, “One more time, Lieutenant!”

Then he pulled a hand mirror out of his belt pack. “On my signal, do the helmet trick again.”

“Damn, Abe! We’re gonna run out of helmets before the bastard runs out of ammo.”

Abe smiled as he lay on the ground, positioning the mirror around the edge of the building so he could examine the street. Several blocks away, on the other side of the town square, sat an ancient stone church with a rectangular stone steeple and a stone balcony around it.

“I think the sonofabitch is perched up in the church steeple. My guess is he’s either on the top balcony or in one of the upper windows. Most likely a window where he thinks he’s safe from grenades and mortar fire.”

Abe pulled the mirror back and readied his rifle. “Okay!” he yelled. “Now!”

The sniper took the bait and easily nailed the sergeant’s helmet, allowing Fitterman to see the muzzle flash emitting from a small window near the top of the steeple.

“He’s in the top of the church steeple. About three blocks up the street.”

“I’ll call in two bazooka squads and a tank to come up pronto,” Phil said.

Within a matter of minutes, all arrived. Phil signaled the tank to go around the corner and take out the steeple.

Machine gun, rifle, and small arms fire erupted from buildings on either side of the street, ricocheting off the tank’s front and turret. Phil knew the sniper would not fire on the tank and give away his position.

The Sherman moved up to—but not over—the officer’s body. The tank barrel slowly raised. Phil smiled as he realized the sniper now knew he’d been found out. Probably crapping in his pants and jumping down the steps as fast as possible, Phil thought. But we’re gonna nail his ass!

With one single blast from its 76-mm cannon, the steeple disintegrated. Fragments of lumber and limestone rained onto the town center. One of the intact church bells tumbled to the cobblestone street below, releasing several resounding gongs as it careened off the side of the church and bounced along the road, making more noise. As if in slow motion, Phil watched the sniper tumble through the air until the lifeless body thudded onto the cobblestones.

Phil had the tank provide cover while he ordered one bazooka team and half his men to cross the street quickly. The bazooka men blasted an entry into the closest building on their side of the road. Using the technique they had perfected in France, the bazooka handlers moved inside and began blasting holes from one building to another, one at a time. By the time they reached the town square, where all resistance had ended, the men had killed five, wounded eleven, and captured 125 German soldiers. As they walked into the town square, Abe checked out the dead sniper.

“Lieutenant!” he yelled. “Come see this.” He was rolling the dead body over when Phil walked up.

“Well, I’ll be!” Phil exclaimed as he and the men gathered around. At their feet was a young and attractive woman dressed in civilian clothes. The GIs had seen increasing numbers of civilian snipers, but this was the first German female fighter any of the men had seen.

“Why the hell didn’t she shoot and scoot?” Abe asked.

“Suicide mission?” proposed one of the men.

“Maybe an SS mistress?” wondered another. “No matter. Her sorry ass is dead and headed straight to hell.”

“Let’s move out!” Phil barked.[2]

Throughout the night, the regiment advanced east and northeast, taking all assigned objectives en route, inflicting severe damage to enemy equipment and taking many more POWs.[3]

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[1] Larimore, At First Light, 239.

[2] Later, Phil nominated Abe Fitterman for a Silver Star “for gallantry in action,” which he was awarded.

[3] Larimore, Ibid, 240-242.

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