WHY WERE WE BETRAYED?

(This letter was sent to the Secretary of the Army on July 25, 2008. As expected, there has been no reply. Why should the U.S. military be the least bit concerned today with affairs that went on several wars ago? Nevertheless, we consider it worthy of republication here for reader review and comment.)

INTRODUCTION AND RATIONALE
Composing this piece gives the writer an impression similar to that of affixing the needle to the appropriate starting place on an obsolete 78 rpm phonograph record. The subject matter amounts to little more than nearly-forgotten World War II history of a relatively insignificant nature in the global scheme. Nevertheless, despite the late date, so to speak, a fundamentally serious question remains open, at least in this fellow’s mind.

What we’re harking back to is the German counteroffensive attack in the Ardennes Sector, which began on December 16, 1944, and briefly threatened to neutralize or even negate what had required considerable effort by Allied troops starting even with D-Day.

That didn’t happen, of course, thanks to the courageous stand taken by the 101st Airborne Division at Bastogne, along with other units in the general vicinity. The war’s final push by the German High Command eventually ground to a screeching halt, due to intense bravery on the U.S. defenders’ part, fortunately aided by severe equipment, vehicle fuel, and supplies shortages which hampered the desperation-ridden attackers.

The enemy’s master plan had envisioned an overwhelming breakthrough, leading its forces deeply into Belgium, from whence mastery of the situation could be regained. As a matter of fact, German rank-and-file troops had been thoroughly imbued with the idea that such counterattack would take them right on to New York.

This particular “Battle of the Bulge” has since been enshrined in U.S. military history as a monumental effort on behalf of the American GI. As Abraham Lincoln said following the action at Gettysburg, “It is altogether fitting and proper that we do this”. However, there is far more to the story.

A reasonable amount of credit was heaped upon the 106th Infantry Division for delaying the German offensive long enough to enable the 101st Airborne and other forces to regroup and finally stop the advance cold. Still, what has been completely overlooked is the buildup process that amounts to a highly significant betrayal to a microcosmic group of American youths in their earliest full manhood years. In this fellow’s humble opinion, the U.S. Army had given thousands of us an extremely dirty deal, with the result to be forever covered up by exaggerated glorification for supposed line-holding efforts.

As a lowly dogface non-com within the ill-fated 106th Division, this writer found himself trapped and surrounded in the center of the fracas which took place between December 16 and 19, while the German advance was beginning to appear unstoppable. His potentially useful service to the cause abruptly ended, through capture and prison encampment for nearly four months, along with an extremely huge host of comrades-in-arms.

BACKGROUND
It’s necessary at this point to backtrack to 1943.

With the possible exception of any lad unusually big for his age who may have accordingly lied and joined up no later than during the war’s closing month of August 1945, a fellow would presently have to be at least in his early eighties. By now, therefore, natural forces have relegated those of us to distinct minority status, losing more and more members each day. However, this certainly shouldn’t preclude the right to expound upon the basic theme of this work – how we were betrayed by a government we’d sworn to uphold, but under specifically established pre-conditions.

During the earlier war years, the U.S. Navy launched two ambitious programs available to students nearing high school graduation. One bore the label V-5 and related to the air sector of said branch. The other became known as V-12, pertaining only to high sea service. Those academically qualified would be eligible following enlistment and boot camp for advanced educational training at any number of contracted colleges or universities.

Not to be outdone by its service rival, the Army similarly adopted ASTP, standing for Army Specialized Training Program, whereby the same conditions would apply as to Navy V-5 and V-12 selectees. At some time not later than in 1943, the plan got underway, with qualified enlistees or draftees bundled off to various classrooms, once basic infantry school training had been completed.

The irony of the situation is that a high school senior interested in signing up for either program had a single-word decision to utter. He would be asked simply “Army or Navy?”. Any fellow opting in the first instance would eventually find himself completely betrayed. As for the smarter ones who chose the sea instead, they’d be allowed to spend some of their coming service years “hitting the books”, provided their grade levels remained satisfactory. Not a bad deal in the latter case, but a mighty bum one for the lads who preferred to join the ground forces.

VIEW FROM A PERSONAL STANDPOINT
From here onward, prime focus will be placed on the writer’s direct experiences, leading up to the major betrayal and its resultant effect on so many lives, both lost and somewhat damaged to varying degrees.

After naïvely signing up for such potential added schooling at government expense, but employing the fatefully selected word “army”, this eighteen-year old lad went through the enlistment routine and was inducted in early January 1944. He successfully passed the qualification tests administered by the Fort Thomas, Kentucky reception center, and February found him at Fort Benning, Georgia, renowned as the infantry school, to undergo the rigorous training carried out on behalf of said service.

The scheduled indoctrination period isn’t remembered, but probably would have run for several months, after which he could become Joe College, perhaps for the war’s full duration.

However, the fighting on all fronts had reached a pretty sad state by early 1944. Hitherto 4-Fs were being upgraded to 1-As in relatively wholesale lots, since battle casualties had taken a significant toll. In the plainest of terms, the U.S. Army found itself in severe need of “cannon fodder”, to fill altogether too many gaping front-line combat holes. Apparently then, the proverbial light bulb flashed above the heads of numerous high-ranking military individuals, as well as the civilians who direct their actions from Washington. Why not cancel those college classroom deals and shove all the kids into active duty?

What difference did it make that so many young lads held well-above-average academic qualifications? Heavens, wouldn’t they be more valuable to their country up there facing enemy artillery fire or bayonet charges? Virtually overnight, the entire attitude toward these student-soldiers became reversed.

And so it came to pass that all textbooks had to be turned in, to be replaced by rifles and hand grenades. Every single lad theretofore enjoying collegiate life was promptly shipped off to an infantry unit somewhere in the country. After all, that’s how they’d been trained, right?

Now, what about the others who hadn’t yet completed their basic training, of which there were many, including this writer? The answer was quite sample. Cut the program short and send them straight to camp too.

Consequently, this eighteen-year old’s training at Fort Benning promptly ceased after approximately two months, along with the same fate for everyone else there. The group, which numbered in the hundreds was dispatched to three locations. The small handful of black soldiers on the site were assigned to the 92nd Infantry Division, an all-negro unit (except for white officers) at Camp Polk, Louisana. The rest were sent either to Fort Bragg, North Carolina or Camp Atterbury, Indiana. The writer fell into this last-mentioned crew.

Our arrival at Camp Atterbury, a short bus ride from downtown Indianapolis, took place only a few days following the 106th Infantry Division’s having finished taking part in Tennessee Maneuvers. They formed a pretty bedraggled-appearing bunch as a result of the ordeal. Since this outfit had been formed only about a year before at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, it was already pretty green, to be supplemented by numerous 18-20 year-olds of a distinctly greener hue.

We thus formed what was certainly the Army’s newest division in point of historical service – at zero level, to be precise.

Over the months from March to October, our newly-blended unit underwent additional training, including a few maneuver-type exercises, but was certainly far from what could be called a crack outfit. Perhaps battle experience would eventually harden us.

As it happened, such supposed proving ground didn’t lie far off. The generals overseas were yelling for warm bodies to fill the rapidly-depleting front ranks. So, on October 7, 1944, we marched off to trains headed for Camp Myles Standish, Massachusetts, our Port of Embarkation. Then came New York Harbor, HMS Queen Elizabeth “her very self”, and a five-day ocean jaunt to Clydebank, Scotland.

From there we entrained to Central England, where we were lodged in or near various small- or medium-sized towns. Our company found itself just outside of Cheltenham, on a leased civilian estate known as Sandywell Park. The officers were housed in the rather spacious residence, and temporary barracks had been built for us doggies.

Our stay at Sandywell Park included a few lengthy hikes and exercises, in an effort to toughen us up, and the result seemed fairly satisfactory. Many of us managed to develop endurance skills not apparent before. Still, it’s doubtful that we’d yet reached a stage of battle hardiness.

As mid-December approached, our next outward move led to Southampton and an LCT voyage across the English Channel. This proved to be a rather disastrous journey, however, due to such mishaps as losing an anchor and other difficulties. As a result, we were seriously delayed in arriving at Le Havre, France.

Since we were so late, orders from higher up had been given to get us across France and Belgium with all deliberate speed by motorized convoy. This fellow’s transport means was by jeep, being a radio squad driver.

PRELUDE TO COMBAT ACTION
After a single-night bivouac in snow-covered Belgian fields, we finally moved into the German Army’s Siegfried Line pillboxes on December 10, relieving the 2nd Infantry Division, the hitherto conquering occupants. We were just six days away from the fateful battle.

Enemy patrols were exploring our sector night after night, and no evening could be considered complete without a hefty German artillery barrage. We all grew very antsy, however.

Returning now to the larger picture, as already discussed, the German High Command had methodically laid out a monstrous frontal counteroffensive attack, intended to mow us down and allow them to proceed hastily onward to Antwerp, Brussels, and other Belgium areas.

The facts of the case were these:
· The enemy knew we were a green outfit, and fully expected to run us into the ground –
which they readily managed to do;
· We were short of heavy weapons ammunition, medical supplies, combat rations, and
winter outerwear;
· Our sector spanned an approximate 21-mile hilly-terrain front, which was far greater than
standard operating procedure for the U.S. Army;
· The terrain was not conducive to needed tank support;
· The sky was heavily overcast, offering us no possibility of air support.

In summary, we were dead ducks and didn’t know it, except at the upper command levels. The more gruesome factor is that our unit’s average age was 22 years – consisting largely of kids who’d either been yanked out of college classrooms or had their essential training curtailed in order to load up the battlefront with whatever persons could be mustered.

No matter how you slice it, our division was offered up as a sacrifice. No counteroffensive of such magnitude ever goes unanticipated. You can read official reports from some quarters to the effect that the enemy “surprised” us. That is mere Army window-dressing bunk.

BATTLE RESULTS
We did our best, launching offensives of our own here and there, but with little effect. Our particular company quickly fell into isolated small units, each having their own skirmishing experiences, which would become interesting conversation topics during our prison camp days which lay just ahead.

As casualties go, the killed and wounded rates were relatively low. On the other hand, we were forced to surrender in droves. This writer’s capture took place as a member of a large group, including our regimental commander, in early evening on December 19, 1944. Thousands of us were force marched and/or entrained further into the German interior until finally arriving in prison camps.

PRISON CAMP LIFE AND AFTERMATH
There seems to be little need to dwell on our internment days. They were a challenge for survival in the face of hunger, illness, and exposure to the elements. Not everyone succeeded in staying alive throughout the ordeal, and that included numerous lads in their early twenties. It shouldn’t go without mention, however, that during the four-month internment period with severe food and supplies inadequacy, the main body of American POWs exhibited spoiled brat tendencies, inconsideration for their comrades in general, and outright food and other thievery within the ranks. The frightful behavior example they set proved incomprehensible even to our German captors. The British and other empire nation forces, with which we had become merged, earned far greater respect.

Our camp near Fallingbostel was liberated by the British 7th Armored Division on the morning of April 16, 1945.

Once back in allied hands, the U.S. Army couldn’t have been nicer while attending to our every medical, dietary, and other personal need, with haste being the order of the day for getting us safely home again. This, however, certainly falls short of compensating for the betrayal leveled on so many lads in their early youth – especially those either unable to make the return trip to U.S. shores, or else leaving a limb or two behind.

Perhaps a groundswell of resentment should have built up in the years immediately following war’s end. As we’re all fully aware, no such event took place. Just being able to return fully or partially intact and get on with one’s life seemed to offer adequate satisfaction, at least insofar as this writer’s memory best serves. Nevertheless, utter and wanton betrayal can be difficult to forget, albeit many decades later.

Still, what about the other side of the coin, namely the post-war benefits accorded to those who survived the ordeal unfairly foisted on us? It’s true, the government gave the writer four years of free advanced education at his own chosen institution and curriculum. Many other duly betrayed victims received the same. It would be illogical to completely ignore such compensatory treatment. However, did the dollars and cents expended on our educational behalf balance out the effect the combat and prison camp ordeal had had on our ensuing personal lives? I think not.

We were all psychologically damaged in some manner and to varying degrees. Many of us altered our approaches to life, careers, and otherwise, not necessarily for the better, which is at least partially attributable to the enormous betrayal we suffered from.

It’s true that we were engaged in a monstrous war, and everyone had to make sacrifices, but this doesn’t excuse the Army from having acted most irresponsibly when it closed down the AST Program. The heaviest burden, of course, was borne by those who didn’t return safely or in one piece.