Forest
Joseph Luc
1918
Apr 3 born BSL - 4th child of 8 children
1920
Good Children St Bay St Louis, MS - Census 7 Jan 1920 - age 1yr + 8 months
1942
Nov 6 Enlisted in Army age 24 & 7months @ Camp Shelby H69" 128Ibs 424 Easterbrook
1943
Trained at Camp Maxey with 102d ID, 407th Infantry Regiment, Co. L
1943
Jan 27 Boot Camp - age 24 + 9 months
1944
Sep 3 Leaves to fight in Europe age 26 yrs + 5 months
1944
Nov 30 Death in Germany - 26yrs + 7 months
(Editors Note: Although I have not found an exact reference
to the death of Pvt. Luc, I have found several firsthand reports of battle on
November 30 that involved Co. L. It
sustained heavy casualties that day and my assumption is Pvt. Luc was one of
them. The reports below came from the
web pages at http://carol_fus.tripod.com
which I highly recommend for further reading.)
The Open Field Attack
by
Paul Wible - 407-L
"Bob
Lally wanted me to write up a description of how it felt to attack across an
open field with machine guns firing at us. I did the best I could as f remember
it. When I sent it to him he thought I should send it to the Notes. Use your
judgment " We did. Thanks.
How
does it feel when advancing across an open field with machine guns firing from
the other side? This happened to us only one time. There were other times when
we advanced, we were expecting to be fire at but It did not materialize. If it
had, I probably would not have survived because the laws of probability would
not allow one to live through more than one experience such as this.
On
November 30, 1944 outside the town of Welz in the Rhineland, we made such an
attack and German machine gunners were waiting for us at a distance of
approximately one mile from our starting point. In our first attack there was a
somewhat aura of unreality that surrounded us. Even with bullets coming so
close to our head that they hurt our eardrums, we did not fully grasp the fact
that these bullets would mean certain death if they had been an inch or two
closer, it seemed as long as we moved forward, we did not realize we were in
mortal danger. As proof of this, when a rabbit jumped up and started running to
our right, Jim Zanes swung his rifle around and fired at the rabbit instead of
continuing to fire in the direction of the German machine guns. The rabbit
didn't get hit but it was luckier than over 50% of those in our platoon. Many
of our buddies on our right, on our left, and to the rear were either killed or
seriously wounded.
Only
about four of us reached a small thicket and became pinned down so completely,
that to have raised our head one inch would have meant certain death, did the realization
come over me that I was in great danger. When this hit me, it was the greatest
mental torture I have ever experienced. It was so great that I wanted to shoot
myself to escape.
In
later attacks, when we knew we would have to cross open fields and were aware
of what machine guns would do to us, we still climbed out of our fox holes and
advanced toward the enemy. When we knew the odds, how did we feel as the time
approached? Thankfully, we were somewhat numbed by fatigue and lack of sleep, but
still capable of experiencing feeling of fear and extreme anxiety. In later
years I would feel a slight resemblance to this feeling when getting ready to
speak before a large group. It was the feeling that I was going to fail
miserably but also aware that I was going to do it no matter what the
consequences.
When
the call came, we simply got up and advanced. After all of the years that have
passed since these events, I frequently dream I am back in the war getting
ready to make an attack and these anxieties return. In retrospect, had I not
gotten out of my fox hole and moved forward when the command was given, I would
not want to talk about my war experiences to anyone. I would try to forget and
wipe out all memories of army life. I would under no conditions want to go to
our 102nd Division reunions and face my buddies.
-----
Paul Wible
(Editor's
note: Attempts were made throughout the text of the following story to
place full names to the men listed in the story. For the most
part, this is an educated guess and some names may very well be mistaken in
their identy. The names were all taken from the division history book: With
The 102d Infantry Division Through Germany, edited by Major Allen H. Mick.
Using the text as a guide, associations with specific units were the basis for
the name identifications. We are not attempting in any to rewrite the story.
Any corrections are gladly welcomed.)
Just
Rewards - WWII Combat Experiences of Grant Miswald
By
Grant Miswald/Robert W. "Bob" Lally
(As
told to or witnessed by Bob Lally, a foxhole buddy)
Like many lowly riflemen during World War
II, Grant Miswald's exceptional heroic achievements were never officially
recognized, nor was he ever rightfully cited for bravery, or awarded earned
medals.
But in the words of his squad leader,
S/Sgt. Richard Smith, for Miswald and his few surviving comrades, just being
alive was glory enough. Smith was shot through the head by an enemy machine
gun, given up for dead when he couldn't answer shouts, and abandoned when
attempts to reach him failed. After being miraculously rescued, and spending
four months in the hospital in England having the roof of his mouth rebuilt.
Smith was callously returned to the front for more action. The bullet had
entered just below his left eye and exited behind his right ear.
Of the six ASTP men in Miswald's squad,
three: Long, [Arthur T.] Kubler [Joseph E.] and Orzekowski, [Leonard W.] were
killed in action. Two: Miswald and Reynolds, [Lloyd W.]were seriously wounded.
Only Lally escaped with minor wounds.
ASTP, which stands for the controversial
Army Specialized Training Program, was terminated early in the year 1944, and
the men sent involuntarily to the infantry. Fooled by enticing army promises,
Miswald and his friends briefly attended Purdue University for specialized
engineering training. Probably never before in history, or since, has a nation
so wantonly wasted its best, brightest and bravest men on the field of battle
as ordinary soldiers. Orzekowski wanted to be a priest, after first serving his
beloved country. Another KIA friend, Krumiauf, [Joel W.] wanted to be a
minister, like his father.
One November 30, 1944 Miswald's Ozark
Division attacked a formidable enemy deeply entrenched in the midst of the
German Siegfried Line. They met stiff resistance.
Incredibly, Miswald was the only member of
the decimated 200 man, L Company 407th Infantry, to reach the company
objective, which was to encircle the Rhineland village of Welz. Covered with
blood (not his own) and nearly exhausted, after dark he alone managed to enter
the village from the rear and contact the frontal assault troops, with whom he
spent the night.
Earlier that day, when his lead platoon
encountered heavy machine gun fire from the front, Lt. Morris [Joseph B.] sent
Miswald's squad on a flanking maneuver, attacking up the wooded hill on their
unprotected right flank. Surprisingly, they successfully managed to reach the
ridge, which opened up onto a broad, flat, open plain leading to the villages
tucked along the Roer River, less than a mile away.
Miswald and three others then followed
along the high ridge toward the company objective. As they crept along the
ridge, they were fired upon from below by their own troops,-- who mistook them
for enemy soldiers. They kept going until a concealed enemy machine gun opened
up on the from short range, killing Long and Kubler and mortally wounding
Stamirowski, [Theodore] a day old replacement.
Carrying Stamirowski on his back, Miswald
tried to cart him to safety. Before he died, Stamirowski sadly talked about his
loving family back in the States. It was two days later before Miswald was able
to wash Stamirowski's blood from his hands and clothing.
The next day after the failed attack, the
remnants of Miswald's platoon - about a dozen men - attacked again, and managed
to secure the ridge and a long, deep tank trap a hundred yards beyond, but most
of the enemy had already retreated.
Then, according to Miswald, going back
over the battlefield of the previous day and examining the dead, Lt, Morris, the
platoon leader, remarked to Miswald, "What in the hell were you guys doing
way up here?"
In mid-December, scheduled to lead the
attack across the Roer River, Miswald's battalion was back in Holland for a
practice crossing of the Maas River near Masstrichtwhen the Germans
counterattacked south of them. During the following cold, miserable, lonely
winter days of the Battle of the Bulge, Miswald's outfit froze defending the
exposed northern flank of the American Army.
During their brief stay in a brick factory
in Holland, Miswald, Reynolds and Lally befriended some young Dutch boys, who
managed to get them a haircut, have their pictures taken by a professional
photographer, and arranged for them to sleep in their house in beds with white
sheets and down comforters. This incident was one of the few brighter moments
in a brutal war.
In late January, 1945, when returning at
night through the town of Linnich from a mission in the bottomlands along the
raging Roer River, the enemy attacked with mortars in the center of town near
the church plaza. Three rounds dropped in on Miswald's squad which was strung
out single file. Miswald was hit with fragments from all three rounds, Reynolds
from two, and McLemore, [Arthur J., Jr.] from one.
A bloody mess, Miswald was helped to a
busy aid station located nearby in a brick barn (now the police station and
museum) and deposited on straw in the big arched doorway. When Lally tried to
comfort him while awaiting medical attention, Miswald said 'Don't worry about
me. I'm going home. You're the unlucky one." That's the kind of person he
was, always concerned about others. His million dollar wounds, arm and head
nerve injuries, won him a medical discharge and a life of suffering and pain.
Today Just outside the Rhineland town of
Linnich, a huge memorial stone at the St. Hubertus Cross wayside shrine honors
Miswald's spirit and memory. Erected by veterans and villagers, it proudly
displays the Ozark Division insignia. In the town inside St. Martinus Church, a
similar Peace Window memorial honors all victims of the war.
Surely, many just rewards must await
Miswald in Heaven. He was more than a comrade, buddy, and friend. He was
extended family, a brother, and will be dearly missed.
-----
Grant Miswald/Bob Lally
Return
from the Dead
by
S/Sgt. Richard G. Smith, 407-L.
Up front with the infantry during a major
WWII battle, just as I had mustered enough courage to go up and over the top of
a steep embankment, a German machine gun opened fire and shot me in the face.
The bullet entered just below my left eye and exited behind my right ear. It
felt as if someone had hit me in the head with a sledge hammer.
Instinctively I fell down into a deep plow
furrow along side of an unharvested sugar beet field, Terrified, in shock, and
probably mortally wounded, I just laid there and bled -- for what seemed to be
an eternity. Struggling to remain conscious, I spit out the blood.
No one followed me, but I could hear two of
my men, Cobb (Roy A.) and Blank (Lloyd F.), calling to me. With the roof of my
mouth caved in, there was no way I could answer them. I could also hear the
machine gun continuing to fire when they unsuccessfully tried to climb over the
embankment to check on me.
I was an infantry squad leader with the
rank of staff sergeant, but this obviously was not a good day. As far as I
knew, the four of us, including a seriously wounded day-old replacement who
didn't make it, were tne only survivors of an eleven man infantry squad. At the
time, I was trying to contact other elements of our company off to our left. I
didn't know they were being decimated by the same type of withering machine gun
fire that we had encountered from the front, the ridge and the deep tank trap
over the ridge on our exposed right flank.
The foul early morning weather proved to
be an evil omen. A heavy ground fog delayed the ill-fated attack until
mid-morning. Our objective was to encircle the village of Welz from the south
by having the second and third squads give covering fire to the first squad
moving up along the creek and wooded area. The elite opposing troops of the
German 10th SS Panzer Division were well positioned and entrenched to thwart
any such obvious maneuver. Because of an extreme shortage of shells, there was
to be no artillery support.
This operation was part of an all out
American effort to penetrate the vaunted Siegfried Line north of Aachen - out
of Holland. It was the first major Allied thrust into Germany.
The Army newspaper Stars and Stripes
reported that it involved some of the heaviest fighting of the war. It had
become a war of attrition, simular to WWI, with devastated villages changing
hands several times - and with big tank battles raging about them. At the
infantry squad level, though, we knew only what we could see and hear.
Little did we realize that we were walking
into the valley of death. As soon as we, the first squad, entered the deep
wooded draw, we lost contact with the other supporting squads. Hundreds of
yards up the draw, our scouts encountered heavy enemy fire from the front and
flanks, creating confusion and uncertainty among the troops spread out in the
draw.
At the same time we were being bombarded
with German artillery shells exploding in the trees above our heads. The
shelling increased when American tanks emerged from the village of Lindern to
help us.
I made it to the top of the ridge on the
right with several of my men being led by Grant Miswald. Kubler (Joseph E.),
Long (Arthur T.), Stamirowski (Theodore) and others were quickly cut down by
machine gun fire from an enemy position below the ridge. That's when I decided
to try to contact the other squads off to our left on the other side of the
creek and draw - where my good friend Lee Powell was still fighting.
After being wounded, I don't know how long
I laid in that plow furrow unable to even move. Afterwards I found out that my
men in the draw below had given me up for dead when I didn't answer their
shouts. However, the next thing that I knew someone else was in the plow furrow
at my feet trying to get my attention.
It was another one of my men, a retreating
scout*, who had risked a quick mad dash up the embankment to check on me. After
much agonizing, my men had concluded that I would never abandon one of them
without first checking to make sure that he was dead.
After seeing my gruesome bloodied face and
motionless body, my rescuer also thought that I was dead - he had risked his
life for nothing. When he saw my eyes open it was like the dead coming back to
life - a miracle.
Hugging the ground, he cut off my field
pack and equipment. He then tried to convince me to crawl forward up the plow
furrow a few yards to where some bushes partially hid the brink of the
embankment. Not being able to talk, I couldn't argue. But still in shock,
petrified with fear and seriously wounded, I didn't know if I could do it. Once
there, our only hope was to crawl quickly to the brink of the embankment and
tumble over. He had even more trouble trying to talk me into going first, since
the first man with the element of surprise always has the best chance to make
it - which I did.
Once again in the protection of the draw,
we jumped into the cold icy stream and followed it back to our lines, where
luckily we stumbled onto an aid station of another battalion. The doctor, a
Capt. Whitlock, patched me up, tagged me, and loaded me into a meat wagon
(ambulance) for transportation back to Holland. From there I was air lifted to
England, repaired, and about four months later callously returned to the front
for more action. The doctors in England told me that a small fraction of an
inch any way on the path the bullet took through my head and I would be dead. The
wound would have been fatal.
The word in the rear that night of the
battle was that L Company had been wiped out.
Not many of our platoon survived. One of
the wounded, another scout, Carmen Brown (from Iowa), was shot in the teeth by
a German burp gun from close range. Coughing up the slug which went down his
throat, he survived by playing dead - which didn't take much acting. Another
squad leader, S/Sgt. Gannon, (Vincent J.)(RI) was hit five times in one leg.
Another rifleman, Martin Keaveney (MA) lost a leg.
The list of our platoon dead included
T/Sgt. Hilton Harrison (OK), S/Sgt. Jakie Moran (IA), Sgt. Hamilton Walker
(MA). Leonard Orzechowski (MI), Craig Kendal (UT), Arthur Long (WA), William
Gamble (AR), Robert Schnoor (IL), Theodore Stamirowski (NY), Joseph Kubler
(PA), Ambrose Gray (OH), Joel Krumlauf (OH), and Irving Hoffman (PA). They were
some of America's best, brightest and bravest men. Orzechowski's ambition was
to be a priest. Krumlauf wanted to be a minister.
Foremost on the minds of these men at the
time were concerns about their buddies, the comerades, their fellow-man. There
is no greater love...
The previous article was prepared by Smith
and two of his friends several months prior to his death of natural causes on
January 13, 1989.
Smith loved his homeland -- the mountains
and woods of north central Pennsylvania where he reported bagging six wild
turkeys and missing many more during his lifetime.
Although smith's wife, Kathleen, and his
children knew about his war wound, he never talked about it to any of his
associates at the Navy facility in central Pennsylvania where he worked after
the war. Fortunately, during the last year of his life he initiated contact
through Ozark Notes and greatly enjoyed renewed friendships of his war years.
Smith's unusual story, perhaps one of the
most dramatic human interest incidents of WWII, was never recorded prior to
this article. The article received its final editing by collaboration of the
Co. L, 407th attendees at the Tucson reunion. For Smith, just being alive was
glory enough.
-----
Richard Smith
1949
Apr 9 Remains brought home for burial
1956
VFW Raises flag in his honor St. Stanislaus Stadium
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