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11-24-2004, 05:30 PM
As I saw it: the eyewitness report of a soldier who fought during World War II and survived
Sept, 2002
by Vernon E. Greene
When I was born in West Virginia May 11, 1923, World War I was still a vivid memory to most Americans, and war clouds had already begun to darken the skies over Asia and Europe.
I was the middle of nine children -- three boys and six girls. When my father died in 1938, I did as my older brother had done: I dropped out of school to work in the coal mines to supplement the family income. The daily wage was just short of $5. Although we were required to report to work Monday through Friday, we were paid only if we were needed. Otherwise, we returned home without pay Those who were fortunate worked three days a week.
One evening the younger of my two brothers and I were trying to sneak into a boxing arena. When an official came to the door and asked if anyone wanted to box, my brother volunteered me. We got in free, but I lost the fight. I fought a few more times before I entered the Army. I got three dollars if I lost, and five dollars if I won. I usually picked up three dollars. At the age of 16, I was going to work not knowing whether I was going to earn a wage each day or whether I would even earn $3 for a three round fight. I seemed to be locked in for life.
An uncle whom I never had a chance to meet helped shape my course. He was a Georgia boy, my father's brother, Reney, whose neat, handsome World War I soldier's picture hung in our front room. I never knew what rank Uncle Reney held, but from those who knew him, I learned that he set an outstanding example for others and that he was admired and respected. I decided that I wanted to become a soldier and move away from the coal dust and the daily risk of losing life or limb.
As the Japanese, German and Italian governments became more vocal and as their military capabilities became more visible, the United States was becoming concerned about a possible worldwide conflict. The U.S. Army welcomed volunteers and paid privates $21 a month. Too young to enlist without an adult signature, I asked my oldest sister to sign the necessary papers, and on Oct. 18, 1939, I was en route from Bluefield, W.Va., to Fort Thomas, Ky Upon arrival at Fort Thomas, I was physically and mentally tested and then sent, still in my civilian clothes, directly to what would be my home for the next three years, Company M, 10th Infantry Regiment, 5th Infantry Division.
I was not to become familiar with the terms "basic training," "boot camp," and "advanced training" until I returned from Iceland in 1943. In the 10th Regiment, a soldier learned by on-the-job training. It was a difficult environment for a tenderfoot. I lived with my peers, my leaders, my superiors and my evaluators. There was little room for me to err without being critiqued. Punishment was readily available through extra guard duty, kitchen police, policing for match sticks and cigarette butts, marking targets on the rifle range, oral and written reprimands, and reduction in rank by local authority.
Early in my 10th Infantry days, a corporal assembled about 30 of us new soldiers from different units for basic close-order drill. He showed us a black pen and said, "This is a yellow pen." He then walked up to each soldier and asked him the color of the pen. Each soldier, including me, responded, "Yellow, Corporal." He said, "That's great. We understand each other."
Late in 1939, we moved to Fort McClellan, Ala., to join other units of the 5th Infantry Division and to spend a cold winter living in tents. At Fort McClellan we learned to function as a team during squad, platoon, and larger-unit field exercises. In the spring of 1940, the 5th Infantry Division moved to Fort Benning, Ga., for field maneuvers -- the largest peacetime field maneuvers in US. history -- conducted in Louisiana and Texas.
In the fall of 1940 we moved into new wooden barracks at Fort Custer, Mich. -- our first permanent shelters in more than a year. Our training there concentrated on individual proficiency and small-unit tactics. By that time I had been promoted to corporal, and I was the leader of a machine-gun squad. My promotion brought my monthly pay up to $42, from which I sent my mother an allotment. We enjoyed our stay at Fort Custer. I fought a few bouts, but I soon learned that being both a good squad leader and a good boxer required more time than there was in a day. Because I loved soldiering, and because I was not very proficient in the ring, the decision was easy for me, especially after a professional fighter knocked me out in my last fight.
In the fall of 1941 we took a motor trip from Michigan to the harbor in New York City The Army did not want anyone to know that we were on our way to Iceland to augment the British forces who had been rushed there after the Germans took Norway. Later, we learned that some of the British soldiers were veterans of Dunkirk. They seemed twice our age, and they became valuable instructors and friends. During our stay in Iceland, we called our regiment the 10th Labor Regiment. We worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week, primarily unloading ships and building fortifications and roads. We also manned defensive positions and patrolled the beaches. With our work schedule, the summer days and winter nights seemed even longer than they were. It was rumored that prisoners in the guardhouse worked only eight hours per day, five days a week. Perhaps the appeal of the guardhouse workday caused discipline to get out of hand. Our first sergeant called a meeting of the NCOs. In a few words, he stated that he would stop sendin g people to the guardhouse, that the work would be done, and that if we could not get our soldiers to perform, we could turn in our stripes, and he would find someone who could. Discipline improved.
German military air and sea power in the North Atlantic region had increased considerably after the German invasion of Poland in September 1939 and of France in 1940. Prior to the U.S. entry into the war, German reconnaissance aircraft would fly over our firing ranges, but we were not permitted to fire on them. One morning in December 1941, as the first sergeant was about to dismiss us from the 4 a.m. reveille formation, he said, "Oh, yes! The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Dismissed!" Mter that, we saw more enemy aircraft and submarines, and many allied ships were sunk en route to us and to our European allies. Caring for the shipwreck survivors (mostly Merchant Marines) became an additional mission for us.
On Oct. 24, 1942,1 was promoted to sergeant and appointed section leader of two machine-gun squads. Shortly thereafter, I appeared before a board for Officer Candidate School and was selected for the Infantry Officers' School at Fort Benning, Ga. Although I attended OCS there, I did not graduate, and I was assigned to Company M, 311th Infantry Regiment, 78th (Lightning) Infantry Division, located at Camp Butner, N.C. The division had been activated Aug. 15, 1942, from a reserve unit. Most of the cadre were from the 29th Infantry Regiment. They were much older than I, and they knew each other. I did not know any of them. For the first time in my military career, I was a replacement, an unknown quantity.
I was assigned to be a section leader to two machine-gun squads, the same position I had held in Iceland. Following three weeks of maneuvers in South Carolina in November 1943, the division returned to Camp Butner to prepare for departure to the Second Army maneuvers in Tennessee in January 1944. The month prior to our departure, I was promoted to first sergeant, at age 20. For the next 2 1/2 months, we slogged our way through mud, through streams, and over mountains. We were being hardened for combat. On April 1, the division rolled into a new station at Camp Pickett, Va.
After undergoing many personnel changes directed by Washington, the division began field exercises at the battalion, regimental, and combat team levels. By September, there was no doubt that the division was going overseas, and by Sept. 26, we were sailing for England. The 78th Infantry Division spent approximately four weeks in Bournemouth, England, but by the end of November, it had moved to Tongres, Belgium. In December, the 78th moved into Germany, first to the Rotgen area and then to the outskirts of Lammersdorf.
The 311th Regiment was introduced to combat Dec. 9, 1944, when the regiment took over 7,000 yards of the line in the Hurtgen Forest, one of the bloodiest battlegrounds of the war. By Dec. 23, the snow-lined foxholes of our defensive position covered 12,000 yards. Our positions were on the northern shoulder of the Ardennes salient, the "Bulge." With Germans on three sides of us, we stayed there until Jan. 30, 1945. During 130 days of continuous combat, the 311th fought in the Hurtgen Forest, on the Siegfried Line, in Nideggen, along the Roer River, on the Cologne plain, in Remagen, and in the Ruhr Pocket. To tell fully of the death, bravery, fear, sorrow and suffering of those operations would require volumes, and I will leave the details to more gifted writers.
On Dec. 11, the 78th Division, now attached to V Corps and the U.S. First Army, received the mission to seize the town of Schmidt and to capture the Schwammenauel Dam. However, the execution of the mission was postponed because of an increase in enemy air and ground activities, including the infiltration of enemy paratroopers dropping into our zone. The increased activity was part of the German counteroffensive into the Ardennes. The 78th was instructed to halt its drive and to take the defensive. The division's sector, north of the enemy thrust, had to be held, so the 78th's soldiers dug into the snow and prepared coordinated defensive positions throughout the sector.
By mid-January, the German offensive into the Ardennes had been smashed, and the 78th prepared to resume the offensive. On Jan. 28, during a heavy snowfall, the division staff assembled the regimental commanders to discuss the new offensive and to receive the field orders. The 311th Infantry Regiment was assigned the task of seizing Kesternich and Huppenbroich. The 311th's 2nd Battalion pried Kesternich away from the Germans during a two-day battle. For this action, the 2nd Battalion was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation. Staff Sergeant Jonah E . Kelley of the 2nd Battalion was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, the only one awarded to a member of the 78th Division during World War II.
The 3rd Battalion (my battalion), dressed in white camouflage suits, advanced over open, snow-covered terrain, then crossed a cavern-like ravine to reach Huppenbroich. The fierceness of the struggle is evidenced by the casualty list for the battle. The battlefield was liberally covered with dead soldiers. More than a year later, while I was stationed at Camp Robinson, Ark., I was surprised to receive the Silver Star for my minor role at Huppenbroich.
The way was now clear for further action against the Schwammenauel Dam and Schmidt. Still a first sergeant, I was assigned to be a platoon leader (a lieutenant's position), in charge of four machine-gun squads. The 3rd Battalion and other division units received orders to move toward Schmidt, which was located 2 1/2 miles west of the Roer River. Other divisions thrown against Schmidt had been driven back with heavy losses.
The plan called for us to ride into Schmidt on tanks. We had difficulty finding the tanks and loading onto them because of incoming artillery fire and a lack of communication with the tank crews. When we were about 200 yards from Schmidt, the lead tank was knocked out by an anti-tank gun located near the edge of town. The other tanks turned and started toward the rear. My battalion commander ordered us off the tanks. We assembled our platoons, moved rapidly across the open fields and dispersed toward the town. Bullets from machine guns zinged overhead while the enemy gunners adjusted their range. Fortunately, most of the enemy artillery was targeted on our assembly areas, now vacant. With adjacent units, we reached the center of town by nightfall. After dark, tank crews on foot led their tanks forward in low gear to our new defensive positions.
The 311th was instructed to assemble in Schmidt as the division reserve. While we were there, I received mysterious orders: 1. Take a driver, a jeep with a full tank of gas, and a five-gallon can of gas; 2. Go to the regimental headquarters, take a bath, get a clean uniform and report to the adjutant. I did as I was told. When I reported to the adjutant, I was formally discharged from the Army of the U.S. and told to report to the 78th Division headquarters. There I was given a hot meal and a bed and instructed to eat breakfast early and be ready to meet the division commander, Major General Edwin P. Parker Jr., at 8 a.m. the next day.
The next morning I was seated in a room filled with officers when General Parker entered. All present snapped to attention. I was introduced to the general, an outstanding soldier, who swore me into the Army of the U.S. as a second lieutenant and placed a gold bar on my collar after the adjutant read that I was commissioned "for the duration of the war plus six months." I was surprised when the general took the crossed rifles from the collar of a lieutenant colonel and placed them on my collar opposite the second-lieutenant bar. That gesture concluded my commissioning, and I went back to the war.
When I returned to the 311th, Schmidt and the Schwammenauel dam had been secured, and the 311th had crossed the Roer River at Zerkall and Nideggen. I was pleased to be back home. It was a bit awkward for my friends to call me "sir" instead of Sergeant Greene. I wondered what they called me behind my back.
Although none of us knew it, we were about to end the slow, tough fighting of the previous months and begin the race to the Rhine River. None of us could have guessed that within a month, we would be on the east bank of the Rhine. Along a route of attack that was thickly wooded and hilly, the regiment slugged its way forward against elements of the proud 3rd Parachute Division and other German units. Town after town fell rapidly. Late in the afternoon of March 7, after a day of hard fighting, troops of the U.S. 9th Armored Division reached the west bank of the Rhine at the town of Remagen, midway between Cologne and Koblenz. Remagen was an old Roman town with a population of about 5,000. As a place from which we could launch an attack across the Rhine, Remagen offered many difficulties, but it had a double-track railroad bridge, just over 1,000 feet long, that had been built at the end of World War I.
The 311th was placed under the command of Brigadier General William M. Hoge, commander of the 9th Armored Division, for the expansion of the Remagen bridgehead. Hoge informed the 311th's commander, Colonel Chester Willingham, that he wanted one battalion of the regiment to move east astride the main highway in the HovelHimberg area, and the rest of the regiment to move north, in a column of battalions, along the east bank of the Rhine River to Honnef.
Early on March 8, the 311th rushed in to the bridge at Remagen to cross the Rhine and to expand the bridgehead. Riding in trucks, the regiment rolled through the rubble of crumbled rock, abandoned equipment and mangled bodies that littered Remagen. The 1st Battalion, in the lead, moved across the bridge and toward the front line, which was about 1,000 yards from the bridge. Because of an increase in combat activity, the 2nd and 3rd battalions had to dismount from their trucks west of the Rhine and follow on foot, bringing only their personal weapons. The heavier, crew-served weapons (machine guns, etc.) that would have provided needed firepower would follow later, on vehicles. Enemy bomber- and fighter-aircraft activity, added to the German's effective field artillery, encouraged us to move rapidly. The 311th was the first complete U.S. infantry regiment to cross the Rhine.
By 3:30 p.m. on March 8, the 311th, fighting to expand the crucial bridgehead, had closed on Erpel. By nightfall, the 311th was joined by two armored infantry battalions of the 9th Armored Division; one battalion of the 47th Infantry, 9th Infantry Division; a troop of the 89th Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron; one company of the 656th Tank Destroyer Battalion; and the 1st Battalion, 310th Infantry, 78th Infantry Division. In all, the U.S. force amounted to no more than a few thousand men and a handful of armor. While the total cost to the Germans was unknown, a 60-hour accounting reported that 578 German soldiers were brought to our prisoner-of-war cages.
On March 10, Army engineers began constructing a pontoon bridge and a treadway bridge that were needed to replace the damaged railway bridge at Remagen. The Remagen bridgehead, 10 miles deep and 30 miles long, posed a serious threat to the heart of Germany. The Germans had planned to blow up the bridge rather than let it be captured, and they had wired the necessary explosives for its detonation. They made several unsuccessful attempts to detonate the explosives. On March 15, the Germans sent bombers against the bridge, and swimmers armed with explosives. They also used a large railroad gun and V2 rockets to attack the bridge. On March 17, the bridge at Remagen collapsed. The Allied armies had drawn up along the entire length of the Rhine's west bank to attack in conjunction with the largest air assault of World War II, which occurred March 24.
In late March, as the 78th Division was defending the First Army's northern flank along the Sieg River, the 311th Regiment was relieved of duty for a five-day period of rest, recuperation, and training. Following those wonderful days, we were ordered to occupy newly acquired territory along the Sieg River. The regiment remained in this position while other elements of the First Army conducted a pincers movement to encircle the Ruhr Valley, Germany's richest industrial district. Later, attack orders placed the 78th Division in an offensive movement that was to culminate with the capture of Wuppertal (estimated population: 270,000). This maneuver played an important role in the elimination of the area called "The Ruhr Pocket," from which about 300,000 prisoners were taken by our forces.
As a subordinate unit, the 311th advanced about seven miles per day for eight days. Wide attacking zones, rugged terrain, and piecemeal resistance of the enemy dictated the nature of the action in the pocket. The climax of the regiment's drive came with the capture of Wuppertal on April 16, which proved to be our last day of combat. The Ruhr Pocket was not exactly a picnic, as the regiment suffered 37 men killed and 218 wounded. On the credit side of the ledger, we captured 266 towns, overran 149 square miles of territory, took more than 15,000 prisoners, and captured large quantities of materiel and equipment.
In addition to performing many small, time-consuming tasks, the 311th Regiment also assisted in securing First Army communication and supply lines against any guerrilla-warfare activities that the enemy might instigate. These tasks continued after the unconditional surrender of Germany on May 7 at Rheims, France.
Another task was tending to the thousands of displaced persons the Germans had brought from conquered countries to be used as slave labor. We assisted in feeding, clothing and housing these people until they could be returned to their homes. However, some of these individuals attempted to loot German houses and farms. We attempted to maintain law and order in the communities throughout our assigned areas.
During this period, the ground forces in Europe provided a source of manpower for the expected invasion of Japan. The 78th Division was sent to Berlin as part of the occupation force. Earlier, I had let it be known that I wished to remain in the Army after the war. I was placed in the 70th Infantry Division, a unit that was deploying to the Far East. We were moved to France to await ship transportation through the Suez Canal. The victory over Japan came while I was in France. I had accumulated enough credit points to return to the U.S. early, and my port of embarkation was changed to a port in the Normandy area. As I boarded the ship, I was humbled and pleased to recognize a soldier who had been in Company M, 10th Infantry, when we were sent to Iceland in the fall of 1941. I was humbled because he appeared to be finishing a four-year tour overseas, and I was pleased because he was still "vertical and mobile."
When we arrived in New York, Red Cross ladies greeted us with smiles, coffee and doughnuts. Everywhere, we were greeted with unhesitating handshakes or pats on the back. What a contrast that welcome was to the silent treatment we received upon our return from Korea. An even greater contrast was the reception we received when we returned from Vietnam: U.S. citizens carrying protest posters and calling us murderers. Maybe those later reception groups were not sufficiently aware of our governmental structure to know that their duly-elected civilian officials had placed the soldiers in harm's way. Why spit on the uniform?
In May 2000, I had the privilege of visiting the area in Europe over which we had fought 55 years earlier. We visited battlesites as well as two cemeteries, one in Belgium and the other in Holland, where thousands of American soldiers are buried. In Belgium, Holland and Germany, people ranging from mayors to school children were eager to tell us how much they appreciate our friendship today and our accomplishments of years past. I wish every American citizen could make a trip of that sort; it might give them a better idea of where we have been and who we are.
It is a pleasure now to reflect on these significant years of my youth. With time, the recollections of ice-covered foxholes, the rip of burp guns, and the screams of the wounded have dimmed, but the friendships formed during the common danger of war remain forever bright. My old companions, my current pillar of friends and my wonderful family form my cornerstone. To all these, I dedicate these remembrances.
RELATED ARTICLE: The 10th SF Group Coin
In July 1969, while commander of the 10th Special Forces Group, Vernon Greene designed a coin intended to give the soldiers of the 10th SF Group a sense of pride in their unit. According to the 50th-anniversary annual published by the 10th SF Group in 2002, "A tradition was thus begun, calling for each Group member, past and present, to carry his coin at all times."
On the front of the coin, beneath the unit's official designation, is a replica of the Trojan-horse crest worn by members of the 10th SF Group on their berets during the 1950s, when the beret was still unofficial. The reverse side of the coin features a scroll with the Special Forces motto, "De Oppresso Liber." Beneath the scroll is an image of a beret carrying the SF crest. Below the beret is a large scroll that has space for engraving the owner's name. Below that is another scroll with the words, "The Best," which according to the annual, "signifies the goal of the Group and all its members -- pre-eminence in all endeavors."
The original die for the coin was produced by the Robbins Manufacturing Company of Attleboro, Mass., which the annual says has minted all the coins to date. The 10th SF Group retains exclusive rights to the use of the coin.
Colonel Vernon E. Greene's 34 years in the U.S. Army include service during World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. Colonel Greene enlisted in 1939 at the age of 16, became a first sergeant at the age of 20 and received a battlefield commission while serving in Europe during World War II. His duty assignments include service both at NATO headquarters and at SHAPE headquarters. While in Special Forces, he served as an SF staff officer in the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam; served at the Special Warfare Center as a division chief and as an instructor in the SF School; served as a member of the 7th SF Group; and served as commander of the 10th SF Group (1968 to 1970). Colonel Greene attended the Army War College and the National War College. Following his retirement from the Army in 1974, he taught at both the high-school and community-college level for several years.
Sept, 2002
by Vernon E. Greene
When I was born in West Virginia May 11, 1923, World War I was still a vivid memory to most Americans, and war clouds had already begun to darken the skies over Asia and Europe.
I was the middle of nine children -- three boys and six girls. When my father died in 1938, I did as my older brother had done: I dropped out of school to work in the coal mines to supplement the family income. The daily wage was just short of $5. Although we were required to report to work Monday through Friday, we were paid only if we were needed. Otherwise, we returned home without pay Those who were fortunate worked three days a week.
One evening the younger of my two brothers and I were trying to sneak into a boxing arena. When an official came to the door and asked if anyone wanted to box, my brother volunteered me. We got in free, but I lost the fight. I fought a few more times before I entered the Army. I got three dollars if I lost, and five dollars if I won. I usually picked up three dollars. At the age of 16, I was going to work not knowing whether I was going to earn a wage each day or whether I would even earn $3 for a three round fight. I seemed to be locked in for life.
An uncle whom I never had a chance to meet helped shape my course. He was a Georgia boy, my father's brother, Reney, whose neat, handsome World War I soldier's picture hung in our front room. I never knew what rank Uncle Reney held, but from those who knew him, I learned that he set an outstanding example for others and that he was admired and respected. I decided that I wanted to become a soldier and move away from the coal dust and the daily risk of losing life or limb.
As the Japanese, German and Italian governments became more vocal and as their military capabilities became more visible, the United States was becoming concerned about a possible worldwide conflict. The U.S. Army welcomed volunteers and paid privates $21 a month. Too young to enlist without an adult signature, I asked my oldest sister to sign the necessary papers, and on Oct. 18, 1939, I was en route from Bluefield, W.Va., to Fort Thomas, Ky Upon arrival at Fort Thomas, I was physically and mentally tested and then sent, still in my civilian clothes, directly to what would be my home for the next three years, Company M, 10th Infantry Regiment, 5th Infantry Division.
I was not to become familiar with the terms "basic training," "boot camp," and "advanced training" until I returned from Iceland in 1943. In the 10th Regiment, a soldier learned by on-the-job training. It was a difficult environment for a tenderfoot. I lived with my peers, my leaders, my superiors and my evaluators. There was little room for me to err without being critiqued. Punishment was readily available through extra guard duty, kitchen police, policing for match sticks and cigarette butts, marking targets on the rifle range, oral and written reprimands, and reduction in rank by local authority.
Early in my 10th Infantry days, a corporal assembled about 30 of us new soldiers from different units for basic close-order drill. He showed us a black pen and said, "This is a yellow pen." He then walked up to each soldier and asked him the color of the pen. Each soldier, including me, responded, "Yellow, Corporal." He said, "That's great. We understand each other."
Late in 1939, we moved to Fort McClellan, Ala., to join other units of the 5th Infantry Division and to spend a cold winter living in tents. At Fort McClellan we learned to function as a team during squad, platoon, and larger-unit field exercises. In the spring of 1940, the 5th Infantry Division moved to Fort Benning, Ga., for field maneuvers -- the largest peacetime field maneuvers in US. history -- conducted in Louisiana and Texas.
In the fall of 1940 we moved into new wooden barracks at Fort Custer, Mich. -- our first permanent shelters in more than a year. Our training there concentrated on individual proficiency and small-unit tactics. By that time I had been promoted to corporal, and I was the leader of a machine-gun squad. My promotion brought my monthly pay up to $42, from which I sent my mother an allotment. We enjoyed our stay at Fort Custer. I fought a few bouts, but I soon learned that being both a good squad leader and a good boxer required more time than there was in a day. Because I loved soldiering, and because I was not very proficient in the ring, the decision was easy for me, especially after a professional fighter knocked me out in my last fight.
In the fall of 1941 we took a motor trip from Michigan to the harbor in New York City The Army did not want anyone to know that we were on our way to Iceland to augment the British forces who had been rushed there after the Germans took Norway. Later, we learned that some of the British soldiers were veterans of Dunkirk. They seemed twice our age, and they became valuable instructors and friends. During our stay in Iceland, we called our regiment the 10th Labor Regiment. We worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week, primarily unloading ships and building fortifications and roads. We also manned defensive positions and patrolled the beaches. With our work schedule, the summer days and winter nights seemed even longer than they were. It was rumored that prisoners in the guardhouse worked only eight hours per day, five days a week. Perhaps the appeal of the guardhouse workday caused discipline to get out of hand. Our first sergeant called a meeting of the NCOs. In a few words, he stated that he would stop sendin g people to the guardhouse, that the work would be done, and that if we could not get our soldiers to perform, we could turn in our stripes, and he would find someone who could. Discipline improved.
German military air and sea power in the North Atlantic region had increased considerably after the German invasion of Poland in September 1939 and of France in 1940. Prior to the U.S. entry into the war, German reconnaissance aircraft would fly over our firing ranges, but we were not permitted to fire on them. One morning in December 1941, as the first sergeant was about to dismiss us from the 4 a.m. reveille formation, he said, "Oh, yes! The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Dismissed!" Mter that, we saw more enemy aircraft and submarines, and many allied ships were sunk en route to us and to our European allies. Caring for the shipwreck survivors (mostly Merchant Marines) became an additional mission for us.
On Oct. 24, 1942,1 was promoted to sergeant and appointed section leader of two machine-gun squads. Shortly thereafter, I appeared before a board for Officer Candidate School and was selected for the Infantry Officers' School at Fort Benning, Ga. Although I attended OCS there, I did not graduate, and I was assigned to Company M, 311th Infantry Regiment, 78th (Lightning) Infantry Division, located at Camp Butner, N.C. The division had been activated Aug. 15, 1942, from a reserve unit. Most of the cadre were from the 29th Infantry Regiment. They were much older than I, and they knew each other. I did not know any of them. For the first time in my military career, I was a replacement, an unknown quantity.
I was assigned to be a section leader to two machine-gun squads, the same position I had held in Iceland. Following three weeks of maneuvers in South Carolina in November 1943, the division returned to Camp Butner to prepare for departure to the Second Army maneuvers in Tennessee in January 1944. The month prior to our departure, I was promoted to first sergeant, at age 20. For the next 2 1/2 months, we slogged our way through mud, through streams, and over mountains. We were being hardened for combat. On April 1, the division rolled into a new station at Camp Pickett, Va.
After undergoing many personnel changes directed by Washington, the division began field exercises at the battalion, regimental, and combat team levels. By September, there was no doubt that the division was going overseas, and by Sept. 26, we were sailing for England. The 78th Infantry Division spent approximately four weeks in Bournemouth, England, but by the end of November, it had moved to Tongres, Belgium. In December, the 78th moved into Germany, first to the Rotgen area and then to the outskirts of Lammersdorf.
The 311th Regiment was introduced to combat Dec. 9, 1944, when the regiment took over 7,000 yards of the line in the Hurtgen Forest, one of the bloodiest battlegrounds of the war. By Dec. 23, the snow-lined foxholes of our defensive position covered 12,000 yards. Our positions were on the northern shoulder of the Ardennes salient, the "Bulge." With Germans on three sides of us, we stayed there until Jan. 30, 1945. During 130 days of continuous combat, the 311th fought in the Hurtgen Forest, on the Siegfried Line, in Nideggen, along the Roer River, on the Cologne plain, in Remagen, and in the Ruhr Pocket. To tell fully of the death, bravery, fear, sorrow and suffering of those operations would require volumes, and I will leave the details to more gifted writers.
On Dec. 11, the 78th Division, now attached to V Corps and the U.S. First Army, received the mission to seize the town of Schmidt and to capture the Schwammenauel Dam. However, the execution of the mission was postponed because of an increase in enemy air and ground activities, including the infiltration of enemy paratroopers dropping into our zone. The increased activity was part of the German counteroffensive into the Ardennes. The 78th was instructed to halt its drive and to take the defensive. The division's sector, north of the enemy thrust, had to be held, so the 78th's soldiers dug into the snow and prepared coordinated defensive positions throughout the sector.
By mid-January, the German offensive into the Ardennes had been smashed, and the 78th prepared to resume the offensive. On Jan. 28, during a heavy snowfall, the division staff assembled the regimental commanders to discuss the new offensive and to receive the field orders. The 311th Infantry Regiment was assigned the task of seizing Kesternich and Huppenbroich. The 311th's 2nd Battalion pried Kesternich away from the Germans during a two-day battle. For this action, the 2nd Battalion was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation. Staff Sergeant Jonah E . Kelley of the 2nd Battalion was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, the only one awarded to a member of the 78th Division during World War II.
The 3rd Battalion (my battalion), dressed in white camouflage suits, advanced over open, snow-covered terrain, then crossed a cavern-like ravine to reach Huppenbroich. The fierceness of the struggle is evidenced by the casualty list for the battle. The battlefield was liberally covered with dead soldiers. More than a year later, while I was stationed at Camp Robinson, Ark., I was surprised to receive the Silver Star for my minor role at Huppenbroich.
The way was now clear for further action against the Schwammenauel Dam and Schmidt. Still a first sergeant, I was assigned to be a platoon leader (a lieutenant's position), in charge of four machine-gun squads. The 3rd Battalion and other division units received orders to move toward Schmidt, which was located 2 1/2 miles west of the Roer River. Other divisions thrown against Schmidt had been driven back with heavy losses.
The plan called for us to ride into Schmidt on tanks. We had difficulty finding the tanks and loading onto them because of incoming artillery fire and a lack of communication with the tank crews. When we were about 200 yards from Schmidt, the lead tank was knocked out by an anti-tank gun located near the edge of town. The other tanks turned and started toward the rear. My battalion commander ordered us off the tanks. We assembled our platoons, moved rapidly across the open fields and dispersed toward the town. Bullets from machine guns zinged overhead while the enemy gunners adjusted their range. Fortunately, most of the enemy artillery was targeted on our assembly areas, now vacant. With adjacent units, we reached the center of town by nightfall. After dark, tank crews on foot led their tanks forward in low gear to our new defensive positions.
The 311th was instructed to assemble in Schmidt as the division reserve. While we were there, I received mysterious orders: 1. Take a driver, a jeep with a full tank of gas, and a five-gallon can of gas; 2. Go to the regimental headquarters, take a bath, get a clean uniform and report to the adjutant. I did as I was told. When I reported to the adjutant, I was formally discharged from the Army of the U.S. and told to report to the 78th Division headquarters. There I was given a hot meal and a bed and instructed to eat breakfast early and be ready to meet the division commander, Major General Edwin P. Parker Jr., at 8 a.m. the next day.
The next morning I was seated in a room filled with officers when General Parker entered. All present snapped to attention. I was introduced to the general, an outstanding soldier, who swore me into the Army of the U.S. as a second lieutenant and placed a gold bar on my collar after the adjutant read that I was commissioned "for the duration of the war plus six months." I was surprised when the general took the crossed rifles from the collar of a lieutenant colonel and placed them on my collar opposite the second-lieutenant bar. That gesture concluded my commissioning, and I went back to the war.
When I returned to the 311th, Schmidt and the Schwammenauel dam had been secured, and the 311th had crossed the Roer River at Zerkall and Nideggen. I was pleased to be back home. It was a bit awkward for my friends to call me "sir" instead of Sergeant Greene. I wondered what they called me behind my back.
Although none of us knew it, we were about to end the slow, tough fighting of the previous months and begin the race to the Rhine River. None of us could have guessed that within a month, we would be on the east bank of the Rhine. Along a route of attack that was thickly wooded and hilly, the regiment slugged its way forward against elements of the proud 3rd Parachute Division and other German units. Town after town fell rapidly. Late in the afternoon of March 7, after a day of hard fighting, troops of the U.S. 9th Armored Division reached the west bank of the Rhine at the town of Remagen, midway between Cologne and Koblenz. Remagen was an old Roman town with a population of about 5,000. As a place from which we could launch an attack across the Rhine, Remagen offered many difficulties, but it had a double-track railroad bridge, just over 1,000 feet long, that had been built at the end of World War I.
The 311th was placed under the command of Brigadier General William M. Hoge, commander of the 9th Armored Division, for the expansion of the Remagen bridgehead. Hoge informed the 311th's commander, Colonel Chester Willingham, that he wanted one battalion of the regiment to move east astride the main highway in the HovelHimberg area, and the rest of the regiment to move north, in a column of battalions, along the east bank of the Rhine River to Honnef.
Early on March 8, the 311th rushed in to the bridge at Remagen to cross the Rhine and to expand the bridgehead. Riding in trucks, the regiment rolled through the rubble of crumbled rock, abandoned equipment and mangled bodies that littered Remagen. The 1st Battalion, in the lead, moved across the bridge and toward the front line, which was about 1,000 yards from the bridge. Because of an increase in combat activity, the 2nd and 3rd battalions had to dismount from their trucks west of the Rhine and follow on foot, bringing only their personal weapons. The heavier, crew-served weapons (machine guns, etc.) that would have provided needed firepower would follow later, on vehicles. Enemy bomber- and fighter-aircraft activity, added to the German's effective field artillery, encouraged us to move rapidly. The 311th was the first complete U.S. infantry regiment to cross the Rhine.
By 3:30 p.m. on March 8, the 311th, fighting to expand the crucial bridgehead, had closed on Erpel. By nightfall, the 311th was joined by two armored infantry battalions of the 9th Armored Division; one battalion of the 47th Infantry, 9th Infantry Division; a troop of the 89th Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron; one company of the 656th Tank Destroyer Battalion; and the 1st Battalion, 310th Infantry, 78th Infantry Division. In all, the U.S. force amounted to no more than a few thousand men and a handful of armor. While the total cost to the Germans was unknown, a 60-hour accounting reported that 578 German soldiers were brought to our prisoner-of-war cages.
On March 10, Army engineers began constructing a pontoon bridge and a treadway bridge that were needed to replace the damaged railway bridge at Remagen. The Remagen bridgehead, 10 miles deep and 30 miles long, posed a serious threat to the heart of Germany. The Germans had planned to blow up the bridge rather than let it be captured, and they had wired the necessary explosives for its detonation. They made several unsuccessful attempts to detonate the explosives. On March 15, the Germans sent bombers against the bridge, and swimmers armed with explosives. They also used a large railroad gun and V2 rockets to attack the bridge. On March 17, the bridge at Remagen collapsed. The Allied armies had drawn up along the entire length of the Rhine's west bank to attack in conjunction with the largest air assault of World War II, which occurred March 24.
In late March, as the 78th Division was defending the First Army's northern flank along the Sieg River, the 311th Regiment was relieved of duty for a five-day period of rest, recuperation, and training. Following those wonderful days, we were ordered to occupy newly acquired territory along the Sieg River. The regiment remained in this position while other elements of the First Army conducted a pincers movement to encircle the Ruhr Valley, Germany's richest industrial district. Later, attack orders placed the 78th Division in an offensive movement that was to culminate with the capture of Wuppertal (estimated population: 270,000). This maneuver played an important role in the elimination of the area called "The Ruhr Pocket," from which about 300,000 prisoners were taken by our forces.
As a subordinate unit, the 311th advanced about seven miles per day for eight days. Wide attacking zones, rugged terrain, and piecemeal resistance of the enemy dictated the nature of the action in the pocket. The climax of the regiment's drive came with the capture of Wuppertal on April 16, which proved to be our last day of combat. The Ruhr Pocket was not exactly a picnic, as the regiment suffered 37 men killed and 218 wounded. On the credit side of the ledger, we captured 266 towns, overran 149 square miles of territory, took more than 15,000 prisoners, and captured large quantities of materiel and equipment.
In addition to performing many small, time-consuming tasks, the 311th Regiment also assisted in securing First Army communication and supply lines against any guerrilla-warfare activities that the enemy might instigate. These tasks continued after the unconditional surrender of Germany on May 7 at Rheims, France.
Another task was tending to the thousands of displaced persons the Germans had brought from conquered countries to be used as slave labor. We assisted in feeding, clothing and housing these people until they could be returned to their homes. However, some of these individuals attempted to loot German houses and farms. We attempted to maintain law and order in the communities throughout our assigned areas.
During this period, the ground forces in Europe provided a source of manpower for the expected invasion of Japan. The 78th Division was sent to Berlin as part of the occupation force. Earlier, I had let it be known that I wished to remain in the Army after the war. I was placed in the 70th Infantry Division, a unit that was deploying to the Far East. We were moved to France to await ship transportation through the Suez Canal. The victory over Japan came while I was in France. I had accumulated enough credit points to return to the U.S. early, and my port of embarkation was changed to a port in the Normandy area. As I boarded the ship, I was humbled and pleased to recognize a soldier who had been in Company M, 10th Infantry, when we were sent to Iceland in the fall of 1941. I was humbled because he appeared to be finishing a four-year tour overseas, and I was pleased because he was still "vertical and mobile."
When we arrived in New York, Red Cross ladies greeted us with smiles, coffee and doughnuts. Everywhere, we were greeted with unhesitating handshakes or pats on the back. What a contrast that welcome was to the silent treatment we received upon our return from Korea. An even greater contrast was the reception we received when we returned from Vietnam: U.S. citizens carrying protest posters and calling us murderers. Maybe those later reception groups were not sufficiently aware of our governmental structure to know that their duly-elected civilian officials had placed the soldiers in harm's way. Why spit on the uniform?
In May 2000, I had the privilege of visiting the area in Europe over which we had fought 55 years earlier. We visited battlesites as well as two cemeteries, one in Belgium and the other in Holland, where thousands of American soldiers are buried. In Belgium, Holland and Germany, people ranging from mayors to school children were eager to tell us how much they appreciate our friendship today and our accomplishments of years past. I wish every American citizen could make a trip of that sort; it might give them a better idea of where we have been and who we are.
It is a pleasure now to reflect on these significant years of my youth. With time, the recollections of ice-covered foxholes, the rip of burp guns, and the screams of the wounded have dimmed, but the friendships formed during the common danger of war remain forever bright. My old companions, my current pillar of friends and my wonderful family form my cornerstone. To all these, I dedicate these remembrances.
RELATED ARTICLE: The 10th SF Group Coin
In July 1969, while commander of the 10th Special Forces Group, Vernon Greene designed a coin intended to give the soldiers of the 10th SF Group a sense of pride in their unit. According to the 50th-anniversary annual published by the 10th SF Group in 2002, "A tradition was thus begun, calling for each Group member, past and present, to carry his coin at all times."
On the front of the coin, beneath the unit's official designation, is a replica of the Trojan-horse crest worn by members of the 10th SF Group on their berets during the 1950s, when the beret was still unofficial. The reverse side of the coin features a scroll with the Special Forces motto, "De Oppresso Liber." Beneath the scroll is an image of a beret carrying the SF crest. Below the beret is a large scroll that has space for engraving the owner's name. Below that is another scroll with the words, "The Best," which according to the annual, "signifies the goal of the Group and all its members -- pre-eminence in all endeavors."
The original die for the coin was produced by the Robbins Manufacturing Company of Attleboro, Mass., which the annual says has minted all the coins to date. The 10th SF Group retains exclusive rights to the use of the coin.
Colonel Vernon E. Greene's 34 years in the U.S. Army include service during World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. Colonel Greene enlisted in 1939 at the age of 16, became a first sergeant at the age of 20 and received a battlefield commission while serving in Europe during World War II. His duty assignments include service both at NATO headquarters and at SHAPE headquarters. While in Special Forces, he served as an SF staff officer in the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam; served at the Special Warfare Center as a division chief and as an instructor in the SF School; served as a member of the 7th SF Group; and served as commander of the 10th SF Group (1968 to 1970). Colonel Greene attended the Army War College and the National War College. Following his retirement from the Army in 1974, he taught at both the high-school and community-college level for several years.