General Patton and the Rhine River Crossing

I have written a manuscript detailing my Father's service in World War II. In no manner can his service exploits be covered in short stories, but they do give an oversight of the book and the importance of motorized couriers during the war.

During the Battle of the Bulge, General Omar Bradley's Twelfth Army Headquarters was stationed at Verdun, France. Communications centers were part of this unit - centers that required mail sorters, telegraphers, coders, decoders, teletype operators, phone operators, linemen, repairmen and message couriers. From this central hub location, messages were sent to forward fighting units, rear echelon headquarter units, each one of the Allied Force headquarters and more. The sheer volume of messages sent and received each day was in the thousands and an overwhelming project to work efficiently. During this time, no message jeep went out alone. Each jeep had a team of two - the driver and his gunner. But during the Ardennes Campaign a second guard jeep was added to each run. My Father was designated driver of the guard jeep. The duty of this jeep was to provide cover for the main message jeep and to take over the run in the event that the first jeep was taken out.

During the Battle of the Bulge, the European Continent experienced one of the worst winters on record to that point. Long periods of freezing temperatures, blizzards, rain and endless fog. These conditions created almost inhuman conditions for those who were forced to remain in the out of doors - in fox holes, dug outs, lean tos', tents, guard shacks and open vehicles. Battles and fighting was often the last thing on these men's minds - a hot meal, a warm place to sleep, dry clothes, home, loved ones - but there was little opportunity to think pleasant thoughts when one was wrapped in cold and misery, eyes strained through wavering fog in the murky forest, self defense and self preservation the only object at the moment.

Open jeeps with inadequate heating systems made driving doubly cold. Rain, snow and ice froze on windshields so thickly that visibility was out of the question - as was dropping the windshield in order to see. The bitter cold was intensified by a moving jeep forcing wind driven snow, rain and sleet into exposed faces and thin mittens. But far more than that, drivers did not take the risk of a thin wire stretched across the road at windshield/hood level. In order to see where they were going, helmets were pushed back on heads which in turn were leaned to see around the frozen windscreen. Mittens were never warm enough, socks never dry enough and feet never warm.

If sleep had been in short supply before this battle, it was less now. Couriers were sent out on a rotating schedule. When a team came in to headquarters, they dropped their precious cargo, parked and serviced their jeeps and wolfed down a few mouthfuls of food before dropping exhausted onto beds they had not the energy or time to pull the covers back from. If they were lucky, they got two hours of nap before they were shaken awake and sent out on another run that could last for most of the day or night. Exhausted, cold and often hungry, they moved the vital messages that linked a vast Army across a huge area of Germany, France and Holland. In and out of the designated battle area, they came and went on a regular daily basis; facing cold, danger and ambush, ice, snow and uneasy soldiers made more uneasy by Germans posing as Allied troops. Passing miserably cold and wary guards at road blocks with fingers ever ready on the trigger.

With orders that put them well behind the lines drawn to include the Battle of the Bulge, these men never received a battle medal for having served in the battle.

My Father's experiences during this time would cover another chapter - and do.

When the Allied troops broke free, Germany lay ahead. The area covered by the couriers increased with advancing armies and stationary rear headquarters. My Father crossed the Remagen Bridge before it was blown by the retreating Germans. With the bridge blown, Allied Forces rushed in to construct a temporary pontoon bridge across the Rhine River.

Dad was given a message to deliver to Heidleberg and he asked about the bridge. "Don't worry, it will be complete by the time you get there." He was assured. When he arrived, however, the engineers were still hard at work. Dad stopped his jeep at the edge of the river and waited.

Last summer, my Father suffered a heart attack and was in hospital as we discussed this particular episode. I will never forget the sparkle in his blue eyes as he described the events of that day. It was only after he related them, that I realized that part of his hesitation was introspective thought on exactly how to tell his daughter details that would feel only comfortable relating to another man.

He lay in the bed, watching me, speaking softly as he recounted the memories of that day. "I was sitting there waiting when Patton pulled up."

"And then what happened?" I asked.

He waited a moment. "Well, Patton was a little man, but he had a voice you could hear for six blocks."

"Well, what did he say?"

Hesitation and careful choice of words followed. "we - ll. He stepped out of the jeep and looked around. Walked over to the edge of the river near my jeep and looked across the water, watched the building process, scanned up and down the river and turned to look out over the lines waiting for the final pontoon to be put into place."

Silence..........

"And?"

"You can't write it, K."

"What do you mean? I 'can't' write it?" I asked. "Of course I can!"

Silence......

Then slowly and hesitantly. "He looked at all the troops and spoke in a voice that carried a long way - 'Just what I've always wanted to do! Pizz in the Rhine River!" Dad looked uncomfortable as he spoke, watching me closely. I typed frantically trying to get down his voice, his expression as well as the words he was saying, the scene he was describing and the atmosphere that lay over all that day.

Finished, I looked up. Dad was still watching. "Then what?" I asked.

Silence............

"What happened then, Dad?"

Silence - as he thought and carefully chose the words he was going to say. He looked down at the floor a moment, beyond me, then spoke more softly, but with a bit of force as if these words had to be said before they failed him. "He took out his wanger, turned and pizzed in the river!"

I couldn't write - I was laughing too hard. My Father lay in the bed, his blue eyes sparkling, a smile etched on his face as he watched my reaction. A soft chuckle escaped - he hadn't offended me.

Quickly, I went back to typing. Then I looked up again.

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"Patton put himself away and turned back to look at the troops still zipping his pants. 'Now!' He roared, 'Lets get these God damn trucks across this river!' He bellowed." And then my Father fell silent. I watched. And waited. Then I suddenly remembered his coming ashore at Omaha and the manner he had done it in.

I looked at him. "And knowing you Dad, you were sitting there gunning the motor of your jeep weren't you?" I could tell by the look on his face that I was correct. I shook my head and laughed as his next statement changed my view of that historical moment when General George A. Patton crossed the Rhine River. The whole movie would have to be rewritten as would the history books.

"E - yup! They dropped that last pontoon and I beat Patton across that God damn river!"