As is my Christmas tradition, I have posted the story of my father's unit, the
87th Chemical Mortar Battalion during the Battle of the Bulge on Christmas 1944.
It is to honor him, the men he served with and all of out heroes who are
currently serving, including my sons. Please pass this on and use it as you see
fit. A copy is attached.
Merry Christmas to all of you and God Bless America!
Michael
Merry Christmas to all of you and God Bless America!
Michael
This has become a Christmas tradition for me and
some of you have seen this post before, but it is that time of year when I
start thinking about the importance of friends and family and why I should be
thankful for the country I live in. It is also the time when I think about
those fellow Americans who have stepped forward in the past and the present to
place their lives on the line so that the rest of us can celebrate this holy
season in freedom and peace.
The true story below is about my father and a Christmas
seventy one years ago. I wrote it many years ago and it has been reprinted and
put on websites around the world. You can read the full story in my book “The Mortarmen” I offer this story once
again to honor our heroes of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, including my two
sons, Major Sean Connelly and Captain Tim Connelly, both currently serving in
the army. Come to think of it, this story is really about all of them because
it epitomizes who and what they are.
Christmas 1944
The frigid
night air cut through the Lieutenant’s army issue coat as the stopped in the
knee deep snow to survey the perimeter. A heavy snow continued to fall on this
Christmas Eve 1944, but it was not a silent night. The flashes of artillery lit
the sky and generated a rumble like distant thunder as the young officer
finished his tour of the unit’s outposts. He was an officer in Company B, 87th
Chemical Mortar Battalion, the men who fired the big 4.2 mortars which were so
critical to the effort of the infantry to advance. They were someplace in
Belgium, he really had no clue where, and for the first time in a while the
battalion was together again. All four companies had been brought in to help
stop the German breakthrough. They didn’t know it, but the 87th was about to be
thrown right into the heart of the Battle of the Bulge.
As the
Lieutenant finished his rounds he wearily dragged himself into the monastery
where the command had taken refuge for the night. The warmth that enveloped him
as he entered the large community room was certainly welcomed. He glanced
around and saw his comrades sprawled in every available space. They were
bedraggled and exhausted after 201 days of almost continuous combat, and by the
looks on their faces you could tell that it was only going to get worse.
Despite the thickness of the monastery walls, a new sound intruded, the quick
crack of tank gunfire.
Everyone knew what that meant, American
tankers were making a last ditch stand against the German armored columns in
the area. They were outnumbered and outgunned and their Sherman tanks stood no
chance against the awesome German Tiger tanks, but they fought anyway. When the
battle ended, and it would before dawn, then the 87th became part of the last
American line of defense. The war hung in the balance, and so did the lives of
everyone in the ancient house of God.
The
Lieutenant found a place to sit against one wall and sank down in exhaustion,
gratefully accepting the wine, bread and cheese being offered by the monks. In
the corner of the room, a soldier fiddled with the dial of a radio, finally
picking up the armed forces station. Christmas carols filled the room, but only
added to the loneliness. Then as, the sound of the tank battle increased in
intensity, a new song started on the radio, Bing Crosby singing "White
Christmas."
For the
Lieutenant the song immediately invoked memories of the sights, sounds and
smells of Christmas on the farm in Mason City, Iowa and of how far away he was
from those he loved. He could not help
himself, the tears began to flow and embarrassed, he glanced around the room to
see if anyone had noticed. His eyes fell first on the Company Commander,
Captain J.J. Marshall, one of the toughest men the Lieutenant had ever known.
The Captain sat ramrod straight, unashamed, as tears streamed down his stubbly
cheeks. It was universal that night, strong men, the bravest of the brave,
cried over a Christmas carol, and over the homes many would never see again.
As dawn
broke the next morning, Christmas Day, the battalion was again split up with
Company B assigned to take up mortar positions in support of what was left of
the 289th infantry, 75th Division, and defend a Belgium village called Sadzot,
a key location in the thin American defense line. For three days they fired
their mortars in support of the hastily assembled defense units, and then
disaster struck. Early in the predawn hours of Dec. 28th enemy elements of the
12 SS Panzer Division, the infamous Hitler Jugend, broke through the infantry lines
and overran the mortar position.
They hastily assembled all of the
men they could, and the mortarmen fought a delaying action, fighting hand to
hand and house to house against overwhelming numbers. As the fighting retreat
continued, they men of company B were joined by remaining elements of the 509th
Parachute Battalion which had formed a new defensive position north of the
village. There they held until reinforced and then joined a counterattack which
retook the village, and recaptured six of their nine mortars and most of their
vehicles.
It was later
learned that this makeshift force of Americans had successfully stopped a major
attack by German troops designed to capture a major highway intersection which
would have broken the American line. No one has ever been able to tell me how
they won. History recorded it as a classic situation where the attacking enemy
held all of the advantages, yet was stopped by the cold determination of a hand
full of defenders on the verge of physical and mental collapse. Somehow, they
emerged victorious, with Company B reporting almost half of its men killed,
wounded, or missing.
For his
actions during the defense of Sadzot the Lieutenant and the other men of the
company received both the French and Belgium Croix de Guerre medals. I know the
story of that lonely Christmas Eve and the ensuing days from my Father’s diary.
He was the young Lieutenant, Roy E. Connelly, Co. B. 87th Chemical Mortar
Battalion. He would read that story to us on Christmas Eve every year until his
death in 1987, and then I took over the job with my children.
He never
read it without crying over the friends he lost during that Christmas season of
1944, and to this day, I can not read it or even write about it without the
same reaction. What was done during that six day period by the men of Co. B and
the other companies of the 87th, who also held the line, surpasses the ability
of most of us to comprehend. They fought for each other, and they fought for
us. We must never forget.
FOR MY DAD, AND THE MEN OF THE 87TH
