Heroes: the Army
"...The engineers managed to get a few light foot bridges across the Roer, but at a great sacrifice to men and equipment. Some of us were loaded on rubber boats for the crossing while others of us used the costly foot bridges. Not all of up made it across..."
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Col. B. F.
Hurless presenting the BRONZE STAR to S/Sgt. Salvatore J. Conigliaro,
Jr.
A War Story:
HANNOVER * STENDAL * GARDELEGEN * SANDAU * HAVELBERG *
by S/Sgt. "Lucky" Sal Conigliaro, 406-G.
Krefeld was behind us as was the unfortunate death of Ken Clary. Our objective was to continue on and take Hannover once we crossed the Rhine River.
They redeployed us to Rhinehausen and distributed supplies for the crossing. This was at the end of March.
The 102nd Division was loaded on everything and anything that has wheels. We headed north from Krefeld for about 2o miles, and then west to Wesel and Lembeck. We unloaded and deployed for the drive west to the Weser River. This effort started on April 4th and we arrived and crossed the Weser River on April 9th. We had traveled and fought sporadically over 120 miles in 9 days. This averaged 13 or 14 miles a day. Not easy!
It was obvious at this point that the main body of German forces were in chaos, retreat or surrender. More and more on a daily basis, we would see our B-17's by the hundreds in formation overhead heading for the infrastructure of Germany. From time to time, we'd see one or more 'limping' back to England with a contrail of smoke or a sputtering engine. We'd pray for their safe return.
The Germans were still creating havoc with their V-2's. These were rockets that were launched from moving platforms which were difficult to zero in on. They were aimed at the big cities like London which were obviously civilian targets. But the British prevailed. The damage from the V-2's was devastating. The rockets were generally launched at night. The roar of the propulsion system was unnerving. The V-2's were not used against the troops.
Near the end of the war, the Germans unleashed a new weapon on us. It was a jet fighter plane. We were bombed and strafed a few times but it was short lived. The reason being was their industrial complex had been virtually wiped out by our incessant bombing. In addition, their supply of oil was cut off.
In any event, there was no rest for the weary. The high command was anxious to get this mess over with, so we pressed on. We moved through and around any number of German towns which I cannot pronounce, and we encountered varying degrees of resistance. We were really moving fast and my feet bore witness to that. By April 12th we were in Hannover which represented some 36 miles in three days. Refugees were crowding the roads and slowed military traffic and consequently, our supplies.
During one of these drives, we had surrounded a German Regiment. We sighted a German jeep under a white flag heading in our direction. All firing ceased from both sides. Why was he coming? As he came closer, it was obvious that the driver was delivering a high ranking officer with a message. They stopped when we signaled. We asked if his purpose was to surrender. He insisted, in English, that he wished to talk to the highest commanding officer of our unit, and only him! Only then would he state his purpose.
We radioed back to headquarters and advised them of the situation. Headquarters was sending up a jeep which would escort him blindfolded to our battalion command post. The German driver would wait for his return. We did as instructed, and sent him on his way to our battalion. Forty minutes later, he was delivered back to his point of entry, looking very upset. He got into his jeep and headed back to his lines.
We were later informed that he did in fact surrender his regiment &endash; but &endash; with two unacceptable conditions to us. The first request was that his troops join with U.S. and British forces. His second request was to fight the Russians. In his opinion, the Russians were the real enemy!
In a few minutes the shooting started all over again. Within a few hours we overran their position and took prisoners.
There were many occasions when cows and pigs scared us to death. How you may ask?
We were in foxholes. The enemy was in front of us and always curious as to what we were doing. We were the same way, and as a result, we sent out patrols to spy on each other or take a prisoner or two. The nights were as dark and black as a witch's robe! Suddenly, in front of you &endash; somewhere &endash; you hear some movement. Your first conclusion is that it is a German patrol. Because we wanted to see what was going on, we would send up a parachute flare to light up the area. You scan the area in front of you and see the source of the noise. Cows! They are sniffing around for some vegetation. You advise the line of the problem and set up a plan. You fire a series of flares and sadly shoot the cows and pigs because we could not take a chance and assume that the noise was from animals all the time. It could just as easily be a German patrol.
Speaking of beef, we had a great soldier whose name was Ambert McCurtain. He was a Choctaw Indian. He stood six feet three inches tall and weighed about 200 pounds. We took a town and Mac, as we called him, found a butcher shop. We were battling through this town and up a small hill. Mac grabbed a small side of beef from the butcher shop, strapped it on his back, and headed up the hill. Come Hell or high water, he was going to have his steak, and so did we. Mac was a sight to behold!
In contrast to Mac, we had a soldier who was much less likely to be hit by enemy fire. It was Randy Palermo, affectionately called "Shorty." He was about four feet five inches tall and I believe not too far below the minimum height requirement. How he got into the service was a mystery to all. Shorty was in the best squad of the Division; mine! He was a good soldier, had a good sense of humor, and in spite of his height (or lack of) he was a giant of a man.
About this time I got a replacement transfer to my squad. He was a regular army career soldier who had been busted from his rank of Staff Sergeant as a result of insubordination. He came to my squad angry, demoted, and he wasn't going to take orders from someone wet-behind-the-ears like me. I told him I needed his help and would do everything in my power to get him his stripes back. It wasn't until we went through the next battle that mutual respect for each other began to grow. I only wanted people in my squad that I could depend on. Too many lives depend on the reliability of the guy next to you. I had a great group of men.
The push was relentless; The British to the north of us, and U.S. forces to our right, with our next objective being the Elbe River. The river is linked by canals to the industrial areas of Germany and Berlin. Above Hamburg, the Elbe splits into two branches, then rejoins farther downstream.
Our supply lines were lengthening due to the rapid advance. All resources were assembled and we were always well supplied. However there was one major exception; the food was still terrible.
In a town called Stendal, we captured a German Jet aircraft and a ME 109 fighter plane.
Prisoners and civilian refugees became an increasing problem. Resistance was minimal but both sides were still firing real bullets, and people were still wounded and dieing. There was no reason for complacency. There was still much to be done.
In April of 1945, at a farm in a town called Gardelegen, we came across one of the many German atrocities. In our mopping up operation, some of our troops came across a concrete hay storage building about the size of a football field and about twenty feet tall. We found several bodies outside the building in prisoner uniforms riddled with machine gun bullets. Upon opening the great wooden doors, there was the nauseating stench of burned flesh. We were informed by several civilian witnesses that these prisoners were marched into the barn from some distant places. Prior to letting the prisoners into the barn, they saw the Germans bringing large containers of gasoline into the area and emptying them onto the hay inside. A series of machine gunners were placed into position, one on each side of the barn to prevent escape, and then the prisoners were forced into the gas soaked barn. An S/S officer struck a match and ignited the hay which resulted in the horror that we found. We were told of the painful screams, and how the few that managed to claw their way under the wall and out of the barn were shot to death. We roughly estimated 1,016 bodies but the final count was 1800. Men, women, old and young, as well as children in their early teens were charred black. Most of the victims wore the Star of David on their clothes. They were all Jewish! All of the victims were buried in seven trenches dug by the German citizens of Gardelegen on the orders of General Frank A. Keating. The burial area is now a cemetery maintained to this day by the citizens of Gardelegen, forever a memorial to the Allied prisoners. Gardelegen is an image that forever remains in my mind.
The last 110 miles to the Elbe River was traversed in three days. Sounds unbelievable, doesn't it? We rode trucks, tanks, and anything with wheels or tracks. We walked until our feet were bleeding!
In this drive we overran a prisoner compound in which there were Italian prisoners being held by the Germans. They asked (in Italian) if it was true that President Roosevelt was dead. With my limited ability to speak the Italian language, I shouted to them that it was German propaganda and that our President was fine. That evening we were informed that it was in fact true, and our new President and Commander in Chief was Harry S. Truman. The prisoners knew about his death before we did! Oh, well!
We trudged on until we reached the west bank of the Elbe River. Across the river from our position was a small town called Sandau. We settled in and were told that our forward progress would end here at the Elbe River. We were to wait for the Russians to reach the east bank. (What a mistake that was!) We could have marched into Berlin because the Germans did not want the Russians in Berlin, nor did they wish to surrender to them. As it turned out, apparently a deal of some sort was cut by the Allies to permit the Russians to take Berlin.
Knowing that we were to be at this location for a while, our kitchen moved up and we finally got some 'hot' food. Not good, but hot!
One of our spotter planes thought he identified the Russians outside Havelberg which was about 2 or 3 miles northeast of Sandau across the river from us. Havelberg and Sandau were connected by a tree-lined road which was typical of Germany's two lane roads. The significance of this will be explained shortly.
The 102nd now occupied 21 miles of riverfront on the Elbe River. It was 100 yards wide; maximum. At our location, it was 70 to 80 yards wide.
Our Company Commander, Captain Bennett, put out a request for volunteers for a patrol across the Elbe. The purpose was to make contact with the Russians who were said to have been seen west of Havelberg. I suspected that this would be the last patrol for our Company and I headed for Headquarters to join. Lieutenant Marshall Moffitt, our platoon leader, was to be in charge of the patrol, and I was second in command. When my squad received word that I had volunteered, they all went to the C.O. and offered to join Sgt. Lucky (my squad's nickname for me) on this patrol. I had the best damn squad in the 102nd. Capt. Bennett picked Ray Howell, Pandy Palermo, Linwood McDorman, and George Rhodes from the volunteers.
It was to be a daylight patrol across the Elbe in rubber boats, the purpose of which was to make contact with the Russians. We knew that the Germans were behind the dikes on the east bank. We also knew that we were 'sitting ducks' once we were on the river. Intelligence reports and other patrols south of our position were under cover of darkness; but not ours. Not a comforting feeling! We had a radioman, a cameraman, two correspondents, and a translator. A Piper Cub aircraft was to direct us to the Russians.
At the appointed time the following morning, we all assembled behind the dike and received instructions. I was not thrilled that this was a daylight patrol, but I was accompanied by the best; the men from my squad. We wished each other luck and headed for the river which was about 30 yards from the dike as we carried the rubber boats and supplies.
My feeling was that if we made it into the boats with no shots fired, the odds would be in our favor to make it across the Elbe. Hearts were pounding as we began to paddle our way across. We reached the half way point and I started to feel better, but it was far from over. I instructed the men not to fire unless fired upon. Tensions were high. We reached the east bank; secured the boats, while noticing that German curiosity prevailed as heads were appearing above the dike to observe our movement. As we headed closer to their line, we saw two arms with rifle overhead, appearing to surrender. The there was two, three, and then it appeared as if the entire defensive unit was about to surrender to us. And they did! What a relief!
Our translator told them to go to the river, stack their weapons, and sit down. We radioed for engineers to bring motorized boats to ferry the prisoners across. We continued our mission feeling a hell of a lot better with the initial phase behind us.
One of the German soldiers approached me and asked, in English, if he could return to Sandau to get his wounded brother, as he wanted to get him to the Americans before the Russians came. He surrendered his weapon and there were tears in his eyes. I told him to put a white cloth around his arm and to get his brother to the riverfront as quickly as possible.
Once through Sandau, our patrol headed toward Havelberg. We were on the tree-lined road on our way to Havelberg and it was as straight as an arrow. After about fifteen minutes of walking, there suddenly appeared in the distance a truck heading in our direction. We immediately deployed on both sides of the road. When the truck was 30 yards or so, we all rose up and pointed our weapons toward the truck. The truck screeched to a halt, we surrounded the truck, and ordered everyone out with their hands held up. As the occupants at the back of the truck unloaded, we noticed that they were all wearing the S/S Insignia on their collar. These were supposed to be the German elite officers and Nazi fanatics. There were 12 of them. We later found out that they were attending a meeting in Havelberg. I shutter to think of what might have happened if they were on line when we crossed the river. Talk about luck!
Once the prisoners were taken from the truck, Lieut. Moffitt elected to have the patrol return to base. These prisoners required our personal attention. Upon our return, we found the riverfront to be a beehive of activity. The engineers were in the process of shuttling some 160 prisoners. A makeshift compound was assembled to contain them. When we returned, I walked over to the area and I spotted a German soldier with a white armband fussing over a slightly wounded soldier. I walked over to them and he recognized me. He introduced me to his brother and thanked me for my help. It felt good. I had two brothers at home.
All of us were awarded the Bronze Star Medal. A total of 165 prisoners were taken without firing a shot. Thank God! Other patrols were not as fortunate down the line. There were some diehard Nazis out there.
On May 8th the German surrender was official. It was over. Thank God!
Celebration was in order, and celebrate we did, as did the Russians. It was decided that some American troops would be selected from each Company, and those chosen were to join the Russians in a joint victory party. I had the good fortune to be one of those chosen to attend this gala to be hosted by the Russians themselves.
We donned our dress uniforms and were on our way. Once again I found myself in a rubber boat crossing the Elbe, only this time it had a motor on it and there was no fear of being shot. It was a sight to behold. We were greeted by some of the Russian soldiers, each of whom had a different uniform. We entered this huge hall which was set up banquet style. There was a head table for the top officers, and the troops sat at the tables provided.
There was what appeared to be a glass of water with each place setting. Then it began! A Russian officer rose and gave a toast, holding his 'glass of water.' His toast was translated into English and everyone raised their glasses and began drinking the 'water.' Well, I've got to tell you, it definitely was NOT water! It was pure, strong, unadulterated Russian Vodka! WOW! As I placed the glass to my lips, I felt as though a flame thrower had hit my mouth. There was just no way that I could get this fluid into my system and survive. These were 8 ounce glasses and the officers went through a series of 4 or 5 toasts. With each toast, they would down at least a half glass of the firewater! They just kept filling them up and drinking them down and remarkably, were able to remain standing!
We ate some food of questionable quality and taste, and then just mingled and took pictures of each other. Before, during, and after the party, the Russians were busy with the business of looting. They loaded everything and anything they could lay their hands on, putting them into the trucks, tanks, halftracks, wagons, horse drawn carts, and on their backs. Not a stone was left unturned. It looked like a mass migration of men, women, and materials of all sorts in the process of evacuation. A sight to behold!
There was dancing in the streets; American and Russian Bands with an overall appearance of mass confusion. When I had absorbed all that I could, I returned to the riverfront in order to return to the sanity of the American occupation.
More and more, now that the war was over in Europe, my thoughts drifted to the day I would leave for home. But as it turned out, that wasn't to happen for another seven months. Uncle Sam had other plans for us. I did not know of these plans and I wanted to see my folks, my brothers, and my home town. But most of all, I wanted to place my arms around Nancy. I wanted to hold in my arms what I could only do in my dreams.
Now the rumors started to fly that the 102nd was to be reassigned to the Pacific Theater of operation. It was far from over in the Pacific. We were sort of left hanging, and it was anybody's guess as to what was going to happen. In the meantime, there was some measure of activity in that we were assigned occupation duty. I was placed in charge of an outpost with three other men; Jim Chance, Linwood McDorman, and Charles Simpson.
Our outpost was a checkpoint between the Russian Zone and the American Zone. There were many such locations. Our function was to check papers of people coming and going, to maintain a walking patrol between our location and the outpost to out west. Our outposts were about a mile apart. Our route was through knee high grass with a patrol going out every hour. Occasionally, the patrol would spot deer and would shoot them. Not for the sport alone, but for fresh meat for the citizenry of the little town adjoining our outpost. We would bring the deer to the Burgermeister (Mayor) of the town and he would see to it that the people would get their share. Fortunately, the deer were plentiful and our efforts were greatly appreciated.
From time to time, young women would be passing through our checkpoint, and some of them would be willing to do anything for a place to stay and for some food. We would give them food but we could not find quarters for them. One of the men got the Mayor's permission to occupy a hotel room in the little town where he kept a mistress until it became time for him to rotate back to the Company whereby his mistress went on her way.
Then at the end of the summer, I had the good fortune to get a furlough. I spent a week in the south of France, in Nice on the Riviera. What a beautiful place! The U.S.O. Club was great and I enjoyed the beach and the sights. The week went altogether too fast. In the going to, and coming back from France, we flew over the Alps in a C-47 aircraft. The Alps were spectacular and a sight to behold.
The vacation was over and it was time to get back to duty. I continued with the occupation duty at the outpost and found that we had acquired the services of a 10 or 11 year-old blond German lad who liked to hang around us and help with the chores. When we went home in the evening, we'd make certain that he had some excess rations to take home.
Rumors were still flying with the possibility of our deployment to the Pacific theater. There seemed to be such confusion. Then President Harry S. Truman made the decision to drop the two nuclear bombs on Japan (Hiroshima and Nagasaki) and that event brought the war in the Pacific to a screeching halt.
Soon thereafter, those of us who had enough 'points' were shipped to LeHarve, France for redeployment. YES, only this time redeployment meant we were going home. HOME! What a beautiful word.
I was scheduled to leave on board the U.S.S. Argentina which was a civilian luxury liner converted to a troop carrier. My departure date was Christmas Day 1945. It was very difficult saying goodbye to some of my wartime buddies and I found it difficult to hold back the tears. We had been through so much together &endash; survived &endash; and were like brothers. The crossing took six days on very rough North Atlantic seas. I was seasick most of the trip. Now I knew why I didn't join the Navy!
I was asleep on my cot on the 6th day of the sea voyage when I was awakened with the sound of boat whistles and sirens. At first I thought there was some sort of emergency as I bolted upright in my cot and peered out the porthole beside me. It happened as if it were in a movie. As I looked out to see what the commotion was, the very first thing that I saw was the Statue of Liberty in all her majestic beauty, and at that moment, I had a greater understanding of its significance. We were really home and the tears of joy flowed freely with all of us onboard.
There were no crowds to greet the returning heroes; after all, the war in Europe had been over for almost 8 months. The first ones home received all the fanfare.
The debarkation seemed to take forever. There were over 2,000 people on board the Argentina. As I waited for the call to get off the ship, my mind was bouncing from one vision to another. I thought of all the young men who weren't coming home as I did. I felt blessed and lucky, and yet I felt guilty. Why did I make it back and not them? There must have been a reason, but it escaped me for that moment. This dichotomy of the mental process wears heavily upon me at times. Names and faces of people I was close to still spin through my mind; Sgt. Butchko, Sgt. Satterfield, Sgt. Clary, Sgt. Graves, Pvt. John Groerich, Pvt. Mark Turnbull, Pvt. Upshaw, Pvt. Murphy, Pvt. Gledhill, Pvt. Henry White, and many more too numerous to mention. At last, but not least, Tech Sgt. Harold Klausmeyer, my best buddy, died in 1989 in Baltimore, Maryland. These and many others were vibrant young men who paid the ultimate price for their country, but are still alive in my memory.
The relationship among men who have been in combat together is like no other in life. There is camaraderie; a mutual dependency and respect, and yes, a kind of love which develops for each other. It exists nowhere else.
After disembarking the ship, they loaded us up and hauled us to Fort Dix, New Jersey. Once there, we all in turn were to savor the mouth-watering flavor of a huge T-bone steak dinner with the compliments of the U.S. Army. It was great!
They told us that we would be at Fort Dix for a week, maybe two, depending on how quickly they could prepare the papers for discharge.
Needless to say, most of us waited our turn for a phone to call home. Lines were 30 to 40 deep, so we waited, and waited, and waited. Most of us make the calls collect. After a wait of one and a half hours, I made it to the phone and called Mom, Dad, my brother Michael. We all cried tears of joy at this phone reunion. I also had them call my sweetheart, Nancy, to let her know I was at Fort Dix and would be home in a couple of days.
As it turned out, Nancy knew the ship that I was on, when it arrived, and the fact that I would be sent to Fort Dix. She had a friend whose husband worked for a major New York newspaper which had posted all this information.
On January 5th I was bored to death. I had been processed and they told me that it would be another 4 or 5 days before I would be discharged. As a result I decided to go AWOL the next day. It was relatively easy to get off the base, so I hitched a ride to the George Washington Bridge. It was there that a most unusual and happy event took place. There was a bus that went right through my home town, Piermont, which is located about 40 miles north of New York City on the west bank of the Hudson River. It was a great place to have grown up. I got on the bus, paid my fare, and settled in for the ride home. The bus had one more stop on the north side of the bridge. I saw a line of some dozen or more people waiting for the bus. I was somewhat annoyed at the delay.
As I scornfully scanned the people boarding, my heart seemed to stop. I blinked my eyes and again looked at the people boarding. There, in the middle of the line, was my brother Vincent. How wonderful! It was like another Hollywood movie, but this was real. If we had tried to plan this it could not have happened better! There is no way to describe my feeling back then. My heart was pounding. He spotted me and was equally shocked. We hugged and kissed and cried tears of joy as we sat beside each other in total disbelief as to what just happened.
As it turned out it was a blessing that Vincent was on that bus. My Dad had a tailor shop on the ground floor of where I lived, and there were two more stories above which were the living quarters. My Mom was usually upstairs while Dad was working at the shop. Vincent thought it was advisable to get Mom downstairs before I made my presence known. We didn't want her to fall in the excitement.
I held back until I received a signal from Vincent, and then like a deer, I ran toward the front door. Well, once again the inexplicable rush of happiness permeated every cell of my body when our eyes met and we embraced and kissed.
It just so happened that January 6th, the day I arrived home, was also my kid brother Michael's 16th birthday. He was always a loving and happy child, but now he was growing up. He said it was a great birthday present to have me home again. We three brothers were very close.
Once the tears of joy were wiped away, I made a phone call to my love, Nancy. Oh, what a joy! She said that she was coming to Piermont right away and that there was nothing that could stop her. It took two and a half hours of eternity for her to arrive. When she got there and got off the bus and I saw her standing there, my legs were paralyzed. They miraculously unlocked when she gave me a big smile because I raced toward her, and she toward me. We met, embraced, kissed and kissed and hugged as we walked slowly toward Dad's store, both at a loss for words.
I was home; really home! I wished that I didn't have to go back to camp, but I had to. No need to ruin a good military record because of a one day AWOL.
The next morning, after hours of conversation, I headed back to Fort Dix to await my discharge. I was able to get back into the base as easily as I got out. Two days later, I packed my gear and headed home; discharged! IT WAS OVER!
The next thing to do was to put my life in order and put the war behind me. It sounds very easy to say, but in actuality, it is never behind you. The memories last forever.
I felt good about myself and my small contribution in stopping the madman, Adolf Hitler, and his henchmen. My greatest regret is that so many had to die; civilians and military. Anyone who was in combat can try to tell you of their fear, but you had to be there. It was a different kind of fear that only a soldier experiences. There wasn't a day during the war that the fear was not there. In spite of it, you just had to keep focused on your mission.
The First and the Second World Wars were fought to 'End All Wars.' History has unfortunately proven otherwise.
General Omar Bradley of the WWII era put it very succinctly. "WE HAVE BECOME MASTERS OF THE ATOMIC AGE, BUT WE HAVE YET TO UNDERSTAND THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT."
GOD has given us HIS peace. Why do we find it so elusive? Maybe we have to try harder.
Sal Conigliaro
Third Squad Leader of the Second Platoon of G Company, 406th Regiment (2nd Battalion) 102nd OZARK DIVISION.
War Stories Memoirs Completed May 31, 1996.
Passed away December 13, 1997
----- Sal Conigliaro
Additional stories of Mr. Conigliaro's experiences with Second Platoon of G Company, 406th Regiment (2nd Battalion) 102nd Ozark Division can be viewed by clicking on the links below...
My War Story of Sgt. "Lucky" Sal Conigliaro (cont'd)
A War Story: Aachen * Immendorf * Apweiller * Gereonsweiler * Linnich
A War Story: Hannover * Stendal * Gardelegen * Sandau * Havelberg
My Initiation Into the Military
(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.)
Interested in some background information?
Check out the related links below...United States Army, 102nd Infantry Division
History of the 102nd Infantry Division
Attack on Linnich, Flossdorf, Rurdorf - 29 Nov -- 4 Dec 1944
Gardelegen: April 13, 1945:
Massacre at the Isenschnibbe BarnAmerican Battle Monuments Commission: WWII Honor Roll
National World War II Memorial
The above story, " A WAR STORY: HANNOVER * STENDAL * GARDELEGEN * SANDAU * HAVELBERG *, by "Lucky" Sal Conigliaro, 406th, Co. G., was forwarded to World War II Stories -- In Their Own Words by Nanette Fenton, daughter of the late "Lucky" Sal Conigliaro.
The story is re-printed here on World War II Stories -- In Their Own Words with the kind permission of Ms. Fenton. Our sincerest THANKS for the 102d Infantry Division Association allowing us to share some of their stories.
We would also like to extend our sincere THANKS to Mr. Edward L. Souder, former historian of Co. F., 405th Regiment. His collection of stories of the "Kitchen Histories Project" series entitled, Those Damn Doggies in F, were responsible for bringing the stories of the men of the 102nd Division to the forefront.
Original Story submitted on 7 November 2009.
Story added to website on 8 November 2009.
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