By BILL WELCH
December 23, 1944. The German offensive into the Ardennes Forest of Belgium and Luxembourg is a week old. The lines thinly held a
week ago on the "Ghost Front'' have been erased or pushed back by 26 German divisions in Adolf Hitler's desperate bid to crack not only the Western front but, perhaps, even the American-British alliance against him.
A key crossroads town needed for the German advance is held by the U.S. 101st Airborne and several other units, including part of the 10th Armored Division. They are surrounded. They can't get out,
and they don't want to. Their mission is to make sure the Germans don't get in, secure the vital crossroads and keep their own units at the front supplied.
The Allied command has sent Gen. George
Patton's Third Army against the south side of the German "bulge'' into the American lines. Leading the way is the 4th Armored Division. The Third Army, including the 4th Armored, performed one of the most
dazzling feats of the war, and military history, by turning 90 degrees. Before the German offensive, they had been making their own push eastward well south of the Ardennes. Once the Allies realized the
seriousness of the German attack, the Third Army was told to break off the eastward attack and head north. They did it, cutting days off the expected turnaround time, and moving north as fast as the troops in
Bastogne could hope.
Lt. John Whitehill, a veteran of nearly two months combat, was riding in the opened hatch of his Sherman tank, a 32-ton steel monster that towered high off the ground. The first
days after the north turn were grind-em-out ones as the 4th pushed north relentlessly. "We traveled 150 miles on one day through ice and snow. It was horrendous. "I was cold, tired and
hungry." It was so cold that when a GI put his bare hand against the tank, his hand stuck to it, just a like a kid putting his tongue against a flagpole. They were tired, getting no sleep until they
reached Belgium and Luxembourg, and then only short catnaps when they did stop. They were hungry, able only to eat K-rations on the go. Warm coffee? A few times. There was no field kitchen. The
kitchen trucks were converted to fuel and ammunition carriers. The field kitchen crew was given rifles to keep enemy infantry and their anti-tank weapons away from the Shermans.
As Company A, 37th
Tank Battalion, Combat Command R, 4th Armored Division pushed north, Whitehill could look straight from his perch into the second floor windows of the houses they passed by in the villages of Luxembourg. This was
his third tank. Two had already been shot out from under him in November. He would go through more before the war was over, before this campaign was over. He was a platoon leader. That put his tank out
front. And, by Patton's order, the officer's metal insignia on his helmet was polished and shiny. "This made us susceptible to sniper fire. And they knew the platoon leaders were out front.
That made us targets of choice."
In his first action back in October, Whitehill quickly became the only officer in his company. He quickly moved up the ladder as casualties were suffered. Before
the Battle of the Bulge was over, he would command his company. One of the men in my unit joked that the two most expendable things in the Army were tent pegs and second lieutenants,'' Whitehill said with a laugh
from his Fairview Township home. He's retired now after a long career at GE. To get through to Bastogne, the 4th Armored would have to fight its way through the southern flank of the Bulge.
Whitehill
explained that an advance by an armored unit is a not a broad, sweeping one, but one more like an ice pick, the tanks and other units moving up a roadway. "The front is that lead tank and is as wide as that
tank." Now, on the 23rd of December, they had reached the crossroads settlement of Flatzbor. B Company was in a fight with Germans in Flatzbor. Whitehill's company pushed on through while B
Company was engaged with the enemy. "I ran over a mine and lost my personal vehicle and my driver was wounded," Whitehill recalled. That dropped the company tank strength to eight. Full
strength would be 17. "I took over command of the sergeant's tank behind me. We skirted the minefield. The company commander was hit, leaving me as the only officer in the company now.
"Seconds later I had three direct hits on my tank, disabling it and injuring its driver, too. "For the rest of the day, I led the company on foot." That meant wading through snow 18 to 24
inches deep.
Darkness comes around 4 p.m. at that latitude. The 37th Tank Battalion secured for a while. The next objective was the Luxembourg village of Bigonville. "The next morning
(Christmas Eve) we kicked off and went in to Bigonville at 8 o'clock. "We had sniper fire all day. The lead tank in my group was held up. I assumed the lead of my company and went through the
village and rendezvoused with my infantry colleague, Col. Leach." Both groups got into the fight against the Germans. The fight took all day, not ending until just before midnight. "We had liberated
three American officers and 30 enlisted men and captured 428 Germans." These were engineers the Germans had captured in the early days of the battle. They had been pressed into service as infantrymen when the
offensive was begun.
During the fight for Bigonville, Whitehill was hit by sniper fire, getting shot in the right hand. His hand still shows the damage. It was his third wound since October. He would
suffer one more in April that would end his war.
Whitehill's accomplishments did not go unnoticed. "As a result of being alone, losing a couple tanks, getting wounded and so forth, the government decided I
should get the Distinguished Service Cross (the second highest award for bravery) and the people of Bigonville were instrumental in getting me Luxembourg's Croix de Guerre, their highest honor.'' They also made
him an honorary citizen.
His DSC commendation read: "Inspired by his fearless leadership, his men drove ahead and captured an entire battalion of enemy paratroopers. This intrepid officer's conspicuous
heroism and supreme devotion to duty exemplify the highest traditions of military service."
Last year, Whitehill and his wife, Dona, was invited back to Bigonville with Col. Leach to celebrate
the liberation of the town and place a wreath on the monument to it. Bigonville was secured at midnight. There would be no rest. "We knew they were surrounded at Bastogne. We knew we had to get
there." Orders came for Combat Command R to make a 30-mile "end run" to the left and come up on the left flank of the division.
On Christmas Day B Company spearheaded the 37th
Battalion's drive through a series of villages less than a dozen miles south of Bastogne, Nives, Cobreville and Remoiville. They were held largely by German infantry armed with rifles, machine guns and the
tanker's biggest fear, the panzerfaust, a shoulder-fired rocket similar to the American bazooka but more powerful, easily able to cripple a Sherman tank. Fortunately, losses were light.
The Americans
relied on artillery fire to keep the enemy heads down, and on their own mobility to move through and overwhelm the German positions. On the 26th, A Company continued in the lead, taking the village of
Remichampagne. There, Col. Creighton Abrams, commander of the 37th and future commander of American forces in Vietnam, called a halt. One more push and they ought to be able to break through.
Whitehill's company, down to eight tanks, was nearly out of ammunition. "My tank had no armor-piercing or high-explosive ammunition. We were down to a few rounds of smoke. That's why C Company
went in. They had more ammo and gas, but fewer tanks. "By this time, we were all worn out and exhausted." C Company would lead the way, working with infantry and artillery to take the village of
Assenois, and then pushing on to meet troops of the 326th Airborne Engineer Combat Battalion, part of the 101st Airborne Division. The Americans in Bastogne were surrounded no more. One group of cold, worn,
exhausted Americans had rescued another group of cold, worn, exhausted Americans. The narrow corridor into Bastogne was then widened over the next few days. Whitehill took part in that. "After we
got there and established the corridor, we sent ambulances in. A convoy of them then took the wounded men of the 101st out, escorted by light tanks.''
The paratroopers and other GIs in Bastogne were
"pretty well worn.'' After resting a couple days, the 101st and the 4th Armored continued north to pinch off the German bulge. Other units relieved them and the 4th went to Luxembourg City to rest until
mid-January 1945. They went back into combat until the end of January when the Battle of the Bulge is officially considered ended. It only meant the 4th, and the rest of the Third Army shifted back south and
re-started their drive into Germany.
On April 12, Whitehill was leading his company through the German village of Jena when they came to a stop just short of a cemetery. Seeing some movement in the
cemetery, he got out of the tank and went to investigate alone, armed with a carbine. Once in the cemetery, three German soldiers opened fire on him. A gunfight followed: the three Germans popping up from
behind tombstones to fire at Whitehill, and he returning fire from behind his own. One of the Germans popped up and fired a panzerfaust at him. The panzerfaust is a football-sized projectile meant for
tanks. It hit the tombstone and exploded, badly injuring Whitehill from head to toe.
His war was over.
