Conflict in the Ribeauville Area

In the telling of the patrol at Saint-Leonard, I mentioned several incidents having brought about my return to the places of combat in 1944/1945. Now, I would like to tell all that I remember of the ordeal we endured in the Ribeauville area.

Before beginning my story let me say a little about our little group assigned to I-Company as replacements after the Rapido River crossing almost a year prior to our involvement in the Ribeauville area. Of our group only a few remain as we approach this ancient wine-producing town of Ribeauville.

The 36th Infantry (Texas) Division had been relieved from the Cassino sector in early February 1944. This would be the division’s first rest in several months. The division had suffered heavy loses in the Cassino area and was in badly need of replacements. It was during this breather near the village of Maddaloni, Italy where we, as replacements became members of the 36th.

Soon, we were active in the division’s extensive mountain training exercises taking place n the nearby rugged hills and mountains surrounding Maddaloni. We would experience next the real thing, nothing like the exercises we were put through at Fort McClellan during basic training.

For most of us who had been assigned to I Company, who remained together since our first days of army life beginning at Fort McClellan, we would form a very close friendship.

Archie Taylor, Charley Holm, Rayford Tadlock, Andrew Tessa, Daniel Tubb and I sort of depended on one another. Whenever the army needed a group of men for detail or whatever, names were selected in alphabetical order. We "T’s" often found ourselves together. Charley Holm was already a seasoned veteran of Company I at the time of our assignment and he too, soon became a part of our "little family."

We had come a long way since our day of joining the outfit, on to the beaches of Anzio, on

Velletri and then Rome. We were relieved from the lines there only to begin more training. This time we would prepare for the invasion of Southern France.

Almost a year had passed since my joining the company. There were casualties, many killed, wounded and captured during our encounters with the Germans as we advanced on to Grenoble, Montelimar, the Rhone Valley and other towns and villages before halting at the town of Saint-Marie and a break from the lines. The ranks of our little group had thinned to a remaining few as we approached this area.

Taylor, Tubb, Holm and I usually stuck together whatever we were doing. Taylor and Holm were no longer with us as we approached the Ribeauville area. Both died while we were on patrol at Saint-Leonard. Tadlock was wounded while in a foxhole next to ours at Velletri. He never returned to the company after that. Tessa was killed several months prior while on an early morning patrol. He was shot by one of the Germans we had surprised in a heavily wooded area. Tessa had returned only a few days earlier from stateside attending his father’s funeral.

On November 15, 1991, 1 returned to France and to some of the most memorable places we had fought. My first concern was to visit Saint-Leonard, where Taylor and Holm died on patrol on Nov. 20, 1944. Then to visit their graves as well as those of fallen comrades Andrew Tessa, Lt. Howard Hayden, our platoon leader and others whom I had fought beside.

Lt. Hayden died when a German tank crew spotted us on a road leading into Bischwiller. Most had taken cover in a ditch. Lt. Hayden being the last to leave the road was killed before he could reach cover. He died instantly as the result of a direct hit by tank fire.

The cemetery was located near the town of Epinal, it would be my next stop after visiting Saint-Leonard. It was to become a taste of both the bitter and the sweet as I stood before the white stone crosses on their graves.

At the cemetery office, I was handed a list of those buried there, all listed by outfits. The list did not mention the names of Archie Taylor or Charley Holm. Holm was officially listed as "Missing In Action" in the roster of the 36th Division History book. I was told he may likely be buried in one of the many graves of the "Unknown’, and Taylor’s body may have been one of the 17,000 shipped back to the states in 1947, at the request of the next of kin and the expense of the government.

I found the graves of Tessa and Lt. Hayden, also that of Tuttle, who I did not mention earlier. It was a sad feeling seeing these names etched in these marble crosses.

It was in the Ribeauville area on December 12, 1944, where we were stormed by the German SS in their last effort to push us back from the Rhine and stop our advance. It was also in this area where Daniel Tubb and others from our company were captured.

Having been engaged in the clearing of the ridges east of Ban de Laveline and LaCroix, we arrived in the town of Saint-Marie that had fallen to the 142nd Regiment a few days earlier. We remained at Saint-Marie overnight just long enough to receive a fresh change of clothing and several hot meals, this being our first hot meal in almost a month.

Among the clothing issued were the long johns, the two-piece type. December was a very cold month and long johns were a welcomed sight for most. I could wear the top part but the bottom caused my legs to itch. Along with fresh clean clothing, a hot meal and a shower we were issued ammunition with time to pull maintenance on our weapons.

It was here that I finally persuaded our supply sergeant, David Shine, to let me trade my M-1 in for a Thompson. Squad Leaders were authorized the Thompson but not assistant squad leaders. I favored this gun for the firepower. The clip held more rounds than the M-1 that was a semi-automatic weapon, whereas the Thompson was fully 45 cal. automatic. The hot meal, shower and the change of clothing was more than welcomed by all. The following day we would move back into the lines and return to our daily K- and C-rations.

On December 2 our 3rd Battalion was ordered out of reserve and given the task of preventing any enemy advances from the direction of Ribeauville as the 111th Combat Engineers would attempt to remove massive, heavily mined and booby-trapped roadblocks. The Germans had felled huge trees along the entire stretch or roadway from Saint-Marie to Ribeauville. The engineers would be working throughout the night and well into the next morning removing these barriers.

There are some incidents that occurred during the war that I remember more than others and I think of Saint-Leonard and Ribeauville as two of the most unforgettable frights I have experienced in my whole lifetime. Contact with the enemy was much closer then. The Germans had their backs to the Rhine and hand-to-hand combat became more frequent.

On the evening of December 3rd, we reached the edge of the forest. The going had been slow with having to work ourselves around, over, under and through the branches of the fallen trees. It was a winding road; the French must have wrapped this road around every tree in the forest. Our mission would soon be complete as far as guarding the engineers.

All hopes of being relieved at that point became slimmer now, the 3rd Battalion was ordered on into Ribeauville. The one-day reprieve at Saint-Marie was barely a relief after having been in the lines for so long.

We were stretched out in a wide formation and well under cover of the forest as we began working our way in the direction of a clearing and the mountainside leading down into the town, we were not far from the clearing and grape vineyards covering the hillsides. Because of the noise created by the bulldozers and chainsaws it was of no surprise that the Germans were aware of our presence. As we neared the clearing, the first barrage of German mortars and tank rounds began slamming into the hillside and tree tops. We struggled for whatever cover possible as shrapnel showered down from above in all directions. Some rounds exploded in the trees and others into the ground.

Daniel Tubb and George Oswald were to my right when a tank round exploded directly in front of us. The velocity of the explosion actually lifted us off the ground. I rolled down an incline below Tubb and Oswald. We were showered with dirt, leaves, and branches.

Most incoming rounds were mortars; you could hear the muffled hiss as each dropped from the sky. When you hear the hiss of artillery or tank rounds coming your way, then it’s probably too late, you are either hit or missed.

The shelling finally let up, but had the barrage continued longer our casualties would have been higher. The incoming rounds had taken its toll, frantic cries for "Medic" echoed throughout the forest. Glancing back up the hill from where I was laying, I could hear and see Oswald. He was holding his leg just below the knee, and pleading for help. A piece of shrapnel had severed his right foot; it was entangled in shreds of his long johns. One of the two medics near by was working his way towards Oswald when the barrage started again. I pulled my pack up on my back and my helmet as far down on my head as possible and crouched to the ground praying aloud.

It seemed like an eternity but only a matter of minutes when the shelling stopped again. From where I had rolled I could not see Tubb or Oswald or the medic, I wondered if they were okay. We moved out at a much faster pace towards the clearing and the slopes. We were not organized; squads and platoons were scattered. The grape vineyards covering the hillsides leading to the town was to our advantage. The distance we had to travel was not a far one, but not knowing when the Germans would begin their shelling again made it seem much farther. We crouched low as we made our way through the rows of brittle and dried-out grapevines. My pack and bayonet kept getting entangled in the vines as we hurried down towards the town.

Coming to the edge of the vineyard there was a road to cross with buildings and houses on both sides. Most of the homes were of stone and brick. The Germans would often bum and loot these fine homes before pulling back, but none of these were destroyed by fire as was the case at Saint-Leonard where virtually all were burned.

Tubb and I were of different squads, but somehow found ourselves together again as we advanced towards a large two-story home. We approached a side entrance stairway leading to the cellar. The remainder of the squads searched the first and second floors, entering the front door.

It wasn’t as dark as one would imagine a cellar to be, but light enough to see the huge wine vats illuminated by burning candles. Because of the lighted candles, we expected Germans. I think Tubb was as distracted as I was in seeing these huge wine vats. On our way down the steps, Tubb remarked, "They must have built this house around these barrels."

What a relief it was when an elderly man greeted us as we neared the foot of the steps. He was really excited. All we could understand was the words, "Allemande" and then he spoke, "Americans." We thought he was trying to tell us there were Germans hiding between the vats. He kept shouting and pointing between two of the large vats. We felt like this was a bad situation and we were about to fire between them. The old Frenchman would not move out of our way then he motioned for someone to come out. The first to exit was a boy who seemed to be about 12 years old, followed by a girl younger than he, then an elderly man and woman. I do not recall who it was that spoke the broken English, who told us the reason for their hiding was because the Germans had said the Americans would loot their homes and rape their women.

This people were part of the "Bott" family, this was their home and business, "Bott Winery," a business handed down by their ancestors.

On my return to France almost fifty years later, I would have the pleasure of visiting and sharing some of this fine wine with Pierre Bott and his family, present producers and owners of the now "Bott Friars", one of the largest wine producing companies in France. Pierre Boll, the young boy who was hiding between the wine vats remembered that day as we reminisced over some of his fine tasty wine.

After so many years there may be incidents that happened during a period that might slip my mind, but what would take place not many miles from Ribeauville on the mountain side near the village of Mittelwihr will never fade away. The liberation of Ribeauville had passed, being a week since that day. Now we were in the path of a major German offense that began on the early morning of December 12. Some of Hitler’s elite troops were committed to this front. Late in the evening and on the eve of the attack we began our slow trek along the narrow footpaths leading up a mountain.

Late in the evening and on the eve of the attack we began our slow trek along the narrow footpaths leading up a mountain. None of us seemed to know or care where we were. Most were tired with very little rest since Saint-Marie. I remember being in better spirits knowing I would be sent to the rear the next morning for three days of rest at the Division rest camp.

There were no houses along this narrow roadway; it looked to have been used by the farmers harvesting their grapes. I remember passing a shrine along the way. I had seen these before on paths in other forests. The area around this shrine seemed to have been well kept and was neat.

Frank Moskus, our platoon sergeant, was very edgy and somewhat on the nervous side. He would be in a threatening mood to those who he thought were dragging their feet and not keeping up the pace. Like the rest of us, I imagine he was hoping to get off of the hillside and away from the trees. Moskus had been with the outfit since joining it as a National Guardsman before the war. He had every reason to be nervous, having come this far and still in one piece.

Reaching the upper slopes we came to a large house surrounded by a high wall. We would be relieving another company and taking over their positions. The place reminded me of a sanitarium of some type. A rumor went around that it housed the mentally handicapped. We noticed people looking out into the courtyard from the small basement windows. This was the only house that I recall seeing in the area. We were never in contact with any of these people. The house had been designated as our CP. We immediately took over the positions vacated by the outfit we were relieving, I considered myself the lucky one for I would bed down in the house for the night along with four others selected to leave for rest camp the following morning.

Any time a company commander calls all platoon leaders together for a conference, you can be assured something is about to take place. That night Company I was ordered to send out patrols in the area.

My name was among those selected from the third platoon. My good feelings of leaving for rest camp the next morning were suddenly shattered; anything could happen out there tonight. Other companies of the 3rd Battalion would also be running patrols in the area that night.

Traveling in the direction of a distant village, we were to seek out the enemy, check their strength, location, etc., and report back. We were carrying the crank-type phone and several spools of communication wire, taking along only our weapons, ammunition, web gear, and helmets.

Walter Payne was our patrol leader, replacing Charley Holm. Payne, a likable guy, was easy- going and popular with his men, somewhat like Charley. I am not sure but I think there were seven of us on the patrol, the other patrols might have been larger.

It was pitch black that night and extremely cold. We moved out in the direction of the vineyards from the rear of the building where Tubb and his squad were dug in. I was bringing up the rear when we passed through Tubb’s position. A wisecrack from one of his men clearly rings a bell, "Leave us your K-rations just in case you forget to come back." Then there was a reply, "Okay, but for a trade for some of the German marks you guys got from the 19^th Panzer Division’s payroll in the Rhone Valley." That was the day some gathered the German marks while others threw them to the wind.

Carrying only several small spools of communication wire that wouldn’t do for a great distance, we hoped we wouldn’t have to travel far. These spools were the type with a handle and not like the larger spools requiring two men to roll out on a rod. Now we were on our way and maybe soon we’d be on our way back and I would be off to rest camp.

We never left the vineyards except to cross over to a narrow road that separated the vineyards, used by the farmers and their wagons. We could see in the distance the glow of fire coming from a village in the distance. I never learned the name of the village we were approaching, but it might have been Mittelwihr. The closer we got the more illuminated the area became, we had to crawl so not to be seen, moving at a snails pace while trying to conceal ourselves and expecting the Germans at any time. The fires gave us the feeling the Germans were pulling out since they usually set fire to a town before withdrawing.

Reaching the edge we remained in the prone position just inside the vineyard hoping the dry twigs and vines would give us ample cover. We listened to the crackling sounds of glass braking from the heat of the fire. Armor was moving and we heard men talking. The ground was cold and trying to keep warm made lying still there difficult. We remained at the edge of the vineyard for about thirty minutes before the moment we had all been waiting for, the OK to turn around and start back. I was not sure about the others but I was one happy guy when we got the order to about face. We couldn’t have come very far; we still had wire left. It was a lot faster and easier just to follow the wire back to the CP.

On our way back the Germans sent up flares. I don’t think it was because they saw or heard us, but out of routine. We were almost back into our lines when the flares started floating down. Passing back through Tubb’s position my thoughts went back to the guy who wanted our rations. We might have answered him with a late reply but we were only too glad to be back and that this was over with.

What a great feeling it was to be back with all this behind us. We lit up that much-needed cigarette as Walter Payne left to report to CO regarding the mission. At daybreak our chosen few would be leaving for rest camp.

I went to the upstairs floor in hopes of finding a corner to bed down for the few remaining hours before daybreak, but instead decided on the bed occupied by another tired six-foot trooper with his boots and all. It made no difference, I felt as if I could fall asleep anywhere and be in dreamland in nothing flat. I wasn’t dreaming though; the sounds of gunshots and the smell of gunpowder and the Frenchman standing over us and waving a lantern opened my eyes. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. We rushed to the windows where he pointed and almost fell over backwards when we saw what has happening.

Germans were all over the grounds! Some were between the rear of the house and the vineyard where Tubb and his squad were positioned. Firing was coming from his squad; flashes of the muzzle fire could be easily seen from where we stood. We could see the Germans racing about and taking up positions. At the corner of a small building below our window the Germans were setting up a machine gun. I went to the ground floor where I was told to place myself in the kitchen and watch for anyone who might come in through that way. I hesitated for the moment but thinking I might be shot for refusing, I found a corner in the kitchen where I could watch the door and see through the windows. The outside door was partly open and I could see anyone passing or trying to come in. It wouldn’t be difficult for me to be seen, as there was no place to hide. I felt good about one thing and it was having the Thompson instead of the M-1. There were only two clips of ammunition; the rest was upstairs with my gear.

I could see from the window, what might have been Tubb and some of his men at the edge of the vineyard, all were moving at a fast pace with Germans beside them, they had been captured.

Everything went wrong at the same moment, I was staring at a German who came to the door, he was a big fellow wearing a camouflaged poncho and carrying a gasoline can. He came to the open kitchen door but not all of the way in, noticing me as he stood there holding the can. Then it happened, I shut my eyes and fired in his direction. I did not want to kill him but he wasn’t going to stand there in the doorway looking at me and not shoot me. The big German and another lay at the outside doorway, I hadn’t noticed the other before, he was much smaller and behind the big one.

Afraid others would start tossing in grenades, I backed out of the kitchen and to the door leading to the room where Moskus and the others were. I continued to fire as other Germans raced by the door, the place smelled like an ammunition factory. From my position I saw Germans racing by the doorway and windows; I thought any minute they would come in. Then came the roar of tanks; now we would be killed or taken prisoner.

Someone started yelling, "They’re ours." then everyone started shouting. I couldn’t see from where I was standing but this was too good to be true. Several tanks had moved in. It would have been a different ending had the tankers been later in coming to our rescue that morning.

Not long after, most of us were standing by the windows looking out. I was still in the doorway separating the two rooms thinking about the German staring at me and now lying by the kitchen door. What if he had succeeded setting the house on fire? I don’t think any of us realized for some time afterwards, that this was the Germans’ last hope of throwing us back, it was a major offense stretching the entire length of the VI Corps front. We were in the paths of a German SS Battalion consisting mostly of officer candidates.

Later we began walking around outside where several tanks were parked in the courtyard. I don’t recall the unit but they saved our day, had they not arrived when they did it would have been disastrous.

The grounds were covered with wounded and dead Germans. The two who came to the kitchen door lay beside one another. One wore mismatched GI wool insert gloves. A gasoline can taken from our weapons carrier lay nearby. Gunfire could still be heard from the second floor. Following several others back up the stairs we saw several others standing at the windows overlooking the vineyard firing their rifles. We walked over to see what they were shooting at. Germans were still around and some were trying to get away.

One in particular our men were firing at but kept missing. This is a moment that I now have second thoughts about these 60 years or so later and I wish now that I had never gone back up those stairs.

Later I wrote home telling about Tubb’s capture and the German coming into the kitchen door carrying a gasoline can and my not wanting to shoot him. The letter was published in the Vicksburg Evening Post and is one of the many mementos of that past.

The first thing a GI thinks of when he takes a prisoner is that souvenir to send home and I was right in there with the rest doing my collecting from these German SS troopers, Hitler’s best. The SS insignia would make a great collector’s item. A German officer was waiting to be questioned; he was wearing his SS insignia. I took out my trench knife and raised it to cut the insignia from his collar when he threw up his arms in defiance and told me that it was against the Geneva Convention to take personal items from prisoners. He didn’t speak very good English but I knew what he was saying to me. I understood the Geneva Convention bit, but this wasn’t a personal item. I respected his wish but collected a helmet and two pistols that I managed to sneak home. My brother-in-law, Earl Hossley, was made a gift of the P-45 pistol and my father received the Russian revolver. The German SS helmet remained with me for many years before disappearing.

John Henry Smith was one of the many replacements who joined our company soon after Ribeauville. He was one of the few "lucky" Smiths. He was the only one of the 10 or so "Smiths" in our company who made it through the war without either being captured, wounded on killed.

Today, I often hear from Smith, but not that often from Tubb. When we talk, or write, we discuss the good as well as the bad times during those times as comrades in arms. I haven’t seen or talked to any of the others who were in the Ribeauville area. I sometimes think of Frank Moskus, our platoon sergeant. I wonder where he is now, or what he might be doing? I will not forget that morning when I may have gotten on his nerves and what might have happened had I not followed his orders and gone into the kitchen.

I didn’t make it to rest camp that morning. But, several months later and at the war’s end I did. I made up for it by being sent to the Riviera for three days. When I returned to my unit in Gingen, Germany, I learned of my promotion to Staff Sergeant. There lay a note on my bunk from my new platoon sergeant, Walter Payne, "Congratulations, S/Sgt. Tucker, on your long awaited promotion. And congratulations again, you are being awarded the Bronze Star. Walter."

Email Fielding Tucker

This story is a followup to Tucker's earlier submission, Promise Made, Promise Kept.