In about fifteen minutes, when the din was at its height, Cole, a runner from the 3rd platoon, came up, out of breath and shaken. A shell had hit directly on platoon hdq.; Lt. Merrill and Sgt. Hill were both wounded, and several men killed.
I left Sgt. Robbins in charge at Co. Hdq., and with Cole, Winemiller, Chiaradio and our two medical detachment men went out to see the situation.
We pushed through the thick underbrush to the shallow hole that Merrill was occupying. It was raining a little; the only light came from the flashes of the bursting shells and the guns on the horizon. Merrill and Hill had been lying in their bivvy, with the other platoon runner, Laurencell, sitting on their feet. A shell had hit Laurencell right at the shoulders, carrying all his head, neck and shoulders and arms away. His bleeding trunk and legs, an awful corpse, was lying across Hill and Merrill, who were both badly wounded in the feet and legs, and could not remove the body.
We took up poor Laurencell’s remains and laid them to one side, and then got Merrill on a stretcher, and Cheery-O and Cole carried him off. Sgt. Hill’s feet, however, were so mangled and mixed up with the bottom of the hole that our attempts to raise him out of it caused him intense agony. He said, “Captain, there’s a German razor in my coat pocket. Please cut my foot off, and then I can stand it.”
I couldn’t see, but I could feel with my hands that this was about the only way to extricate him. So I took the razor, and cut away his shoe and the mangled part of his foot, which was all mixed up with a German overcoat they had been lying on. Then we were able to lift him on to the stretcher; but he wouldn’t be carried away until we took all his cigarettes out of his pocket and gave them to him.
Then I went down toward the line of outguards. When I got out on the road by the German kitchen, I was challenged by Cpl. McGarrity. It did my heart good to hear his stern, cool voice coming out of that night of blackness and horror. He reported that several men in the outguards were killed and wounded, and that he and Corp. Welsh were arranging for the wounded. Sgt. Schelter had gone to Co. Hdq. for stretchers, and hadn’t been heard of since. We never saw him again. His body was found in the woods several hundred meters away several days later; he evidently lost his way, and while wandering about in search of Co. Hdq. was killed by shell fire.
Welsh and McGarrity took hold of the situation like veterans. I designated them first and second in command of the platoon, respectively, and told them they would be relieved before morning.
On returning to Co. Hdq. I found the wounded beginning to stream in. Nearly all were from the 3rd platoon; the 1st platoon, strangely, suffered very little. All the Co. runners and buglers were soon carrying stretchers, and I again left Sgt. Robbins in charge while I went over to the support to see to bringing up more stretcher bearers and relief for the 3rd platoon.
That walk across the fields to the support’s position was certainly a thriller. As I came out of the woods and started across the open, the shells were going just overhead and bursting in the field to my left, along a line about 50 meters away. After I doped this out it was easy enough to plan my route so as to avoid them.
I found the platoon commanders and their sergeants in their dugout—quite luxurious it looked, lighted with a candle and comparatively dry. They thought I was wounded, as my hands, arms, trousers and gas mask were all spotted and spattered with blood. I ordered a detail from the 2nd platoon to report to me at once for ration and stretcher carrying parties, and the 4th platoon to report as soon as the barrage lifted to relieve the 3rd on the line of outguards. As soon as the carrying parties were ready, I started back with them.