Bill Hartung
Company E, 143rd Infantry

I landed in Naples from Oran right after Christmas. We rode most of the night by blacked-out truck to within walking distance of where Co. E., 143 Regt. was dug in . . . what was left of them after the Battle of San Pietro.

We really had to move fast to be dug in before daybreak. Nothing moved above ground in the daytime. There were quite a few replacements, as the 36th had been wiped out twice already. I was made first scout, since I had over a year's training in the states with the 94th Division.

My first experience before actually going into the front lines, was seeing one of our B-17 Bombers limping back alone, at a low altitude and about half-speed to their base in Foggia. Antiaircraft fire from Cassino shot it down. No survivors. The next day, a fighter plane was shot down. All we saw was a big black ball of smoke go up on the other side of the mountain. The pilot did bail out, and showed up at our bivouac area the next day. All he had was a broken leg and bruises, very lucky.

That night, the squad leader came to our foxhole and gave us the details about what was going to happen later that night. We got extra ammunition, K-rations, and were told to fix bayonets, "It was going to be extra rough," and what to expect.

We waited, went through a half-pack of cigarettes, and then was told the crossing of the Rapido River was called off. The first attempt, by the 141st I believe, was unsuccessful. I'm not sure. Another day of waiting.

The next night we WENT. It was bitterly cold, and the closer we got to the River, the colder it got. We couldn't move fast. Visibility was about zero, so this made it worse to try to keep warm.

We went down a little horse and wagon road, and on the right side was an embankment about six feet high. We had already picked up our rubber boats, so we scraped against the side as we headed toward the river. A couple of hundred yards from the River (so it seemed), it didn't seem what we were walking on was dirt and rocks. We soon found out that it was dead GI's, stacked sometimes six high. They were from the crossing the night before. They never made it across the River. When I returned from across the River the next afternoon, they were gone.

We finally got to the River about 4 p.m. We found a foot bridge, (Two 2'x12's tied together with a guiding rope on each side to hold onto), and I and the second scout, Company Commander and Platoon Leader crossed. The CO gave us our job to do, and wanted a report back to him. We never saw him or anyone else again. The second scout and I continued forward. (We didn't know any better then). Rifle fire was cracking around my head from all sides, but I didn't know I was that close when it sounded like that, 'til later. I was to hear a lot of that later.

Rodgie, the second scout, and I kept going, following the tape laid by the (111th) engineers the night before, until it ran out. I didn't know how I made it this far, as that German rifle fire was close to us. Finally it started getting a little lighter, and we saw where someone the night before had started a foxhole the night before, but it was only about 10 inches deep. The GI was still lying there, what was left of him. This was my first sight of a guy killed in combat, but wasn't going to be my last, even for that day.

We took off our equipment and started working on the hole. Thank God for the mist and fog from the River, and our smoke screen, or we would have joined our buddy lying there as it was "lights out" now. We were about three feet deep when the Germans spotted us, then all hell broke loose. "Screaming meemies," mortars, artillery fire, and machinegun fire about six to eight inches above ground hit us. Our equipment laying outside was blown to hell, the dirt we were piling up was blown back into the hole. We still didn't know how bad off we were because when they stopped firing for a few minutes, we would stand up and try to see what was going on. All we could see were GIs being lined up and taken prisoners. The enemy also had tanks dug in up to the barrel, and fortified as bunkers with steel and concrete about two feet thick. Anyone caught above ground was gone. We finally dug to about six feet deep, and water started coming in so we quit. By this time I was bleeding from the nose and one ear. Nothing was left above ground, and the sides of the hole was caving in from almost direct hits.

All at once, when the firing ceased, someone came tumbling in on us. It was Col. Martin (143rd CO). He didn't know how close he came to be blown away because there were Germans in parts of our rear. He asked our names, what company, and told us to stay and hold out. Help was coming. He was also putting us up for the Silver Star (which we never got). He took off like a big bird. (He made it because the next time I saw him was the day before we entered Rome in June.)

By this time, it was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and visibility was pretty good. I told Rodgie we were getting out of there. I left first, not knowing which way was back. I never saw Rodgie again. I finally found parts of the tape and made it back to the Rapido. There were bodies everywhere, mostly parts, arms, legs, some decapitated, bodies with hardly any clothes left on. I thought I was going to get sick, but I guess I didn't have time, and there was always that spine chilling cry for "medic." But there weren't any left.

The bridge was about a foot under water most of the way, and stacked with bodies from upstream. A lot of the men drowned from the flow of the river with all their equipment still on. I looked at some, that is when I noticed most died with that look of surprise on their face, like "what happened?" and "why me to die this way?"

I made it back to our side, and to the road we came clown on the night before. The piles of bodies were gone. I got back to our bivouac area out of artillery range. I laid down completely exhausted, and felt like I had turned into an old man overnight. I know I was never the same person again. When it hit me, I was angry; I cried and shook all over. A medic gave me something and I really conked out. When I awoke, it was almost dark. Very few men were left, but replacements would put us back to full strength. I think there were 27 left out of more than 200 men from our company, no officers or NCO's.

Our division finally gave up trying to cross the river. A truce was declared the next day to get back our dead, and only time enough for a few of our wounded.

After that, we spent our nights on outpost along the river bank. About six or eight inches of water would fill the bottom of our foxhole, so we had to bail it out and sit and stand on C-ration crates. My mom had sent me about the biggest all-wool muffler they made, and that really helped. But it would freeze up from my breathing when wrapped around my face. The cry for "medic" was still heard from the other side of the river. Very sad.

Our outfit later moved over to the mountains by the Cassino monastery. It took two nights to get up there; it was above the clouds most of the time. We couldn't dig in, but had to pile rocks up around us. The mules couldn't even get up there, so each night you either went half-way down the mountain for ammunition, food and water, or on patrol. Some choice.

We did have a ringside seat when they bombed the monastery. We were there for six weeks with no change of socks, no hot food. We finally were relieved the week before Easter. Forty-nine men, counting replacements, were left in our regiment. We had gone from regimental strength to battalion to company to almost platoon strength in the Battle of Rapido River.

I managed to survive Anzio and Rome, invasion of Southern France, and the Battle of the Bulge, then the war got the best of me. I still have problems today and have 100% service connected disability. The nightmares make it seem like it all happened yesterday, not 50 years ago.