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Richard Manton
Company F
141st Regiment
A few days before January 20th, 1944
the 2nd Battalion 143rd Regiment was ordered to proceed to a staging
area near the Rapido River. Prior to this move the C.O.
of F Company, a Captain, went to the hospital due to illness or a
wound leaving the company with only three Second Lieutenants, King,
Zebroski and myself.
Mountainous terrain confronted the
Division in practically every phase of the Italian campaign. With it
came the enormous task of getting supplies to the frontline forces
and evacuating casualties. In the Mount Maggiore and Mount
Sammucru sectors, pack
animals carried the food, water and ammunition as far up the steep
muddy trails as possible, round trips requiring eight to ten hours.
Hand-carry was common and laborious. In addition supply routes were
frequently under enemy fire and observation.
Somewhere around Thanksgiving Day of
1943 Company F of the 141st Infantry Regiment was stationed on Mt.
Maggiore overlooking the Mignano Gap which ran between our location
and Mt. Lungo in Italy. From our position we could clearly see any
activity that took place in the valley below. We had been sending
out occasional night patrols and they usually came back to report no
contact with the enemy, except occasionally to run into an enemy
patrol and then there would be a short fire-fight. It had been
raining steadily, usually a continual drizzle that seemed to
penetrate everything. The ground turned into sticky, thick mud and
slippery rocks. On Thanksgiving we had gone down the back side of
the mountain, in small groups, to a place where steep rock cliffs
offered protection for the field kitchen, and there we got a turkey
dinner, with all of the trimmings. It was certainly a welcome change
from the K and C rations we had at our front line positions.
I had dug a fox-hole up to my
armpits for fighting and observing and beside it was my slit trench
about six feet long but only eighteen inches deep, for sleeping —
whenever the chance to sleep came along, which was seldom. I can
recall sliding into the wet trench and wrapping a sopping wet G.I.
wool blanket around me and as I lay back with my steel helmet on my
head I could see the steam rise out of the blanket. Even wet it
offered some warmth against the chilly night air. The signal men had
strung sound power telephone lines from tree to tree so that our
Company C.P. had communication with Battalion H.Q. One often had to
duck his head to walk under the telephone lines.
On one occasion a lieutenant came up
to my position and told me that he was a forward observer for the
artillery, but I don't recall his name. This was an excellent
location from which he could observe and direct artillery fire. He
had a radio for that purpose. I warned him that we had been having
daily enemy air raids. The enemy aircraft would fly in low,
appearing suddenly from beyond the Mt. Lungo area. They would strafe
our position with machine gun fire and drop some anti-personnel
bombs, which would detonate before they hit the ground and scatter a
multitude of smaller bombs, which would then explode only eight or
ten feet from ground level. They were devastating.
I told the artillery lieutenant that
if we got an air raid while he was there that I would take cover in
the fox hole and he could take cover in the slit trench for whatever
protection it might afford him. Sure enough, the daily air raid
occurred, as expected, and the shout, "Air Raid, Air Raid" rang out
and everyone headed for cover. The artillery observer came running
toward the slit trench but just before he got there he ran into a
telephone wire that was just about at the level of his nose. He was
running full tilt when he hit the wire and it peeled the skin off
his nose and right up his forehead. He slid into the trench on his
heels and landed on his backside. The air raid lasted only a few
minutes and when it was over he sat up in the slit trench and said
to me, "I've been hit." I sprinkled some sulfa powder on his ‘wound’
and made an improvised dressing. Then I gave him directions to the
nearest aid station which was in the same secluded site where the
field kitchen had been.
A short time later he returned to my
position with a new dressing on his nose and forehead and announced,
“I got the Purple Heart.” Well, he was “Wounded as a result of enemy
action”.
I do wish to report, however, that
he did a wonderful job of directing artillery fire. He would call
back coordinates for the location on which he wanted a round
dropped. After it exploded he would call back adjustments in yards
or feet over or short of the target and when it was pinpointed he
would call for a salvo. The rounds sounded like freight trains
chugging over our heads as they flew toward the targets. Then the
whole area of suspected enemy activity would seem to explode at
once. I couldn't believe that anyone could survive a shelling like
that. But the Germans were well dug in and had bunkers covered with
railroad ties and earth. It would take a direct hit to do any
damage. I am still amazed, though, that the artillery could be as
accurate as it was.
Richard M. Manton
Weapons Platoon Leader
Company F
141st Inf. Reg't.
November 1943
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