The few remaining members of first platoon pushed eastward toward Frenz and into an area between the towns characterized by large, open fields. This flat terrain made them an easy target. Frank Sabinski was shot and killed. They hurried into town, following in the wake of the 413th Regiment’s attack. The town had already been taken, with the exception of the eastern edge.
The men of F Company were extremely hungry. Few rations had reached them since they pushed off a week earlier, and they tried to find food wherever they could. However, it was quickly discovered that many of the homes in Frenz were booby-trapped. Captain Bowman threatened to shoot anyone who touched the jars of preserves outside of one particular house. They eventually stopped in a cellar for a rest and found some jars of cherries and preserves, which they decided to eat, poisoned or not.
As they approached the line, they were assigned a position on the left flank of the attack, placing them just to the north and east of the small, heavily damaged town. At this point the platoon was almost down to squad-strength, with only 12 remaining men: Lee McBride, Jim Allen, Frank Perozzi, Paul Cardon, Chester Nycz, Burjowski, Leach, Williams, Rife, Mariello, and two new replacements.
The men fanned out along the edge of town, and dug a line of 12 foxholes, each about 10 feet apart, facing the enemy. That miserable outpost night would live long in the memory of Lee’s platoon. As night fell, a German artillery emplacement to the east began to bombard the American line near Frenz. The bombardment would last most of the night. Lee recalled that the incoming shells landed at a rate of about one per minute, in some cases landing directly in foxholes.
Frank Perozzi’s memoir paints a terrifying picture of that experience. He indicates that among other weapons, the Germans employed a Nebelwerfer: a six-barrel rocket launcher that was capable of firing several 120mm shells in rapid succession. Known as “screaming meemies,” the Nebelwerfer’s shells made a shrill whining sound as they approached and a deafening concussion when they burst. The concussion was so powerful, Perozzi said, “I thought my body would explode.”
German nebelwerfers
Lee's own description of this terrifying night in a foxhole indicated that the artillery pounded them “with a frequency of one shell per minute.” He also remembered that more than once, “shells actually land[ed] in an individual's foxhole.”
At some point during the night, “after a volley of enemy mortar shells fell around us," Perozzi heard "Paul [Cardon] calling me for help. I jumped over into his foxhole and saw he was having trouble breathing and then noticed a big gash in the back of his heavy winter overcoat.... I peeled back the fabric of the overcoat, his inner jacket, shirt, and undershirt and saw his back had been cut open in a long vertical wound. Every time he inhaled, the wound would flap and flutter with air rushing in.”
There was little chance of finding a medic at that point. Just moments earlier, Perozzi had looked out of his foxhole and seen Private McBride walking by, out of his foxhole and exposed to potential fire. He indicated he had been searching, without success, for a medic to aid the wounded near his own foxhole. Perozzi later confided that he thought it was courageous of Lee to risk himself in that way, even if it was a little foolhardy.
When the shelling started up again, Frank instructed Paul to “sit with his back pressed against the side of his foxhole so he could breathe easier” and left for the safety of his own foxhole, promising to come back when the bombardment stopped again. About five minutes later, he returned to find Cardon sprawled on the ground 20 feet from his hole. Another company member who was passing by stopped, felt Cardon’s neck, and told the others he was dead. He “unbuckled Paul’s wristwatch and took it. I guess he thought someone else would take it anyway.”
Among those for whom Lee sought medical attention may have been 3rd squad leader Sgt. Chester Nycz, who was also severely wounded in the thigh during the bombardment. A litter bearer was located, and Nycz was carried back to a barn just behind the line, where a medic valiantly tried to save him. Sadly, the attempt failed, his injuries too serious to repair. He died on November 2x, just as his company was relieved from combat for a two-week stint in reserve. Sgt. Nycz’s brother, who served in a different infantry division, would attend Timberwolf reunions for many years following the war as a way of paying tribute to Chester and of thanking those who fought at his side and attempted to save his life.
The tragic loss of Sgt. Nycz necessitated the selection of a new leader for 3rd Squad. Captain Bowman’s choice was the relatively green Private McBride. He was promoted to the rank of Buck Sergeant and given the assignment of squad leader.
Sgt. Perozzi’s offered this grim summary of their night in hell: “50% casualties. Burjowski, Rife, Mariello wounded, Cardon & Nycz died. Williams missing. Six of us unhurt: McBride, Allen, Leach, me and 2 replacements. Sgt. Leach is close to ‘Battle Fatigue.’”
Lee reflected, “I was completely convinced in my own mind that there was no way I could make it through, and the feeling of peace, of calmness, and of lack of worry was something that was very striking. I knew that I was going to die, at least in my own mind, felt that if I died, I’d see my mother whom I hadn’t seen for many, many years. If I survived, I’d see my sweet wife and child again. But I had a very, very calm feeling, a very peaceful feeling in [this] instance and some others of like character.”
