Two jeep patrol into Belgium
It was “A” troops turn to send out a 2 Jeep patrol, and I was an “A” trooper. Five men this time. The Sergeant in charge was a sullen tobacco chewing meanie! He was a career cavalry man, and one tough cookie. Sergeant McGowan. He once killed a Kraut because he didn’t like his attitude and didn’t move fast enough. Me? I was afraid of him and kept out of his way. I knew all about survival.
The Germans were retreating through Belgium, and the 24th Cavalry Recon Squadron were in hot pursuit. Our mission was to inspect a bridge connecting two good sized towns. We also had to find out how far the Krauts had retreated. We did our thing by keeping to the roads and praying that they weren’t mined. Before the Brass committed their precious armored cars and tanks, they had to find out if the roads were safe. It was like the coal miners sacrificing Canaries. I bet the birds that were used were all hens. Why do you ask? The best singers were males, and hens were expendable. Sometimes I felt like a chicken.
We finally inched into town. A few townspeople eyed us suspiciously. Then a couple of brave ones approached and asked sheepishly, “American”? We answered yes. Then all hell broke loose. We were overrun with civilians, all cheering, yelling, crying and giving us flowers. A bottle of brandy was passed around and I got my share. They must have been waiting for us and this was their party time. When I asked my favorite question. Where are the Krauts? I got my favorite answer. They scrammed.” Viva le American”, they kept yelling. We were their heroes.
We then were approached by a younger man carrying a Bren gun. The gun was the English version of our Browning automatic rifle. He was an FBI man. Free Belgium Internal.* In other words, a freedom fighter. The Bren gun must have been supplied by the British through airdrops. He introduced himself and asked if he could help. The Sarge explained our mission. Inspect the bridge and relay the information back to the command post. The Belgium said,” Follow me”, and we did. He led us across this quaint European village. If towns were not destroyed by war, they were quite scenic and idyllic. If you had money and position life was good, except of course, during their periodic wars.
We arrived at the far edge of town and there it was, a modern bridge spanning the ravine. We passed the last building at the edge of town and went down into the gully. We inspected the bridge supports and found that the Germans had blown out this section of the roadway. Our mission was over. The bridge was impassable. We trekked back up the gully, passed the last building, and headed to our Jeeps. As we were walking back, the FBI man said that he saw something unusual across the ravine he had never seen before. So, when he got to the last building at the edge of town, he laid down behind his gun and decided to give it a burst of fire.
Can you imagine one freedom fighter for a whole town? It was probably the first time he would fire that gun of his. The sad part was he never pulled the trigger. We heard this weird exploding sound four times and the FBI man was dead. When the Germans set up defensive positions, they zero in on certain points with their guns. All they needed to do was pull the trigger and you were dead. We were under observation every second we looked at that bridge. We were dead men walking. I guess they didn’t want to give away their positions until threatened. They began to shell the town with rockets” Woop! Woop! Woop!” Explosions all around, the sound was as scary as the bursts.
Our mission was over. The bridge was out, and we knew where the Krauts were. Let’s lam! We went from a glorious advance to an ignominious retreat. If the fallen comrade was American, we would have picked up the body. Since he wasn’t, it seemed that the successful completion of the mission was more important. You believe that? Well, the Belgium townspeople didn’t. Later, when we came through in force, the funeral for the FBI man was in progress. The mean stares we got made me feel uncomfortable. To them, we were ugly Americans. What can I say? It wasn’t a beauty contest. I was only a PFC. I did what I was told, and you must remember, Sgt. McGowan was a corpse maker, not a corpse rescuer.
Editor’s notes: Sgt. McGowan identified in records as S/Sgt Richard R. McGowan (6932451).
*There were 5 main Belgian resistance groups: Armée Secrète, Front de l’Indépendance, Partisans Armés, Réseau Comète and Groupe G.
Based on the details in Joe’s account of the damaged bridge discovery, the After Action Report for September suggests that this location may be tentatively identified as Dinant. After engineers repaired it the squadron crossed the Meuse there on the evening of September 7 1944. The AAR refers to Troop A finding bridges blown and receiving hostile fire from the other side of the river. This suggests that Joes’s story refers to events on September 4. See the page for September 1944.