The Battle for Cleurie Quarry
It looms like the King’s Mountain in the Revolutionary War
My Mother and Audie Murphy Ch. 36
Early October, 1944. Murphy is now the last one standing of his original unit. The Third Division is driving into the Vosges mountain chain, which is the chief obstacle lying between the Allies and the Rhine.
“Speed is most important. The rain still falls; the coldness increases. Soon snow and ice will take over the rugged hills, increasing the difficulty of our advance immeasurably.
“The terrain is perfect for defense. The thick forests, hiding innumerable snipers and machine gun and placements, must often be cleared by tree-to-tree fighting. The enemy has dug in high upon the steep craggy slopes, from which they pour artillery and mortar fire into our ranks. At night the fog closes in. Under its cover, the Germans infiltrate our lines; and hand-to-hand fighting becomes commonplace. I whet my bayonet until it is razor sharp and keep it always handy.
“Our immediate objective is a quarry near Cleurie. It is only a pinpoint on a very large map, but in the memory of the men who fought there, it looms like the King’s Mountain in the Revolutionary War.
“Lying high upon a rocky, wooded, almost perpendicular slope, the quarry is the anchorage point in the German lines, dominating a long section of roadway essential to our advance. Cut from solid rock, its numerous tunnels protect its defenders from our artillery and mortars. Every approach is covered by machine guns set up for crossfire. Enemy cannon and mortars have the slopes zeroed-in. And a large detachment of sharp shooters with telescopic sights on their rifles has been added for extra insurance.
“The German command, knowing the importance of the position, has ordered it to be held as long as one man can pull a trigger. We have received counter orders to take it. Several times we try to drive head-on up the slope, but we are driven back with heavy losses by a hellish storm of enemy fire.
“We dig in and wait for command to figure out shrewder strategy. Our command post and kitchen have been established in a house that stands at the base of a knoll which hides us from the big guns in the quarry area. Beyond the knoll is another rise which lies between us and the enemy- held hill. That is usually no-man’s land.
“In the darkness, units of the enemy slip down the slope to establish forward positions. Often less than a hundred yards separates us from their lines. We hear them talking back and forth; and their bloody excursions into our own positions are nightly occurrences….
“So many men have come and gone that I can no longer keep track of them. Since (the last man of the original unit) got his, I have isolated myself as much as possible, desiring only to do my work and be left alone. I feel burnt out, emotionally and physically exhausted. Let the hill be strewn with corpses so long as I do not have to turn over the bodies and find the familiar face of a friend. It is with the living that I must concern myself, juggling them as numbers to fit the mathematics of battle.
“The battalion commander and executive officer visit the front lines. They want to see with their own eyes what is holding up our advance. They would like a peek into the quarry itself. Excellent and courageous leaders, they pick only four men to escort them up the treacherous hillside.
“It is another dreary, gray day. The lines are quiet, but I cannot sleep. And I am bored with the lack of activity, which breeds the thinking that I try to avoid. Picking up several hand grenades and a carbine I trail the patrol up the hill.
“As I prepare to round a huge boulder, two enemy grenades explode. A machine gun ripples. Silence returns. My scalp tingles as the hair starts rising. That machine gun is only a few yards away.
“I pause, pull the pin from a grenade, and peer around the rock. The Germans have not been overly clever with their ambush. Instead of picking off the officers first, they threw the grenades at the four men, knocking out two and machine gunning one of them as he writhed upon the ground.
“That was their mistake. Before the gunner could swing his weapon, the officers had tumbled into a shallow hole, where they now lie pinned. The krauts, evidently not considering a rear guard, have become downright careless with their concealment as they attempt to slaughter the officers.
“Grasping the carbine and my left hand and a grenade in my right, I step suddenly from behind the rock. The Germans spot me instantly. The gunner spins the tip of his weapon toward me but the barrel catches in a limb and the burst whizzes to my right.
“I lob the grenade and grab the carbine trigger with one movement. Before the grenade has time to burst, two krauts fall with carbine slugs in their bellies. I quickly lob two more grenades into the position. Four of the eight Germans are killed; three are put out of action by wounds.
“The eighth, a squat, fat man, tries to escape. He dashes down the hill with a waddling gait, like a duck being chased by an ax-man. I line my sights upon his helmet but hesitate in pulling the trigger. How can one shoot such a ridiculous figure. It is like killing a clown.
“But the clown has a gun and is, therefore, dangerous. I squeeze the trigger. The helmet jumps. The man falls as if struck in the head with a club.
“I snap the safety lock on my carbine and turn to the battalion commander. He is as cool as the October morning. ‘Those grenades are not a bad idea. Next time I’ll bring my own,’ says he, brushing the dirt off his clothes.”
“We pick up our wounded and start down the hill. A single feeling possesses me. It is one of complete and utter weariness.”
Quotes are from To Hell and Back
Ch.37: https://medium.com/@tradeswomn/slinging-donuts-in-french-towns-3bb5962a45ce
