All the Way to Berlin: A Paratrooper at War in Europe

336 Pages·2003·3.51 MB·English

by  James Megellas

Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Award of the Silver Star Medal, 19 March 1945
Preface
Introduction
I - At War
II - The Call to Arms
III - Italy
IV - Anzio
V - England
VI - Market Garden
VII - Linkup with British Armor
VIII - Assault Across the Waal
IX - Holland: Defensive Phase
X - Holland: Postmortem
XI - Battle of the Bulge
XII - The Tide of Battle Turns
XIII - Herresbach, Belgium
XIV - Return to France
XV - Watch on the Rhine
XVI - Hitler’s Last Gasp
XVII - Occupation of Berlin: A City Divided
XVIII - The 82d Returns to New York
Acknowledgments
Epilogue
Copyright Page
Award of the Silver Star Medal, 19 March 1945
James Megellas, First Lieutenant, 504th Parachute Infantry. For gallantry in
action on 28 January 1945 near Herresbach, Belgium. After breaking a trail
across country for twelve hours in deep, dry snow, First Lieutenant Megellas, a
platoon leader, was ordered to advance with his platoon and two supporting
tanks along the main road leading into Herresbach. About one mile from the
town, his platoon was fired upon by about 200 Germans forming for a defense.
Quickly grasping the situation, he led a frontal assault on the startled enemy who
attempted to fight back. First lieutenant Megellas’s direction and leadership of
his men was so superb that within ten minutes the entire force of enemy was
either killed, captured, or fled into the town. He then reorganized his platoon
and, with the two supporting tanks, followed the enemy into the town. Braving
heavy enemy sniper and rifle fire, he personally took a leading part in flushing
the enemy out of their houses, killing eight and capturing five enemy. As a result
of the First Lieutenant’s fearless leadership and skillful handling of his men,
over 100 enemy were killed, 180 captured, and large amounts of valuable
equipment fell into our hands. This feat was accomplished without the loss of a
single man wounded or killed. First Lieutenant Megellas demonstrated a
remarkable degree of tactical skill and a brand of courageous leadership which
reflects highly upon himself and the Airborne Forces. Entered military service
from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.
— signed James M. Gavin,
Major General,
U.S. Army, Commanding
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To Carole and our two sons, James and Stephen
This book is also dedicated to the memory of my buddy 1st Lt. Richard G.
LaRiviere—or Rivers, as we called him— whose World War II experience was a
mirror image of my own. We first met in 1943 at Fort Benning, Georgia, where
we went through parachute school together. From that point on, we were with
each other, from Africa to Italy and through Europe, until May 1945, when the
Germans surrendered.
We were assigned in December 1943 as platoon leaders in H Company, 504th
Parachute Infantry Regiment, located in the mountains of Italy. When the war
ended, we were still combat platoon leaders. Although we had both been
wounded in action, we managed to survive and continued together in H
Company. An incredible bond developed between us that was stronger than
brotherhood. In December 1967, while Cornelius Ryan was researching his book
A Bridge Too Far, I responded to a questionnaire from him asking whom in the
operation I would recommend he contact. My answer: “Rivers was perhaps the
most daring and courageous soldier in the entire 82d Airborne Division. He was
a fearless leader who received and commanded considerable respect from all the
men who served with him. As an inseparable team, our two platoons fought side-
by-side on a number of occasions.”
I am also dedicating this book to those paratroopers with whom I served and
to the thousands more in frontline units who came face-to-face with the enemy
in World War II. These paratroopers endured the rigors and hardships of combat,
often under the most miserable conditions imaginable. They asked no quarter
and gave none. Many who survived have vanished, taking with them the
memories of their closely held exploits. Thousands never made it back, and
many more still carry physical scars of combat. Collectively, they swelled the
numbers of American casualties in World War II, each becoming a number in the
statistical game. These countless noncommissioned officers and junior
commissioned officers led the soldiers in battle, bore the brunt of the fighting,
and paid the highest price. This is their story as I saw it through the sights of my
gun.
Preface
For the past twenty years, I contemplated writing my memoirs of World War II
from the perspective of the combat soldier. I was not inclined to write a book
about the war as such but rather about the men who fought it, focusing on their
fears, emotions, needs, and hopes.
The young soldiers who manned the ramparts for our nation in World War II
were a special breed. They came from all walks of life: farms, factories,
professions, and colleges. They were teenagers just out of high school and high
school dropouts. They had one common purpose—to serve their nation in a time
of crisis and to defend those principles we hold dear. They were stout of heart
and spirit, the finest our nation had to offer. The title I had in mind for such a
book was “What Manner of Men.”
After I became immersed in writing, it seemed that a more encompassing title
for what I had in mind would be “Through the Sights of My Gun.” It gave me
latitude to write not only about the human aspects of war and the men who
fought it, but space to express how I saw it from a foxhole. In the process I could
tell it as it actually was, and let the chips fall where they may.
I have not contrived or concocted any of the experiences or opinions related in
the book. What I have written in all instances is a true and accurate reflection of
what I saw and felt at the time and frequently expressed in letters I wrote home.
All the barbs, arrow stings, and piques are exclusively mine, and they are as
valid today as they were fifty-five years ago.
Introduction
After the victory parade in New York City in January 1946, I left the army and
the 82d Airborne Division and returned to private life in Fond du Lac,
Wisconsin, where I had entered military service in 1942. When I mustered out at
Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, in 1946, I remained in the U.S. Army Reserve. At the
time I was a captain, of which I was proud. I reasoned that by joining the
reserves, if hostilities broke out again I could be recalled to active duty.
As a civilian, I was attracted to the political arena largely because I felt that it
was the best avenue for the expression of my ideals for further service to my
country. The first attempt for public office was in November 1946, when I ran
for the Wisconsin state legislature in a predominantly conservative, agrarian
district. When I had been awarded my first Silver Star for gallantry in action in
1944, my closest friend, 1st Lt. Richard G. LaRiviere—we called him Rivers—
congratulated me, then said: “With that Silver Star and ten cents you can get a
cup of coffee, if you’re lucky enough to get back home alive.” As it turned out,
Rivers was prophetic; you could get a cup of coffee, but first you had to have the
dime. Nor did the second Silver Star, the Distinguished Service Cross, two
Bronze Stars, two Purple Hearts, and two years in combat make the price of a
cup of coffee less than a dime. Applying Rivers’s comment to a political
campaign, all my combat decorations did not change one conservative voter’s
mind. But if at the time I’d had a sizable campaign war chest, the outcome
would probably have been different. Rivers was right; combat medals accounted
for little if you did not have the “dime.”
However, it counted with Sen. John F. Kennedy, to whom combat experience
was defining and distinguishing. I came to know him well when we were both
campaigning in Wisconsin in 1960, he for the Democratic nomination for
president and I to be representative for the state’s sixth congressional district.
For three continuous days we campaigned together, sharing the same podium,
shaking hands in shopping centers and at factory gates first thing in the morning.
Most of the time we were alone in my car, with Secret Service agents and
Kennedy’s political entourage enveloping us as we rode from city to city. He
talked about his combat experiences as a PT boat commander and I talked about
mine as a paratrooper in the 82d Airborne Division. In the April 1960
presidential primary, Kennedy carried my district and narrowly won the state of
Wisconsin in a hotly contested primary. It made him the front-runner and gave
him a big boost on the road to the Democratic presidential nomination. I did not
see him again until he was president, but he kept tabs on my congressional
campaign. At a critical time when I needed outside help, Kennedy sent his
brother Robert into my district to campaign with me. In spite of a determined
effort, as Rivers would have put it, “I came up a dime short.”
In 1961, the first year of the Kennedy presidency, I was offered an opportunity
to join the new administration in some capacity. After considerable thought and
soul-searching, I expressed a preference for the foreign service. My military
experience had taken me to Africa and across Europe, and the lure of going
abroad in a peacetime situation was tempting. In November 1961, I received an
appointment to the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), with
the highest grade, FSR-1, and a commitment to an overseas assignment as a
USAID mission director.
In May 1962, I married a young lady from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, whom I
had courted for four years. Carole Laehn and I packed our bags and headed for
Yemen in June 1962, stopping en route in Europe to enjoy several days of a
“honeymoon abroad.” It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life that I
would find both demanding and challenging. Before I concluded my career in
the foreign service, I served, in addition to Yemen, in Panama and Colombia and
two years in Vietnam during the height of the war. My tour in Vietnam was
unaccompanied; my wife and two sons, ages five and two, lived in “safe haven”
in Manila. It was not until I retired from the foreign service and established my
residence in Florida that I had the first impulse to set in writing what I had
experienced and observed in World War II.
After the war, my preoccupation with civilian pursuits, my new career, and my
family responsibilities in helping to raise two boys were foremost in my mind.
Although many of my combat experiences were still vivid, they were closely
held. Most of my service in AID was abroad, and I had little contact with my
war buddies. After I retired and returned to the United States, I resumed old
acquaintances, attended reunions, and rehashed combat experiences with them.
Many of the observations and thoughts that had lain dormant began to emerge.
In the process, a number of my former comrades in arms encouraged me to write
a book and “tell it like it actually was.” I gave the idea serious consideration,
because I felt I had a story to tell about the young American boys who had
fought it. Although 16 million men had been mobilized to respond to the threat