Battle for Aachen: Death of a city

By Ed Wilcox, Warweek combat correspondent

WE climbed the flight of narrow steps and emerged in a musty, low-ceilinged attic. We walked, half stooping, to the end of the room and shouldered our way in among a group of GIs. "From here," the sergeant said, "you can get a pretty fair view of it." I stepped closer to the open window and had a look.

In front of me lay Aachen, sprawling and tumbling down over the hillside. It looked just like any city of comparable size back home. I might have been  looking at Peoria, Ill. Yet there was something distinctive about Aachen. At first I thought that it was the churches, spires standing out against the somber October sky. But it wasn't the churches. It was the atmosphere of inactivity. There wasn't a flicker of movement anywhere. It was strangely peaceful and almost foreboding. Aachen was a city condemned to death, waiting mutely for the hour.

"Watch it!" the sergeant warned as I leaned too far toward the windowsill, "this place is alive with German snipers." We turned to leave just as a young Signal Corps lieutenant, camera slung across his chest, entered the OP. "Came up to get a few close shots of the boys in their foxholes," he said grinning confidently. "Where are I they from here?" The two non-corns with the officer looked at each other and one said, "They are just over the hill but it's dangerous out there, sir." The lieutenant said, "C'mon, let's get down there." As we left the building we could see the three making their way along a hedgerow over the hillside.

Sniper Got Him

Back at regimental headquarters that night one of the officers remarked that the Signal Corps photographer had been hit by a sniper's bullet. I asked how it happened and the officer said, "Just another guy who hasn't learned that it is not smart to walk across breaks in hedges when Jerry is around. Nothing serious, luckily, just a nasty neck wound that will get him the Purple Heart."

Later that evening j had a talk with a colonel commanding an Infantry Regiment. He had the sure certain air of. a professional soldier, a product of West Point. The colonel was commanding the outfit charged with the taking of Aachen.

"How long has it been stalemated like this," I asked.

"Three weeks," he answered.

"When can you take the city?"

"Whenever I want it," he answered.

"Why don't you take it?" I asked.

His Own Terms Only

"I never fight on the enemy's terms," he said. "I force the enemy to do battle on mine." I didn't understand fully that night just exactly what the colonel had in mind when he said that. I came to understand during the next few days.

Headquarters buzzed Monday with talk of an ultimatum to be delivered. Opinions were bandied about and it was clear that something was in the wind. During the day companies changed positions and the officers in the situation room drew new circles on the maps, indicating new locations. The regiment jockeyed for position. closing the steel ring around the city. The suburb of Aachen-Forst fell to our troops and the infantry dug in along a railroad embankment, awaiting the final push.

Monday night weather reports were studied and the situation was hashed over and rehashed. The men in the companies cursed the light rain that began to fall and tried to get a little sleep. There was no small arms fire — just the rumble of our artillery and the sound of the shells exploding within the city. The lights at the regimental CP burned late that night as final plans were drawn and Aachen's doom drew nearer.

Three Men Alone

At nine o'clock Tuesday morning two lieutenants and a Pfc left the regiment in a jeep, turned at the crossroad where the sign reads, "Nach Aachen 4 Km.," and drove toward a Company outpost near the railroad tracks.

A fine rain was falling and unshaven infantrymen slogged through the muddy streets of Aachen-Forst, walking gingerly in the debris and rubble, trying to keep the stub of a cigarette alive as the water dripped from their helmets and made smoking almost impossible. All firing had ceased and one GI would say to another, "What the hell goes?"

A few minutes before ten o'clock the two officers and the flag bearer, holding a large white tablecloth aloft on a pole, walked silently through our lines, into an underpass, and emerged on the German side of the railroad embankment where they were halted in one guttural command by four German enlisted men. The Germans asked why they had come.

Message for CO

"We have a message for your battalion commander," Lt. William Boehme, New York City, the interpreter, said in German. The four Germans held a hasty confab and then blindfolded the three Americans.

A half hour later they reached a company headquarters, where the blindfolds were removed and they were questioned as to the reason for their mission by a young Nazi lieutenant. They were again blindfolded :and taken to a second German headquarters, this one a battalion CP located in the basement of a brick apartment building.

Here they were confronted by a second Nazi lieutenant who volunteered the information that he was the battalion adjutant. Lt. Boehme explained their mission and Lt. Cedric Lafley, Enosburg Falls. Vt., produced two envelopes, one addressed to the garrison commander and the other to the Mayor of Aachen. The Nazi lieutenant receipted for both.

Exchange Cigarettes

As Lt. Boehme discussed the means of effecting the surrender of the city if the Germans accepted the ultimatum, Lt. Lafley offered the Germans a cigarette. Both enemy officers accepted an American cigarette and, in turn, offered one of their own to the Americans. The German enlisted men made no move to decline or accept the offer to smoke in the presence of their officers. Pfc Kenneth Kading, La Grange, Ill., the flag bearer, lit a cigarette and — smoked democratically with the officers.

As the party rose to leave, the Nazi adjutant said, "I believe I speak for the commanding officer when I say we shall fight on anyhow." The Americans left with their four guards and walked back toward the railroad tracks.

"I hope the terms are reasonable." one of the German noncoms remarked soberly.

The remainder of the stumbling walk back through Aachen's twisting streets was made in silence.

GIs Were Waiting

At the company C.P., a scant hundred yards up the hill from the underpass, the muddy infantrymen milled around inside the bombed-out building discussing the possibilities of the Germans surrendering the city, cursed the rain and the mud, joked among themselves, wondered and waited.

Now and then one of the men would step into the street and peer down toward the tracks. The rain continued to fall, the mud in the streets got soupier and the GIs rubbed their chins, sweated and waited.

"Them b------s ain't gonna give up," a sergeant drawled. "We'll have to root 'em out — house to house style. Them b------s !"

A few minutes later the party of three came into sight, walking slowly up the hill toward the company CP, white flag no longer unfurled. In the distance there was a boom, the hiss of a shell overhead and a crash as the shell exploded within the city. Another boom, hiss, smash. And then a steady din as the battle exploded angrily all around. The armistice was over.

No Questions Needed

No questions were asked. The GIs who had stood in the halls, turned, flipped their cigarette butts into the mud, and plodded slowly down toward the stairs to the basement. "Just like downtown," one of the doggies muttered.

The message that had been delivered to the commander of the troops within the city had said, in part, "The city of Aachen now is completely surrounded by American forces who are sufficiently equipped with both air power and artillery to destroy the city if necessary. We shall take the city either by its unconditional surrender or by attacking and destroying it."

Leaflets dropped by our planes during the day told the Germans, "On our airfields our bombers are awaiting final orders to take off. Our. artillery surrounding the city is ready. Or troops are alerted for the final advance." The cards were on the table. .

Music as Shellfire

Tuesday night as our artillery stepped up its barrage, a German loud-speaker system in the front lines was heard. "If you will stop the shelling we will play some music for you. We regret that we have none of your American swing records." A record was put on the turntable and the strains of a German waltz floated out across the tracks, the report of our big guns in the rear furnishing a strange, midnight symphony.

When our artillery continued to tire, the German at the loudspeaker said, "All right — if that is the kind of music you like, that is the kind of music you shall have." Then the enemy mortars fired a few rounds to the left of our positions. Our guns shelled their positions for the rest of the night.

Wednesday was the first really clear day of the week. There were a few wisps of cloud. but the sun shone brightly and everybody from the Colonel to the private in the line looked much more cheerful.

The Planes Appear

At 10 o'clock with slightly less than an hour left for the Nazis to make their decision to stand and fight or surrender, there was a drone in the distance and soon you could make out the specks in the sky — twelve P47 dive-bombers, buzzing angrily above Aachen, a reminder that the time was growing short. They hovered above the city and were joined by P38's, gliding in graceful turns, awaiting the order to release their bombs.

Rumor, the ever-present hazard to logical thinking in combat, swept the area. One story had it that Aachen was surrendering and that white flags flew from almost every building in town. One or two could be seen. but there was no general display of flags of, truce. Another infantryman; who claimed to have been down to the underpass a few minutes before, stated that the Germans were beginning to file down to the railroad track and they had agreed to give themselves up in groups of 50. No one knew what to believe and the boys who thought that it would be a soft touch because of what they had "heard," were disappointed.

At 10:50, the time the ultimatum expired, all doubts were dispelled as the P47s peeled off and dived on the target city. They came in at about a 70-degree angle, you could see them strafing and then the two specks which were 500-pound bombs would cut loose and then a minute later there would be the explosion. One by one they dropped their cargoes, zoomed away, regrouped and flew off for home and more bombs to drop. One hit had destroyed a hotel which was plainly visible on a hill the other side of Aachen. "Damn it," one officer said, "I had hopes of having a drink there."

Fires were started all over Aachen — there must have been a dozen large ones. Then an ammunition dump near a bend in the railroad track was hit and began to throw up clouds of dense black smoke. You could hear the crackle of small arms ammunition like a string of firecrackers on the Fourth of July. But this was no holiday.

Every hour while it was daylight the planes continued to swoop in and strike at the city. Between air attacks our artillery, which by now hemmed in the city on three sides, fired a barrage into Aachen that completely hid the city with smoke and dust from the explosions.

From the observation post there was a good view of crossroads near the tracts on the German side of the rail line. A Nazi soldier rounded the corner of the building and talked to someone in the basement of a building. bending low to talk through the windows which were at street level. "Jeez!" one of the men said, "Give me an M-1 and I'll teach that jerk to stroll on the avenue." Someone handed him a rifle. He took careful aim and fired. The bullet kicked up a puff of dust near the German's feet. The Jerry' whirled, brandishing his machine pistol, and tried to figure out where the shot had come from. Then someone ordered a mortar shell and it hit about 20 yards from him. He took off around the corner, but fast.

Planes Came Back

Then the planes were back again, swooping and diving in graceful arcs, smashing the city. And as Aachen reeled and shuddered. beneath the air assault the artillery began again. The infantrymen watching the planes come in, grinned and said, "Go to it you glamor boys!" It's a very snug and warm feeling to see our own air force go to work.

That night eight patrols entered Aachen, crossing the railroad embankment and disappearing into the rubble and litter that refused to surrender. One patrol penetrated to within 1,000 yards of the center of the city and returned to report no opposition encountered. Only one of the eight patrols drew fire and there were no casualties among our men.

"We'll have a tough time finding a building in that joint which will be upright enough to use as a CP," one sergeant said.

Prisoners Were Groggy .

More than 100 German prisoners were taken during the first day of the combined assault on the city. They came limping to the rearward areas, looking like anything but supermen, and plainly happy to be through with the war. Most of them claimed that they would have surrendered but that they were forced to fight on by their officers and the SS troops. "It is all over for us," one Nazi said.

The following day the American troops readied themselves for their part in the final drive to take the city. They moved across the tracks, working in with the tanks and tank destroyers, and occupied the industrial section of the city, bordering the rail line. They encountered scattered opposition. Meanwhile news arrived that the, Germans were rushing men and supplies from other areas in a desperate attempt to salvage something of their garrison trapped within a ring of steel thrown around the city.

Prisoners reported that there was little food in Aachen and that the water supply was gone. People were drinking rain water and living like rats in cellars under the barrage.

More than 100 German halftracks which raced toward the city were intercepted by our planes, strafed, and a large percentage destroyed. There were reports that tanks were being brought up to the north of the city. A major armored battle loomed northeast of Aachen.

House-by-house, street-by-street, our troops moved into the heart of Aachen. Men died but many more lived to move on as our forces fanned out within the town. It had taken a month to accomplish this much.

The battle for Aachen set the pattern for all future German cities to fall under the hammer blow of the American military machine. It showed us just what we may expect within the borders of the Third Reich. Sweat, blood, and bitter, hard fighting.

There is still optimism at home. Some people say the war will be over by Christmas over here and that no snow will fall on the battle of Germany. We hope they are right, but the men who saw the first of Hitler's condemned cities die don't put much stock in that line of logic.

One doggie, sweating out the weeks before Aachen was entered in force, said, "The way I got it figured I might get home two years from this Christmas if my luck holds out." And he grinned and crossed his fingers.