116TH SIGNAL RADIO INTELLIGENCE COMPANY
FRI., AUGUST 10, 1945
The following 1945 article is from the weekly newsletter (the INTERCEPTOR) of the 116th Signal Radio Intelligence Company (SRIC), which was the original SIGINT occupation force in Scheyern. Through our good fortune Jim Clinton (Scheyern/Heilbronn 48-53) obtained and saved copies of the August 3 and 10, 1945, issues and passed them along to Wade Temple (Bamberg/Altfeld/Rothwesten 54-56) who provided copies. The following article is from the August 10th issue. Our thanks to Jim and Wade for their cooperation in publishing this article which tracks the company's movements from their landing on the continent until their departure for a permanent change of station to Scheyern. We hope you find it interesting and of historical value.
The article was written one year after the 116th entered Europe and was introduced by an Editorial, which we quote in part, whose words are as good today as they were then:
"In that year through the ups and downs of campaigning in the field, more than ever have we proven to ourselves the value of friendship, camaraderie, and teamwork. Too, this one year taught us that nothing can be so bad as to be hopeless. No matter how deep the mud, how cold or wet the weather, how complete our return to primeval nature, we could always find something about which to laugh, something at which to play, and in the end everything always worked out for the best."
Company Route History - Omaha Beach to Scheyern
On August 8th, 1944, D plus 2 - 2 months, 2 days - the 116th swept ashore onto the beaches of Normandy, just slightly to the rear of the first waves of the assault troops. From that date to the present, between Omaha Beach and Scheyern, we covered one hell of a lot of territory, and it was a long and hard road that we traveled. At the start, no one could foretell the course of events that were to come to pass during this year that we have spent on the continent of Europe. There were some of us who on leaving England were certain that Autumn would bring the end of this part of the war, and, hopefully, Christmas would find us back at home in the states. There were pessimists who were convinced that the war was never going to end. We were ready for just about anything.
And just about everything did happen to us. There were times when the going was rough, and there were times when things were rather pleasant. There was the good and the bad. We took it all in stride; we bore up under the worst, and we enjoyed the best. The part we played in winning the war was at times somewhat strange. We chased after the front through four campaigns, but never quite caught up with it. For a brief period in mid-December, we were afraid that perhaps Von Rundstedt was going to bring the front to us, but somebody else checked the thrust that seemed to be coming in our direction, and the alert was lifted in time for us to get out and celebrate the seasonal holidays with our friends the Bettembourgeois. It was a little odd to think that the time that we were closest to the enemy, when he was just twelve miles away across the Moselle River border, we lead the life of garrison troops in a regular military camp.
Not all of us made the whole trip. Hal Want left the company to join a new unit, and was to die a tragic death. A few others were transferred out, and some fell along the wayside with various injuries, and were lost in the repple-depples or were returned to the States. But most of us came through with whole skins, and the unit as an entity carried through its mission with complete success, and in a most commendable fashion.
We left Pylewell House looking for the shortest route back to the states. We haven't yet found the last stretch of that road, but this, as it turned out, was to be the first year of that trip.
Omaha Beach Aug. 8, 1944
We sat apprehensively in Pylewell's driveway. Lt. Beiswanger assigned us to trucks and Tec.4's pulled rank for the coveted front seats. At 0600, August 6, the first peep moved out while the Lymington belles cried vain good-byes from damp, grey street corners. The assembly area outside Southampton was a pyramidal city with sand blowing freely through the rolled sides of the tents. Remember the KP there who answered a lieutenant's request with "Hey, dis guy wants a plate?"
It was dusk when our convoy reached the white- helmeted MP who directed the trucks through the portals of the large Southampton docking gates. The trucks parked, the men dismounted and prepared to wait. It was an army wait - dirty, uncomfortable, and long. Everyone unrolled his bedroll of a canvas shelter half and three blankets. We needed rest. The positions were bizarre, some snored open-mouthed, some moved uncomfortably seeking a relatively better posture for rest.
"Lets go guys, everybody up" thundered the First Sargent stubbing his way through the commotion that accompanies the awakening of a group ... August 7, we climbed ... ship gangplank to ... [unreadable copy] at sleep in fitful chills and turns on the sea-moist deck.
The day and the channel were beautiful. About 1300 somebody shoutingly sighted the continent. In the visual distance anchored more ships than we knew existed. That would be Omaha beach.
The Omaha breakwater was a street of sunken hulls. "Ducks" sputtered steadily through the Liberty ship congested waters while our own ROBERT S. PERRY anchored. Soon after the blackout darkness closed in, the roar of approaching planes vibrated the ship. No ack-ack, they were obviously ours. Suddenly, abo[ve] the thunder of the Allied air armada, the screeching whine of a diving Jerry plane alerted all to a resounding crash that sent our shipjack-rabbiting against the bit of its anchor. Shrapnel and water pounded the hull. The bomb missed. None followed. We slept with helmets at hand.
The next morning puffing barges shuttled us ashore on a prefabricated floating dock. A dust covered MP directed us past flat-faced, sturdy, paneless French farmhouses to the Marshalling Area.
At 2100 a thick-tongued lieutenant from headquarters outlined the route to our first bivouac area. We began our dusty trek through the rubble of the invasion area in the night haze with only "cat eyes" lights to show the way. We traveled 70 miles through stench and destruction in complete blackout over roads that didn't exist, a challenge to every driver.
Periers Aug. 8-22
After surviving this first test of night driving and convoys through the ruins of Normandy, we arrived at our bivouac area outside of Periers. It was early in the morning and cold, cramped, and tired, we were in no mood for anything but rolling up in a blanket and going to sleep.
In the morning, however, we were impressed by the beauty of our spot and overjoyed at the convenient, already dug fox-holes. But since they had been used before each of us had to dig a new one and also learn to duck sergeants looking for latrine digging details. Our cooks soon learned to put lead in the pancakes to keep the bees from flying away with them.
Bees swarmed over our mess gear and the entire mess area in thick clouds constituting an ever present deterrent to appetites. Many of our young "bee-keepers" were soon sporting lumps and bumps as a result of disputing a meal with these winged terrors.
The area was bordered by a well traveled road and passing Frenchmen were soon bringing potent calvados plus "genuine real old cognac and wine dug up from the cellar" to trade for our cigarettes and soap. We bathed and did our laundry in a stream nearby and soon became accustomed to sweet young French mamselles passing by and waving cheerfully and unabashedly at us as we cavorted in our birthday suits. Many of the boys again swam in the Atlantic Ocean, the same water as Coney Island even if the beach was different.
Veterans of the pup tent, the fox-hole, and the latrine ditch, we were prepared for our next move which came on the 22nd of August and boarded our trucks to follow Patton inland.
Laval Aug. 22-29
Coutances and Avranches were magical names in August, 1944, and smoke had scarcely cleared from their bombed houses as our trucks drove through on that sunny day we left our Normandy orchard.
We all gaped at the memorable view. The seacoast near Avranches, the single delicate spire of Mont St. Michel disappearing in the sky as all about us lay burned and burning Nazi vehicles.
This was our first real trip in France and we waved the "V" sign energetically to the kids and mademoiselles en route. We really warmed up to our roles of liberators when we drove into the city of Laval, though some of us thought the people were almost overdoing their reception. The crowds, in their best Sunday clothes were not just for us, however. General DeGaulle had made a speech about half an hour before.
Our new camping area, just the other side of Laval, was made up of hills, a brook, pasture, some hills and a few more hills. The mess tent was down by the brook and the cooks waded to breakfast every morning.
Social life centered around the gate up by the road. There were always a lot of French kids there and a few merchants through whom much bargaining was done for quarts of calvados and wine. It was while we were at Laval that several of our men went to "Barn."
Some of us did our laundry in the brook, and others farmed it out for a few francs and cigarettes. Helmet baths and sun-baths were the vogue until the rains came and we got soggy in our tents.
Here, as we listened to the loudspeaker bray out the news from BBC, we finally heard that Paris had been liberated.
Then, quite suddenly, we pulled up stakes, packed our trucks, and started off again. Off along the road to do more liberating, throw more gum and cigarettes, and eat more K's. We were off for the damp woods of Chartres.
Chartres Aug. 29-Sept. 2
Hot on the heels of the 12 SS Panzer Div., which was driven out by our rapid advance across France, we arrived at their old bivouac area within sight of the famous cathedral of Chartres. This area, typical of the company's luck, was a masterpiece of air camouflage. The trees were so tall and so dense that none of us knew whether it was rain or shine, day or night, until we came out of the woods. The sun never penetrated to the ground which was never dry. Here was made the crack, "We have nothing to fear but submarine attack."
Meaux Sept. 2-Sept. 12
Meaux will probably be best remembered as the point from which we all went back to visit Paris now in the midst of a high flying liberation spree. There were also many intentional parties in our area to celebrate the new level of Franco-American relations.
For the first time since living on the continent we could leave the area on pass and we crowded in Meaux to take advantage of the champagne, cognac, femininity, Frenchhospitality, and wares for sale at terrifically high prices. Broke but happy we left for Verdun.
Verdun Sept. 12-26
One could feel and see everywhere the memories of the last war, but we'll never forget Verdun in this one. Mud and rain will always be our memories of the Verdun of the second world war.
Remember how supply tried to get rafts to get us back and forth to work, how we had running water 24 hours a day through our tents, and how many men were reported AWOL because they had slipped and fallen into mud-filled trenches?
Remember our chow? How before we could get our forks and knives out of our pockets, the rain would have washed away everything in the mess gear?
Yes, you can always read about Verdun in the history books but we will never forget our stay there . . . . remember?
Tellancourt Sept 26-30
Grandcourt - Tellancourt, situated in the woods of Belgium on the French border, was one of our shorter but more pleasant stops. The inhabitants of these two towns were extremely friendly and hospitable.
They shared with us their meager supplies of eggs, wines, and choice liquers that they had saved from the ravages of the "Boche."
Here's where Jack White's raiders went out after the little Heinies that weren't there and here's where we met our first German saboteur, a woman who took our laundry home to do, dumped it by the side of the road, and made off with the soap and chocolate bars given as advance payment.
Longuyon Sept. 30 - Oct. 10
After a discouraging first two days at Longuyon sans beds, stoves, and windows, things started to look up at the old schoolhouse. Beds arrived from Villerupt and we all turned pyromaniac with blowtorches to rid the German double-deckers of their crawling inhabitants. Windows were patched with cardboard and shelter halves and we settled down to enjoy the comforts of our first home out of the fields.
For the first time we saw the much talked about female collaborators with their shaved heads. That sight discouraged more men than the non-fraternization rule in Germany.
Our operational area was quite a distance from our quarters and we rode to and from work. As a result, the chow situation was somewhat snafued. Remember "the house," on the right, we used to pass on the way to duty?
Bettembourg Oct. 10 - Feb. 20, 1945
After our tentative experimentations with civilization in Longuyon, we struck it rich on October 10, 1944. That wasthe day we "liberated" Bettembourg. Our life had been dull and primitive with few exceptions. And we had been in sad need of civilian, or should we say feminine, company, for we saw few civilians, except from the tops of our swiftly moving vehicles.
But Bettembourg was pure gold. Primitive life was behind us; we were civilized again. We had barracks to live in with real beds, hot and cold running water, showers, and heat. And right outside this former German labor camp was the wonderfully hospitable city of Bettembourg, or "Bettembush" as it came to be known.
These wonderful people could not do enough for us. They threw their doors wide open and put out big welcome mats. Everyone of us found a home here. Once again we enjoyed soaking up that civilian atmosphere that one longs for in the army, and passes enabled us to "get out of the army", even if only for a short time.
We mingled with civilians here, ate with them from plates, drank with them from glasses, and shared our rations and packages from home with them just as they shared their homes with us. We all made fast friends.
In the middle of December, after we had already forgotten many of the discomforts of war, came the Battle of the Bulge. Enemy artillery fire, enemy air craft flying overhead and strafing, and refugees from the north fleeing the oncoming Germans were common sights in Bettembourg.
The people became apprehensive, and the question of the moment was, "Do you think the Germans will really come back here?" The Jerry did get pretty close, for we were actually alerted one night in the middle of a movie. Bags were packed and we were ready to move. War had returned to Bettembourg. But it was only temporary, for the Germans final "all-out" effort was stopped sort of its goal.
Saying good bye to these people was the most difficult "au revoir" we have ever had to bid. Most of us knew that we would never again see our friends whose generosity and friendliness made our four and a half months in Bettembourg one of the best deals we have ever had in the army.
Ovifat Feb. 21 - Mar. 18
From the north, south, west, and east, trucks bearing tired, soaked and hopelessly lost GI's came into Ovifat about 0300 the morning of February 21st. We seemingly had traveled over half of France and most of Belgium by the time we arrived.
Until place could be found, we were billeted with the civilians who treated us with true generosity and hospitality. In this period we really discovered to what extent these people had suffered under the German occupation.
Mud, mud, and mud everywhere were outstanding features of this floating town anchored to the map of Belgium.
Non-fraternization first reared its ugly head during this time when we were warned not to mingle with civilians wearing yellow ribbons, denoting the fact that they were evacuated Germans.
Lommersum Mar. 18 - April 4
It was almost three years ago that we first began preparing ourselves in basic training for our final objective - Germany. Now we were in Germany and each man who stood guard watched a little more closely and vowed to himself that no one would catch him unawares.
And it was in Lommersum that we were first compelled to watch the Frauleins parade up and down the streets and weigh in our minds whether 65 dollars was too much to pay just to speak to them. Maybe we weren't exactly compelled to look at them, but who did otherwise?
Our first and only casualty from enemy action in the entire war happened during our stay in this area. The truck in which Chester Colby was riding, ran over a land mine and the explosion injured his leg severely.
Our Armies were beginning to roll about this time as we packed to move on across the Rhine.
Ittenbach April 4-11
What a thrill! There before us lay the Rhine and all around us the breathtaking scenic beauty of the Rhineland. We crossed one of the numerous pontoon bridges and approached our "Shangri-la"- Ittenbach . . . a nightmare of broken down resort hotels scattered in all directions. When, after a week, we left, nobody mourned or was reluctant to leave this tourist's haven.
Borken April 11-23
It seemed we were doomed to jump from hilltop to hilltop and we arrived at Borken only to be perched on top of the highest hill of the countryside. At least, operations were, and we had to trudge wearily up to work every day.
Welcome features of this area were the tremendous soccer field that was used by our spring practicing softball team and the local Lichtspielhaus in which were shown our GI movies, when and if they arrived.
For the first time we had Belgian guards who required guards over them to keep them from shooting the civilians; which they tried to do at the slightest provocation, after collecting cameras and other loot from them. Loaded down with cameras and radios, on April 23rd, we left for Apolda and better fraternizing.
Apolda April 23 - May 4
From Borken, we made a long jump eastwards to Apolda, arriving at this fraternizer's paradise in several sections somewhere about May 4th, after a hectic and confused ride through rain and cold. It was always that way when we moved.
We made a deal with the engineering unit that was in charge of military government whereby, in return for our offer to supply several men and a peep to roam the town and the out-laying villages each night, we were allowed to share in the "loot". It was for the mighty "Apolda Patrol" that most of us will long remember that town. Drivers rode like midget racers; people were shot at; houses were raided; and at 1900 hrs. watches could be set by the gunfire from our sharpshooters trying to drive little babies and their crying mothers from the streets.
But alas, these pleasures were not to endure; one morning we awoke to find that our positions and the town had been taken over by an armored force and their MP's, so we packed up once more and turned to the south.
It was all for the better in some ways but we still hold a warm spot in our hearts for "Apolda - where the MP's checked, while upstairs we necked."
Hagelstadt May 4 - May 17
Living in the field when we come to France wasn't too bad because we had been prepared to face discomforts. But after seven months of billets and entering Germany as conquerors, it rubbed us the wrong way to move back into the field. We were back in the woods, pup tents, and helmet bathtubs all over again.
Then came the news the world had been awaiting for five years. VE day. But the end had come too gradually and our future was too uncertain for us to feel the elation the people back home felt.
As a unit we celebrated VE day with a full field inspection. The war had ended and the reign of terror had begun. We had to dispose of all equipment that would not fit in the duffle bags (the mail clerk had to use a 2-1/2 ton truck), mess kits had to be kept closed, and even in tents the beds had to be just so.
Finally came the encouraging news that we were to look for a comfortable billet in Bavaria and remain until further notice. There wasn't a heavy heart when we pulled out of the woods near Hagelstadt and headed towards Scheyern.
[Contributors to these pages were made by: Leon Abrahams, Mortimer Abrams, Paul Bauman, Marvin Behr, Edward Dynda, John Evaris, Charles Goelz, William Joyce, Pete Matseas, David Nichols, Roy Olson, Ken Petry, Ely Tarplin Sam Tilzer]
More of the 116th: Having settled in Scheyern, the 116th soon reverted to a garrison status and subsequently was re- designated as the 116th Signal Service Co. The mounted operational shelters (TC-9s and SCR 399s) were dismounted and operations continued in a semipermanent mode.
With the outbreak of the Korean "Police Action" the operational shelters were again truck mounted and in March 1951, a large contingent of the troops departed Scheyern for tactical operations. The troops remaining at Scheyern were re-designated as Field Station 8608 and operated as a fixed station.
The 116th Sig. Svc. Co., re-designated the 332nd Communications Reconnaissance Co. in October 1951, eventually ended up in Bad Aibling in 1955.
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