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A Ballad of the Miracle 300th - The 300th Engineer Combat Battalion, An Epilogue authored by Cpl. Don Richter
Thomas Renfro in Germany on German Goliath explosive tank (see Appendix). Photo: Thomas Renfro
Born in the late winter,
In the foothills of the mountains Cascade,
Command by a man of the Point,
Young men from farm and village came.
A seasoned cadre of noncoms awaited to train,
Village boys of Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana,
To become fighting men of the Corps,
With skills to support armies and engineering needs.
Close order drill,
On to the rifle range to fire,
Rifle, machine gun, bazooka, grenades and more,
In preparation for combat.
Bridge building and destroying,
Laying and removing mines,
Demolition of any obstacle,
Building and repairing roads.
Trucks and dozers helped,
But more often than not,
Strong young backs and taunt sinew,
Did provide the power for tasks.
Basic training complete,
Was time to test the skills,
And military maneuvers,
Upon the high desert to the north.
Through forests and mountains,
Mindful of "over hill, over dale,"
To bivouac in Jack Pine forest,
Going out to train or serve.
Cutting trees, making poles,
Building of roads and road blocks,
Whatever the battle situations,
And finally participating in the battle sham.
Suddenly the order came,
Return to camp to prepare,
After a visit home,
To join the battle real.
Troop train, preparation to embark,
Upon a very large ship,
The Queen Mary no less,
Across the sea to war.
To a strange land and people,
Into a war that was real,
Further training and serving,
Awaiting the invasion to begin.
At last the order,
Fall in with all gear and load up,
We are off to train on the British beach,
To land in the first wave in France.
Harm will surely be with us,
Casualties may be very high,
But there will be opportunity for glory,
Survivors will soon return as heroes.
Now the Army norm,
Hurry up and wait,
Finally the order to dismount with gear,
And return to tents to wait some more.
This mission was no longer ours,
To our sister outfit, the 299th, it was given,
Relief, but also disappointment,
Our skills to perform needed work prevailed.
At last on 6 June 1944, our Supreme Commander,
Ike spoke to all over the airwaves,
The time had come,
The invasion had begun.
Again wait and prepare all the more,
For soon enough our time would come,
To cross the sea to another strange land,
Where combat for all we would find.
And cross we did in three waves,
With an uneventful first,
A calamitous second where a direct mine,
Awaited off the coast for LST 523 to find.
Many friends and buddies lost to the blast,
Men and equipment to the bottom sank,
Finally the third crossed safely,
To learn of the tremendous losses sustained.
Then put the unit back togather,
With replacements and equipment new,
But replacements cannot really do,
What the word implies.
Joe Leyva, Leo Drozd, Sgt. Parker, Lt. Lutz,
These and many more died in one cruel moment,
It fell to me to type the lists of KIA, MIA and WIA,
The sorrow deepened with each click of the keys.
Replacements arrived to fill the void,
Battlefield commission for First Sgt. Campbell,
And command of Third Platoon of Company B.,
Many promotions of noncoms refilled the TO.
But friends and buddies could not be,
So easily replaced in the hearts and minds,
Of those who had survived the tragedy,
And had to put the losses behind.
The sounds of battle were constant,
Artillery, ours and theirs,
Air cover and air attacks,
Small arms firing staccato strains.
The stench of war was hard to bear,
The distinctive smell of decaying flesh,
Of livestock caught in the battle,
Horses, cows, sheep, and fowl.
Sadly the most distinctive smell of all,
The rotting bodies of men - friend and foe,
That littered the countryside,
Of the small beachheads of Normandy coast.
Destruction and carnage was everywhere,
Ruined homes, farms, villages, and towns,
Destroyed bridges and roads to repair,
Obstacles and explosives to be removed.
All under the fire of the enemy,
The 88s and larger guns were well secured,
The hedgerows difficult to pierce,
Many missions to be performed by all.
The beachhead was not secure,
River crossing and Carentan required a bridge,
That would connect Omaha Beach to Utah,
A traffic bottleneck to overcome.
Mission was given to Miracle 300,
Construct a fixed timber bridge,
Beside a near complete fixed Bailey,
Providing for two-way traffic to move.
The mission was very dangerous,
German 88 artillery regularly shelled,
But work must be done under fire,
Traffic must move to secure the beachhead.
Digging foundations for piers,
Constructing bents to support structure.
When German shelling returned,
Difficult to keep mind and body on work.
But Major Tucker overseeing the job,
Ordered "Let no one run like cowards,
Keep working and get this done,"
When shrapnel tore his body with death.
Later when mission was accomplished,
Traffic was moving more freely,
The bridge constructed in Carentan,
Was named, "Major John E. Tucker Bridge."
Also added to sign, "Built by Miracle 300."
And that name continues to this day,
While the stories of those frightful days,
Continue to be shared by men who lived them.
The enemy held on with much determination,
In the area of St. Lo they were well dug in,
For surely, they felt, relief was on the way,
And soon they could drive us back into the sea.
But on 4 July as if in celebration,
A mighty air raid blackened the sky,
With all types of aircraft, B-17's, 24's
British Lancaster's and more attacked St. Lo.
Softened up by this attack and constant shelling,
The enemy became vulnerable to an attack by armor,
Which had been brought ashore for such occasion,
And the armor did prevail.
The St. Lo defenses were breached,
And also armor outflanked the strong point to the south,
The armor took a swing to the north,
Entrapping much of the enemy in the Gap Falise.
Now on toward Paris and the rest of France,
After the cathedral town of Chartres,
On to Paris itself for a victorious parade,
Through the heart of the grateful city.
What cheering crowds,
And beautiful women throwing flowers,
And passing through, food and wine,
To the happy men of Miracle 300th.
The great city past,
Onto a lovely rural setting,
For a brief time of rest and relaxation,
Before joining the chase of the fleeing enemy.
Now we became the keeper of the Bailey Bridge,
To haul it forward with the help of Red Ball,
Unload at La Chapelle, then reload and move on,
Until we came to a halt in Belgium at Modave.
There some were dealt to those needing to bridge,
Some stream or gorge which stopped troop movement,
And we sharpened our skills in constructing it,
On River Meuse preparing for a greater mission.
Surely soon we would be on to bridge the Rhine,
And other German rivers ahead,
But with the rains of fall and stiffening enemy,
We looked for billets in which to winter.
Beautiful Château Modave for Headquarters,
Château Le Bois for Company B,
Other classy housing for others,
And Mud Hill for the Bailey Bridge.
The inventor of the Bailey Bridge,
Must have been a mean and cussed man,
For it was designed to be hauled and built,
By the strength and muscle of man.
Three, two-man teams with a yolk between them,
Must haul transom and panel of some 800 pounds,
And hold them in place while being fastened,
With pounding on pins by rawhide hammers.
Smaller steel fixtures, wooden balk and floor,
Finished the bridge of fixed construction,
But boats of plywood floating on the river,
Supported the bridge in the floating mode.
Now Miracle 300th had become expert in building,
The Floating Bailey Bridge,
The line companies A, B, C, would construct,
A Bailey Bridge on the three boat sections.
Battalion headquarters, with help of powerboat,
Would move the sections into place,
To be fastened together by other line troops,
The finished bridge would soon be ready for use.
So after the front ceased to move,
We settled down for a winter of comfort,
Operating the bridge dump on Mud Hill,
And sawmills throughout the Ardennes.
Until the orders came out,
Return to your billets on the double,
To hear the orders to fall out,
With full combat gear ready to fight.
The silly Germans had opened an offensive,
Headed right for us and our billets,
It fell to us and other similar units,
To fill the gap until other troops arrived.
In the courtyard of Château Le Bois,
I still remember Lt. Campbell's words,
"The mission we have is to hold the bridge
But we are men of the Miracle 300th, we can do it."
"You have all been under combat before,
I expect you to perform very well,
This mission may be very difficult at best,
But we are men of Miracle 300th, we can do it!"
We were called off of this mission,
Another miracle of the 300th, I feel,
But we did get other Ardennes assignments,
Mine roads, blow bridges, man barricades.
23 December, Companies A & B,
Became lost in the battle near Bastogne,
With no contact with friendly troops,
The last order to blow bridges was obeyed.
On Christmas Eve, the mission accomplished,
The small column of trucks and jeeps began,
To move in the direction, hopefully,
Where American or English troops would be.
Truthfully, we saw that the strafing and bombing,
Stayed away from our little column as,
It wound its way along narrow hill country roads,
Until in the distance could be seen tanks dug in.
Would they fire on us? Enemy or friend?
Young Lt. Webendorfer in his jeep was Recon,
For the column and very likely saved our day,
Without him most likely enemy rather than friend.
Passing safely the dug in armor,
The column proceeded to Givet, a town in France,
There we spent a safe and sound Christmas Eve,
Giving thanks for our safety and a bed of hay.
On Christmas morning, the order was given,
Load up, we're going to try to go home,
On through the sunny, snow-covered countryside,
Finally returning to a beautiful Château.
There we dined sumptuously on bread and marmalade,
This simple Christmas dinner was, I'm sure,
The most appreciated Christmas dinner we ever had,
And for Col. Crandall our return his best gift.
But just a brief respite from the battle,
Soon the orders were given to prepare for missions,
Supporting armored divisions in pursuit of,
The fleeing enemy attempting to escape.
Keep snowy roads clear through day and night,
Replace bridges blown to slow enemy attack,
Clear roads of debris and mines,
All the time keeping up with the armor.
Soon the war became a rout,
The enemy fled back to the Homeland with haste,
Belgium and Luxembourg left behind,
We entered our goal, Germany, at last.
Through forest, town, and village,
Bearing names more familiar to me,
For I had been born of German stock,
Though American as baseball to be free.
We were fast approaching the Rhine,
Would we finally perform the task,
Of bridging that great stream,
The last great obstacle to overcome?
Training on the floating Bailey Bridge,
Had always been on locked and dammed rivers,
The Thames in England, the Meuse or Maas,
On the continent, all slow or still rivers.
Just what, I wonder, would have happened,
Had we, indeed, had to bridge the Rhine,
With the swift current, its eddies, its depth,
Could we have managed to maneuver it into place.
Capture of the railroad bridge in Remagen again,
Along with the use of most of the materials,
In rebuilding the bridges in the Ardennes,
Following the Battle of the Bulge.
Thus we were robbed of our great mission,
To bridge the mighty Rhine,
To perform under fire bridging the mighty stream,
Frankly I still don't miss it at all.
But no, it was not in the cards for us,
Lt. Shoop and his Recon team did one day,
Returned from the daily mission,
With an unbelievable report to share.
"Would you believe it if I told you,"
Shoop queried us, "that today we crossed,
Upon a captured railroad bridge,
At a town called Remagen, the mighty Rhine?"
"No!" We all answered, "It is not possible,
Even the Germans would not be so foolish,
As to leave a bridge standing as they fled,
Across the mighty River Rhine."
"Well, it's true. Their explosive charges,
Though carefully placed, did fail to explode,
When the order was given destroy the span,
Quick action by our troops saved the bridge."
Shoop continued, "We drove the jeep across,
Turned around and returned. Guess we lost our job,
To bridge the River Rhine. Thank God," he said,
"It's a mean looking river to bridge under fire."
So crossed the Rhine we did upon a Treadway bridge,
On 24 March 1945, go on enjoying the rout,
Supporting armored divisions against the remnants,
Although once much feared German Wermacht.
A swing to the North accomplished the surrounding,
Of much of the enemy against the Rhine,
In what was called the Pocket, from which,
On my birthday, 14 April, we were ordered to move.
Far to the south to Bavaria, to join Patton's Third,
Our advance was very fast to keep pace,
With "blood and guts" and his armor,
A fearsome thing for the defeated army.
Through Frankfurt, Am Main, past Aschaffenburg,
Ansbach, and Ingolstadt to cross the Danube,
Building a bridge for Gen. Patton who,
As he crossed, stopped to pee in the river.
The General declared the bridge damn good,
Flung the helmet with ragged net into the drink,
Saying it "looks like hell,"
Which it did compared to his shiny shell.
On to Moosburg on the Isar,
Within sight of the snow-covered Alps,
Just short of the Inn halted at a village,
Schroding by name on 1 May.
Ordered to remain in place,
The war in Europe almost over,
To allow the Russian army to occupy,
Prague and all of Czechoslovakia.
"Hurray." The war ended on 8 May, 1945,
The defeat of Germany was complete,
Terrible destruction was everywhere,
The surrender was unconditional.
Prison and internment camps were opened,
The terrible truth of the Holocaust known,
Displaced people everywhere,
Anxious to go anywhere that might lead home.
The battles over,
The victory secure,
Peace in Europe assured,
Proud units no longer needed.
Once proud Engineer Combat Battalion,
Now stripped of men called Low Pointers,
Sent to replacement camps in France,
To be placed in units bound for Pacific.
And that they would soon board ships,
Taking them back across the Atlantic,
To ports of New York, Boston and others,
For processing and return home.
High Pointers stayed with the Battalion,
They would not be bound for more war,
But would continue in doing peaceful task,
Until the remnant of Miracle 300th moved west.
Headed for a staging camp in France,
And with the end of war in the Pacific,
Many men were given time off,
To enjoy the land and people of peaceful Europe.
Battalion arriving at Staging Camp in France,
Departing Marseille on board Groucher Victory,
Arriving back on U. S. soil 2 November,
Seeing on 7 November, deactivation at Camp Patrick Henry.
So what began at Camp White, Oregon, on 1 March 1943,
After a lot of training and traveling and battle,
Ended on the East Coast in Virginia,
A story of brave young man who lived, fought, and died.
But the story did not end at Fort Patrick Henry,
Men who survived return home to become known,
As the "greatest generation" and aged together,
Gathering each year in reunion the story to retell.
Now each year we gather in Texas,
First Austin then Dallas and Tyler, memories to relive,
Camp White, England, The Continent,
Where five campaigns we fought.
I love you all, from Col. Crandall down,
To the lowest gold-bricking private,
You are my buddies all for most of three years,
Of active service, that is, and many more sense.
So let us continue to gather,
As long as we may live,
To share our love for each other,
And our memories of Miracle 300th.
For Don (Richter) by Charles Tipton Gardner, son of Charles and Margie, April 25, 1995
I heard your song of the miracle today,
The fine 300th; Brothers of my father -
For the life of me, This is the only way
I can thank you for the bother...
I have watched your men rejoin
For many years, with Dad and Mom,
And no greater love nor worth
Has ever touched me as you and yours have, Don.
No matter what I may attain,
Whatever height I may see,
I hear myself again and again;
"You stand on their shoulders; that's why you're free."
I am the son of all veterans,
A gifted American under his flag -
I have entered this arena because my ticket is paid for -
And there, on the mast is that old flag
Waving at all the world.
The Price of Freedom by Linda Birdwell Bice
Linda Birdwell Bice read this poem she wrote at the Tyler reunion in October 2009. It was dedicated to her father, Cpl. William Ward Birdwell, WWII U.S. Army, 481st Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battalion and her father-in-law, Sgt. Chuck Bice, Sr., Co. C, 300th ECB:
It was on a blood-soaked field in Europe that day,
On the frozen, foreign ground bodies of young men lay.
Young men with families back in the States,
Young men who heroically enter heaven's gates.
Only hours ago bullets filled the air,
The night sky was lit up by the cannon's red glare.
Morning's come now, a soft breeze blows the trees.
Snow covers the place where they fell to their knees.
They gave their best when they heard the call.
They gave their lives - they gave it all.
No shame they felt as they fell to the ground.
It's quiet now - there's not even a sound.
There's a peace here now that only death brings.
Snow falls on hands that wore wedding rings.
Snow falls on legs that took family hikes,
Snow falls on feet that taught kids to ride bikes.
War calls for a sacrifice we all must bear.
Each family is called and is expected to share.
So many give their lives so Old Glory can fly.
The price of our Freedom is indeed very high.
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