ENSANGUINED APREMONT
The taking of Apremont was the greatest struggle the division had in its
fighting career. Much has been said and written during the war of "the
blood-soaked fields of France" and "streams of blood." Officers who were
at Apremont solemnly vouch for the fact that there was a time in that
town when the water running in the gutters was bright red with blood.
And not all of it was German blood.
The town was held in force, much as Fismes and Fismette had been, and
presented much the same problem. So strong was the position that every
approach to it was covered by heavy concentrations of machine guns and
snipers. No longer were one or two Germans left in a nest to fire many
guns as fast as they could. The enemy had brought up strong
reinforcements of comparatively fresh troops and gave every evidence of
a determination to stand. Not until compelled to by superior force did
he let go, and then it was only to launch one counter-attack after
another.
It was at this time that Sergeant Andrew B. Lynch, of Philadelphia, won
his Distinguished Service Cross by a remarkable piece of daring and
self-sacrifice. A member of the headquarters company of the 110th
Infantry, he was on duty with the one-pounder section of his company in
a position slightly north of the village. Under orders he removed his
guns to the rear and, after establishing the new position, was told that
his commanding officer, Lieutenant Meyer S. Jacobs, had been taken
prisoner.
Sergeant Lynch and Corporal Robert F. Jeffery, of Sagamore, Pa.,
organized a rescue party of five and instantly moved forward and
attacked a German patrol of thirty-six men who had Lieutenant Jacobs in
custody. Fifteen of the Germans were killed and Sergeant Lynch
personally took three prisoners and released his Lieutenant, unwounded.
Immediately after the return to the American lines, Sergeant Lynch took
command of seventy-five of his company who had been held in reserve.
Drawing his revolver, the sergeant commanded the men to follow him,
launched a fresh attack, drove the enemy back two-thirds of a mile and
established a new line in a ravine northwest of the village. The
official citation when he was awarded his cross remarked that "Sergeant
Lynch's conduct exemplified the greatest courage, judgment and
leadership."
Lieutenant John V. Merrick, of Roxborough, Philadelphia, with D Company
of the 110th Infantry, had gained an objective to which he had been
assigned and was holding the western end of a ravine near Apremont. He
found his men were subjected to both a frontal and an enfilading fire
and were without proper shelter. He ordered a withdrawal to a safer
position and while doing so he was struck through the elbow and hand by
machine gun bullets.
Suffering intense pain, he declined to be evacuated and for two hours
bravely and skilfully directed his men and brought them back to the
company, together with stragglers from other units, who attached
themselves to his party.
Captain Charles L. McLain, of Indiana, Pa., who had distinguished
himself below the Marne, again came into prominence at Apremont. He
learned that Company C, 110th, was without officers. His own company was
in reserve. There was no superior officer at hand, so without orders he
turned over command of his own company to a junior officer, took command
of the orphaned C Company and led the first wave in a hot attack. He was
wounded in the leg, but continued at the head of his men, hobbling along
with the aid of a cane, until his objective was reached. Then he allowed
them to send him to a hospital. Both he and Lieutenant Merrick recovered
from their wounds and rejoined their regiment.
In the fighting close to the village of Apremont, the men used shell
craters instead of digging trenches, organizing them as strong points.
An attack on the German positions was planned for 5.30 o'clock in the
morning. About three hundred Pennsylvania infantrymen in the town were
awaiting a barrage which should clear the way for them to advance.
Oddly enough, the Germans had planned an attack for almost the same
time. The Pennsylvanians were heavily supported by machine guns. The
Germans launched their attack first and the result was better for the
Pennsylvanians than they had expected to achieve in their own attack and
was won with less cost. The Germans came straight at the shell craters
and were mowed down in rows. Those that managed to get by ran into the
waiting infantry in the town and those who survived that fight turned
and fled, right past the machine guns in the shell holes again. It was
pitiable, officers said later, or would have been if the Americans had
not realized that the Germans had so much to answer for. Hardly a
handful of the several hundred Germans who began that charge lived
through it.
At last the Germans launched one great attack, in which they apparently
had every intention of driving the Americans from the village and the
surrounding positions and every hope of being successful. They came on
confidently and with undeniable courage. The fighting that resulted was
desperate. Our Pennsylvania men stood up to them like the gallant
veterans they had now become.
The fighting was hand-to-hand, breast-to-breast. In many spots, man
contended against man in a struggle as primitive, as dogged and as
uncompromising as any fighting ever has been. When a contest narrowed
down to one or two men on a side this way, there was but one outcome for
the loser. There was neither time nor inclination on either side to
surrender, nor time to take prisoners. Death, quick and merciful, for
one or the other was the only possible eventuality.
Our men fought like tigers, but the Germans outnumbered them somewhat
and, after their first rush, had a certain advantage of position. The
109th Infantry bore the brunt of this attack. Major Mackey, who as
Captain Mackey had won place in the fighting annals of the division in
the battle below the Marne, was in his post command in an advanced
position when the attack was launched. The "P. C.", as the army shortens
post command, was in a cellar from which the house above had been almost
blown away by artillery fire. With him were his battalion adjutant and a
chaplain. He was keeping in touch with the rear and with the regimental
post command by means of telephone and runners.
The runners ceased arriving and the telephone connection was severed.
Only then did the men in the cellar realize the attack was gaining
ground and that they might be in danger. Suddenly from directly over
their heads came the angry "rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat" of a machine gun,
like a pneumatic riveter at work on the steel skeleton of a skyscraper
back in God's country. Simultaneously, the bawling of hoarse-voiced
commands in German told them that the visitors who had taken possession
of the ground floor of their subterranean domicile were the pestiferous
Boche.
It is hardly necessary to add that Major Mackey and his companions kept
quiet, expecting every moment to be called on to surrender. But Fritz
had his hands full. Reinforcements were seeping up to the front line of
the Americans and they were beginning to make a stand. Then the officers
and men of Major Mackey's battalion saw what the Major had heard--the
Hun machine gunners standing on the American "P. C."
It called for no special command. There was a wild yell of anger and
defiance, and away the Pennsylvanians went to the rescue. The
reinforcements were right at their heels. The Germans had shot their
bolt and would have been compelled to retreat very soon anyway, but the
plight of Major Mackey and the other officers hastened it. In a very
short time the enemy was in flight northward once more.
It was after this fight that Company H of the 109th buried twenty-four
of its men, said to have been the largest loss in killed of any company
in the division in one engagement during the war. The losses all through
were exceedingly heavy. There were instances of companies emerging from
the combat in command of corporals, every commissioned officer and every
sergeant having been put out of action, and in at least one instance, a
battalion was commanded by a sergeant, the major, his staff, the
commanders and lieutenants of all four companies having been
incapacitated. It was terribly costly, but it wrote the name of Apremont
on the records of the division as a word to thrill future members of the
organization.
From Apremont the advance veered over to the west, still following the
course of the river, toward Chatel-Chehery. When the artillery reached
Apremont it ran into trouble again. One battery of the 109th was shelled
and knocked to pieces. Guns were torn from their carriages, limbers and
caissons blown to bits, horses killed and a number of men killed and
many injured.
Colonel Asher Miner, of Wilkes-Barre, went out in person and assisted in
rallying the gunners, bringing order out of chaos and directing the men
to a new position. Speaking of Colonel Miner's presence of mind, his
constant presence at the scene of danger, the care with which he looked
after his men and equipment and his general efficiency and ability,
Brigadier-General Price paid him a high compliment.
"Colonel Miner showed bravery upon many occasions," he said, "but it is
when men do what they do not have to do that they are lifted to the
special class of heroes. Miner is one of these."
It was but shortly after this that Colonel Miner was so badly injured in
the ankle that his foot had to be amputated.
Just after leaving Apremont, fighting rod by rod, almost foot by foot,
the infantry advance had a brisk engagement in the clearing out of
Pleinchamp Farm. As was the case with the other farms of France which
figured so frequently in the war news, this consisted of a considerable
group of centuries-old buildings, built of stone with exceedingly thick
walls, offering ideal protection for machine guns, snipers and
one-pounders.
The buildings were so situated that a force attacking one was open to
hot fire from most of the others. It was cleared of the Germans in a
brilliant little engagement, however, and our men began to close in on
Chatel-Chehery. They were now in the act of driving their way through
the Kriemhilde line, the second German defense line in that sector,
which the Germans had predicted never would be broken.
The 112th Infantry again came to the fore in this work. Hills 223 and
244, named from their height in meters--names which are purely for
military purposes and appear only on the military maps--presented
formidable obstacles in the path of the regiment. It is not, however,
the American way to stand about and talk of how strong the enemy
probably is, so the 112th took another hitch in its belt, clenched its
teeth and set out in a rush for Hill 244. Rather to their surprise, they
swept over the eminence in their first rush. Neither machine gun nor
rifle fire halted them. It was not the 112th's day to be annoyed and it
continued to wipe out the German defense positions on Hill 223 in the
same way.
The night before this attack, Sergeant Ralph N. Summerton, of Warren,
sat in a kitchen of the regiment, feeling about as miserable as one man
may. He was suffering with Spanish influenza, and had upon his body and
legs a number of aggravating wounds, inflicted when a German "potato
masher," or trench bomb, went off close to him. He had refused to go to
a hospital because he felt he was needed with the regiment, but he had
upon his blouse two medical tags, indicating he had been treated for
both the disease and the wounds.
Lieutenant Dickson, the battalion adjutant, and Lieutenant Benjamin F.
White, Jr., a surgeon, entered and Summerton asked Lieutenant Dickson
how things were with the regiment. The officer remarked that there were
no officers to lead I Company in the attack next morning and Summerton
started out.
"You'd better either stay here or go to a hospital; you're a sick man,"
said the medical officer, but Summerton disregarded the advice, went to
the company and assumed command and led the first wave in the assault on
Hill 244 next morning. He actually was the first to the top of the hill,
and performed the feat under the eyes of the brigade commander, although
he was almost reeling from his illness and his wounds. Not only that,
but after gaining the crest he continued to lead the attack until he got
a rifle bullet through the shoulder, which put him out of the action.
The regiment came next against Chene Tondu Ridge, and here the whole
division came to a pause. It took just four days to reduce that
stronghold. It was a case where nothing could be gained and much lost by
trying brute force and speed, so it was cleared of Germans by a regular
course of siege operations in the tactics with which the Pennsylvanians
now were so familiar.
Some men spotted the German firing positions and concentrated their
streams of bullets on them, while others crept forward to protected
posts. These in turn set up a peppery fusillade and the others crept
forward. So it went on, steadily up hill, steadily gaining, until, on
the evening of the fourth day, the tired doughboys of the 112th lay down
and slept on the crest of the ridge in token of their victory. They had
redeemed it for France.
These were the chief defenses which had to be overcome before the troops
came to Chatel-Chehery itself. There much the same kind of fighting as
at Apremont took place, although not on so fierce and extensive a
scale.