I met Leo when he was added to my Meals on Wheels delivery route. When the weather was agreeable, Leo would be seated on his golf cart at the end of the driveway eagerly awaiting his meal. On one such day Leo handed me an envelop containing this manuscript. He asked if I would publish it for him. I told him I would.
From the Hedgerows of Omaha Beach to the Gates of Berlin:
The Story of a 19 Year-old Combat Infantry Man
"Who controls the past, controls the future; who controls the present, controls the past. " - George Orwell on History
On June 6th,1944, the allied forces launched an invasion off the French coast, the likes of which had never been witnessed by the annals of history. Thousands of soldiers parachuted in the midst of anti-aircraft fire, while tens of thousands more attacked the beach. These men fought, sacrificed, and died in order to gain a foothold in the European Theater and to push back the oppressive reign of terror of the Nazis. One such man was the 19 year-old squad leader named Leo G. Lauzen, Sr. He was but one of the courageous and dedicated Americans who continued to press on from the shores of Normandy until he reached the edge of Berlin. This is his story:
"I was not part of the initial D-Day invasion, but my division
( 83rd Infantry) did land on Omaha Beach about 2 weeks afterwards. Although, the beachhead was secured by American forces, the land immediately following the beach was firmly in German possession, in the competent hands of Field Marshall Rommel. The upper area was known as the hedgerows and was the sight of our first major battle.
Hedgerows were used by the French farmers on the coast in order to separate their farmland from their neighbors. They were a buildup of shrubs and dirt (that had been growing for hundreds of years) which were about 15 feet thick at the base and 4 feet thick at the top. Huge trees grew from the tops of the hedgerows, which also helped to block the line of sight. Because the Germans had occupied this territory for many years, they had been able to position their mortars and artillery, and were able to strike the locations where the hedgerows could be crossed with pinpoint accuracy.
We advanced across this terrain with a new technique called "marching fire-" It was, in effect" about 2 squads, or 24 men, lined up almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Every other man would fire, as the man on each side of him reloaded. The line would proceed three steps and then those who had fired would reload and those who had reloaded would fire. Our line advanced firing our M-1’s into the hedgerow up ahead.
It was here the Germans fired a kind of gelatin
substance into our ranks. It must have been some form of acid or napalm, because it burned terribly- It would keep burning until there was no more oxygen left... It could just as easily go through skin as cloth. The man to my right and the man to my left were both hit; their screams and cries told me that they would not see the end of that night. Soldiers
from the hedgerows behind ran into their place. We pressed on. It was not until later that night when we had stopped for the day that the emotions caught up with us. The question that kept running through my head was "Why was I saved?' and I kept remembering the fact that the average life span on the front lines was six weeks. It could have just as easily been me lying there with my body burning, but instead God apparently decided that it just wasn't my time. I was destined to do other things.
Several days later, while we were again moving through the hedgerows, a German artillery shell landed near me. I was thrown 15-20 feet in the air and landed on the back of my neck. I broke off part of one of my upper vertebrae. I was carried back to the medic station and spent several days in bed. Eventually the injury healed (although it was never fixed correctly, I should have received surgery but didn’t), and
I rejoined my regiment. When a man comes back after being wounded, he always returns to the regiment and squad that he had come from. This also determined if a person would be discharged - if they were unable to handle the physical burden that their regiment was undertaking - or sent back in to the conflict. I was healthy enough to meet up with my fellow soldiers.
We moved across the hedgerows of France into the open countryside, and then Brittany thereafter, and then about 30 miles outside of Paris. Now, we never entered Paris because it was an open city - therefore we would not bomb it. We proceeded into Belgium and the death trap of the Hurtgen and the Ardennes Forest...it was as if they were saving up for one last move.
It was here in mid-December 1944, General Von Rundest began his counter offensive, later known as the Battle of the Bulge. My regiment was positioned outside Rochefort, Belgium, on the tip and south end of the Bulge. We had attacked the Nazi-held town from five directions, starting at dawn. By the end of the day we had taken 75 percent casualties and we had been pushed back from our original positions. There were about 50 GIs who were running out of ammunition, surrounded by the Germans. When you're out of ammunition there aren't many choices; you can fix bayonets but the odds that you are going to come out of the fight alive are very small. But anyway, that night as I was in my foxhole I overheard an "argument" between Captain Springer and Lt. Colonel White. The Lt. Colonel was saying. "We've got to have someone to take in enough ammunition so that Company B could fight their way out." The Lt. Colonel was worried that the Americans would surrender and thus be lost to the Germans forever. Just 2 weeks before, in Malmandy, Belgium, (on the edge of the Bulge), a group of about 70 GIs had
surrendered to the Germans. The Germans marched them into a field and they were machine-gunned; The logic behind this was that the Germans did not want to dedicate soldiers to guard them. I got out of my foxhole and I said "Captain [Springer], I'll take in the remainder of my squad. Give me an additional 12 strong guys and we'll carry in bandoleers of rifle ammunition." We made it through the German lines in the pitch-black night and delivered the ammunition. Once again, we employed marching fire on the way out, but this time instead of a straight line almost shoulder-to-shoulder, I split the company in two and each side fired at their side of the road. I led the men out and we reached the allied position with only about two men dead.
Part of the result of this was that for the second time I was offered a field promotion to become an officer. I turned the opportunity down just as I had the previous time. I felt that I was not qualified to command the 200 men who would be
placed under me. I thought it better to be in charge of 12 men, as a squad leader, where I could lead by example better. I never commanded a man to carry out an
order unless they saw me do it first. Leading this way, my squad developed an incredible sense of duty and comradeship. We came to know each other so well that
we could react to another's movement almost by instinct.
Also for rescuing Company B. I received an award presented by Colonel White. It was an award given only to one infantryman in a thousand. That day five out of the five thousand men received an award, but for different reasons rather than the rescue. The rest of the regiment stood at attention as honor guard (the only time that we had such a formal parade during World War II) as we stood in front.
About a month later, as we were still forcing the Germans back towards the Rhine River, a heavy shelling took place around my area. I flew into a trench and landed on top of a German soldier. Although I was a little disoriented I was still organized. I had two shivs, (long thin knives) in each of my boots. (These were not supplied by the army, so I had to buy them out of my own wages for this exact kind of situation.) When I landed on top of him, I automatically went for the shiv in my right boot, and I put it to the neck of the German soldier. He was crying and he said to me in German, "Ich habe eine Frau und funf kinder. Bitte toten sie mich nicht”-“I have a wife and five kids. Please don't kill me." I did kill him. I pushed the end of the shiv through his throat and he died right there.
Looking back now, it was one of the most emotional moments of my life and I wonder if I should have killed him. Taken in context, though, if I hadn’t killed him, he might have killed me - a terrible truth of war. But that picture has stayed with me a long time - looking directly into the eyes of the man I had just killed. (It wasn’t until later I lost my wife of 36 years to Leukemia that I experienced such agony again.)
I had minor wounds during the war, and so received a purple Heart and Bronze Star Medal for my efforts. I had earlier been told a Silver Star Medal or higher instead. But to show the emotional strain and the sheer brutality of war, later that, night when I had finally reached my foxhole, I found it to be taken over by a medic.
Now I had killed a man in hand-to-hand combat so I was emotionally drained as well as being physically exhausted from the effort. I told the medic to get out of the foxhole that earlier I had dug. He yelled at me, “Possession is nine tenths of the law.” I was not about to have to go dig another hole, so placed my bayonet to the tip of his neck. I cut down not across the jugular (which might have killed him). I must have
struck some kind of artery because he did start to bleed and gush. But in the end, the medic left the foxhole.
It only took us about a month and a half, after the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge, until we had the Nazis on the run. It didn't really seem like a war anymore, because I was no longer scared. We took any mode of transportation we could find, be it tanks, trucks or bikes, in order to catch up with the Germans. We chased them all the way back to the Elbe River in western Germany. There we waited for our supply lines to catch up to us and then we crossed. When we entered the edge of Berlin there was no resistance and lots of white flags.
The Germans wanted to surrender to the Americans because the Soviets were pressing from the East.
The stories of their brutality and barbarianism were unbelievable. They murdered raped and looted anything within their grasp. But it was as if the Soviets didn't know any better. Everything they had was filtered through Stalin’s government and controlled by him. One of the best stories that exemplifies their low-tech society, was what the Soviets did as they approached West Berlin. The Russian generals put together teams of special operation forces that were to go into the city, they would take light bulbs. The Soviets didn’t understand how electricity worked so they figured that there was some kind of magic within the bulb. It was the same kind of thing for faucets. They would cut off or unscrew the faucets from the sinks thinking that once they turn the lever, water will appear. The mechanics of the toilet also confused them. They decided that the latrines would be the perfect place to prepare their meals.
With the Nazi forces in Berlin basically eradicated, we could have had control of the city. Earlier, my company was instructed to search a savings and loan building for any leftover Germans. As we were proceeding through the financial offices, we found a locked vault in the back of the building. We opened it and found piles and piles of German marcs that reached from the floor to the ceiling.
Before my men were able to rush in, I warned them that the money could be booby-trapped. Therefore, I had them step back and I knocked off a few stacks with my bayonet. No booby-trap! My men jumped on the money. I emptied out my
backpack and filled it with the biggest bills I could find. Later after the war action, I bought a camera to take photographs. I bought the most expensive one that the shop had. Then I went on to buy a tavern, known as the “Tophat " a stable of horses, and an ice cream factory. But being a boy of only 19 years, I knew nothing of exchanging money between countries. I thought that I could not take the thousands of marcs with me to France (where my number was called to go home), so I ended up leaving a fortune in Bavaria under the bed that I slept in.
After victory was declared, I was one of the first to be put on a train and sent back to the French coast. There we awaited a transport ship to the US. You found which ship you were on by reading a chart posted outside of the camp headquarters.That list gave you about a week's notice of when your ship would be leaving. Instead of just waiting around, I decided that I would like to see Paris, which was only 30 miles away. Two buddies and I developed a system, wherein each day, one person would hitchhike from Paris to the camp to check for our names on the list. If our names were posted, he would come back and notify the other two so that all three could make it back to camp on time. This plan worked perfectly. I ended up having one of the best months of my life in Paris, before boarding a ship and coming home to the United States.
Leo Lauzen's experience in Europe would be impossible to match in today's wars of high technology. Commanders were unable to order a nuclear tactical strike from thousands of miles away. Instead, the American GIs had to be in top physical and mental condition in order to survive. The wealth of knowledge, honor, and courage offered by this age of men will not soon be forgotten. It surely is why such men as Leo G. Lauzen, Sr. will always be remembered as "the greatest generation."