Kasserine Pass -- a taste of what it was like

[Brooke]

Paraphrased from “My Tour of Military Duty,” by Charles Faso, Tank Commander, US 1st Armored Division (from 1st Armored Division WWII & Beyond: Old Ironsides, edited by Greg S. Wurth)

---- On getting to North Africa ----

I was standing on top deck, and I noticed airplanes coming over the horizon.  I yelled, “Airplanes, airplanes!” to the British sailors.

They said, “Oh, my God!  They’re Italian torpedo planes!”

I think there were about six of them.  I watched one plane launch a torpedo at the ship in front of us.  They hit it on the right side.  Men were jumping overboard.  The ship was blowing distress signals.

At that moment a plane launched a torpedo at our ship.  The ship’s captain called out, “At my command!  Full speed ahead!” You could hear the engines roaring and revving up.  Full speed ahead.  The torpedo was coming at our right side.  The British Navy gunners were firing away at the planes, and I was helping the gunners carry the ammunition.  They were firing the ship’s 40 mm pom poms.  They had four barrels:  two on top and two on the bottom.  They would fire one at a time sounding like “pom, pom, pom, pom.”

In the meantime, a torpedo was coming right at us.  The ship’s captain calls out, “Hard right!”  I’m standing there with my mouth wide open watching the torpedo pass us on the side when the ship turned right.

---- In the fight for Kasserine Pass ----

In Northern Africa, while our Company was holding off the Germans, we saw a column of our new M4 tanks, about 40 of them, going through the Pass.  We were so happy to see our new tanks as we still had the old M3's.  They went over the Pass, then we could see black smoke on the other side of the hill.  We said, "Boy, they're sure letting them have it."  Then we could see with our binoculars soldiers crawling back towards us.  They were Americans!  The Germans had let them get across the pass, got them cornered on the other side, and let them have it.

Like I said before, we still had the old tanks, the old M3's, and we had to recapture Kasserine Pass.  This was in February 1943.  Our Company was assigned to take the pass, and we only had seven tanks left out of 15.  Three more tanks from another Company were assigned to us.

We all took our positions, defilading behind the sand dunes in this small valley.

“I see a column of tanks coming from my direct front,” said the Lieutenant.  “The lead tank is a large tank, and I think it’s a Tiger!”

General Patton was there around our tank and gave us instructions.  He told us not to fire until they got to within 300 to 600 yards, and he said to our Commander, Herman T. McWatters, “Mac, God bless you.”

With the first shot fired, the Germans fell into a wedge formation with the Tiger tank leading and a Mark 4 on each side.  Then the other tanks coming from the three sides of the mountain passes also fell into the same formation.

The entire company began firing and our projectiles just bounced right off their tanks.  We were firing AP’s, which had phosphorus tracers so that you could tell where our projectiles were hitting.  We were good gunners by then, but against that tank, it did not even affect them.  So I figured out that the only way to stop them was to shoot their tracks.

So I tried and fired at the German steel tracks, and that did the trick.  After we hit the tracks, their tank would stop and turn sideways.  Then we would fire and knock them out by shooting at their sides.  We were having an all out war at that time.  It was tank against tank just like a dog fight.

[Angus]

Cool.
Every tank has a weak spot

[Brooke]

Paraphrased from Oblt. Julius Meimberg, Bf 109G-1 pilot of II/JG 2, 53 kills (excerpt from Luftwaffe over Tunisia:  November 1942 - February 1943, by Murawski).

We scrambled at noon on February 1, 1943.  We picked up 40 enemy aircraft approaching Tunis.  That gave the 33 Messerschmitt fighters enough lead time to launch and intercept the incoming bombers.  The aircraft of II/JG 2 that I was leading that day first stumbled upon a tight formation of 12 unescorted Boeing bombers.

The opportunity was there to once again use the head-on attack tactics.  I overtook the enemy formation at a safe distance and then turned into the reciprocal heading.  From that point on nothing and nobody could detract my attention from the leading bomber.  As we were rushing towards each other with the closure rate approaching the speed of sound, I placed the central marker of my gun sight in the middle of the bomber’s fuselage, just behind the cockpit.  Then, at the last moment, I lowered my aiming point by just a hair.

I open up, watch the bullets drive into the enemy aircraft, notice a red flash of an explosion, then give a quick jerk to the stick and clear the bomber formation.

Their prop wash tosses me around the sky like crazy and then there is a loud bang!  I quickly take a look around me to take stock of the situation.  Have I been hit?  Then I notice a small fire that has erupted by the left cockpit sidewall, next to the oxygen regulator -- got to bail out!

I jerk the emergency canopy jettison handle:  the canopy separated with a loud bang and disappears behind my aircraft’s tail.  The rush of air forces my head back as I am trying to release the seat harness.  Dear God, why is that buckle not letting go?  An invisible force pushes me against the lap belt:  the aircraft is now in a parabolic arc and the negative g’s hold me pressed firmly against the seat harness.  Then the fuel tank under my seat explodes.  Now I am rushing through the sky in what has become a flying furnace; amidst the red glow of a raging fire I am desperately fighting to release the lap belt buckle.

I am burning alive.

Then a huge force throws me out of the sea of flames and I immediately regain consciousness.  Fully composed, I remember not to pull the ripcord too soon:  “Don’t do what Heinz Bolze did” -- I hear a voice of reason somewhere in the back of my head.  “Count to three, wait until you are fully stabilized in the freefall!”  I finally pull the ring and watch the canopy unfold above my head like a beautiful orchid.

All around me the burning pieces of the bomber are spiraling down to the ground, followed by twelve parachutes.  Looks like they have also made it in one piece.  But on of them is falling much too fast.  What is going on?  Is the canopy on fire?  Did he open it too soon?  At this rate of descent there is almost no hope of survival.  But what is my parachute doing?  Am I not falling too fast?

I then begin to feel pain.  The rush of air relentlessly whipping my burned body creates the sensation of accelerated descent.  My flight suit has been reduced to burnt up rags and tatters, my boots are gone, but a pair of white socks is still firmly in place on my feet.  My hands are gushing blood and look like two medium rare steaks.  I find it amazing that the fingernails, bent and twisted at impossible angles, are still attached to my fingers.  I am very afraid; I am afraid that I will break my freshly healed leg on landing and die a lonely death in the middle of the desert; I am afraid that the parachute will drag me across the desert floor and into one of the big boulders down there.  I must release my parachute harness just prior to hitting the ground.

I carefully place my hand over a round buckle on my stomach which holds all four straps of my parachute harness.  Giving that buckle a quarter of a turn in the counter clockwise direction and then hitting it from the top will immediately free me from the parachute.  But even touching the buckle causes excruciating pain that pierces my entire body.  I will never make it, it is just too much. . . .

The fear takes over again.  What will happen to you, Julius Meimberg, if you don’t do it?  The inflated parachute canopy will drag your burned body across the desert, hitting every rock and boulder along the way.  It will be much more painful than a short burst of pain when you grab that parachute release buckle.  I still have about 200 meters to go.  I must do it, I know I can!  Just a quick turn before the pain gets hold of me.  I have to do it, even if the pain makes me scream.  Never before in my life had I had a tougher challenge than in that moment when I grabbed the release buckle and turned it to the left.  Seconds later I landed safely and quickly released the parachute by giving the buckle whack from the top.

[Brooke]

Paraphrased from P-39 Airacobra Aces of World War 2 by George Mellinger and John Stanaway.
_____________________________ _____________________________ _____________________________ _____________________________ __________________
The 350th Fighter Group was one of the few P-39 equipped Fighter groups in the MTO. On Febuary 15, 1943, Lt. Hugh Dow scored his first kill while operating in the Kasserine Pass area. Dow and his flight lead had just taken off when he spotted fiery explosions erupting below him. Dow then spied several Bf-109 climbing away from their strafing run, and he duly followed his leader as he chased after the unsuspecting enemy fighters. The two P-39 pilots quickly caught them up and damaged them both. Breaking off his attack, Dow looked around and saw a third 109 speeding away from the airfield, and with some effort he managed to close within firing range. He remembers:

"Naturally, my 37 mm cannon had jammed on the pass I had made at the first 109. We had a T-handle in the middle of the cockpit floor, and by pulling a cable out to just pass your right ear you could get another round into the chamber. I had the presence of mind to execute that manoeuvre as I closed up behind him. I had decided that I would wait until I was right on top of him before giving him a blast.

He had drifted up to 200-300 ft by now, and must have finally seen me, because he suddenly hit the deck agian. I dropped down immediately, and as I bounced around in his slipstream I finally squeezed off a burst as his power came off. There were strikes all over his aircraft and I immediately overran him as his power came off. A few seconds later as I chopped power and rolled up to look at him, he hit the ground in a ball of smoke and dust."

Dow was pleased to learn that the German pilot, Unteroffizier Karl Reinbacher of III./JG 77, had survived the crash and was in the custody of French troops. The Americans convinced their allies that the prisoner was needed for interogation, and he was handed over. When Reinbacher was introduced to his victor, the German presnted and admiring salute.