Probably the Dumbest of the Dumb Things I Have Done!

by Frank Graves

After making the Southern France amphibious landing August 19, 1944, our 3rd Division moved north as fast as we could against spotty German resistance. Sometime in September, I was up with the infantry as usual doing my job directing artillery fire. The battalion I was with was a point unit leading the advance in our sector and we had outrun the follow-up units and our artillery as well. We had paused to wait for them to catch up, in a defensive position on high ground in lightly wooded rolling-hill country, intermingled with vineyards and orchards.

The sun was high in a cloudless sky. There was no breeze. It was a hot, humid, enervating day. After sitting around, dozing and drinking lots of water, I and my crew and the infantry around us were bored. We had lost contact with the enemy. As far as we could tell there was not a German within miles of us.

In the early afternoon a couple of locals came through our lines. They claimed they were part of a civilian resistance unit (FFI) and announced that they were holding some German soldiers prisoner in a farmhouse not far ahead of our position. They assured us there were no enemy units anywhere close and asked the infantry company commander to send a detail to pick them up and bring them over. He considered it, but finally refused, having been ordered to hold where we were. The Frenchmen were very persuasive and stressed the fact the area was free of Germans.

Perhaps it was the weather that effected my judgment, but I thought it a pleasant diversion to go in and bring prisoners back. At least it was something to do, and as long as there was no danger of encountering Germans, why not do it? So, I loaded my crew and the two Frenchmen on my Jeep and we headed for the farmhouse.

I first became concerned after we traveled three or four kilometers into what was nominally enemy territory and were still going. Finally, after another kilometer, we arrived. The farmhouse turned out to be a large building - part dwelling and part warehouse. It was on high ground in some woods, perhaps fifty yards beyond a paved road which we crossed. On advice of our escorts we parked the Jeep behind some thick bushes atop a fifteen or twenty foot bank above the road. I left my driver, PFC Burns, and my wireman, Cpl. Garcia, with the vehicle and I, with Cpl. Adams, my radioman and the two Frenchmen walked up to the house to fetch the prisoners.

There were six or eight of them - too many to load on the Jeep. I was pondering walking them back though our lines followed by our vehicle with one of us seated on the hood with our issue Tommy Gun, when I heard a whistle from Garcia who waved at us and pointed up the road to our left. Whatever he saw was screened from us at the house, but I saw Garcia run up to the Jeep and pull some hand grenades out of a box mounted on the vehicle. I quickly surmised something bad was about to happen.

Then I saw it. The muzzle break of a German tank came into sight moving slowly from our left to the right along the road to our Jeep. The gun grew longer and longer until the tank finally came into full view. There was maybe a squad of riflemen riding on top. They obviously had not seen our vehicle because they were smoking and laughing and clearly did not expect us to be there.

At that moment I prayed Garcia would not throw the grenades down on them - that he would do nothing but stay out of sight. Happily that is what he did and the tank passed unmolested, and it was followed by a truck also loaded with more relaxing infantrymen. That was all. It seemed obvious that it was a mounted patrol sweeping through the area. Clearly they were not expecting to encounter us or anyone else because they were not prepared to meet any possible threat. Perturbed, I turned to our French partisans inquiringly. They looked at me and merely shrugged as if to say, "Who knew?"

Encountering that patrol certainly created dry mouth time for me. I realized that I had stupidly undertaken something I had no business doing. Now the problem became how would I get, not only the prisoners, but my crew back to our lines without being detected. After waiting awhile to be sure no more Germans were coming down the road, I sent Burns back alone in our Jeep with instructions to tell our infantry we were walking back through the vineyards with the prisoners, and ask them to send a German truck they had captured down the highway, which passed though their position, to intercept us.

Happily Burns got through undetected and the truck met us. We loaded the prisoners on it and climbed aboard ourselves and headed back to our lines. Then I really began to worry! Here we were in a German truck loaded with Germans, our prisoners, and approaching our lines. What happens if some trigger happy GI sees us and starts shooting? Well, we got back through our lines without a problem and everyone laughed about it all. But I fully realized the dumb thing I had done, just because I was bored, and I was kicking myself for doing it - and continue to do so to this day.