Quartermaster soldiers in World War II did more than fix, feed and fuel the force. They also fought -- often and hard. Today we use the term Logistics Warriors. Back then, they were simply called "Fighting Quartermasters."
There was an old wheeze that routinely made the rounds among combat soldiers and never failed to get a laugh. It said, in effect: "the only Quartermaster ever hurt in war was hit by a can of beans rolling off a deuce and a half." Funny? Yes. But was it true? Not a chance.
The fact is, in World War II the supposed line between fighting "front" and the secure "rear area" was blurred as never before. Both sides exercised unprecedented mobility, which meant the front, once established, never stayed put. Of course, enemy aircraft made it their business (often their only business) to threaten, harass, and destroy Allied supply lines. For the Quartermaster soldier, the new face of battle meant the enemy could just as easily be in your face, on your flanks, immediately overhead, and sometimes even behind you. As one wag put it, "the only rear area some QMs often find themselves concerned with is their own -- wiggling it into a foxhole, and fast!"
Tradition had it that support troops were immune to actual combat. That they never experienced firsthand the smell of gunpowder. Or had an inkling of what it was like at the so-called "sharp edge" (old soldier talk for the main battlefield).
No doubt the veteran war correspondent Ernie Pyle had heard disparaging remarks about support troops before. Such talk hardly accorded with what he saw with his own eyes at bloody Anzio. "Up here on the beachhead," he reported in January 1944, "they are blowing that tradition all to hell. The Quartermaster Corps has been under fire ever since the beachhead was established, and still is."
He went on to tell how the supplymen off-loaded rations and equipment and moved it forward over "rugged, zeroed-in terrain" to the Infantry-manned foxholes -- and suffered heavy casualties along the way. Diving Stukas, incoming mortars and screaming artillery rounds were no respecters of service troops.
Another group of Quartermasters there at Anzio, the 48th QM Graves Registration Company, likewise found no safe haven from which to carry out their mission. An excerpt from one of their after action reports tells it all:
"A ceremony site was selected and the cemetery established 23 January 1944, one mile north of Nettuno, Italy. It was here that the company suffered its largest number of battle casualties -- two killed and five wounded. This brought the total number of Purple Heart awards to fourteen.
"For sixty-six continuous days the company was under artillery fire bombing attack. During this period Graves Registration personnel were forced to use open graves for protection against shell-burst and fragmentation."
Anzio happened about midway in the war, but the term "Fighting Quartermasters" gained prominence much earlier. Within days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese forces in the Pacific turned toward the Philippines. Frank Hewlett was the only American correspondent to report the invasion of the Philippines from its start until Bataan fell and he was forced to seek refuge on Corregidor. He later got off the island and made it safely to General MacArthur's headquarters in Australia. There he filed a dispatch, dated 24 April 1942, with the heading "Quartermasters on Bataan Performed Heroic Feats."
The opening paragraph stated: "Many of them died and few were decorated, but when the final heroic history of Bataan is written the men of the U.S. Quartermaster Corps deserve a place of honor beside the frontline fighting troops."
Despite round-the-clock shelling and bombing, QMs did everything humanly possible to help the beleaguered forces hold out. They picked rice and harvested it in homemade rice mills. Built a coffee roaster out of an old oil drum and boiled and re-boiled grounds until they were nearly white. Boiled sea water for salt. And butchered cavalry horses, pack mules, and caribou for meat -- all in a forlorn effort to ward off starvation.
"Their job was heart-breaking," reported Hewlett, "and their ranks will show many deaths, but few citations." So much for that old wheeze about a wayward can of beans. "Bataan's fighting quartermasters," he rightly concluded, had "soured forever the Army's jibes about the Quartermaster Corps being safest."
Anzio and Bataan were not unique. Throughout the war, unit histories from the Pacific, European, African and Mediterranean theaters confirm that Quartermasters routinely found themselves in the thick of it.
On Guadalcanal, for example, a laundry company had to blast out Japanese gun emplacements and suppress sniper fire before it could set up shop. In the Battle of the Bulge, one member of a mobile bakery company reported shooting down a German Messerschmitt with his machine gun between bread runs. When the Marines landed on Iwo Jima, Quartermasters were right behind.
First Lieutenant Edward A. Busch, QMC, commanded a section of the 473d Amphibian Truck Company that went ashore on Iwo, early in the morning on 20 February 1945 (D+1). He and his platoon sergeant, Sgt. Ben Steele, found the incline too steep for their "Duck" carrier to make it, so they got out and waded onto the beach, leaving the others to circle offshore until they could find a more suitable landing spot.
"There was plenty of mortar fire," Lieutenant Busch later recalled, "so we hit the dirt right away. We were too scared to figure out what was going on, so we just kept moving. I saw a pillbox and a group of men and headed for it, but some more shells came in just then, so we did another dive. I saw an aid man working over a wounded Marine. As I looked up, a mortar shell hit the aid man's back, killing him and the Marine. We hadn't seen any [Japanese] -- dead or alive -- just dead Marines.
"We finally got to the pillbox and found there what was left of the shore party. There were nine men and one officer left out of 120 men and 10 officers. All the others were casualties. I reported to the officer, a Marine second lieutenant. He was badly shaken and there were tears in his eyes. He told us to beat it -- he had no one to unload us,
no equipment to help us up on the beach. The sea was too heavy to get back on the LST's, so we had no alternative but to look for a better beach."
Lieutenant Busch lost three "Ducks" during the course of the day, but by 1700 hours had gotten the remaining five assigned to him safely ashore. All told, the company lost 17 "Ducks," and its 173 black enlisted men suffered numerous casualties. (Incidentally, Busch happened to be back offshore aboard LST 779 (Landing Ship, Tank 779) when the American flag was raised on Mount Suribachi a few days later, noting: "I don't think there was a man on that island that didn't shed tears when he saw that flag go up.")
The turning point in Europe came in the spring of 1944, as Allied planners made final preparations for the cross-channel attack that would signal the death knell of Nazi Germany. Major General Robert M. Littlejohn, Chief Quartermaster for the European Theater of Operations (ETO), had been in the United Kingdom for two years working nonstop to build the logistics infrastructure for the Normandy Invasion -- stockpiling mountains of equipment, training tens of thousands of Army service troops, and trying to anticipate the untold needs of the largest invasion force ever.
In late April 1944, the Allies conducted a large-scale mock D-Day invasion, called Exercise Tiger, in the English Channel off the southern coast of England. The first wave of LSTs hit the beaches of Slapton Sands, South Devon, on April 27th. They continued operations, with practice landings all day.
Shortly after 0200 hours on the 28th, in the pitch dark, a flotilla of seven German torpedo boats penetrated the convoy and opened fire, hitting three fully loaded LSTs. One of them, LST 531, sank in seven minutes, killing about 80 percent of the 500 soldiers and sailors onboard. LST 507 took a torpedo in the bow and burst into flames, causing its 500 passengers to quickly abandon ship with little time to man the lifeboats. About half of them died in the channel's bitterly cold water.
"Men were screaming, jumping, hollering for help," one eyewitness recalled 50 years later. "Everyone was panicking. None of us were in gunfire before. We didn't know what the hell it was." This same observer said that when morning came, he found his own ship had dropped anchor in the middle of a mine field. "All I could see," he said, "was what I thought looked like seaweed. It was really bodies floating."
Nobody knows for certain how many U.S. soldiers and sailors died in the so-called Battle of Slapton Sands. It was a top-secret operation. General Eisenhower feared that if German intelligence learned the details of the mock invasion, he might have to postpone or even cancel D-Day. The 146th Quartermaster Truck Company stationed in England was rushed to Slapton Sands in the middle of the night to begin the gruesome task of collecting the dead and transporting them to a cemetery near London. Sworn to secrecy, it was almost a half century before the men of the 146th felt at liberty to discuss this tragic affair.
Records vary, but the best estimate is that around 750 servicemen died in the channel that night. Among the "forgotten dead" of Exercise Tiger were a large number of Quartermaster soldiers. A Quartermaster battalion, a truck company, graves registration company, two railhead companies, and two QM service companies all suffered casualties. The worst hit, the 3206th Quartermaster Service Company, was virtually destroyed -- when 201 of its 251 officers and men were killed or wounded.
Quartermaster units and personnel were in the English Channel and on the beaches, at Omaha and Utah, when the Allies landed on June 6. QM railhead, service, and truck companies saw continuous operation in the assault at Normandy, in the breakout at St. Lo, and the rapid pursuit across France in the summer of '44. They had some unforgettable experiences.
The 407th Airborne QM Company, for instance, went into Normandy on D-Day in two echelons, the first in gliders and the rest by ship. The glider-borne contingent landed at 2115 hours on June 6th and set up a temporary bivouac on the outskirts of Blosville, a short distance from Ste. Mere Eglise. (Historical Note: See also COL (then Sergeant) Elbert E. Legg's personal account of the 603rd QM Graves Registration Company in this edition.)
Tech 4 Fred Gilbert's unit, the 3891st QM Truck Company, landed on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day and immediately began hauling rations, ammo, and Infantrymen. "In other words," he wrote, they considered themselves "a part of the mobile infantry."
"We are the truck company that drove the 4th Division into Paris on 25 August, the day of the liberation, and helped clean out snipers for three days. After that, we were with the 1st Division at the battle of Belgium. We were told: 'You were a QM truck company. Now you're in the Infantry. Get in there and fight!' And we did, with no regrets. Several times later, we did the same thing."
Colonel (later Lieutenant General) Andrew T. McNamara, Chief Quartermaster for the First Army, told a similar account of the 476th QM Group. Its four truck companies arrived on Utah Beach "when confusion still dominated the battle area, and front lines, as such, were non-existent."
"[They] . . . performed every type of truck support for the fighting troops of the 82nd and 101st airborne divisions. Supplies were taken up into front lines and unloaded directly to user units, with the bulk of the missions being completed under shellfire and strafing. The trucks were sent out with Infantrymen aboard on spearhead thrusts, and when resistance
was encountered, the truck drivers found themselves taking part in the fighting. Men of these companies performed guard with the line troops, in emergencies manned machine-guns and outposts, carried barbed wire and mines into positions forward of existing front lines, and shared the same rigors and dangers as did the divisional troops."
Private John G. Bianchi of the 97th Quartermaster Railhead Company, another service unit that came in on D-Day, wrote that he "used to wonder laying back there in a foxhole what they meant about rear-echelon Quartermaster boys. There were times when I would have given anything to be an Infantryman, back with the reserves, safe from fire."
Months later when it appeared victory was just around the corner, Hitler surprised everyone by launching a vicious counterattack. The 89th Quartermaster Railhead Company was caught deep in enemy territory during the Battle of the Bulge. It was ordered to hold the Belgian crossroads town of Gouvy "at all costs." The men quickly laid down the ration boxes they were stacking, and picked up their weapons, as the fighting began. Though outnumbered three to one, they managed to hold off two German battalions for five days. The cost was 8 American and 99 German casualties.
The record of Quartermaster troops on the continent is full of such surprises. For example, the unit historian for the 476th QM Group records in unembellished terms that on 25 December 1944 "at 1130 hours in the vicinity of Camp Elsenborn, a P-51 was shot down by Cpl. J. Robinson and S/Sgt Olsyenski of the 3812th QM Truck Company as it was strafing the truck column. Pilot bailed out, was captured, and found to be a German." A not-so-merry Christmas for him, to be sure.
In another case, when elements of the 35th Infantry entered the important town of Chateaudun on the road to Paris, they expected strong opposition. Instead they found Major Charles W. Ketterman, CO of a Quartermaster Truck Battalion, and Tech 5 Ernest A. Jenkins, his driver, standing beside the mayor of the town, accepting Chateaudun as a gift.
It seems that Major Ketterman and Corporal Jenkins, returning from a routine reconnaissance in their jeep, drove into Chateaudun believing that the town had already been liberated. A hail of machine-gun fire told them otherwise. Armed only with a .45 pistol and an '03 rifle, the major and his driver staged a private eight-hour war, in the course of which they killed three Germans, wounded several more, knocked out a gun position, scared the entire garrison except 15 diehards into evacuating the town, and then went in to capture those 15! General Patton thought enough of this incident to award both QMs the Silver Star.
In his book, War As I Knew It, Patton also recounted how in the spring of 1945, a Quartermaster detachment of the Third Army, "had the signal, and as I know, solitary distinction of capturing a German lieutenant general, General Hahm, commanding the 82d German Corps, together with a colonel, a major, a lieutenant, and seven privates."
As the war progressed, more and more units and personnel were added to the Quartermaster "Roll of Honor." They made their mark by supporting victory, not just technically, but tactically as well, in every theater and every campaign.
Example: The 41st Quartermaster Company established a truly remarkable record with the 41st Infantry Division in the Pacific. They took part in the campaigns at Buna, Zamboango, Salamaua, Aitape, Hollandia, Wakde, Palawan, Biak and elsewhere -- while earning 3 Silver Stars, 4 Soldiers Medals, dozens of Purple Hearts (18 at Hollandia alone), 18 Bronze Stars, and a Presidential Unit Citation.
Their commander, Lieutenant Colonel Clarence E. Reid, went overseas as a captain and became one of the most decorated QMs in the Pacific theater. His awards included the Silver Star, the Bronze Star (with three clusters), the Air Medal, the National Defense Ribbon, theater ribbon with a silver star (representing five campaigns) and the invasion arrowhead, and the Philippine Liberation ribbon.
All told "Fighting Quartermasters" were awarded nearly 9,000 medals in World War II for extraordinary service and conspicuous acts of bravery. And thousands more purple hearts. Tech 5 Eric G. Gibson, a first cook with the 30th Infantry Division, was awarded the Medal of Honor (posthumously) for leading a courageous charge against an entrenched German outpost near Isola Bella, Italy, in late January 1944. Seven other QMs were awarded Distinguished Service Crosses, 85 Silver Stars, and 420 Soldiers Medals -- all associated with acts of valor.
When the Quartermaster Corps was in its infancy during the Revolutionary War, Nathanael Greene thought it unlikely that a Quartermaster would ever achieve recognition on the battlefield. His now-famous lament ("who ever heard of a Quarter Master in history") dogged the Corps for over a century and a half.
It's too bad General Greene -- George Washington's favorite Quartermaster General (also nicknamed the "Fighting Quaker") -- was not around to see how much things had changed in World War II. If so, he might have wanted to take back what he said earlier.
Quartermasters do fight. And yes, history does remember.