V. Othelia's Story - 95th Evac: Anzio:Part 1

#5 Othelia's Story - 95th Evac Hospital: Anzio

Lt. Rosten

Editor note:  In January, 1944 in an attempt to break the stalemate on the Gustav Line and take Rome, the Allies launched "Operation Shingle", an end-run amphibious invasion of Anzio and another bloody battle ensued.

Editor Note: This section is taken from accounts by Sgt. Stanley J. Polanski, 95th Evac

The anxiety of an invasion fleet was present as we debarked from our friendly port. The tension was somewhat relaxed after a day at sea, knowing that we would strike south of Rome in the Anzio sector as the development of the struggle in the Cassino area facilitated our outflanking maneuver.

Life aboard the LST was not dull nor were we vexed pondering over the harassing engagements that were certain to follow. We relaxed with the usual recreation of a soldier aboard ship. We shot dice, played cards, read, and took a turn around the deck to marvel at the size of the convoy and the ruggedness of the passing scenery.

Many of us made our beds on the deck of the ship and, although the nights were sharp and damp, we managed to sleep comfortably. Many thoughts envelop the mind as you lie gazing into the heavens with the sullen splash of the water lulling you to sleep. The errors of yesterdays, which may have haunted a guilty conscience, are swept aside by the serenity of a peaceful night.

We arrived at our destination without mishap wondering when the Luftwaffe would challenge the allied invasion. Our air coverage was all-powerful. Planes blanketed the skyways - our planes. The gunners aboard ship were ready to combat the aerial menace, and as the sirens blared out the warning, we took cover between our trucks on the deck.

Early in the afternoon on D-Day, several of us were below enjoying a game of hearts when a hollow metallic sound vibrated the ship. It seemed as though someone had dropped a heavy object on the steel deck. We paused, then continued with our game. Suddenly the “battle-stations” siren began to ring and for a moment we became excited. We grabbed our helmets and rushed on deck. About 400 hundred yards to our right we could see a convoy escort ship tilting crazily to one side. It had struck a mine and was sinking. Motor launches and other small craft were on the way to pick up survivors.

The water was now teeming with light craft and ducks (amphibious trucks) unloading equipment from the LSTs. It reminded me of taxicabs emptying and auditorium on a rainy day.

The afternoon was as peaceful as a sojourn on the Ohio. In the distance we could see the German ack-ack as our planes bombed their lines.

We slept on deck that night, and it was a pleasant disappointment when the dawn of D+1 crept in without an air raid. Later in the morning a barge pulled along side our ship and the drivers began to maneuver their trucks into position for the loading and landing.

The first barge was just moving away when three Jerries dove out of the sun to strike the beach port. The ack-ack and machine guns pounded hell into them. Two geysers of water rose nearby as the “eggs” dropped between small landing craft and other bombs hit the beach. They came close but they tell me close only counts in horseshoes. The planes leveled out of their dive only to plunge again into a fatal crash. We clambered aboard the barge to ride to shore with our equipment. The boat eased onto the beach and the landing gates were lowered. As the trucks plowed through the water, we clung to their sides, thus avoiding a damp entry.

Our unit assembled and began the long trek to the area where we would established our hospital. No one seemed to object to the long hike, even though we had a full pack and bed roll.

Marching through the town we marveled at the luxury that once was here when rich tourists sunned on the beaches and lounged in the seaside mansions. We felt that we were reenacting a scene for a Universal Newsreel as we marched past the abandoned villas. An old woman chattered something to us. She was the only civilian we saw. Two enemy snipers were sprawled out on the sidewalk in the center of town, evidence of a futile last stand.

We met some of the combat troops who had made the early landings and had acquired a German motorcycle. They gave us this trophy which was in need of repairs. One of their bullets had pierced the motor. We told them to be more careful when they shot Jerries off their bikes.

Our hospital was set up a short distance from the main road along the beach.  It was a grassy area surrounded by trees. The engineers checked the field for land mines and our tents went up late that afternoon. Evening found us tired but happy as we crawled into our pup tents for a night of rest.

The night was almost quiet, as the German air force failed to make an entry. But we were greeted by a new nuisance - the big Jerry guns. You could hear the report of the artillery and then the shell whistling overhead on its way to the sea. This aimless shelling continued as long as we occupied the beachhead. Our reaction was comparable to that of a person who hears a door open and waits for the noise of its closing. We were confident that no danger would befall us, but we waited patiently for the three sounds - firing, whistle, explosion.

Anzio evac to ...

Hospital ship

Our hospital began to admit patients on the next day. We had some light air raids but they did not disturb our activities. It was comical to see a long chow line dwindle as the noise of ack-ack spelled enemy planes. Some of the braver - or hungrier - remained in the line. If they were near the end, they profited by moving up among the first few. Enemy bombing was remote but the falling flak knows no friend and the surrounding trees provided excellent shelter. We had ringside seats - a stone throw from the sea. The raids were just a nuisance for little damage was done and Jerry paid a heavy price.

The air raids and artillery became matter-of-fact those 2 first days. We went about our work taking time off to rummage through the house across the road. They were constructed on the order of an apartment house with its bedrooms, living room, toilet and kitchen on each floor. The kitchen with its crude stove and rugged cooking utensils resembled that of the early colonials. I noticed a heavy copper frying pan marked “Boston, 1909”. The houses were mostly 5 or 6 stores high with only one floor above the street. The lower rooms were constructed against the face of a cliff with the rear of the building overlooking the sea.

D+4 was like any of the other days in this area. The raids were light and “Whistliing Willie” - as we had dubbed the big guns - occasionally threw a shell into the sea. One fell a little short and landed between 2 houses and thew water on our motor pool. In the dusk of the evening , a squadron of Jerries aimed for their target - the convoy. The outline of the planes were easily discerned, silhouetted against a darkening sky. As they passed over our area, an umbrella of tracers and AA fire welcomed them. It was like shooting clay pigeons. Seven of the planes were destroyed before they reached the convoy. Jerry certainly muffed that assignment. It was our first glimpse of the highly touted “rocket” bomb.

Esther Richards of the 95th Evac Hospital 2 hours before she was killed  in a bomb attack, (Oliver Atkins)   

The failure of the evening must have riled his wrath, for about ten o’clock he returned, en masse.  All hell broke loose. Planes came screaming over our area, and we just prayed the bombs were not falling. Flares had been dropped to illuminate the targets.  We thought they would never burn out. At the end of each dive, the ground would rumble under the impact of the explosions.  How we hugged old mother earth. In the operating tent, a German prisoner was on the table waiting to have some shell fragments removed. He grinned from ear to ear when our guns challenged the approaching enemy. As the planes dove and the earth trembled, the smugness froze on his face and he crawled underneath the table shaking with fear. A technician covered his naked body with a blanket. The raid was short but we could still hear and see its effects. We were convinced that now was the time to dig a foxhole - and we did.

Jerry returned again at dawn but he was not as terrifying as he had been on the previous night. He flew close by and we could see the bombs as the tumbled out of the planes. All ears are reserved for this type of show. After breakfast, we scouted around for evidence of last night’s activities. About a hundred yards from our area, the architecture of a building had been changed. A short distance from the ruined house a bomb crater informed us that that last night’s activity was as close as it seemed to be.

Shovels and picks were in great demand that morning. We dug a foxhole or 2 in our tent. The men in various sections, Lab, Pharmacy, Army had their excavations right in their tent.  Patients dug slit trenches under their cots. They complained of the bombings and artillery fire. Combat troops said it was safer in the front lines where they were endangered by occasional mortar fire and a “little” strafing.  A solder from a duck unit was brought in by a buddy who left him saying “while you’re here, get some rest”. “Is he trying to be funny?” taunted one of the patients.

A new source of entertainment was the German propaganda radio station. The broadcast was in English and the music, mostly Bing Crosby recordings, was very pleasing. One of our men remarked that this station was his best morale builder. They announced the names of the Allied POWs plus their version of the war and diplomatic news. We eagerly awaited the news, for their side of the story was unique. Much of it concerned our beachhead and we knew more of the activity than they did. Jerry took great pride in announcing that their might air force had “annihilated” 3 barrage balloons. These inflated guardians are often shot down by our own anti-aircraft fire, and I have never seen anyone shedding tears over their loss. We wanted to send in a request for the record “Paper Doll”, but we were stumped on the delivery of the letter.

Anzio Evac Hospitals

One of Evac Hospitals which had set up in the buildings in this sector moved their unit to a new area outside the city limits about a 1/2 mile from the sea. We knew our hospital would also move there. After a week in the center of activities, we pulled up stakes and pitched our tents in the new area which was already occupied by other hospitals. All the medical units were now in this open field, clearly marked and at least a 1/2 mile from any military target.

We breathed a sigh of relief as we entered our new set up. At other times we dreaded the thought of packing up and tearing down, but now we were eager to hurry our departure. As the last of the equipment were moving out, “Whistling Willie” opened up with a new range. Shells burst nearby sending fragments through the trees.

Our nurses arrived two days before we abandoned our “box seats”. They didn’t seem to mind the hazardous situation.  The presence of a brave female is ever comforting to patients and personnel. Their bravado is contagious. 

Mary Fischer

Editor note: The following section is taken mainly from Nurse Mary Fischer's notes.

We (95th nurses) landed at Anzio at 11 AM and were promptly greeted by an air raid as we got off the boat. We got loaded on trucks and evidently the driver didn’t quite know what was what, so about 23 of us got dumped off in a God-forsaken field with only a small building for shelter. There were 2 very heavy raids while we waited for transportation.

Our hospital was setup in Nattuna, a short distance from the main road along the beach. It was a grassy area surrounded by trees. We helped put up the tents and dug our foxholes right under our cots. Evening found us tired but happy as we crawled into our sleeping bags, clad in our fatigues.

Ward duty was very heavy and there was seldom any time off duty. We always carried our helmets with us as there were almost continuous air raids. Then there was the real nuisance of the “screeming meemies” - the big Jerry guns. We could hear the report of the artillery and then the shell whistling overhead on its way to the sea. This shelling continued as long as we occupied the beachhead. It was comparable to a door being opened and waiting for it to close. We waited for those 3 sounds: the firing, the whistle, the explosion.     

The second night we had a terrific air raid.  It was about 10 PM when it started and we wasted no time jumping into our foxholes under our cots. The planes came zooming in so low that at times it seemed they’d land on top of us. There was a tremendous amount of firing going on. In the meantime we were shaking in our foxholes and breathless with fear. The foxholes were icy cold and damp. Our clothes were muddy. We were just out of it when another air raid started, so back into the foxholes we went. At 11:30, it was over and we went back to bed to the sounds of the “screeming meemies”.

It was finally decided the beach was no place for a hospital as it was much too dangerous. After a week in the center of activities, we pulled up stakes and pitched our tents in a new area which was already occupied by other hospitals. All medical unites were not in this open field, clearly marked, and at least a ½ mile from any military target. We breathed a sigh of relief as we entered our new setup. At other times we dreaded the thought of packing and tearing down, but this time we were eager to hurry our departure.

I was assigned to night duty the new area. The weather was miserable, cold and rainy. The wind was howling, tents flapping. The “Anzio Express” was doing its stuff. our tents were beginning to show rips and tears from the flak. The patients were very uneasy and there were slit trenches between the beds. As the patients were brought in that was the first thing they inquired about. There was just nowhere that was safe from shelling. The hospital area became known as “hell’s half acre”. Some men actually declined to report their wounds for fear that they would be hospitalized and die there.

There was little sleep. The food was not the best at Anzio as it was difficult to bring in supplies. We were kept very busy taking care of a bunch of muddy, exhausted, sick men just back from the front. There was not the usual cheerfulness as they came in - rather, they were in a depressed mood. When they saw nurses in this area they could scarcely believe their eyes. It always seemed to cheer them up. 
                                      

Foxholes again became a rarity. “Whistling Willie” was still our nemesis but his projectiles passed beyond us. We again set aside our steel helmets in favor of the lighter headgear but had the metal protectors nearby in case of air raids - some of our men were in the hospital, casualties of our own “flak”.

Dug-in OR

The air raids and shelling of the beachhead continued but the results of the hit-skip bombings were not severe. The artillery shells were now hitting buildings and the main roadway leaving small holes in the concrete but tearing out the sides of a brick house.

We no longer shied at the noise of air raids. Many continued their work while others went out to watch the planes and the pattern of the tracers. 





It was on such a day that tragedy struck our unit.


To be continued ...

Copyright © 2015 Dave Hoplin