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 An officer's meeting
was called for 1600 hours, August 9, 1944, in the Mortain area
that fateful sunny afternoon at LTC Vincent E. Cockefair's (CO,
Second Bn., 36th AIR) Command Post (CP) located in an apple orchard
at a small farm stone shack or shed (about 6' x 8') with a small
window and door. We were to assemble in the small clearing just
out from the shed door.
My CO, Captain Bronnie F. Grumpier (HQ Co., Second Bn., 36th
AIR) told me to attend the meeting; he did not attend. En route
to the meeting, alone down a sunken road and over a hedgerow
or two, I encountered incoming German artillery - heavy stuff
- that caused me concern. My feeling was that it would be a bad
afternoon. It was just plain harsh combat environment.
When Colonel William Cornog (Regimental CO, 36th AIR) arrived,
I didn't notice anyone with him. He arrived on foot. I had never
met him before, as he was our new regimental commander. We assembled
just outside and alongside of the CP shed in a loose oval formation.
There were 10 of us. I didn't know some of them. Somehow I stood
(and later hunched over) next to Colonel Cornog on his immediate
left. LTC Cockefair was to my left with one of our artillery
officers and another officer between us. I well remember Captain
Jim Allen (CO, Company E, 36th AIR) at the far end of the oval
from me. Lt. Bill Giles (Atgd CO, Company D, 36th AIR) was to
the left of LTC Cockefair and Lt. Jim Nixon (Atgd CO, Company
F, 36th AIR; papers in for promotion to captain) was across from
me in the oval. It could not have been more then 10 feet at the
most. In general, things seemed normal considering the noise
of combat around us. No joke. No smiles.
As Colonel Cornog started the meeting, incoming heavy artillery
hit nearby. It seemed to shake the ground around us. Needless
to say, it had an adverse effect on the meeting and all of us
were hunched down under our helmets. There were no foxholes or
anything else that could be called cover in the clearing. When
one round hit close by I said: "If they come any closer,
I'll think they are aiming at me!" Colonel Cornog glared
at me a close range (about three feet) with a humorless look
that I've never forgotten. As I understood it, he had not been
in combat as long as "us combat veterans" and couldn't
see the need for such comments from such a junior officer (me).
It seems he had taken command of our 36th Armored Infantry Regiment
in July, 1944, with Colonel Parks relieved.
Because of the "incoming" the meeting ended quicker
than planned I'm sure. We were to attack at 1800 hours. Colonel
Cornog then left the group, alone, and went up the hill rearwards
- returning, I suppose, to his CP. After about 50 feet of hurried
walk, I saw Colonel Cornog suddenly turn and return as if to
add something to the attack plan. The group loosely reassembled
briefly as all of us were in the immediate area.
Then an "incoming" hit in our midst. I couldn't
tell where it hit exactly but I saw a red flash, lots of dust,
as it took the wind out of me. I opened my eyes to death all
around me. My first sight was of Lt. Nixon as he just seemed
to sit down then lay back. What remained of his face and head
turned ashen before my eyes. The shack was aflame, and I looked
inside to see the prostrate forms of LTC Cockefair and Lt. Giles
in the flames. They didn't have a chance. I learned later that
Jim Allen was severely wounded.
My attention then turned to Colonel Cornog. He was upright,
left arm dangling, half loping up the hill in the direction of
his CP. I ran after him, reaching him as he fell to the ground.
I could see he was in very bad shape, so I gave him a shot of
morphine. As I did so, Colonel Cornog looked at me with a look
that I've never forgotten, and after asking about the others
gave his final order, "Don't leave me." I assured him
I wouldn't. I then used his first aide packet (that was the rule)
and stuffed it into a massive hole in his left shoulder. When
that wasn't enough, I used mine also. That seemed to help. He
also took a hit above his right hip and chest.
By some miracle, a jeep came by (obviously lost as we were
too far forward for vehicles). I commandeered it from a scared
driver and with his help got the Colonel in the jeep and yelled
at him to head for the battalion aide station (one of Dr. [Capt.]
William Cohen's). The artillery hadn't stopped. At the aide station,
with help, I got Colonel Cornog (a big man) out of the jeep on
to a stretcher when I saw battalion surgeon Dr. (Capt.) Ted Bernstein
remove a plasma injection from another wounded and stick it in
the Colonel's arm. It didn't work. Colonel Cornog died almost
immediately. They asked me if I had been hit. I said no. But
I never figured out why (I've pondered this all my life). My
hands were covered with the Colonel's blood as was much on my
uniform. At the aide station they had me lay on a stretcher for
a time. They told me Colonel Cornog died. I cried.
After a brief time at the aide station, I returned to my mortar
platoon, thinking food would help. I opened a K-ration "main
dish" - pimento cheese. When I saw that pink cheese with
red pimento pieces, I almost threw up. The color was not too
unlike my hands and uniform and what I had just survived. And
the artillery didn't stop ... and we didn't attack on schedule.
At the '91 reunion in St. Louis, I recounted events of Aug.
9,1944, with Haynes Dugan, "Doc" Cohen and Jim Allen.
Our Colonel Barr was also present. All agreed that day was a
disaster for the regiment. For me, it was gut-wrenching to see
friends and fellow officers Bill Giles, Jim Nixon, LTC Cockefair
and Colonel Cornog killed before my eyes. Doc Cohen had the grim
task of identifying remains. I have never forgotten that sad
day.
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