Sgt. Robert Bowen’s memoir of fighting with the 101st Airborne Division in WWII promises to be a gripping read; one reviewer of the typescript complained that it kept him up until 3.00am! Edited by Christopher Anderson - well-known to Greenhill readers as the author of many GI Series titles - Fighting With The Screaming Eagles is the first-person account of gliderman Bowen, as he enters combat at D-Day, and fights bravely in Europe until his capture by Germans in Bastogne. There is a surge of renewed interest in the 101st Division, thanks to Steven Spielberg’s forthcoming mini-series ‘Band of Brothers’, which premiered in Normandy on the anniversary of D-Day. Divided into 10 x 1 hour episodes, the series follows a group of 101st Airborne soldiers during the last year of the war, and has been snapped up by the BBC for transmission later this year. Based on Stephen Ambrose’s best-selling book, the series is likely to create intense interest in the new account by Robert Bowen, particularly as it has the special attribute - unlike ‘Band of Brothers’ - of being a first-person narrative. Extract To whet the appetites of Greenhill readers, there now follows an extract from Bowen’s account. It is December 1944, just days before Christmas, and the 101st Division are stationed near Bastogne and grappling with the awesome task of blocking the enemy advance along key westward routes. ‘C’ Company, and Bowen’s 3rd Platoon, hold a particularly vulnerable part of the defence line, and its members are troubled by hair-raising tales from stragglers fleeing German attacks. One fateful morning, the assault is suddenly upon them. “A burst of fire from the 2d Platoon’s roadblock, the rattle of small arms fire and the bark of cannon startled me awake on the 23d. A heavy ground fog had reduced visibility to near zero and the Germans had used it to good advantage, moving close to the roadblock before they were identified as the enemy. Two men from the outpost struggled through the snow under a hail of German fire. One of them, PFC Ernie Howard, Marion, Ohio, a veteran of Normandy and Holland, and one of the finest men I had ever known, was killed before he could reach our lines. The other, PFC Steve Horkey, another veteran, from Cudahy, Wisconsin, a troubled person who was worried about family affairs at home, had his thumb shot off but managed to get back. Labbe got a message for me to report to Captain Towns immediately. I had no idea what was going on at the other roadblocks except for the frenzied firing. I hiked back through the snow and got to the garage. Captain Towns and Lieutenant Martinson were still in the old car doubling as the HQ. ‘Bowen, 2d Platoon’s under heavy attack. They don’t know if they can hold. They’ve had some casualties and need help. I want you to take Felker’s and Kloczkowski’s squads and move to 2d Platoon’s roadblock to support them. Lieutenant Wagner will meet you near the intersection of the main road and the one out front of here and lead you into position. I don’t have to tell you to hurry. Good luck and do whatever you can,’ he said. I noted how drawn his face seemed to be. It was the last time I would ever see him. I collected the men and their gear and went across the field close to the raised embankment of the main road to shield us from the Germans I could see near the pines to our left. A cold biting wind whipped across the field, scattering the snow like breaking sea foam. Wagner didn’t wait for us, coming nearly to Bradley’s block where he met us. He took off at a fast clip, too fast for us weighted down by arms, ammo and blanket rolls. I kept near his heels, but my men began to straggle. I urged them on. Tanks shells and mortar rounds were dropping in the field to our right, tearing black holes in the snow. No one hit the ground. We kept going. We passed a foxhole in the embankment; the torn and bloody fragments of a body in an American uniform littered the remains of the hole. I didn’t know it then, but it was all that remained of my close friend Homer Johnson, formerly of Company B and recently sent to C, the same Johnson I had been with at the British hospital after Normandy. Wagner continued to get farther ahead. He reached the secondary raised road leading to the company CP, turned and motioned me to follow. I looked back at my straggling squads. Only Joe Kloczkowski and Harold Zimburg were close. Wagner dashed over the road, joined by Joe Damato and Frank McFadden of his platoon who had been sent by Yeiser O’Guin. They followed at Wagner’s heels, flinching as the shells burst in the field beside them but continuing on. I called back for my men to follow me and dashed after the others. Ahead I could hear the sharp bark of cannon, the rattle of small arms fire, and the crack of mortar shells. Nearly exhausted from the more than half mile hike through the snow, I put my head down and ran as fast as my legs would carry me, oblivious to anything but reaching the outbuilding behind the 2d Platoon’s line. I finally got there, collapsing against the wall of one of the buildings with my lungs on fire. Zimburg and Kloczkowski came up on wobbly legs and dropped beside me. We all fought for breath. When I got up and looked back across the field, I could see Labbe, my radioman, and Felker staring over the bank of the secondary road. I had no way of knowing it then, but Captain Towns had changed his mind and halted the rest of my platoon before they crossed the road. I missed Labbe and his radio especially. I had no contact with the company CP with him gone. I looked around. Lieutenant Wagner had gone around the building and into a sunken courtyard behind the big stone house located in back of 2d Platoon’s position. I joined him and we learned that the situation was very bad. The tanks that had supported us the day before sat beside the house but had been severely damaged. Some of the crew had been wounded by shrapnel. The 37mm anti-tank gun which had been positioned in some tall firs was out of action, its wheels frozen in the ground and unable to fire at the 11 German tanks which sat in defilade positions and poured shells into 2d Platoon’s defense line. German infantry in snowsuits were scattered in a semi-circle some 200 yards away, firing directly into 2d Platoon’s foxholes. There were dead and wounded men lying in the snow all along the line. The only obstacle keeping the Germans from overrunning the roadblock was the 76mm gun on a tank destroyer.” Fighting With The Screaming Eagles (256 pages featuring approximately fifty photographs and five maps; ISBN 1-85367-465-6) will be published by Greenhill shortly. Back to Greenhill Military Book News No. 108 Table of Contents Back to Greenhill Military Book News List of Issues Back to Master Magazine List © Copyright 2001 by Greenhill Books This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com