Anzio: A Memorial Day Tribute
by
Robert Neumiller
On January 21, 1944, 250 ships carrying three divisions of American and British troops sailed north from Naples, Italy, for Anzio, a small resort town 30 miles south of Rome. The next morning, they would storm the beach at Anzio in an effort to draw German strength from the front lines to the south. The 751st Tank Battalion was among the units aboard those ships, and my father, Paul Neumiller, is a veteran of that unit.
Aside from the four years he was away at war, Paul has spent his entire life in Sykeston, a North Dakota town that has never had a population of more than 300. In a town that size you'd think there would be no secrets, no personal history that would remain hidden from friends and neighbors. But plenty of Sykeston’s residents still know nothing of Paul's role in the war, and plenty others are surprised when they learn of it. It's not that Paul has tried to hide his war record; people just don't ask. But ask him about Anzio and Paul will tell you all about the landing and subsequent battle, a battle that would become the defining moment in Paul's life and in the lives of all who served there.
By the winter of 1943-44, Allied forces were in a near stalemate with the Germans at the Gustav Line, a series of defensive positions stretching across the narrowest point of the Italian peninsula. Allied command believed that an amphibious force landing behind the Gustav Line would compel the Germans to withdraw troops to face this new threat, thereby allowing the Allies to break through the line and hasten the liberation of Rome. On January 22, 1944, the VI Corps, comprising American and British units, came ashore at Anzio almost unopposed. But the Germans quickly reinforced the area around Anzio. Not with war-weary troops defending the Gustav Line as expected, but with fresh soldiers from northern Italy and Germany. Soon, and for the next four months, the VI Corps at Anzio would be fighting as much for sheer survival as for their original goal.
Ask Paul, and he’ll tell you that the Germans attacked again and again during those four months in an effort to drive the invaders into the sea, and that again and again the Allies held on precariously to an eight mile stretch of beach, quickly turning new recruits into battle-hardened veterans.
But Paul was no new recruit when he hit that beach. Ask him, and he’ll tell you that by the time they sailed for Anzio he had already made an amphibious landing in Italy at Salerno, and before that had driven one of the first tanks to enter Bizerte, Tunisia, the last German stronghold in North Africa.
He’ll tell you about his best buddy, Thomas Lamb, from Huntsville, Alabama, the man with whom Paul had gone through basic training, the Atlantic crossing, more training in England, a journey across the Sahara, and finally the 751st Tank Battalion’s first taste of combat at Fondouk Pass in Tunisia. Talk to him long enough, and Paul may tell you that after the battle he was ordered to identify a pair of his buddy’s rings, all that remained when Thomas’s tank was hit by a German anti-tank round and burned. He’ll finish the story by telling you that that was the worst day of his life.
Before the battle at Fondouk, Thomas gave Paul a small jackknife as a token of their friendship. Paul carried that knife in his pocket as he drove his tank onto the beach at Anzio, and continued to carry it through the rest of the war. Ask him about it today and he’ll point to a shelf on the wall where that knife lies in a prominent place next to the Purple Heart Paul earned for being wounded during an artillery barrage at Anzio. He has the shrapnel that hit him too, still lodged in his leg.
Ask him, and Paul will tell you about the day the 751st attacked from Anzio Beachhead toward Cisterna and one of the tracks on his M-4 Sherman tank was blown off by a land mine, immobilizing it and forcing Paul and the rest of the tank crew to escape through the tank’s trap door. They ran to another of their unit’s tanks while bullets from a German machine gun nest peppered the ground around them. When they made it to the tank and it turned to retreat, a mine again blew off a track, sending both tank crews scrambling for the safety of a nearby farmhouse. Once inside and finally safe from German bullets, the explosion of a German 88 millimeter artillery round brought the house crashing down on those who weren’t blown out of the building by the blast.
Thus was life at Anzio Beachhead: 138 days of constant bombardment, muddy foxholes, trench foot, and dysentery. The battle for Anzio finally ended on May 25, 1944, when the Allied VI Corps broke through the German defenses and pushed north toward Rome. The VI Corps sustained more than 60,000 casualties at Anzio; of those, over 42,000 were American.
Since the war’s end, the battle at Anzio has too often been overlooked, diminished by Normandy, Okinawa, and Hiroshima, events with clearer goals and more newsworthy outcomes. Even as the battle occurred, it made few headlines, and today, when mentioning it at all, history books allot the battle only a paragraph or two. Its anniversaries have come and gone with few commemorations. Yet it was what all battles are: dirty, bloody, and horrifying. And what too few know and what should never be forgotten is the sacrifice that took place in that faraway resort town on that eight mile stretch of beach.
Each Memorial Day we should think of the enormous debt we owe to those who fought not just in the large battles, but in all battles. From World War II to Korea, from Vietnam to Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom, all those who served deserve our unending thanks. And they all have stories worth hearing, stories filled with the hardships, horror, bloodshed, and death that are the price of life in a free America, stories we should all want to hear, however horrific they may be.
Ask them to tell you; they want you to know.
If we are willing to send our young men and women into harm’s way, and those men and women are willing to risk everything to protect us, it should be our duty to find out what it was we asked them to do.
Ask them all; you need to know.
Aside from the four years he was away at war, Paul has spent his entire life in Sykeston, a North Dakota town that has never had a population of more than 300. In a town that size you'd think there would be no secrets, no personal history that would remain hidden from friends and neighbors. But plenty of Sykeston’s residents still know nothing of Paul's role in the war, and plenty others are surprised when they learn of it. It's not that Paul has tried to hide his war record; people just don't ask. But ask him about Anzio and Paul will tell you all about the landing and subsequent battle, a battle that would become the defining moment in Paul's life and in the lives of all who served there.
By the winter of 1943-44, Allied forces were in a near stalemate with the Germans at the Gustav Line, a series of defensive positions stretching across the narrowest point of the Italian peninsula. Allied command believed that an amphibious force landing behind the Gustav Line would compel the Germans to withdraw troops to face this new threat, thereby allowing the Allies to break through the line and hasten the liberation of Rome. On January 22, 1944, the VI Corps, comprising American and British units, came ashore at Anzio almost unopposed. But the Germans quickly reinforced the area around Anzio. Not with war-weary troops defending the Gustav Line as expected, but with fresh soldiers from northern Italy and Germany. Soon, and for the next four months, the VI Corps at Anzio would be fighting as much for sheer survival as for their original goal.
Ask Paul, and he’ll tell you that the Germans attacked again and again during those four months in an effort to drive the invaders into the sea, and that again and again the Allies held on precariously to an eight mile stretch of beach, quickly turning new recruits into battle-hardened veterans.
But Paul was no new recruit when he hit that beach. Ask him, and he’ll tell you that by the time they sailed for Anzio he had already made an amphibious landing in Italy at Salerno, and before that had driven one of the first tanks to enter Bizerte, Tunisia, the last German stronghold in North Africa.
He’ll tell you about his best buddy, Thomas Lamb, from Huntsville, Alabama, the man with whom Paul had gone through basic training, the Atlantic crossing, more training in England, a journey across the Sahara, and finally the 751st Tank Battalion’s first taste of combat at Fondouk Pass in Tunisia. Talk to him long enough, and Paul may tell you that after the battle he was ordered to identify a pair of his buddy’s rings, all that remained when Thomas’s tank was hit by a German anti-tank round and burned. He’ll finish the story by telling you that that was the worst day of his life.
Before the battle at Fondouk, Thomas gave Paul a small jackknife as a token of their friendship. Paul carried that knife in his pocket as he drove his tank onto the beach at Anzio, and continued to carry it through the rest of the war. Ask him about it today and he’ll point to a shelf on the wall where that knife lies in a prominent place next to the Purple Heart Paul earned for being wounded during an artillery barrage at Anzio. He has the shrapnel that hit him too, still lodged in his leg.
Ask him, and Paul will tell you about the day the 751st attacked from Anzio Beachhead toward Cisterna and one of the tracks on his M-4 Sherman tank was blown off by a land mine, immobilizing it and forcing Paul and the rest of the tank crew to escape through the tank’s trap door. They ran to another of their unit’s tanks while bullets from a German machine gun nest peppered the ground around them. When they made it to the tank and it turned to retreat, a mine again blew off a track, sending both tank crews scrambling for the safety of a nearby farmhouse. Once inside and finally safe from German bullets, the explosion of a German 88 millimeter artillery round brought the house crashing down on those who weren’t blown out of the building by the blast.
Thus was life at Anzio Beachhead: 138 days of constant bombardment, muddy foxholes, trench foot, and dysentery. The battle for Anzio finally ended on May 25, 1944, when the Allied VI Corps broke through the German defenses and pushed north toward Rome. The VI Corps sustained more than 60,000 casualties at Anzio; of those, over 42,000 were American.
Since the war’s end, the battle at Anzio has too often been overlooked, diminished by Normandy, Okinawa, and Hiroshima, events with clearer goals and more newsworthy outcomes. Even as the battle occurred, it made few headlines, and today, when mentioning it at all, history books allot the battle only a paragraph or two. Its anniversaries have come and gone with few commemorations. Yet it was what all battles are: dirty, bloody, and horrifying. And what too few know and what should never be forgotten is the sacrifice that took place in that faraway resort town on that eight mile stretch of beach.
Each Memorial Day we should think of the enormous debt we owe to those who fought not just in the large battles, but in all battles. From World War II to Korea, from Vietnam to Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom, all those who served deserve our unending thanks. And they all have stories worth hearing, stories filled with the hardships, horror, bloodshed, and death that are the price of life in a free America, stories we should all want to hear, however horrific they may be.
Ask them to tell you; they want you to know.
If we are willing to send our young men and women into harm’s way, and those men and women are willing to risk everything to protect us, it should be our duty to find out what it was we asked them to do.
Ask them all; you need to know.
Copyright 2004-2014. Robert Neumiller. All rights reserved.