W.R. Hearst Junior Rides Into Combat Zone on Road to Rome

Website Editor’s Note: This article, dated May 10, 1944, features Lt. Col. Raymond E. Kendall (351st) as the press guide during the events described. Tragically, Kendall was killed in action just two days later, on May 12—one day before the article was published. For his bravery that day, he was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. This piece by Hearst captures the atmosphere immediately preceding the major assault on Santa Maria Infante. Efforts have been made to preserve the original typesetting, including capitalization and boldface.

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W.R. Hearst Junior Rides Into Combat Zone on Road to Rome

(This is the ninth of a series of articles by William Randolph Hearst, Junior now in Italy)

By WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEART, JUNIOR

Publisher, New York Journal-American

WITH THE FIFTH ARMY ON THE GARIGLIANO FRONT, May 10. –The stone marker by the side of the road read 160 kilometers.

            Translated into miles and English, it meant that if we kept going on up the Appian Way for 100 miles we would be in Rome.

            Some day perhaps, soon we hope, we will be able to realize that cherished wish but today our destination is the town of Minturno, perched atop a hill overlooking the Gulf of Gaeta, the southwestern-most town on the front line separating our troops from the Germans.

            WE WERE FIVE IN AN OPEN JEEP; GRAHAM HOVE AND LARRY NEWMAN OF INTERNATIONAL NEWS SERVICE, SID FEDER OF THE ASSOCIATED PRESS, OUR DRIVER PFC HAROLD L. BENNETT, OF VALDOSTA, GA., AND YOURS TRULY, BOWLING ALONG UNDER A WARM SUN IN A CLOUDLESS SKY.

Sounds like Picnic

            Sounds almost like a picnic party doesn’t it? As a matter of fact if we had stopped right there we might have turned it into one, but we kept on until we came upon a couple of MPs, who signaled us to stop.

          “You are entering a combat zone,” they said. “Put your windshield down, put the canvas cover on it and from now on you wear your tin hats.”

            The reason for covering the windshield is to prevent the sun’s rays from reflecting up into the surrounding hills, making you a better target for the Kraut’s artillery “vich iss dere, Sharlie.”

          The terrain through which the road passes here is quite flat, with the coast line running parallel to us on our left, but with the ridges of succeedingly higher hills two or three miles off to our right, converging with the sea a few miles ahead of us.

Under White Smoke

            From here on, the area is under a white smoke screen.

            A slight breeze is blowing in from the sea.

            The smoke machines are belching cottony thick stuff which spreads out thinly, enveloping the countryside with a haze two or three thousand feet deep.

            AS WE APPROACH THE GARIGLIANO RIVER, THE SMOKE IS SO THICK THAT AT TIMES YOU CANNOT SEE MORE THAN A HUNDRED YARDS.

            The original and much disputed Minturno Bridge has long since been demolished, so we detour along the bank to a rather rickety looking affair and slowly we start across it.

            Believe me it was an eerie feeling. You know darn well the Germans can drop a shell right on you anytime they want to—you just hope with all your might they don’t want to just then.

            Once on the other side and out of the dense smoke we could see Minturno up on our right.

Germans Hold Higher Ground

            We hold the town and the first ridge around it but the Germans hold the higher ground on the three sides beyond us.

            We turned off sharply now onto a dirt road which ran straight ahead to the foot of the hill on which Minturno stood.

            AN MP STOPPED US AND TOLD US WE COULD EITHER WALK UP THE STEEP SLOPE OR DRIVE AROUND THE SIDE—COMING UP BEHIND INTO TOWN.

            We decided to drive, so swung to our right for a couple of minutes and then turned left on the worst road I have ever been on. Without exaggeration, no car but a jeep could possibly navigate it.

            On both sides of us now—in the bushes, under trees, behind rocks and sandbags, were soldiers and equipment all dug in.

            The terrain is so rough here that tanks are of no use. It offers natural cover from observation. But as we are now only a few thousand yards from the enemy, cover from observation is not enough.

Minturno—Shot to Hell

Cover and protection from mortar fire is the all important thing and soldiers get it by digging shelters into the hillside—protecting the sides of slit trenches with rocks or sandbags. They live literally like animals in caves.

Up and around we climbed, at one point passing through a tiny town consisting only of two rows of houses built just far enough apart to allow two jeeps to pass.

Half the buildings have been hit but the boys use what’s left to live in.

FINALLY WE STOP JUST UNDER THE CREST OF THE HILLTOP. MINTURNO RISES ABOVE US—SHOT TO HELL WITH ITS BIG MEDIEVAL CASTLE SETTING UP ON TOP LIKE A CROWN.

We park the jeep against a wall and walk up a steep street. Signs say to keep close to the buildings, not to bunch up, to keep moving, as the town is “under observation.”

You see, ever since we had been in the combat area we were within range of enemy guns but here we are not only within range but within sight as well.

Blown out by Shell

            To be exact, we are within 1,000 yards of one another.

            I know now just how a bug feels when he is slid under a microscope.

            Just by way of understatement I will say I felt uneasy.

            In a single file we walked up the hill to a building or rather a part of one marked CP, which stands for command post, and went inside.

            The other end of the hall in which we found ourselves had been blown out by a shell and a sign warned us not to hang around too close if we valued our health. But we took a quick peek out over the surrounding hills before sitting down to a swell lunch with the CO, a grey-haired blue-eyed veteran of the last war.

            As we rose to go, the colonel turned to a member of his staff and said, “take the boys up to see some of our observation points.”

            That was all. Just like “take the boys up to see some of our victory gardens.”

            But to get the full import of his words you must know that Ops, as they are commonly referred to, are just what the Germans don’t want us to have, and therefore, whenever they think they know where one is, they shell it.

            “Yes, sir,” said Lieut. Col. Raymond E. Kendall, of Manchester, N. H., and with a curt “follow me,” turned and led the way back to the front door.

Colonel Warns Our Party

            Just inside, he turned to us and cautioning, “keep at least ten yards apart,” set out across the street.

            The “uneasy bug-like” feeling came rushing back in full force but there was nothing for it now as one by one (I went third) we took off.

Most of the time we hugged the building line but ever so often the building that was supposed to be there and used to be, just wasn’t anymore and then you are “under observation” good and proper.

            I know it would sound more exciting if I wrote that the enemy shells were dropping all around us, but the truth is that while we could distinctly hear their firing none of the shells dropped near us.

            ONE REASON THEY DON’T SHOOT MORE IS BECAUSE THEY RUN THE RISK—IF THEY FIRE—OF GIVING AWAY THEIR OWN GUN OR RIFLE POSITIONS. ANOTHER IS THAT WE HAVE MUCH MORE AMMUNITION THAN THEY HAVE AND THEY ARE SAVING THEIRS FOR MORE WORTHWHILE TARGETS.

            At least, that’s what our guide said.

Finally Reach Goal

            We finally reached our goal, puffing like so many steam engines, our hearts pounding away at a great clip—from the exercise, of course.

            From here through horizontal slits cut in the walls, and in turn heavily reinforced with sandbags, we peered out.

            STICKING A BAMBOO STICK THROUGH A SLIT, COLONEL KENDALL POINTED OUT TO US—ONE AT A TIME—WHERE THE GERMAN LINES STARTED—DOWN BY THE SEA AND THEN RUNNING UP INTO THE HILLS AROUND US IN A BIG SEMICIRCLE.

          We looked through powerful binoculars, hoping to see a sign of the enemy, but nothing doing and though we tried it again from two other sides of the room we fared no better, so pretty soon we started down again.

            Back at the CP, we thanked and left our guide and retraced our steps down the main street to our jeep.

Only Way Out—and Went

            Coming up we had thought there were Germans in the hills—going back we knew it, which didn’t make us feel any easier, but it was the only way out and out we went.

            Back down through the wrecked little town we proceeded. Now and again we passed little wooden crosses marking the graves of German soldiers which I had not noticed coming up.

            Finally, we reached the straight road at the foot of the hill. And soon we were back on the main highway with only the crossing of the river between us and normal breathing again.

            A FEW MINUTE DRIVE BROUGHT US TO THE RIVER’S EDGE AND ONCE AGAIN WE WORKED OUR WAY THROUGH THE DENSE SMOKE ALONG THE SHORE AND ONTO THE BRIDGE.

            Between the booming sound of the big guns it was so quiet I could easily hear my heart pounding.

            As we reached the other side, the smoke was suddenly blown away—perhaps by all of us releasing our breaths at the same time—and the little jeep scrambled eagerly up the bank to the paved road.

            That’s all I guess, except that the next day the “Stars and Stripes” had a story headlined “No Excitement at Minturno Front.”

            It just goes to show that you can’t believe anything you read in the papers these days.

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From: The San Francisco Examiner, May 13, 1944, p.10