Third, both senior and subordinate commanders, aware of the possibilities, should plan for the worst. The key issue is the voluntary assumption of a last-ditch stand, even against orders. Only the most urgent and vital considerations would justify this. If the junior commander survives, he might face court-martial and disgrace. Nevertheless, having made the decision, the Alamo force commander must carry it through. Parker committed himself and his men to victory or death, probably the latter, and he must lead by personal example. A little band of strong men, resolved to die with a sword in hand, can be an extremely thorny twig to grasp, and an enemy trying to meet a tight schedule may well hesitate. All the better for the Alamo force-it’s just what they want. And the higher commander should prepare himself for the loss of valuable combat power, perhaps one-third of his command if his junior commander decides on an Alamo Defense. Both should ensure that no neglect or omission of support will suggest this desperate action and, with prudent foresight, avoid the necessity. But if it comes to the pinch, do it for the cause.
Fourth, it appears that Maj Parker and his men went largely unrewarded for their valor. Maj Parker received a Silver Star, Goldstein a Bronze Star with a V device. Several NCOs and soldiers got individual decorations. The Belgian government granted the battalion a Croix de Guerre with Silver Gilt Star, but no unit decoration was authorized by their own government. For a Medal of Honor performance by Parker that seems a bit thin. Lapse of time and current regulations prohibit any further mark of recognition for an action that may very well have saved two divisions. Filth, we may speculate that somewhere in today’s Army walks another Maj Parker, perhaps wearing a lieutenant’s bar or sergeant’s stripes. If it were possible, the Army should find that man and cherish him, for one day it will need him very badly down some cold, perilous road. He will see great adversity rolling toward him. Then he will become ‘Major Parker’ and fight like a wildcat. But now the Major’s battle is over, and he sleeps among warriors. And in a grassy plot near the crossroads of the two Belgian highways stands a carved granite boulder that proclaims it Parker’s Crossroad, where Maj Arthur C. Parker breathed spirit into his GIs, and all acquitted themselves most honorably against enormous odds. Finally, one does think that, had Leonidas of Sparta had a ‘Major Parker’ to hold that fatal footpath, the Persians never would have turned his flank at Thermopylae.
Note You can say and think what you want, I remain, however, convinced that the attribution of decorations during the war is more discussed in the offices of the Unit’s General Staff, well warmed and far away from the line of fire, than on the line of fire where medals get really won. In 1984, I was with my friend William C. Cavanagh in the Quality Inn in Albany, NY, for a veterans’ reunion. I spent most of the Evening with T/Sgt Francis S. Currey of King Co, 3/120th Infantry Regiment, 30th Infantry Division. While talking about the Battle in Malmedy, this is exactly what he told me: I was standing with my BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle) in the door on the Paper Mill in Malmedy when some strange German Armored vehicle appeared and stopped a couple of yards away from where I was. An officer came out of the turret and started watching around until he saw me. I said good morning, the gentleman opened with my BAR, and literally cut that guy into two pieces. I will never understand why I was awarded the CMO for this action. The guys in the forest in the first lines should have got a CMO for what they did but I got the CMO. And he wasn’t the only veteran to tell me this. Another example is the two guys in a crashed B-17 in Hattonville, France. They crashed with their bomber in the exact same way as several hundred other B-17s but for some obscure reasons still classified today (2022), the Pilot and Co-Pilot (Gott and Metzger) were awarded the CMO, which by the way, happened only once in the entire history of the US Army Air Force. For this and probably many other occurrences, I think that Maj Arthur Parker deserved the Congressional Medal of Honor for the Alamo Defense at the Baraque Fraiture in December 1944. At least, we, Belgian Citizens, recognized the merits of Maj Parker, and we named the Crossroads Parker Crossroads. We will not forget what was done for our country, and we continue to teach this to the following generations, even if today, the USA has become our worst enemy on the old continent.
Doc Snafu
Proud Honorary Member 17-A/B Div Association USA
Since 1985 and counting.
589-FAB – 106-ID, GOLDEN LIONS
Last Man Stand, Baraque de Fraiture
Thanks to the following 589-FAB veterans for contributions of personal history: Sgt Barney M. Altord, Chief 2nd Section Battery A; Cpl John Galen, Chief-Gunner Section Battery A; Maj Elliot Goldstein, Officer in command after Maj Parker was WIA; Sgt Charles F Jacelon, Forward Observer under Lt Crowley Battery A; Pfc Harold J. Kuizema, Wireman Battery B; Prime Mover Eldon E. Miedema, Battery A; Pierson Randolph, Forward Observer, and Cpl John R. Schaffner, Battery B.
Cpl John Schaffner
On December 19, in the afternoon, what was remaining of the 589-FAB arrived at the crossroads at Baraque de Fraiture to establish some kind of blocking force against the German advance. There were approximately 100 men and 3 105-MM howitzers to set up the defense at this time. The weather was cold, wet, and foggy with some snow already on the ground. Visibility was variable, clearing from maybe fifty yards to two or three hundred on occasion. I didn’t know who was in charge of the ragtag group that I was with until I saw Maj Elliot Goldstein out in the open, verbally bombasting the enemy (wherever they were) with all the curse words he could think of and at the top of his booming voice. I thought at the moment that he won’t be around too long if there are any Germans out there to hear him. Apparently, there were none; he drew no fire. I was taking cover behind the rear wheel of one of our trucks at the time and felt rather naked. The 3 105-MM were ordered into position to defend the crossroads, and I was told to go out there, dig in, and look for an attack from that direction. I still have no idea of the situation. Most of the night we spent in the foxhole. All was quiet on the front line. When I was relieved during the night to get some rest, I tried to find a dry place in the stone barn to lie down. The floor was deep in mud, but the hayrack on the wall was full of dry hay, so I accepted that as a good place to sleep. Pushing the cows aside, I climbed into the hay. I guess that the cows just didn’t understand, because they kept pulling the hay out from under me until I became the next course on their menu. Anyway, it wasn’t long until I was outside in another hole in the ground.
Randolph C. Pierson
December 19, What a way to spend my 21st birthday! We are headed north to fight Panzers again! That’s great! Maj Arthur C. Parker, now commanding, received orders to split the reduced battalion into two elements, one element to move west and establish a defensive roadblock at a village I never heard of, and the second element to move north to the crossroads located at Baraque de Fraiture, to repel an expected Panzer attack. I was assigned to the advance party of the second element and arrived at Baraque de Fraiture about 1400. My responsibility was to help establish the CP, the Fire Direction Center (FDC), the Message Center, and a local communications network. To order an already beat-up artillery unit to fight Panzers was really stupid! We were not trained as infantry or tank destroyers. What were we supposed to do? I could not comprehend why Panzers would attack here. Before we arrived, there was nothing to attack but three or four empty buildings and a few milk cows. Why would the German army fight for this bleak, windswept, cold, snow-covered, open spot in the Belgian Ardennes Forest? This terrain is worth nothing! We had not seen our commanding officer, Col T. Paine Kelly, in three days now. This bothered me! What had happened to him?
Pfc Harold J. Kuizema
There was snow on the ground, it was cold, and so foggy that it was impossible to see more than 100 feet. Soon, the order came to move to the crossroads at Baraque de Fraiture. We took over some of the larger family homes there. The home we took over had an attached barn with cows and hay to feed the cows. The elderly gentleman whose home we took over had taken the time to milk the cows before he left. As he left, he offered me some milk, which I refused. I’m not sure why, since that was the last time we saw fresh milk for some time. The picture of the old man walking off with his little pushcart and his belongings is still vivid in my mind. This house was later used as our CP. We all found a variety of places to sleep in this house. There was always someone who pulled guard. My memory would say we were on guard for two hours and then off for four hours. I don’t recall sleeping much there. My buddy Bernard Strohmier remembers sleeping on the hay. The cows kept eating, and so by morning, Bernie was wedged in the trough that the cows had eaten from.
Cpl John Schaffner
The weather remained miserable, cold, wet, and foggy with a little more snow for good measure. If the enemy was around, he was keeping it a secret. The day went very slowly. This kind of time is usually spent getting your hole just a bit deeper, you never know how deep it is going to be deep enough. Now and then, one of our guys would pop off a few rounds at something, real or imagined. Some AAA people joined us with a towed trailer mounted with four .50 cal MG’s and a 37-MM cannon. I thought at the time, I’d hate to be in front of that thing when it went off. I only saw the one unit then, but the books reporting the action mention that there were four of these units there from the 203-AAA-AW Bn (7-AD). This weapon was positioned to fire directly down the road to Houffalize. Frank Aspinwall also reports that we were joined by a platoon of the 87-CRS. Later in the evening, Capt Brown sent me with another B Battery guy, Ken Sewell, to a foxhole in the ditch at the side of the road to Houffalize, about a couple of hundred yards out from the crossroads. We were the outpost and had a field telephone hookup to Capt Brown’s CP. Capt Brown told us to just sit tight and report any movement we observed. There was a Daisy Chain of mines strung across the road a few yards ahead of our position to stop any vehicles. The darkness was made even deeper by the thick fog that night, with a silence to match. Now and then, a pine tree would drop some snow or make a noise. I think my eyelids and ears were set on ‘Full Open’.
There we sat in this hole in the ground just waiting and watching, until about midnight, when we could hear strange noises in the fog. It was very dark, and our visibility was extremely limited, but we were able to discern what was making the strange noise as about a dozen Germans came into view on bicycles. They stopped in the road when they came upon the mines. Being unaware of our presence, not 10 yards away, they stood there in front of us in the middle of the road – probably talking over what to do next. We could hear that the language was not English, and they were wearing square helmets. Sewell and I were in big trouble. This was a first for us to be this close to the enemy. Thinking that there were too many for us to take on with a carbine, I took the telephone and whispered our situation to Capt Brown. His orders were as follows: ‘Keep your head down, and when you hear me fire my .45 the first time, we will sweep the road with the AAA quad 50s. When that stops, I’ll fire my .45 again, and then we will hold fire while you two come out of your hole and return to the CP. Make it quick!’ And that’s the way it happened. That German patrol never knew what hit them. On hearing the .45 the second time, Ken and I left our home and, keeping low, ran back toward our perimeter. I was running so hard that my helmet bounced off my head and went rolling out into the darkness. I thought, to hell with it, and never slowed down to retrieve it. I lost sight of Ken and honestly don’t remember ever seeing him again. I heard many years later that he was captured along with Bernard Strohmier and others after the Germans took the crossroads. By calling out the password, Coleman, I got safely past our defense perimeter and was then shot at and missed by somebody at the howitzer position as I approached it. After a blast of good old American obscenities, they allowed me through, and I reported to Capt Brown. The official book says that there was an eighty-man patrol from the 560.VGD and the 2.SS-PD were out there that night. Maybe the rest were back in the fog somewhere.
Randolph Pierson
December 20, 1944. It is cold, almost 20 degrees below freezing. The north wind is brisk. I was glad I got to spend the night in the security of the root cellar under the stone CP building. During the night and early this morning, Maj Parker had persuaded stragglers to stand and fight with us. They were one light tank and crew from the 87-CRS; four 3-inch HVAP-AT guns and crews from the 643-TDB, four AAA half-tracks from the 203-AAA-AW Bn, 3 mounting Quad .50s, and one mounting a 37-MM gun. We received our first fire mission at approximately 1500. The target was some enemy infantry entering Samrée. This was strange because our defenses were facing east and north, and Samrée was to our west. We successfully completed the mission and got the report to the cease-fire; the enemy infantry was withdrawing from Samrée. Where in the hell is the enemy? Another typical situation that no one knows anything about is SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fouled Up). Our second activity occurred at about 2300 on the same day. Enemy infantry reported approaching our positions from the east. Alerted the quad .50s half-track covering that sector delivered devastating fire, which I watched from the road in front of the CP. It was beautiful, looked like four lines of giant fireflies chasing each other. I could not relate this beautiful sight to the carriage being created on the enemy end. A combat patrol was dispatched to mop up enemy survivors. The patrol found only one wounded German, many dead bodies, and scattered, mangled bicycles. The main question is, what was this patrol doing? Why is it here? We could only guess. The wounded man died without speaking. We will never know.
Pfc Harold J. Kuizema
December 20, 1944. Weather conditions were the same: cold, Snowy, and Foggy. Today, we positioned ourselves around the house. My buddies were busy laying land mines across the road. Others had set up machine guns. We placed our trucks, which were the weapon carriers, and used them for hiding or defense. We lay right underneath the trucks. That day, the Germans made their first attack. I fired my carbine from behind a truck wheel. Many Germans were wounded and would call out, ‘Comrade, Comrade’. One dead German soldier that lay approximately 50 feet from us was a very young soldier, perhaps a sixteen-year-old. Maj Parker wanted us to round up those who had been taken prisoner. He asked me to accompany him with the prisoners as we directed them to the CP for interrogation.
Cpl John Schaffner
December 21, 1944. I was sent forward to have a look around and found several dead German soldiers in the snow. I was not at all comfortable with that and was happy not to have found any live ones. The enemy had apparently pulled back after we had cut down their advance group the night before. All that day was spent digging and improving our defensive perimeter. We were given some warming time off and on inside the stone building being used as a CP. At one point, I was detailed to guard two German prisoners who were brought in. I never learned the circumstances of their capture. One, an officer, spoke good English and warned us that the German army was coming through us and would kill anyone in the way and push the rest into the English Channel, so we could save everybody a lot of trouble by surrendering to him right then and there. At one point, a Sherman tank came along and was set up in front of our CP and fired a few rounds across the field and into the forest at some distant soldiers running from tree to tree for cover. That night, after the initial attack, I recall being in my foxhole waiting for the Germans to come at us again. The realization came to me that I was involved in a really risky business. The area was lighted by the flames of a store of fuel drums burning throughout most of the rest of the night and reflecting eerily on the snow-covered ground. The only sounds were those of the fire and the crying for help from the wounded enemies who were lying out there just out of view. I stayed in the foxhole all night and never did discover what finally happened to them; apparently, their people abandoned them. Later, I heard that one of our medics went out and checked on them and did what he could.
Over the years, I continue to feel some responsibility for their fate since it was I who called for the fire on them when they approached the crossroads. Responsible, yes. Sorry, no. It was them or me. A lot of things go through your mind when you think that it is your time to die, and I can clearly remember lying in that cold hole in the ground that could shortly be the grave, thinking that I had not even experienced being in love yet. I definitely did not want to die in this strange place. I prayed to God, Jesus, and every other deity that I could think of for help. In later years, I heard the expression that there were no atheists in foxholes. You can believe that.
Randolph Pierson
December 21, 1944. Maj Parker looks bad and really tired. He hasn’t had much rest or sleep in five days. We are all getting fatigued. It shows in the eyes. At 0530, our first serious attack began. About two platoons of enemy infantry in the forest east of the perimeter, supported by light mortar fire, seemed to be testing our defense capability. By daylight, our 105-MM and heavy automatic weapons fire had forced the enemy to withdraw. Only a single mortar continues to deliver interdiction fire into our positions. About 0800, Maj Parker dispatched the 87-CRS light tank to find and neutralize the mortar position. In a short time, the tank returned to the CP. The noncom tank commander reported to the major that the mortar had been neutralized. He then produced 5 German soldiers’ books to identify the enemy unit attacking us, and as proof of his kill. This second firefight proved to the enemy that we were here and planning to stay. So far, so good. No American casualties! At about 2000, the major asked me to man an observation post for the remainder of the night. He expected an enemy build-up during the night and needed a forward observer to adjust to harassing fire. The walk to the OP was dark and frightening. The OP I manned was 800 or 900 yards east of our perimeter. I was alone except for my EE-8A field telephone, my .45 caliber pistol, and my freshly-sharpened boot knife. I wished I were back at the CP.
Pfc Harold J Kuizema
December 21, 1944. Fog, Snow, and Cold persisted. The next few days, we were busy trying to dig our foxholes as deep as we could. We dug them around the house. Weather conditions being what they were, the ground did not cooperate with our efforts very easily. There were two of us in each foxhole, and we lined them with an army blanket. Sad, but true, I do not remember who I shared my foxhole with. We were mainly concerned with surviving at that time. One of us was always on guard, and so it was not a very social time. Keeping alert was crucial to survival. The feelings were ones of constant fear. Prior to my army experience, I was firmly established in my belief in God. I cannot say I thought about that a great deal. We were kept very busy with an attack occurring twice every day – one attack in the morning and another in the afternoon. The truck, just behind us, a half-track with a machine gun mounted on it, was intermittently spraying the area with machine-gun fire to flush out any snipers who might be in the area. Fulfilling our duties, surviving, and keeping warm were high priorities. I know the prayers of my family and church followed me.
Cpl John Schaffner
December 22, 1944. Very early, in the dark, in the morning, the Germans attacked again, and we were subjected to small arms and mortar fire off and on all day. At one point, mortar rounds were landing really close to my foxhole, and I was feeling very exposed with no helmet to crawl into. I could hear the mortar fragments smacking into the ground all around me. Most of the rounds were falling farther in toward the buildings. I saw one hit the roof of Capt Brown’s CP. It must have been during this time that Maj Parker was wounded by a fragment. I’m not sure about that. I didn’t witness it. There was a GI in a foxhole next to mine who would not fire his weapon. When I called him to fire he just looked at me. I didn’t know him and don’t know his fate either. I could not understand why he was not willing to help himself and the rest of us. I have read that this is not an unusual occurrence. There are always a certain number who will not squeeze that trigger, even when their life is threatened.
Late in the afternoon, several tanks were heard approaching our position. Thankfully, they were ours. They rolled out in the open and fired their big guns into the German positions, and I thought, no problem now with all this help, the day is saved. It got quiet again. And then the tanks left. Looked like we would be hung out to dry, but it did stop the enemy attack for a while. Thanks, tankers. Too bad you couldn’t stay for dinner. After dark, I was moved in closer to the CP and dug another hole along with a GI named Randy Pierson. One of our guys made a run from hole to hole, tossing everybody something to eat. I caught a box of wet-or-dry cereal and ate it dry. The two of us spent the night in the hole. One of us would sleep for an hour, and the other would keep watch, and then we would alternate. This was the only kind of rest that anybody got. We had dug our hole reasonably deep and then further fortified it with some fence rails that we crisscrossed in front of it. I was sure that we would be attacked that night. I had 30 rounds of carbine ammunition remaining and a knife that I placed on the ground where I could reach it. I prayed that it would not be necessary. It got very cold that night, and the enemy did not attack. Another very long night. At the time, the weather was our worst enemy, but then in the morning, things changed, and the weather took second place.
