Continuing the Great War arc, I'm returning to the Battle of Fredericksburg where the US Army attempts again to cross the Rappahannock and regain momentum against the CSA.
Prelude
To add to their problems, rain began to fall upon the battered landscape. Captain Dwight Eisenhower and the survivors of his company lay faced down in the freshly overturned soil of Marye’s Heights. Eisenhower dared not raise his heads to look up the hill. The last man to do so had his head sliced in half by a machine gun. His company pulled out entrenching tools and dug as frantically as possible while stuck prone.
It was all supposed to be so simple. With three divisions spearheading the Fredericksburg sector, the Union Army should have stormed the Heights, taken Fort Stuart and begun the offensive towards the York River. The plan called for the river to be reached and breached before the Confederates could throw up sufficient defenses. In Richmond within by the middle of April. Eisenhower heard it all before; once at the start of the war and again in 1914. Like before, somebody in the War Department neglected to inform the Confederate States Army of the roll it was supposed to play. Like so many other carefully planned attacks, it did not survive contact with the enemy.
After a half-hour of work, Eisenhower managed to throw up enough dirt from his shallow pit to keep out of the line of fire. Today was turning out to be a very bad day. Crossing the Rappahannock was easy enough; a rolling barrage from Union guns suppressed much of the Confederate artillery and machine guns that may have otherwise torn the III Corps of the Second Army to pieces. Behind him, not much was left standing of the town of Fredericksburg. After sitting in no-man’s land for two years, it would be a miracle if one brick still sat atop another.
Eisenhower had thought his plan in his little stretch of the battle to be a sound one. The bulk of his company would open up on the nearest machine gun bunker while a platoon of men flanked the position. It worked for his friend Clive Arnold on the Columbia Front. It would have worked, had a large machine gun nest not covered the flank of the bunker and virtually annihilated the platoon. Four hours of combat and he suffered twenty-five percent casualties. As cruel as it was to say it, Eisenhower knew he was one of the lucky ones. The charge up Marye’s Heights saw entire companies were wiped out and battalions reduced to platoon strength in a matter of minutes.
Prelude
To add to their problems, rain began to fall upon the battered landscape. Captain Dwight Eisenhower and the survivors of his company lay faced down in the freshly overturned soil of Marye’s Heights. Eisenhower dared not raise his heads to look up the hill. The last man to do so had his head sliced in half by a machine gun. His company pulled out entrenching tools and dug as frantically as possible while stuck prone.
It was all supposed to be so simple. With three divisions spearheading the Fredericksburg sector, the Union Army should have stormed the Heights, taken Fort Stuart and begun the offensive towards the York River. The plan called for the river to be reached and breached before the Confederates could throw up sufficient defenses. In Richmond within by the middle of April. Eisenhower heard it all before; once at the start of the war and again in 1914. Like before, somebody in the War Department neglected to inform the Confederate States Army of the roll it was supposed to play. Like so many other carefully planned attacks, it did not survive contact with the enemy.
After a half-hour of work, Eisenhower managed to throw up enough dirt from his shallow pit to keep out of the line of fire. Today was turning out to be a very bad day. Crossing the Rappahannock was easy enough; a rolling barrage from Union guns suppressed much of the Confederate artillery and machine guns that may have otherwise torn the III Corps of the Second Army to pieces. Behind him, not much was left standing of the town of Fredericksburg. After sitting in no-man’s land for two years, it would be a miracle if one brick still sat atop another.
Eisenhower had thought his plan in his little stretch of the battle to be a sound one. The bulk of his company would open up on the nearest machine gun bunker while a platoon of men flanked the position. It worked for his friend Clive Arnold on the Columbia Front. It would have worked, had a large machine gun nest not covered the flank of the bunker and virtually annihilated the platoon. Four hours of combat and he suffered twenty-five percent casualties. As cruel as it was to say it, Eisenhower knew he was one of the lucky ones. The charge up Marye’s Heights saw entire companies were wiped out and battalions reduced to platoon strength in a matter of minutes.