Beyond the Call: Medal of Honor Stories

Welcome to Beyond the Call, where history, leadership, and heroism come alive. Today’s episode explores the story of First Lieutenant Beryl Richard Newman and his Medal of Honor actions near Cisterna, Italy, a powerful story of courage and perseverance.

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Few moments in World War Two capture raw courage as vividly as a young American lieutenant standing upright in an open Italian field while enemy machine guns raked the ground around him. First Lieutenant Beryl Richard Newman of the Thirty Fourth Infantry Division was that officer, leading his platoon near Cisterna, Italy, in May nineteen forty four when they were suddenly pinned down by well concealed German positions.

Instead of dropping for cover, Newman remained on his feet, exposing himself to fire so he could spot the enemy guns and direct his men. That blend of calm under fire, aggressive initiative, and absolute refusal to abandon his mission would ultimately earn him the Medal of Honor.

Newman’s story is, at its heart, the story of one small unit leader who turned a deadly ambush into an opportunity through sheer will and personal example. As German automatic weapons chattered and the ground around him exploded with bullets, he pushed forward alone, closing the distance with his submachine gun and grenades.

His actions broke the enemy’s grip on a critical stretch of terrain, saved lives within his inexperienced platoon, and opened a path for the advance toward Rome. It was in that brutal, close range fight outside Cisterna that Beryl Richard Newman went beyond the call of duty and secured his place in the long roll of Medal of Honor recipients.

By the spring of nineteen forty four, the Italian campaign had become a grinding test of endurance for both Allied and German forces. After the landings at Salerno and the brutal fighting along the Gustav Line, the Allies sought ways to break through the mountain defenses that shielded central Italy and Rome.

One key effort was the amphibious landing at Anzio, intended to outflank German positions, threaten their supply lines, and force a withdrawal from the south. Instead, the beachhead bogged down into a stalemate, with German forces digging in and turning the surrounding countryside into a deadly maze of fields, farmhouses, and strongpoints.

The town of Cisterna, southeast of Rome, lay at the center of this struggle. Situated near key roads and rail lines, it served as a gateway from the Anzio beachhead into the interior approaches to the capital.

German commanders understood that holding the area around Cisterna would help contain the Allies on the coast and buy time for their defense of Rome. For the Allies, seizing Cisterna and the high ground beyond it became a necessary step in turning the Anzio foothold into a true breakthrough.

In late May nineteen forty four, Allied forces launched a renewed offensive to break out from the Anzio perimeter and link up with units attacking northward from the old Gustav Line. The operation combined American, British, and other Allied formations under the United States Fifth Army, all pushing against a patchwork of German infantry, armored, and paratroop units.

The fighting around Cisterna was intense and close, with attacks often measured in yards gained against machine guns and mortars hidden in vineyards, stone walls, and farm buildings. It was in this environment of constant danger, confusion, and opportunity that small unit leaders like Beryl Newman had to operate.

The Thirty Fourth Infantry Division, known as the Red Bull Division, brought hard earned experience to this stage of the campaign. Its soldiers had already fought in North Africa and earlier phases of the Italian campaign, learning how difficult it was to advance against well prepared defenders in rugged terrain.

By the time they moved into the Cisterna sector, they were veterans, but they were also depleted and dealing with replacements who had never seen combat. Platoon leaders like Newman had to weld these mixed groups into cohesive teams on the move, often under fire, while pushing forward through a landscape that seemed to resist every step.

Cisterna itself had already acquired a grim reputation among American troops. Earlier in the year, United States Ranger units attempting to seize the town had been cut off and devastated, a sobering reminder of how quickly offensive plans could unravel under German counterattacks.

That memory hung over later operations in the area, adding psychological weight to an already dangerous mission. When Newman and his platoon moved forward near Cisterna on May twenty sixth, nineteen forty four, they were not only confronting the immediate threat of machine guns and mortars, but also the accumulated history of costly fighting that had taken place on that same ground.

Beryl Richard Newman was born on November second, nineteen eleven, in Baraboo, Wisconsin, a small midwestern town that would later take quiet pride in its most famous native son. He grew up in a close knit community where hard work and modest expectations were the norm, not the exception.

Athletic and determined, he earned a football scholarship to what is now North Dakota State University, where he studied agriculture, lettered in football, and completed Reserve Officers Training Corps training. Those years on the field and in his Reserve Officers Training Corps classrooms, learning both teamwork and leadership, laid the foundation for the calm, decisive officer who would one day lead men under fire in Italy.

When the United States entered World War Two, Newman went on active duty and was eventually assigned to the One Hundred Thirty Third Infantry Regiment of the Thirty Fourth Infantry Division. He saw hard service long before Cisterna, suffering a shoulder wound in North Africa and another in Sicily, experiences that gave him a veteran’s realism about what combat demanded.

After his Medal of Honor action and a later concussion from a mine damaged tank, his active Army career drew to a close, and he left the service with the rank of captain and several decorations in addition to the Medal of Honor. In the years that followed, he settled in Virginia with his wife Emiline, raised four children, and worked for decades as a commercial oysterman and crab fisherman, a quiet life on the water that contrasted sharply with the violence of his wartime service.

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty on May twenty sixth, nineteen forty four. Attacking the strongly held German Anzio Nettuno defense line near Cisterna, Italy, First Lieutenant Newman, in the lead of his platoon, was suddenly fired upon by two enemy machine guns located on the crest of a hill about one hundred yards to his front.

The four scouts with him immediately hit the ground, but First Lieutenant Newman remained standing in order to see the enemy positions and his platoon then about one hundred yards behind. Locating the enemy nests, First Lieutenant Newman called back to his platoon and ordered one squad to advance to him and the other to flank the enemy to the right.

Then, still standing upright in the face of enemy machine gun fire, First Lieutenant Newman opened up with his tommy gun on the enemy nests. From this range, his fire was not effective in covering the advance of his squads, and one squad was pinned down by the enemy fire.

Seeing that his squad was unable to advance, First Lieutenant Newman, in full view of the enemy gunners and in the face of their continuous fire, advanced alone on the enemy nests. He returned their fire with his tommy gun and succeeded in wounding a German in each of the nests.

The remaining two Germans fled from the position into a nearby house. Three more enemy soldiers then came out of the house and ran toward a third machine gun.

First Lieutenant Newman, still relentlessly advancing toward them, killed one before he reached the gun, the second before he could fire it. The third fled for his life back into the house.

Covering his assault by firing into the doors and windows of the house, First Lieutenant Newman, boldly attacking by himself, called for the occupants to surrender to him. Gaining the house, he kicked in the door and went inside.

Although armed with rifles and machine pistols, the eleven Germans there, apparently intimidated, surrendered to the lieutenant without further resistance. First Lieutenant Newman, singlehandedly, had silenced three enemy machine guns, wounded two Germans, killed two more, and taken eleven prisoners.

This demonstration of sheer courage, bravery, and willingness to close with the enemy even in the face of such heavy odds, instilled into these green troops the confidence of veterans and reflect the highest traditions of the United States Armed Forces.

On the morning of May twenty sixth, nineteen forty four, Newman’s platoon moved forward as part of the grinding Allied effort to push past Cisterna and crack the German defensive line. The terrain ahead rose toward a low crest, deceptively gentle ground that masked the enemy positions waiting beyond it.

Newman walked at the front with four scouts, the traditional vanguard whose job was to feel for contact before the main body blundered into trouble. When the first bursts of machine gun fire tore into the air from the crest about a hundred yards away, the scouts instinctively threw themselves flat, and the battlefield turned deadly in an instant.

In that first shock of contact, Newman made a choice that separated him from most men. Instead of diving for cover, he remained standing, fully exposed, so he could spot the flashes of the German guns and locate exactly where the fire was coming from.

Behind him, his platoon was still a hundred yards to the rear, strung out and vulnerable if they advanced blindly into the kill zone. By staying upright, Newman risked his life to gain the few seconds and the clearer view he needed to direct their movement. It was the kind of decision that had to be made on instinct, without time for deliberation.

Once he had fixed the German positions in his mind, Newman turned that knowledge into action. He shouted back instructions, ordering one squad to advance up toward him and another to swing to the right to outflank the enemy guns.

This was textbook infantry tactics executed under extreme pressure, one element to fix the enemy frontally, another to work around the side. But every step those men took forward meant moving into the beaten zone of well sited machine guns.

Newman understood that his orders would mean little unless he could somehow reduce the volume of enemy fire. With that in mind, he brought his submachine gun, the familiar tommy gun carried by many American officers and noncommissioned officers, to his shoulder and opened fire.

From a hundred yards away, the short range weapon was not ideal for precise hits on dug in targets, yet the stream of bullets served another purpose. By firing steadily at the crest, he forced the enemy gunners to duck, hesitate, or shift their aim, buying precious seconds for his own squads to move.

Still in full view of the German gunners, he walked and then rushed forward, closing the gap between himself and the crest while returning fire with his tommy gun. As he drew nearer, his weapon, designed for close combat, became more effective, and he succeeded in wounding a German soldier in each of the two machine gun nests that had ambushed his platoon.

The remaining crew members abandoned their positions and ran for a nearby house that served as their fallback point, turning a strong defensive line into a retreat. No sooner had those gunners fled than three more German soldiers emerged from the same house, sprinting toward a third machine gun that had not yet joined the fight.

Newman kept moving toward them, refusing to let them reestablish another deadly position. He shot one before the man could reach the weapon, then killed a second before he could bring the gun into action, forcing the third to break off and dash back into the house.

In doing so, Newman not only eliminated another threat but also prevented the enemy from restoring the wall of fire that had earlier pinned his men in place. With the open ground now a little less lethal, Newman pressed his attack all the way to the enemy’s refuge.

He poured fire into the doors and windows of the house, using the noise, shock, and splintering wood to intimidate the defenders inside and keep their heads down. Then, still acting alone, he closed on the building and called for the occupants to surrender.

Beryl Newman’s actions near Cisterna offer a clear lesson in what it means to lead from the front when everything is at stake. He did not simply issue orders from safety, he exposed himself to the same danger his men faced, and then more, so that they could move and fight with a chance of survival.

That choice built instant credibility with soldiers who were still gaining their first real combat experience, transforming fear into trust and determination. Modern leaders, military or civilian, can recognize in his example the enduring power of visible commitment and personal risk on behalf of the people they are supposed to guide.

He knew when to press forward aggressively and when to use fire to create openings for others, showing that courage is most effective when tied to a clear understanding of the problem at hand. The lesson for today’s leaders is that boldness without thought is reckless, but knowledge without the willingness to act can be just as dangerous.

Finally, Newman’s story underscores a deeper ethical dimension of military service, the obligation to accept personal risk to protect others and accomplish a just mission. He did not act for medals or recognition, in the moment, his focus was on breaking the machine guns that threatened his men and clearing a path for the advance.

Beryl Richard Newman’s journey from a small town Midwesterner to a Medal of Honor recipient on the fields outside Cisterna is a story of courage, skill, and quiet resolve under fire. His decision to stand upright in the face of enemy machine guns, to push forward alone when his men were pinned down, and to turn a deadly ambush into a victory captures the essence of going beyond the call of duty.

Long after the war, as he worked the waters of Virginia and raised a family, his actions in Italy remained a lasting testament to what determined leadership can achieve in the hardest moments of combat. As you reflect on his example, consider subscribing, sharing this story with others, and returning for the next Beyond the Call Medal of Honor profile, where another extraordinary life and battlefield moment will come into focus.

Thank you for joining me on today’s episode of Beyond the Call. If you would like to dive deeper into more stories of bravery, leadership, and history, visit Trackpads dot com.

Until next time, keep exploring, stay inspired, and remember, the lessons of the past shape the warriors of the future.