PWs (Prisoners of War) Rounded Up and Moved to the Rear

Soon the Germans were deserting and surrendering in droves. There is a photo on page 137 of our division history which shows four young children, perhaps five to 10 years old—a little girl, three boys, hurrying forward out of the snow-covered foothills, lightly clothed, their hands up, to surrender. It tears your heart out. Another follow-up wish to know: What of their parents? Had their father died in combat? Had their mother been "mistreated"?


Have you grasped the not so veiled meaning of Eisenhower's "non-fraternization" order? Perhaps it has just dawned on you. In the presence of officers, when I was at Dachau (explained later), a scruffy loud-mouthed private bragged about "laying" a young German girl. Peals of crude laughter: Her elderly grandfather had hung himself. Ha ha hardy ha ha! He committed suicide from shame and guilt over his inability to save her.

I almost hoped the oven of Dachau was still operational to stuff this guy into it, but my violently churning viscera finally yielded up only pity for someone so sick and I let the appealing thought perish. The officers laughed nervously and that was that. Possibly the loud-mouth just made this up. Unlikely. Overall, the conduct of U.S. troops, as reported by credible war historians, was exemplary in this respect. Better than that of the Germans and Russians.

Near Garmisch-Partenkirchen... Breath-taking scenery!... close to the Austrian border, a German battalion surrendered to our regiment. Some years later, reading some of my favorite novels, I discovered that Hans Hellmut Kirst was an artillery captain taken prisoner there. You have just got to read Kirst! Movies of his novels have been made, including The Night of the Generals. Get a view from the other side. The German soldiers, strangely, were people too.

Kirst is so good! An anti-Nazi all the way. His most touching—and most horrible book—is the novel in which a German officer's compassion for basket cases is vividly described. I hadn't known until then what "basket case" really meant. Keine Ahunung. Not the faintest idea. They were men who had lost both legs, one arm or both, and parts between and above their legs. Ah, so terrible, horrible. They literally were in baskets, to hold them up, hold them together. Kirst writes inimitably about true brotherhood in war—for all that Nazi officialdom could do.

You have got to read Wolfgang Borchert. Kirst and Borchert. Kirst on both the Russian and the western fronts; Borchert fighting the Russians and imprisoned by the Nazis. On opposite sides from us, but I feel such a kinship with them. With all the Deutsche Soldaten. I had no enmity in my heart for them. Ever. I knew they were just poor children of God forced into their situation. Oh, yes, it may have been exhilarating to them at first. Such easy victories. Vast conquests. Some would have been fanatic Nazis. I was compelled to resist them all, but without hatred.

As a student at the University of Vienna on a Fulbright scholarship (1952-53), I met Austrians who had been opposite our outfit in Alsace and elsewhere. There was no animosity between us. We yacked away telling our war stories as if we had been old comrades.

Just before the war ended, we found ourselves in the Austrian Alps just north of Innsbrück—right around May Day. Our division was tasked to head for the Brenner Pass and link up with Allied forces pushing north from Italy, but that honor went to the 410th Infantry Regiment. Perfect spring weather on that glorious day. All the people were out in their native costumes.... Men and boys in Lederhosen. The women and girls in Dirndls. A beautiful sight to see on the mountain meadow there! The war was over and we were alive! In such a spectacularly beautiful place!