One of the problems we faced when the fighting stopped was assembling people from other countries into their own respective groups so they could be transported back to their own countries. These people had been mostly slave labor in Germany and had been through hell. They were thin, tired and sick with very low self-esteem or self-respect. Some of them had been slave-labor for years. There were both men and women in these groups. When I arrived at what was called "The Holland Bunker," which was an apartment complex with a large courtyard in the center, there were perhaps 50 to 60 Hollanders who had moved in, with many more on the way. Dutch people were everywhere in Germany.
Kitchens, fresh or sanitary water, food, and clothing had to be gathered and some kind of order established. We needed names, where they were from and where they were to go. All this had to be recorded. Beds had to be found, along with bed covers. There was so much that was needed and one of the first things was to set up a first-aid station as most of them required medical attention on arrival. After a few days, the number of Hollanders increased to about 200, with more coming everyday. As people arrived, they were asked if there were any medical problems that could be taken care of? To my surprise, a good many of the men had the clap (gonorrhea). Some were ready to admit it, but others were not. I was not about to let these men go home with the clap. They were all lined up for a surprised short arm inspection one morning. Then I knew how much Penicillin to have the doctor bring. As far as the women were concerned, the doctor would have to talk to them, I had no idea how to determine if a woman had it. As everyone began to feel better and more rested, they began to realize they were really going home to Holland. The atmosphere was on the upswing. As time went on, the bunkers kept growing and soon rumors came that transportation was being arranged to Holland.
Romance was in the air. We had formed our own band, with dances a couple of times a week. We were able to have wine and beer shipped in, and there was plenty of good food to eat. The "Holland Bunker" turned out to be one of the happiest and served as a model for others to come.
When I had to leave, the Dutch people gave me a big party, with lots of hugs and kisses, a few tears, some of which were mine, to see how fast these people had recovered from the hell they had been through. Life, for them, was sweet again.
I was back with my outfit again, awaiting orders and out on night patrol with fellow soldier in the Jeep, on a cold dark night, but we were happy. We were both only 19 years old, still alive after fighting in France, Belgium, Luxembourg and on into Germany. To keep warm, we had a bottle of German Rhine wine (the best in the world) that had come out of a very deep wine cellar. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, came a young hysterical girl, 8 to 10 years old. She was in a panic for us to come with her. He aunt or sister was in trouble and had to have help. She could not explain what was wrong. The girl seemed honest and true, but we knew we had to be careful, as there were still plenty of nuts around. We took her in the Jeep to the place she directed us - an apartment building. We followed her into an apartment on the second floor. Inside the apartment there was screaming and hollering between two older women and a younger woman of about 25 or 30 years old. The younger woman, who was very large boned and looked strong, was in bed trying to give birth. The older women would not help her. The old women were sent into the kitchen to boil a couple of pots of water. What the water was to be used for, I didn't know, but it got the older women out of the bedroom. The woman in the bed said the old women were a couple of bitches and she called them something else that I did not understand, but I'm sure it was not good, all because they would not help her have the baby. This woman was in terrible pain. She said the top part of the baby's head was showing, but that was a far as it would go. She had been stuck at this point for over an hour and could not go on any longer. She said she had a baby prior to this one, with no complications. The pain was getting the best of her. She needed help, so I sent my buddy, with the younger girl, to find a doctor. The girl having the baby said doctors would not come, and I told my buddy to bring one back, no matter what the doctor had to say. So, off they went to find a doctor. Time was passing quickly, and that baby had to be moved. The birth mother was screaming now for me to do something. I knew she had to have help and the baby could not wait for the doctor, and I had no idea if the doctor would even come. I had to do something and now. I took one look and said, "Oh, Shit!" The baby had already started out with the top of the head showing as she had said. I tried to get her to push more, nothing happened. She was crying now with pain, asking me for help. It was time to do something, right or wrong. I told the woman to hold on, I was going in after the baby. I gathered up clean towels, and sheets. I knew there was going to be a mess of some kind. I had watched a cat have kittens and a dog have puppies, so really, how much different could this be? I was about to find out! Now, all set with her legs up and positioned right, I slipped a hand in on each side of the baby's head, went a little farther and felt the neck, then the top of the shoulders. I got a firm hold, being as gentle as I could, and started pulling. She was screaming and pushing, then she went silent and limp. I think she passed out. The baby was sliding out now, I kept pulling and the baby kept sliding. All at once, "he" was out and crying. He was so large, it looked like he was two years old. There we were, just the baby and I, but there was this cord-looking attachment that was from the baby's stomach to back inside the mother. What do I do with that? Then, I remembered about cutting the cord when a baby is born, but where do I cut it? Just to be safe, I cut it about 12" out from the baby's stomach and tied both ends of the cut. About this time, the mother is coming around and she starts to push again, but this time out comes what looks like a two or three pound hunk of liver with the other end of that cord attached. This is called the after-birth. I didn't know this came with the baby and for a second, I thought it was twins. The old women came in, and took the baby, cleaned him up and brought him to his mother, who was feeling better now. She was very happy with her son and the two old women acted like they had a new doll to play with. They had a complete change of attitude, and even helped clean up. I will never understand women..
Then, through the door came my buddy with the doctor at gun-point. He had not wanted to come. He looked the situation over then realized he was not being taken out to be shot or robbed. The doctor examined the mother and baby, then cut and placed the cord properly. The doctor was well pleased with the way everything was accomplished and told me I had done a good job, not perfect, but good. He said he would check on the mother and baby later. As the doctor was leaving, he asked the mother what name she had for the baby? The mother looked at me and asked my name. When I told her, she said,"OK, his name is Bobby." So somewhere in Germany, is a 56 year old man by the name of Bobby.
About this time, the U. S. government came out with a point system to start sending our soldiers back home. The more points you had earned in battles and combat, the sooner you could be sent home. The ones with the most points went first. I felt I would be one of the last to leave, as I had only been in Europe about eight or nine months. Some of the men had been there for years. When my points were totaled, there were enough due to battles and combat, for me to head home then.
While in Marseilles, France, where ships were loading to take troops home, the Army had asked for volunteers to make one jump in Japan, hold the position until regular troops replaced and relieved us, then we would be put on planes, flown home and discharged. This sounded like the thing to do, as the war in Japan was still going on. The group of us that volunteered, all with combat experience, was loaded onto a waiting ship and headed for the Pacific. Two days out of Marseilles, word came over the loud-speakers that Japan had surrendered. The war was over!! Our ship turned and headed straight for Boston in the good old USA. That was one happy ship! We disembarked at Boston and went on a train to Camp Grant, Illinos.
While on that train ride, I looked out the window at our country, and I cried like a baby when it hit me, I was going home, alive, to my wife and loved ones. There is always the question combat veterans ask themselves, "Why did I get out alive and so many did not?"
To be continued......The Epilogue.
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