No one goes through a war unscathed. My dad's sister, my aunt Joanie, told me once that dad walked the floor night after night in emotional agony over his experiences during the war. He eventually worked it out and went on with his life. Maybe having a family and a new baby son, helped.
On October 17, 1946, my brother, Robert Wesley Martin (Butch) was born. He was to become the first of five sons my mother and dad eventually had. Mom told me once, that it is a good thing I was born first, as they seemed to have lost the pattern after that. My brother, Butch, was killed in a bad car accident when he was only 49 years old. A major loss to my parents and myself. He and I, as the two oldest, grew up together and were very close. Dad took it very hard and mom did not live but a few years after that. My feelings are that because dad took it so hard, he could not go to the place in his memoirs where my brother was born. Thus, they ended after World War 11, but his amazing life did not stop there. We have many stories and maybe I will get with my brothers and tell more of them.
He had so many life changing experiences by the time he was only 20 years old, that it would seem as if after that, it was all less than interesting.. That could be further from the truth.
When he returned to the U. S. after the war and my brother was born, he went back to school on the G. I. Bill and completed his education. He became a Marine Engineer and Naval Architect. While he was completing his education, my mom, my brother and I lived in Miami, Fla with his mother and her second husband, Charles Shumard. I don't remember much about that time,with dad, except he was not around much. Then again, he was going to school and working, so he probably had his hands full. I remember the house in Miami and different people around, but it was mostly mom and dad trying to establish a home and a life for us. Most of my interaction was with mom, Uncle Charles, my grandmother, and the people across the street.
After dad got his degree we lived in Miami for awhile. After that, I remember living at a lake resort called Kingsley Lake, where my brother and I had the run of the place. Dad was the manager and we lived in one of the small cabins on the grounds and I went to school in Stark, Fla. We then moved to Green Cove Springs, Fla where he was working for a Greek shipyard owner named, George Laris. It was an interesting time for me, and mom and dad and Butch and I lived in several different homes in Green Cove, until we moved to Jacksonville, Fla. Where we eventually settled. When we moved to Jax, I was in the fourth grade so most of my friends are from that time.
Dad worked for various shipyards in the Jacksonville area and at one time owned his own small shipyard. During that time, he built a glass-bottomed boat named "The Arlene Francis" and the reason I remember that boat so well, is he got a call in the middle of the night one time, that the boat had "launched itself" into the river. He also worked for several ship yards in Jacksonville until he went into business for himself again.
Dad eventually became self-employed as a Marine Surveyor and worked for the Navy and various shipping line, including the Norwegian Caribbean Lines. Mom and dad were very social and there were always a lot of interesting people from all parts of the world around the house from time to time. Everyone from Norwegian ship captains to a former Russian Count. His work involved estimating repairs or damages on a ship and overseeing the repair work.
While living in Jacksonville, Florida the rest of my five brothers were born. Jack in 1956, Daniel in 1957, David in 1958 and the youngest, Scott in 1961. Thus completed the Martin family. Of course with six kids, they ended up with many grandchildren, great-grandchildren and even great-great grandchildren that at least dad, lived to see.
At one time dad, took a lifeboat off a ship and converted it into a pleasure craft and there are many stories about their ventures on "The African Queen." Which traveled up and down the St Johns River at about 5 MPH.
Mom died in March of 1998 from complications of congestive heart and leukemia. I was alone with her when she died and held her hand until the end. I had promised her I would be there, and I was. Dad died just 5 days before Christmas in 2004. He had been ill for many years with emphysema and the disease robbed him of an active life in his later years. I think life finally took its' toll on him, and his heart just gave out one day.
My dad lived a charmed life after all, in spite of the tragedies he had to endure. Which, all of us, if we live long enough, will encounter at one time or other on this journey called life.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Rescuing the Dutch, and Delivering a Baby.
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.
.
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.
.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The War in Europe
I left for Fort Benning, Ga, about the 27th of October, 1944. (19 yrs. old) and sailed to Europe first class on the "Queen Elizabeth," which had been converted to a troop carrier. I boarded the ship the 3rd of November, and arrived in Europe on the 10th, somewhere in Scotland. We then were transported by plane to England. It was rumored that most of us would be sent to the 101st Airborne as replacements for the men lost on D-Day, when France was re-taken and fighting was still going on throughout the country. D-Day was June 6, 1944. I am not sure what area we were sent to fight in, but learned this was for real, where a man could get killed and never know what happened. I remember walking dirt roads, alongside wooded areas, with cold and snow making walking difficult, not to mention carrying rifle, ammo, and a back pack. An officer kept yelling, "Spread out, one shell will kill you all!" When the German shells began coming at us, we knew what the officer was saying was very true. We finally had to move up into the wooded area and take cover. The shellings were coming steadily. We were ordered to dig in. The men paired off and dug two-man fox holes. It was not easy. The ground was frozen down to at least 12." Fox holes were dug a couple of trees back from the tree line. Holes were dug in record time, as all the men wanted to be down in the holes for protection from the incoming fire. I'll never forget the whistling sound the shrapnel from the shells made when they exploded in the trees near our fox holes. We were also getting small arms and machine gun fire coming at us. Then came the tank mounted 88's. We held our position for several days, but were losing men faster than they could be replaced. The Germans would put up a bright flood light at night so we could not see past the light and therefore could not see what they were doing. If we shot at the light, they could see where the shot was coming from and all hell would open up. It was better not to shoot at the light.
We found we were on the edge of the Ardennes Forest on the border between Belgium and Germany. At one point, we had Germans directly in front of us and beyond them Americans were dug in. Behind us were our own troops. After days and nights of this, we started thinking it would be nice to get out of this war. So, if you and your buddy shot each other just enough to draw blood, you might get out. Then we would consider we could both bleed to death there in a fox hole, and the idea would pass without a second thought. We had tried making small attacks out of the woods, but were driven back each time, sustaining heavy losses. We had to leave the dead lying where they dropped. My fox-hole buddy and I pulled a wounded man into our hole, but he died before a medic could get to him. We had to keep his body in the hole with us for awhile, before we could get him out. Things were getting worse every day. One morning we were told Headquarters wanted a German prisoner form the German lines in front of us. My buddy and I decided just before daylight that we would creep along a small creek bank that would give us some cover. There was a thin coat of ice on the water and we, by being quiet could get behind one of their machine gun emplacements and surprise them while they were still half asleep. We were almost around them when they saw us, but they were not minding their emplacement. They were crawling towards the creek. With my gun, I motioned for them to get up ahead of us and go towards our lines on their hands and knees. Half way back we stopped to rest and one of the German soldiers said there were a lot of German soldiers wanting to surrender. I asked why they didn't? He said that if any soldier wanted to surrender, they had to first get by the out post that had orders to shoot anyone trying to surrender. I asked how they managed to get by the out post without getting shot? He said, "We are the out post." About that time, we were laughing and small arms fire was coming at us. Up the creek we went, breaking ice, as we went on our hands and knees , delivering the prisoners as ordered. The next day we made the attack and pushed the Germans way back. I don't think there were more than a dozen or our original group of approximately 150 left. Our remaining men were scattered out among other outfits. I do remember fighting for a bridge, but don't recall what company or division I was with at that time. It was now the end of January 1945. The Battle of the Bulge was over, and Germans were fighting their way back to their homeland. I was sent to Paris for a rest and then back to England. In England, we trained with gliders. One morning we were snatched up in a glider by a tow line from a larger aircraft. In our glider we had a fully loaded jeep trailer, rifles, ammunition and five men, plus the glider pilot. We were to land over the rivers and in the center of a German parachute training camp at 12:00 noon, to catch them having lunch. Believe it or not, it happened just that way and we caught them by surprise.. When we were landing in the glider, I was up front with the pilot as the glider was coming down. He said to me, "Shall I go over this first fence and hit the next, or hit the first one?" I said, "Go over the first and maybe we will stop before we hit the second fence." A sudden stop would have brought the fully- loaded trailer forward on top of us. When we rolled to a slow stop, I told the pilot to 'look behind him.' He saw the trailer that could have crushed us and said, "Thanks for being there." We unloaded the glider and secured our area. The Germans did not want to put up much of a fight. There were a couple of die-hards but the rest surrendered.
As we moved on across Germany, we were meeting some resistance, especially from Nazi troops. They were just plain mean. We had stopped in a first-aid station set up in the barn area of a farm. There were men lying all around on stretchers, both American and German, all being cared for by our medics. The medic told me the men on stretchers were being shot every once in a while by a sniper, but he could not find him. From looking around, I knew the only place a sniper could be, was in a loft above the ground floor. Waiting until things were still and quiet, I slowly climbed the ladder into the hay loft. Once in the loft, in a loud, stern voice, sounding like a German officer, I said "Hinda Ho!" and from the far corner of the loft, a young Nazi stood up. I brought him down and took his gun away. I asked him why he was shooting helpless men and he said he was trained not to surrender and to kill all others.
After leaving the first-aid station, we had taken the top of a hill overlooking a village below. There had been some tough fighting by other Americans to gain this hill, but they had not been able to take and hold this hill. We came right behind the first Americans and they had been able to weaken the Germans so we re-took the hill fairly easily. As I came up on top, there were bodies of our American soldiers lying where they had fallen. Something pulled me to one of the bodies.. When I looked, it was Jerry Knight, after all these years, it still hurts just to think about it.
By now, the German soldiers were all ready to surrender. On top of a hill, I looked down to the road and there was a whole division of German troops carrying white flags. I went down, accepted their surrender and went up front of them and marched in approximately 1500 prisoners, all by myself. I felt like I had won the war.
While in Duisburg, Germany, in 1945, after the fighting had stopped, our outfit was in the process of organizing a temporary government. This was a fairly large city with thousands of people who had been hit hard by the war, which left them short of food, water, and housing. There was no city governing organization. It was up to our U. S. Army to bring some kind of order and authority into power to govern the city and preferrably this would be accomplished with their own German people. At the time, all was confusion with American G I's in charge, not knowing who was who, or which people could be trusted, or what lies were being told by residents against each other in order to gain favor with American G I's.
One story that was reported needed immediate investigation. The story was that a mass killing had taken place a few days prior to our fighting to capture the city. A group of the city people directed our men to an area a short distance from the center of town. There on the side of a small hill was evidence of fresh turned earth. This gave proof to the allegations of mass killings. What we learned from this group of angry Germans, who were residents of the city, was that 20 to 30 people, dressed in prison stripes, were brought
to the side of this hill, given shovels and forced to dig a trench 20 to 30 feet long, about 4 ft wide, and 6 ft deep. They were then forced to line up on the hill, just above the hole, and the prisoners were then shot. Most fell into the grave, those that did not were thrown in on top of the ones that had fallen in. Not knowing if all were dead, the trench grave was covered with earth by a bulldozer.
The group of angry citizens claimed this was done by the Nazi's who ruled things under Hitler and the prisoners who were shot would not do as the Nazis had ordered. They would rather die first- and they did.
Within a very short time, some of the strong Hitler followers were gathered at the grave sight by our American soldiers. There were perhaps 20 men. They were given shovels and under armed guards, forced to unearth the bodies, clean them off and place each one in a wooden coffin, take the coffins to the town square, where a separate grave was dug for each coffin. The graves were covered and a marker placed at each grave sight with flowers.
With me during the re-burying ritual, were three Russian soldiers whom our unit had freed from a prison camp. They requested to stay with our unit. Originally we were to be the first to Berlin, and they would leave us there. "Victor." was the oldest, well educated and he spoke good English. He was perhaps 30 years old and mild-mannered. Victor was a strong church man. "Nikolai." about 25 years old, was Mongolian Russian, short on education, and nothing disturbed him, but he know how to laugh. The third man was "Waseal," he was tall, blonde, well-built and a 22 year old farm boy. He had a fair education and was a nice guy. He was also a church man.
While Victor and I were standing and watching the digging to remove the bodies from the mass grave, with American GI's holding guns on the diggers, Victor said, "Bob, you Americans are not much better than the Nazi's, forcing this to be down under threat of death." That statement has always bothered me. Victor was right. We had let anger blur out better judgement, but anger was one of the reasons we were fighting this war.
Not long after the all of this happened, the fighting had stopped in Europe. Word came that all Russian soldiers were to assemble in designated areas and told what to do after they were assembled. Victor explained that a Russian was sworn to keep one last bullet for himself, and not to be taken as a live prisoner by the Germans. Should they, as Russian soldiers, not kill themselves, they would not be accepted back to Russia. So they felt there was no going home, as they were men without a country. When we arrived at the designated area, there were thousands of ex-Russian soldiers, all alive. I told Victor he was not the only chicken in Russia. He didn't think that was funny. All the Russian soldiers were in the same boat. Small groups were forming and there was talk of banding together to form a small army to overthrow the Russian government. They even asked me to join them. Luckily, about that time, word came form Mother Russia that all was forgiven, "Please come home." That is where I left three happy friends. I learned many things from those three, especially concerning world propaganda. We, as common people, are really nothing but sheep. We are told what to do by the ruling authority. In Russia, it was Stalin. In Germany, Hitler. In Italy, Mussolini. Now in the U. S., it is the IRS. That is unless, of course, you have the money to hire high-priced lawyers, then you can get away with anything, even murder. My biggest problem is with tobacco companies who are allowed to manufacture cigarettes. Having emphysema as a result of smoking cigarettes, since I was age 9, I am not in favor of smoking. But when you're are hooked, you're hooked, but enough of my preaching, back to the story.
To be continued.... Rescuing the Dutch, and delivering a baby.
We found we were on the edge of the Ardennes Forest on the border between Belgium and Germany. At one point, we had Germans directly in front of us and beyond them Americans were dug in. Behind us were our own troops. After days and nights of this, we started thinking it would be nice to get out of this war. So, if you and your buddy shot each other just enough to draw blood, you might get out. Then we would consider we could both bleed to death there in a fox hole, and the idea would pass without a second thought. We had tried making small attacks out of the woods, but were driven back each time, sustaining heavy losses. We had to leave the dead lying where they dropped. My fox-hole buddy and I pulled a wounded man into our hole, but he died before a medic could get to him. We had to keep his body in the hole with us for awhile, before we could get him out. Things were getting worse every day. One morning we were told Headquarters wanted a German prisoner form the German lines in front of us. My buddy and I decided just before daylight that we would creep along a small creek bank that would give us some cover. There was a thin coat of ice on the water and we, by being quiet could get behind one of their machine gun emplacements and surprise them while they were still half asleep. We were almost around them when they saw us, but they were not minding their emplacement. They were crawling towards the creek. With my gun, I motioned for them to get up ahead of us and go towards our lines on their hands and knees. Half way back we stopped to rest and one of the German soldiers said there were a lot of German soldiers wanting to surrender. I asked why they didn't? He said that if any soldier wanted to surrender, they had to first get by the out post that had orders to shoot anyone trying to surrender. I asked how they managed to get by the out post without getting shot? He said, "We are the out post." About that time, we were laughing and small arms fire was coming at us. Up the creek we went, breaking ice, as we went on our hands and knees , delivering the prisoners as ordered. The next day we made the attack and pushed the Germans way back. I don't think there were more than a dozen or our original group of approximately 150 left. Our remaining men were scattered out among other outfits. I do remember fighting for a bridge, but don't recall what company or division I was with at that time. It was now the end of January 1945. The Battle of the Bulge was over, and Germans were fighting their way back to their homeland. I was sent to Paris for a rest and then back to England. In England, we trained with gliders. One morning we were snatched up in a glider by a tow line from a larger aircraft. In our glider we had a fully loaded jeep trailer, rifles, ammunition and five men, plus the glider pilot. We were to land over the rivers and in the center of a German parachute training camp at 12:00 noon, to catch them having lunch. Believe it or not, it happened just that way and we caught them by surprise.. When we were landing in the glider, I was up front with the pilot as the glider was coming down. He said to me, "Shall I go over this first fence and hit the next, or hit the first one?" I said, "Go over the first and maybe we will stop before we hit the second fence." A sudden stop would have brought the fully- loaded trailer forward on top of us. When we rolled to a slow stop, I told the pilot to 'look behind him.' He saw the trailer that could have crushed us and said, "Thanks for being there." We unloaded the glider and secured our area. The Germans did not want to put up much of a fight. There were a couple of die-hards but the rest surrendered.
As we moved on across Germany, we were meeting some resistance, especially from Nazi troops. They were just plain mean. We had stopped in a first-aid station set up in the barn area of a farm. There were men lying all around on stretchers, both American and German, all being cared for by our medics. The medic told me the men on stretchers were being shot every once in a while by a sniper, but he could not find him. From looking around, I knew the only place a sniper could be, was in a loft above the ground floor. Waiting until things were still and quiet, I slowly climbed the ladder into the hay loft. Once in the loft, in a loud, stern voice, sounding like a German officer, I said "Hinda Ho!" and from the far corner of the loft, a young Nazi stood up. I brought him down and took his gun away. I asked him why he was shooting helpless men and he said he was trained not to surrender and to kill all others.
After leaving the first-aid station, we had taken the top of a hill overlooking a village below. There had been some tough fighting by other Americans to gain this hill, but they had not been able to take and hold this hill. We came right behind the first Americans and they had been able to weaken the Germans so we re-took the hill fairly easily. As I came up on top, there were bodies of our American soldiers lying where they had fallen. Something pulled me to one of the bodies.. When I looked, it was Jerry Knight, after all these years, it still hurts just to think about it.
By now, the German soldiers were all ready to surrender. On top of a hill, I looked down to the road and there was a whole division of German troops carrying white flags. I went down, accepted their surrender and went up front of them and marched in approximately 1500 prisoners, all by myself. I felt like I had won the war.
While in Duisburg, Germany, in 1945, after the fighting had stopped, our outfit was in the process of organizing a temporary government. This was a fairly large city with thousands of people who had been hit hard by the war, which left them short of food, water, and housing. There was no city governing organization. It was up to our U. S. Army to bring some kind of order and authority into power to govern the city and preferrably this would be accomplished with their own German people. At the time, all was confusion with American G I's in charge, not knowing who was who, or which people could be trusted, or what lies were being told by residents against each other in order to gain favor with American G I's.
One story that was reported needed immediate investigation. The story was that a mass killing had taken place a few days prior to our fighting to capture the city. A group of the city people directed our men to an area a short distance from the center of town. There on the side of a small hill was evidence of fresh turned earth. This gave proof to the allegations of mass killings. What we learned from this group of angry Germans, who were residents of the city, was that 20 to 30 people, dressed in prison stripes, were brought
to the side of this hill, given shovels and forced to dig a trench 20 to 30 feet long, about 4 ft wide, and 6 ft deep. They were then forced to line up on the hill, just above the hole, and the prisoners were then shot. Most fell into the grave, those that did not were thrown in on top of the ones that had fallen in. Not knowing if all were dead, the trench grave was covered with earth by a bulldozer.
The group of angry citizens claimed this was done by the Nazi's who ruled things under Hitler and the prisoners who were shot would not do as the Nazis had ordered. They would rather die first- and they did.
Within a very short time, some of the strong Hitler followers were gathered at the grave sight by our American soldiers. There were perhaps 20 men. They were given shovels and under armed guards, forced to unearth the bodies, clean them off and place each one in a wooden coffin, take the coffins to the town square, where a separate grave was dug for each coffin. The graves were covered and a marker placed at each grave sight with flowers.
With me during the re-burying ritual, were three Russian soldiers whom our unit had freed from a prison camp. They requested to stay with our unit. Originally we were to be the first to Berlin, and they would leave us there. "Victor." was the oldest, well educated and he spoke good English. He was perhaps 30 years old and mild-mannered. Victor was a strong church man. "Nikolai." about 25 years old, was Mongolian Russian, short on education, and nothing disturbed him, but he know how to laugh. The third man was "Waseal," he was tall, blonde, well-built and a 22 year old farm boy. He had a fair education and was a nice guy. He was also a church man.
While Victor and I were standing and watching the digging to remove the bodies from the mass grave, with American GI's holding guns on the diggers, Victor said, "Bob, you Americans are not much better than the Nazi's, forcing this to be down under threat of death." That statement has always bothered me. Victor was right. We had let anger blur out better judgement, but anger was one of the reasons we were fighting this war.
Not long after the all of this happened, the fighting had stopped in Europe. Word came that all Russian soldiers were to assemble in designated areas and told what to do after they were assembled. Victor explained that a Russian was sworn to keep one last bullet for himself, and not to be taken as a live prisoner by the Germans. Should they, as Russian soldiers, not kill themselves, they would not be accepted back to Russia. So they felt there was no going home, as they were men without a country. When we arrived at the designated area, there were thousands of ex-Russian soldiers, all alive. I told Victor he was not the only chicken in Russia. He didn't think that was funny. All the Russian soldiers were in the same boat. Small groups were forming and there was talk of banding together to form a small army to overthrow the Russian government. They even asked me to join them. Luckily, about that time, word came form Mother Russia that all was forgiven, "Please come home." That is where I left three happy friends. I learned many things from those three, especially concerning world propaganda. We, as common people, are really nothing but sheep. We are told what to do by the ruling authority. In Russia, it was Stalin. In Germany, Hitler. In Italy, Mussolini. Now in the U. S., it is the IRS. That is unless, of course, you have the money to hire high-priced lawyers, then you can get away with anything, even murder. My biggest problem is with tobacco companies who are allowed to manufacture cigarettes. Having emphysema as a result of smoking cigarettes, since I was age 9, I am not in favor of smoking. But when you're are hooked, you're hooked, but enough of my preaching, back to the story.
To be continued.... Rescuing the Dutch, and delivering a baby.
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