PRAISEFOR

ANOTHERRIVER,ANOTHERTOWN

“Ataut,insightfulstorytoldbyathoughtfulsoldier.It’sasfineacombatmemoir

asyou’relikelytoencounter.”

—Flint,Michigan,Journal

“Irwinhasproducedastraightforwardaccountofhisweeksinthefrontlinesof

the European Theater, without self-analysis, without attempting to impart any

‘message’beyondthehorrordemonstratedbyeventsthemselves.”

—St.PetersburgTimes

“A well-written and easily read story that is remembered from a perspective

rarelytold.”

—Williamsport,Pennsylvania,Sun-Gazette

“Notonlyafirst-personhistorylesson…[but]adeeplypsychologicallookatwar

anddeaththroughateenager’seyes.You’llbehookedfromtheveryfirstpage.”

—Lancaster,Pennsylvania,NewEra

2003RandomHouseTradePaperbackEdition

AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.PublishedintheUnited

StatesbyRandomHouseTradePaperbacks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,and

simultaneouslyinCanadabyRandomHouseofCanadaLimited,Toronto.

RANDOMHOUSETRADEPAPERBACKSandcolophonaretrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

ThisworkwasoriginallypublishedinhardcoverbyRandomHouse,Inc.,in2002.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-Publication

DataIrwin,JohnP.

Anotherriver,anothertown:ateenagetankgunnercomesofageincombat—1945/JohnP.Irwin.

p.cm.

eISBN:978-1-58836-106-6

1.Irwin,JohnP.,1926–2.WorldWar,1939–1945—Personalnarratives,

American.3.WorldWar,1939–1945—Campaigns—Germany.

4.Soldiers—UnitedStates—Biography.5.WorldWar,1939–1945—

Tankwarfare.I.Title.

D811.I77A32002940.54’8173—dc2101048482

RandomHousewebsiteaddress:

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v3.1

FOREWORD

TheSecondWorldWarwasthelastdeclaredwartheUnitedStatesfoughtinthe

twentiethcentury.Likeitspredecessorof1914–18,inwhichpatriotismbrought

thenationtogetherinaveryshorttime,thiswaralsoenlistedtheaidofmillions

ofyoungmenandwomeninmilitaryandsupportservices,anddrewtightthe

cord of national unity. It was, nevertheless, a war, and in all wars young

combatantsinterrupttheirlivestolearntheartsofkillinganddestructionand

survival.Andthosewhosucceedinthelastoftheseareforeverburdenedwith

thememoriesofthefirsttwo.

Themenofthemilitaryservicesweretreatedlikeheroesforgoingtowarand

evenmorelikeheroeswhentheyreturnedvictoriously.Buttheywere,inreality,

civilians in uniform. The services were not made up of professionals, and the

greatmajorityhadhadnointentionofenteringamilitarycareer.Butwhatthey

lacked in regimental polish they made up for in determination, endurance,

ingenuity, and indomitable morale. And fundamental to that morale was the

special sense of humor they possessed, one that emerged even in the darkest

momentsofcombat.Thewarwashardlyfunny,butitdidprovideasettingforits

ownstrangekindofhumor.

This is a personal story, an account of an adolescent wannabe adult whose

brief struggle with the war coincided with his wretched struggle with his

developing sexual maleness. Somehow, war and testosterone mix well—though

togethertheydonotproducehappiness.

CONTENTS

Cover
TitlePage
Copyright

Foreword

Chapter1.TheEducationofaHero
Chapter2.FirstLessons
Chapter3.ClosingtheRosePocket
Chapter4.TownsandRivers
Chapter5.SmallVictory,BigPrice
Chapter6.ALessoninDepravity
Chapter7.OneLastRiver
Chapter8.PreludetoaFinale
Chapter9.TheRoadHasanEnd
Chapter10.DestinyandDisappointment

Dedication
Acknowledgments
Endnote
AbouttheAuthor

THEEDUCATIONOFAHERO

heGermanbreakthroughintheArdennesforestinFranceinDecemberof

1944andJanuaryof1945createda“bulge”extendingintoAlliedpositions.In

the ensuing battle, one of the most horrendous and costly conflicts in the

European theater in World War II—the Battle of the Bulge—the Allies lost

enormous quantities of equipment, men, and supplies. The need to pursue the

now retreating Germans required massive replacements of equipment and,

especially,men.Therewasnowaythewarcouldcontinuewithoutthem.

Atthatverymoment,Iwasbeingprepared—alongwithtensofthousandsof

otherGIs—tohelpsupplytheneed.Ihadfoundmyheroicdestinyinarmored

warfare,andmytrainingatFortKnox,Kentucky,resultedinmyqualifyingbest

as a “medium tank gunner.” I was a normal teenager, just eighteen, naïve,

ignorant,fullyabsorbedinmyself,andquitecertainthatIknewallIneededto

knowabouttheworld—infact,nexttonothing—andwasinvulnerabletosuch

subtletiesasdeathanddestruction.Myeducationaboutthewarwasprettymuch

limitedtotheWhyWeFightindoctrinationfilmswewererequiredtowatchin

basictraining.ThosefilmsfilledmewithadolescenthostilitytowardAdolfHitler

andhisarmies,whosesatanicgoal,wewereassured,wastoconquertheworld

andmakeslavesofusall.

Iwasagriping-goodsoldierandwantedmorethananythingtogotoGermany,

findHitler,andrelievetheworldofthatmonsteronceandforall.Notallthe

trainees I associated with shared my zeal; in fact, lots of guys were finding

ingenious ways to avoid shipping out to the ETO (European Theater of

Operations). Most of them were draftees. I, on the other hand, had enlisted,

primarily to avoid finishing high school, which I detested. Surely war was

preferabletohighschool!

IhadasgoodatrainingatFortKnoxasnineteenweeks(includingtwoweeks

of gunnery school) would permit, and by the time I arrived in Europe, I had

receivedthecorporalstripesthatwentwithbeingagunner.Ihadtheromantic

ideathatinsomesensewarwasglorious.ButthedevastationIsawinFrance,

Belgium,andGermanywassonearlytotalinplacesthatmyillusionsbeganto

fade.Alotofboysbecamemeninthosefirstdays,thoughsomeofusheldonto

ourheroicfantasies,ourdramaticdreamsofdoinggreatthingsinbattle.Werode

acrossFranceandBelgiumin“40-and-8s”ofWorldWarIvintageandendedup

inthetangleofdestructioninGermanycalledStolberg.

At Stolberg we were detained in a replacement depot (or “repple-depple”)

situated in a former chain factory. Our private quarters consisted of whatever

vacantspotswecouldfindonthefilthyfloor.Theairwaschokedwiththesmoke

ofburningshoeimpregnate,whichwasconsideredmorevaluableasasourceof

heatthanasprotectionofshoesandfeetagainstmustardgas.Andeverywhere,of

course, were the countless barracks bags and other equipment the men were

responsiblefor.Isawnogloryhere!Butitwasherethatwewere,withoutour

knowledgeorconsent,assignedtovariouslineoutfits,ourcombatunits.Ididnot

knowwhatmyassignmentwouldbewhenwefinallyconvoyedoutofStolberg

into the vast unknown of combat warfare. I still remember the tingle of

excitement I felt as we traveled across the wreckage-strewn countryside. The

carcassesoftanks,trucks,half-tracks,evenplanes,gaveussomeimpressionof

whatlayaheadforus.

One of the remarkable things about combat life is the almost total and

perpetualblindnessofindividualsoldierswhenitcomestothemattersthatmost

immediately affect them. We never knew what was going on, where we were

going,whatwewouldbedoing,or,ofcourse,whattheoutcomewouldbe.We

thoughtweknew,becausetherewasalwaysanabundanceofrumors,allsaidto

begleanedfromthemostauthoritativesources.Nexttomailandfood,rumors

arethelifebloodofmilitaryexistence.Andincredibleasitmayseem,thoughthe

rumorsaregenerallyproveneitherfalseorexaggerated,soldiersneverlosefaith

inthem.Theyare,afterall,theonlyshowintownwhenitcomestoinformation.

Our small convoy traveled several hours before coming to a fairly extensive

wastelandoffrozenmudcoveredwithmanyhundredsofmilitaryvehicles,most

ofthemarmored.TomyleftInoticedasmallcolumnofShermantanksonwhat

was presumably a roadway. Around the area men were everywhere, walking,

sittingontheirbags,leaningonvehicles,and,invariably,smoking.Theonething

moreubiquitousthanrumor-mongeringinthisarmywascigarettesmoking.The

tenortwentyGIsintheentireEuropeantheaterwhodidnotsmokewereforever

on the defensive to explain what their problem was. Besides the hundreds of

tanks and half-tracks, there were large numbers of armored cars, trucks, peeps

(laterknownas“jeeps”),commandcars,andthelike.

Wedismountedfromourtrucks,litupourcigarettes,andputourhandsinour

pockets. It was very cold. Our little convoy had been under the direction of a

second lieutenant, and he had walked away somewhere, cigarette in mouth,

handsinpockets,lookingforsomeonetoreportto.Thegoingrumorwasthatwe

had been assigned to the 3rd Armored Division with the First Army—a rumor

thatforonceturnedouttobecorrect.Theinformationmeantnexttonothingto

me,sinceIknewnothingaboutarmyunits.Yet,forsomereasonIfeltgoodabout

it.NowIhadanidentity,ahomeplate,sotospeak,anaddressIcouldcallmy

own.AllIwantednowwastomoveoutofthismudholeandontomynewunit.

There was a great deal of urgency in that open air repple-depple. The

commandherewantedtomoveusoutjustasurgentlyasmostofuswantedto

go,andourwishwasabouttobegranted.Thetankslinedupontheroadway

were waiting for us to take them up to the assigned unit. One tank, however,

stood off the roadway, apart from the others, undergoing some sort of

maintenance.Atthesoundofawhistlewewerelinedup,countedoffinfours,

anddirectedtothevarioustanks.Asithappened,threeotherguysandmyself

wereassignedtothestraytanknotinthecolumn.Aswestooddumblybythe

tank,acaptaincameovertous,and,seeingmycorporalstripes,hespoketome.

“Ineedsomeoneinchargehere.Youseemtobetherankingperson,Corporal,

sothatwillbeyou.Who’sadriver?”

A long moment dragged by. Finally a reluctant voice with a Virginia drawl

said,“Uh,Ahguessthatwouldbeme.”

“Okay.Youothertwowillgoalongfortheride.I’mCaptainHarkin,andI’min

commandofthisconvoyuntilwegettothe33rdArmoredRegiment.”

“Sir?”Iventured.
“Whatisit?”heaskedbriskly.
“Ithoughtweweregoingtothe3rdArmoredDivision.”
“Damnit,youare,”hesnapped,“atleastyouareassoonasthesemechanics

sayyourtankisreadytoroll.Therestofusaregoingtotakeadvantageofwhat

daylight is left and move out. You’ll be on your way to catch up to us within

twentyorthirtyminutes.Butremember.Thisishostilecountry.Ithasn’tbeen

completelyclearedoftheenemy.TheSSmaybeanywherearoundherewaiting

forachancetocreatediversions.Nolights!Getit?N-O-N-E.Evenalitcigarette

outsideyourtankcoulddrawfirefromGodknowswhere.You’llbegivendriving

instructionsbeforeyouleave.”

Hepulledhiscigarettefromhismouthandstompeditintothemud.
“Anyquestions?”heasked.
Iaskedtheobviousone.“Willwehavetoshoot?”
“Ihopenot,”hesaid.“Youcertainlywon’tbeshootingthatcannon,forGod’s

sake.Anyotherquestions?”

AfterCaptainHarkinleft,westoodinasilentclumpashortdistancefromour

tank,watchingthemaintenancecrewworkingonit.

“You a good driver?” I asked the Virginian, whose name turned out to be

DennisGraver.

“Ah’mqualified.”Heshuddered.“Ahsuredon’wannastan’aroundherelong,

though.”

The other two were quiet. One—Eddie Evangelini—was no older than I and

lookedjustasunderage.“IneverexpectedthiskindofdutywhenIgotdrafted,”

hewhimpered.Ourfourthmembersaidverylittle,thoughheworeafunnysmile,

asthoughheknewsomethingwedidn’t.Iwasn’tsureIlikedhim.Hesaidhis

namewasHominy.Har-dee-har-har,Ithought,socallmeGrits!

It was forty-five minutes before our tank was ready to roll. Graver got

directions from a lieutenant, who assured him he would have no trouble. Just

stayontheroad.Whenwegettoasmalltown,therestoftheconvoywillbe

waitingforus.Butremember:NOLIGHTS!

No lights, and a cold winter dusk had settled in, making the road virtually

invisible.Toaddtothesetroubles,ahazeofdusthunginthefrigidairfromthe

tankconvoythathadpassedonahead.Dust!Shermantanksweretechnology’s

answertocleanair.Theywereextremelyefficientdustmachines.Takeoneroad

caked with winter mud, drive a Sherman tank over it, listen to the clanking,

crunching, and shrieking as the heavy treads grind the frozen mud to powder,

andenjoythespectacleoftremendouscloudsofdustbeingblownintotheairby

the downward blast of the rear exhaust. And they said, “No lights!” From my

perspective,lightswouldn’thavemadeaparticleofdifference.

Graver was obviously in the grip of terror. The mention of SS troopers had

firedhisbrain.Fromthatmomentonhewasachangedman.Hehadcomeunder

the control of a higher power called FEAR. His foot pressed that Sherman

acceleratorflattothefloorofthetank.Itwasneverclear,atanygivenmoment,

whetherornotwewereontheroadatall—notthatitmatteredthatmuchto

Graver.IcouldhearEvangeliniuttera“Holyshit!”fromthedepthsofthetank,

butHominyjuststoodonthebackdeckofthetanknonchalantly,asthoughit

didn’tmatteronewayoranother.

Butitdidmatter.Gravercouldnotseemorethantwentyyardsbeforehim,and

hehadthoserollingthirty-fivetonsmovingataboutforty-fivemilesanhour.The

impactofonetankuponanotheratthatspeedinvariablyproduceseffectsnoone

wouldwishfor.Inthepresentcase—unknown(andinvisible)tous—theconvoy

that preceded us had stopped at an intersection in the road to take bearings.

When our tank rammed full speed into the last tank in the convoy, Hominy

completedabeautifulloftoverourtankturretontothebackdeckofthetankwe

hadrammed.Isupposeitwouldhavebeenfuntowatch,butitwasnofunwhen

CaptainHarkinshoweduptoinspectthedamage.

“I’llbeamother—”hebegan,shakinghisheadincredulously.“Thishastobe

history in the making!” He examined what was left of the shattered drive

sprocketonourtankandtheseparatedtreadlyingtwistedintheroad.“Jesus

Christ!Whatthehellwereyoutryingtodo?”hecroakedatnooneinparticular.

Graver sat with a dazed look in the driver’s hatch, not entirely sure what had

gonewrong.Evangeliniwasburiedsomewhereintheinnersanctumofthetank

hull,apparentlynotevenbreathing.IstoodbyCaptainHarkinshakingmyhead

insyncwithhis,tryingtomakethepointthatthoseofusincommandoftenhave

toputupwithsomeprettystupidthings.

“What’syourname,Corporal?”
“Irwin,sir.CorporalJohnP.Irwin.”

“Didn’tyounoticehowfastthissonofabitchwasmoving?”
“Well,yes,sir,Ithoughtitwaskindoffast,”Ioffereddefensively.
“No,Corporal.Itwasn’tkindoffast.Itwasvery,veryfast.Itwasthebloody

fastest fucking tank driving I’ve seen in this war. I’ve been around this war

awhile,andIdidn’tknowtankscouldgothatfast.”

“Whatdoyouthinkweshoulddo,sir?”Iventured.
Thecaptaincastascowlmywayandwalkedovertohispeep.Heradioedthe

maintenancepeopleintherear.Afewminuteslaterhecameback.

“Bad luck! No one can do anything for you before tomorrow afternoon. The

rear has its own problems. Your trapeze man got himself hurt. No telling how

bad.We’retakinghimwithus.Youthreewillhavetostandguardrightherein

themiddleofthisintersectionuntilthemaintenancepeoplecangettoyou.And

whenIsaystandguard,Imeanjustthat.Seethesewoodsallaroundhere?”He

circled his arm at the nearby hills. “They’re swarming with fucking SS just

squirmingtoshootyourassesoff.”

IwassorryGraverhadtohearthatremark.Hisheaddisappeareddownthe

driver’shatch,justlikeaturtleretreatingintoitsshell.Thehatchclosed,andI

could hear it latch. No one was going to shoot his ass off! From the still-open

turrethatchIcouldhearrepetitivepleastotheMotherofGodtohavemercyand

forgiveandprotectthisunworthyservant.

Astheconvoyoftanksroaredoffintothenight,Ilistenedtothefadingechoes.

Somehow,thiswasnotatallwhatIhadexpectedofcombat.Itwasn’tclearwhat

Ididexpect,butthissurelywasnotit.ForthefirsttimeIbecameawarethatour

tankwaspositionedinthemiddleofanintersection,notmorethantwentyfeet

fromahouse.Infact,Icouldjustmakeoutthattherewereotherhousesinthe

area,thoughIsawnolightsandnosignsoflivingbeings.Itwasgoingtobea

lonelyvigilindeed.

My only companion during that excruciatingly long night was my “grease

gun,”astrangelittlecollapsiblesubmachinegunthatfiredfifteenroundsof.45-

caliberbulletsperclipwithforty-fivepercentaccuracyuptotwenty-fiveyards.I

oftenwonderedifIcouldhitthehullofatankfromtheinsidewithoneofthese

babies.Nevertheless,onethingwascertain:noonewasgoingtogetmetosit

insidethatironcoffininasituationlikethis.I’dseenlotsofwarmovies,andI

knew all about how the Krauts would open hatches and throw hand grenades

insidetanks.SoIchosetositonthestepsofthenearesthouse,onguard,with

mytrustygreaseguncradledinmyarms.WhichIdidallnightlong!

WherevertheSStroopswere,theynevershowedthemselvestomethatnight.

AndinthemorningIsat,coldandgroggy,onthestepsofthehouse,stillcradling

myfirstandonlylineofdefenseinmyarmsandsmokingacigarette.Therewas

nosignoflifeaboutourtank.Mytwostalwartcompanionswerestilltooterrified

to venture outside, not even for necessary activities. I could only imagine the

conditionofthingsinside,andIwasgladforthefreshair.

Thetankwasstockedwithwaterandrations,sowedidnotstarveordieof

thirstbeforethemaintenancepeopleshoweduplateintheafternoon.Thewater

cans were blocked with ice, but we managed to melt that without setting

Germany on fire. The three of us stood around the three of them, who were

havingproblemsreplacingourdrivesprocket.

“Neverseenanythinglikethis,”complainedthestaffsergeantincharge.“Y’all

mustaputlilygreaseonthemtrackstoslidethathard.”

“Oh,wedidn’tslide,”explainedGraver.“Ahneverevenputonthebrakes—

neversawathinginfrontofme.Itwasjustslammo!”

“Shit!Youboysareluckier’nhellyouwasn’tkilled,”cameavoicefromunder

thetank.“Whenwegitthisthingrunnin’ferya,y’allbettertakerealgoodcare

ofit,’causeweain’tgotnomoresparesprocketslayin’around.”

Ittookmorethananhourandahalffortherepairteamtocompletethetask,

andIwasgettingverynervousasIwatchedthesundisappearbehindthetrees.

“You guys got any idea what we do now?” I asked, trying not to look too

stupid.

The lanky redheaded sergeant raised up to his full six-foot-three frame and

lookeddownatme,wipinghisgreasyhandsonagreasyragandgrinningashe

didso.

“Myfirstwordtoy’alliskeepyerdistancefromthatchickenshitcaptain.He

chewsnailsandspitscarpettacksan’don’tcarewhostepson’em.Hehasashort

temperandalongmemory.”

“Yeah,but…well…wherearewesupposedtogonow?”Iwhimpered.“The

captainnevergaveusanydirections.”

Asmallprivateappearedfrombehindthetank,adjustinghishelmetlinerand

thenblowingonhishands.

“You boys lost?” he cackled gleefully. “Guess you gone hafta just wander

aroundtillyourunoutofgas.”

Ipretendednottotakeoffenseandheldoutmypackofcigarettestothetrio.
“Look,”Ipleadedastheyhelpedthemselvestomycigarettes,“we’refreshfrom

theStatesandwe’res’posedtotakethistanktothe33rdArmoredRegiment.But

wedon’tknowanythingabouttheseroads.Don’tanyofyouguys…”

“Don’tpissyourpants!”exclaimedtheredhead.“Y’allain’tgotnoproblemif

yajustfollowmydirections.”

“Graver!”Icalled.“C’mere!Gettheseinstructions!”

Thetwoofuslistenedcarefully,neverthinkingtowriteanythingdown,not

thatwehadanythingtowritewith.Aftertheshortbriefing,wethankedthetrio,

who were already driving away in their truck. We mounted our tank, Graver

driving, and roared, clanked, and squealed noisily down the road. The

instructions were simple enough, though vaguer than I would have liked.

“Several kilometers” did not register anything specific with me. I wasn’t really

surehowfarakilometerwas.IhopedGraverhadabetteridea,buthedidn’t.

Itwasgettingverydark.Infactitgotsodarkthatitbecameimpossibletosee

theroadatall.Graverhadthetankcreeping.Finally,Igotdownfromtheturret

andwalkedinfrontofthetanksoGravercouldstayontheroad.Iwasableto

seetheedgeoftheroad—just.Butwhataslowprocessitbecame!Howlongwe

traveledthiswayishardtoestimate.Itseemedlikehours—anditprobablywas.

Eventually, however, we came to an intersection where we were faced with a

choiceofthreedirections.GraverandIarguedoverwhatweeachbelievedthe

instructionshadbeen.Iwasunsureofmyowninterpretation,butIwaswillingto

followmyinstincts.Graver,ontheotherhand,wasadamantinhisbeliefthatwe

weretotaketherightfork.So,hebeingthedriver,rightitwas.

Travelalongthisnewroadwasnotmuchbetterthanonthepreviousone.It

was,atleast,possibleformetorideinsteadofwalk,butthewholetimewerode,

Iworriedaboutwherewewereheadedandwhatwemightruninto.ASherman

tankdoesnotslipquietlyalongtheway,andIwassurethatsomewhereinthat

impenetrabledarknesswereenemyforcesfocusinginonthesoundofourmetal

monsterwiththeirlegendary“88s.”Herewasasuperversatilecannonwithsuch

muzzlevelocitythatevenwithoutarmor-piercingammoitcouldsendashotin

one side and out the other of a Sherman. I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable

sittingontherightsponsonofthetank.Ihadseenonlyadormantexampleofan

88 at Fort Knox and had never even heard one fire. And I did not desire that

pleasureatthistime.

WehadbeendrivingformorethanhalfanhourbeforeIrealizedthatwewere

passinghouses,allofthemtotallydark.IsignaledtoGravertostopthetank.I

hadnoideawhatwasgoingonwithEvangelini;hewasprobablycurledupina

fetalpositionsomewhereinthedepthsofthetank.Isignaledtocuttheengine.

Whennothingbuttheringinginmyearscouldbeheard,Iventureddownfrom

thetankforalook-see.Wehadobviouslyenteredatown.Ifwewerelucky,it

wasthetownwhereweweretojointherestoftheconvoy.

“Waithere,”ImurmuredtoGraver.“I’llcheckthingsout,seeifIcanfindthe

CP.”

Graver said nothing. He just did his turtle thing and disappeared under the

lockinghatch.IwalkedcautiouslydowntheroaduntilIcametoasidewalk.Ifelt

relief.EvenmorewhenIdetectedtheshadowyshapesoftanksalongthestreet.

Everyhousewasintotaldarkness,notasound,notasight,untilIcametoone

housefromwhichathinsliveroflightfellontheground.Heavycurtainswere

slightlyopenonthewindow,soIsurmisedthatherewastheCP—thecommand

post—and prepared myself for another interview with the infamous Captain

Harkin.Ihopedthatthistimethingswouldgoabitmoreamicably.

Islippeduptothepartedcurtainsandpeeredin.Thehaironthenapeofmy

neck crawled as I viewed a small cluster of German officers sitting in various

attitudes around a makeshift command center. The feeling of shock was

surpassedonlybythesinkingsenseofdespairIfeltasthehorriblerealizationof

mysituationlockedmeinitstentacles.OhGod!Ithought,Germans!Ihaven’t

evenhadachancetofireacannon,letalonekillHitler.AndnowI’maboutto

becomeaprisonerofwar!Gottagetouttahere.WhatIhadfailedtonoticeinthe

darknesswasthatthetanksalongthestreetwereGermanpanzers.

AsIhurriedbacktothetank,Iharboredtheincrediblyfutilehopethatperhaps

somehowourpresencehadescapedtheGermans’notice.Maybe—justmaybe—

wecouldstartupourtankandslipsmoothly(ifnotquietly)awayandtakeour

chanceselsewhere.Allmygloriousfantasiesofheroismandmedalshadsuddenly

shatteredintoinfinitesimalshardsofnonsense.Realitywaspressedallthemore

onmewhen,uponarrivalbackatthetank,IsawaGermansoldierjustafewfeet

awaypointingagundirectlyataspotbetweenmytwoblearyeyes.

“YouareAmerican?”heasked.
I swallowed something undetectable in my throat, put my hands upon my

head,andreplied,inmybestGerman,“Ja.”

“Ach!SiesprechenDeutsch!”heexclaimedandproceededtoassembleastring

ofhopelesslyunintelligiblesyllables.

“No,”Imuttered.“IsprechenEnglish.”
“Esmachtnicht,”hesaid.Inaproud,supercilioustonehewenton,“Ispeak

excellentEnglish.”

Istoodandstaredathim.Ayoungguy,somewherearoundmyage,somesort

ofnoncom,notreallyverythreatening.Iwaited.

“YouaretocomemitmetoColonelSchnidellatourheadquarterses.Pleasedo

nottrytoescapefrommeorIwillberequiredtoshootingyouinthebottomof

yourpantses.”

Heseemedlikeaniceenoughguy—alittlestupid,butaniceguy.Ofcourse,I

wasn’t considering the fact that he spoke English and I spoke no German. He

walked beside me, swinging his rifle back and forth, the barrel occasionally

hitting the sidewalk, producing tiny sparks, while attempting to explain to me

that I was his gallant foe and that he was hoping I could be of help to “his

people.”Ihadn’tthefoggiestnotionwhathewastalkingabout,butIpraisedthe

Almightythathehadnotshotmebetweentheeyes.

“That’s not good for your gun,” I ventured, as he continued to swing the

weaponbackandforth.

“Gun?”hesaid.“Thisgun—ithasno…no…”
“Bullets?”Ioffered.
“Nein.Ithasbullets,butnoshooterthing.Itis—howdoyousayitinEnglish—

nogood.”

“Kaput?”Ioffered,exhaustingmyGermanvocabulary.
Heseemedimpressed.“Ja—yes.Kaput.”
So, I followed the kaput-rifle-swinging enemy noncom into the enemy

headquarters with the slightly open curtains and waited for the introductions.

The officer in charge—a colonel, presumably—spoke in quiet German to the

youngnoncom,lookingatmethewholetime.Hemadenoimpassionedspeech,

somethingIthoughtallNazisdidundersuchcircumstances.

Whenhewasfinished,thesoldierspoketome.
“MyKommandantwishesyoutobeateaseandhavenofear.Noonewishesto

harm you. We no longer consider ourselves combatants. We have been left

behind by the retreating German forces to create a diversion and slow the

Americansdown.Wehaveasmallforceofalittleoveronehundredmens.We

havenobenzeneforourtanks.Wedonotwishtoresist.MyKommandantwishes

tosurrenderhisforcestotheAmericanarmy.”

Hepausedandlookedathiscommander.Thelatterspokeafewwords,andhe

continued.“MyKommandantcannotsurrendertosomeoneofyourlowlyrank,

andhewishesforyoutankspeopletotakehimtoyourheadquartersessohecan

surrenderinthe…uh…”

“Properway?”Iventured.
“Ja!Yes.Properway.”
Itwasallcomingslowlyintofocusforme.Iwasnottobetheprisonerafterall

—theywere.Iwastobethecaptor.IwastobringinawholebunchofGerman

prisoners of war, sort of like Sergeant York. The bold fantasies returned with

greaterbravadothanbefore.Ipulledmyselfuptomyfullfivefeetfiveandahalf

inchesandnoddeddramatically.IthenrememberedthatIhadnottheslightest

idea where my headquarters were. I suddenly crumpled in embarrassment. All

eyeswereonme.

“Er,tellyourcommanderthatI,uh,thinkhisideaisagoodone.”Ihesitated.

HowcanIbeaheroifIdon’tevenknowwhereIam?Ifolded.“I’msorry.Tell

yourcommanderthatIhaven’tanyideawheremyunitis.Actually—we’relost.”

Theselastwordstrailedoffwithshame,andIlookeddownwardatmyboots.

There was no sense of amusement or dismay among the Germans. The

Kommandantmotionedformetocomeovertothemaponthericketytablehe

wasstandingby.Hepointedoutthespotonthemapwherewewereatpresent

and traced the path we would have to follow to arrive at the small town of

Mengendorf,where theAmericans werelocated. I marveledat this astonishing

pieceofintelligenceandgainedaninstantadmirationfortheGermanmilitary

mind.AndIfeltverygrateful.

Tomorrow, I was told, the contingent of German troops would ride in two

trucks. The four officers, of course, would ride in the command car. Our tank

wouldlead.ThroughoutthenighttheGermansbusiedthemselvessiphoningwhat

benzenetheycouldfromthepanzerstofueltheirtrucks.Equipmenthadtobe

packed,weaponsdestroyed,andmostrecordswereburned.

ItriedtoexplainoursituationtoGraverandEvangelini,buttheyweresureit

wasaNazitrickofsomesort.Ididn’tmuchcarewhatEvangelinithought,butI

needed Graver to drive. Not that I couldn’t have done it myself, but I would

ratherbeupontheturret,whereacommandershouldbe,aswearrivedatour

destination.

“Graver,” I argued, “we don’t have a choice. If we don’t do what they say,

they’lljustshootusandletourbodiesrot.Butifwedo,we’llbeabletogetto

ouroutfitlikeheroes.”

Graverwasnotstupid.Hesawthelogicandfinallyagreedtodrive.Anything

wasbetterthancringinginthatfreezeboxjustwaitingforsomefatetodestroy

him.

I felt exhausted and descended into a profound snore-a-thon, sitting in the

gunner’s seat in the turret. A banging on the sponson jarred me back from

Somnalia, where I didn’t even have a decent dream. It was time to leave. The

Germanvehicleswerealreadylinedup;itwasnowourtimeforglory.Andwhat

atriumphantfeelingitwasaswerevvedupourtankandbeganourheroictrek

totheAmericanside.TheyoungGermannoncomsatontheturretwithme,his

fingerplacedpermanentlyontheraggedmaphehadbeengiventoguideus.We

talkedverylittle,andwhatconversationwehadwasagainstgreatodds—theroar

oftheengineandhisoddGerman-English.Thethingheenjoyedmostaboutthe

arrangementwastheenviablechancetosmokeanAmericancigarette.

The distance we were to travel, I had been informed, was about sixty or so

kilometers. It took nearly four hours, however, due to the necessary stops for

physical relief and occasional repair on the trucks. It turned out to be more

gruelingthanIhadimagined.ButaswefinallyapproachedMengendorf,Ifelta

surgeofwarmthandgrandnesscomeoverme.Itriednottoshowanysignof

smugnessorpride.Iwas,afterall,justanordinaryGIdoingwhatIhadbeensent

overtodo.

Thestuccohousesalongthestreetweresmallandspacedveryclosetogether.

Americantankswereparkedinamudfieldnotfardownthestreet,andpeeps

and trucks and the like were parked along the road. We were, of course, the

central focus of interest to the GIs along the way. To a man, they stopped

whatever they were doing and stared at our bedraggled procession making its

way down the street. There is no way to describe my personal sense of the

historicatthatmoment.Itwasnowtimetocashinmychipsandreporttothe

officerincharge.

IsignaledforGravertostop,holdingmyhandupfortheGermanstofollow

suit,andcalledtoaGI.

“Hey,soldier,canyoutellmewheretheCPis?”
IgotafunnylookfromthedumpyPFC.
“Yousureyouwanttogothere?”heasked.
“Ofcourse!Ihaveto.Whereisit?”
Hegavemeahugegrinandpointeddownthestreet.
“Canyouseethathousewiththeregimentalflaghangin’out?”
“Yeah,”Icalled.
“That’sit!”
“Thanks,”IyelledasIsignaledtoGravertorevup.
“Pleasure’sallmine,”hesaluted.“Allmine.”
We drove the short distance down the street and stopped in front of the

commandpost.InoddedtowardtheGermancolonelandgesturedtowaitwhere

theywere.Withastrongsenseofmyduty,Ijumpeddownfromthetankand

marchedmyself—inmybestmilitaryfashion—rightuptothedoor.Iknocked.

Eventuallyavoiceyelled,“It’snotlocked!”

Inside, at a small kitchen table, sat a familiar figure. Captain Harkin was

hunched over it, apparently working on reports. I snapped to attention and

saluted.Thesalutewasnotreturned,nordidthecaptainlookup.

“CorporalJohnP.Irwin,13197627,reporting,sir.”
Withoutraisinghiseyesfromhiswork,thecaptainsaid,“Thoseyourprisoners

outthere?”

“Yessir!”Ireplied,strugglingtocontainmyself.
“That’snice,”hemurmuredquietly.Hepaused,thenasked,“Nowwhatexactly

doyouproposetodowiththem?”

“Sir?”Iasked.
“Well,Corporal,”hecontinuedinarestrainedtone,lookingupatme,“theyare

yourprisoners,aren’tthey?Youcapturedthem,didn’tyou?Soyoushouldhave

theprivilegeofdisposingofthem.Isuggestyougooutanddoitnow—butbe

backhereinfifteenminutes.Iplantohavearollcall.”

“Sir?”Igaspedincredulously.“I…don’tunderstand…whatI’msupposedto

do.”

I watched and waited as he deliberately let what seemed like hours pass.

Finally,herosefromhischair,leanedforward,bracinghimselfwithbothhands

onthetable,andglaredatmewithafurysuchasIhadlastseenonmyfather’s

facewhenIflunkedeleventhgrade.

Ichoosetoomitherethecaptain’sensuingtourdeforceofspecializedmilitary

vernacular,whichenlargedmyownvocabularyofprofaneutterancesandwhich

contained references to unseemly behavior of sons toward their mothers. The

tirade lasted most of the afternoon, or so it seemed, during which time I

graduallycametorealizethatIwasbeingdemotedfromSergeantYorkto“Sad

Sack,”fromnationalherotoineptcivilianbumblerwhojusthappenedtobein

uniform.

Thepointbehindallthisoutragewasthatthecaptain,inclosecontactwith

regimentalheadquarterssomemilesahead,hadcarefullyanddeliberatelyguided

the convoy around the town where I had “captured” my prisoners. Army

intelligenceknewtheywerethereandsuspectedthattheywantedtosurrender.

However,therewerenoholdingfacilitieswithinahundredmiles,soprisonersat

thisjuncturewouldonlyslowdownthemovementoftheneededreplacements.

Istoodbeforethecaptain,ashiveringadolescentdevoidofanydefensetooffer

otherthanafeeble,“Itwasamistake,sir.Wedidn’tknow.”

CaptainHarkin,hisheadofsteamdepleted,softenedhislookforamoment.
“Ihavetogetintouchwithheadquarters.I’vealreadyinformedthemofthis

bit of … of bad luck. Gotta find out what’s being done. You’re excused,

Corporal.”Then,asIstartedtowardthedoor,headded,“Corporal!”Ihesitated.

“It’sokay.You’renotintrouble.Justgetthehellouttamysightandtrytolearn

thefactsoflife.”

IwastotallynumbasIsteppedoutofthehouse.AclusterofGIsallstarted

talkingtomeatthesametime.ThesenseseemedtobeoneofincredulitythatI

hadsurvivedtheinterview,freetomessupanothertime.Tomysurprise,MPs

wereleadingtheGermansawaytobeconfinedinatemporaryholdingcompound

untilmorepermanentarrangementscouldbemade.Oneofthemwasdirecting

Graver to move the tank to the mud field with the other tanks. I had no idea

wheretheMPscamefrom,nordidIcareatthispoint.AllIwantedtodowas

crawl into the turret of that heartless Sherman tank and pretend the whole

episode never happened. I noticed Evangelini sleeping on the turret floor and

thought,forhimitneverdidhappen.Someguysarejustdumblucky.Butatthe

momentIdidn’tfeellikeoneofthem.

FIRSTLESSONS

teighteenIwasexperiencingthetenuousnatureofexistenceinawarzone,

wherelifeisoftentragicanddeatharelease.Ofcourse,Ididn’treallybelievein

apersonaldeath.Whateighteen-year-olddoes?Othersdie.That’soneofthelaws

ofdeath.“Everybodydies”meanseverybodyelsedies.Whocanconceiveofhis

own nonexistence?—if that’s what death is. That’s why religion is so popular,

withitspromiseofimmortality,somesortoftranscendenceofdeath,awayto

stand up against the fear that eventually it will all be over, actually and

completelyover.AndI,whodidnotreallybelieveindeath,wasabletofallback

onthereligiouspromiseIhadbeenindoctrinatedwith,namely,thatallmysins

hadbeenforgivenandthereisthusnoendtolife—ifnotintheheretheninthe

hereafter.Irefusedtothinkaboutthe“hereafter,”becauseIwantedthehere-and-

nowtogoonandonnomatterwhathappened.

At eighteen the most important part of life is sex, whether or not you are

havingit.Allthemalepressurestobecomeaheroortoachievesomeillusionof

greatnessarebuttheploysofthosemiserablesexhormonesinaboy—aguy—

thatmanipulatehimevertothinkofsex,orsomesubstituteforsex.Butthereisa

terribleconflictbetweenthisdriveforsexandthe“beautifulhopeofsalvation”

that had dominated my adolescent years so far. The army was not like home,

whereadearandlovingmothercherishedvirtuebeyondallelse,andwherea

grabby religion had imposed its ultra-narrow conception of what “salvation”

requiresofaperson.

The unit I had been assigned to, Company I, 33rd Armored Regiment, 3rd

ArmoredDivision,FirstU.S.Army,hadbeennearlywipedoutintheBattleofthe

Bulgeandwasvirtuallyabrand-newcompany.Fullytwo-thirdsofthecompany

werefreshrecruitsfromtheStates,whollyuntestedbythefieryblastsofbattle

and quite bewildered by most of what they saw. The replacements had been

tricklinginforthepastmonthorso.Itsoonbecamecleartothereplacements

thatnotrainingpossiblecouldeverprepareapersonfortheunholygutsofdaily

combat.Itisonethingtolearnthelessonsofmilitarytraining,butsomething

completely different to experience the atmosphere of war. Fortunately, there

were enough seasoned men in our outfit so that no tank crew was composed

entirelyofnewarrivals.

Ihadthefortune—goodorotherwise—tobeunderthecompanycommandof

CaptainHarkin.Itseemedobvioustomethatheknewhiswayaroundinthiswar

thingandwasprobablyagoodcommandingofficer,butIneverthelessdidmy

besttoavoidhimoratleastkeepoutofhissight.Hehadliberatedmefromall

my foolish fantasies of heroism, and that liberation settled me down to the

moment-by-momentconcernsofsurviving.Inolongerhadadesiretostandout;I

justwantedtofitin.

TheworkhorseoftheAmericanarmoredforceswastheM4ShermanMedium

Tank,thechassisofwhichcouldbemodifiedformanypurposes.Itwasnormally

operated by a five-man crew. The tank to which I was assigned was a newer

model, the M4A3, which had four guns: a 76-mm cannon, two .30-caliber

machineguns,andone.50-calibermachinegun.Fullyloaded,thetankweighed

nearlythirty-fivetons,wasdrivenbya450-horsepowerFordV-8engine,andhad

acruisingspeedofapproximatelytwentymilesperhour.

Mytankcommander,SergeantJoeMatira,wasoneoftheluckyoneswhohad

survivedtheBulgeandAachenandCologne,andhehadacannygraspofour

localsituationeverymoment.Hewaseasytoknowandeasytolike.Hemademe

feellikeasignificantmemberoftheteam.Hisdesignatedlocationinthetank

wasaseatintheturretdirectlyaboveandbehindthegunner.Hewasincharge

of receiving radio communications and carrying out orders from Company

Commandandofcoordinatingtheactionsofhiscrew.Hehadatankweaponat

hisdisposal,a.50-calibermachinegunattachedtothetopoftheturretbeside

the turret hatch. It could be moved in all directions, including upward for

antiaircraftprotection.

Ourloader—theguyinchargeofloadingtheshellsintothetank’scannon—

wasaportlyT5bythenameofJohnSmith,towhomweimmediatelyassigned

the quite original nickname “Smitty.” Smitty was a friendly guy, and he and I

quicklybecamebuddies.

Ourdriver,however,wassomeoneIcouldcountontofindterrorineventhe

mostunterriblesituations.ItwasmyfatetobelinkedtoGraver,perhapstothe

endoftheearth.Asatankdriverhewascapable;asacombatsoldierhehada

fewblankpagesinhisglossary.Graverwasadecentchapwhoprofessedtobea

born-againSouthernBaptistChristian,butwhoearlyonsoughthis“salvation”in

whateversourceofalcoholhecouldfind.Hehadtobenumbedtobeeffective,

yethewasseldomeffectivewhenhewasnumb—anotherincongruityofwar.His

driver’sseatwasinahatchattheleftfrontofthetank.

Our bow gunner–assistant driver was named Eddy Korstue, whom we

automaticallynicknamed“Corkscrew,”anapttitleitseemed,forthismanwas

extremelyodd.Hewasoneofsevenchildren,sixofwhomweregirlsandfiveof

whom were older than he. He was the sort of fellow who could enjoy the

companyoffemaleswithoutthinkingofhowtomaneuveroneofthemintobed

—certainlynotarealGIatheart!Hewasthetallestmemberofthecrew—“six-

four,”henevertiredofremindinguswheneveranopportunityarose.Butsix-four

isnoassetinthecrampedquartersofaShermantank.Hewasforeverchewing

bubblegumandpoppingbubbles.Hislipshadblackpatchesaroundthemfrom

driedbubblegum.Thebowgunner’spositionwasintheright-fronthatchofthe

tank, and his tank weapon was a ball-mounted .30-caliber machine gun that

couldbemovedfreelyinalldirections.

Iwasthegunner,andmyjobwastofireatanythingtowhichIwasdirectedby

the tank commander, Sergeant Matira. My guns were the 76-mm tank cannon

andacoaxiallymounted.30-calibermachinegun,whichmeantthatbothcannon

andmachinegunmovedtogetheralongthesameaxis.Bothgunswerezeroedin

tohitthesametargetat1,800yards,whichmadeitpossibletousemachine-gun

tracerstotargetanobjectquicklyandthenfirethecannontoscore.Thiswasthe

sortofstuffIhadlearnedatFortKnox.ButnowIfacedthebrutalrealitythatit

wouldmakearealdifferenceinwhetherornotIsucceeded.Noonewasmarking

ascorecard,andIdidnotneedanorientationlecturetoinformmethatthiswas

nolongeradressrehearsal.

It was near the end of March, and the 3rd Armored Division—known as

“Spearhead,”sinceitsfunctionintheFirstArmywastoserveasthepointofthe

attack force—was bivouacked not far to the east of Bonn, in the Remagen

bridgehead.Thelastmajorconflicttheunithadengagedin(besidesBonnitself)

hadbeenthebrutalbattletocapturethecityofCologneonthe“SacredRiver,”

theRhine.Colognehadbeenknownasthe“QueenCityoftheRhine,”butthe

queenhadbeendeposedanddecapitated,andtheAlliedforceshadcrossedthe

SacredRiver.WhatlayaheadnowwasthefinalefforttodrivetheGermanforces

tototalcapitulation.

Coincidencebroughtmeintocontactwithahighschoolacquaintanceofmine,

RudyCollins,akidIneverhadmuchtodowithinhighschoolbutwhomInow

foundmyselfseekingoutwheneverIhadthechance.Rudyhadorange-redhair,

freckles, was not much taller than I, and had a very cute blond sister named

Ruthie,onwhomIhadoncehadacrush.

“She’sgotaboyfriendnow,agob.She’scrazyaboutsailors’uniforms,”Rudy

sneered.

Itossedmyheadnonchalantlytohidemydisappointment.“Toobad.Shewas

sortofmytype.”Thetruthwas,IknewthatIwasn’tRuthie’stype—atleastnot

inhighschool.ShewasneveravailablewhenIaskedhertoaschooldance,andI

hadapersonalprinciplethatifagirlrefusedthreedatesinarowshewastelling

mesomethingandIwouldn’taskheroutagain.

Rudy was a loader in one of the crews in my company, so I got to see him

prettyoften,especiallyduringthefewdayswewerebivouacked.Iwonderedwhy

wehadneverhadmuchtodowitheachotherinhighschool,butthetruthcame

out eventually that Rudy had thought I was a loser, simply because I was in

troublemuchofthetime,flunkedeleventhgrade,andbehavedprettymuchas

theclassass.I,ontheotherhand,hadalwaysthoughtthatpeople(likeRudy)

who worked hard and got good grades were jerks. But here, none of that

mattered.

Whilewewereexchangingadolescenttriviaandthinkingabouttheimportant

thingsinlife,suchasgirls,frenchfries,andhotdogs,thedarkerpowersaboveus

werearrangingtoputourlivesinjeopardy.ThevalleyoftheRuhrRiverwasa

major industrial target that, although heavily defended, demanded to be

captured.Withoutitsheavyindustry,Germanycouldnothopetocontinuethe

war.However,toeffectthiscapturewouldnotbeeasy.Theplanwastoencircle

the region as swiftly as possible and cut it off from its major defenses, one of

which was the city of Paderborn, called the “Fort Knox of Germany,” where

panzertrainingwasvirtuallyacottageindustry,andwheretheWaffen-SShada

majortrainingcenter.

On March 24, 1945, the orders came for the breakout from the Remagen

bridgeheadandthebeginningofthefinalbigpushtodriveacrossGermanyand

finishthewar.ThreegreatAmericanarmies,alongwiththeforcesofBritishfield

marshalMontgomery,beganamajoroffensive.TheFirst,Third,andNinthU.S.

ArmieswereacrosstheRhineandwerejoiningintheAllies’finalsolutiontothe

Nazi problem. Nothing short of unconditional and total surrender was ever

consideredasanoption.

At0400hoursonthemorningofthetwenty-fifth,the32

and33rdArmored

Regiments took the lead of the division drive. Right behind us was the 703rd

Tank Destroyer Battalion brandishing their long 90-mm cannons; and ready to

moveintophysicalactionwerethe“BlitzDoughs”ofthe36thArmoredInfantry.

These were followed by the 23rd Combat Engineers, the 83rd Light

Reconnaissance,themobileartillery,signalmen,medics,ordnance/maintenance,

andsupplyunits,knownasthe“Trains.”Ihadneverexperiencedanythinglikeit

inmylifeorinmymostfantasticimaginings.Yet,whateverthrillImayhavefelt,

I was soon to discover the unnerving sense of how unforgiving and relentless

combatis.

IglancedoveratSmitty,whowasbouncingupanddownandbackandforth,

appearing a bit ridiculous under his steel helmet. It occurred to me, when I

looked back at a later time, that it was odd that we had never been issued

tankers’helmetsofthesortwealwayssawinthemovies.NorhadIanyother

sidearmthanmygreasegun,whichIkeptonthetankdeckoutsideratherthan

attemptingtowrestlewithitwhengettinginandoutofthetank.Smittygaveme

aconfidentsmileasIsatdown,whichrelaxedmealittle.Ismiledbackandfelt

even more reassured by my own response. In truth, I was less afraid of the

combatthanIwasofnotmeasuringup.

Four columns of armor were moving on a wide front, passing through the

positions of the grimy-faced, battle-weary doughboys of the 1st and 104th

InfantryDivisionswhohadopenedthewayforthismove.FrommyturretseatI

could see very little of this. My only points of observation were through the

limitedwindowofmyperiscopeandthesmalltelescopicsightmountedinfront

ofmeontheturret.The“eyes”ofthetankwasthetankcommander,whosehead

and shoulders usually poked out of the turret hatch. Joe had a pair of field

glassesuptohiseyes,scanningtheterrain.Insteadofahelmet,hewasadorned

witharadioheadset,wiresdanglingintothehatch,wheretheywereconnected

totheradio-intercom.

Wehadbeenonthemoveforonlyashortwhilewhenweencounteredsudden

firefrombothflanks.Thesoundsofwar—somuchapartofthelivesofmenlike

Joe,whohadbeenthroughsomuch—werelessfrighteningtomethantheywere

exhilarating. At Fort Knox we had been exposed to all sorts of quasi-combat

sights,sounds,andactualphysicalsensations.Ihadromanticizeditallthenand

foundthatIstilldid.

“Getready!”Joeshoutedintohisintercommike.
“Gunnerready!”Ishoutedback,aspertraining.
“Loaderready!”calledSmitty,echoingmylead.
All around us the sound of shell fire and small arms in the vicinity told the

story.Thedivisionhadalmostimmediatelyrunintosevereresistance,andJoe

picked up on the radio that Company B had already lost three tanks to land

mines, probably Riegel mines. I couldn’t see Graver, but I could imagine the

conditionofhisunderwear.Joeorderedhimtostopandholdourposition,giving

himanopportunitytodohiswell-practicedturtlemaneuver.

“Gunner!” Joe shouted. “Armored! On the right! About six hundred yards.

Fire!”

“AP!”IshoutedtoSmittyandheardtheclankofthebreechclosingasIfound

thearmoredcarinmysightandfixeditinthecrosshairs.“AP”stoodforarmor-

piercingammunition.

“Ontheway!”IcalledoutasItrampedonthefiringsolenoidontheturret

floor. I saw the tracer strike the ground not far behind the target vehicle and

smelledtheammoniaoftheexpendedshell.

“Okay, kid,” Joe shouted encouragingly. My right hand was trembling as I

grippedthehandleofthepowertraverse,whichrotatedtheturretandcontrolled

thegun’selevation.

“Downonehundred—fire!”
I dropped the elevation and fired again. In the scope I could see the tracer

drive right into the side of the German armored car—my first score in actual

combat!IshoutedtoSmitty.

“Loader—HE,quick!”
The“HE”stoodforhigh-explosive,andIsenttheroundoffimmediately.AsI

hadhoped,theshellfolloweditspredecessorthroughtheholeintotheinteriorof

thearmoredcar,producingagratifyingflashforalltosee.

Butthiswasnotamomentforcongratulations.Atremendousmetallicclank

set my ears ringing. An enemy round had apparently glanced off our turret,

nearlydecapitatingJoe.

“Outtahere,driver,moveoutfast!Theyhaveourrange!”
Graver, who had his hatch open enough to see, put the tank into gear and

pulled sharply to the left, as he moved the tank ahead. This did the job. Ten

yardsbehindusaGermanshellblewoutatrenchlargeenoughtoburyatank.

“Goodwork,Graver!”cameJoe’svoiceovertheintercom.“Nowgetoverto

therightandstopbehindthatriseaboutfiftyyardsahead.”

All around us a whole war was going on, but the only war we knew at the

moment was that of our tank against the German fire. The tank commander

naturallyhastheadvantageofbeingabletogetthelargerpicture,andhehasto

beforeveralerttoeverydangertohistankandtoeveryopportunitytoinflict

damageontheenemy.

I discovered for myself during those first hours of combat what I had heard

from others, that the hours don’t exist—time stands still. Again and again we

werebombardedwithmortarfireandsmallarms,whicharenotmuchthreatto

armor,butIknewthedoughsoutsideourtankwerehavingahellofatime.Ihad

nowaytojudgehowmanyshellsIhadfiredorhowmanyroundsofmachine-

gun ammo I had expended. Joe used the .50-caliber machine gun, which was

mountedawkwardlyontheturretbyhishatch,veryeffectivelywhenhehadthe

chance,whichwasnotveryoften.Hehadtoclimboutoftheturret,exposing

himself,tooperateit.

Our division managed to gain about twelve miles that first day, fighting

constantly.Moveahead—stop—fire—moveagain.Attimesitwaspossibletofire

onthemove,forourcannonhadagyro-stabilizerthatcompensatedfortheup-

and-downmotionofthetanktoalargedegree.Itneveroccurredtomeduring

that time that I hadn’t eaten a bite, swallowed a drop of water, or relieved

myself.Inevereventhoughtaboutit,thoughwhenwefinallystopped,Inoticed

thatIwasnottheonlyonewhosepantsweresoakedinfront,aconditionIsoon

learnedtocontrol.Inthesemidarknessofearlyevening,muchofthefiringhad

stopped. Yet there was never any such thing as cessation of hostilities, even

thoughdarknesswaswrappingitselfaroundus.Artilleryfire,intenseattimes,

flashedalmostcontinuously,rumblinglikethethunderofasummerstormand

cracking sharply in the air above as shells crisscrossed in the sky. I quickly

learnedtorecognizethedifferencebetweenthehollowringingoftheoutgoing

shellsofour155-mm“LongToms”andthesharperrippingsoundofincoming

German88s.

IreachedupandtuggedonJoe’strouserleg.
“Joe!Canwesmoke?”
“Whynot,kid?We’renothidin’fromanybody.Butnotinside.Youcangiveme

one,too,ifyawant.”

SmittyhadlocatedaboxofKrationsandwaschewingonadriedfruitbar.
“Y’know,Ihatethesethings,”hegrumbledandkeptonstuffingitintohisface

andchewing.

JoeandIclimbedoutontothedeckandlitup.Smittyfollowedsuit.
“Arewehereforthenightorwhat?”IaskedJoe,whocuppedhiscigarettein

hishand.

“DamnedifIknow.Icanonlyguess.Wecouldmoveoutatdaylightoreven

beforethat.”Hesawthefatigueinmyface.“Look,kid,wedon’thaveabedtime

here.Trytogetsomesleepfornow.”

IbarelyheardthatlastwordbeforeIwasdownonthegunner’sseatasleep—

sittingup.Thethunderofshellsexplodingfadedintoanundefinedhum.

Joe nodded to Smitty. “You catch a couple, too. Looks like the boys in the

bowsarealreadyaheadofya.”

Hedrapedhimselfovertheturret,hisradiocracklinginhisears,anddozed.
Itwasnotasthoughtherehadbeenatime-out,asinafootballgame.Ihadto

getusedtotheideathattherereallywerenorulestofollow,nodailyregimenof

personalactivitiessuchaseating,drinking,hygiene,recreation,orsleeping.This

wasnotregimentaltraininganymore.Yetdespitetheinhumanityoftheincessant

violence going on everywhere at once, life quickly became a routine of noise,

dirt,fatigue,anxiety,andtheconstantstruggletokeepgoing.Butforthefeverof

the combat itself and one’s own little bit part in the undramatic and confused

action,lifewouldhavedevolvedintoamindless,zombielikeexistence.

Before sunrise on March 26, our unit, Task Force Welborn, part of Combat

CommandBunderGeneralTrumanBoudinot,movedeastwardtowardthecityof

Altenkirchen, where the Fifteenth German Army had its headquarters.

Altenkirchenwasknowntohaveheavydefenses,bothinthecityitselfandonthe

forestedheightstothenorth.Evenbeforewegottothecity,wecameupagainst

stubbornresistance,especiallyfromartilleryandtanks.OurcompanyfollowedA

Company.BCompanywasatthepointofthecolumnandwastakinglossesfrom

directartilleryfire,particularlyfromthe88s.BothACompanyandICompany

moved ahead and joined the action. We succeeded in breaking through these

preliminary defenses, but as we approached Altenkirchen, the intensity of

Germanresistanceincreasedenormously.

I was vaguely aware inside the tank of strikes against the German forces by

fighter-bombers,whichdestroyedmanyenemytanksandartilleryemplacements.

Icametorealizewhatwasmeantby“softeningup”theenemy.Nevertheless,we

hadnoeasytimeofit.Ourforwardmovementwasfairlyconstantthroughoutthe

morning,andforawhileourcompanyseemedtobegettingoffeasy.Butasthe

afternooncameon,wemadedirectcontactwithGermanpanzers.Itwasthefirst

timeIhadbeenupagainstthem,andIsoonlearnedformyselfthebittertruth

thatthefirepoweroftheShermantank,evenwiththe76-mmcannon,leftmuch

tobedesired.Despitethatdiscovery,Ihadmyfirstsuccessinknockingoutan

enemytankthatafternoon.Itwasanencouragingfeelingandgavemerenewed

confidenceinourequipment.

ButIsawSmittydiethatseconddayofcombat,andIfeltnumb.Forthefirst

time in my life I became a believer in a personal death. As awful as the

experiencewas,Ihadreasontobegratefulforthatrevelation.Iwouldowemy

ownsurvivaltoit.Itshouldn’thavehappened,ofcourse.Nooneissupposedto

die—atleastnotthatyoung,orinthatway.ButSmittywasdead,andsomehowI

feltasthoughIwastoblame.Wehadbeenoutsideonthetankdeck,fillingour

canteensfromawatercan,duringanextremelybrieflullintheaction,andIhad

climbedbackintotheturretbeforehedid.Joewascrouchingbehindthetank,

grabbingaquicksmoke.Ihadjustreturnedtomygunner’sseatwhenJoestuck

hisheadinthehatchandyelled,“Smitty’sbeenhit!”

Iclimbedbackoutandsawmyfriendlyingonthetankdeckwithpartofhis

facemissing.Icouldn’tbelievehewasdead,soIgotverycloseandIsawoneeye

openslightly.

“He’salive!”IshoutedtoJoe.“Getamedic!”
Isawaslightsidewardmovementofhisheadandknewhehaddied—evenasI

watched.

Myfirstimpulsewastotouchthebody,butIrecoiledwhenIheardJoe’svoice

besideme.

“C’mon,kid,leave’imrightthereandgetinsideorwe’llallbedead!”
Corkscrewhadtofillinasloader,anditwasnotthesame.Hedidn’tbelongin

atank—toodamnbig—buthedidokayliftingshellsoutoftherackintheturret

floorandslammingthemintothebreech.Still,itdidn’thelpthathehadtokeep

hissteelhelmetontoprotecthishead,whichkeptbangingagainsttheturrettop.

Intheintensityoftheactionthatfollowed,Icompletelyforgotaboutwhowas

doing what. For the moment I forgot how immediate death could be and how

vulnerableweallwere.Ifocusedonlyontherangemarksinmytelescopicsight,

the machine-gun trigger on the power traverse handle I was gripping, and the

targetsIwassearchingfor.Theturretsmelledlikewetdiapers,andtimeonce

morestopped.

OurforceshadoutflankedtheGermansatAltenkirchen,andtheyliterallyfled

tothehillsjustnorthofthecity.CCBspentthenightjustwestofthecity.Itwas

necessarytotaketurnsstandingguard,eachcrewtakingcareofitsowntank.

Fatigueincombatisnotlikebeingtiredafteraday’swork.Itpenetratesevery

sinew and every nerve, and a good night’s sleep seldom comes your way, and

rarelycuresit.

Thestyleofcombatinthiswardifferedradicallyfromthatofitspredecessorof

1914–18,wheremovementwasstalled,wheremensufferedunbelievablemisery

and indescribable agonies in muddy, rat-filled trenches and considered a two-

mile advance, won at enormous human cost, a major accomplishment—yet as

oftenasnotforfeiteditsoonafterinretreat.Stagnationwasforthemawayof

life.

But technology had converted those disease-ridden trenches into mobile

trackedvehiclesthatcouldserveasmini-fortressesonemomentandpursuethe

enemythenext.Armorontracksandwheels—half-tracks,armoredcars,tanks,

andtankdestroyers—gavethiswaranewkindofaction.Thenewdimensionin

thiswaralsoincludedcombatfromtheair,somethingourancestorwarwasnot

ready to take seriously, but something without which we could not have

succeeded.

Atthispointinthewar,followingthecrossingoftheRhine,ourobjectwasto

take ground and pursue the slowly retreating Germans. They were a desperate

andverydeterminedenemywhowereforbiddentoconsiderretreatasanything

other than a tactical maneuver for an advantage, for whom defeat was not a

legitimateconcept,andwhohadbeeninoculatedwiththeideathatdeathwas

preferabletosurrender.

Ourtankwasnotactuallyhitthatday,thoughalotofshrapnelfrommortar

fire had found some of our guys—including Smitty. “Our guys” meant our

armored infantry doughs who fought along with the tanks. Our duffel bags,

whichcontainedourworldlypossessionsandwerefastenedonthedeckwherever

wecouldfindasuitableplace,wereriddledwithripsandtears.Myownbaghad

twolargeholesinit,andIimaginedthatonedayIwouldreachintogetsome

underwearandgrabthejaggededgeofapieceofshrapnel.

After two days of combat, I had become a veteran tanker. I knew that Joe

respected me as a gunner. For once in my adolescent life, I didn’t feel like a

foolishclassass,arefreshingexperienceforme.Inolongerhadanydesiretobe

thecenterofattentionortobepopular.Indeed,thewarwasconditioningmeto

betheopposite.

Onthetwenty-seventhofMarch,wehadamomentarylull.Joetoldmethathe

hadbeenrequestedbyCaptainHarkintocomposealettertoSmitty’sparents.

Thecaptainwaschargedwithexpressingcondolenceswhentimeallowed,buthe

wasn’t“goodwithwords.”HehadhopedthatJoecoulddoit.

“I’mnogoodatwriting,”Joegrumbled.“I’dgiveacigartotheguywhocould

doitinsteadofme.”

Imighthavebeenajackassinhighschool,butIknewhowtowrite.
“I’llwriteit,”Ioffered.
“You?”Joewasincredulous.“Youcanwrite?”
“Yeah.”

“Okay,doit!”
AndIdid.

DearMr.andMrs.Smith,

WeknowyouhaveheardofJohn’suntimelydeathintheserviceofhiscountry.Everymanofhiscrew

andeverymanintheentiredivisionwantsyoutoknowthatourwareffortwillsufferfromhisloss.Hewas
agallantsoldierandafriendtoallwhoknewhim.Heneverdidanythingwrongandalwaysdideverything
right.Pleaseacceptourcondolencesandourhopesthathisdeathwillnothavebeeninvain.Wewillallmiss
him.

Sincerely,

Joecommentedthatmaybe“entiredivision”and“ourwareffortwillsufferfrom

hisloss”werekindofoverdone,evenforbereavedparents.

“Afterall,thekidjustjoinedtheoutfit.”
Hewasright,ofcourse,soImodifiedthelettertomakeitmorebelievable,

morepersonal,asthoughIwaswritingitformyself.ApparentlyCaptainHarkin

approvedofthefinalresult,becausehemadeapointofstoppingbyourtankto

thankme.

“Niceletter,Corporal.Iappreciateit.”Hepaused,thenadded,“Igettheidea

thatyou’reahellofabettergunnerthanyouareawarhero.”Hegrinned,andas

heleftIwascertainIsawhisshouldersvibratingupanddown.Hewasactually

laughing,somethingIdidn’tknowhecoulddo.

Thecaptain’scomplimentdidnotmakeupforthelossofabuddy,butitwas

somethingIcouldhangonto.IhadactuallyknownSmittyforonlyafewdays.

This was a strange world where time was stretched, twisted, bent back upon

itself,ofcriticalsignificanceonemomentandvirtuallywithoutmeaningthenext.

Strangely,afteranotherdayorsomymemoryofhimgotrepressed.ButIhung

ontothecaptain’scompliment.Smittywasdead,butIstillhadawartolive.

Anotherpeculiarityofthewarpresenteditselfthatday.FourGermandeserters

wanderedintoourarealookingforsomethingtoeatandhopingtobecaptured.I

wasamazed.Whatkindofawarwasthiswheresoldiersbeggedtobecaptured

and their enemy chased them away? At every group of GIs they came to they

wouldplacetheirhandsupontheirheadsandshout“Kamerad!”Andeachtime

they would be run off with something like “Raus, you bastards, or we’ll shoot

yourassesworsethanwehavealready.”Ifeltsorryforthem,butI’dhadenough

troublewith“capturingprisoners”foronewar.Iduckedbehindthetanksothey

wouldn’tseeme,becauseIknewIcouldn’ttreatthemthatway.Ihadn’tbeen

aroundthiswarlongenoughforthat.Itwasgratifying,though,toseeacoupleof

crewmembersfromoneofthecompaniessharerationswiththem.Butnoone

tookthemprisoner.

By March 28th, after all-night combat by most of our elements, the division

reached Marburg, a center of staunch, rigid Nazism. The main story here was

prisonersandmoreprisoners.SomanyGermanprisonersweretakenthatthere

wasmuchconfusionaboutaccommodatingthem.Alongwithmen,theGermans

hadlostanunacceptablylargeamountofequipment.Istoodonthetankdeck

andwatchedtheflowofprisonersmovingalonglikeariver,andwonderedhow

muchmoretheGermanshadtogive.

At Marburg, the 3rd Armored Division got its orders to attack north to

Paderborn.Unknowntousmerecombatsoldiers,March29thwastobeforusa

history-makingdayintheSecondWorldWar.Notthatitwasanoccasionofthe

war’smostmemorablebattleorthegreatestdestructionofGermanmatérieland

men.ItwasthelongestsingledrivemadeinonedaybyAlliedforcesinGermany

intheentirewar.Wecoveredmorethanninetymiles(144kilometers)thatday,

fromMarburgtowithinthirtymilesofPaderborn,fromthesouthernpartofthe

Ruhrvalleytoitsnorthernperimeter,makingtheencirclementoftheRuhrvalley

avirtualcertainty.Thefactthatanumberoftownsweretakenalongtheway

made our speed all the more remarkable. The secret of the operation’s success

was precisely this speed, which truly surprised the enemy. No one could have

predictedadrivelikethat.AndevenwhentheGermanforcesatPaderborngot

windofwhatwashappening,therewasdisbeliefamongtheirelitecommand.

AtPaderborn,elementsoftheSSPanzerReplacementandTrainingCenterand

theSSReconnaissanceTrainingRegimentmovedintopositionsofdefensefrom

whichtheywerereadyto“blitz”theinvaders.Herewasthelastobstacletothe

fullcutoffoftheRuhr.

It was warm for March, and the concrete highway we were traveling was

clutteredwithrubberfromtanktreads.Mostofourtankshadtrackswithrubber

blocksinsteadofallsteel,andtheheatbuild-upandconstantpoundingofthe

treadscausedpiecesofrubbertobreakoff.

Graverwasokayforabouttwo-thirdsoftheday,butCorkscrewtookoverthe

drivingduringtheafternoon.Steeringatankisdonebypullingonbrakehandles,

leftorright,whilegunningtheengine,andGraverwasgettingcrampsinhisleft

arm. We stopped along the way only to refuel. When nature made its

requirementsknown,whateverspectatorstheremighthavebeenweretreatedto

the ridiculous spectacle of men urinating from their tanks or “dumping” into

theirsteelhelmets(oneofthemostversatilearmyimplements,incidentally,in

WorldWarII)andtossingitawayastheytraveled,rarelywithoutunwelcome

consequences. The seat I was attached to had reduced my buns to a couple of

large bruises. I took to kneeling on the floor of the turret, just to relieve the

pressure.ItwasagruelingdayandoneIwouldnotforget.Likeeveryoneelse,I

wasgladwhenIheardthecommandtohalt.Butourreliefwasshort-lived.The

enemyatPaderbornbynowknewthatwewerecoming,andtheywerepreparing

areceptionforus.

CLOSINGTHEROSEPOCKET

twasanincredibleworldIhadfoundmyselfin,aworldthatallowednotime

foracclimationandseldomforgavemistakes.Nothingcouldsurprisemeatthis

point, so when Smitty’s replacement as loader climbed aboard even as we

traveledthosemonotonousninetymilesfromMarburg,Isawnothingoddabout

it.

“Name’sPete,PeteKowanski,”heshoutedinahigh-pitchedvoiceabovethe

racketoftheidlingtankengine.

Kowanskiwasaverybigguy,notastallasCorkscrewbuttwiceasheavy.His

sizecamenotsomuchfromfatasfromhisbigframe.Hishandswerehugeand

whenhetookoffhishelmetIsawthathisshortblondhairwasgettingthin.

“Irwin,”Ishoutedback.“JackIrwin.”
This new man was obviously not new to the war. I judged him to be about

twenty-five years old, very old in my book, and I soon learned that he was a

sergeant,thatbothheandJoehadbeentogetherinthe3rdArmoredsinceD-day

plus two, and that Joe had requested that Kowanski be assigned to our crew.

There was a reassuring air about Kowanski, a quiet confidence and a savvy

manner. Joe and I had been riding on the deck of the tank, along with seven

armoredinfantrydoughs,whenheclimbedupontoourtankoutofthepeepthat

hadbroughthim.

“Thisisyourgunner!”JoeshoutedtoKowanski.“Don’tlethispintsizefool

you.He’sadamnedgoodgunner!”

Kowanskinoddedhishead.“Good!JustlostagoodgunnerinCompanyB.”
ItturnedoutthatKowanskihadbeentankcommanderinoneoftheCompany

Btanksthathadbeenknockedoutseveraldaysago.Hehadlosthisgunnerand

driver,andnoreplacementtankwasforthcomingatpresent.

Hestuckouthishandtothegroupofdoughsridingonthedeckandhollered,

“Gladtoseeyouguyshere!Iwasafraidyou’dallbeenkilled.”

Thearmoredinfantryboysallgrinnedastheyreachedouttheirhands.Itwas

asthoughtheywerepartofourowncrew,sincewehadtoworkcloselywith

them. Kowanski knew all of them. They had been on the battle beat since

Belgium—twoofthemsinceFrance.

Petenoddedtowardme.“Whatd’yathinkofthekidhere?”
“He’snomoreofakidthanAham,”saidonedough,takingoffhishelmet.

“Ah’mjustbarelyseventeen.Lied’boutmyagetogetin.”

Hedidn’tlookit—tall,averycoarsebeard,brownedface,ruggedfeatures,hair

grayingatthesides.I’dhavepeggedhimforaboutthirty,maybemore.

“Bullshit!”laughedKowanski.
Igottoknowthenamesofthedoughs—“Ugly,”“Mildew,”“Scrunch,”“Mad

Dog,”“Pisser,”“Shithead,”and“Lobes.”Iknewtheyhadrealnamesembossedon

theirdogtags,buttheseweretheircombatnames.Whatstuckoutmostabout

theseguyswasthefactthateveryoneofthemcamefromsomewhereinDixie.

NotmerelytheSouth,butthehillsoftheSouth,theruralSouth.Ifeltathome,

YankeethoughIwas.IthadseemedtomethathalfofFortKnoxhadcomefrom

thebackcountrysomewheresouthoftheMason-DixonLine.Andinvariablyone

of them had a banjo, someone else a guitar, another a harmonica, and always

therewasafiddle.

SomethingIenjoyedaboutthoseRebsbesidestheirmusicwastheirquickwit

andfunnyexpressions.Theyhadawayofsayingthingsthatcuttothemeatand

mademelaughatthesametime.Ihadhadafirstsergeantinbasictrainingwho

spokeunsmilinglyofthecolonelwhowastoinspectus:“Ahwouldn’tsayhewas

chickenshit,buthesureashellhashenhouseways.”

Iwasbeginningtogetagrasponthisnewworld,withitssenseofuniversal

camaraderieinoppositiontoacommonenemy.Menofdifferentorganizations,

asyetunknowntome,wouldbemycomradesautomaticallyshouldImeetthem.

ItmatterednotthatinordinarycivilianlifeImightnotgivethemsomuchasa

glance.Inthisenvironmentwewereawareofacommonbondbetweenusand

werereadytoignorethepotentialcontemptwemighthavehadforoneanother

under different circumstances. One could not really call it friendship, though

friendshipswereborneverydayincombat.Butwhilecomradeshipisbrotherto

friendship,theyarenotreallythesamething.

Sometimelate inthe afternoon,a peep carryingtwo men came alongside of

ourtank.Theoneonthepassengersidewasobviouslyanofficer.Hehadacrew

cut,stiffgrayinghair,aserious,handsomeface,andabigframe.Helookedupat

usandtouchedaforefingertohisbrowinasaluteandsaid,“Myhelmet’soffto

youmen—keepitup!”

“Know who that was?” Kowanski asked as the peep moved ahead, stopping

brieflyalongsideeachtank.

“No,”Ishouted,astheengineroared.“Whoishe?”
Kowanskigrinnedslightly.“Justthebestfuckingofficerinthewholegoddamn

U.S.Army.ThatwasGeneralRose,divisioncommander.”

I knew the name, but it had not made an impression on me before this

moment.

“Thisisn’tthefirsttimeI’veseenhim,”saidKowanski.“Spentseveralhours

withhim,pinneddowninaditchalongaroadinBelgium.He’saGI,justlikethe

restofus.Alwaysupfrontwithhismen.”

Ididn’tquiterealizewhatthatfingertipmeanttoguyslikeJoeandPeteand

the doughs, but I knew I was included, and I gained a deeper sense of the

division’sespritdecorps.

Itwasdarkwhenwefinallystopped.Ithadbeenalong,gruelingdayandI

didn’t have the slightest idea where we were, not that it would have meant

anythingtomeifIhad.Ihadnograspatallofthegeographyinvolved.

“We’re south of Paderborn,” Kowanski offered. “Nieder Marsberg—I saw a

sign.”

Thatinformationreallydidn’ttellmemuch.Iwastired,eventhoughI’dhad

littletodoexceptridethetank.Theonething,however,thatreallystuckwith

me was the sight of the crowds of refugees we saw that day, walking and

stumblingalongtheroadleadingawayfromthecity—oldpeople,smallchildren,

motherswithbabiesslungacrosstheirfronts,carryingwhatevertheycould,some

pushing wobbly baby carriages or pulling little wagons loaded with their

belongings.ItwasasightIwouldseetoooften,refugeesleavingtheirhomesto

escapetheexpectedinvasionanddestructionoftheircities.Forabriefmoment,I

thoughtofhomeandmymother.ShehadhadaheartattacknotlongbeforeIleft

forthearmyandwasonlyslightlyimprovedwhenIvisitedduringadelayonmy

waytoFortDixbeforegoingtoCampShanks,inNewYork,andthenceonboard

theQueenMaryforEurope.Thatseemedlikehalfalifetimeago.

WehadarrivedatNiederMarsbergaround2200hours.GraverandCorkscrew

went off somewhere in the darkness and returned about twenty minutes later

withfourorfivebottlesofhomemadewine,requisitionedfromthecellarofsome

frightenedGermans.Isoonlearnedthatthisishowwarsarereallyfought.The

shootingandblowingupofhousesisbutacoverforyoungbuckstohaveatime

ofit—whenevertheycan.“Inthearmy,”acadremanatFortKnoxoncetoldme,

“youdojustwhatyoucangetawaywith.”Hereitwasnotsomuchamatterof

“gettingawaywithit”asitwasoffindingtheopportunity.Theybothgotdrunk.

Tothebestofmyknowledge,Graverrarelysoberedupagainduringthewar.

IthoughtaboutGraverandtheothermenoftheoutfit.Wewereanassortment

ofmenandadolescents,broughttogetherinacommonstruggletosurviveand

prevail. We all had much to learn, both the older veterans and the newer

replacements.Forsomeitwasmoredifficultthanforothers.IrealizedthatIhad

alongwaytogotobecomeaman.Iwashavingaseriousconflictwithinmyself.

HereIwas,aneighteen-year-oldvirgininanarmyfullofguys,manyofwhom

believedyouweren’tamantillyou“hadadose”(ofclap,thatis,gonorrhea).

Seemed like an awful price to pay for manhood. How many virgin boys

surrenderedtheirchastityandgoodhealthtothecauseofmanhoodduringthis

conflictisamatterofpurespeculation.Evenmoreinterestingisthequestionof

howmanyboastedthattheydid,butdidn’t.Thereweremanygoodreasonswhy

theyshouldnot,andthesewerenotparticularlymoralorreligiousreasons.

Sleepmoreorlessjusthappenedratherthanbeingsomethinganyoneactually

did.Despitethecommotionaroundme,Isleptuntilsomeungodlyhourbefore

thesunrose,whenIfeltJoe’sbootonmyshoulderasIlayonthetankdeck.

“C’mon,kid.Getyourassingear!Wegotahellofadayahead.WegotSS

waitin’forus,readytoshootourfuckin’ballsoff!”

Iwasinstantlyawake.
PetewascheckingouttheammointheflooroftheturretasIclimbedintomy

gunner’sseat.Helookedoveratmeandsaidseriously,“Y’know,kid,ifyou’re

evenhalfasgoodasMatirathinksyouare,I’llbesatisfied.”Ismiledgratefully.

Hisopinionmeantalottome.Iwantedtobearespectedmemberofthecrew,

someonewho—

“Graver!Getthisironcoffinrevvedup!”
Realityagain!
Graverwasinastuporanddidn’trespond.
“Goddamnit,man,thisisahellofatimetobedrunk!You’dbettergetthat

enginegoingorI’llcarryoutmyowncourtmartialwiththisforty-five!”

Somehow,thatworked.Thetankengineroared,andGravermanagedaslurred

question:“Whereto?”

Joerestrainedhimself.“We’replayingfollow-the-leader.Thetankinfrontof

youisyourleader—justdon’tcrashintoit.Yahearme?Youdrunkensonofa

bitch!”

Thenitwasinstantcombat.Wehadgoneonlyashortdistancewhenwecame

underfire.Panzerfausts!Thesehand-heldGermanbazookaswerefiredbroadside

atcloserangeagainsttanks,sometimescausingmoltenmetaltospraytheinside.

Theyusedrecoilless,disposablelaunchers,andanykidcouldfireone—andoften

did. They came with a variety of warheads and served a wide range of

destructiveends.

“Graver!Getaroundthathouseoverthere—onyourright!”
Pete pushed the barrel of a carbine through the turret basket and jabbed

Graver’srightshoulder.

“Right!Right!”
Graverdidwhathewasorderedtodo,butwhenhesawtheflashofcannon

fireimmediatelyinfrontofhim,hepulledbackthebrakehandles,shifted,and

backedup—directlyintothehouse.Infact,hedidsuchanexcellentjobofitthat

theturretwasjammedintothehouseandcouldn’tbemoved.

“Goddamnittohell!”Joeshouted.“Getyerassesoutofthetank!Bailout!Bail

out!!”

Joehadapoint.Atankwithaturretthatcouldnottraverseandgetontarget

wasabsolutelyuseless.Ithadnofirepowerandwasasittingduck.

JoewasoutandImanagedtoclimboutdespitethewallofthehousepartly

blockingthehatch.Petewasrightbehindmebuthadahardertimeofit.But

GraverandCorkscrewdidn’tshow.Peteclimbedoverthefrontofthetankand

pulledGraveroutofthedriver’shatchanddroppedhiminthedirt.Hecouldn’t

findCorkscrew,whowasoutofsightinanalcoholicstuporonthefloorofthe

hatch,sohecamebackandrantojoinusbehindthebuilding.

“Thosebastardsdeservewhattheyget!”hegrumbled.
Wewaitedandwatchedwhatwashappening.
“Yougotaweapon,kid?”Peteaskedme.
“Uh,no.Ijustgotout—”
“Takethis,”hemurmured,ashehandedmethecarbinehehadbroughtfrom

theturret.LikeJoe,hehada.45inhishand.

Thethreeofuswerecrouchedaroundthecornerofthehouse,justwatching.

TheGermansappearedtobebackingoff,butwecouldneverbesurewhatthey

wereupto.Theymightwellhaveasecondwavewaitingforustobeginpursuit

onlytofallintoatrap.

“Ican’tstandthis!”Petegrumbledafterseveralminutesanddashedaroundthe

corner.Amomentlater,Iheardtheroarofthetankengineandfeltthehouse

shake.Petesoonmanagedtobreakthetankfreefromitsprison,somethingonly

asobermancouldhavedone.

“C’mon,”yelledJoe,whorantothetankandclimbedintothedriver’sseat.I

gotintotheturret,wherePetewasalreadyloadingashellinthebreech.

“Let’smakethesecount,”heshouted.“Youpickthetargets!”
AndIdid.Thebarrelofthecannoneventuallygotsohotthatnowandthena

roundwouldfireoffbeforeIhadachancetotriggerit.Joekeptmaneuveringthe

tanktomakeusapoortargetandtogivemeshots.Thoseweremostlydug-in

infantryandlightarmor.Iranoutof.30-caliber,andwithoutabowgunnerour

firepowerwasdiminished.ButourHEshellswroughtsomerealhavocwiththe

Germaninfantrybehindthestonewallsandinbuildingsinfrontofus.

Ourcompanygotspreadout,andforawhilewehadnovisualcontactwith

othercrews.That’sadisconcertingfeeling,especiallywithourdiminishedcrew

andfirepower.Yetweseemedtohavefortuneonourside.Atonepoint,Ishot

almostrandomlyatalowwallinfrontofus,andtomyamazementanentire

bazookasquadcameoutfrombehindanothersectionofthewall,theirhandson

theirheads.WhenIfirstsawthemIwonderedwhethertheycouldsurvivethe

intensegunfireallaroundthem.Infact,oneofthemwashitandtheothersraced

backbehindthewall.Iknewtheynolongerhadtheirweapons,soIdidn’tshoot

atthatpointofthewall.

Andthentheshootingsubsided.Theenemywerebackingoff,seekingaretreat

that would leave them a sufficient reserve to engage us again. At least fifty

bodies, mostly German, were scattered around the area, and the homes of

yesterday were the rubble of today. The stucco houses were pockmarked from

bulletsorhadgapingholesfromshellsandbazookas.Somewereinruins.We

could see the evidence of the hasty German retreat in the form of abandoned

vehicles and weapons littering the entire area. The smoldering hulk of a King

Tigertankblockedtheroadinfrontofus,sothattherewasnowayaroundit

withoutdamagingthehousenexttoit.Joedidwhathadtobedonesowecould

moveon.

Incredibly,peoplecameoutoftheirhousesandwereeverywherewandering

aroundthedebris,somecrying,somejustgazinginbewilderment.Thedoughs

were trying to get them to go back inside, and some really strange sights

presented themselves. We saw a small woman turn on a big GI and start

pummelinghimwithbothfistswhenhetriedtomakehergointoahouse.

“Mymoney’sontheoldwoman,”grinnedJoe.
Gravercamedragginghimselfovertothetank.Hewasnotfeelinggood,tosay

theleast.Corkscrewhadbeenslumpedinthebowgunner’shatchthewholetime.

Helookedprettyawful.Butwehadnopitytospareforeitherofthem,andJoe

wasthreateningtohavethembothshotiftheypulledanotherstuntlikethat.He

reallymeantit.Gravercomplainedthathefeltasthoughhealreadyhadbeen

shot.

“Youcouldhaveholesalloveryou,”yelledJoe,“andnotevenknowitinyour

condition. You guys deserted us in combat, do you realize that? What do you

knowabouttheArticlesofWar?”

Itseemedobvioustomethatbothmenrealizedthegravityoftheiraction,and

I doubted that they would be that stupid again. But stupidity, it seems, often

knowsnobounds.

ThoughIwasonlyvaguelyawareofthelargerpicture,ourregimentandthe

32nd Armored Regiment, both part of Task Force Welborn, had been pressing

northwardinhopesofjoiningwithforcesheadingeastwardacrossthenorthern

perimeter of the Ruhr valley. Lippstadt, a city about twenty miles west of

Paderborn,wastobethepointofcontactbetweenTaskForceKanefromthe3rd

Armored,whichwasheadingwestfromEtteln,andthetanksofthe2ndArmored

“HellonWheels”Division,whichwasmovingeastwardandtherebycuttingoff

thewholeRuhrindustrialregion.Theplanworkedmagnificentlyandcertainly

shortenedthewar,butnotwithoutahighpriceinlivesandequipment.The2nd

Armored Division had met with savage resistance and had lost many tanks,

weapons, and men in the drive. The 2nd and 3rd Armored Divisions were the

only heavy armored divisions in the U.S. Army, and both were coordinated in

thisfinalpushacrossGermany.

It was the thirtieth of March, and the division was concentrated in an area

northofthecityofEtteln,confrontingdug-ininfantryandtanksandreceivinga

greatdealoffire.Ourtankwaslowonammo,especially.30-cal.machine-gun

belts.Corkscrewhadtosplitwhathehadwithme.Petewarnedmetogoeasyon

theHE—onlyafewshellsleft.Istrainedtoseewhatwasgoingonthroughmy

periscope,whenatremendousexplosionshookourtank.Thetankinfrontofus

inthecolumntookahitfromaGermanself-propelledgun,effectivelyblocking

ourpassageandthatofthetanksbehindus.Wewereallstandingtargets.

Joeyelled,“Bailout!Fast!”
Asluckhadit,ourdesertedtankwasthenhitbythesameself-propelledgun

andappearedtobedisabled.

“Shit!”exclaimedJoe,slamminghishelmetontotheground.
Hewaiteduntilthingslookedsafeandcrawledovertothetank,gaveitaquick

examination,andhurriedback.

“Could be worse,” he growled. “Soon as they get things cleared up, we’re

gonnaputthatsonofabitchbackintoaction.”

Iwonderedabouttheturret.Woulditturn?CouldIfirethegun?
“Don’tknow,”heansweredquietly.“Havetotakeachance.”
Once the way was cleared around the disabled tank in front of us, we

remountedanddiscoveredthattherehadbeenmorenoisethandamage.Ifound

thattheturretstillworked.Weguessedthatahigh-explosiveroundhadstruck

thefrontarmorplateandglancedoff,causingminimaldamage.

That afternoon, as we were moving slowly, I spotted a boy no more than

twelveyearsofagerunningtowarduswithaPanzerfaustgraspedinhishands.

HewaswearingtheuniformoftheHitlerYouth.

“Joe!”Ishouted.“Thatkid!”
“Kill’im!”Joescreamed.
And I did. A short burst from the .30-cal. machine gun and he was on the

ground,limpandquitedeadontopofhisPanzerfaust.AndIfeltnoemotionat

thatmomentexceptrelief.

“Goodwork,kid,”Joeshouted,andIacceptedhispraise.
Deathistheveryessenceofwar,butnotalldeathsareequal.Atwelve-year-

old boy counts for little, but the loss of a great general calls for great

lamentation. Such was the case when the division got word that its beloved

commander, Major General Maurice Rose, had been killed. His party had

consistedofonlythreepeeps,twomotorcycles,andanarmoredcar.Howitall

happenedremainsobscure,butaccordingtoonereportaGermanpanzerblocked

theroadandthepartytriedtoforcetheirwaypast.Whenitturnedouttherewas

insufficient room, they were stopped. General Rose and his driver placed their

handsontheirheads,butforsomereasonthetankcommanderfiredhis“burp

gun”atthegroup,killingGeneralRose.Itmaybethatwhenthegenerallowered

hishandstoremovehispistolbelt,theGermantankcommanderfearedthathe

wasgoingforhisgun.Noonereallyknows,butGeneralRosehadbeenkilled,

andthedivisionhadlostitscommander.

Sopopularwasthegeneralwiththemenofthedivisionthatmanytookhis

deathquitepersonally,especiallytheoldercombatveteranslikeJoeMatiraand

Pete Kowanski. They didn’t say much, but it was obvious from their somber

curses and sullen demeanor that they were crushed—and vengeful. I was

reaching a deeper understanding by the hour of the close relationships that

developincombat,relationshipsnotbasedonrankorthespecificsofpersonal

friendship.Itwassomethingdeeper,somethingalmostspiritual.

ThekillingofGeneralRosemayhaveprovenasmuchofalosstotheGermans

asitwastous,fortheangeranddeterminationhisdeathgeneratedinhismen

reflectedthespiritheinstilledinthedivisionbyhiscourageandexample.The

menofthe3rdArmoredDivisionhadenormousrespectfortheircommanderand

wouldnotforgethimastheyfoughttojustifyhissteadfastconfidenceinthem.

Paderborn was one of the few major defenses that the Germans had at this

point.HerewewerefacedwithdesperatetroopswhostillbelievedintheThird

ReichandwerereadytodiefortheFührer.WewerebriefedbyCaptainHarkin,

whomadeitcleartousthatthisenemywascompletelynutsandwouldcommit

anyatrocityormakeanysacrificefortheFührer.Wealsolearnedfromhimthat

the new commander of the division was Brigadier General Doyle O. Hickey, a

battle-testedcombatofficerwhosepipewasapermanentfixtureinhismouth.I

gottheideafromJoeandPetethatwewouldbeingoodhands.

“Iamrequiredtosaythis,”CaptainHarkincontinued.“Wereallydon’twant

anymoreprisonersthannecessary.Nowlistengood!I’mnottellingyoutoshoot

menwhoaresurrendering.Everyonegotthat?JustbecausetheKrautshaveno

consciencesdoesn’tmeanthatwedon’teither.Anyquestions?”

None.
“Good!Nowlet’sgive’emsomepayback!”
ItwasthefirstofApril.Wehadrestockedourammunitionracksandwereup

topar,readytocontinueourrelentlesspush,wearythoughweallwere.Engines

startedroaring,andthetanksofICompanyjoinedwiththoseofBCompanyto

lead the task force into Paderborn. At the time, I had no idea of the size and

complexityoftheoperationwewereinvolvedin.Joetoldusthatheunderstood

that there were to be three task forces moving on Paderborn from different

directions.TaskForceWelbornwouldbeattackingfromtheeastofthecity.

TheencirclementoftheRuhrregionhadbeensuccessfullargelybecauseofthe

speed with which it had been accomplished. It had been named the “Ruhr

Pocket,”butitwasrenamed“RosePocket”bythe3rdArmoredDivisiontohonor

itsfallencommander,andthatbecameitsofficialnameintheFirstArmyrecords.

TheGermandefenseforceshadbeencaughtoffguardandconfused,andmany

thousands of enemy troops had already surrendered, to be herded into

overcrowded containment pens pending more permanent arrangements. It was

cleartousthatthey,atleast,knewGermany’scausewashopeless.

Graversurprisedme.Hewasn’tabletogetanythingtodrink,yetheheldhis

owninspiteofthat.Hewasagooddriver—whenhehadcontrolofhimself.And

CorkscrewmadeadealwithPetetospellhimasloaderonceinawhile,justto

getthekinksoutofhisowncrampedlegs.AgroupofAIdoughswereridingon

thedeck,wheretheywouldbereadyforactionwhenthetimecame.Mostofthe

armoredinfantryrodeinhalf-tracksuntilwemetresistance,butquiteafewrode

onthetanks.ScrunchandSquawkyactuallyshotcrapsonthebackdeckofour

tank, where wind and chill and noise made winning and losing a serious

challenge.

By the gray light of the early cloudy morning we could see fire and smoke

creatingaweird,phantasmagoricsceneabovethecityofPaderborn.Thecityhad

been,andwasbeing,poundedbyAlliedfighter-bombersandshellfireandwas

sufferingseriousdestruction.Istoodwithmyheadoutoftheturrethatch;Joe

wasstandingonthebackdeckbehindtheturret.

“Wow!”wasallIcouldmanage.
Joechewedonhiscigar.
“Pretty damn impressive, don’t ya think?” He watched. “They’re beaten but

theydon’tknowit.That’sabadkindofenemy!Bunchoffuckingfanatics.”

And they were. I was amazed that despite the incessant bombardment and

strafing, the German forces at Paderborn came out of the city on the attack.

Tanks,tankdestroyers,self-propelledguns—everythingtheycouldpulltogether.

Wemovedofftheroadandacrossthemuddyfieldstoengagethem.

IheardJoe’svoiceontheintercomsaying,“We’regonnaflank’em.They’llget

itfromthefrontandbothsides.Keep’erloaded,Pete!Kid,keepyourfacetothat

sight!”

TheGermanarmorformedalineofdefenseaheadofusandbeganshowing

enormousfirepower.Icouldseesomeofwhatwasgoingon,butnotmuch.The

ridewasrough.SeveraltimesGravergotstuckintheglueymudbutwasableto

backusoutandmoveon.AlloftheAmericantankswerefiringattheGermans,

and they in turn unleashed on us everything they could muster, which was

tremendous.Joepickedthetargets,andItriedtohitthem.Onecontactwaswith

a King Tiger, one of Germany’s most feared tanks. I was not the only gunner

firingatit,forIsawtracerscomingfromotherdirectionsaswell.Idon’tknow

whomadethehit,butthatmightyTigergrowleditslastassomebody’sround

damaged the turret. Its crew scrambled from the hatches and abandoned the

smoking remains as GI machine-gun fire strafed them. All appeared to be

casualties.

Themorninggrewlighter,butthesunnevershoweditself.TheonlymeasureI

had as to how things were going was the intensity of the German fire coming

against us. The armored infantry doughs—several hundred of them—had

scattered between the tanks, moving with the armor and taking losses from

mortarandmachine-gunfire.AgainandagainIsprayedGermaninfantrywith

my.30-calibertoprotectourdoughs.Corkscrewshowedthathe,too,couldbea

realmenacetotheGermans.Thewayhemaneuveredhis.30-cal.guninevery

directionwasaworkofart.

As we slowly approached the city, the German armor retreated in orderly

echelonformationsandgraduallytookupnewpositionsinsidethecity.Infront

ofourgroupwasanimpressivearrayofTigers.AndIcouldseethemutedflashes

fromtheircannonfire.Wehadalmostreachedthetanksimmediatelyinfrontof

uswhenashellglancedoffofourrightsponson.

Joeshouted,“Didyouseeit?”
Yes,Ihadseenit,thetankthathadfiredtheshell,andIfiredbackevenasJoe

spoke.Isawthetraceroftheroundthatscoredadirecthitstreakheavenward—

notagoodsign.Iwascomingtorealizethatmy76wasnomatchforthatkindof

armor.ButIfiredagain,andthistimethetracerseemedtohavehitthetank,but

Icouldn’tbesure.AllInoticedwasthatitdidnotricochet.

ThenPeteyelled,“That’sthelastAP!”
“Sogive’emHE!”yelledJoethroughtheintercom.“Give’emhell!”
One thing about HE was its concussion, which could incapacitate turret

mechanisms,tracks,andothermovingparts,eveniftheshellfailedtopenetrate

thearmor.Tankscouldbecompletelydisabledthisway.

Asallofthiswasgoingon,Ihappenedtocatchaglimpseofoneofourguys

from another crew actually climbing out of his tank, pulling down his pants,

dumpinghisload,and,withoutwiping,climbingbackintothetank,pantsstill

halfwayoff.Desperationisthemotherofheroicexpedience.

WeworkedourwayintoPaderborn,wheretheGermanshadabandonedtheir

earlierpositionsandestablishednewdefensesamongthehouses,leavingmuch

oftheirarmorbehind.Theinfantrymenwereengagedinhellishhouse-to-house

combat,andwehadthejobofdoingwhateverwecouldtocoverandassistthem.

I had the dubious honor of shooting some walls out so the doughs could get

inside.

ThebattleforPaderbornseemedtogoonforever.Itwasnevercleartomeat

anymomentwhetherweweresucceedingindrivingtheGermansbackornot.A

score against a tank or an armored car or our firing against the omnipresent

GermaninfantrywiththeirdiabolicPanzerfaustsneverseemedsufficienttobring

themtotheirknees.Yeteventually,afterhoursoffiercecombat,theworstofthe

strugglewasover,andnonebutthemoststubbornpocketsofsuicidalSStroops

heldout.

Paderbornwas,forallintentsandpurposes,taken.Butitwouldbeseveraldays

beforetheentireregionwascleared.ManythousandsofGermanprisonerswere

beingherdedintoextremelycrowdedcontainmentpens.Eventuallytheywould

be moved into regular prison camps. For them the war was over, even if they

couldn’tgohome.

There is something about the semiconclusion of a battle-not-lost that

encouragesmentocontinuetobelieveinafuture.Ifwecandothishere,wecan

doitagainthere!Thefeelinglastspreciselyuntilthenextengagement.

TOWNSANDRIVERS

twaspathetictoseeGraversuccumbonceagaintotheopportunitytonumb

himself with some “vino,” bartered from a couple of doughs who were out of

cigarettes. (The term “vino” for wine or booze in general persisted among GIs

aftertheItaliancampaign.)Wewerecertainlynotonleave,thoughtheintensity

oftheresistancehaddiminishedforthetimebeing.Maybehethoughtthatso

longashehadhisNewTestamentinhispockethe’dbesomehowprotectedinhis

crapulence. I never actually saw him read it. Corkscrew and I knew that he

managedtokeepabottlehiddeninthedriver’shatch,butwesaidnothingabout

it,andIwonderedwhatJoewoulddowhenhesawtheconditionofhisdriver.

Theboysfromsupplyhaddoneagreatjobofgettingammotoallcompanies,

evenunderfire.WenowhadourfullcomplementofbothAPandHEshellsand

.30-cal.and.50-cal.machine-gunbelts.It’saworrisomefeelingtobelowon—or,

worse,outof—ammunitionofonekindoranother.

Thiswasaconfusingtime,aswetriedtofinishofftheenemyinthecityand

theareaaroundPaderborn.Wecouldneverbesureatanymomentwhensome

Germanarmorwouldappearfrombetweenbuildingstoconfrontus.Worsethan

thetanksweretheGermans’newtankdestroyers(TDs),whichcarrieda128-mm

cannon.Wesawtwooftheselow-profilemovingpillboxes,thesecondofwhich

selected us for its target. Its handicap, however, was that it had no turret and

couldmovethecannononlyafewdegreesineitherdirection.Nevertheless,itdid

managetogetusinviewandfired,missingusbyabouttenyards.

“Graver—move!”shoutedJoe.
Graver’sheadwasn’taltogetherclear,buthemanagedtomoveusoutofrange

oftheGermanTD,givingmeanopportunitytofiretworoundsbeforeitcould

getatusagain.

“Moveagain!”shoutedJoe.
Eachtimewemoved,Imanagedtogetoffacoupleofroundsbeforewewere

targetedoncemore.IwasnothavinganymoresuccessthanJerrywas.Theone

hit I scored simply ricocheted off the heavy armor. I realized finally that we

wouldgetnowheresolongasthatmonsterwasabletomove.

“Pete!”Ishouted.“HE!”
Thebreechclangedshut.Itookmytimeaimingathisfrontdrivesprocket.I

shouted“Bingo!”asthedrivesprocketshattered.ThecrewoftheTDwerebailing

out,andIwasunloadingmyco-ax.30-cal.alloverthem.HowmanywerehitI

couldn’ttell.Iheavedasighofrelief.Petegavemethe“V”signwithhisright

hand,andIreturneditwithmine.

“Ineversawoneofthosebefore,”IholleredtoPete.
“They’reGermany’slatestTD,”yelledPete,whohadhisfacepressedagainst

theperiscope.“Wedon’twanttoseetoomanyofthem!”

IshudderedwhenIthoughtofwhatthatmonstercoulddotousandprayed

thatwewouldnothavetofaceanymore.

ItseemedstrangetomethatJoehadn’tgotangrywithGraverforhittingthe

bottle again, but apparently Joe and Graver had come to some kind of

understanding. Later, Joe explained that he knew what Graver was going

through. He’d seen it before. Some guys can’t make it without assistance from

alcohol.Thedealwas,however—nodrunkenness.

“Aslongashecanholduphisend…”saidJoe,hisvoicetrailingoff.
IrealizedthatGraverwasjustasnormalasanyofus—weallpissedourpants

andwantedtohidesometimes.Itwasn’tGraverwhowasn’tnormal;itwasthe

warthatwasn’tnormal.Itisn’tnormaltospendyourtimedestroyingcitiesand

killingpeopleandcheeringwhentheotherguysgetkilled.AndIknewitwasn’t

normalformetoputSmittyoutofmymind,ortofeelnoremorseforakidIhad

shottodeathpoint-blank.Andthethoughthauntedmeinmydarkermoments

that I perhaps was a murderer. This was no football game, and we weren’t

playing.Wedidn’ttackleanyone;wekilledthem.

Onthefollowingday,weencounteredpocketsofenemyresistance.Attimes,it

seemedthattheGermansweregettingasecondwind.Buttheirdevotiontotheir

cause, while not halfhearted, was doomed by the great odds against them and

theirlackofmenandmatériel.Ashardasitistobelieve,therewasnolackof

spiritamongthem,despitetheirenormouslosses.

It took time to mop up the entire region of Lippstadt-Paderborn, secure the

area,andestablishmedicaltentsandsufficientprisonerfacilities.Ourcompanies

weresporadicallybusywithvariousminorskirmishesandotherduties,butby

thethirdofAprilweweremostlyonstandby.

The crews of Company I spent most of our time on first echelon of

maintenance, which is military lingo for routine and preventive maintenance,

such as taking the engine’s “vital signs”—checking oil levels, water, belts,

replacing spark plugs, checking the tracks, and general inspection. Back in

armoredbasictraining,alltankersspentaconsiderableamountoftimeinmotor

pools,cleaningtanksandmaintainingthemandbasicallydoingwhatwewere

now doing. Almost as bad as having your tank knocked out by an 88 or a

Panzerfaust was having it break down at a crucial moment in combat, an

occurrencealltoocommonwithShermantanks.

We had time to fraternize and banter with different crews in the company,

gettingtoknowourimmediatecomrades,menwehadtocoordinateourcombat

movementswith.ImetStaffSergeantShaneKelly,oneofourtankcommanders,

whowassaidtobeinlineforafieldcommission.Henotonlyhadanexcellent

record but had been cited for his heroic success in leading a group of

paratroopers through enemy lines to safety in the hedgerows of France—an

achievement you were more likely to see among infantrymen than among

tankers.Fieldcommissionswereuncommonandweretheonlywayanenlisted

man could become a commissioned officer without going through Officer

CandidateSchool.

SergeantKellywasmediumheight,blackhaired(withsomegray),affable,and

aclosebuddyofJoe’s.Itwasmoreimportantfortankcommanderstoknowone

another than for ordinary crewmen. It was the tank commanders who worked

together and coordinated company battle movements. Kelly had been with the

3rdArmoredsinceNormandy—theonlysoldierImetwhohadmadethelanding

onOmahaBeach.Thecasualtiesatthatlandingarelegendaryandwere,tome,

incomprehensible.

On the fourth of April, we engaged in very little local combat, though the

background noise of gunfire and artillery continued intermittently as various

unitsweremoppingup.Petetoldme,aswestoodsmokingbehindourtank,that

Uglyhadbeenwoundedbyshrapnelandwasprobablyoutofthewarforgood.A

“million-dollarwound,”itwascalled.

“How’dyoulikeamillion-dollarwound,Pete?”Iasked.
Heinhaleddeeplyonhisbuttand—Idon’tknowhowhedidit—neverexhaled

any smoke. He looked at the mud surrounding his boots and said, “Y’know, I

nevergavethatathought.Isupposethere’sabulletouttheresomewherewith

mynameonit.Maybeit’llkillme,maybenot.”Heshrugged.Thenhelookedat

mewithafaintsmile.“Whataboutyou?”

“Idon’tthinkso,”Ireplied.
“Meetanicearmynurse,”hegrinned,“getalittlenooky,maybe.”
Ishookmyworldly-wisehead.“Thepriceistoohigh.”
IlikedPete.Weseldomgotchanceslikethistogababoutstuff,andhewasa

goodlistener.Hewasfrugalwithhistalkbutalwaysseemedtohavesomething

sensible to say. And I liked his looks, even the scant blond hair and three-day

stubble.Hissomewhathighvoiceatfirstseemedallwrongforhishugeframe,

butitcametoseemasnaturaltomeastheskyabove.

Joecamearoundthetankandjoinedus.
“What’sgoin’on?”Peteaskedhim.
“We’restayin’puttillsometimet’morrow.Rumorhasitwe’reonourwayto

Berlin.Goddamn,Ihopethat’sright.How’boutit,Pete.Berlin!Ialwayswanted

toseethatcity.”

Petenodded.“Yeah.That’stheendofthefuckin’war,buddy—iftheylastthat

long.Theycan’thavemuchmoretheycanthrowatus.”Hepausedandstomped

hiscigarettebuttintothedirt.“It’sbeenalong,dirtyroad,Joe,butit’sgotta

haveanend.Theroadcan’tbethatlong.”

Thesupplytrainarrived,andweloadedfreshammointotheturret,filledour

monster’sgastanks,andstashedfreshrationsonthebackdeck.Themailtruck

showedup,too,andwehadamailcall.ItwasthefirstmailI’dgotsinceIleft

Stolberg.ItwasbetterthanChristmas.Iquicklylookedthroughmyletterstosee

who had written. Amazing! There was a letter in there from Ruthie Collins,

Rudy’ssister.Hemusthavewrittentoheraboutme.Theenvelopewascovered

withthickkissmarks,leavingsomuchlipstickonthepaperthatithadsmeared.

I knew at once that I was deeply in love and should begin thinking about my

future when I got out. One from my sister, Dot, one from my dad—which I

openedupimmediately.How’sMother?Iwantedtoknow.

NoonebutaGIawayfromhome,especiallyinacombatzone,knowswhatit’s

liketogetmailthisway.Butmailcallisn’talwayscompletelyhappy.Thereare

disappointments,likenoletterfromKitty,withwhomIhadsupposedIhadan

“understanding.” We would both be true to each other till “Jackie” came

marching home again, hurrah! hurrah! Couldn’t believe she had forgotten me.

Mustbesomethingelse.Nonefrommybrother.OnefromMarkMaston,mybest

buddy,whowasinthenavy.

Suddenly,thingsgotquietwithguyssittingallaroundreadingletters,oncein

awhilelettingoutawhooporacurse.Nomatterwhat,thistinycontactwiththe

homefrontchangedtheweirdnessofourpresentexistenceforafewmoments,

allowingustocontinuetobelievethatthefightinghadapurpose.Andwegot

ourPXrations—soap,cigarettes,aftershavelotion,bladesandshavecream,hard

candy,Krations,ofcourse,andseveralpacksofchewinggum.Wetiedanumber

ofcasesof“ten-in-one”rations(eachsufficientfortenmenforonedayorone

man for ten days) to the back deck. It was almost as though we had gone on

vacation.Whataliftinamomentofneed!

The“waterbarrel”camealongside,andwetreatedourtanktoasnort,filled

ourwatercans,andgrabbedafewminutestowashwhatwecouldofourbodies

andtoshave.Petegrinnedatmeashepretendedtocombhisscanthair.Itreally

waslikeavacation—tooshort.

Thefiveofusstoodbythetankandsmoked.
“Youmarried?”IaskedJoe.
“Sweetwifeandfiveli’lpeppers.”
“How’boutyou,Graver?”askedPete.“Youmarried?”
Hescowled.
“Yeah,Ah’mmarriedan’gotthreekiddies.Butmahwifeletmeknowthatshe

wantsadivorcewhenAhgetback.Ahdon’tknowwhat’swrong.”

Petewasmarried;Corkscrewwasnot.Peteproudlyshowedoffpicturesofhis

threekids—redheads,notsurprisingly,allgirls.

Thiswasoneofthoseraremomentswhenwecouldfeellikeordinaryhuman

beings, talking together and discussing our private lives with one another and

justengaginginguytalk.

Aboutmiddayonthefifthwebeganmovingeastwardagainalongfourroutes,

withthetwotaskforcesofCombatCommandAontheleft(toournorth)andthe

twoofCombatCommandBontheright.OurregimentwaspartofCCBunderthe

taskforceofColonelWelborn.We’dgoneaboutfourmileswhenourtankbegan

tobalkandsputter.Ithadtohappensoonerorlater.Wehadhadgoodluckmost

of the time, but Sherman tanks, like the men who operate them, can get sick.

Sincewehadjustdonemaintenance,itwasn’tobviouswhatwaswrong.Welost

about forty-five minutes trying to find the trouble, which turned out to be

nothingmorethansomedirtinthecarburetor.Meanwhilethecolumnsmovedon

ahead.Oursmallmisfortunewasnotunique,forwepassedotherShermanswith

similar and even worse problems. It was a way of life with these machines,

causingchagrinbutnothinglikehavingbeenknockedoutaltogetherbyenemy

fire.

Despitetheabsenceofseriousresistance,wewerenotmovingwithanygreat

speed. The Germans tried to control the speed of our advance by setting up

frequent roadblocks defended by squads equipped with small arms, machine

guns,andPanzerfausts.Thesedelayingtacticswereashardonthemastheywere

onus,forineachcasetheylostbothmenandweapons.Theycostustime,of

course,sincethereweretoooftenprisonerstotakewithusanddebristoclear

away. The tendency on our part was to destroy both roadblocks and men.

Prisonerswerelookeduponasanythingbuttrophiesatthispointinthewar.

Even as darkness entombed us all, our columns of armor continued the

advance. All through the night we moved eastward, still encountering the

occasional roadblock. Corkscrew had taken over the controls just before dark,

giving Graver some much-needed relief. Graver had no booze to brace himself

with,sohehadtosettleforplain,old-fashionedsleepinthebowgunner’shatch,

noiseandall.Onethingamanlearnsincombatisthatnoiseisnothinginitself

andservesonlytodisguisetherealitiesthatthreatenhim.

Welostnotanksthatnextday,butafairnumberofourarmoredinfantryboys

had been wounded or killed at various roadblocks. It was always hard to see

one’scomradesdropbeforeenemyfire.Andeventhoughintheendtheenemyis

destroyed,oneneverforgetsthesetragicscenes.

OnApril6,ourcolumnsweremovingtowardtheWeserRiver,where,word

had it, the bridges had not been blown—another false rumor, we were to

discover. The Germans were putting up a surprising resistance. They were far

from beaten, in their own minds. They were certain the Führer would not let

themdown.He,intheirminds,nodoubthadagrandcoupdegrâcepreparedto

bedeliveredattherightmoment.Sotheyfoughtwithfanaticalferocity.Their

troopswereaconglomerationofremnantsoftheWaffen-SSandallsortsofother

units that had retreated from Paderborn, as well as a few companies of

“reserves,” made up of old men and youngsters. All in all, they were mightily

disciplined,andfartooexcellentsoldierstogiveaninch.Buttheyhadaweaker

side,too,fortheywerevirtuallyenslavedtotheirdiscipline.Therewasaclose

similaritybetweenthewaytheyfoughtandthewaytheBritishRedcoatsfought

in the American Revolution. They followed their battle plan to a tee, allowing

individualsoldiersandlocalcommanderslittleroomforpersonaljudgment,often

needlesslylosingmenandequipment.Theirmechanicalandpredictablemilitary

behaviorcausedthemmanyfailuresandcasualties.

Captain Harkin radioed the information to the crews of Company I that we

were to move up to the point of Task Force Welborn immediately. We moved

ahead,passingthetanksofCompanyB,whomwewererelieving.Wewereable

to bypass several tiny villages, but several others were not so tiny and not so

easily dispatched. The first of these was Hainholz, where a combination of

ordinaryinfantryandSScommandersputonadisplaythatsurprisedus,though

wetookthevillageinlessthananhour.

AtBorgholzourunitlostahalf-trackandhalfadozenAIdoughs.Clearingthe

villagewasnotdifficult.ButHaarbruckwasanothermatter.Theresistancewe

mettherewasbetterdirectedandmoresustained.Ourtank’sonlythreatcame

from Panzerfausts, but we saw a fair number of them. We were spared a near

missfromoneofthem,whichmanagedtodisintegratealargerockinfrontofus,

allowingustomoveonwithease.TherewasnoGermanarmoratall.Butsuch

observationsneveraccuratelytellthestory.Theenemyfoughtviciously,though

intheendthestreetscontainedmoredeadandwoundedGermansthanGIs.And

Iknewthatbehindthewallsofthehousesandinthecellarsbeneaththemwere

frightened,cringingpeople,allfearingfortheirlives.

OurcompanysufferedfewcasualtiesthatdaythatIknewof,eventhoughwe

metpocketsofsavageresistance.Atonepoint,Iwasabletostickmyheadoutof

the turret hatch while Joe grabbed a smoke on the deck. It was no longer a

novelty to see the immense destruction this war had brought to the German

people.Icouldnotthinkofthemastheenemy,onlythecombatants.Iwondered

howthecivilianscouldpossiblysurviveinthatrubble,howtheywouldbeable

to feed themselves and their children. There were no stores, nowhere to buy

food,clothes,orothernecessities,andnowaytoescapethewar.ButIthought

mostlyofallthosefrightenedchildren.

Joehadreadmymind.
“Don’tthinkaboutit,kid.It’sahellofawaytoliveandahellofawaytodie.

Ya gotta tell yerself that you aren’t the guilty one. Think about Adolf! Think

about him! Think about what he did to his own people—what he did to all of

Europe—whathedidtothewholegoddamnworld!Nosenseinworryin’about

anything’ceptgettin’itoveran’gettin’home!”

IthoughtoftenaboutJoe’swords.EverytimeIfeltasthoughsomehowitwas

myfaultthatIwaskillingpeopleIdidn’tevenknow,Iwouldrememberthem,

andIclungtothemlikeamoralliferaft.

OntheseventhofAprilthetaskforceshadtohalt.ApparentlytheGermans

rememberedtheirRemagenfiasco,wheretheyfailedintheirattempttoblowup

thebridge.Nowtheyweremakingsuretoblowupeverybridgeovereveryriver

nomatterhowlargeorsmall.ThisonewasovertheWeserRiver.Itwasajobfor

theengineers,whohadtheunenviabletaskofspanningtheriverunderfire.

Wewerereceivingindirectfirefromacrosstheriver.Itmeantlesstothemen

insidethetanksthanitdidtotheengineersandthedoughs,whowereexposed.

ButalthoughwewererelativelysecureintheSherman,itwasn’tarestfromthe

warforus,sincewehadtoprovidefirecoverfortheengineers.Still,therewasa

lotofwaiting.Thedoughsofthe104thand1stInfantryDivisionshadthetaskof

establishingabridgeheadonthefarsideoftheriver,andfighter-bomberswere

calledintoknockouttheGermanartilleryharassingthem.

Graverhadsomehowcomeuponabottleofwine.Isawhimtakeaquicknip,

thenanother,beforestickingthebottlebackintoitshidingplace.Isawwherehe

keptitandcouldn’thelpwonderinghowhemanagedtokeepthebottlesfrom

breakingontheironhull,whatwiththebouncingandjostlingthetankprovided.

I could only hope that he would remain steady—assuming he was in the first

place!

IhadnoticedthatJoewasseldominsidetheturretexceptundertheheaviest

fire.ImentionedthistoPete.Itseemedstrangetome.

“Well,”Petesaidslowly,“hewouldn’tbehappywithmeifheknewI’dtold

youthis,soyougottasweartokeepittoyourself.”

“’CourseIwill,”Isaid.
“Well…”hehesitated“…Joe’sgotclaustrophobia.Can’tstandbein’cooped

upinthetank,oranywhereelseforthatmatter.”

“Claustrophobia? Joe? Our tank commander? Our tank commander has

claustrophobia?”Icouldn’thelpmyself;Istartedtochuckle.

“Youpromised,remember?”Petelookedabitworried.
Iswallowedagiggle.
“Don’t worry, Pete,” I assured him. “I’d never embarrass Joe—or you.” I

paused.“Butitisfunny,”andIstartedlaughing.

Theengineerssucceededinbridgingtheriver,andontheninthweworkedour

way over the pontoon bridge, tank by tank, truck by truck, troop by troop,

against steady enemy fire. Once we entered the bridgehead established by the

infantry,however,wewereabletopoundbackwithmortars,directcannonfire,

andablazeofsmall-armsfire.Theoutfitgotacross,onlytodiscoveraminefield

on the other side. Our company lost a tank to a dreaded Riegel mine, but the

boysinsidewereuninjured.Uninjured,thatis,untilamortarroundkilledtwo

andwoundedtwoastheyleftthetank.Wewerenothit,buttheywereourmen,

fromourcompany.Andworstofall,wegotthewordthatSergeantKellywasone

ofthosekilled.Ibelievetheentirecompanyfeltagriefthatonlygeneratedbitter

determination and deep anger. There is no such thing as a glorious death in

combat.Thereisonlythehelplesssensethat“itcould’vebeenme.”Somuchfor

thefieldcommission.

We had to wait again while five doughs crawled through the minefield

proddingthemudwithbayonets.Peteexplainedthattheywerewiringthemines

together as they found them to form a pathway through the field. Apparently

theywereabletoconnectthemineswithwireinsuchawaythattheycouldall

besetoffatoncebyadetonator.

“I’veseenthemdothisbefore,”hetoldme.“It’sdangerousashelloutthere.

Oneluckymortarroundinthemiddleofthefieldandeveryoneofthoseguys

will be blown to bits. See how they crouch flat to the ground to make poor

targetsforbullets.Andifoneoftheminesexplodesprematurely,they’llallgooff

atthesametime.WiringisnotSOP.Normally,theyjustprodthegroundwith

bayonetsandremoveeachmine.”

“Whydotheydoit,then?”Iasked.
“It’sthefastestwaytoclearapathforustogetthrough.”
The doughs succeeded somehow without getting killed, and then they

detonated the mines, all at once. What a display! Rocks and mud went

everywhere, raining on our vehicles and covering everything with a blackish-

browncamouflage.Thetroublewefacedafterthatwashavingtopasssinglefile

throughtheminefield.Novehiclestooktheroadforthefirstmileorso.Itwasa

given that the road was mined. We couldn’t afford to lose another tank.

Replacements were not coming up very quickly. And, of course, besides the

mines,therewastheslippery,boggymud.Nothingnewinthat.

The First Army was moving eastward along four different routes, each route

the objective of one of the combat commands. The strategy was simple: move

alongthefrontsuntilenemyresistancerequiredanoffensiveencounter.Itwas

notconsiderednecessarytocompletelysecureeveryinchofgroundaswewent

buttocontinuecapturingevernewground.Bybitsandpieces,Iwasgradually

learning something of the immensity of the operation and figuring out which

outfitswereconnectedwithours.Iseldomhadthelargerpicture,soIfeltsome

securityinthisknowledgeofourextensiveforce.

WesawGermantanksbeingblastedbyfighter-bombersfromtheairandby

ourownantitankfire.WeweresomewhereinthevicinityofHarste,andwejust

kept moving slowly on. Graver seemed to be okay, but I knew that if he was

completely sober, it was only because he had finished the last of his stash.

Corkscrewdidalotofwhistling,headdownwardintothehatch.Heclaimedhe

likedtheweirdsounditmadeasthewindrushedoverhisears.Iwassurehehad

roomforrentbetweenhisears.

Our monotony was broken only by the small towns we came to, where we

wouldfanoutandattackwhateverforcehadbeenlefttodetainus.Inonevillage

—I’m sure it had a name—we paused to disarm the Krauts who stood around

withtheirhandsontheirheads.Oneoftheseeyedme,andwithasmilespokein

perfectAmericanEnglish—notevenatraceofanaccent.

“Gotacigarette,buddy?”Histeethwerebad.
Whynot?Igavehimone.
“God!”heexclaimedafterhehadtakenhisfirstdrag.“Youdon’tknowhow

goodthistastestomerightnow.”

“Whoareyou?”Iaskeddumbly.
“I’maGerman-American.BorninGermany,grewupfromagetwoinDetroit.

Man!Americancigarettesaretheabsolutebest.”

Inoticedhisriflestuckinthedirt,barreldown.Hehadnointentionofever

usingitagain.

“Howcomeyou’reintheGermanarmy?”
Hefrowned.
“Imadeaseriousblunder.Icameoverwithmymotherin1938tovisitsome

relatives, but somebody—one of my cousins, I’m sure—reported that I was a

Germancitizen.That’sallittook!Theydraftedmethenandthere.”

Joeheardhisstory.
“Where’dyouliveinDetroit?”heasked.
Andwhenheheardtheanswer,Joegrinned.JoewasfromDetroitandknew

theneighborhoodthismanhadgrownupin.

“Ithinkweoughtatakethisguywithus.Hecan’tbeallbad.Wannajointhe

U.S.Army?”

Thesoldierexposedhisbadteethinagrin.“Whynot?”
Noway,ofcourse.SoIgavehimtherestofmypack.Helookedallaroundto

see if any of his Kameraden had noticed. Then he looked back to me and

pretendedtohandmebackthecigarettes.

“Danke,aberIchrauchenichtsehrviel,”hesaidloudlywithalighttossofhis

head—allthewhilepalmingthepackassmoothlyasanymagicianI’veeverseen.

Takingprisonersalwaysinvolveddelaysuntilheadquarterscouldsendmento

bringtheprisonerstothenearestcages.Consequently,bymidafternoon,doughs

fromthe13thInfantryRegimenttookover,allowingustomoveon.

Lateintheafternoon,wecametoanotherriver—itlookedmorelikeacreekto

me.Thistimeweluckedout:itstillhadabridgeacrossit.Itmayhavebeena

creek,butwestillneededabridge.Thedoughssecureditforusandprevented

theGermansfromblowingitup.

EverytimeIsawtheinfantrymeninactionIrejoicedthatIhadescapedtheir

ranks.ItwasonlybecauseIhaddoneastupidthingandendeduponmyback

forsixweekswithabadlyburnedlegwhenIwasinhighschool.Iwasworking

forthePennsylvaniaRailroad,inthePaolicarshops—nightshiftonweekends

duringschool;days,full-time,inthesummer.Wewerecleaningthetenjillion

small panes of glass of the shop windows one cold Sunday morning—around

three

A.M

.—using,ofallthings,denaturedalcoholandpumice.Noneedtogointo

details other than to say that I ended up with a seriously burned leg. I really

suffered.AndtheuglyscarremainedaflamingredformanymonthsafterIhad

recovered.Indeed,itwasstillhideouswhenItookmyphysicalforthearmyin

Philadelphia.AndwhenthedarlingdoctoraskedmeifIcouldwalkanydistance

onthatleg,Iliedthroughmyteethandsaidno.Hemarked“B”onmyreport.I

wasa“classB”soldier.Only“classA”soldiersgotintotheinfantry.Oh,whata

heartbreaker!

Though I didn’t envy those doughboys, I sure admired them. Without them

therewouldbenowar.YettheguysIeventuallygottoknowfromtheinfantry

toldmetheywouldn’ttradeplaceswithmeforgold.Icouldn’tquitefigurethat

out,untiladoughboyexplainedtomethattanksattractenemyfire,allkindsof

fire.Andwhenyou’retrappedinsideatank,there’snowheretohideandnopoint

inducking.He’dseenenoughtanksblastedandburnedtofavorafoxholeany

day.

“Y’allmaybesafefrombulletsandmortars,butyacain’t’scapethemshit-ass

88s!”oneguytoldme.“Theycomeonlikebig-assbirdswithatailwind.”

Thatgavemeanewperspective,butIstillfeltsaferwithmytank.

SMALLVICTORY,BIGPRICE

hetenthofAprilwasclearandwarmaswetraveledeasttowardthesmall

townofEspchenrode,inthevalleybelowtheHarzMountains.Thesignsofspring

weredisarming,andforonceIsawnowarwreckagedefacingthelandscape.I

wasgladtostickmyheadoutoftheturretandbreathethefreshairwhileJoe

stood outside, leaning on the turret and smoking as we traveled. We were

permittedforamomenttoimaginethattherewasnowar,thattheworldwas,

afterall,aniceplaceinwhichtolive—untilwespottedGermaninfantrymenin

thefields.

“Getinyourseat,kid,andgetyoursightonthem.Theyprobablyjustwantto

betakenprisoner.Wedon’tneedthat,butlet’snottakeachance.”

Iclimbedintothegunner’sseatandswungtheturretaroundtogettheminmy

telescopicsight.TheGermanplatoonshowednosignofaggression,astheystood

in waist-high grass. I watched for several minutes as we moved slowly on our

way.

ThenJoecalled,“Don’tworryaboutthem,kid.We’regonnabypassthem.”
IwasabouttoswingtheturretbackintotheforwardpositionwhenIsawtwo

armoredcarsfromthe703rdTankDestroyerBattalionmovingacrossthefield

towardtheGermans.TheKrautsimmediatelyplacedtheirhandsontheirheads

insurrender.Iwasnotsurprisedtoseethearmoredcarsturnaroundandbegin

headingbackatthatpoint.Itwasobviousthatmoreprisonerswasnotwhatthey

hadinmind.Butastheypulledaway,IcouldseetheGermansduckdowninto

thehighgrassandthenriseupholdingPanzerfaustsandaimingattheretreating

armored cars. Pete had already loaded the cannon with an HE shell. Without

waitingforanycommandfromJoe,IaimedattheGermansandfired,destroying

thewholesquad.

JoehadalreadyturnedawaybeforeIfired.
“Whatthehelldidyadothatfor?”heyelledatmeuncharacteristically.“They

onlywantedtosurrender.”

ItriedtoexplaintohimaboutthePanzerfausts.
Hejustfrownedatme.“Ididn’tseeanyPanzerfausts.Fromnowon,kid,stick

toprotocolandwaitforacommand.”

Joewaswrong,andIwasdepressedtohavehimangrywithme.Ithadnever

happenedbeforethis.

Thecolumncontinuedeastwardandthenstoppedtemporarily.Ijustsatinmy

gunner’sseatandwaited,feelinglow,whileJoecontinuedtostandjustbehind

theturret.

AndthenCaptainHarkinradioedamessagetothecrewsofCompanyI.
“I just received some strong praise from Colonel Showalter of the 703rd TD

Battalion for our alert action that saved the two armored cars from the

Panzerfausts. Whichever crew was responsible has my utmost thanks. Keep it

up!”

Thecolumnbeganmovingslowlyagain.Joelookedintotheturretatme.Ihad

just complained to Pete that I felt it was unfair of Joe not to believe me. Of

course,Petewouldhaveseennoneofitfromhispositionasloader,sohewasn’t

takingsides.

“Kid,doyousmokecigars?”Joeaskedwithaslightsmile.
“I’vesmokedafew,”Isaid.
Hehandedmeone.“Keepituntilyoucanenjoyit.It’saHavana.Ionlyhave

—had—two.”Hepausedawhile,thencontinued:“Youdidexactlytherightthing

backthere.Youmademelookgood,andIwon’tforgetit.”

Ididn’tgiveadamnaboutthecigar.ItwasJoe’swordsthatrejuvenatedme.
Ourtanksandotherequipmentjustbehindusmovedsteadilytowardthetown.

Wewereloadedandready,awarethateveryvillagewasathreat.

Whenthefirsttankgottotheedgeofthetown,helleruptedintheroadin

frontofthem,buttheymanagedtotraversethestill-smokingholeandenterthe

town.Wefollowedaboutfiftyfeetbehindthemandsawthemtakeahitfroma

Panzerfaust.Thecrewbailedout,allfiveofthem,andcrouchedindoorwaysand

alongsidethewallsofthehouses,whichwererightonthedirtstreet—nosuch

thingasasidewalk.Intensemachine-gunandbazookafirecamefromthehouses

asdoughsfromthe36thArmoredInfantrymovedinandbecameentangledina

vicious house-to-house action. We maneuvered around the dormant tank and

wentalongwiththem,blowingthewallsoutofhousesforthemtogainentrance,

and giving them a cover of machine-gun fire. At one spot, Graver accidentally

drove over the body of a German soldier. Miraculously, the track missed the

woundedwretch,whowasnolongerourenemyandwhoneededsomeone’shelp.

Butthenhewasshot.

Withoutwitnessingit,itwouldbehardtoimaginetheintensityofthefighting

that went on in those narrow dirt lanes, where animals—dogs, chickens, even

pigs—scamperedfranticallyorbecameinnocentvictimslikethecivilians.Some

of the homes had white cloths hanging from second-story windows to signal

capitulation, as much as to say, “Please spare our home. We’re not the guilty

ones.” Sadly, the white flags could not be honored, since those very windows

often produced SS grenade launchers and machine-gun fire, and those very

civilians were known sometimes to fire the Panzerfausts that caused us such

awfulcasualties.

Corkscrew’s machine gun jammed at one point and was out of action for a

shortwhile,untilhewasfinallyabletoclearthechambersothebeltcouldbe

pulled out and replaced. He then proceeded to fire and jam the gun again.

Perhaps it was defective ammo; perhaps it was defective Corkscrew. We also

foundourselvescaughtina“trafficjam”whenatankaheadofuswasunableto

maketheturnatoneofthenarrowstreetcorners,whichwereneverintendedto

accommodate large vehicles, certainly not tanks. It was another of those

unpleasantmomentswhenwewerenotcertainwhetherweweresittingducksor

battlereserves.

ThenwewerehitontherightsponsonbyaPanzerfaustthatpenetrated the

rightgastank.Joedidn’thavetogiveanorder.Wejustbailedoutandranfor

cover.Ourtankwasinflames.

Wewatchedfromourcrouchedpositionsagainstthewoodenwallofahouse.I

neverunderstoodhowmetaltankscouldburnuntilIrealizedthatitwasn’tthe

metal that was burning—it was everything else, including our barracks bags,

rations,rubberonthetracks,grease,oil,andgasoline.Andsuddenlyourammo!

Wecouldfeeltheconcussionfromwherewecrouched.Iwastransfixedbythe

scene.Inspiteofthedisaster,itseemedalmostglorious!ForthatbriefmomentI

waswatchingawarmovieandfeelingathrill.Butonlyforamoment.

Petemovedcloseandhollered,“WethinkCorkscrewisstillinthetank.”
“Hecan’tbe!”Iyelled.“He’llbeburnedalive!”
Petejustlookedatme,andIfeltsick.
Awardoesnotshareyoursorroworyourpain.AninsignificantlittleGerman

town was captured at a very big price. How many people—civilians and

combatants alike—were destroyed that day I’ll never know. But for us, the

immediateproblemwasthatwehadnotank.Wenolongerhadaweaponora

reasontobehere.Infact,wenolongerhadsomuchasameansofdefending

ourselves;Ihadnoweaponofanysort.Joe,forthefirsttimesinceIhadknown

him,lookeddespondent,staringatthesmokingremainsofthetankandkicking

thewallofthehouse.

“Sorry,kid.I’mreallygettin’tiredofthiswar.”Hestoodthatwayforseveral

minutes,thenlookedupatmewearily.“We’llgetanothertank.”

Iwasfeelingallsortsofanxiety.
“Willwestaytogetherasacrew?”Iasked.
“Iguessnotallofus,”hemutteredhalfaudibly,lookingatthesmolderingM4

thathadbeenourhomeandwasnowCorkscrew’sgrave.

Icouldn’tevenpronouncethenameoftheplace.Espchenrode?Weendured

threeyearsinthatplace—everyhourwasayear.Butwhenthefightingwasover,

everylastGermansoldierwaseitherkilled,wounded,ortakenasprisoner.None

escapedtofightagain.Toomanycivilians,however,werealsoinjuredorkilled—

including children and babies. Some of those who survived would have been

betteroffhadtheynot.Andlittlecouldbedoneforthemuntilthemedicalunits

could move up. Our company lost two tanks that day. I never found out how

manyofourdoughswerekilledorwounded.

TherehadbeensixcompaniesofcracktroopsledbySSofficers,andtheyquit

only when they were totally beaten. The little town of Espchenrode had been

mostlydestroyed,itsblood-spatteredstreetslitteredwithdebrisandmilitaryjunk

anddeadthings.Andwewerewithoutatank.

Wejuststoodaround,notspeaking,soakingupthehorrorallaroundus.The

medics of the 45th Armored Medical Battalion arrived and began picking up

some of the living casualties and treating others where they lay. German

prisoners were being herded toward the trucks that would take them to

containmentpensintherear.Defeathadtakenthemilitarystiffnessoutoftheir

demeanorastheystraggledalongwiththeirguards.

Three replacement tanks were brought up from the rear late that afternoon.

One of them was a Pershing M26 heavy tank with a 90-mm cannon, a model

recently introduced to this war. We had trained in them at Fort Knox, and in

gunnery school we gunners had been assured that this 90-mm was America’s

answer to the German 88. This particular tank, however, turned out to be the

onlyoneofitskindinEurope.WeweretolditwasaSuperPershingandhad

been in action before. Its 90-mm cannon was longer than standard Pershing

cannons; plus, it had two recoil cylinders mounted above the gun and

considerableadditionalarmor.Itseemedstrangethattheyshouldassignittous,

sinceweweren’tevenafullcrewanymorewithoutCorkscrew.

Graver wondered how difficult it would be to drive, considering the extra

armor,andIwascuriousabouthandlingthislargergun.

ButPetewasunfazed.“Don’tworry,we’llgetusedtoit,”hesaid.“We’llhave

morefirepowerandbetterprotection.”

We heard of one miracle that day, however. Captain Harkin relayed the

informationtous.

“PFC Korstue managed to survive the explosion,” he said quietly. “He’s in

criticalcondition,badlyburned.He’salive,buthewon’tseecombatagain.How

longitwillbeuntilwegetareplacementforhimishardtojudge.Youmenhave

doneanoutstandingjob.You’llbeshorthandednow.Justgiveityourbest.And

takecareofthattank!”Hestartedwalkingaway,stopped,thenturnedandsaid,

“Oh, one thing more. The colonel reminds us all that there is to be no more

looting.Seemssomepeoplehavecomplainedaboutthingsbeingtakenfromtheir

homes.Theruleisnolooting!”Then,halfunderhisbreath:“Andifyoudoany,

seethatyoudon’tgetcaught!”

I thought about Corkscrew. His was not a “million-dollar wound.” I knew

somethingaboutburns.IhadreallysufferedthetimeIburnedmyleg.Thepain

attimeswasbeyondnormalendurance.WithoutmorphineIcouldn’thavestood

it.IhadnoideaofhowextensiveCorkscrew’sburnswere,butithadtobemost

ofhisbody.Icouldimaginehissuffering.Itwasastonishingthathehadsurvived

thatblast.Itwouldbemiraculousifhelivedtotellaboutit.

Wewerewithoutanassistantdriver,butwewerestillacrew.Wedidn’thave

much time to get acquainted with our new machine. Compared to our old

Sherman,thisPershingwasspacious,hadnewerradioequipment,andthe.50-

calibermachinegunontheturretwasmoreaccessibleforJoe.Itwouldbeeasier

forGravertoseethroughthewiderslotonthedriver’shatch;hewouldn’thave

todohisturtleactquitesooften.Iraisedandloweredthegunandrotatedthe

turretleftandrightandquicklydecidedthatitwouldbeeasytogetusedto.

Graverhadnotroubledriving.Headmittedthatdespiteitsgreatweight,this

tankwasnotanyhardertodrivethantheoldShermanhadbeen.Butonceagain

he somehow came into some “vino,” and once again Joe had to threaten him

witha“fieldcourtmartial”withhis.45.

“Ahain’tdrunk,”protestedGraver.“Look!Bottle’snowheresnearempty.Ah

likedtodiedwhenwegothit.Seemyhand?Steadyasever.”

Itwastremblinglikeanaspenleaf.Joejustscowled.
“Look,Graver,you’renotusedtothistank.Ican’taffordtohaveyouallfucked

upwithboozeatatimelikethis.Gimmethebottle!”

Reluctantly,Graverhandedhimthebottle,andhesmasheditonthehullofthe

tank.

“Consideryourselfchristened,”Joemuttered,lookingatthetank.
It was dusk by this time. I was hungry, thirsty, and tired to the bone. My

uniform,likeeveryoneelse’s,wasfilthyandsmelledprettybad.Andnowwehad

noduffelbags,nochangeofclothesatall,includingunderwear.Joemanagedto

getusfreshrations—someKrations,acartonof“ten-in-one”rations,evensome

cigarettes.Andwewereabletograbsomesleep;nothingelsemuchmatteredat

thetime.

Sleepusuallyentailedsomeguardduty.Graverwokemeupsometimeduring

thenighttostandguardonthetank.Iclimbedupthroughtheturrethatch,and

gotawhiffofcigarsmoke.

“Wheredoyougetthosethings?”IaskedJoe,whoseemedtobewideawake.
“Myfathergetsthemforme.Sendsaboxatatime.Popknowscigars.”
Westoodbesidetheturretinsilence,bothexhausted.
“Joe,”Isaid,“whydon’tyougetsomesleep?”

Heshookhisheadwearily.“I’mtired,kid,butIcan’tshutmyheadoff.”He

turnedtome.“Gogetsomemoresleep.I’llbehere.”

Idrapedmyselfovertheturretandpretendedtogotosleep.Joesatbythe

turretonthetankdeck.Withinminutes,Icouldhearhimsnoring.

Allwasquiet,andIfinallysuccumbedtomyfatigueonceagain.Isleptforan

hourorsoandthenawakenedtothesoundoftankenginesrevvingup.Joewoke

up,too.

“Soundslikewe’reabouttomoveout,”hesaid,rubbingthecoarsestubbleon

hischinandface.

“Graver!”hecalled.“Let’smakesomenoise!”
IclimbeddownintotheturretandyelledforGravertowakeup.Peteopened

hiseyesandgrowled.

“D’yahavet’makesogoddamnmuchnoise?”
Engines revved in Combat Command B, which comprised two armored task

forces,WelbornandLovelady.OurregimentwaspartofColonelWelborn’stask

force. The entire command began moving eastward along the assigned routes,

meeting no resistance as we went. This quiet, however, was not altogether

welcome,forweallknewthatthelongerwewentwithoutresistance,theworse

itwouldbewhenwemetit.

Theintensityofcombatdiminishedanynormalsenseoftimewehad.Rarely

did I know what day of the week it was, let alone the date. The weather had

closedin,andachillingdrizzlemadethelandscapeasdreary-lookingaswefelt.I

couldn’tkeepmymindoffCorkscrew,andrealizedthatImissedhimmorethanI

ever thought I would. It would be hard on Graver, with no assistant driver to

relievehim.ButPeteagreedtotakeoverifGraverneededrelief—atleastuntil

weresumedcombat.

Severaltimesourcolumnstoppedwhilesomeelementsencounteredresistance.

AteachstopIclosedmyeyesandtriedtoshutitallout.Evenwhenwewere

witnessatonepointtoanengagementaboutamileawaybetweenAmericanTDs

andapairofpanzers,Ifeltsomewhatimpassive.Threeweeksearlier,Iwould

havewatchedwithwide-eyedwonder,buttodayitwasjustonemorewearisome

encounter. I found little excitement in it. Perhaps it was my colossal fatigue;

perhapsIhadbecomecombat-hardened.Both,ofcourse,weretrue.Iclosedmy

burningeyesanddozed.

“What’sonyourmind,kid?”askedJoe.Hehadbeenwatchingme.
“Nothingmuch,”Ianswered.“Itneverseemstostop,doesit?Itjustgoeson

andon.”

Petewasintheloader’scompartment.“WishIcouldsayyouwerewrongabout

that,”hesaid,staringblanklyatthedistantfraythroughhisperiscope.“You’re

discoverin’whatJoeandIknow,thatforeveryGermantankorcombatunitwe

wipeout,there’sanotherwaitin’itsturn.You’rerightaboutit.Mostofthetimeit

seemsthereisnoend.Bestthingtodoistotrytoblockitoutofyourmindas

bestyoucananddowhatyouhavetodotostayalive.”

“Well,therehastobeanend,”Joeoffered.“Wejustdon’tknowwhenwe’llsee

it.”Joepaused.“It’sawayoflifefornow.Right,Graver?”hecalled.

“Ah’mlistenin’,”herepliedweakly,“butnothin’yousaymakesitanyeasier.”
Severaldepressingmomentspassed,andthenPeteshouted,“Hey!Didyaever

heartheoneabouttheladywhogothitbyabus?No?Well,it’sinDublinand

this young woman tried to cross the street. See? But a bus came around the

cornerandhit’er.Knockedherwayupintheair,andwhenshecamedownshe

wasstarknaked,lyingonherback.Well,youcanguessthatdrewanaudience.A

circle of people—mostly men, of course—stood around her, gawking. A priest

comesalong,pushesthroughthecrowd,andwhenheseestheunfortunateyoung

womanlyingnakedinthestreet,heremoveshishatandplacesitoverthepubic

area,toprotectthelady’smodesty.

“Now,aboutthistime,Callahanstumblesoutofthepubacrossthestreet.He’s

hadacoupleofpintsbeyondhislimit.Callahanstaggersacrossthestreetand

pusheshiswaytothefront,toseewhatit’sallabout.Afteraminuteorso,he

looksupatthepriestandsays,‘Father,seemstomethefirstthingwegottadois

getthatmanouttathere.’”

Ilostcontrol,laughinghardenoughtofalloutofmyseat.IthoughtJoewould

collapsedownfromhisperchontome.EvenGraverlaughed—firsttimeIever

sawhimdothat.

Funnieryet,acoupleofthedoughsonthedeckwerecloseenoughtohearit

and lost control laughing. One of them repeated the joke to the others, and

suddenlytheairwasfilledwithraucouslaughter.Theguysonthetankbehindus

sawthesehowlinghyenasandstartedtolaugh,too.Andtheyhadn’tevenheard

thejoke!Ithadtobeagoodfiveminutesbeforethehilaritydieddown.Humor

andlaughterareagreatantidotetolowmorale.

TheradiocrackledinJoe’sheadset,andIheardhimsay“Roger!”
He had to use the intercom to talk to us, since engines all around us began

revvingupagain.

“CaptainHarkinjustgotordersfromCCBforustomovetotheheadofthe

column,”Joeexplained.“Theywantheavyarmorupfront.”

EventhoughIwasbehindallthisfirepowerandreinforcedarmament,Ifelta

quiverinmystomach.Ourdiminishedcrewwouldbeleadingtheentirecombat

command.Theleadwasanunenviablepositionunderthebestofcircumstances.

The tank was responding flawlessly so far. A group of doughs from the 36th

ArmoredInfantry,whoweren’tlaughingnow,wereridingonthedeck,readyto

jumpoffwhentheirturncame.

The road was narrow but fairly straight, so Joe had a good view ahead.

Suddenly I heard the roar of .50-caliber machine-gun fire above my head. Joe

had spotted some Germans with Panzerfausts crouching in holes along the left

sideoftheroad.ItwasastandardtrickoftheGermans.Digalineofholesas

deepasaman’sarmpits,putaPanzersoldat(aGermanarmoredinfantryman)in

eachhole,crouchingdownoutofsight,andasthetankspassby,theystandup,

takeaim,andblastaway.Itwasaverysimplebuteffectivetacticandhadput

manyAlliedtanksaway.

Joecouldn’ttellwhetherhewashittingany,fortheykepttheirheadsdown.

Then, as we started passing the line of holes, the doughs on the deck began

shootingsystematicallyintoeachholewiththeirM1stomakesureeveryonewas

killed.ExperiencehadshownthatsomeofthePanzersoldatenwouldfakeituntil

subsequenttankswerealongsideandthenjumpupandfire.Thedoughsmade

surethatthisdidnothappentoourtanks.

“That’s a hell of a gun!” Joe exclaimed as he secured the .50-cal. “Ya need

cottoninyourearswhenyoushootit.”

Hewasright.Myearswereringing.
Wemovedonforabouttwentyminutes,whenJoeorderedGravertostop.I

couldseehimscanningaheadwithhisfieldglasses.

“Lookslikesomekindaroadblockwaitin’forus,”hesaid.“Can’tmakeitout.

Doesn’tlooklikeanywe’veseenbefore.”

“What’sitlooklike?”Peteasked.Hewasstrainingthroughhisperiscope.
“Well,itseemslikeawidestonewallofsomekindstretchingfromaboutfifty

feetfromtheleftsideoftheroadtofiftyontheright.Can’tbesure,butitlooks

likethetopofatankinthemiddle—can’tbe—it’snothighenough.”

“Couldbeadismounted88,”Peteoffered.
“We’regonnamoveonthem.Let’sgo,Graver!”
Iwatchedthroughmytelescope,andaswegotcloserIcouldseewhatJoewas

talkingabout.Igottheguninmysight.

Joe estimated that we were about half a mile from them and gave me the

order,asPeteslammedaroundofAPintothebreech.

Isetthesightandpulledthehandletrigger.Icouldseeahugeflashasithit

thegunturret.Strangely,the88didnotfire.

“Stopthetank,Graver,”Joecommanded.“Something’swrongupthere.Ismell

somesortoftrap.”

Pete was peering through his periscope and said, “My guess is they aren’t

behind the wall at all. They’ve got an ambush set up on either side. They’ll

probablyletuscrashthewall,andwhenenoughtanksareinrangethey’llletus

allhaveit.”

JoegotontheradiotoCaptainHarkinandexplainedwhatwasgoingon—or

notgoingon.

Thecaptainsaid,“Holdon!I’llgetbacktoyou.”
In less than two minutes Captain Harkin told Joe that Pete’s guess was

probablyright.

“Just hold your position for the moment. We’re moving tank destroyers in.

There’llbetwoTDsoneachsideoftheroad,eachaccompaniedbyalargeforce

ofAIdoughs.They’llbemovingtowardthewoodedareas,wherewe’repretty

suretheKrautsarelocated.Waitforanorder.”

Wewaited.Aboutfiveminutespassed,andthenIsawtheTDsmovingslowly

overtheterrainalongthewoodsonbothsidesoftheroad.Withthemwerethe

armoredinfantrymen,crouchingastheyfollowed.

TheradiocrackledagainandCaptainHarkingavetheorderforJoetomove

aheadveryslowly,allcrewsbeingreadytogivesupportasneeded.Andaswe

moved, I could see the TDs on both sides approach the woods. The doughs,

includingtheguyswhohadbeenonourdeck,werereadytogointothewoods

whenthemomentwasright.

Wemovedslowlyahead,waitingtoseeifwewouldbeneeded.TheTDshalted

andbeganfiringaconstantbarrageintothewoodsasfastastheirgunscouldbe

loaded.Fromthewoodscamenotonlymachine-gunandbazookafire,butalso

88shells.OneoftheTDsontheleftwashitandwasonfire.

Theordercameforustomovedowntoassistthoseontheleft,thetankbehind

ustomoveontheright,andtherestofthecolumntoholdtheirpositions.

As we moved our tank across the muddy field, its extra-wide tracks kept it

fromsinkingintothemudasouroldtankmighthavedone.JoedirectedGraver

toapositionjusttotherightoftheburningTD.Itwasobviousthatnoonehad

survivedinthatcrew.Thedoughshadinfiltratedthewoods,sowedidnotdare

tofireourcannoninthatdirection.

Itwashand-to-handcombatfortheinfantry.Wecontinuedtowaitforatleast

halfanhour,unabletoseethefighting,thoughwecouldcertainlyhearit.When

Isawinfantrymenstragglingoutofthewoods,itwasclearthatthebattlewas

overbutnotclearwhattheoutcomewas.Afewmomentslater,however,onboth

sidesoftheroad,largenumbersofGermansbegantoappear,handsonheadsin

surrender.WelearnedlaterhowclosethoseGIscametodefeat;casualtieswere

extremelyhigh.

Darknessbegantocloseinaswemovedbackontotheroad,takingthelead.A

small group of combat engineers cleared an opening in the stone roadblock in

frontofthedummytank.Itturnedouttobeagenuineturretandgunremoved

fromadefunctpanzer,butithadnofirepowerandnogunner.DuringtheCivil

Warsuchagunwouldhavebeencalleda“Quakergun,”adummytofoolthe

enemy.

Theordercameforustoholdourpositionsandgetsomerest.We’dbemoving

out before daylight. My tenseness and anxiety dissipated into a much-needed

sleep.Iknewnothingwhateveruntiltheearlydawnordercameforustomove

out.

ALESSONINDEPRAVITY

hereisnowayunderGod’sheaventhatanyofuscouldhavebeenprepared

for what the eleventh of April presented to us when we entered the city of

Nordhausen.NordhausenwasthelocationofGermany’smajorassemblyplantfor

theinfamousV-rocketsthathadrainedsomuchdestructiononLondonandwere

expected eventually to reach even to Washington, D.C. What we saw there

changed the whole way we thought about the war. The weather was cloudy,

damp, and chilly—downright depressing. But the weather’s mood perfectly

reflected what we encountered in this place. By the city lay a camp that

contained the barracks for slave laborers. The camp was known by the SS as

Lager Nordhausen. General Boudinot himself entered the camp with the first

tanks.Ourtankwasamongthem.Therewasvirtuallynoresistancehere,andit

immediately became clear to us why we had met so much resistance at

Espchenrode.

The first thing that greeted us were hundreds of semi-living men wearing

filthy,ragged,stripedprisonuniforms,somestanding,somecrouchedandtrying

tocomprehendwhatwashappening.Andthenwesawthedeadanddying,lying

nakedinrowsandheapsthatreekedofhumanputrefaction.Thestinkofrotting

humanbodiesimpregnatedmynasalpassages,indeliblyimprintingthemwithits

sickeningfetor.ThathideoussmellwassomethingIwillneverforget,nomatter

how long I might live. This incredible stench made breathing a chore and

broughtusalltothepointofnausea.

At one end of the camp hundreds of dead bodies were stacked, naked, like

cordwoodreadyforthefire,andmanyhundredsmorewerelyingintheparade

ground between the barracks, laid out as though prepared for some sort of

macabrefull-fieldinspection.Yetworsethanthedeadwerethehalf-dead,men

whounderstoodwhatwashappeningbutweretooweaktorejoice.

AlsostandingaroundtheperimeterwereSSprisonguards,theirweaponsin

thedirtinfrontofthem,theirhandsontheirheads.Thereportofseveralrounds

of rifle fire indicated that some GIs couldn’t control themselves, and General

Boudinot gave the order to cease fire. Two Nazi guards had been killed, even

thoughtheyweresurrendering.Therestappearedreadytograbtheirweapons

againtoprotectthemselves.

“TheseareGermanprisonersofwar,”shoutedGeneralBoudinot,“andwetreat

themassuch.Thenextmantofireonanunarmedpersonwillbeinviolationof

theArticlesofWarandwillbesummarilyexecuted!Wearenotlikethem!” he

shouted,pointingtotheSSguards.

Atthatpoint,thoseprisonerswhocouldcametowardus,smilingasbestthey

were able. General Boudinot was surrounded by a group of them who tried

fruitlesslytohoisthimtotheirshoulders.Wegotoutofourtanksand,despite

thenauseatingodor,startedtowanderaroundthecompound,gazinginhorror

anddisbelief.Theairwasfillednotonlywiththeodorofputrefactionbutalso

with the moans of the half-dead creatures who attempted to greet us with the

onlysoundstheycouldmuster.Wehadnot,atthatpoint,evenbeguntograsp

theextentofthehorrorweweretodiscover.

OtherelementsofCombatCommandBcameupontheactualfactoryinDora,a

villageseveralkilometerstothenorthoftheNordhausencamp.Itwasherethat

GermanywasconstructingitsinfamousV-1andV-2rockets,aswellasthenewer

V-3.Andthosewhodidthebuilding,theslavelaborers,wereHungarians,Poles,

French,Belgians,Russians,andGerman“enemiesofthestate.”Itwasdiscovered

thatthespecialprisonerswhoworkedontheV-3rocketshadbeenshottodeath

inordertoprotectthesecretsoftheweapon.Nordhausenprovidedthebarracks

fromwhichtheworkersweremarcheddailytoDoratotoillonghours,beginning

atfour

A.M

.andendinglateatnight.Theyhadtosubsistonadailyallotmentof

four ounces of black bread and thin soup. The factory at Dora comprised two

large parallel tunnels excavated in a hillside and extending underground for

nearly two miles. A network of tunnels interconnected with these. The main

tunnelswerecrammedwiththemachineryusedtomaketherockets.Fromwhat

welearnedlater,Hitlerhadcalledoffworkontheatomicbomb—heconsidered

it a “Jewish project” and much too time-consuming—and ordered full

concentrationontheV-bombs.

Our company was not at Dora and learned of its special horrors only later.

TherewasacrematoriumatDorathatwasunabletokeepupwiththedead,who

werestackedthere,asinNordhausen,nakedinheaps.Butotherheapsofhuman

carcasseswerepartiallycoveredbydirt,wherebulldozershadbeenattemptingto

burythembeforetheywerediscovered.

AtNordhausen,afewoftheprisonerstalkedwithusintheirvariouslanguages

and with all manner of arm movements. Yet somehow we were able to

communicate.WesharedcigaretteswiththemandofferedthemsomeofourK

rations(whichmaynothavebeenagoodidea—somegotsickandthrewup—

thoughtheyweregratefuljustthesame).Ipersonallyfeltabitembarrassedat

thewaytheykowtowedtousandtreatedusasdivinities.Butthewonderfulpart

wasthatwecouldtellthem,overandoveragain,thattheirhorrorwasover,that

theywouldbegettingmedicalattention,showers,andfood.Nomorewar!They

learnedthatEnglishveryquickly.

“Nomorewar!”theykeptrepeating.
Trueforthem,butnotforus.
We learned of their beatings, sometimes for no reason, and the bestial

treatmenttheyreceivedonadailybasis,somepurelysadistic,somehomosexual

attacks,andsomeaspunishmentforwho-knows-what.

The whole experience of Nordhausen was incomprehensible to me. I had

thought that I’d already seen all the abominations war had to offer. I now

realized that the depths of savagery war produces cannot be exhausted. There

will always be yet another atrocity, another shocking experience to extend my

knowledgeofhowfarhumanbeingscangointheirownmoraldegradation.I

hadnotbeenaproperstudentinhighschool,yetIknewthatIwas becoming

educatedabouttheworldfarbeyondthescopeofahighschooldiploma.

Nordhausen and Dora did more to create in me a desire to suppress my

memoriesofthiswarthananythingIhadseenorwouldsee.Likesomanyother

young men in the war, I wanted to find a gloss that would hide what I knew

couldneverbehidden.HowcouldIacceptthefactthathumanbeingslikemy

fatherandmymother—likemyself—couldinanywaybeapartytosuchevil?

Howcouldsuchdecentpeoplemakeexcusesforit?IhadbeentaughtthatGod

forgivessinsofeverymagnitude,buthowcouldany“lovingFather”forgivethese

crimes?PerhapsIwouldsomedayforgetthisplace,butatthemomentIcouldn’t

imagine how. Seeing, smelling, hearing all that atmosphere was like entering

another world altogether. I could not then, I cannot now, comprehend this

dimensionofhumandepravity.AndonedayIwouldlearnthatthiswasonly“the

minors”;Inevergottosee“themajors,”thebig-timedeathcampsatAuschwitz

andBuchenwaldandthelike.

We were still in the camp when the division commander, General Doyle O.

Hickey,cametoseeforhimselfwhathadbeenradioedtohim.Heslowlyshook

his head as he took it in, chewing the stem-stub of his pipe. He and General

Boudinot walked slowly through the area as medic “meat wagons” were

gatheringtheworstcasesamongthesickfortransporttomedicalfacilitiesafew

milestotherear.Iwatchedthegeneraltoseehowhewouldreact.Iwasnot

surprisedtoseehimputhishandkerchieftohisnoseagainstthestench.

IsawGraverbendingoverbesidethetank,vomitingprofusely.Iwentoverto

him and placed my hand on his shoulder. He stopped vomiting, but his body

trembled.Heremainedinakneelingposition,handtohisforehead,andsobbed.

“Whyarewehere?”
Ihelpedhimtohisfeet.Somethingwashappeningtohim.HetooktheNew

Testament from his pocket and threw it in the mud, then climbed up into the

tank.IwatchedashepulledthehatchclosedandIpickedhisNewTestament

fromthemud,wipeditoff,andstuckitintomypocket.PerhapsGraverwould

havesecondthoughts.SofarasIknow,heneverdid.

Thepicturewasnevercomplete.Wesawfourteen-year-oldboys,andmenaged

beyond their years and dying of tuberculosis, dysentery, and starvation. Some

werestillabletomanagethedailywalktoDoraforwork.ButasIlookedaround,

Isawnohealthyones,andIwonderedhowtheGermanswereexpectingtobuild

thesebombswithsuchabroken-downworkforce.Ineverfoundaproperanswer

tothatquestion,exceptthattherearealwaysmorepeopletoenslave.

GIswereeverywhere,wanderingandtryingtotalktoprisoners,offeringthem

cigarettes and items from their rations. It was not long until members of the

143rd Armored Signal Company arrived and began photographing everything

before it could be cleaned up. And meanwhile, the Nazi guards continued to

standalongtheperimeter,notsostifflynow,butstillwiththeirhandsontheir

heads.AIdoughshadcollectedtheirweapons,andIsawatleastoneGIputhis

faceuptoaguardandblowcigarettesmokeslowlyanddeliberatelyinhisface.

There never seemed to be a final horror to discover. In the unlit barracks,

where a number of us ventured, a different smell mingled with what already

filled the air. Piles of human excrement and pails of urine in various places

indicatedthatsanitaryfacilitieshadneverbeenapartofthiscamp.Mostofthe

bedswereboardswithfilthyragsorpiecesofclothingtocoverthem,servingas

sheetsandblankets.Mostoftheprisonershadnotevenhadthatluxurybutslept

on the dirt floors. Evidence of unbelievable cruelty was everywhere in Lager

Nordhausen.Thesepeopleweretreated—used—asiftheywerenothuman;asif

theyweremerelyexpendablesourcesoflabor.Thatandnothingmore.Thedogs

keptbytheguardsneverreceivedsuchtreatmentasthesehumanbeings.

Iapproachedtheguards,walkedslowlyinfrontofthem,andlookedintotheir

faces.Ihadexpectedtoseetwisted,ugly,viciouscountenancesbutsawinstead

mostlyhandsome,unrepentantyoungmen,somenoolderthanI.Therewere,of

course,manyotherguardsinotherpartsofthecampandatDora.Therewasno

waytoestimatetheirnumber,thoughitmusthavebeeninthehundreds.

When the command was given for all troops to return to their companies, I

foundJoestandingwithhishandsonhiships,juststaring.

“C’mon,”hesaid.“Wegottagetbacktothetank.We’regonnaspendthenight

on the edge of the city. This human cesspool is a place to forget, not to

remember.”

World War II was in black-and-white with shades of gray—no trace of the

Technicolor that transformed Dorothy’s movie-Kansas into Oz. Even though

spring had slipped in on us—more or less—it had no power to brighten our

combatworld.Nordhausenbecameforusapassagefromseeingwarassimple

destruction to grasping its ever-latent depravity. The world, it seemed, could

neverbenormalagain,perhapswewouldneverbenormalagain.Butitwasnot

asthoughwewerefinishedwithwar;wehadmerelyreachedthenadir—orso

wehoped!Evenintheheatofcombat,oneusedtohearGIsbanterprofanely,

sometimesevenmakingtastelessjokesaboutthedestructionallaroundthem.But

notnow,nothere.

ManyofthecitizensofNordhausendeniedanyknowledgeofthecampandthe

factory. In fact, they vehemently denied that there was such a place. It was

nothingmorethanAlliedpropaganda.“GermansareChristianpeopleandwould

neverengageinsuchatrocities,”theyinsisted.Theyacknowledgedthattherewas

a work camp for enemies of the state, but nothing as vile as the Americans

claimed.And,incredibly,theyseemedtobelievewhattheysaid.Onlyafterlarge

numbersofthemhadbeenwalkedthroughthecamptoseeforthemselveswould

theyfinallybelievewhattheycouldnolongerdeny.

Wemountedourtanksandmovedtoanassemblyareainafieldontheeast

endofthecityofNordhausen.CaptainHarkinvisitedeachcrewofthecompany.

Hewasnolongerthethreateningauthorityfigurehehadbeentomenotsolong

ago, for I had since come to see him in an altogether different light, the

semilucencyofcombat.Hecameovertoourtank,helmetinhandandrunning

hisfingersthroughhisslightlygrayinghair.

“It’s a hell of a business,” he said quietly. “Look, you men’re getting a

replacement for Korstue. He’ll be here sometime soon, I hope this afternoon.

How’sthetankworkingout?”

“Okay,”Joesaid.“We’regettingusedtoit.”
Helookedatme.“Haveyouusedthatgunyet?”
“Yes,sir,”Isaid.“AndI’mreallyimpressed.”
“Ishouldthinkso.Youmenaredoingagoodjob.”
Hegavemeafaintsmile.“Notahellofalotofgloryinallthis,isthere?”he

saidandwalkedaway.

Noonewouldbeabletotellhisrankmerelybylookingathim.Noneofthe

officersworetheirrankontheiruniforms,notincombat.Justawhitestripeon

thebackofthehelmetandhelmetliner.Andthecaptain’suniformwasalmostas

filthyasours.Hiscombatbootswereshabbyandmud-covered,buthewas,in

spiteofthat,triminhisappearanceandbearing.HehadcontactedSupplyand

remindedthemthatweneededfreshclothing—“Butdon’tholdyourbreath,”he

hadtoldus.

Icouldn’ttellhowmanyofthemtherewere,buttheNaziprisonguardswere

beingherdedbytwosinalongcolumnwestofNordhausen,ontheirtrektoa

betterlifeinaU.S.prisonfacility.Iftheywerelucky,theywouldendupinthe

Statesinsomearmyprisoncamp,wheretheywouldlieandsaythattheywere

completelyinnocentoftheterriblethings“theothers”did.LifeforAmerican-held

POWswasaprettygooddeal,forthemostpart.

Wespentthenightintheassemblyareaandgotsomemuch-neededsleep.Ifelt

trulysorryforGraver.Hewasnotcutoutforthislife.Isupposefewofuswere,

butGraverseemedtosufferfromthewholecombatthingmorethanmost.YetI

admiredthewayhemanagedtokeepuphispartofthejob.

Thenightwastooshort,andearlyonthemorningofthetwelfth,tankengines

werealreadyroaring,andJoenoddedtometomountup.Petewascheckingthe

ammo in the turret floor, the radio was crackling off and on with various

communications, and Joe got into his seat in the turret, his hatch open. This

Pershing,forallitsbulk,wasactuallylessnoisyinsidethantheoldShermanhad

been. We waited as several doughs climbed aboard for the ride. And then we

wereoff,Graverdrivingandnotlookingentirelywell.

Thesunrosebehindthinclouds,andonceagainweplayedfollow-the-leader

along the disintegrating remains of a macadam road. The mountains were

flattening into mere foothills as we headed eastward toward the next

engagement,whateveritwouldbe.Ikeptmyeyesgluedtothesmall360-degree

prism “window” available to me in this tank. Occasionally I would use the

periscope,whichcouldberotated.Therewasnothingspecialtolookat,butit

gavemesomesatisfactiontoseetheworldoutside.Forsomereason,Ithought

aboutSmittyandwonderedhowhewouldhavereactedtoNordhausen.Ihada

fantasythathewaswithuswhilewewerebackthere,andhegotintoatemper

andwantedtokilleveryGermanhesaw.Thefantasy,ofcourse,wasreallymine,

and “Smitty” was my own personal outrage and frustration at something over

whichIhadnocontrolandwhichIcouldn’tquitecomprehend.

Wewerenottheleadcompanyaswemovedoutonthetwelfth,whichsuited

usfine.Therewasusuallyenoughfightingtogoaroundforalltogettheirturns.

Our column stopped around midmorning, while the city of Sangerhausen was

beingcapturedandcleared.Weplayedthepartofreserves,readytomoveupif

needed.Wehadtimetoeat,smoke,andbanterabouthomeandfriedchicken.I

sawRudyCollinsstandingbyatankuptheroad,anddecidedtocomparenotes

withhim.

“Youtoldyoursisteraboutme,”Igrinned.“Thanks.Shesentmealoveletter.”
“Don’tletitgotoyourheart,”Rudywarned.“Shewritesletterslikethattoall

theguys.Shehasthedumbfemaleideathatshe’smakingalltheseGIshappyso

theycanfightthewarbetter.Justenjoythem,butdon’ttakethemseriously.”

ThatwasnotwhatIwantedtohear.
“You’rearealmorale-buster,Rudy,”Igrumbled.“Itwasloveatfirstreadfor

me. What d’ya think? How ’bout if she saw me in person? Think I’d have a

chance?”

Hescannedmeupanddown,asthoughhewerebuyinganewcar.
“Well,putitthisway.Seein’ashowshe’snoteveneighteenyet…”
Theorderto“Mountup!”wasbeingrelayeddownthecolumn,andIhurried

backtomytank.Tankenginesrevvedandroaredandwewereontheroadagain.

PetewasdrivingnowtogiveGraverabreak.Withnoassistantdrivertoshare

theload,Graverreallyneededarest.Thingsweretoughforhimwithoutalittle

“vino”towardoffthedevilsofthisfrighteningworld.BeforelongIdozedoffin

thegunner’sseat.Idon’tknowhowlongmynaplasted—fifteenminutes,maybe.

Thecolumnstoppedagain.Replacementshadcaughtuptous,ridingintwo

half-tracks.Thefourofourcrewstoodbythetank,watchingtoseewhatsortof

guyweweregetting.LieutenantMillerfromCompanyBcamealongtherowof

tanks,parcelingoutthereplacements.Whenhereachedus,therewasonlyone

left,averyshort,dumpy,freckle-faced,red-headedPFC.

“Gentlemen,”saidLieutenantMiller,lookingathislist,“thisisPFCSeanIrvin,

yourreplacement.Ithinkwe’reuptostrengthnow.”

SeanIrvinapparentlydidn’tknowhowtosmile.Ireachedoutmyhandtohim,

butheignoredit.

“Everybodycallsme‘Shorty’forsomedamnreason.”
Ipulledmyhandback.Iwasn’tsurewhattomakeofthisguy,soIdidn’trush

things.I’dlethimfindoutthatmynamewasIrwinfromsomeoneelseandthat

we’dbegettingmistakenforeachother,sincenobodypaysanyattentiontosuch

detailsasthedifferencebetweenavandaw.

Joechuckled.“Can’timaginewhy.ThisisT5Graver,ourdriver,andSergeant

Kowanski,loader.CorporalIrwinhereisourgunner.You’llbeassistantdriver–

bowgunner.Seenanyaction?”

Heshookhishead.“No,I’marookieoverhere.Beenthreestinkin’yearsin

tanks, though. Stateside. Cadre at Fort Knox. They’re really scrapin’ the barrel

whentheysendpiss-assruntslikemeoverhere.”

“We got nothin’ against runts here, piss-ass or otherwise,” Pete said with a

grin.“Wejustneedacrewmember.Regulararmy?”

“Me?”hecroaked,grabbinghisthroatasthoughhehadachickenbonestuck

init.Hismultiplechinswobbledwhenhetalked.“Me—regulararmy?Me,who

spenttwoofmythreeyearsgoin’AWOLtryin’toavoidthearmy?Noma’am,

sister!Ionlyletthemsendmeoverherebecausethegoddamnwarispractically

over.”

Practicallyover!Howcanitbepracticallyover,Ithought,whenwekeepon

fightingdayafterday?Thisguywasamusing.

“What’reweworkin’with?”heasked,gazingatthetank.“PershingM26.Looks

differentsomehow.”

Hewalkedaroundthetank,lookingitover.
“It’s been retrofitted,” I said. “A custom job. Lots more armor and a longer

cannon.”

Shortypushedouthislowerlip.“That’sahellofagun.Looksprettylong,all

right.Wouldn’twanttobetheKrautsupagainstthatthing.”

“Guessyouhaven’tseenaKingTiger,haveyou?”

“Onlypictures,”saidShorty.
Butpicturesdon’tfightback.IhadhighhopesforthismachineagainstGerman

armor,butonlytimewouldtell.Sofar,Igaveittopmarks.

Thoughweweren’ttheleadcompany,aswemovedoutagainitseemedclear

that we would be involved in the next encounter. This turned out to be a

nameless little dorf, nameless to us at least. While its defenses were small, its

defenderswereasdeterminedasanyothers.Itwasaroundnoonwhenthefirst

elementsarrived,andwithinhalfanhourwewerecalleduptojointhefray.A

numberofthetankswerehavingmechanicaltrouble,duetoalackof50-weight

oil.Wehadbeenadvancingtoorapidlyforsuppliestokeepup.Ourowncrew,

however,wasfortunatesofarinnothavinganyproblem,sowemovedup.

The German forces here were prepared for us with the usual Panzerfausts,

heavy machine guns, mortars, antitank artillery, and determined troops. While

therewasnowaythetowncouldholdoutagainstourforces,weneverthelessdid

not have an easy time of it. I got the chance to use the big cannon against a

barricadedefendedbyanantitankgunsurroundedbysandbagsandaccompanied

byinfantrymenwhowerelayingdownabarrageofmachine-gunfireagainstthe

infantry.AroundfromtheATgunricochetedoffourreinforcedfrontarmor.

“Thatwaslucky,kid,”yelledJoe.“AnswerthemwithHE!”
My shot fell short, but the blast it made in the ground in front did some

damagetothebarricade.

“Again!”shoutedJoe.
AsPeteloadedtheshell,thegunfromanothertankknockedouttheATgun.
“Savetheammo!”Joecalled,soIheldmyfire.
Wemovedslowlyintothetownwiththedoughs,whodidmostofthefighting.

Atthestreetintersectionaheadofus,Isawthedoughsdashforcover.Whenwe

arrived,apanzerwasfacingtheintersectiononthestreettotheright.Istartedto

rotate the turret toward it, but Joe gave the order to hold off. The panzer

appearedtohimtobeadummy.

That “dummy” tank turned out to be far from lifeless. As we slowly

approached,itfiredatusandhitourfrontturretplate.Haditnotbeenforthe

added armor, it probably would have killed all three of us in the turret—Joe,

Pete,andmyself.

“Hit’em,kid!”shoutedJoe.
AndIdid,rightattheturretbase.Itappearedthattheroundpenetratedtothe

interior, and within a few seconds we saw the turret hatch open and a man,

accompanied by smoke and flames, climbed out. Only one. The panzer, we

learned, had in fact been disabled, but the gunner—alone—tried to man it as

bothloaderandgunner.MyGod!Whatguts!Afteritwasalloverandthisgunner

hadbeentakenprisoner,Ihadachancetotalktohim,somethingveryrarefor

us. He spoke some English and explained what he had done. I couldn’t help

myself—Ireachedoutmyhand,andhetookit,smilingthroughthegrimeonhis

face.Weshook,andforamomentwewerejustcomradesinbattle.Iwasgladwe

hadn’tkilledhim.

Itwasnot,however,atimeforfraternizing,andIquicklyreturnedtomytank.

Fortunately,JoeunderstoodwhatIhaddoneandwhy.

“I’dadonethesame,”hesaidquietly.
We waited while prisoners were rounded up by the infantry, which gave us

timeforacoupleofsmokes.Somecivilianscameoutoftheirhomestoinspect

thewreckage.Therewerelotsoftearsandwailing,somethingIcouldneverget

usedto.IclimbedintothetanksoIwouldn’thavetoseethem.Why,Iwondered,

didtheseinsignificantlittleplaceshavetosuffersuchdamage?Theanswerwas,

ofcourse,becausetheGermancommandselectedthemaspartoftheirdelaying

tactics. In this case, as in others, it was Wehrmacht infantry, rather than

professionalsliketheSSandothereliteelements,whohadtheassignment.These

WehrmachtSoldatenwere,likeus,mostlydraftees—goodfightersbutlackingthe

discipline and fanaticism of Hitler’s “Aryan” forces. I had the feeling that they

wereexpendableinawaytheprofessionalswerenot.

Itwaslateafternoon,andthesunwasgettinglowinthewest.Supplytrucks

arrivedbringingusgasoline,someheavyoil(thoughnotenough),rations,and

othersupplies.Itwasdifficultforthemtogetthroughtous,sincewemovedso

fastthatmanyareasremainedunsecured,andtheywereharassedbymachine-

gunfire,Panzerfausts,andthelike.Theyoftenhadtodrivethetrucksthrough

gauntletsattopspeed,hopingtogetthroughwithoutbecomingcasualties.They

normally wore .45-caliber pistols, and some trucks had machine guns for

emergencydefense.However,theydependedmostlyontheirskillasdriversto

get through, and many lost their lives in the process. They were truly combat

soldiers, even though they didn’t actually fight. We couldn’t have survived

withoutthem.

The order came to move out again. The intent had been to reach the Saale

Riverbeforedark.Afterlessthananhour,though,thecolumnstoppedagain,and

I Company was ordered to move up toward the head. We were widening our

frontasweapproachedthetownofEisleben.Itwasknownthatontheoutskirts

ofEislebenwasaprisoner-of-warcamp,butwhatsortofresistancewemightrun

into was unknown. Happily, there was little, and the reward we got from the

BritishPOWs,intheformofcheersandwaves,gaveusallamuch-neededlift.

Unlike the prisoners at Nordhausen, these men looked human and reasonably

healthy.TheseBritshadbeenPOWsforaverylongtime,somesinceNorthAfrica

and Crete, some since Norway, and many since the debacle of Dunkirk. They

wandered among our tanks and shook our hands, graciously accepting our

cigarettes and generally looking us over as though we were divinities from a

distantplanet.

“Damn!”exclaimedonecaptain.“Youchapscouldreachfromheretobloody

Berlinwithallthismaterial!”

“Thatisonehellofafuckin’tank!”exclaimedacorporal,hiseyessweeping

ourtankinamazement.“Howbigafuckin’gunyougotthere?”

Igrinned,withappropriatepride.“Ninetymillimeters.It’ssupposedtobethe

Allies’ answer to the Kraut 88. We just got this tank. Our old Sherman was a

casualty.”

Heshookhisheadslowlyindisbelief.“Theycomealongfuckin’waysinceI

wasabloodycrewmaninNorthAfrica.”

Iofferedhimacigarette,buthehelduphishand.“Don’tsmoke.It’llstuntyer

growth.”

Thismademelaugh.Hecouldn’thavebeenmorethanfive-oneortwo.
“Truth is,” he continued, “I had a fuckin’ bad chest wound. The medical

bastardswarnedmethatsmokin’couldbebadformyfuckin’health.”Helooked

at my cigarette pack longingly, then reached for one. “Oh, bloody hell! One

fuckin’fagcan’tkillme.I’vealreadybeenbloodydeadonce.”

ThissortoffraternizationcontinueduntiltheBritswereloadedontotrucksfor

freeU.S.transporttotherear,thefirstlegoftheirjourneytotheirownforces.

ThenitwaseastwardagaintowardtheSaale,buteventuallydarknessstoppedus.

Wefeltnosorrowaboutthis.Tomorrowwasalwaysouttherewaitingforus.

ONELASTRIVER

nFriday,April13,wereachedtheSaaleRiver.WewereoutoftheHarz

Mountains completely and facing flatter, more congenial terrain but here we

werehaltedbyyetanotherriver,itsbridgesblown,ofcourse.Andonceagain

there were German defenses waiting for us. I saw no armor, but a formidable

array of antitank cannons were carefully dug in on a rise above the opposite

shore.BesidestheseATgunswecouldseenumerousmachine-gunemplacements.

This would not be an easy crossing, especially without artillery support. The

391st Artillery Battalion, our usual support, was engaged elsewhere, since,

despiteappearancestous,theenemyforcewefacedwasconsideredthe“softest”

sectionoftheGermandefenses.

TaskForceWelbornspreadoutacrossawidefrontaboutamilefromtheriver.

Wereceivednoimmediatefire;theywereclearlysavingtheirresourcesforour

river crossing. That crossing, of course, would depend on the construction of

pontoonbridges.Consequently,theregimentestablisheddefensesatthecrossing

locationtoprotecttheengineerswhentheyproceededtobuild.

Our own company was at the moment up to strength. We stayed with our

tanks, prepared to receive orders. Such times are always filled with a certain

amount of dread, so it was not surprising to see Graver sneaking a quick nip.

ShortysawhimandclimbedoutofhishatchandcrossedovertoGraver’s.He

couldsensetheman’sanxiety.

“Youwantaswapplaceswithme?”heaskedquietly.“Abowgunneronlyhas

onethingtotakecareof—hismachinegun.Doesn’thavetothinkaboutanother

damnthingexceptfiringit.”

Graver remained silent at first. Then he said, “Ah can’t kill anyone. Ah just

can’t.Killin’someoneisworseformethangettin’killed.Whenahshootthatbow

gun,ahtrytomiss’em.Ah’mnodamngoodhere.”

Shortylookedhimintheeyeandsaid,“Youdrivethetanksootherscankill

them.You’realreadyasdeepasanyoneelseherewhenitcomestokillin’people.

We’reallpartofthebigkillingmachine,eventhetruckdriverswhobringour

supplies. Most of those Germans over there are gonna be killed or wounded

tomorrow,someofthembythiscrewrighthere.Whatthehelldifferencedoesit

makewhothebastardisthatdoesit?”

Ioverheardthiswholeconversation.IhadunderestimatedShorty.Hegaveme

somethingtothinkabout.ButIwonderedwhateffecthiswordswouldhaveon

Graver.

Graversaidnothing.Hejustsatinthedriver’sseatandstaredaheadblankly.

Shortyshruggedhisshouldersandwentbacktohishatch.Itwasseveralminutes

beforeGraverclimbedoutofhishatchandcrawledovertoShorty.

“Ahknowwhaty’allsaymakessense,butwhenah’mrasslin’withthecontrols,

Ahdon’tthinkaboutanythingelse.Ah’mbetteroffasajockey.”

Elementsofthe23rdArmoredEngineerswerebroughtuptospantheriver.As

always,itwouldbeunderfirefromtheGermans.Ourcompanygottheorderto

approachtheriverbankatthebridgeareaandestablishpositionswherewecould

give cover for the engineers. Almost immediately, we began to receive AT fire

fromtheotherside,andwebeganfiringattheirpositions.Weknockedouttwo

oftheATs.Theheavymachine-gunandmortarfirekepttheengineersbackfrom

theriver,behindthecoverofrocksandrises.Theyautomaticallybegandigging

theirfoxholes,fortheywouldneedthemtoretreattoastheGermansharassed

themwithheavyfire.Theengineersthendidwhattheyoftendid—waitedout

the rest of the daylight in order to build during the darkness. I never quite

understoodhowtheydidit.About120AIdoughsmanagedtoclimbtheirway

across the remains of the original bridge and establish a bridgehead on the

opposite shore. They dug in and were ready to give fire cover against the

Germanstohelpprotecttheengineers.

Petemadesomequipabout“Fridaythethirteenth”andhowweshouldwait

forabettertime.Joeheardhimandsnickered.

“IfIdidn’tknowyoubetter,Pete,”saidJoe,“I’dthinkyouweresuperstitious.”
“Oh,Iam!Iam!I’mevenafraidofablackcat’sshadow!”
“Thehellyasay!”Joelaughed.
Amortarroundexplodedabouttwentyyardsaway,andbitsofshrapnelflew

everywhere.Thenanotheronehitcloser.

“They’retryin’totellussomething,like,‘Getyourassesinside,whereit’ssafe.’

Sobattenthehatches,boys,”Joeshouted.

Itwasplaintoseethatthemortarfirewasnotreallyintendedforusbutwas

simplyanattempttogettherangeoftheengineerssotheycouldbebombarded

afterdarkness.Nevertheless,abarrageoftankfireblastedawayattheGermans.

HowmuchweaccomplishedIcouldn’tdetermine.

Tanks of Task Force Welborn were moved to positions of defense behind

various shallow depressions along the slope above the riverbank. Here they

wouldstayuntildawn.Thearmoredinfantrydoughsstayedclosetothetanks,

wheretheywouldhavesomeprotectionandcouldeasilybemovedintoaction

whenneeded.

All night the engineers worked as quietly as possible. Every sound brought

smallarmsormortarfireinthatdirection.Yet,almostmiraculously,byearliest

dawn,twomarvelouspontoonbridgeshadbeencompleted,andwelostnoneof

theengineers.Tous,itwasatriumph;totheengineers,itwas“justwhatwedo!

We’re armored engineers!” Shorty was right. They, too, were part of our “big

killingmachine,”thoughtheydidn’tfireashot.

At0600hours,tanksofCCBbeganthecrossingonthetwopontoonbridges.As

expected,theGermansopenedupwitheverythingtheyhad,andevenaswewere

crossing,ourcrewsfiredback.Notoneofthosefirsttankswasknockedoutby

antitank guns, despite considerable fire from the other side. And one by one,

those ATs were destroyed. It remained for us to wipe out the rest of the

emplacements. That job, however, was more difficult than we’d guessed, for

Panzersoldaten were well positioned to give us grief. We lost one tank to a

Panzerfaust.Thecrewescaped,buttheburningremainsspreadacloudofdense

blacksmokeoverthewholearea.Together,doughsandtanksmovedthroughthe

choking smoke, which, despite its discomfort, served briefly as cover, long

enough, at least, for them to get close to the emplacements. At that point a

savagefirefighttookplace.

Ourowntankhadcrossedtheriverwithoutincident,andwewereorderedto

addfirepowerontheleft,wheretwomoretankshadbeendisabled.

“Okay,gunner,”Joesaidintotheintercom,“youcanseethem.Takecareof

’em.”

Thatmeantnottowaitforindividualcommands.PeteandIworkedasone;he

wasagreatloaderandmademyjobeasier.Joewasonthe.50-cal.,layingdown

someheavyfire.TheAmerican.50-calibermachinegunwashighonthelistof

veryeffectivesmallarmsinthiswar.ItwastheenvyoftheGermanArmyand

theprideoftheGIs.Shortyseemedtobeenjoyinghispartasbowgunner;hewas

agreatadditiontoourcrew.

Afteranhourandahalf,itwasover,andwehadlosses:threetanksdisabled

and fifteen men wounded, two dead. The Germans, however, suffered rather

more,fortheywerecompletelyrouted,andseventy-nineprisonersweretaken.

Thestory,asusual,waswiththecasualties.Therewerealmostasmanydeador

woundedGermansastherewereprisoners.

Welinedupourtanksneartheroad.Iwatchedasthewoundedwerebeing

pickedupbythe45thMedicalBattalion,andIbegantowonderaboutthedead.

“Whathappenstoallthosedeadbodiesoutthere,Pete?”Iasked.
“TheAmericanslietheretilltheGravesRegistrationpeoplecometopick’em

up,”hesaid.

“WhatabouttheGermans?Whopicksthemup?”
“I’mnotreallysurehowitworks.Isupposethere’ssomesortofarrangement

betweenthetwosidesforexchanges,”Petereplied,scratchinghishead.

Ihadmorequestions.

“Well,whataboutthedisabledtanksandstuff?”
“Goddamn, you’re full of questions.” He grinned. “Ordnance tank retrievers

pickuptheonesthatcanberestoredforcombat.Theothersarecannibalizedfor

parts.Anymorequestions?”

“Yeah,buttheycanwait.”Ismiled.
Atabout1000hours,TaskForceWelborncontinuedthedriveeastward.We

werenottheleadcompany,aboutwhichwehadnoseriouscomplaint.Anumber

of the tanks soon had to stop to add oil. No one knew how long it would be

beforesupplieswouldcatchuptous.PetementionedtoJoethatweweredown

to about half-load with shells. There seemed to be plenty of .30-cal., and Joe

mentioned that he had used more than half of his .50-cal. rounds. To make

matters worse, marauding Panzersoldaten attempted to sneak up on the tanks

that were “separated from the herd” to blast them. Fortunately, in every case

theywerespotted,andwedidnotloseanyvehicles.

Joetoldusthattheorderhadcomeforustokeepbyourtanks,readytomove

outwithintenorfifteenminutes.Tome,astoeveryoneelse,thefightingseemed

interminable,alwaysanotherrivertocross,alwaysanotherbattletofight.There

seemedtobenoendtoit.Joe,Pete,andIwerestandingonthedeck,smoking.

GraverandShortywerestandingtogether,leaningagainstthetankandchatting.

IaskedJoe,“Wasthefightingalwaysthisbad?”
JoeandPetelookedateachotherwithoutasmilebetweenthem,caughtabit

offguardbymynaïvequestion.

“Fighting is fighting,” Joe replied. “It’s always bad. Guys trying to kill each

otheranywaytheycan.”

“Yeah,Iguessso,”Imurmured.
“Onethingaboutit,”addedPete.“Itjustgoesonandon,andyaneverthink

it’sgonnastop.”

“Butsometimesitseemsworsethanatothertimes,”Ipressed.“Wouldyousay

itwasworseinFranceandBelgiumthanhere?”

“Nowaytocompareit,”saidPete.“‘Worse’isjustthewayyoufeelaboutitat

aparticulartime.Somedaysitseemslikeit’stheworstever,evenwhenthere’s

notahellofalotgoin’on.”

“Combatiscombat,”repeatedJoe.“Menalwaysdie.Andyounevergetusedto

it.It’salwayssomethingnew.”

“HowcantheKrautskeepitup?”Iwonderedoutloud.“We’rekickingtheir

asses,buttheyjustkeeponfighting.”

Peteflickedhiscigaretteawayandgavemeoneofhisstaresofwisdom.
“JustsupposethiswastheU.S.A.andthingsweretheotherwayaround,the

Krautsinvadingus.Whatwouldyoudo?”

“Igetyourpoint,”Isaid.“GuessIcouldlearntobeafanatic,too.”
And then we were moving again. The 3rd Armored Division was spread out

alongfourroutesmovingtowardtheElbeandMuldeRivers.Thetwotaskforces

ofCCB,WelbornandLovelady,werefollowingasoutherlyroute.Loveladywas

to the south of us. We moved without incident and within half an hour we

reached the Reichsautobahn, a dual highway, the first I had ever seen. Four

concrete lanes, two going in one direction and two going in the opposite

direction,separatedinthemiddlebyamedianstrip.HitlerorderedtheAutobahn

system for rapid transport of military equipment. And that’s exactly what we

intendedtouseitfor.WeusedallfourlanesasweheadedfortheMulde.Against

allhopes,bythetimewegottherethebridgeshadbeendestroyed,andwewere

stopped.

The Spearhead Division had outdistanced its infantry support and supply

trains.Boththe1stand9thInfantryDivisionswereoccupyingtheregionaround

the Harz Mountains to secure it from recapture by the Germans. The 104th

InfantrywasheavilyengagedintheHallearea,thirtyorfortymilestothesouth.

Consequently, a detachment of our 36th Armored Infantry was sent across the

rivertoestablishashallowbridgehead.OurtankshadmovedofftheAutobahn

onto a narrow paved road, where we soon encountered strong resistance. Our

tank was hit twice in succession by small cannon fire from two armored cars.

They were part of a mobile defense unit intended more for harassment than

seriouscombat.Ifiredatoneanddisabledit.Theotherwashitbyanothercrew,

but it managed to escape nonetheless. Once again, our thick armor plate had

savedusfromseriousdamage.

WewerelessthantenmilessouthofthecityofDessau,andwewerestalledas

we waited for the engineers to bridge another river. This time, however, the

Germansweredeterminednottoletthathappen.Evenbeforetheengineerswere

in place to begin, extremely heavy artillery and mortar fire showed us how

resolutetheGermansreallywere.

Atthispointinthewar,theGermanswerebringingtogetherabsolutelyevery

possible resource, human and material. The common opinion was that they

intendedtomakeanall-outstandtopreventanyfurthermovetowardBerlin.The

divisionwouldthusstayputuntileveryoneofourunitswasuptostrength.And

that depended on supplies catching up to us. We spent our time in local

skirmishes with various mobile German defense units. Although they always

presentedathreatandcouldcausedamageandlosses,ourmainconcernwasthe

expenditureoffuelandammunition,whichwerealreadyinveryshortsupply.

“We’regettin’lowongas,”Gravercalledfromhiscockpit.
“Can’tdomuchaboutit,”Joeshouted.“Trytoconserve.Don’tidletheengine

anymorethanyouhaveto.Thismonsterusestoomuchgasasitis.”

Wehadnochoicebuttocollectthecompaniestoproceedtovariousdefensive

positionsuntilwewereresupplied.Meanwhile,theengineerswereunderintense

artilleryfirefromacrosstheMulde,makinganyprogressonthebridgenextto

impossible.Andevenwhentheysucceededingettingafewsectionsinplace,the

frequent tree bursts—fragmentation shells that exploded in the air—sent

fragments to puncture the pontoons. The artillery and mortar pounding was

incessant, leaving the engineers little opportunity to do their work. I was

beginning to wonder about our chances here. Maybe we would be stopped

altogether.

“What’syourproblem,Jack?”Peteaskedme.Itwasthefirsttimehehadcalled

mebymyname.

“Oh,nothing,”Isaid.“I’mjustthinkingbadthoughts.I’llgetoverit.”
“Well,ifyour‘badthoughts’arewhatIthinktheyare,turn’emoff.Wedidn’t

comethisfartobackoff.It’snotgonnahappen.Thefuckin’Krautsareputtin’on

ashowofbravado.Theycan’tholdout.”

Ifiguredhewasright,butwhenyou’rethislowonsuppliesanddon’tknow

whenrefreshmentswillbecoming,well,it’sscary,tosaytheleast.

The column of tanks moved toward the river and separated into various

defensivepositions.CompanyIwasdirectedtoasmallfarmhousesurroundedby

perhapsanacreofground.Itwaslocatedclosetoarailroadembankmentthat

moreorlessparalleledtheMuldeaboutamileorsoontheotherside.Therewe

found room for all of our tanks and vehicles. The farmhouse itself, while still

occupiedbyitsfamily,servedascompanyheadquarters.Oncewewerelinedup,

CaptainHarkincameouttoexplainoursituation.

“Men, we’re here temporarily until the rear units have caught up. There’s

almostnochancethatwewillbeattacked.TheGermansaredependingontheir

artilleryandmortarshellingtopreventacrossingoftheriver.Youcanstaywith

yourvehicles,ifyouwish.Ifyoucanfindadecentspottorest,good.But,damn

it,don’tgowanderingoffanywhere.Whentheorderscome,wehavetobeready

tomoveatonce.Anyquestions?”None.

CaptainHarkinandLieutenantWilson,hisassistant,hadtheirquartersintwo

roomsonthelowerfloorofthehouse.Thekitchenwasleftfreeforthefamilyto

use. They also occupied the second floor. Still, the captain insisted on having

severalguardsplantedinsideandoutsidethehousetopreventasneakattackof

German infantrymen and to keep the family under observation, lest they

somehowcommunicateinformationtotheNazisinsomeway.Asaprecaution,

theirtelephonewirewascutandtheirradioswereconfiscated.Thiswasprobably

not necessary, since there was no longer any telephone service or radio

broadcasts.

The cellar under the house had a door from the outside but no access from

inside.Itwassmall,dark,anddamp,anidealplaceforabunchofweary,smelly

GIs,whoopposedtheideaofgettingkilledbyartilleryfire,tohangout.Andthat

fire was almost constant, though the main target was the engineers and their

abortedbridgeattempt.Ichosetositinthetankandwritelettershome,although

Ihadnoideawhentheywouldgetpickedupandsent.Therestofourcrewwere

crowdedinthecellarwiththeothers.Ihadtheturrethatchopenandcouldhear

the ripping noise of the artillery coming from across the Mulde. Suddenly, an

artilleryshellgrazedthetopoftherailroadbankandpassedharmlesslyoverthe

house.Itoccurredtomethatweweresafeherefromtheartillery.Therewasno

waytheycouldhitus.

Emboldenedbythisknowledge,Idecidedtocrawluptheladderintothebarn

andtakeanap.Fromthecellar,Joecouldseeme.

“Irwin!”heshouted.“Youasshole!You’llbeblowntobits!”
“It’sokay,”Iyelled.“There’snowaytheycanhitusbehindthisembankment.”
“You’reanidiot!”camethereply.
Inthebarnloft,IstartedtomakeabedwithwhatstrawIcouldfind.AsIlay

onmybackIcouldhearforthefirsttimethefamiliarringandhumofourown

artilleryheadingacrosstheriver.Ifeltagreatrelief.Ourrearunitshadcaught

up,andnowwecouldenjoysomefirecover.Irelaxedanddozed.Butnotfor

long.Atremendousexplosionimmediatelyoutsidethebarnsentgravelandmud

againstthebarnwall.Afterthemillisecondittookmetodecide,Iwasonmy

way down the ladder, scarcely touching the rungs. I raced to the cellar and

jumpedinamidraucousandmortifyinglaughter.

“Thoughtyahaditallfiguredout,”yelledJoe.
“GuessIforgotaboutmortars.”Igrinnedsheepishly.
Divisionrearelementshadprettymuchcaughtupwiththemainbody—with

theexceptionofSupply.WelearnedthatGermantroopswereabletoharassthe

supplycolumns,destroyinganumberoftrucks,effectivelypreventingthemfrom

gettingthrough.Itwasonereasonwewerestuckatthispointandcouldadvance

nofarther.Theotherreasonwasthefactthattheengineerswerehavingsomuch

trouble building the bridge. The German mortars and heavy shelling harassed

themconstantly.ItwasclearthattheKrautsweredeterminedthatweshouldnot

seeBerlin.

PRELUDETOAFINALE

erman artillery fire never let up against the stubborn engineers as they

continuedtheireffortstobridgetheMulde.Wewerenotgettingverymuchat

thefarmhousewherewewerestationed.Iwasleaningagainstthetank,smoking

and daydreaming, when Shorty came over and stood beside me. He lit up a

cigarette.

“YounamedIrvin,too?”heasked.
“Notquite.It’sspelledwithaw.ButI’veheardthatit’sallthesameclan,”I

saidcautiously.

“YoufromPennsylvania?”
“Yeah.You?”
“MauchChunk.Everhearofit?”
“Mymotherwasbornnearthere.Herfatherandbrotherswereallminers.”
Thisinformationmadeanimpactonhim.
Helookedatmewithafrown.“What’sherlastname?”
“Harris,”Ianswered.“HerfatherwasJohnHarris.”
Shortyremovedhishelmetandscratchedhiswiryredhair.
“IknewaJohnHarris.Friendofmyfather.Called‘Jack.’”
“ThatwasprobablymyUncleJack.Hewasnotallerthanyou.”
Henodded,aslightfrownonhisface.“Imaginethat.Smallworld.”
Theconversationwasover,buthecontinuedstandingbesideme,smoking.I

triedtogetahandleonhim.Oddsortofduck.Seemedlikeahotheadbefore,but

three steps closer to friendly at the moment. Well, I thought, I’m not here to

makefriends,butIwanttogetalongwithmycrewmates.

JoeandPetehurriedacrossthecompoundwithasenseofurgency.
“C’mon, you guys, we got a job. Shorty, you get in the driver’s seat. Let’s

mountup!”Joeshouted.

“Where’sGraver?”IaskedJoe.
“LastIheardhe’dfoundsomecognac.Wemayneverseehimagain,friggen

lush!”

Weclimbedintoourpositions.
“Crankitup,Shorty.We’retakin’ashortrideupontothestreetwherewecan

getaviewofthattownoverthere.”

PetewasloadingHEintothebreechasShortymovedusontotheroad.The

high-explosive shells would do more damage to buildings than armor-piercing

shells.

“Thisisgood,”saidJoe.“Okay,kid.Canyouseethatchurchsteeplestickin’up

abovetheroofsofthattown?”

I traversed the turret back and forth, my eye to the telescopic sight, until I

spottedthechurchsteeple.“Gotit!”Icalled.

“Takeitout!”shoutedJoe.
“Youmean…justshootitoff?”Iasked.
“Damnit,yes!Now!”Joewasimpatient.“Tryitatseventeenhundredyards.”
Idid,buttheshellwaslowandblewoutpartofthechurchitself.
“Kickituptoeighteenhundred,”calledJoe.
Thistimetheshelljustblewoffthetipofthesteeple.
“Ithinkyougottherange,”saidJoe.“It’suptoyou.”
Idroppedmysightahairandfiredagain.Onechurchinthattownwasmissing

asteeple.

“Nowwehavetodothesameforeveryhighpeakorspireinthetown.Doit!”
Ispentthenextfifteenminutesblowingupallthesteeplesandhighpointson

everybuildinginthetown.Itseemedtomelikeasenselessmission,butitwas

excellenttargetpractice.WhenIwasfinished,Petegrinnedatme.

“Nicework—andonSunday,too.I’mnotsurethemanupthereishappywith

you,”hesaid,pointingupwardwithhisthumb.

“Whatthehell’sthisallabout,Joe?”Iasked.“Seemslikeawasteofammoto

me.”

“Yougotalottolearn,kid.We’reprettysuretheKrautshadFOsinoneor

moreofthosehighpoints,directingtheartilleryfirewe’regettin’.”

Forwardobservers!Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.
“Hopewegot’em,”Isaid.
“Don’tweall,”heanswered.
FOs or not, the engineers were still getting intermittent artillery and mortar

firefromacrosstheriver.Whenevertherewasabreakinthefire,theywentback

toworkonthebridge.Howeverhopelessthejobmayhaveseemedtothem,they

stucktotheirwork,addingasectionatatime,sometimesgettingfiredonbefore

theygotthesectionfinished,sometimeslosingasectiontotreebursts.Itwasa

heroiceffortontheirpart.Inmanywaystheirjobwasevenmoredangerousthan

thatofinfantryandtankers,whocouldatleastshootback.Thereportweheard

wasthatseveralengineershadbeenwounded.Nonekilled.

Timebegantohangheavyonourhandsthatafternoon,aswesweatedoutthe

intermittentincomingmailthatwasharassingtheengineersattheMuldeRiver,

whichbeforelongbecamethe“MoldyRiver.”IwrotethreeV-mailsduringthe

afternoon, including a very romantically suggestive one to Ruthie Collins. I

figuredshewouldn’ttakeitanymoreseriouslythanshedidherownlettersto

guyslikeme.Itwasbecomingagamebetweenus,anditseemedlikemorefun

than the slobbery, worrisome, serious business of true lovers. And anyhow, I

knewI’dneveractuallymeetheragain.

Thedivisionhadmovedsorapidlyoverthelastweeksthatoursupplylines

wereunacceptablythinandvulnerabletoenemyattacks.Infact,theroutewe

had taken when coming to this place was through an extensive wooded area,

ideal for enemy attacks on our supply trains. We kept hearing about losses of

supplies, and we worried about our dwindling supplies of gasoline, oil,

ammunition—even food and water. Scarier still was the state of our cigarette

supply. It was low. Division brass had been attempting various tactics to

eliminatetheoffensesagainstoursupplieswithsomesuccess.Buttherewasone

majorforestedareawheretheGermanswerestillcuttingoffourtrucks,nomore

thansevenmilesfromwherewewerelocated.

At2000hoursJoecorralledthecrew.
“Wejustgotanotherjob.Thecaptainhasorderedustotaketheroadbackthat

wecameonandblastthewoodsonbothsides.There’llbethreetankcrews—us

andBensonandLynch.UsandBensonwillblasttotheright.Lynchwillblastto

theleft.”

“When?”Iaskedstupidly.
“Now,goddamnit!”shoutedJoe.“Revup!”
Graverwassleepingsomewhere,stillinhiscups,soShortytookoverasdriver.
“Move out!” shouted Joe. “Benson and Lynch will lead. We’ll be number

three.”

Our tiny column of three tanks moved out in early darkness along the

designatedroad,drivingforalittleoverfivemiles,andoncommandwebegan

firingstraightintothewoodsliningtheroad.Thewoodsweredense,andinthe

growing darkness we had no idea what or where our targets were. We would

stop,fire,andmoveahead.WeunloadedvolleysofHEshells,whitephosphorus

shells(ofwhichwestillhadourfullcomplement),andmachine-gunfireintothe

denseforest,andbeforelongthewoodswereablaze.

I had the turret turned toward the woods, and Joe accompanied my cannon

and.30-cal.firewiththebig.50-cal.machinegunmountednicelyontheturret.

Itseemedlikeacrazymission.Wejustmoveddowntheroadforaboutten,

perhapsfifteenmiles,firingintothewoodsandsettingeverythingonfireonboth

sidesoftheroad.Benson’screwswungtheirturretbackandforth,firingintothe

woodsonbothsides.Itwasn’tcleartomewhatwewereaccomplishingbythis

action,butitwasnotuptometodecide.Somebodyhadtoknowwhatthiswas

allabout.

It was only after several hours that we finally returned to our area. Pete

mentionedthatwewereentirelyoutofHEshells.Wehadonlyafewofthewhite

phosphorus shells left and mighty little machine-gun ammo. Only upon our

returndidwelearnthatourmissionhadbeenintendedtomakeitpossiblefor

thesupplytrainstogetthrough.

It must have worked. The next morning Captain Harkin called the company

togetherforthefirst“Fallout!”Ihadseensinceleavingthe“repple-depple”after

we left Stolberg. He explained our mission and our success to the whole

company.Andhepraisedthehelloutofus.Iwasnotabletounderstandwhy;it

had seemed such a simple operation. But according to the captain, we had

accomplished what no others had in five attempts, namely, we had driven the

Krautsoutofthewoodedareas,andoursuppliescouldonceagaincomethrough

safely.

“ICompanywillberememberedforthis,”hestated,“andIwanttopersonally

andpubliclygivethecredittothesethreecrews.Asaresult,wecanexpectto

receivefreshsuppliestomorrow.”

Thatlastnewsbroughtcheersandapplause.Forme,thecaptain’sremarkshad

specialmeaning.TheywereanotherinstanceofthesortofvalidationIhadhoped

tohearfromhimthetimeIreportedwithmyprisoners—thattimesolongago

whenIwassosureIwouldbeacclaimedawarhero.Warishell,ofcourse,butit

isalsostrangeandparadoxical,notatallthesortofworldinwhichsenseand

nonsense are easily distinguishable. Perhaps that is for the best, for the job of

lowlyGIslikemewastofolloworders,whethertheymadesensetomeornot.

The supply columns from Trains showed up that afternoon, April 16th,

bringingammunition,heavyoiland100-octanegasolineinfive-galloncansfor

thetanks,foodrations,cigarettes,somePXrations,includingsoapandshaving

supplies, and, best of all—mail. Everyone got into the act, unloading supplies.

The tank commanders apportioned them to the various crews. Then came the

workofstockingthetanks,gassingthem,addingoilandwaterasneeded,and

loadingtheammointotheracks.Petewasslightlysurprisedthatweactuallygot

the right 90-mm shells for our big gun. In the end, all the tanks were up to

standardandreadytorollwhenthecommandcame.Thencamethemailcalland

anotherofthosemomentsthatremindeduswhywewerehere.

It was also on this day that we learned of the death of President Roosevelt,

whohaddiedonthetwelfth.LieutenantWilsongaveusthenews,andnoneofus

weresurewhatthiswouldmeanforthewarorforthetroops.Butheassuredus

thatourforceswouldcontinueasbefore,maybefightalittlehardertohonorour

latepresident.FormostGIs,thepresident,ascommander-in-chief,deservedhigh

praise.

Ontheseventeenth,wehadsomefreetime,duringwhichwetreatedourselves

tohelmetbathsandothersuchfrivolousactivitiesdespitetheperpetualshelling

anddamp,chillyweather.MannyFredericks,aT5fromadifferentcrewinour

company,hadbeenanarmybarberbeforeshippingouttothisplace.Hisprice

wasonepackofcigarettes.Itwasworthit,andhehadallthebusinesshecould

handle. He gave only crew cuts, however, so the guys who had a narcissistic

attachmenttotheirlovelylockswentwithouthisservicesorsufferedatonsorial

affronttotheirpride.Notsurprisingly,hisnicknamewas“Scissors.”

Itwasnotatimeofrestandrehabilitationforus—anythingbut.Thewarwas

everywherearoundus,andwecontinuallyheardreportsofthefightingofother

units.Thatdaywelearnedthatourcompaniontaskforce,Lovelady,tothesouth

ofusatThurland,wasattackedbyaforceofGermaninfantrymen—betweenone

and two hundred of them. The predawn attack was carefully planned and

flawlessly carried out. Our troops were billeted in the town, and the Germans

firedbazookasandPanzerfaustsintotheirbillets.Itwasadayofheavyfighting

for them; we heard about the savage battle that ensued lasting into the late

afternoon.Intheend,theGermancommandoswererouted,butthelittletownof

Thurlandhadbeendestroyed.

That evening, the order came from Army Command to halt all attempts to

bridge the Mulde, much to the relief of the bone-weary engineers. Had they

persisted,soonerorlatertheywouldhavefinishedtheirbridge.Butasitwas,the

changeinplansdidn’thurttheirfeelingsabit.Theinfantrymenwhoweredugin

onthebridgeheadacrosstheriverwererecalled.Itwasn’tcleartouswhatour

nextmovewouldbe,buttherumorfactorywasbusilygrindingaway.Onerumor

haditthatRussianshellswerealreadycrossingtheElbeandthattherewouldbe

ajointAmerican-RussianattackonDessau.Thatoneturnedouttobefalse;there

never was to be any such “joint” operation. Another rumor claimed that the

RussianswerealreadyinDessau.Againfalse.TheRussianswerestillmilestothe

east.

AnothermoreplausiblerumorhaditthatDessauwastobethefocusofour

nextattack.Hopestartedrunninghighamongthemen—likeawildfirefannedby

thewindsofrumor—thatthiswouldbeourlastencounterwiththeenemy.The

anticipation,however,wasamixtureofanxietyandfearaswellashope.Noone

wantedtobecomeacasualtysoneartheend,tobuyitonthelastdayofcombat.

And there could be no doubt that there would be a great many casualties, for

Dessau was known to harbor fanatically determined remnants of earlier

campaigns as well as crack troops from the Rosslau-Dessau school of combat

engineering.LargeremnantsofvariousSScombatgroups,determinedtohaltthe

marchonBerlinbytheAmericans,hadarrivedasreinforcements.

Tension began to fill the air. With nothing to go on but conflicting rumors,

mostofthemenwaitedoutthetimewithlittlechatter.Anoccasionalchuckleor

whoop merely meant that some of the men were occupying their minds with

other things. But all around the company compound an atmosphere of

apprehensioncollectedaroundthemenlikeagroundfog.Despitethefactthat

mostofthesemenhadbeenthroughmuchheavyfightingalready,thereseemed

tobeasensethatthisnextbattlewouldbesomehowdifferent,althoughnoone

knewinwhatway.

Gravershowedup,lookinglikehe’dbeenrunoverbyatank,andJoegavehim

atalking-to.

“Look,Graver,”hesaidquietly,“it’snomysterywhyyouboozeitup.Ican

understandit.Noneofusisreallycutoutforthiskindoflife.Butweneedeach

otherinthetightspots.Adrunkentankdrivercanbeworsethannotankdriver

sometimes.Ineedyourhandthatyouwon’ttouchanotherdropofboozeofany

kind until we’re finally out of this. After that, you can booze yourself into

oblivionifyouwant.Itwon’tbemygrave.Whatd’yasay?”

GraverlookedashamedandextendedatremblinghandtoJoe.Theyshookon

it.

“Ahguessy’allthinkAh’mprettyworthless,”hemuttered,hiseyeslookingat

thegroundahead.“Ahwantadomypart,it’sjustthat…”

“Take it easy,” Joe said, reassuringly. “You’re not worthless, Graver, just

frightened, like every guy around here. You’ve proven yourself many times in

combat.You’readamngoodtankdriver—whenyou’resober.We’llbeneedinga

goodtankdriverlikeyouwhenwe’reatitagain.”

“Andafterthat,howlong’sitgonnabe?There’snoendtoit.”
JoeputhishandonGraver’sshoulder.“There’sanendtoit,buddy,andit’snot

faraway.Believeme,itain’tgonnabelong.”

“Ifwesurvive,”Gravermutteredsolemnly.
LieutenantWilsoncameouttowheremostofthemenwerestanding,sitting,

orlyingonthedampground.Hecircledhisarmandshouted,“Company!”

The men gathered around to get the briefing. The lieutenant confirmed the

suspicionthatDessauwouldbeournextobjective.Hewasn’tsureexactlywhen.

“Butitwon’tbemorethanadayorso,”heconcluded.“I’llkeepyouinformed

aswelearnmoredetails.”Hestartedtowalkaway,thenturnedandadded,“Oh,

andtomorrowwe’llbemovingouttahere.ColonelWelbornhasorderedallunits

of the task force to assemble in an as yet undisclosed area. You’ll hear more

tomorrow.”

Soatleastsomeoftherumorswereright.Dessau,alargecityonthejuncture

oftheElbeandMuldeRivers,hadbecomethecollectionpointforthelastmajor

stand by the Germans. Tanks, armored cars, Panzersoldaten, antitank guns on

panzerchassis,andheavyinfantrycouldbeexpected.Hitlerwasinhisbunkerin

Berlin,sotheAmericanforcesmustbestoppedatallcosts.Wecouldonlyhope

tooverwhelmthemwithanattackforcewaybeyondtheirexpectations.Yet,in

theirminds,therewasnoforcetheycouldnotstanduptofortheFührer.

Thenextday,Wednesday,April18th,wereceivedourorderstomoveoutto

thedesignatedarea,wheretherestofthetaskforcewouldbegathering.Wewere

the first company to arrive, but we were soon joined by the others with their

tanks,half-tracks,peeps,andothervehicles.Weweredirectedtoareassetaside

forourvariouscompaniesandattachedunits.Ourinstructionsweretostaywith

ourtanksforthetimebeing.Thenat1200hoursweweretobeservedahotmeal

inalargemesstentnowbeingsetup.

Thislastwasthebestnewswehadheardyet.Iscroungedinmybarracksbag

formymesskit,whichIhadn’tusedinquitealongtime.Ihuntedandhunted,

butitsoonbecameclearthatitwasn’tthere.ImentionthistoJoe.

“Youhaveashortmemory,kid,”hesaid.“RememberEspchenrode?”
“Oh,yeah,”Isaid.“Damnittohell!”
Wehadbeenissuednewbarracksbagsafterourtankhadbeendestroyed,but

nosuchnicetiesasmesskitsandutensils.

“Don’tworry,”saidJoe.“You’llgetsomethingtoeat.You’renottheonlyduck

withoutfeathers.”

Ourwholecrewstoodtogetherbythetank—smoking,ofcourse.Joehadonly

one cigar, which he was saving for the right moment, so he settled for his

Luckies. There was not much to talk about, and none of us felt very talky

anyhow.Petechewedonhiscigarette,asthoughhecouldn’twaitforchow.

Weheardthemusicatnoon.“Chow!Lineup!”Itsoundedalmostlikethegood

olddaysofbasictraining.Weenteredthemesstent,andonourrightwasacrate

fullofmesskitsandutensils.

“Ifyagotnomesskit,takeone!”yelledthemesssergeant.“Ifyado,don’ttake

one.Theyhavetogoaround.”

We went down the mess line just the way we did back at Fort Knox. But

somehow,thischowlookedandsmelledbetterthananyIhadhadtodate.Beef

in gravy (from cans, we knew), little boiled potatoes (also from cans), mixed

vegetables (these were no exception), fruit cocktail (ditto), and the first hot

coffee any of us had had for a long while. To us it was a gourmet feast. It’s

incrediblehowsomethingsosimpleashotfoodcanraisethemoraleofweary

combatsoldiers.Wehadbeenlivingonboringcoldrationsformonths.Itwas

good to hear lots of voices and laughter again. We were going to be all right.

Uncharacteristically,therewasalmostnogarbagetotossintheGIcansoutside.

We could hear artillery fire from the south, and twice I saw groups of P-47

Thunderboltsheadinginthatdirection.Thiswasno“coolingoff”period—quite

theopposite.ThefactthatIcouldseethewholetaskforcecollectedinonearea

gave me a feeling of confidence. Combat Command B had been ordered to

maintainadefensivepositionfromthevillageofTorten,notfarfromwherewe

werelocated,tothevillageofRaguhn,aboutsixmilestothesouth.Allthewhile,

bitterfightingwentoninvariousvillages,mostlywithinaten-mileradiussouth

ofDessau.

ThenineteenthofAprilwasadayofwaitingfororders,andjustwaitingin

general.Therewasnotmuchforustodobutstandaround,smokingandtalking.

Themesstenthadbeentakendown—thatwasaone-shotdeal.Joewastalking

withSergeantTonyField,anothertankcommander.Graverwasstretchedouton

the back deck, asleep. Pete, Shorty, and I leaned back against the front of the

tank,tryingtothinkofsomethingotherthancombat.Shortytalkedaboutsome

ofhisescapadesasacadremanatFortKnoxandhaduslaughing.Itoldabout

oneguyinmyplatoonwhowasbuckingfora“SectionEight”andwhowentto

incrediblelengthstoconvincethearmythathewasnuts.Oneofhisworststunts

happenedonthegrenaderange.

“Pigg—that was his name—Pigg was on the practice grenade range. He was

knownassuchafuck-upthatthelieutenantinchargeoftherangestoodrightin

backofhim.Piggwasaright-hander,buthehadhisgrenadeinhislefthand.He

steppedupbehindthebarrier,pulledthepinfromthegrenade,andthrewthepin

overthebarrier,droppingthegrenadeonthegroundbehindhim.Thelieutenant

grabbedthegrenadeandthrewitoverthebarrier.Itwentoffintheair,anda

tiny piece of shrapnel tore through the lieutenant’s ear. Pigg found himself on

companypunishmentforaweek.”

ShortysmiledandPetelaughedalittle.
“SoundslikeaguyIknew,”saidPete.“Hewasasleepwalker.Well,onenight,

he—”Hegotnofurther.Joecameoverandtoldustogetourstuffpackedonthe

tankandbereadytoroll.

“We’llbeleavingheretomorrow.”

THEROADHASANEND

heorderscameontheeveningofthetwentiethtopreparetomoveoutat

0400hourstomorrow.TaskForceWelbornwouldtaketheroutenorth,keeping

theMuldeonourright.Youknewitwascoming,butyou’reneverreadywhenit

does.Itriedtogetsomesleep;itwouldbealongdaytomorrow.Iputmybedroll

underthetankandcrawledinit.Forawhilemymindkeptturningover,but

eventually,Igottosleep.But0400hourscameprettyfast,andIgotup,pulled

mybedrollfromunderthetank,andtosseditontothetankdeck.

IateaboxofKrations,andwasheditdownwithwaterfrommycanteen.A

lousy breakfast. Graver, looking a bit more like himself, was already in the

driver’shatch.Therestofusgotintoourseats.Petelookedoveratme.

“You’renervous,aren’tyou,Irwin?”
Ihatedthathecouldtell.“Yeah,sortof.Nottoobad,though.”
“C’mon,”heyelled,“I’mnervousashell.I’mprettydamnedscared!Howcould

younotbeworried?”

Ifeltrelieved.“IguessIamscaredalittle.”
Hegrinnedacomfortinggrin.“That’smorelikeit.Faceyourfearsthewayyou

faceyourenemy.Yagottafight’embothatthesametime.”

Pete was one guy I felt I could love like a father. He seemed so savvy and

sensitive. With him as our loader, and Joe at the helm, I knew we’d be okay.

Graver? I always felt sorry for him. It can’t be much fun to have to suffer his

torment.AndIhadahunchthatShortyIrvinhadiceinhisblood;he’djustdo

whateverhadtobedone.

Wemovedout—tanks,half-trackscarryingboysofthe36thArmoredInfantry,

truckscarryingsupplies,andsomewherebehinduswasthe703rdTankDestroyer

Battalion.ItwasmorethananhourbeforewereachedtheoutskirtsofDessau,

and already we were taking mortar and artillery fire from German artillery.

Clearly,theGermanshadnointentionofhandingthecityovertous.Butthey,

too,werereceivingheavyfirefromthe391stArmoredFieldArtilleryBattalion,

justtoourrear.

Graversurprisedme.Iknewhewasscaredtodeath,yethedidn’tletitprevent

himfromdoingagoodjob.That,Ithought,washeroicabouthim.Hecertainly

wasn’t a hero at heart. Joe had once told me that in combat there are only

cowards and liars. The difference between them is that although the cowards

maysurvive,theliarswinthebattles.And,headdedsolemnly,onlytheliarscan

beheroes.

“Aguyhastolietohimselfthatkillinganddestroyingaren’twrong,andthat

he’snotreallyafraid.”

Withthesethoughtstoshieldmymoralsensitivities,Ipreparedmyselfforyet

anotherbattle.

Task Force Welborn was one of four task forces joining in a four-pronged

attackonthecity.TFHoganwasattackingdirectlyfromthewest;TFBolesand

TFOrrweremovinginfromthesouthwest;weweredrivingfromthesouth.As

weapproachedthecity,ourwaywasblockedbyPanzersperren,concretetank

barriersthatweredifficulttodestroy.Ourtankswereunabletoclimboverthem

or break through them. They had to be destroyed. Since there was no time to

waitforengineerstodothejob,weusedourtankcannonstoblowthemup.It

wasslowandtediousandrequiredtheexpenditureofvaluableammunition,but

eventuallywewereabletomakeopeningsatvariouslocationssufficientforthe

tankstomovethrough.Wecontinuedouradvanceonthecity.

Dessau had been taking punishment from artillery and air strikes for several

days. As we approached, the city appeared shrouded in an eerie, hazy fog, a

mixtureofsmokeandthethincloudcoveralreadydimmingtheearlysun’srays.

UnlikeonourapproachtoPaderborn,wewerenotgreetedbyattackingarmor,

which told us that the German stand would be purely defensive. They had no

benzene to spare, and we knew that what they had would have to suffice, for

therewerenosupplyroutesopentothecity.Dessauwasacityundersiege.

WehadlearnedmuchabouttheGermanwillanddeterminationbythistime.

We had learned, for example, that they were trained not to think about their

weaknesses but only about their superiority. And, unfortunately, despite Allied

successes,acertainmythologypersistedamongGIsthatGermantechnologyhad

producedtanksthatwerealmostinvincible.Ihadheardthisviewinadvanceof

myfirstcontactwithGermanarmor,andithadworriedmegreatly.Butmyown

experienceprovedthemythtobeexactlythat.Ontheotherhand,Icouldnot

freemyselfofafearofthegiantTiger,Germany’sawesomeheavytank.Iknewof

itsfirepowerandheavyarmor.ButIhadalsolearnedofoneofitsweaknesses—

its slow turret traverse. Unlike our Shermans and Pershings, the Tiger had a

manualratherthanapowertraverse.ItwasaweaknessIhadlearnedtoexploit.

AndIgotmychancealltoosoon.

Ourtanksenteredthecityslowlyandspreadoutalongdifferentstreets,alertto

anysuddenappearanceofGermanfirepower.Thehalf-tracksbehindusstopped,

andthearmoredinfantrydoughsdismountedandbegantomovewiththetanks.

Fortunately, Pete had loaded our cannon, for as we turned the corner onto a

street,wewereconfrontedwithaTiger,anditwasreadyforus.Thegunnerfired

atusasweroundedthecorner,butmisseduscompletely.Theshellwenthigh,

overourtank.Ireturnedfirepoint-blankattheroyalmonster,butsawthetracer

ofmyshellricochetoffthefrontarmorandtakeacourseofitsownskyward.

Peteslammedanotherroundintothebreech,andatthatsamemomentweheard

a thud on the turret. But I took aim and fired again, and this time the shell

penetratedthethinarmorontheTiger’sexposedunderbellyasitattemptedto

climboversomerubble.Theammo,locatedintheturretfloor,exploded,leaving

theburninghulkoftheTigerobstructingourpath.

Wehadbeenhit,buttherewasnoevidenceofseriousdamage.
“Justkeepgoing,”Joesaidintotheintercom.“Greatshot,kid.”
ThefightforDessau,likethefightforothertownsandcities,involvedmostly

house-to-house combat, which meant that doughs and tanks worked together,

movingslowlydownthestreetsuntilfiredupon.AgainitwasPanzerfaustsand

bazookasandmachine-gunfirefromwindowsanddoorways.Theinfantryalso

had to be on the watch for snipers from the German combat engineers of the

Rosslau-Dessau school, each one an expert marksman. Their rifle fire was as

deadlyattimesasmachine-gunfire.Itwasnotaneasytimeforourinfantry,but

theygaveasgoodastheygot.Ourtankshadtobeforeveronthelookoutfor

Germanarmor,whichwassometimesduginandsometimesmarauding.

I was called on to blow out the fronts of houses from which enemy fire

harassed us, giving our doughs clear entrance. In some blocks we progressed

literallyhousebyhouse.Welostquiteafewmen—woundedandkilled.Medics

fromthe45thArmoredMedicalBattalion,whowereunarmed,seemedalwaysto

benearbyandabletogetthewoundedmentosafeplaceswheretheycouldtreat

them.Notoften,butoccasionally,amedicbecameacasualty.Amedicalcorporal

once told me that a part of their training was the art of survival under fire.

“Timingisabigpartofit,”hesaid.Itwasmesmerizingtowatchthematwork—

neverknowingwhentheywouldbefireduponyetnotthinkingaboutit.

Many of the streets of Dessau were cobbled, often narrow, and sometimes

graced with narrow stone archways that spanned the street. Some of these

archways were already damaged by tanks—both German and American—

attempting to squeeze through. When we came to one of these arches, Graver

hesitated.

“What’mAhs’posedtodonow?”hecalledontheintercom.
Joeestimatedthatthetankwouldscrapebothsidesandprobablygetjammed.
“We don’t want to take a chance,” Joe replied. “Turn around. We’ll take

anotherstreet.”

We had no map of the city with us, and were Joe not in constant

communication with Company Command, we would quickly have become

hopelessly lost. Graver did as ordered, but we suddenly came under fire.

Panzerfausts!

“Stop,”Joeshouted,andGraverdid,justasanexplosioneruptedinfrontof

ourtank.

Weknewthefirewascomingfromsomewheretoourleftrear.Iturnedthe

turretinthatdirection.

Nomorefirecameourway.Joedecidedthatweshouldsaveourammoand

moveon.

“Graver,turnthisthingaroundandmoveasfastasyoucanbackdownthe

street.”

Weencounteredagreatdealofsmokefromburninghousesandfromgunfire.

In some places it was so bad that it was almost impossible to fire on targets

withoutendangeringourownmenandequipment.Makingmattersevenworse,

large numbers of Germans were staggering or limping or just plain trudging

through the smoke waving handkerchiefs or whatever white rags they could

produce.AtonepointIhadtostopfiringbecauseIcouldn’ttellthecombatants

fromthesurrenderers.

Anordercameforustoholdourpositionuntilfurthercommunication.Thiswe

did, but not peacefully, for we were constantly under fire from Panzerfausts.

Theyappearedtobecomingfromasingledirection.Howweescapedbeinghit

was a mystery to me. The answer came, however, when I saw several of our

doughscomefromahousewithtwochildrenatgunpoint,agirlandaboy.They

couldnothavebeenmorethantenorelevenyearsold.Theydidnotwearthe

uniformoftheHitlerYouth.Myguesswasthattheyhadbeentryingtohitus

with Panzerfausts but had had no training. It was more evidence of German

desperation.

The command came for us to move to the next street, the one to our west

paralleling this one. The order was to “clear that area,” which meant doing

exactlywhatwehadbeendoing.Wedidasorderedandreceivednofireofany

kind.Thedoughscrouchedindoorwaysorstuckclosetothetanks,expectingthe

worstatanymoment.

“Keepready,”saidJoeovertheintercom.
Itwaseerie.Perhaps“spooky”isabetterword.Byallappearances,thisstreet

wasnotharboringanyoftheenemy.Then,inaninstant,itseemedthatevery

windowonthestreethadallmannerofgunfireandbazookafirespewingforth.A

numberofourboyswerehitandlyinginthestreetandonthesidewalks.

“Nomoresweetnessandlight!”shoutedJoeangrily.“Blasteverywindowand

buildingontheblock!Givethesefuckin’bastardssomethingtoremember!”

We moved along the street, systematically blasting every house front as we

went.IwasusingHEshells,tocauseasmuchdestructionasIcould.Joeblasted

awaywiththe.50-calibermachinegun,andShortywasfiringhis.30-cal.into

every window he could see. Pete slammed a white phosphorus shell into the

breech and yelled “Phosphorus!” at me. I fired, and the effect of the shot was

devastating:afirebrokeoutinthebuildingIhadhitandbeforelonghadbegun

to spread to the adjacent buildings. Our firepower and the heavy rifle and

automatic-weapon fire from the doughs made it possible for the medics to do

their work. They moved from casualty to casualty, determining who could be

helpedandwhowouldbeleftforGravesRegistration.

As more and more Germans surrendered, their sheer numbers started to

impedeourmovement.Wehadjoinedseveraltanksofourcommand,andone

tank commander—I didn’t recognize him—yelled at the Krauts in German,

warningthemtogetthehelloutofthewayorgetrunover.Thenheorderedhis

drivertomoveon.ItwaslikethepartingoftheRedSea!Andweallfollowedin

hiswake.Miraculously,noGermansgotsquashed—theyhadgottenthemessage.

Inlateafternoon,arumorspreadthatGermanshadknockedoutoneofour

tanks and murdered the crew. According to the story, the Americans stood

together next to their helpless tank with their hands on their heads. Without

warning,theGermansopenedfireonthematpoint-blankrange,killingall.Such

thingsdidhappen,andtherumorwastakenasfact.Theresultwasthatmanyof

uswereoutragedandfeltlikeretaliatingagainstthesurrenderingGermans.We

wereheldincheckbywiser,calmerveterans.JoeandPetehadheardthetale,

too,andseemedtogiveitlessweight.JoesawhowupsetIwas.

“Don’tletitgettoyou,”hesaid.“We’reinawar.Keepthatinmind.”
“Yeah,butthat’splainmurder!”Iexclaimed.“That’snotcombat!”
“Maybetheythoughtitwas,”saidPete.“Maybeintheirnear-hystericalstate

theywerethinking,‘TheonlygoodAmericanisadeadAmerican.’Truthis,”he

addedsoberly,“we’reasguiltyastheyare!We’vemurderedafewourselves.”

IguessedIstillhadnotbeenaroundthiswarlongenoughnottobeoutraged,

althoughitseemedtomeI’dbeenhereforever.

Ourunitwasorderedtohaltwherewewereandstandasreserves.Thatgave

usachancetosmokeandstandidle.Achingfatigueforcedustodozewherewe

stood.Myeyesburnedfromthesmokethatwaseverywhereinthecity,andIwas

bynowsotiredIdidn’tevenwantanythingtoeat.

SuddenlyShorty,whowasinhisseat,openedupwithhis.30-cal.bowgun.He

firedseveralbursts.

“Whatthehell’reyoushootin’at?”Joeshouted.HelookedwhereShortyhad

been shooting and saw two Panzersoldaten dead on the cobblestones, their

Panzerfausts lying in the street in front of them. “Oh!” Joe exclaimed. “Good

work, Shorty! Okay, let’s keep our eyes open. Where there are two there are

probablymore.”

Thefightingcontinuedthroughthenight.Wehadnowayofknowingatthe

time what was happening with the other three task forces. In fact, the 32nd

Armored Regiment was heavily engaged in the northeastern section of Dessau,

whichwasalsobeingbombardedwithheavyartilleryfire.Itwastherethatthe

enemy’slastreserveshadbeenwaiting.Inoddedinmygunner’sseatasvague

sceneskeptcrisscrossingmymentalscreen,nothingspecific,justscenesofmen

and tanks and smoke and casualties and endless streams of surrendering

Germans,trudgingindefeat.ThenIwasasleep.

Before daylight we were called back into action to help repulse a German

counterattacknearthecenterofthecity.Itwasalast-ditch,do-or-dieaction,and

the fighting was intense. Pete thought we still had ammo enough to get us

through.Tiredaswewere,wehadtofocusonwhatweweredoing.Itwasn’t

easy.

A panzer spotted us and let go with his 88. The round was low and passed

underourtankbelly,betweenthetracks.

“Hit’im,gunner!”Joeyelledintotheintercom.
Ifiredathimandglancedaroundoffthesideofhisturret.JoeorderedGraver

tomaneuverusoutoftheirrange.Butthenasecondpanzerappearedonthenext

street.Gravermanagedtogetusaroundthecornerandbehindafactorybuilding

beforetheycouldhitus.Atthebackofthefactory,hesawanentrancetothe

buildingsetbackfromtheroad,anarrowinsetinthebuildingitself.Hebacked

thetankintothisentranceway,butnotsofarthatwedidn’thaveagoodviewof

theroad.Wewereinplacewhenthefirstofthetwopanzersmovedslowlyinto

viewfromtheright.

“Waittillyouhaveadeadshot,”saidJoe.“Theyhaven’tseenusyet.”
Assoonasthepanzerwasinfullview,Ifiredatthedrivesprocket.Itlooked

likeIshatteredit.Beforethegunnerofthepanzercouldwindhisturretaround

tofire,Ihithimagain,thistimeontheleftsponson.Wewererewardedwithan

explosivedisplayasflamesbrokeout.

At that moment, the second panzer rolled into view—they knew where we

were.Wehadnoplacetogo,soIpreparedtofireagain.ButbeforeIcouldhit

thesolenoid,thecrewofthissecondpanzercameoutoftheirhatches,waving

white cloths of surrender. They never tried to fire a shot! Joe waited to make

suretheywereunarmed,thenclimbedoutoftheturretandwenttomeetthem.

WewatchedasJoeandtheGermantankcommandercommunicated.Hecame

backtothetankandinformedCaptainHarkinaboutthesurrender.

“They’renotsureaboutwhattodo,”Joeexplained.
The captain’s response was brief. “Tell them to do what all the other

surrenderingGermansaredoing—giveupandmarchwithhandsontheirheads

towardthewestendofthecity.”

“Whydidtheygiveupwithoutafight?”IaskedJoe.
“Seems they were out of ammunition, and out of enthusiasm for the Nazi

cause.Nomorestomachforcombat.Theyknowit’soverforthem.”

We were forced to hold our position, since our way was blocked by the

panzers.Joehadaskedthetankcommanderofthesurrenderingpanzertoplease

movetheirtank,butforsomereasonheneverdid.

“Shorty,”Joecalledovertheintercom,“doyouthinkyoucouldfigureouthow

tomovethattank?”

“Hell,”saidShorty,“howhardcanitbe?JusthopeIcangetintothedriver’s

hatch.”

We watched Shorty waddle toward the panzer and climb onto the tank. He

seemedtohavetroubleatfirstopeningthehatch.Thenwesawhimcrawlin.For

several minutes we just waited while nothing happened. Suddenly, a burst of

exhaustindicatedthatourassistantdriverhadfiguredoutthepanzer.Hejerked

itaroundabit,butfinallybackeditoutofthewayassmoothlyasifitwereone

ofourown.Wecouldn’thelpcheering.Shortywaddledbackmatter-of-factly,as

though it was something he did every day. And he waved off our “hero’s

welcome,”growling,“Anydamnfoolcoulddriveoneofthosetraps.”

ThecommandcameforTaskForceWelborntoholditspositionuntilfurther

communication. It was April 22, and most of the fighting for Dessau was now

restricted to the north, where the 32nd Armored Regiment and accompanying

infantrywerestillengagedinintensefighting.TheGermanswerewellpositioned

behindbarricades.Theendfinallycamefollowingamassivefrontalattackonthe

Germandefenseline,whichbroughttheGermanstotheirknees.Thisbattlewas

over.

When news of the defeat was forwarded to the various commands, a great

cheerwentupfromtroopseverywhere.Whenwegottheword,wejoinedthe

cheering.Exceptforpocketsofstubbornresistanceinthecity,Dessauhadbeen

taken. At last, exhausted and aching as we were, we could smile as we stood

aroundourtank,smokingandtalking.Petehadabiggrinonhisfaceashecame

overtomeandshookmyhand.

“Iguessthejitterspaidoff,”hesaid,stillshakingmyhand.“Wereweateam

orwhat!”

“Wewere—are—ateam,”Iemoted.
Shortycameover,andPeteshookhishand,too.
“Wecouldn’thavedoneitwithoutya,Shorty,”hesmiled.“Where’sGraver?”
“Ah’m here,” came his voice from the driver’s hatch. “Ah need a li’l

celebration.”

Gravercameoutwithabottleofcognachehadsavedfornow.
“Thoughty’allmightjoinmeinatoast.”
We passed the bottle around, and I felt the cognac warm my gut in a very

pleasant way. Then Joe appeared from a discussion with one of his tank

commanderbuddies,smokinghiscelebrationcigarandlookingprettyhappy.

“Yo!Savemeashotofthatjuice!”hecalled.
Therewasjustenoughliquortocheerusall.JoelookedatGraverwithawry

smile.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” he said, laughing as he did so. “You had that

goddamnbottlestashedawayallthetime,didn’tyou?”

“Yeah,butAhdidn’ttouchadropofituntilnow!”Graversaiddefensively.
“Iknow,”saidJoe.“You’reagoodman,Graver.Withouttheboozeyoudida

hellofajob.”

The bottle empty, we felt pretty relaxed. I didn’t notice my fatigue quite as

muchasIhad,butsuddenlyIrealizedhowhungryIwas.Iwalkedaroundthe

tank,lookingforthebattlescarsIknewitmusthave.Isawanumberofchinks

andgougesintheheavyarmorplateonthefrontandtheturret.Idoubtedthata

Sherman could have withstood that shell fire. It was the extra armor that had

savedus.

We remained at the ready for the rest of the day. I ate some K rations and

managedtogetanapsittingintheturret.Myeyesburnedandmyheadached.I

sleptforanhourorso,andthenwokeuptothesoundofmanyvoices.Outside,

several of the crews were gathered, swapping stories and smoking. Captain

Harkin appeared and reminded the men that we were supposed to be at the

ready.Hecomplimentedthecrewsontheirexcellentperformance.

“Oneindicationofagoodfightingunitishowfewmenarelost,”hesaid.“Our

company lost three men—two wounded and one dead. Considering the heavy

fighting,that’sahellofarecord.Welostquiteafewofourdoughs,thoughI

don’thavethenumbersyet.”

OnTuesday,April24,1945,thebattleofDessauwasofficiallyover.Thousands

of German prisoners were being loaded on trucks for their trip to prisoner

compounds.Thisrounduptookmostofthedayasthetrucksferriedtheprisoners

totherear.Thewarwasoverforthem,andatlastwecoulddarehopethatit

was over for us as well. We had no indication that we would be moving on

towardBerlin.TheRussians,itseemed,hadbeengrantedthedubioushonorof

takingBerlin,andweweretoldthatsomeRussianunitshadreachedtheElbeand

werefraternizingwithAmericanstroops.

Thenextday,thetwenty-fifth,answeredouruncertainties.TheAlliedfrontin

the West was now stable. To our joy, we received word that the 3rd Armored

Divisionwastoberelievedbythe9thInfantryDivision.Thismeantthatwehad

completedourcombatmissionandwouldbepullingback.

“Wherearewegoing?”IaskedJoe.

“Damned if I know. Only thing I heard is that we would pull back to some

temporarybivouacorsomething.Afterthat,Isuppose,it’llbetheCBI.”

CBI—China,Burma,IndiaTheaterofOperations!
“Youdon’tthinkthey’dreallydothattous,doyou?”Iasked.
JoeandPetelaughedoutloudatmynaïveté.
“Whydoyathinktheyhaveus?”Joegrinned.“Hell,theyownus!”
Myfacegaveawaymyconcernatthisbitofdiscouragement.Peteofferedme

somecomfort.

“Don’t sweat it! By the time they ship us back to the States, retrain us for

junglewarfare,andshipusoutagain,thewarwillbefinishedthere,too.”

Iprayedhewasright.
PetesawLieutenantWilsonstandingbyoneofthetanks,circlinghisarmforus

togatheraround.

“Itlookslikewe’rethroughhere,”thelieutenantsaid.“At1300hours,we’reto

bereadytoroll.Gasandserviceyourtanks.We’llbemovingbacktothevicinity

ofSangerhausen.That’salltheinformationIhaveatpresent.Anyquestions?”

Onequestion:“Areweonourwayhome?”
Thelieutenantknittedhisbrowandsaid,“WishIcouldgiveapositiveonthat,

butI’vehadnoword.Sorry.”

At1300hours,the3rdArmoredDivisionbeganthetrekbackovertheroadwe

hadtraveledtogethere,ourtankcannonssecuredoverthebackdecks.Inthis

case,thegunbarrelwasfacedtowardthebackandlockedinaring-mount.No

need to be battle-ready now. The Germans had given up. And the evidence of

theirdefeatlitteredthefieldsandtheroadsideaswewent.Notallofthelitter

wasGerman,ofcourse.TherewereShermansandhalf-tracksamongthedebris,

remindersthatourroadhadnotbeenaneasyone.Irodeonthebackdeckwith

Joe and Pete. Shorty was driving while Graver snored in the assistant driver’s

seat.Wehadbeenmovingforaboutanhourwhentheconvoyhalted.Wewere

informedthatwewouldbetreatedtohotshowers.

Hotshowers!Incredible!
Theshowerwasamakeshiftaffairinthemiddleofafield.Herethreecanvas

enclosures were each topped by a homemade watertank fed by large hoses

reachingtoacreek.Gasolinepumpsbroughtthewatertospecialtanks,which

warmed the water with gas heaters, and thence to the watertanks on high.

Yankeeingenuityhaddevisedthistechnologicalwonder.Thelogistics,however,

left something to be desired. The men were admitted in groups, twenty to a

shower.GIslinedupandtrudgednakedthroughtheankle-deepmudaroundthe

showers.Onceinside,theyweregivenoneminutetogetwet—showersoff—one

minutetolather,ifonecouldfindacakeofsoapinthemuddybathathisfeet—

oneminutetorinse,afterwhichitwasoutsideintothechilltowalkthroughthe

mudbacktogetdressed.Notowels!Justcoldairtodryus.Yetnoonereally

complained.Infact,themudprovidedagreatopportunityforguystoengagein

yetanotherbattle.“Boyswillbe…”

DESTINYANDDISAPPOINTMENT

ur battalion was directed to a former SS camp in the vicinity of

Sangerhausen, where we would have barracks to live in, bunks to sleep on,

showers,andamesshall,luxurieswehadallbutforgottenabout.Itmatterednot

awhitthatthewaterwasnotveryhot,thefoodhotbutnotverygood,andthe

bunksbareplanks—nomattresses.Weshoweredincool(butnotcold)water,ate

thefoodasthoughitwereMom’shomecookin’,andfellontothebunksinourGI

sleepingbags,straightintothearmsofsweetoblivion.

Noonewokeusinthemorning.Wheneverwegotup,weweredirectedtothe

messhallforabreakfastofpancakes,Spam,andcoffee.Idon’tthinkanyofus

realizedhownearlydeadweallwere.Westartedcomingbacktolife,however.

Forthefirsttwodays,wewereprettymuchallowedtorestandrehabilitate.It

was a very easy life to get used to, no regimentation other than keeping our

barracksandourselvesclean—andshaven.

TheSScampwasenclosedunderadenseumbrellaoftrees,excellentcoverfor

amilitarypost.Itwashardtotellwhetherthesunwasshiningornotwhenwe

gotupinthemorning.Attheedgeofthecampwasalineofshedsunderwhich

wehadparkedthetanks.Thehalf-tracksandothervehicleswerelinedupina

fieldfacingthesheds.Thecampcomprisedalargesquareaquarterofamileon

eachside,linedwithbarracks,withaconcretepavementpassinginfrontofthe

barracks.Alongthenorthedgeofthecompoundweretheofficers’quarters,mess

hall,infirmary,supplyshack,andsoforth.

Ireallydidn’tmindwhenmynamecameupforguarddutyamongthefirst.

Guard duty was limited to watching over the tanks and other motorized

equipment.Therewasalsoagasolinedumpandanammodumpincludedinthe

duty package. It wasn’t tough duty, two hours on, four hours off, twenty-four

hourseachmount.Guardmountstartedat1700hours.Istillhadmygreasegun,

which,incidentally,Ihadneverfiredincombat.I’dfounditlyinginthemudin

Espchenrodeafterourtankwasknockedout.Iwasn’tsureifitwouldstillshoot

bullets—oranythingelse,forthatmatter.

None of the officers was available as duty officer, so a noncom filled in.

Sergeant Meadows from Company D got the six of us who had guard duty

together.

“Okay,look,”hesaidquietly,“we’reallprettysickofthesightoftanksright

now,butthey’veserveduswell.Okay!Ipstanowics[hemangledthisonebadly]

and Firth—first trick. Irwin and Smedley—second, 1900 to 2100 hours. Rivera

andMarchison—2100to2300hours.ThenIpstanowicsandFirthandsoon.”

Helookedathiswatch,thenathisdutyroster,asthoughfishingforsomething

militarytosayandfinallysettledfor“Don’tsleepatyourpost!Okay.That’sit.”

Itwasawonderfulguardmount,withnottheslightestresemblancetothose

we had had to put up with at Fort Knox. No “Ten-shut!” or arms and uniform

inspection,whichwouldhavebeensillyhere.Thefourofuswhowerenoton

dutywentourwaystoawaitourshifts.

Afteronlytwodays,wehadfallenintoalovelyroutineofeatingdecentmeals,

playingalittlesoccerorbadminton,doingabitofuntaxingguardduty,letter

writing,andconstructiveloafing.Germancookshadbeenhiredforourmess,and

local German laundry service was provided for our uncleanable uniforms and

indescribableunmentionables.Butwewerepromisedanissueoffreshclothing

“shortly,”meaningsometimebeforewereturnedStateside.

AndthenSecondLieutenantShankershappened.Noonehadsaidanythingto

us about any new officers. But apparently no one had informed our battalion

command,either.Wewere,nevertheless,favoredwiththeadditionofoneofthe

U.S.Army’sfinest,SecondLieutenantPollisShankers,freshfromtheStates,no

combatexperience,hisOCScommissionnotquitedryyet.Regulararmy.Bestof

recommendations. No previous command experience. (Gotta start somewhere!)

Hadrequested“warzone”duty.

ItwasachillyTuesdaymorning,andat0600hours(anextremelyearly0600

hours,asIrecall),apiercingreferee’swhistleshriekedthroughthecompound.

“Turn that fuckin’ thing off!”—“Go fuck yourself!”—“Up your ass with that

fuckin’whistle!”—“Gotohell!”—“Blowitoutyourass!”Theseweresomeofthe

morecourteousejaculationsthatgreetedthesecondlieutenant’ssignal.

“Five minutes!” came the official command. “Any man not out here and

dressedinfiveminuteswillbeonreportandsubjecttoacompanyreprimand!”

It took close to twenty minutes before about thirty percent of the men

stumbledoutoftheirbarrackstotheparadegroundinthecentralsquare.

SecondLieutenantShankersstoodwithhishandsonhiships,afiercefrownon

his smooth-shaven face, outlandishly attired in spit-and-polished uniform—

including a shiny gold bar—and glared at the men before him. It was his first

viewofthem.

“EveryoneofyouisadisgracetotheuniformoftheUnitedStatesArmy!”he

yelled.“Justlookatyou!Lookatyouruniforms!Howcanyoucallyourselves

soldiers?”

“Oh,goshitinyourhatandpullitdownoveryourears!”mutteredaT4from

CompanyC.

Thelieutenantwalkedovertohimandglaredintohiseyes.
“I hope you didn’t say what I think you said!” exclaimed Second Lieutenant

Shankerswithasnarl.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” growled the soldier, a veteran of four months of

continuouscombat.“Thewar’sover—we’regoin’home.”

LieutenantShankers,outraged,clearedhisthroat.
“Yourname,Soldier!Yourname,rank,andserialnumber!”heroared.
Themanstifledhisanger.
“Lieutenant,I’mSergeantRobertJohnson,13593224.AmIaprisonerofwar,

sir?”

“You’re on report, Sergeant. For disrespect to an officer of the United States

Army!”

“Fuckyou,”mutteredSergeantJohnsonunderhisbreath.
“That, too, will be reported!” exclaimed the exasperated second louie. He

turnedtotheprivatewhoheldtheclipboard.“Gotthat,Private?”

“Oh,yes,sir!”snappedtheprivate,whoseclipboardwascompletelyblank.
Second Lieutenant Shankers then decided to deliver a lecture on military

courtesyanddiscipline.Hewasoutragedattheappearance,unmilitaryattitude,

andgenerallaxityofthemenbeforehim.Heassuredusthatthatwouldchange.

Hewouldtoleratenomoresuchunmilitarybehaviorandnomoredisrespectto

anofficeroftheUnitedStatesArmy.Heexpectedeachofustoshapeupandlive

uptoouruniformsandbehaveinacompletelymilitarymanner.

“You are soldiers—soldiers!—representatives of your country. If you have an

ounceofprideandpatriotism,youwillbearyourselvesaccordingly.”

Hepausedandlookedfiercelyupanddowntheranks.
“HaveImademyselfquiteclear?”heshouted.
TherewasaPFCfromCompanyC,atall,skinnyguywithblack,stragglyhair

andbadskin,whodecidedthatheneededclarification.

“ ’Scuse me, sir,” he called out, waving an arm toward Second Lieutenant

Shankerslikeaschoolkid.“Arewebackinbasictrainin’orsomethin’?”

The outburst of laughter echoed through the compound and lasted much

longerthanSecondLieutenantShankerscouldhaveliked.

TheWhistleagain.
Quietoncemore(exceptforsnickers).
“I want you men to understand,” snarled Second Lieutenant Shankers, “that

youareoneandallstillintheUnatedStites—Imean,UnitedStatesArmy.Atthe

moment,youareundermycommand.Youwill—”

Themencouldnotrestraintheirlaughter.Itwentonuncontrollablyforovera

minute.

SecondLieutenantShankersstoodsilentlybeforethemenuntilthehumiliating

laughterfinallydieddown.

The young officer faced the combat-weary troops and tried not to appear

defeated.Hewas,afterall,atthemomenttheirsuperiorofficer,andtheywere

still required by law to obey his commands. He calculated; he strategized; he

redirectedhisthinking.

“Iwilldetainyounolongeratthistime,”hesaidquietly.“Butthenexttime,I

willexercisemyauthorityasanofficeroftheUnitedStatesArmy.Youmaythink

youaresomehowexemptfrommyauthority,butIassureyou,youarenot.AndI

willusethatauthoritytowhateverlengthImusttoteachyousomethingabout

militarycourtesyandorder!”

Hestoodglaringatusforseveralmoments.
“DISMISSED!”heshoutedandleft.
Hewalkedawaywithaswagger.Themenbrokeupranksandwatchedhimin

disbelief.Itwasanabsurdperformance,andnooneknewwhattomakeofit.

Theystoodinsmallgroups,discussingthisnewphenomenonthatcouldhardly

havebeenexpectedtoboostmorale.Gradually,theybrokeupandwenttotheir

barracks, most of them grumbling, some laughing. The mood seemed to have

beenoneofdoggedresignation—howlongcoulditalllast?

At 1200 hours, the piercing sound of The Whistle brought a new round of

profanity,mostlystifled.

“Fall out!” came the commanding voice of Second Lieutenant Shankers. “On

thedouble!”

Theycameoutinvariousdegreesofdressorundress,severalwithnobootson

theirfeet.Theyformedanuntidyclusterthatvaguelyresembledalinefacingthe

young officer. This time Second Lieutenant Shankers presented a slightly more

conciliatoryattitude.

“I’vebeeninformed,”hebeganslowly,“thatyoumenhavejustreturnedfrom

combatduty.Thatwouldexplainyoursurlyandunmilitarybehavior.”

Hepaused,lookingupanddownthenon-line.
“Iamwillingtobepatient,uptoapoint.Itis,however,mydutyasyourdrill

officertorestructureyourrecalcitrantattitudes—”

“Drillofficer?”yelpedCorporalBenningfromCompanyB.
SecondLieutenantShankerswalkedovertohim.
“This is an example of what I intend to eliminate. Private,” he said, turning

towardthemanwiththeclipboard,“Iwantthisman’snameandserialnumber.

AndthistimeIwillinspectwhatyouhavewrittendown.”

Andsoitwasthatthisbattalionwastobereeducatedinthefineartofmilitary

discipline,including,welearned,close-orderdrill!Itbeganatonce.Itmayhave

been the most frustrating afternoon of Second Lieutenant Shankers’s life.

Doggedly,however,hepursuedhispurpose,listingeveryinfraction,incidentof

disrespect,anditemofinsubordination,ofwhichthereweremany.Mostofthe

men attempted to go through the motions more or less correctly, but without

zest.Therewasverylittleintheirperformancetocheeramilitaryman’sheart.At

last,afterhalfanhourofunsatisfactory“parade,”weweredismissed.

JoeandPetewerealreadyinthebarrackswhenIgotback.Ishookmyhead.
“Ican’tstandmuchmoreofthischickenshit,”Igrumbled.
“Don’tletitgettoya.”Joegrinned.“Justenjoyit!It’lldoyagood.”
Itsuddenlydawnedonme.Neitherofthemhadbeenoutthere.
“How’dyouguysescapethetorture?”Iasked.
Theylookedateachother,grinning.
“How’s he gonna know whether you’re there or not? He has no roster of

names.Doesn’tcallroll,”Petesaidmatter-of-factly.

ButPetehaditwrong.NotonlydidSecondLieutenantShankershavearoster

ofeachofthecompanies,hehadtheChargeofQuarterspostadutyrosteron

eachofthebulletinboardstheSScommandhadplacedsoconvenientlyabout

thecompound.OntherostersweresuchdutiesasAreaPolicing,LatrineOrderly,

Motor Pool, Guard Duty, Officers’ Assistance, and a mysterious item called

Watch.Nooneknewwhatthatmeant.InallthetimeIhadbeeninGermanyI

hadnotheardsuchbitchingasIheardfromtheclustersgatheredattheseduty

rosters.The generalconsensus was thatthese “duties”were “pure chickenshit”

andthatthis“chickenshitsecondlouie”should“havehisballstiedinaknot!”

Strangely,Irarelysawanyofourownbattalionofficersaboutthecompound.I

hadn’t seen Captain Harkin since we arrived. I began to worry about our

predicament. Were we being retrained to go to the South Pacific? This new

secondlouiedidnotfitinwithourcombatworld—ex-combatworld—atall.It

seemedthatourR&Rwasbeingtransformedintosomethingominous,something

almostsurreal,somethingquitehateful.Ifeltmoralefallingallovertheplace.

At1700hours,SecondLieutenantShankersheldaRetreat,somethingIhadnot

eventhoughtaboutsinceleavingFortKnox.Ihadn’tnoticedtheflagpoleinthe

centerofthecompoundwiththenewAmericanflagwavingfromit.And,miracle

of miracles, there was military music coming from a portable speaker by the

flagpole. Bless his regimented heart! Second Lieutenant Shankers had acquired

recorded bugle calls to go with the ceremony. All companies were called to

attentionasRetreatwasplayedandtheflagloweredbyasergeantandaprivate

fromoneofthecompanies,alltroopsstandingat“Presentarms!”(butwithout

thearms).

It was never clear to anyone what point there was to this sudden revival of

extrememilitaryregimen.Afewdaysago,thesemenwerelockedinalife-and-

deathstrugglewithNazimadmen,goingwithoutsleepandfood,watchingdeath

anddestructioneverywherearoundthemandfightingfortheirverylives.And

nowthis.Idecidedtotakeastrollaroundthewholecompoundjusttoseethe

place.Beforethis,Ihadtakennointerestinit.Ihadn’trealizedhowlargethe

area was, probably because of the trees. My walk brought me to the officers’

quarters, a large residence containing numerous apartments. No wonder we

hadn’tseenourofficers.Iimaginedthattheyweredelightedtohavesomeyoung

dutyofficerstuckwith“takingcare”ofthemen.

Bychance,someonecameoutoftheofficers’quartersjustthenandIalmost

bumpedintohim.Isuddenlyrealizedwhoitwas.

“CaptainHarkin,sir,”Iexclaimed.
Hesmiledbroadlyatme.
“It’sMajorHarkinnow,”hesaidquietly.“Mypromotionhasbeenpendingfor

sixmonths.Finallycamethrough.Doyouthinkitsuitsme?”Hewaswearinga

greenoverseascapwithashinygoldleafonit.

WasthistheinfamousCaptainHarkinwhohadshatteredmymilitarycareer

notsolongago?

“Itsuitsyoufine,sir,”Isaid.“Youareagoodcommandingofficer.”
Hechuckledlightly,keepinghiseyesonme.“Youknow,whenIfirstmetyou,

Corporal, I honestly hoped I’d never see you again. But—and I mean this

sincerely—yourcombatrecordisfirstclass.Iamgladyou’vebeenapartofmy

command.”

Iwasflabbergastedandtongue-tied.Couldn’t“sink”ofwhatto“thay.”
“How’sthatnewlieutenantworkingout?”heaskedinhisusualdirectmanner.
“Oh,Idon’tthinkyouwanttohearaboutthat!”Iexclaimed.
Hefrowned.“OfcourseIdo!I’vebeenputinchargeofhim.Howishe?Good?

Bad?Halfandhalf?”

Ihesitated,notknowinghowmuchIshouldsay.Iattemptedtobediscreetin

my appraisal of Second Lieutenant Shankers. But I also wanted the major to

understandthatthemenwerenothappy.

When I finished, he said, “Thank you, Corporal. Thanks for your candor. I

appreciateyouropinion.”

IwasbarelyfinishedwithmylittletourwhenIheardTheWhistle.
“Onthedouble!”shoutedSecondLieutenantShankers.
Onceagainthemenmoreorlesslinedup.

“Ihavereceivedorderstoinformyou,oneandall,thathenceforththerewill

be absolutely no fraternization with the enemy. None! Zero! That means: no

friendlyconversationswithGermancivilians,noexchangingorbarteringofany

kind. You are not to give them such things as rations, equipment, fuel, food

items,clothing—nothing.”SecondLieutenantShankerswasathismostofficious

inthispresentation.

Oneofthemen—Icouldn’tseewho—calledout,“Hey,Lieutenant,canwekiss

’emifwedon’ttalkto’em?”

At that moment, I noticed Major Harkin approaching to the rear of the

lieutenant.ItwasnotagoodmomentforSecondLieutenantShankerstolosehis

temper.Buthedid.Hewenttothepartofthelinewherethevoicehadcome

from,andinanenragedvoiceordered“whoeverhadmadethatremark”tocome

forward.Noonedid,ofcourse.Withoutwaitinganylonger,heorderedtheentire

collectionofmento“ten-shut!”thento“rightface,”andto“forwardmarch.”

“Hup!Hup!Hup!”calledthelieutenant.
“Hup!Hup!Hup!”mimickedsomeoneloudlyandoutofcadence.
Before the young officer could do another thing, Major Harkin came over

behind him and cleared his throat. The lieutenant looked around, saluted, and

themajorreturnedthesalute.

“MayIhaveawordwithyou,Lieutenant?”heaskedquietly.
SecondLieutenantShankerscalledthemento“Halt!”Heandthemajorthen

started to walk away together. They stopped, and the major called, “At ease,

men.Fallout!”

For some wonderful reason, we never saw or heard of Second Lieutenant

Shankersagain.Hisassignment,itseems,wassomeone’sbonerinheadquarters,

someone who had a vague idea of what sort of creature Second Lieutenant

Shankerswasbutnoideaofwhattodowithhim.Whateverthefinaldisposition

ofSecondLieutenantPollisShankerswas,atleastwedidn’thavetoknowabout

it.

“What’s this stuff about fraternizing?” I asked Joe, figuring Joe knew

everything.

Heshrugged.“Noidea!FirsttimeIeverheardofit.”
Graver,whowasnotassignedtoourbarracks,cameinlookingabitshaky,soI

figuredhewashuntingforboozesomewhere.

“Hey,Graver,”calledPete,“whatdoyouknowaboutthisfraternizationban?”
Graverseemedtohavegoodconnectionsintherumormill.
“It’strue.NofraternizingwiththeGermans.Ahhearthere’sasixty-fourdollar

fineifyougetcaught.Anyonegotsomethingtodrink?”

“Oh,” said Joe, “too cheap to pay sixty-four dollars for something to drink,

eh?”

Sixty-fourdollarswasmorethanIearnedinamonth.ButIcouldn’tfigureout

whattheproblemwas.

“Why’retheydoingthis?”Iasked.
Nobodyseemedtoknow.Mustbeaproblemsomewhere.Intimewefoundout

thatinsomeareasGIswerebarteringarmyproperty,includingfood,PXrations,

clothing,andthelike—evengasoline—withtheGermanfräuleinsinexchangefor

the loving relations they were not getting from their wives or girlfriends. The

term“fraternizing”quicklybecamesynonymouswith“shackingup.”(Ultimately,

both of these notions were neatly covered by “spazieren,” literally, “to take a

walk.”“Hey,Frawlein!Dugayspazierenmitme?”GIsweremarvelouslinguists

—aslongassexorboozewereinvolved.)

I volunteered for guard duty just to give my life some purpose. R&R was a

blessedantidotetothoseinterminableweeksofcombat,butIwasbeginningto

feelreadytoliveagain.ThatmeantthatIneededtohavesomethingdefiniteto

do.Soguardduty,whichmadelittleactualdemandonaman,seemedlikethe

rightwaytogo.Iwasonthesecondshift,whichputmeondutyfromoneto

threeonTuesdayafternoon.Itwasawarm,sunnydayinMay,andIwassmoking

andbaskingandrejoicingthattheworldwassuchapleasantplace.Iwasleaning

againstatank,myeyesclosed,daydreamingthatIwasresistingtheadvancesof

RuthieCollins,whodesperatelywantedmetotakeherinmyarms…

Somethingtookmeoutofmyreverieandmademeopenmyeyes.Notmore

thanfifteenfeetaway,staringatmewithhuge,darkeyes,wasalittlegirl,about

fiveyearsold.Shejuststoodthere,staringatmebetweenthestragglystrandsof

darkbrownhairdanglinginherface.IblinkedseveraltimestomakesureIwas

backfrommyreverie.Ismiledatherinmyfriendliestmanner.

“Hi, there,” I said, then tried to think of something I could say in German.

“Uh…hastdueinName?”

Shejuststaredatmeandsaidnothing.
“Let’ssee,”Imuttered,thentried,“WoistdeinHaus?”
Sheturnedandpointedinadirectionbehindherbutmadenosound.
A brilliant idea struck me. I reached in my pocket for the pack of Wrigley’s

SpearmintGumIusuallycarried.Itookoutastickandhelditouttoher.

She came over and grabbed it and hurried back. She opened it and started

bitingofftinypiecesandeatingthem.

“You’resupposedtochew it, not swallow it,” I told her gently, knowing full

wellsheunderstoodnotoneword.

“Uh … chew!” I repeated, demonstrating the chewing movements with my

mouth.

Sheseemedtogettheideaandstartedbitingandchewinguntiltheentirestick

was in her mouth. Then for the first time, she smiled at me. It was all the

gratitudeIneeded.

“SprechenEnglish?”Iasked,forsomedumbreason.
Sheshookherhead.
“SprechenDeutsch?”
Againsheshookherhead.
“Wasdusprechen?”IaskedinmyhopelesslybadGerman.
Shesimplyraisedhershoulders,theinternationalgesturefor“Idon’tknow.”It

occurredtomethatshesimplydidnottalk.Strange.Whatasweetlittlechild,I

thought.Herdresswasabitfadedandshabbybutclean.Sheworesmallboots

with scuffed toes. I always enjoyed the company of kids, but this little girl

completelydisarmedme.Smallchildrenhaveawayoflookingatadultsinan

unnerving manner, as though they can see things in you that even you don’t

knowarethere.

“Hastdueinemomma?”Istumbled.
She nodded and continued to chew. She obviously enjoyed the gum. How I

wishedshecouldtalkwithme.ThenIrememberedmyscoutknife.Ialwayshad

itwithme—bigblade,smallblade,awl,andscrewdriver–bottleopenercombo.I

pulleditoutandshowedittoher.Shecameovertomeandstudiedit,watching

me open the blades, one at a time. Then she held out her hand for it. I first

showedherhowsharpthebladeswere.

“Gottabecareful—oosh!”Isaid,simulatingcuttingmyself.
Shetooktheknifefromme,studieditforafewminutes,andsimplywalked

away with it. She had gone ten or fifteen steps when she turned and smiled

broadly at me and gave a little wave. I smiled faintly and waved vaguely in

return,nothavingthefaintestideaofwhattodo.Iwasn’tgivinghertheknife,

butsheobviouslythoughtIwas.AndIdidn’thavethehearttotrytogetitback

fromher.Iwasgladitmadeherhappy,butIhadhadthatknifesincemydaysin

theBoyScouts,andIreallydidnotwanttopartwithit.

I watched the little girl go down the dirt lane leading away from the

compound.Icouldnottellwhereshewent.Asmallvillageperhaps,butitwas

some distance away. Well, I thought, that’s the end of my scout knife. I lit a

cigaretteandwentbacktoleaningagainstatank.Iwentovertheepisodeinmy

mindandgottowonderingwhetherIwasguiltyoffraternizingwiththeenemy.

Oh,buttheonlythingIhadgivenawaywasmyownproperty,notUncleSam’s.

Nerts!

Tuesday,May8,1945,wasdeclaredVEDay,thoughourbattalionfoundout

aboutitonWednesday.Itwasavictoriousfeeling,ifabitanticlimacticforus.

Wehadalreadybeenlulledintoapostwarfeeling.Nevertheless,thateveningwe

were treated to a special meal, including real beef (not Spam), real mashed

potatoes (not the dehydrated variety), gravy, green beans (canned, of course),

fresh-madebread,realbutter,coffee,andstrawberryshortcake(minusonlythe

strawberries)fordessert.Andcognac!Therewasagreatdealofcheer,laughter,

andloudtalkingatthetables.

It was at this meal that Colonel Marsh, battalion second-in-command,

addressedusandinformedusthatthemenofthe3rdArmoredDivisionwould

very soon be on their way home. That was as far as he got, for a tremendous

cheer resounded so loudly that any Germans within earshot probably ran for

cover.Itwasamomentofecstasy.Graverwassittingnexttome,andIactually

huggedhim,causinghimtospillhiscoffeeinhislap.

“Ahdon’tcare!”hegrinned.“Y’allcandumpthewholeblessedthingonmef’r

allAhcare.Ah’ma-goin’HOME!”

Thatdivineword“HOME”echoedfromallpartsofthemesshall.Itwasthe

reasonwehadallkeptgoing.Theconversationsseemedtobefocusingonwhat

we’ddofirstwhenwegot“inthefrontdoor.”Thingslike:“ThesecondthingI

plan to do is take off my boots.” “I’m gonna paper the bedroom ceiling with

funnypaperssomywifewon’tgettoobored.”“Iplantokissallmykids,feed

’emsleepingpills,put’emtobed,andhopetheysleepforaweek.That’show

muchtimemeandJeannie’llbeneedin’.”“First,I’mgonnaeatacouplegallons

oficecreamandatonofhotdogs,andthenIplantogetseriousabouteatin’.”

Aftertheracketquieteddownsomewhat,ColonelMarshstoodupagainand

continued.

“Now,men,Iknowhowanxiousy’allaretogithome,butthere’sastickerin

thehorse’sass.Wegoin’tohavetoputupwithapointsystem.Wecan’tallgo

homeatthesametime.”

Ahugegroanswelledthroughthemesshall.
“Now,don’tIknowit!”hesympathized.“Butthat’showit’sgottabe.Wedon’t

havemanydetailsyet,butitseemsweallgonnagetpointsforallsortsofthings,

likebein’inacombatzone—”

Agreatcheer,lastingnearlyaminute.
“—thelongeryoubeenhere,thesooneryougohome.”
Anothercheer,notentirelyunanimous.
“Andyougetpointsforbein’married—”
Aloudwhoopfromthemarriedmen.

“—andpointsforeachofyourkiddies—”
Crescendo!Lotsofdaddiesinthisbunch.
“—pointsforeachservicestar—”
Yeah!
“—pointsforyo’PurpleHeart—”
“Yo!”“Whoopee!”“Worthmorethanamilliondollars!”
“—pointsforyo’GoodConductMedal,whichmostofyoudon’deserve—”
Lotsoflaughter.
“—an’pointsfo’bein’handsome,whichnoneo’yougonnaget!”
ColonelMarsh’sMississippihumorwastherighttouchfortheoccasion.While

most men didn’t know him, he was instantly popular. He could probably have

runforpresidentandthesemenwouldhaveelectedhiminalandslide.

Itwasapeakmomentforallthecombatveterans,atimethatseemedalmost

tojustifytheirmonthsofmisery.Fromhereitwasalldownhill.Therewouldbe

someanxietyuntilwelearnedhowmanypointseachofuswasworthandhow

thatrelatedtothetimeofourdeparture.

OnThursday,May10,thefirstofthehigh-pointmenreceivedofficialnoticeof

their redeployment to the States. It caused jubilation among them and

disappointmentfortheothers.PeteandJoewerebothamongthosewhogottheir

notices. I envied them, but, in truth, I wasn’t resentful. They deserved to go

home.NotthatIdidn’t,butIknewmyshortterm,nomatterhowgooditmay

havebeen,wasnotenoughtoputmeupwiththem.ButIdidbegintoresent

someofthosegoinghome,especiallywhenIsawapictureinStarsandStripesof

atrainloadedwithGIsgoinghome.Plasteredacrossthesideofthetrainwasa

hugesignthatread:

FATHERS ON THEIR WAY HOME—OVER HERE LESS THAN A WEEK

! My

adolescentviewpointwas:“Itisn’tfair!”AndIwasoutraged.

Itwas,ofcourse,eminentlyfairthatfathersshouldreturntotheirfamiliesas

soonaspossible,whethercombatvetsornot.Itwouldhavebeenevenbetterhad

they never been drafted in the first place. But it was a total war, and every

resourceofthenationhadbeenbroughtintoplay.Thatmeantthatmarriedmen,

eventhosewithchildren,eventuallyhadtoenterthedraft.

It was tough watching all the high-point guys packing and chattering about

“release”and“freedomatlast.”Whileitdidn’tincludeGraverorme(Graverwas

justbelowthecut-offpoint,butwayaheadofme),Iwasastonishedtodiscover

thatitdidincludeShortyIrvin.SomehowI’dneverpicturedShortyasamarried

man,andafather—ofthree,noless.

“Two boys and a girl,” he said, with a grin. (I never knew he could grin,

either.)“IfyaevergettoMauchChunk,lookmeup.We’llgooutandtieoneon.”

Itookhisextendedhandandshookit.“Hopeeverything’sokaywhenyouget

home,Shorty,”Iofferedcautiously.

“Itwon’tbe!”exclaimedShorty.“Wife’sbeenshackin’withsomeassholestore

clerk.I’mgonnatakethekidsanddivorcetheslut.”

“Wow!”Iexclaimed.“Sorryaboutthat.”
“Hell,don’tbe.I’mgonnaenjoymakin’thebitchpay.Onlygoodthingabout

’erisIgetpointshereforbein’marriedto’er.AndI’mthinkingaboutshootin’

theprickshe’ssleepin’with,thesonofabitch.”

IguessIlookedshocked.
“Aah!Iwon’tdothat.Heain’tworthlifeinprison.ButI’llfindsomewayto

minehishole,believeme!”

Ibelievedhim.
Lifeisfullofsurprises,andarmylifeseemedtopresentagrandassortmentof

them.IactuallyfeltthatIwasgoingtomissShorty.NeverthoughtI’dfeelthat

way.Yetonefacetofmilitaryexistencewasthetransient,serendipitousnatureof

acquaintances.Heretoday,gonetomorrow;closecomradesnow,strangersoutof

uniform. Men who fought together in foxholes or in tanks sometimes fail to

noticeeachotheronMainStreet,wherestatusandclassdifferencesonceagain

meansomething.

Ivolunteeredagainforguarddutyjustforsomethingtodo.Iwasstartingto

feelabitempty.Somehow,standingguardwaswholesome.Itwasnecessary;no

one wanted to do it; but to me it meant time alone to think things over and

daydream.Itriedtodaydreamaboutsomemoreconstructivethingsthangirls.I

hadafuturetoconsider,andnowwasthetimetoconsiderit.Ihadn’tfinished

highschool,sothatwouldhavetocomefirst.ThenIwouldhavetothinkabouta

job.IcouldgobacktothePaolicarshopofthePennsylvaniaRailroad,ofcourse.

Thecompanieswererequiredtorehireveteranstotheiroldjobs.ButIhopedto

dosomethingmorethanthatwithmylife.

ItwasanotherniceafternoonasIstoodmylastguardshift,andIdecidedfor

somereasontotakemydumbgreasegunapart.ThoughIhadneverfiredit,the

barrelwasreallyfilthy;butIhadnocleaningequipment.SoIjustscrewedthe

barrelbackon.AndwhenIlookedup,thereinfrontofmewasmylittlefriend

whonowpossessedmyscoutknife.Andbesideherwasawoman,whomItookto

behermother.Thewomanheldupmyscoutknife.

“ThisMesser…uh…knifeyours?”sheasked,smilingasshedidso.
“Uh,yes,”Iadmitted.
Shefrownedatme.“ThisnogoodthingforKinder.”
“No,”Iadmitted.“Itwasamistake.”

“‘Mistake’?”shesaid,clearlynotunderstanding.
“Uh—nichtgut,uh,mitich,”Istruggled.
Sheunderstood.Thelittledearhadstolentheknife.Shestartedinonher,butI

stoppedher.

“Nein!”Isaidloudly.“Itwasamistake.”
“Ach,einIrrtum,”sheexclaimedwithanunderstandingsmile.“Ah.Sohier.”
Shehandedmemyknife,andIthankedher.
Thewholetime,thelittlegirllookedatmewitheyesexpressinghurt.Shedid

notunderstand.Ihadtothinkofsomething.Aha!Thehardchocolatebarinmy

Kration.Ifisheditoutandgaveittothegirl.Herjoymorethancompensatedfor

myembarrassment.

HermotherspoketoherquietlyinGerman.Shesmiledandextendedherhand.

I shook it and understood for certain now that the child could not speak. Her

mothersentheraway.ThenshespoketomeintheonlyEnglishsheknew.

“Yougoodsoldier.MeTanyanohavingfather.HekilledbyNazis.”Shemade

thegestureofshootingarifle.Igottheimpressionhewasshotbyafiringsquad.

“Ach!Nichtsgut,”Isaid,feelingreallysad.“AreyouGerman?”Iasked.
“Mich?”sheresponded,pointingtoherself.“No.IbeUkraine.MeTanyaisme

oneKind.”

She was an attractive woman, black hair, pleasant smile and face, slight of

build, and very feminine. She was the first DP I had actually met. Displaced

personswereeverywhereinGermany,mostofthemhavingbeenconscriptedas

slave laborers. This woman’s husband had probably been a slave laborer who

failedtopleasethesadisticNaziguards.AndlittleTanyahadnofather.Ismiled

atthewoman,feelingatendernessforher.Shecameovertome,tookmyfacein

hertwohands,andkissedmequitelongandsoftlyonmylips.

“Danke,Amerikaner,”shewhispered.“DankefürAlles.”
Shepressedaslipofpaperintomyhand,andthensheleftquickly.Istoodin

theauraofthemoment,untilIheardsomeonesay,“I’monnow,Irwin.”

Timetogooffduty.Buttheglowofthatwarmkissdidnotdissipate.Ilooked

attheslipofpaper.Onitwaswritten:“IlyaYevchenko,Ludwigerstrasse18.”

“Whatdoyoumakeofthis?”Iaskedmyrelief,PrivateJenkins.
“Isthatthewomanwhowasjusthere?”heasked.
“Yeah.Shekissedme,”Itoldhim.
Hegotawrysmileonhisface.
“Lookslikeyou’refacedwiththesixty-four-dollarquestion,”hesnickered.

“What’sthat?”Iaskednaïvely.
“You know, whether to fraternize or not. You go to this address and get

caught …” He drew his forefinger across his neck. “Sixty-four bucks down the

hole.”

“Notthisboy!”Iexclaimed.“Notthisclosetogoinghome.Here,youwantit?”

Iheldtheslipofpaperouttohim.

“Ican’tafforditanymore’nyoucan.”
Still,itwasthestuffthatfantasiesaremadeof.Romanticideas—sillyromantic

ideas—stirredmyvirginaltestosterone,andIdreamedofhavingmyfirstsexwith

Tanya’smother.

WhenIgotbacktothebarracks,fiveGIsweresittingontheirbunkswiththeir

fully packed barracks bags beside them. They had all been re-outfitted—new

uniforms,boots,underwear,fieldjackets—everythingtheyneeded.

“Hey,kid,”shoutedJoeasIentered.“Gladyougotbackbeforeweleft.”
“Youleavingsosoon?”Iasked.
“Soonasourtaxigetshere.Theysaidweweretoleaveby1500hours,butyou

knowthearmy—hurryupandwait!”

“Iwouldn’tmindwaitingifIcouldgowithyou,”Itoldhim,asIsatdownon

hisbunk.

“Look,kid—Jack,isn’tit?”
Inodded.
“Well,Jack,IwantedtotellyoubeforeIleftthatI’mdamngladyouweremy

gunner.Youdidahellofajob.Iwon’tforgetyou.Trynottoforgetme.”

“Wow!HowcouldI?YoutaughtmeeverythingIknowaboutcombat.”
“No,”hesnorted.“Ididn’tteachyouadamnthing.Youlearneditbyyourself.

Nobodyteachesyouaboutcombat.Can’tbedone.”

Evenaswespoke,wecouldhearthetruckscomingdowntheroadwayintothe

camp.Thecommandto“Falloutandmountup,allhigh-pointersleavin’onthis

train”broughtastumblingrushfromallthebarracks.Aboutseventymenpoured

outandstartedloadingbarracksbagsandthemselvesontothetwotrucks.My

envy index went through the roof as I saw them gleefully getting settled. I

consoledmyselfwiththethoughtthatmyturnwouldprobablycomenexttime.It

wasagoodthingformymoralethatIcouldn’tpredictthefuture.Itwouldbe

anotherfourteenmonthsbeforemyturnwastocome.

Iwatchedandwavedasthetrucksmovedout,afeelingoflonelinesswashing

overme.Icouldn’thelpfeelingabitsorryformyself—maybeawholelotsorry

formyself.ThenitoccurredtomethatIhadn’tgottenJoe’shomeaddress.Shit!

TOTHEMENOFSPEARHEAD

1944-1945

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Iamindebtedtotheofficialrecordofthe3rdArmoredDivision,Spearheadinthe

West, for certain details such as specific dates, several place names, and other

informationthathadfadedfrommymemoryovertheyears.

Iwishtoacknowledgethehelpandencouragementofmyeditor,BobLoomis,whose

firstcritiqueofthemanuscriptputmeontherighttrack.

ENDNOTE

Most combat veterans repress their memories of war chiefly because of the

radical contrast between the world of combat and the ordinary civilian world

theyhadbeenraisedinandreturnedto.Thereisscarcelyanywayforaveteran

toconveytohisparents,hiswifeorsweetheart,hisneighborsandfriends,orthe

citizenshemingleswitheverydaywhathehadexperiencedwhilehewasaway.

Therulesandvalueshehadbeenraisedwithbearalmostnorelationshiptothe

greatkillingmachinecalledwar.Likewise,thesenselessdemandsoffightingand

survivaldonotconnectwiththenormalcivilianworldinpeacetime.

Telling their stories is always difficult for these combat veterans and rarely

brings them any social satisfaction. Even after more than half a century,

recollections of personal combat of the fighting men of World War II can be

painfultopiecetogether.Yetthereisalwaysacatharticvalueinrecoveringthese

dormantmemories.TheseGIswere,afterall,merelyciviliansdressedinuniform,

most of them adolescents or not much older. It was never part of their brief

trainingtopreparethemmentallyandmorallyforwhattheywouldencounter.

Thatiswhattheveteranmeanswhenhesays,“Combatcan’tbetaught—yagotta

learnitforyourself.”

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

JohnP.IrwinwasborninNorristown,Pennsylvania,in1926andenlistedinthe

armyinAugust1944.HewashonorablydischargedinJuly1946andwentonto

Ursinus College in 1952, eventually earning his Ph.D. in philosophy from

SyracuseUniversity.HetaughtphilosophyatLockHavenUniversityfrom1964

tohisretirementin1990.HelivesinLockHaven,Pennsylvania.

Document Outline

Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Contents
Chapter 1: The Education of a Hero
Chapter 2: First Lessons
Chapter 3: Closing the Rose Pocket
Chapter 4: Towns and Rivers
Chapter 5: Small Victory, Big Price
Chapter 6: A Lesson in Depravity
Chapter 7: One Last River
Chapter 8: Prelude to a Finale
Chapter 9: The Road Has an End
Chapter 10: Destiny and Disappointment
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Endnote
About the Author

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