Behind Hitler's Lines (44 page)

“Day by day we were fighting the war together and winning it,” Joe says. “Just the same I began to feel that they were treating me in a way that meant I was not really one of them. Something beyond our difficulty in communicating and difference in nationality.

“When we'd hit some resistance I'd head off toward it, but there'd always be some Russians who'd get ahead of me, get between me and incoming fire. It got so I couldn't get in a fight if I wanted to—and I did! They were protecting me. I didn't like it, but I couldn't let on. I didn't want to be the battalion mascot or the CO's pet. The way I worked out of that status was by helping tune and repair radios, my subspecialty at Fort Benning. Things happen for a reason in life. What I'd learned in Panama produced results in Poland, of all places.”

Joe gained much respect for that but not as much as for his secondary specialty, demolitions. One day scouts came upon a huge tree the Hitlerites had cut down to block a road. Major's troops went to work on it with axes till Joe saw that an antitank mine had been uncovered in front of the tree. He asked if it could be disarmed. Sure, said Major, her battalion had been clearing mines for months. Joe shaped the explosive in a goat bladder, set it off with firing pins, and the tree blew apart, saving them an hour. “Okay, Yo!” was his congratulation. He was no longer the exotic mascot but now the radio-demolitions specialist of the battalion.

JOE HAD ESCAPED TOWARD THE SOUTHEAST. MAJOR'S ADVANCE
started in the opposite direction, part of Zhukov's mighty push to the Oder, Berlin being just fifty miles beyond the western bank. Now that Joe was fully integrated into her battalion she released him to ride on other tanks, which she rotated on point every day. While he was with them in Poland nearly all the battalion's casualties were from artillery and snipers, not frrefights. Almost daily some Hitlerite infantry were captured but in numbers too small for Major to report to regiment. One time eight were found holed up in a root cellar. They were brought out, stripped of their boots and overcoats; they were being herded to the rear when Major's tank came along. She asked the Mongols where the hell they were going.

The answer was pretty lame. Like grade-schoolers caught smoking, the Mongols hadn't expected to be seen by Major. Their story was that the prisoners were being taken back for interrogation. This brought a laugh from the tankers—no one was interested in interrogating anymore, especially the likes of these miserable Hitlerites. Half of them were teenage or younger; the others looked like grandfathers. We don't bother to question this type, Major indicated, so why hadn't they been sent to Valhalla on the spot? she demanded to know.

“I wish I'd understood the reason the three Mongols gave. They were teenage too. There was no doubt the Hitlerites would be executed, but the Mongols apparently had something
extra in store for them. Major didn't approve, and I heard submachine-gun fire as soon as her tank moved out.

“Snipers were the main problem as resistance began to wilt. Instead of a morale lift, my comrades became gloomy because a river was ahead, the Oder. So what, I said. We haven't fought a single tank. That's because the tanks are on the
other
side, Yo—that's the way the Hitlerites always fight.”

They knew Joe by then. They could confide that rivers were sumps, trenches for Russian blood that must be filled before crossing. Between slugs of vodka they spoke of the Desna, the Dnieper, the Bresina, the Vistula. No soldier in the battalion now had survived them all, but the rivers were legacies, the equivalent of four Normandies. Now ahead lay the Oder, the last river. The Hitlerites were concentrated to defend it, their last stand before Berlin. Drinking was harder when Major got her orders to move up to cross.

“Whatever I said through the translator got around quickly,” Joe recalls. “Drunk Russians I'd never met came up and said, 'Hey, I heard you want to see panzers? They're over there, Yo, don't worry' They'd name off the five best tanks on the Eastern Front. Fifth was the Sherman. The first three were Hitlerite.

“As we were moving up, a recon squadron was pulling back from the Oder. A squadron at full strength would have about seven hundred troops and a hundred vehicles. We had priority on the road, so when they made way for us I got an idea of how many were left—less than a hundred guys and ten shot-up scout cars. Major found their commander to ask him about the situation on the river. The senior man left in the squadron was a twenty-year-old lieutenant. He was in deep shell shock. Eighty-eights had blown every one of his amphibious vehicles out of the water with their crews. He put his head on Major's shoulder; she stroked it like a mother and crooned to him in a soft voice. At times the Russians were very open with emotions like that. She gave him two bottles of vodka before he climbed off our tank.”

Major called her regimental commander to report what she 'd learned from the lieutenant. The colonel told her to take
anyone she needed from the recon squadron even though he didn't command it. Major said she didn't want anybody—the survivors were too shaken, they would lower her battalion's morale. That's the way things usually worked in the Red Army, though: a shattered unit wasn't re-formed and given replacements, its survivors were just absorbed by any outfit who could grab them. It was as if the 506th, after heavy casualties in Normandy, had been dissolved and whoever was left distributed around understrength units.

“With the help of John in Russia I've tried to find out what happened to Major's battalion, but I'm afraid it was one of those units that was worn down to nothing then dropped from the Soviet books,” Joe says.

'After what had happened to the recon squadron I expected to see ambulances taking their casualties to the rear. There were no ambulances. Ammo trucks on return trips evacuated the wounded. The dead were buried in mounds, not temporarily as in Normandy but buried forever. Their families were informed that their son had died in Poland. That was it. After the war each village was presented with a scroll of names who had been killed.”

While Major was talking with her commander on the radio he gave her a pep talk. First Ukrainian Front, about fifty miles south, had encircled Breslau and crossed the upper Oder, where it was not so wide. That sounded like good news, but it wasn't because First Ukrainian Front was commanded by Marshal Konev, Zhukov's rival to take Berlin. The good news was that the Hitlerites were reinforcing on the Neisse River and would hold Konev up. What Zhukov needed now was a bridgehead over the lower Oder. First Belorussian Front was to get it for him and fast.

During that conversation Joe overheard a familiar word: “Kustrin.” The stone-walled town had been heavily fortified by Hitlerites and was now their only stronghold on the east bank. Major started smiling. The colonel had given her a warning order to turn north toward Kustrin, where there was still a bridge up across the Oder. Wipe out “the pocket of resistance” and seize the bridge.

“We didn't know it, but she really had no reason to smile,” Joe said. “Kustrin held out till the last month of the war. I was already back in the U.S. when it finally fell. I read Russian losses had been staggering, and I'm sure they included many of Major's—of my—battalion.”

AT THIS POINT BEGINS
a chaotic and sometimes contradictory chronology involving the German fortress at Kustrin, Major's battalion, Joe, and the POWs at Stalag III-C. The senior American there, the Man of Confidence, was Sergeant Leroy Coleman. As the Russians closed in, the III-C commandant received orders from Berlin to evacuate Western prisoners across the only remaining bridge at Kustrin. His Russian POWs were to be exterminated.

The commandant ordered Coleman to prepare for this move. In the all-enlisted-men stalag, there were two American officers, Captains Niggerman and Hendricks, the chaplain and doctor respectively, as allowed by the Geneva Conventions. Coleman realized that a finale was approaching. As the man in charge and not knowing if he'd survive, Coleman felt an obligation to record the last days of III-C. He handwrote two copies and gave one to Sergeant William Wheeler. This copy found its way to Sergeant Henson of the 101st from the “new” American compound and by way of him reached Joe after the war.

Joe recalls: “I was on the seventh or eighth tank back. Major's was four in front of me. The two ahead of her opened fire with cannons and machine guns. It was the most sudden engagement I'd been in with the Russians. Usually the scouts started a fight. This time we had met some kraut vehicles and they shot back. We got the upper hand right away. When my tank pulled up on line a kraut half-track and a scout vehicle were in flames. Behind them what looked like a mass of infantry had turned tail and fled. This wasn't like the krauts, and when I looked closer I could tell they weren't armed. I ran in front of the tanks, waved and shouted cease fire! Major yelled to get down. I yelled back,
'Americanski tovarish!'
”

We Americans were maybe mistaken for Hungarians (uniforms same color). Casualties conservative estimate 10 to 15 wounded…. Rest of POW column turned back to sta-lag. Ten minutes after arrival German officers demanded I move men out again in direction of Kustrin. I refused, saying we were safer in the stalag trenches.

Consultation held among a German major and two captains. They threatened to fire heavy artillery if we didn't move. I wouldn't do it. Asked for five minutes to talk this over with Cpt. Hendricks. His answer was the same as mine.

A German captain came up with more guards and forced us out of the compound. We were to go back toward Kustrin. This time we were cut off by Russians coming
from another direction. Column returned in an orderly retreat to the stalag. No casualties this time. In the confusion about a quarter of the POW's escaped to the east.

With us six Germans re-entered the stalag minus weapons. I ordered Sgt. Fernechuck to separate them and be put in a room. When we were liberated they were turned over to the Russians who immediately killed them. The Russians put guards around the compounds to prevent looting. No food was issued but plenty of Red Cross parcels liberated.

Men continued to dig in and pile dirt against the barracks. German planes were strafing the roads. Russians promised to evacuate us as soon as possible. Water is limited. Last German bomber of the day dropped butterfly bombs killing Sgt. Calhoun and Hall. Others were wounded. German snipers hit some Russian POW's who are kept in their compound just as we are.

From 0100 till daylight heavy 88 fire from the Oder against Russian attack. Larger caliber artillery hit close to stalag. Everyone stayed in shelters. Roads dive bombed (Stukas) from 2 to 5 miles away as Russians build up to cross Oder. 120 cans of milk collected and given to Russian POW's. Men tried to dig up potatos in the fields but turned back by snipers. Wounded placed in stone barrack.

A clear and sunny day. Food committee formed and collected 10 large barrels of sauerkraut, one complete cow, 600 lbs of turnips. 3 live cows held in reserve.

Cooking done at night because of planes overhead. Stukas out in force, 30 dive bombers for 2 hours. At some point 3 to 5 miles up the road a terrific concussion, probably Russian ammo dump. A great surprise—formation of flying forts overhead at noon. One was knocked down.
Received
Vi
hour notice from Russians that stalag was to be evacuated at 1700. Men unable to march are left in Russian Lazerett (Hospital). Two aid men and an interpreter left with them.

Auf wiedersehen 3-C!

Joe remembers: “So it was on 31 January that my battalion fired on the column of POWs. I begged Major to head in their direction. She was more than willing. The terrain began to look familiar. Pretty soon we came upon the railroad tracks from Breslau. I told her there would be a stone road pretty soon leading to the stalag. She decided to approach it from the woods and put Mongols out front to find the road for her tanks. The Russians were pumped up when they learned that this time they would hit a fixed position where the Hitlerites could not just fire some artillery and fade away.
Ohh-ah,
they started yelling as we went through the woods.

“We heard fire along the Mongol line up ahead. German small arms answered. I told Major this was probably from watchtowers. Then the Mongols were held up by barbed wire. They'd reached the outer fence of III-C.

“Major's tanks were now jammed on the stone road, just the way the Polish farmer told me he'd seen them when he was a boy. She asked me if the road led into the camp. Yes, I said, right to the main gate.