I Marched with Patton, page 17
Walt stared, but didn’t say anything. The waiter walked away.
“We will hear many appalling stories,” Jack said. “I just don’t understand why we are sitting here doing nothing.”
“Me neither,” Walt added.
The strudel was as good as promised. Other soldiers walked by. We waved. It wasn’t clear who was on vacation and who was part of the occupation. Eventually we saw one of the lieutenants from the 667th Field Artillery Battalion.
“Hey! Lieutenant!” Jack yelled. “Come over and grab a coffee.”
We knew Lieutenant Meacham from our trek across Europe. I talked with him frequently while handling communications.
“My, my, look who they let out of the cage,” he joked.
“Fancy meeting you here in the streets of Munich,” I said.
“Beats trying to walk down the street in Berlin today,” he said and sat down.
“We got a question for you,” Jack said. “You’re an insider. Why in the hell are we sitting it out in Munich instead of racing toward Berlin to end this war?”
Meacham stretched out his legs. “Yeah, there’s a story behind it all. I picked up bits and pieces along the way. Reflects a difference of opinion between General Patton and Supreme Commander Eisenhower. Patton never trusted the Russians and thought we’d be going to war with them next. However, someone higher up had a different idea.”
“Higher up the line?” I said. “Why, that couldn’t be anybody but President Roosevelt.”
The lieutenant grinned. “Don’t you suppose? Unfortunately, General Patton disagreed but was overruled.”
“There’s got to be more to this story,” I said.
“General Eisenhower had halted his troops on the Elbe River and forbid them to go across,” Meacham said. “He wanted to keep the Russians on the other side. We’re here because we’re part of Ike’s decision to allow the Russians to take Berlin. He had three reasons. First of all, Ike’s army was already well beyond the line of the western occupation zone. Why go farther when the area would later have to be turned over to the Russians?
“Ike saw Berlin as a political objective and a nonmilitary goal. Of course, Churchill didn’t agree with that and thought the general was overstepping his boundaries. Churchill wanted us to beat the Russians to the punch. However, Eisenhower knew the Russians were barreling toward them, and he wanted a river between the two armies. He feared the Russians were unpredictable, and there might be an accidental explosion. Allowing them to enter Berlin first minimized that risk.”
“You did get the inside story,” Walt said. “There’s more?”
“I understand that General Omar Bradley thought taking Berlin could cost a hundred thousand casualties, and that had to be a factor in Ike’s thinking. Let the Russians take the risk if they’re so damn anxious to sack Berlin.”
I quietly considered what he was saying, but something was missing. “I think there’s more you haven’t told us yet.”
Meacham grinned. “My, my, aren’t you the perceptive one! What we’re hearing is that at Yalta, President Roosevelt promised Berlin and Prague to Stalin in addition to planning the reorganization of Germany. That’s the bottom line.”
We looked at one another, but nobody said anything.
“I understand General Patton’s Third Army is on the doorstep of Czechoslovakia. Of course, it would be all right with Patton to punch the Russians in the nose. Eisenhower doesn’t think that way.”
“So, we’ll be sitting here until the Russians take Berlin?” I said.
“Looks like it,” the lieutenant said.
“We don’t hear much about the Russians,” Walt said. “Mostly get rumors that make them sound like barbarians. How come we hear so little?”
“We’re all in a war together,” Meacham said. “Headquarters doesn’t want to blast a partner in the battle. Moreover, the stories are so bad, it’s a little hard to put them out.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Give me some examples.”
The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and looked at us harshly. “You boys understand that you’re not going to quote me. Right?
“The Russians had a bad history to start with. In 1939 they were kicked out of the League of Nations for invading Finland. Their bad behavior never stopped. We knew some of the murderous acts of the Red Army were committed under orders from Joseph Stalin. During this current war, there have been summary executions, murders of prisoners of war, and mass rapes by their soldiers. Back in 1940, Estonia was illegally annexed by the Soviet Union. One-third of the Estonian population were either deported, arrested, or executed. After the Soviet takeover, at least two hundred thousand were lost permanently. One could see that the Soviets don’t come off as your friendly next-door neighbor types.
“So, I can see why General Patton didn’t trust them and believed a war with the Soviets was unavoidable.
“When a country fell under their control,” he went on, “the Red Army exercised harsh treatment of the local citizens and had strong elements of ethnic cleansing. Torture was a common tool of the Soviets. Female inmates had their breasts cut off, and victims were bound together with barbed wire. You get the picture.”
“Not exactly a picture of a friend at summer camp that you write home about,” I said.
Walt’s interest had become intense. I could see it in his eyes. “Sounds like an army of sadists.”
“I think we can conclude that the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, systematically tortures prisoners and puts people to death. Happens every day. You men worked at the Dachau concentration camp and saw the horrors with your own eyes. The Nazis are savage, but the Russians aren’t any better. Maybe worse.”
Walt stared and didn’t speak.
“It’s estimated that at least a hundred thousand Polish women were raped,” Meacham added. “Nobody knows what the actual numbers are, but Western estimates are that as many as two million women were raped. We’re talking about a pattern of behavior happening over and over again everywhere.”
“Will any of this criminal activity ever come out?” I asked.
“Hard to say. Probably depends on what they do after the war. For example, we do know about such killings as happened in the massacre of Feodosia. The Wehrmacht retreated from the Crimean city of Feodosia, leaving behind about a hundred fifty wounded men. When Soviet personnel took the city, they raided the hospital, shooting and bludgeoning to death every patient they could find. Some of the wounded were thrown out of windows after being drenched with freezing water so they’d die of hypothermia.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Walt said. “How could anyone doubt General Patton’s judgment of the Russians? We’re not in some modern war. This conflict is a throwback to the most barbaric times that ever existed. How can the generals avoid knowing?”
“They can’t,” Meacham said. “If I found out this much about the facts, you think they don’t know more? Sure. People in charge simply don’t want this info out there because of the impact it would have. Well, boys. Got to get on my way. Take care.”
We watched the lieutenant walk away. Nobody spoke for a while. Finally, I said, “I’m not sure I wanted that much of an answer about the Russians. I can see why General Eisenhower wanted to keep a river between us and them. I bet the German citizens are running for their lives to get away from the Russian advance.”
Snuffy Smith came walking up. “Hey, I just got the word from the registry officers that the party is over. They want us to be the overseers for a load of POWs that are coming in. The Germans are folding right and left. I understand they want us to capture them rather than let the Russians take them.”
“Yeah, we understand that now,” Walt said.
“Apparently there’s some delay in getting the roads repaired, and they are holding these prisoners here. Doesn’t sound like any big problems. Just keep them rounded up and quiet.”
“Party was nice while it lasted,” Jack said with a sigh. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“Maybe we’d better go down to that basement headquarters and see where they want us to go,” Walt said.
36
Change
Of course, most of the soldiers were shocked by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s death. Some were keeping it together fairly well. But for others, it was as personal as if their own father had died. During early 1941, with war raging in Europe, FDR had pushed to have the United States’ factories become an “arsenal of democracy” for beleaguered Britain and France. As Americans learned more about the war’s atrocities, isolationist sentiment diminished. Regardless of public sentiment, FDR maintained a steady course.
Roosevelt, the thirty-second president, had been in office since 1933—longer than anyone in U.S. history. He had just begun his fourth term, and for many of us young soldiers, he’d been commander in chief for as long as we could remember. He was a fixture in our lives whom we expected would always be there. Now most of the men had little idea who our new president, Harry Truman, was: after all, the former senator from Missouri had been vice president for less than three months before succeeding the country’s fallen leader. But, truthfully, we were too consumed by the war to worry much about Truman. And we figured the conflict was almost over anyway.
“It’s a big deal,” Mr. Dobson insisted. “I know how bad the Depression was. Regardless of your politics, you’ve got to give him credit. Roosevelt pulled us out of the fire.”
“I’m not sure I like the decisions he made about this war,” Al Jackson said. “I think Stalin snookered him.”
“They should have listened to Patton,” Snuffy Smith insisted. “I think he knew more than all of them.”
“That’s a little wild,” Jack Postawaiet said. “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. We got to live with what’s here right now.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and that means getting out there where those POWs are and corralling them. That’s what counts today.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Walt Brandon asked.
“I think just keep order,” I said. “They won’t be looking for trouble. They’ve already surrendered, so they’ve quit. All they want to do is go home.”
“You know, we haven’t had a haircut in a long time,” Snuffy threw in. “Here we are taking a breather, making it a perfect time for a trim. Jack, you’re the man with the magic scissors. Why don’t you give us a trim while we’re waiting for the truck to pick us up?”
“Sure,” Jack said. “Line up, and I’ll start lowering your ears.”
Jack Postawaiet hadn’t been a professional barber before the war, but he could have been. He carried a comb and some sharpened scissors in his carry-on bag, along with a barber cloth he tied around our necks. In short order, the unit went from the shabby side to looking right smart. We sat around smoking, laughing, telling stories, and enjoying the morning sunlight. The warmth of spring was most welcome.
One of the stories that came back to us during this time was that Supreme Commander Eisenhower came to General Patton’s headquarters and met with the staff. During the meeting, Ike gave one of the highest compliments that could be offered. He said that General Patton and the staff had not made one mistake since Patton had taken over the Third Army. Such a high affirmation made the staff smile and certainly must have pleased Patton.
By this time, we all thought of Patton as a fearless man who inspired confidence wherever he went. Not that he was foolhardy, but he didn’t seem to be bothered in the least when the mortars were flying and the bombs going off. He had a remarkable way of showing up unexpectedly and encouraging the soldiers. Regardless of where the artillery was firing or a counterattack was unfolding, he had a way of appearing and encouraging the men. During a surprise assault or when the firing got the heaviest, the old man would be there right in the midst of it.
The last man was sheared, and Jack put away the tools of his unofficial trade. The truck pulled up, and we were off to be the sheepdogs guarding a herd of prisoners of war. We bumped along through the city and around piles of broken cement. When we got to the edge of Munich, we saw what appeared to be about a thousand enemy troops sitting on the side of a hill, doing nothing. Our troops were standing around holding rifles, but nothing was going on. The truck came to a halt and I jumped out.
A soldier came up to me. “Are you the relief unit?”
“I’m with the Six-Sixty-Seventh Field Artillery Battalion,” I said. “These six are my men.”
“Fine,” he said. “We’re still trying to repair the road. Won’t be long and they’ll be done. We can move all these prisoners then.”
“Okay, you want us to simply do guard duty? Just stand around with our rifles loaded and wait for further word to come down?”
“You got it,” the solider said. “Good luck.”
I turned to my men and gave them instructions. I suggested they just spread out and watch the enemy. If there was any funny business, they were to respond. Other than that, it should be a walk in the park. I gave the German soldiers the once-over and could tell most were just everyday guys not looking for trouble. The assignment should be routine.
My men scattered around and stood in front of the Germans. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the guards. I noticed a worn lawn chair in the shade of a large tree. As sergeant of the guard, surely I had a right to take it easy and watch the scenery go by. I set my rifle down against a tree across the way and stretched out in the lawn chair like I was taking a nap.
“Sir.” One of the supervisors of the German prisoners came over and bent down to speak to me. “Please do not leave your rifle where a prisoner could grab it.”
Almost by reflex, I grabbed a single-blade axe leaning against the base of my chair. I came out of that chair like a bazooka shell going off, spun around, and slung the axe at the tree. It stuck next to the barrel of my rifle.
“Is that what you are talking about?” I asked.
The supervisor stood there with his mouth open. Then he walked away.
I sat back down and left the rifle where it was with the axe sticking out of the tree. In a few minutes, another sergeant came over.
“You got excellent reflexes,” he said. “Put that axe right on the money.”
I grinned. “Oh, we used to throw axes back in Oklahoma, where I grew up.”
“I guess so! What’s your name?”
“Sisson. Sergeant Frank Sisson.”
“Glad to know you, Sergeant Sisson. We’ll be talking to you. We’re looking for men who respond quickly and have manual skills. You obviously have the physical ability and reflexes we’re seeking.”
I had no idea what he meant, but that lawn chair felt just fine.
By noon, tin cans of C-rations were passed out to the prisoners. Most of us hated those damn C-rations, which were most of what we had to eat out there in the field. But the Germans, looking surprised to be getting something so substantial to eat, dived in. We knew they were being fed far better than our poor soldiers that they captured. They should be grateful. The Russians would probably have shot them by now.
By midafternoon, an officer came over to me.
“Sergeant Sisson?”
“Yes, sir.” I saluted.
“There was a mix-up. You were supposed to have a personal leave. You are to take a rest in Paris. Your unit will be looked after by another officer.”
“You’re flying me to Paris!” I nearly leaped across the grass.
“General Patton appreciates his men, and you have been through some tough experiences. He wants you to relax and have a restful time. Are you ready to go?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m on my way!” I grabbed my carry-on and my rifle, and we took off. I left the axe sticking in the tree.
37
Paris
To walk the streets of Paris was a dream come true. I had always wanted to stroll down the Champs-Élysées and gaze at the Arc de Triomphe. Although I knew nothing about art, I’d heard of the Louvre museum. I wandered down its long halls, overwhelmed by its paintings. Across the river was the Musée d’Orsay display of modern art. For a twenty-year-old hometown boy from Weleetka, Oklahoma, Paris was almost incomprehensible. I was swimming in culture after spending months wallowing through a garbage dump.
Parisians, now nine months removed from the brutal years of Nazi occupation, seemed relieved the war was almost over; the sidewalk cafés hummed with business. I sat down at an outdoor table to see if I could find one of those local pastries that were always described as beyond delicious. A glass of wine would top it off.
“What can I get for you, monsieur?” the waiter asked.
“A nice sweet roll,” I said, “and a glass of chardonnay. Say, can you tell me anything about this particular area of Paris?”
It turned out that I was sitting very close to the subterranean bunker that was important in the city’s liberation. An underground tunnel led to the command post of the French Resistance. Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy, the leader of the French Forces of the Interior, had a special telephone exchange down there that allowed him to access 250 other phones around Paris without the Nazis having a clue that he could not be tapped by them.
“They even had a bicycle attached to a generator,” the waiter told me. “They could pedal and create their own electricity in case of a power outage.”
“Amazing,” I said.
The French had known that General George Patton and his Third Army were coming. During the night of August 24, Major General Jacques-Philippe Leclerc’s Second French Armored Division crept into Paris. The next morning, the bulk of his division and the American Fourth Infantry Division poured in. The Nazis knew they were in trouble, and the commander of the German garrison surrendered. Shortly after that, General Charles de Gaulle led the French army into the city to take control. The Provisional Government of the French Republic had taken back the city.
