15 October 1944

438^thAAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

15 October, 1944        1245

My dearest sweetheart –

It’s early Sunday afternoon and my work is done, but what is there to do now, dear? The days have really been beautiful most of this past week, and it has been a pleasure to see our fighters and medium bombers overhead giving the Germans a little bit of hell just a couple of miles away. I suppose I’ll get over it someday, but right now it’s reflex to look up to the sky to identify the sound of a motor; it is not only reflex, it is also safer.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

B-17s in formation on a bomb run

Well – sweetheart – it is now 1345. I was just getting settled when I was called to the Dispensary to take care of a couple of men. I had to probe for a few fragments and that’s why it took me so long. Since then, also, dear – the prospects for the afternoon have brightened questionably by the announcement we would have a movie at 1500 – it’s title “Pistol Packin’ Mama” – which sounds like a high class 3rd grade smellaroo. But since we all have little else to do, everyone that can be spared will undoubtedly go. What a waste of time! What a waste of a part of precious life! When I think like that – I could go mad – but I save enough reason to make myself think my way out of the mood. Darling – so many soldiers are being wounded, some to remain cripples, some not to come back – how can I complain? I should be thankful I have my health, and I am. Right now, dear, that is the important thing in this theater. After the war is over and I’m safely back home – we’ll complain – but without bitterness probably. No dear, I must not consider it a waste of time but rather a development of strength and character, and that goes for you too. I honestly believe that as a result of all this waiting, our lives will be all the richer, allthe more appreciated. It won’t be so much a question of making up for lost time – for it isn’t in fact lost time, merely expended time – the real result will be that we will have profited, and the expended time will come us in good stead. For how can I ever get really angry with you, dear, how can I ever be cross with anyone who proved herself to be so true and faithful to a fellow away so long? How can you lose your temper with me – for any length of time when you’ll stop and realize that there must have been something that held you to me when the waiting was so hard. What I mean in essence, darling, is that people who meet and marry – never experience the test of being separated and finding out whether or not it makes any difference to either of them. We know, sweetheart, – we know that even separated – we want each other and very much, and that will prevent us from ever being separated or even thinking of it.

I suppose you’ll say to yourself now that that was all a piece of rationalization. It may be – to help me out of a situation over which I have no control, but nevertheless – what I wrote, is true and we do profit basically by our knowledge that we do desire each other even after the stiffest of tests – lengthy separation.

Well – having philosophized, rationalized and having attempted to assuage my mind – I’ll get back to realities again, dear, and tell you that I love you more than anyone in the world, and all the bunk I may write to you from time to time could be translated very simply into that. That you know this I’m sure – and I’m happy that you do. We’ll stick this thing out one way or another – but sooner or later it will end – and then points notwithstanding, I’ll be coming home ––

Last night, darling, we played Bridge – in the Colonel’s room. To add a bit of zest to the game we decided to play for 1/10 cent per point – or 1 mark for every 100 points. We played only 3 rubbers – our evening being cut short due to a little activity – and I ended with a net profit of 3 marks – or 30 cents. I’m enjoying the game more and more – each time I play it, and I suppose I’m learning more and more too. I guess I’ve learned enough to realize that your opening bid is a very important one – and that’s something.

Now, dear, I’m going to run along and see this tremendous picture. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. No mail yesterday again – but surely today – I hope. Meanwhile, so long sweetheart, my love to the folks – and

All my sincerest love

Greg.

* TIDBIT *

about the "Miraculous Feat of Flying"
by Lieutenant Lawrence M. DeLancey

This story is long but worth the read, as written by Allen Ostrom and posted by Blogengeezer on 20 January, 2010.

IT WAS A ‘FORTRESS’ COMING HOME..

They could hear it before they could see it! Not all that unusual in those days as the personnel at Station 131 gathered around the tower and scattered hardstands to await the return of the B-17′s sent out earlier that morning. First comes the far off rumble and drone of the Cyclones. Then a spec on the East Anglia horizon. Soon a small cluster indicating the lead squadron. Finally, the group. Then the counting... 1-2-3-4-5.... But that would have been normal. Today was different! It was too early for the group to return.

“They’re 20 minutes early. Can’t be the 398th.”

They could hear it before they could see it! Something was coming home. But what? All eyes turned toward the northeast, aligning with the main runway, each ground guy and stood-down airman straining to make out this “wail of a Banshee,” as one called it. Not like a single B-17 with its characteristic deep roar of the engines blended with four thrashing propellers. This was a howl! Like a powerful wind blowing into a huge whistle.

Then it came into view. It WAS a B-17! Low and pointing her nose at the 6,000 foot runway, it appeared for all the world to be crawling toward the earth, screaming in protest. No need for the red flares. All who saw this Fort knew there was death aboard.

“Look at that nose!” they said as all eyes stared in amazement as this single, shattered remnant of a once beautiful airplane glided in for an unrealistic “hot” landing. She took all the runway as the “Banshee” noise finally abated, and came to an inglorious stop in the mud just beyond the concrete runway.

DeLancey's B-17

Men and machines raced to the now silent and lonely aircraft. The ambulance and medical staff were there first. The fire truck... ground and air personnel... jeeps, truck, bikes....

Out came one of the crew members from the waist door, then another. Strangely quiet. The scene was almost weird. Men stood by as if in shock, not knowing whether to sing or cry. Either would have been acceptable. The medics quietly made their way to the nose by way of the waist door as the remainder of the crew began exiting. And to answer the obvious question, “what happened?”

“What happened?” was easy to see. The nose was a scene of utter destruction. It was as though some giant aerial can opener had peeled the nose like an orange, relocating shreads of metal, plexiglass, wires and tubes on the cockpit windshield and even up to the top turret. The left cheek gun hung limp, like a broken arm. One man pointed to the crease in chin turret. No mistaking that mark! A German 88 anti-aircraft shell had exploded in the lap of the togglier. This would be George Abbott of Mt. Lebanon, PA. He had been a waist gunner before training to take over the bombardier’s role.

Still in the cockpit, physically and emotionally exhausted, were pilot Larry DeLancey and co-pilot Phil Stahlman. Navigator Ray LeDoux finally tapped DeLancey on the shoulder and suggested they get out. Engineer turret gunner Ben Ruckel already had made his way to the waist and was exiting along with radio operator Wendell Reed, ball turret gunner Al Albro, waist gunner Russell Lachman and tail gunner Herbert Guild. Stahlman was flying his last scheduled mission as a replacement for regular co-pilot, Grady Cumbie. The latter had been hospitalized the day before with an ear problem. Lachman was also a “sub,” filling in for Abbott in the waist.

DeLancey made it as far as the end of the runway, where he sat down with knees drawn up, arms crossed and head down. The ordeal was over, and now the drama was beginning a mental re-play. Then a strange scene took place. Group CO Col. Frank P. Hunter had arrived after viewing the landing from the tower and was about to approach DeLancey. He was physically restrained by flight surgeon Dr. Robert Sweet.

“Colonel, that young man doesn’t want to talk now. When he is ready you can talk to him, but for now leave him alone.” Sweet handed pills out to each crew member and told them to go to their huts and sleep. No dramatics, no cameras, no interviews. The crew would depart the next day for “flak leave” to shake off the stress. And then be expected back early in November. (Just in time to resume “normal” activities on a mission to Merseburg!)

Mission No. 98 from Nuthampstead had begun at 0400 that morning of October 15, 1944. It would be Cologne (again), led by CA pilots Robert Templeman of the 602nd, Frank Schofield of the 601st and Charles Khourie of the 603rd. Tragedy and death appeared quickly and early that day. Templeman and pilot Bill Scott got the 602nd off at the scheduled 0630 hour, but at approximately 0645 Khouri and pilot Bill Meyran and their entire crew crashed on takeoff in the town of Anstey . All were killed. Schofield and Harold Stallcup followed successfully with the 601st, with DeLancey flying on their left wing in the lead element. The ride to the target was routine, until the flak started becoming “unroutinely” accurate. “We were going through heavy flak on the bomb run,” remembered DeLancey.

B-17 going through flak

“I felt the plane begin to lift as the bombs were dropped, then all of a sudden we were rocked by a violent explosion. My first thought – ‘a bomb exploded in the bomb bay’ – was immediately discarded as the top of the nose section peeled back over the cockpit blocking the forward view.”

“It seemed like the whole world exploded in front of us,” added Stahlman. The instrument panel all but disintegrated and layers of quilted batting exploded in a million pieces. It was like a momentary snowstorm in the cockpit.”

It had been a direct hit in the nose. Killed instantly was the togglier, Abbott. Navigator LeDoux, only three feet behind Abbott, was knocked unconscious for a moment, but was miraculously was alive. Although stunned and bleeding, LeDoux made his way to the cockpit to find the two pilots struggling to maintain control of an airplane that by all rights should have been in its death plunge. LeDoux said there was nothing anyone could do for Abbott, while Ruckel opened the door to the bomb bay and signaled to the four crewman in the radio room that all was OK – for the time being. The blast had torn away the top and much of the sides of the nose, depositing enough of the metal on the windshield to make it difficult for either of the pilots to see.

“The instrument panel was torn loose and all the flight instruments were inoperative with the exception of the magnetic compass mounted in the panel above the windshield. And its accuracy was questionable. The radio and intercom were gone, the oxygen lines broken, and there was a ruptured hydraulic line under my rudder pedals,” said DeLancey.

All this complicated by the sub-zero temperature at 27,000 feet blasting into the cockpit.

“It was apparent that the damage was severe enough that we could not continue to fly in formation or at high altitude. My first concern was to avoid the other aircraft in the formation, and to get clear of the other planes in case we had to bail out. We eased out of formation, and at the same time removed our oxygen masks as they were collapsing on our faces as the tanks were empty.”

At this point the formation continued on its prescribed course for home - a long, slow turn southeast of Cologne and finally westward. DeLancey and Stahlman turned left, descending rapidly and hoping, they were heading west. (And also, not into the gun sights of German fighters.) Without maps and navigation aids, they had difficulty getting a fix. By this time they were down to 2,000 feet.

“We finally agreed that we were over Belgium and were flying in a southwesterly direction,” said the pilot. “About this time a pair of P-51′s showed up and flew a loose formation on us across Belgium . I often wondered what they thought as they looked at the mess up front. We hit the coast right along the Belgium-Holland border, a bit farther north than we had estimated. Ray said we were just south of Walcheren Island.”

Still in an area of ground fighting, the plane received some small arms fire. This gesture was returned in kind by Albro, shooting from one of the waist guns.

“We might have tried for one of the airfields in France, but having no maps this also was questionable. Besides, the controls and engines seemed to be OK, so I made the decision to try for home. Once over England, LeDoux soon picked up landmarks and gave me course corrections taking us directly to Nuthampstead. It was just a great bit of navigation. Ray just stood there on the flight deck and gave us the headings from memory.”

Nearing the field, Stahlman let the landing gear down. That was an assurance. But a check of the hydraulic pump sent another spray of oil to the cockpit floor. Probably no brakes! Nevertheless, a flare from Ruckel’s pistol had to announce the “ready or not” landing. No “downwind leg” and “final approach” this time. Straight in!

“The landing was strictly by guess and feel,” said DeLancey. “Without instruments, I suspect I came in a little hot. Also, I had to lean to the left to see straight ahead. The landing was satisfactory, and I had sufficient braking to slow the plane down some. However, as I neared the taxiway, I could feel the brakes getting ‘soft’. I felt that losing control and blocking the taxiway would cause more problems than leaving the plane at the end of the runway.”

That consideration was for the rest of the group. Soon three squadrons of B-17′s would be returning, and they didn’t need a derelict airplane blocking the way to their respective hardstands. Stahlman, supremely thankful that his career with the 398th had come to an end, soon returned home and in due course became a captain with Eastern Airlines. Retired in 1984, Stahlman said his final Eastern flight “was a bit more routine” than the one 40 years before.

DeLancey and LeDoux received decorations on December 11, 1944 for their parts in the October 15 drama. DeLancey was awarded the Silver Star for his “miraculous feat of flying skill and ability” on behalf of General Doolittle, CO of the Eighth Air Force. LeDoux for his “extraordinary navigation skill”, received the Distinguished Flying Cross.

14 October 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

14 October, 1944        1315

My dearest darling Wilma –

It is nice and quiet here now and perhaps I can get this letter written with a minimum of interruptions. I’m in the house that the Medics have for themselves, sitting in the kitchen, by the stove. I sent the boys off to get showers and I’m alone except for the CQ (charge of quarters). This little house, by the way dear, is quite cute and completely furnished. It was abandoned – as were so many others, when the Americans came. There’s enough room here to sleep my eight Hq. men upstairs – of course they don’t all have beds – and we run our dispensary and supply room downstairs. The kitchen serves as a general hang-out evenings and the stove is going constantly.

Last night we had a bit of a feed, songfest etc. When it gets dark here – around 1830 – we get off the streets because it isn’t safe. So the boys all hang around. We found some potatoes in the cellar and so one of the boys made French Fries somewhere around 2030. Another fellow produced some cans of sardines he had received in the mail, we had butter – given me by one of my ‘patients’ – and we had a good time. Later I dug out my clarinet which I hadn’t tried playing since Normandy, and as I squeaked, the boys sang. We covered every song from “I’m in love with you – Honey” – to “Someone’s in the Kitchen with Dinah” – which may not impress you as being a very wide span – but we covered quite a few in between.

This a.m. – we had a B.C.’s meeting, the first in a long while – and took up a lot of little details. That lasted until 1120 and it was soon time for lunch. And now, sweetheart, it is Saturday p.m. – about a half-hour before game time. It’s a perfect day for the game – and here I am about 3000 miles away. I could never make it in time, dear, so I think I’ll pass this one up. But kidding aside, Saturdays and Sundays are still hard to take, particularly at this time of the year – and I just don’t know what to do about it, darling; Nothing right now, I guess, but think – and that’s what I’m doing.

There was no mail yesterday, just a bunch of old newspapers. I got 6 Boston Heralds from the last week in July. The latest letter I have of yours is dated 29 September – but there are several still missing. I do have the one written me from Irv and Verna’s house and boy – that was some news you gave out. How things can get all mixed up like that over such a little thing, is beyond me – but I’ve heard of similar incidents before, occurring in pre-wedding times. That’s why I think weddings are a nuisance; invariably someone’s toes get stepped on. In this case – if the facts are as you presented them – then this Wilcoff girl is apparently someone to be reckoned with – and I feel sorry for Stan already. Frankly, I don’t feel that he loves her – and I intimated that to you sometime ago. He practically admits it when he says he was lonely in Washington and she helped fill in his time. That’s a pretty negative reaction it seems to me. Anyway, as you described what happened, it’s a whole mess of misunderstanding letters – in short, a one act melodrama. The fact is I blame Stan for the whole thing. He’s turned out to be an opportunist; he made that clear to me a long time ago when he implied that security was the real goal he was after. I think the girl is very secondary in his life, at the moment, and it would have still worked out – had he been fortunate enough to get a decent girl along with the security. It looks like he missed the boat entirely in this case, because not only has he married a girl he can’t possibly love very much – but he’s lost some good friends in the bargain – and good friends takes years to acquire. Well – the chances are he’ll eventually settle down a long way from Boston, anyway, and our contacts won’t be frequent.

And you there in a man’s pajamas, dear! Think of your reputation! Boy, I’d like to have been there. I’m glad you didn’t let Irving peek. You are private, dear – all for me! And that goes for me, too, of course. Gee – it’s been a long time since I’ve worn pajamas. I have a pair with me – it’s been in my bedding-roll ever since I left the States – but I can’t seem to get into the spirit of putting them on. That’s another thing I’ll wait for, dear.

Well – enough rambling for today, I guess. I’ll jot a note to the folks and then do a little reading. I hope you’re well, sweetheart, taking care of yourself for me, finding your work interesting – and receiving through my letters and inkling of how much I love you and want you to be mine. Do you?

My love to the folks, dear – and

All my everlasting love

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the Suicide of the Desert Fox


Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel

Most of what follows was excerpted from "The Forced Suicide of Field Marshall Rommel, 1944," at the EyeWitness to History (2002) web site.

Rommel was born in 1891 in Wurttenberg, Germany, the son of a teacher. Although not descended from military men, the newly unified German empire made it fashionable to choose a military career, which young Rommel did, becoming an officer cadet. During World War I, he showed himself to be a natural leader with unnatural courage, fighting in France, Romania, and Italy. Following the war, he pursued a teaching career in German military academies, writing a textbook, Infantry Attacks, that was well regarded.

For a time, Erwin Rommel was Hitler's favorite general. Gaining prominence in 1940 as a commander of a panzer division that smashed the French defenses, Rommel went on to command the Afrika Korps where his tactical genius, ability to inspire his troops and make the best of limited resources, prompted Hitler to elevate him to the rank of Field Marshall. It was his leadership of German and Italian forces in the North African campaign that established the legend of the "Desert Fox." He is considered to have been one of the most skilled commanders of desert warfare in the war. As one of the few generals who consistently fought the Western Allies (he was never assigned to the Eastern Front), Rommel is regarded as having been a humane and professional officer. His Afrika Korps was never accused of war crimes. Soldiers captured during his Africa campaign were reported to have been treated humanely. Furthermore, he ignored orders to kill captured commandos, Jewish soldiers and civilians in all theaters of his command.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

Rommel and staff in Africa

In 1943, Hitler placed Rommel in command of fortifying the "Atlantic Wall" along the coast of France - defenses intended to repel the inevitable invasion of Europe by the Allies.

Rommel in Normandy, June, 1944

Touring Germany, Rommel was appalled at the devastation of the Allied bombing raids and the erosion of the peoples' morale. He also learned for the first time of the death camps, slave labor, the extermination of the Jews and the other atrocities of the Nazi regime. Rommel became convinced that victory for Germany was a lost cause and that prolonging the war would lead only to his homeland's devastation. He came in contact with members of a growing conspiracy dedicated to ousting Hitler and establishing a separate peace with the western allies.

On July 17, 1944, British aircraft strafed Rommel's staff car, severely wounding the Field Marshall. He was taken to a hospital and then to his home in Germany to convalesce. Three days later, an assassin's bomb nearly killed Hitler during a strategy meeting at his headquarters in East Prussia. In the gory reprisals that followed, some suspects implicated Rommel in the plot. Although he may not have been aware of the attempt on Hitler's life, his "defeatist" attitude was enough to warrant Hitler's wrath. The problem for Hitler was how to eliminate Germany's most popular general without revealing to the German people that he had ordered his death. The solution was to force Rommel to commit suicide and announce that his death was due to his battle wounds.

Rommel's son, Manfred, was 15 years old and served as part of an antiaircraft crew near his home. On October 14th, 1944 Manfred was given leave to return to his home where his father continued to convalesce. The family was aware that Rommel was under suspicion and that his chief of staff and his commanding officer had both been executed. Manfred's account begins as he enters his home and finds his father at breakfast:

...I arrived at Herrlingen at 7:00 a.m. My father was at breakfast. A cup was quickly brought for me and we breakfasted together, afterwards taking a stroll in the garden.

"At twelve o'clock to-day two Generals are coming to discuss my future employment," my father started the conversation. "So today will decide what is planned for me; whether a People's Court or a new command in the East."

"Would you accept such a command," I asked.

He took me by the arm, and replied: "My dear boy, our enemy in the East is so terrible that every other consideration has to give way before it. If he succeeds in overrunning Europe, even only temporarily, it will be the end of everything which has made life appear worth living. Of course I would go."

Shortly before twelve o'clock, my father went to his room on the first floor and changed from the brown civilian jacket which he usually wore over riding-breeches, to his Africa tunic, which was his favorite uniform on account of its open collar.

At about twelve o'clock a dark-green car with a Berlin number stopped in front of our garden gate. The only men in the house apart from my father, were Captain Aldinger [Rommel's aide], a badly wounded war-veteran corporal and myself. Two generals - Burgdorf, a powerful florid man, and Maisel, small and slender - alighted from the car and entered the house. They were respectful and courteous and asked my father's permission to speak to him alone. Aldinger and I left the room. "So they are not going to arrest him," I thought with relief, as I went upstairs to find myself a book.

A few minutes later I heard my father come upstairs and go into my mother's room. Anxious to know what was afoot, I got up and followed him. He was standing in the middle of the room, his face pale. "Come outside with me," he said in a tight voice. We went into my room. "I have just had to tell your mother," he began slowly, "that I shall be dead in a quarter of an hour." He was calm as he continued: "To die by the hand of one's own people is hard. But the house is surrounded and Hitler is charging me with high treason. 'In view of my services in Africa,'" he quoted sarcastically, "I am to have the chance of dying by poison. The two generals have brought it with them. It's fatal in three seconds. If I accept, none of the usual steps will be taken against my family, that is against you. They will also leave my staff alone."

Erwin Rommel with his wife Lucie and son Manfred

"Do you believe it?" I interrupted. "Yes," he replied. "I believe it. It is very much in their interest to see that the affair does not come out into the open. By the way, I have been charged to put you under a promise of the strictest silence. If a single word of this comes out, they will no longer feel themselves bound by the agreement."

I tried again. "Can't we defend ourselves..." He cut me off short. "There's no point," he said. "It's better for one to die than for all of us to be killed in a shooting affray. Anyway, we've practically no ammunition." We briefly took leave of each other. "Call Aldinger, please," he said.

Aldinger had meanwhile been engaged in conversation by the General's escort to keep him away from my father. At my call, he came running upstairs. He, too, was struck cold when he heard what was happening. My father now spoke more quickly. He again said how useless it was to attempt to defend ourselves. "It's all been prepared to the last detail. I'm to be given a state funeral. I have asked that it should take place in Ulm [a town near Rommel's home]. In a quarter of an hour, you, Aldinger, will receive a telephone call from the Wagnerschule reserve hospital in Ulm to say that I've had a brain seizure on the way to a conference." He looked at his watch. "I must go, they've only given me ten minutes." He quickly took leave of us again. Then we went downstairs together.

We helped my father into his leather coat. Suddenly he pulled out his wallet. "There's still 150 marks in there," he said. "Shall I take the money with me?"

"That doesn't matter now, Herr Field Marshal," said Aldinger.

My father put his wallet carefully back in his pocket. As he went into the hall, his little dachshund which he had been given as a puppy a few months before in France, jumped up at him with a whine of joy. "Shut the dog in the study, Manfred," he said, and waited in the hall with Aldinger while I removed the excited dog and pushed it through the study door. Then we walked out of the house together. The two generals were standing at the garden gate. We walked slowly down the path, the crunch of the gravel sounding unusually loud.

As we approached the generals they raised their right hands in salute. "Herr Field Marshal," Burgdorf said shortly and stood aside for my father to pass through the gate. A knot of villagers stood outside the drive…

The car stood ready. The S.S. driver swung the door open and stood to attention. My father pushed his Marshal's baton under his left arm, and with his face calm, gave Aldinger and me his hand once more before getting in the car.

The two generals climbed quickly into their seats and the doors were slammed. My father did not turn again as the car drove quickly off up the hill and disappeared round a bend in the road. When it had gone Aldinger and I turned and walked silently back into the house…

Twenty minutes later the telephone rang. Aldinger lifted the receiver and my father's death was duly reported.

It was not then entirely clear, what had happened to him after he left us. Later we learned that the car had halted a few hundred yards up the hill from our house in an open space at the edge of the wood. Gestapo men, who had appeared in force from Berlin that morning, were watching the area with instructions to shoot my father down and storm the house if he offered resistance. Maisel and the driver got out of the car, leaving my father and Burgdorf inside. When the driver was permitted to return ten minutes or so later, he saw my father sunk forward with his cap off and the marshal's baton fallen from his hand.

Museum Copy of Rommel's Field Marshall's Baton.
The original which was given by Eisenhower
to Soviet Marshal Zhukov and is in the Russian Archives.

The German government gave Rommel a state funeral. His death was attributed to war wounds.

Funeral procession of Field Marshal Erwin Rommel
Ulm, Germany, 18 Oct 1944

Quotations from Erwin Rommel

For the Allies and Germany it will be the longest day. The longest day.

In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it.

In a man to man fight, the winner is he who has one more round in his magazine.

Courage which goes against military expediency is stupidity, or, if it is insisted upon by a commander, irresponsibility.

Mortal danger is an effective antidote for fixed ideas.

Men are basically smart or dumb and lazy or ambitious. The dumb and ambitious ones are dangerous and I get rid of them. The dumb and lazy ones I give mundane duties. The smart ambitious ones I put on my staff. The smart and lazy ones I make my commanders.

Don’t fight a battle if you don’t gain anything by winning.

Sweat saves blood, blood saves lives, and brains save both.

There are always times where the place of a commander isn’t back with his Major State, but onward with his troops.

For me, soldiers are all equal. Those black people wore your same uniform, fought on your side, and so you will be in the same jail.

Be an example to your men in your duty and in private life. Never spare yourself, and let the troops see that you don’t in your endurance of fatigue and privation. Always be tactful and well-mannered, and teach your subordinates to be the same. Avoid excessive sharpness or harshness of voice, which usually indicates the man who has shortcomings of his own to hide.

13 October 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

13 October, 1944        1600

My darling, >

I’ve just come from seeing a movie. I missed seeing it the other day, “A Guy named Joe”, but it was put on again this p.m. and this time I was able to make it. I don’t know what kind of write-up it had, but I liked it.

I felt sentimental enough to like anything that had to do with a boy and a girl – and love. Some of the words – as is often the case – just hit home – and when the picture was over, I found myself missing you terribly and wanting your love. The feeling is one I don’t have to describe because you’ve told me how you feel, darling. It’s times like this though – that I damn the Germans, damn the war – and everything that is keeping us apart. I want so much to be home, loving you and being with you always; I want to be able to look at you, see you smile and hear you laugh; I want to be able to kiss you, drive away in the car, turn right around and go back and kiss you again. I want to be free, sweetheart, free to live like a human being again, to live rather than exist; to feel each day rather than count it. I want you, dear – and I won’t be happy until I have you! The only consolation I get is in the fact that our love is a real one – and time is proving that. Eleven months of separation has not dimmed you from my mind’s eye even a fraction, darling; how I would love to see you in the ‘real’ once more, to feel my heart pound as I approached your door and waited for you to answer, to hold you tightly against me over and over again and to be able to say something to you, rather than write it – and hear your answer. Job had nothing on two people in love with each other when it comes to patience!

Excuse the mood, darling. The picture got me into it. So long as I know you are there, loving me and waiting for me, I can stick this damned thing out – and then, sweetheart, we will live again!

Today, Friday the 13th, is no more hazardous a day than most days are for a soldier, I guess – and so we’re taking this one in stride. This morning I was fairly busy with routine duties and then I went to the movie. This evening I believe I’ll read. Last night we played cards for awhile and then I went to bed early. One of the things I did accomplish this morning was to mail the clock. It was carefully boxed by one of my men – and if that’s all that is necessary, it ought to reach you in good condition. The big problem is whether or not it gets by the censor. It has at least two of those to pass – and either one of them can confiscate it. That’s the way they work – although it doesn’t sound reasonable. A good many items have been sent out – and no more has been heard about them. I’ll be plenty angry if that occurs in this case – but that’s as far as it will go, I guess. Anyway, darling, I’ll be able to tell you about it and who knows – I might even draw you a picture of it.

I got your letter telling me of your fasting and praying. Thank you, sweetheart, and I, for one, certainly hope that what you prayed for, comes true – and soon. I didn’t fast – although there was a time when I did. I guess the Lord will forgive me this time.

All for now, dear, I’ve got to get ready to eat. We have our evening meal at 1700 to give the kitchen a chance to clean up before it gets too dark outside. Hope to hear from you later – mail is not in yet for today. Meanwhile – my love to the folks, darling, and

My deepest and sincerest love to you

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "A Guy Named Joe"

From Wikipedia:

Pete Sandidge (Spencer Tracy) is the reckless pilot of a B-25 Mitchell bomber flying out of England during World War II. He is in love with Dorinda Durston (Irene Dunne), a civilian pilot ferrying planes across the Atlantic. "Nails" Kilpatrick (James Gleason), Pete's commanding officer, first transfers Pete and his crew to a base in Scotland and then offers him a transfer back to America to be a flying instructor. Dorinda has a feeling that Pete's "number is up" and begs him to accept. Pete agrees, but goes out on one last mission with his best friend Al Yackey (Ward Bond) to check out a German aircraft carrier. Wounded after an attack by an enemy fighter, he has his crew bail out before bombing the ship and crashing into the sea.

Pete then finds himself walking in clouds, where he first recognizes an old friend, Dick Rumney (Barry Nelson). Suddenly becoming ill-at-ease after remembering that Dick went down with his aircraft in a fiery crash, Pete says, "either I'm dead or I'm crazy." Dick answers, "You're not crazy." Dick ushers Pete to a meeting with "The General" (Lionel Barrymore) who gives him an assignment. He is to be sent back to Earth, where a year has elapsed, to pass on his experience and knowledge to dilettante Ted Randall (Van Johnson), first in flight school, then as a P-38 Lightning fighter pilot in the south Pacific. Ted's commanding officer turns out to be Al Yackey.

The situation becomes complicated when Ted meets the still-grieving Dorinda. Al encourages Dorinda to give the young pilot a chance. The pair gradually fall in love; Ted proposes to her and she accepts, much to Pete's jealous dismay.

When Dorinda finds out from Al that Ted has been given an extremely dangerous assignment to destroy the largest Japanese ammunition dump in the Pacific, she steals his aircraft. Pete guides her in completing the mission and returning to the base to Ted's embrace. Pete accepts what must be and walks away, his job done.

12 October 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

12 October, 1944        1415

Dearest sweetheart,

I guess I can’t be so very old if I can still remember when the 12th of October was a Holiday. But nowadays it’s not much of a day at home or here; maybe the boys in Italy have the day off.

Last night, dear, I wrote you a V-mail and explained to you that we were in a new location. Things are a bit more settled today and we’re relaxing again. As a matter of fact, darling, I’ve had a pretty busy practice since last night – a private practice This is a small village we’re in and without a doctor. The M.D. from the next town has fled with the Nazis, so these people are rather hard put. All of them, of course, state they were not Nazis, hated Hitler and that they’re glad the Germans have lost the war; all of them are liars – as far as I’m concerned, and as someone or other said recently, I’m not forgetting the fact that it was not Hitler who gave us the Germans, but the Germans who gave us Hitler.

Apparently our military government is being very careful, because all soldiers have been warned that they will be fined if they are found even speaking to a Civilian. As far as I’m concerned – when someone is sick I take care of him or her, regardless. I certainly have little love for these people who – if they weren’t strong Nazis – at least passively acquiesced to Hitler and his policy.

I saw one man with a bad strep throat whose wife was afraid he had diphtheria – there having been some in the vicinity. He doesn’t have it and is already a bit better after one night’s Sulfathiazol etc.; another call was to see a girl of 14 and she has LaGrippe or the flu; and finally I saw a woman of 47 who is having her menopause and suffers from a migraine-like headache. I think I have something to help her.

Say, that reminds me, I never did get around to expressing my views on night-gowns, night-shirts – and all points South. The fact is I have never thought very much about the subject, but I see now that I’ll have to one of these days. I rather think, darling, that I’ll be kind of easy to persuade, whatever your final decision is.

In your letter of the 26th September, dear, you tell me of reading all my letters from 1 June to the present and ending up with a crying jag. I’m sorry, Sweetheart, for that – but a good cry now and then never did any woman any harm. I remember writing you often – not to worry. I haven’t written that recently, if I can remember correctly – because I realize it’s natural to worry anyway, and that if I write for you not to worry, you’ll think it’s because there is really something to worry about. I’m glad about one thing, though, in my letters; I got you to admit you got a complete picture of my activities and thoughts. That’s what I’ve been trying to do always, sweetheart. And you don’t have to wonder whether you are always in my mind; you are, darling – as no one or nothing ever has been before. And if I ever needed anything to keep me going and keep me from complaining about all this – I found that in you, dear. Your love and mine for you has made all the difference in the world; I can’t tell you that too often –

I was glad to read that Stan had called to say ‘Hello’ and hadn’t lost his vim and vigor. Your letter was written on the 26th and he was to be married on the 30th – so I assume this was a last minute visit home to take care of final arrangements. I got a real laugh out of your story about the E.T.O. ribbon and that reminds me, I was going to mention it at the dinner table this noon and forgot. From what I read of the soldiers’ mail when I censor letters, I can believe it; some of our men just love to color up things for the folks at home and this must have been such a case. That particular ribbon, by the way, was the object of many jokes while we were in England. The English for one thing, couldn’t see why the Americans got a ribbon for just coming to England. It did seem funny, but the fact is – we wear the same ribbon for the entire European campaign. Mine – as well as thousands of others – will be garnished with a couple of stars, anyway, each star representing a campaign. I imagine there will be one for the Battle of France and one for the Battle of Germany. In the last war they gave such stars for battles like the one at Château-Thierry or the Meuse-Argonne, or the Battle of the Marne – etc. Incidentally I passed all through the above-mentioned areas in one day. And before I forget it – the enclosed are a few post-cards I collected since landing in France. We are now allowed to send them home, minus writing or dates – and so long as they don’t have a particular sequence. But save them, darling, and I’ll tell you a little story about each – after the war. I almost forgot – the only name we use for the ETO ribbon is Spam-Ribbon – the name originating in England.

Well, my sweetheart, I’ll stop now. Keep on loving me and wanting me – as I do you – and regardless of all forecasts and discouraging notes from any source – we’ll just keep on this way, knowing that some day we’re bound to have each other the way we’ve wanted it for so long. And this will be but a memory – to push aside and recall only when we reminisce about the way we grew to love each other even though we were apart. My love to the folks, sweetheart and

My everlasting love

Greg.

* TIDBIT *

about Hahn, Germany

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE

Hahn - View from the East in 2007

According to Wikipedia, Hahn is a municipality belonging to a kind of collective – in the Rhein-Hunsrück-Kreis District in Rhineland-Palatinate, Germany. It belongs to the Verbandsgemeinde of Kirchberg, whose seat is in the town of Kirchberg. At the end of 2010, 165 people lived in Hahn's 2 square miles. The municipality lies on a ridge in the part of the Hunsrück facing the Moselle River on the watershed between the Nahe River and the Moselle, and also on the Hunsrückhöhenstraße (“Hunsrück Heights Road”), a scenic road built originally as a military road on Hermann Göring’s orders, across the Hunsrück mountain range.

The Moselle Valley separates
the Eifel (farther) and Hunsrück (closer) Ranges

Within Hahn’s municipal limits are traces of Roman and Frankish settlements. References to Hahn date back to 1120. Beginning in 1794 it lay under French rule. In 1815 it was assigned to the Kingdom of Prussia at the Congress of Vienna. Since 1946, it has been part of the then newly founded state of Rhineland-Palatinate. After the Second World War, a United States Air Force NATO air base was built on parts of the municipal area. This was converted for civil aviation in 1993 after the United States withdrew from the base. Although it is 75 miles from Frankfurt, it is nonetheless called "Frankfurt-Hahn Airport," causing consternation to many.

The building worthiest of note in Hahn is the little village church. Saint Anthony’s Simultaneous Church, with a tower that looks rather like a defensive structure, dates to some time between 1350 and 1370. The nave and quire date from 1470. Two bronze bells come from 1489, according to the inscription (one bell was recast because it had cracked). In a 1508 document, the church is called a “rectorate at Hahn”. Since 17 May 1689 the church has been a "simultaneous church," used by both Catholics and Evangelicals. Each faith owns half of the church, and separate services are held at predetermined times. St. Anthony's is the second oldest simultaneous church in the Evangelical Church in the Rhineland.

Saint Anthony's Simultaneous Church in 2007
Hahn, Germany

Simultaneous churches were built in many municipalities in the Palatinate. So many of them were later abolished in the course of industrialization between 1880 and 1910 that the smaller denomination in each case built its own church. In the little village of Hahn, however, there was no need. On the information display board before the church, there is a reference to the Gospel According to John: Damit sie alle eins seien – “That they all may be one” (John 17:21).

11 October 1944

V-MAIL

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

11 October, 1944         1900

Hello Sweetheart –

The close of another day and my first opportunity to write you a few lines. Excuse the V-mail, dear, but if not this, I wouldn’t have the chance to write you anything today.

I spent most of the a.m. getting my radio fixed, darling, and at last I struck a signal company that had the time to look my set over. It now works fine again. I hope it stays so for awhile. After the war, darling, I’ll just throw away any radio we have that goes bad. No fooling around with them.

We’re in a new spot again – and that took up the rest of the day. It’s not as good a set-up as before – but indoors nonetheless. We have no electricity but I managed to dig up a kerosene lantern and I’m writing by that, now. When I finish this I must go out and check on my men. They are in a house, too, but I have to see if they’re settled – etc. And then to bed. Evenings come early here, sweetheart and I have lots of time to dwell upon my love for you, dear. It does make the time bearable though. I always come to the same conclusion: I’m lucky I met you. I love you deeply and I’ll marry you pronto when I get home. So long, dear.

All my deepest love,

Greg.

Route of the Question Mark


[CLICK ON MAP TO ENLARGE]

(A) Raeren to (B) Hahn, Germany (5 miles)
28 September to 11 October 1944

October 11... Hahn, Germany. Here we stayed for seven weeks, with a Nazi gun shelling us continually, and a shell landed among all the trailers in our motor pool and started a fire that lit the entire sky. We lived in tiny houses in this backward village and were completely comfortable. Mud everywhere, little steep hills, and the natives seemed to spend all their time milking sheep. We had our terrific Thanksgiving dinner here, even had printed menus. We got our first quota of Paris passes, and passes to the Jayhawk Rest Camp at Verviers. We had too many inspections and we used to watch the planes drop thousands of tons of bombs on Aachen.

* TIDBIT *

about The Huertgen Forest in Early October
and The First Attack on Schmidt (continued)

[CLICK ON MAP TO ENLARGE]

The following was excerpted from the "U.S. 9th Infantry Division in WWII" website.

October 11 brought success and failure for both sides. American attempts to exploit success at Raffelsbrand produced nothing but longer casualty lists. A German counterattack struck Chatfield's men before daylight, and though beaten back, Chatfield reported that "the enemy maintained pressure here for the rest of the day and crowned it before dark with a bayonet charge." When the Americans tried to bring up reinforcements, they were pinned down by several pillboxes along the Reichelskaul-Raffelsbrand road that they had bypassed the previous day.

Lieutenant Colonel Oscar H. Thompson's 1st Battalion, 39th Infantry, was finally able to enter Germeter but found that its defenders had abandoned their positions during the night. Hoping to seize more ground, A Company, supported by the 1st Platoon of C/746th Tank Battalion, probed eastward toward Vossenack. The column had only covered 500 or so yards when a Panzerschreck knocked out the lead tank, and the remaining American armor and infantry withdrew. A subsequent advance by A Company under cover of smoke ended with the destruction of two more Shermans.

The Americans had some success to the north and west of Germeter. Leaving I Company behind to protect the northern approaches to the town, K and L companies encountered little resistance as they moved eastward from Wittscheidt. By late afternoon, Lt. Col. Richard H. Stumpf's 3rd Battalion had advanced nearly a mile and was preparing to attack Vossenack from a ridge northeast of the village. Major Lawrence Decker's 2nd Battalion was also able to advance.

Maj. Gen. Louis A. Craig's 9th Infantry Division men had at least been gradually moving forward, but ominous events had occurred during the night that would soon threaten what little progress they had made. Accompanied by the German LXXIV Corps commander, Lt. Gen. Erich Straube, Seventh Army commander Lt. Gen. Erich Brandenburger visited Schmidt's command post. After hearing a candid assessment of the situation, Brandenburger promised to send a unit composed of well-trained and well-equipped troops to the front. Numbering 161 officers and 1,639 enlisted/officer cadets, the force was organized with three battalions of three companies each and a regimental heavy-weapons company. Its commander, Colonel Helmuth Wegelein, was an experienced leader. Schmidt and Wegelein quickly agreed that a counterattack against the northern flank of the Americans had the best chance of producing favorable results. Wegelein would launch his assault from an assembly area near Hürtgen, advancing southwest until he isolated the American battalions near Germeter.

Following a brief but concentrated artillery preparation, Wegelein's men advanced from their positions just before dawn, moving purposefully along the wooded plateau paralleling the Germeter-Hürtgen road. An American platoon of dismounted armor crewmen from 746th Tank Battalion, securing a roadblock along the left flank of 2nd Battalion, 39th Infantry, was the first to encounter this new threat and was quickly scattered. By 0700 hours, Wegelein had succeeded in isolating several of 1st Battalion's rifle companies. As testament to the isolation caused by the densely wooded terrain, the 39th's 3rd Battalion was completely unaware that the nearby 1st Battalion was being cut to pieces.

Lacking reserves to blunt the enemy thrust, Lieutenant Colonel Van H. Bond, commander of the 39th Infantry Regiment, requested help from General Craig, who directed elements of the divisional reconnaissance troop — augmented by a platoon of light tanks — to assist the embattled 39th. As the situation grew more serious, Craig ordered the 47th Infantry at Schevenhütte to dispatch two rifle companies and a company of medium tanks from the 3rd Armored Division to reinforce Bond. Rushed to the point of greatest crisis, these reinforcements were finally able to halt the German advance when it reached the road leading west out of Germeter.

The abortive counterattack cost the Germans nearly 500 casualties, with little to show in return. The failed operation, however, produced at least one positive result for the Germans: Surprised by the strength and intensity of their assault, Bond ordered Stumpf's battalion to abandon its plans to attack Vossenack in order to reduce the salient Wegelein had created.

10 October 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

10 October, 1944          1800

Dearest darling –

I’ve been away most of today running around trying to get my second radio fixed. I seemed to be jinxed with radios now – after having had such good luck with my first one which lasted for 2 years and which took a good deal of punishment. The present one is of course second hand and it’s starting to break down. I’ve had several parts replaced already and it should play, but damn it to hell – a fellow worked on it all day today and the blanged thing just wouldn’t manufacture any music. Well tomorrow is another day and I’ll try another signal outfit.

I came back, darling, to find no mail again. I guess mail will be slow from here in – what with Christmas packages coming through soon. I hope my mail to you is beginning to come through better, dear.

Tonight – if they can get the movie projector working – we may have a show – Spencer Tracy in “A Guy Named Joe”. I remember reading something about it some time ago, but I can’t recall whether it had a good reports or not.

I finally won part of a baseball pool when the Cards scored one run in the 1stto the 8th – day before yesterday. I won 90 marks – $9.00 which gave me a net profit of $3.00 – since it cost us $1.00 per game. So you see, dear, I can win sometimes!

In one of your recent letters you mentioned Nat Stone’s sister. Gosh – she really had it tough all her life. I guess she’s better off, but it does seem as if some people get it and others don’t. That’s why we must be very thankful and not complain too much. It’s very easy to be thankful, too, over here – when you see people maimed – and not very far from you. I’m speaking now in terms of yards, dear, without trying to alarm you. The fact is I do believe in a God and I can’t help but feel that He has a good deal to do with who gets hurt and who doesn’t. Needless to say, I’m looking out for myself, too, darling – so don’t worry. I want to come back home – well – just as much as you want me to.

Well – if you want a dog we’ll have one – but not because you’ll be afraid to stay at home, dear. I’d like one too – I think they’re nice around a house. Incidentally – that clock has been carefully boxed and could be shipped around the world, I believe. Now I have only to wait for the opportune time. At present – it wouldn’t pass the first censor. Oh – and before I forget – the package I have ready to send – will go out in a day or two. It will get by O.K. – but I must tell you one thing. I’ve heard from one source that the US Customs occasionally opens a package in N.Y. and notifies the recipient they can have the package if they’ll pay the duty. If this occurs – you’re stuck, darling – but it doesn’t happen often.

Sweetheart – I’d better stop now and get over to battalion if I expect to see that picture. It should be going on very shortly and I need a little relaxation after tearing around today. I do hope dear that I hear from you tomorrow because I end up just as blue and frustrated as you do, I believe. Oh happy day when we no longer have to resort to letters to express our love for each other! That will really be Utopia for us, dear. Solong for now, then, love to the folks – and

My everlasting love, Sweetheart

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about the Sonderkommando Revolt
Auschwitz – Birkenau

CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE

Sonderkommandos
burning corpses at Birkenau

This has been taken directly from the website of "The Holocaust Research Project". A more complete version, giving names of participants, can be found there.

The Sonderkommando or ("Special Command Units') were Jewish prisoners who were forced to work in the death camps at the grisly task of burning of the corpses of those already murdered by the Nazi's. For periods lasting from two to four months these units worked under hellish conditions until they themselves were liquidated by the Germans. The first task of their replacements was to dispose of the bodies of the previous group. Since a Sonderkommando usually comprised men from incoming transports, their second task often consisted of disposing of the bodies of their own families. At Birkenau their duties included guiding the new arrivals into the gas chambers, removing the bodies afterwards, shaving hair, removing teeth, sorting through possessions, cremating the bodies, in the crematoria or open air pits and disposing of the ashes.

At the end of June 1944 the Sonderkommandos were moved from barracks to live in the attics of Crematoria Nos II, III and IV. Among them were nineteen Soviet Prisoners of War who incited members of the Sonderkommando to revolt. A group of leaders was formed. One of the Sonderkommando leaders kept a written record in a small notebook which was buried in a jar under the earth and found after the war.

The resistance leaders made contact with some Jewish girls who worked in the munitions factory located near the Auschwitz main camp, and two of them began to receive small quantities of explosives, hidden in a false bottom of a food tray. On the 7 October 1944 the camp underground military leaders sent an urgent warning to the resistance cadre at the crematoria that they had learned the SS were going to liquidate the Sonderkommando shortly. On that fateful morning the Senior Sonderkommando man at Crematorium IV was ordered to draw up lists for evacuation of 300 men on the same day, out of the total complement of 874 men.

Filip Muller, a member of the Sonderkommando, described what happened next:

Towards mid-day Scharfuhrer Busch, Unterscharfuhrer Gorges and several other SS men and guards arrived in the yard in front of crematorium IV. All prisoners were ordered to line up, with the exception of fourteen who were away on their various jobs and who, in any case, were not affected by the selection. Then Busch began calling out the first few numbers on the list, starting with the highest and working his way down to the lowest. Those selected for transfer were made to stand on the opposite side of the yard, those not concerned, once they had been called, were allowed to return to Crematorium V. Then a member of the Sonderkommando since 1942 approached SS Staff Sergeant Busch and after a brief exchange, yelled the password “Hurrah” and struck the SS man with a hammer.

Salmen Lewental recalled their courage:

They showed an immense courage refusing to budge from the spot. They set up a loud shout, hurled themselves upon the guards with hammers and axes, wounded some of them, the rest they beat with what they could get at, they pelted them with stones without further ado. It is easy to imagine what was the upshot of this. Few moments had passed when a whole detachment of SS men drove in, armed with machine guns and grenades. There were so many of them that each had two machine guns for one prisoner. Even such an army was mobilized against them.

Members of the Sonderkommando at Crematorium IV attacked the SS and several SS men were wounded, whilst other SS sought cover behind the barbed-wire fence, shooting at the prisoners with their machine pistols. The men in Kommando 59-B using the explosives in hand-made grenades blew up the crematorium, which burst into flames. After cutting the barbed-wire fence, the prisoners got away into the nearby wood. At the sound of explosions and fighting the members of Kommando 57-B at Crematorium Number II started to revolt. The Reichsdeutsche Oberkapo and one SS-man were thrown into the burning furnace alive, another SS–man was beaten to death. After hastily grabbing some weapons they cut the barbed-wire fence, but instead of turning north-east in the direction of the Vistula River, they turned south-west in the direction of the sub-camp at Rajsko. The prisoners of squads 58B in Crematorium III and 60B in Crematorium V did not revolt as they were not informed of the plan to take up arms and SS reinforcements quickly stifle any further resistance. But they did manage to pour the explosives down the latrine, before the SS discovered them.

In Rajsko the SS blocked the escape routes of the Sonderkommando members, and the escapees sought refuge in a barn and prepared to defend themselves. The SS set fire to the barn and the prisoners were shot to death as they fled the burning barn. Within minutes of the break-out from Crematorium II, the alarm sounded and almost immediately SS men drove up in trucks and surrounded the whole area of the revolt. Most of the escapees were shot down mercilessly. Two hundred and fifty prisoners died in this exchange, among them the organizers of the uprising.

A fire-fighting squad was sent from Auschwitz main camp to put out the fire in Crematorium IV and witness the shooting to death of the members of Squad 59B. The fire-fighting squad is then sent to Rajsko to put out the burning barn. An air-raid prevented the SS men from pursuing the other escapees. In the evening, all the prisoners who were killed were brought to the grounds of Crematorium IV and the remaining members of the Sonderkommando were also brought to Crematorium IV. Another two hundred prisoners from the Sonderkommando who took part in the revolt were shot and killed. Following a short speech by the SS full of threats, the ghastly work resumed as normal in Crematoriums II, IIII and V.

Also in the evening when the all clear had sounded, SS patrols with dogs set off in search of the 12 members of the Sonderkommando at Crematorium II who were still missing. These twelve men had managed to cross the Vistula River, but exhausted they had hidden in an empty building. The SS tracked them down, killed them and brought their bodies back to the camp.

On 10 October 1944 three female Jewish prisoners employed in the Weichsel-Union – Metallwerke were arrested in the women’s camp of Auschwitz 1. They were charged with stealing explosives from the depot of the plant and giving them to the prisoners of the Sonderkommando, who had fashioned primitive grenades which they used during the uprising. On the same day fourteen prisoners of the Sonderkommando were arrested and locked in the bunker of Block 11 in the Auschwitz main camp. Two more female prisoners were arrested in the women’s camp of Auschwitz II on the charge of having contact with the Sonderkommando and transporting explosives there.

On the 6 January 1945 in the evening four female prisoners were hanged in the women’s camp of Auschwitz. The execution took place in two stages, two female prisoners are hanged during the evening roll call, in the presence of the male and female prisoners who worked the night shift at the Weichsel–Union munitions plant. The other two female prisoners were hanged after the return of the squad that worked the day shift. SS- Obersturmfuhrer Hossler read out the sentence, and screamed that all traitors would be destroyed in this manner.

09 October 1944

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

Germany

9 October, 1944            1730

My dearest sweetheart –

Well – this is the first time in a day and a half that I’ve had to sit me down quietly and write you a letter. I’ve been “on-the-go” ever since yesterday a.m., the chief reason being that I went up into Holland yesterday. It was a quasi-official trip, but not really. The real purpose I suppose was that I wanted to see something of the Netherlands – so I did. And darling – the land is really low – and flat; and the canals and waterways are amazing. There are different levels of waters and one canal runs into another from side channels and you could swear the highest one would soon run dry, but apparently that does not occur.

And the people are blond to a great extent. The children are – about 100%, it seemed. The language – although spelled differently, sounds a great deal like a slovenly German. I was able to make myself understood fairly well – better than I was able to understand. I got a couple of snapshots of a few places, dear. I’m getting to see a bit of Europe – all in all – what with France, Belgium, Germany and Holland. Now I’m ready to come back, darling.

I didn’t find any mail from you, dear, only 1 letter from Barney Weinstein who is expecting a 30 Leave back to the States from Pearl Harbor. He’s been away for a long time and certainly has it coming to him. That reminds me – thanks for mailing the cigars from the folks. I’ll thank them myself, dear, later. I’ll say this, darling, – after all I’ve got to be as gallant as you –– if I could see you dear, I wouldn’t smoke the damn things! I’ll never forget the Sunday at Holyoke when I wanted to smoke a cigar and you didn’t want me to; and I made you stop smoking cigarettes as long as you wouldn’t let me smoke what I wanted. Finally you gave in – wanting to smoke very badly, – but I was stubborn. You wouldn’t have to work so hard on me now, dear. I don’t see how I’d have time to smoke one anyway. But – meanwhile, thanks!

What’s this about planning our children carefully? No children of ours are going to have fiances or fiancées laughing at them – don’t worry about that, but hell, dear, let’s have a couple at random – shall I say, and a couple planned. And that would be something – your being able to pack yourself up and shipping yourself over here. That’s one package I wouldn’t have to share!

It does seem odd to write we’ve known each other 14 mos. and that we’ve been apart for 10 of them. It’s sort of paradoxical and yet I do feel that I know you all of the 14 months and not just a fraction of them. I certainly know you well enough to reveal myself to you in all my moods – and you apparently do likewise; we’re engaged, we love each other, I’ve met and known your folks and you – mine; I think of you and you alone as the most important part of my future and an hour of a day doesn’t go by but what I associate something with you. I don’t go to bed of a night without thinking my last thoughts – of you. Darling that all adds up to our knowing each other and loving each other for 14 months – and that’s sound. That is why, too, I don’t ever have the slightest qualms about our being strange to each other. I don’t believe we’ll have to get to know each other. We’re getting to know a lot about one another every day – and sweetheart – the more I get to know you – the more I love you. Yes – I’m sure it will go something like this “Here I am again, darling, when do we get married?” and you’d better plan an early wedding, that’s all I say.

Must stop now, dear, dash a note off to Mother A and then do a couple of records. Hope to hear from you tomorrow. My love to the folks and so long for now, darling.

My sincerest love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Some Articles from Time Magazine

The 9 October 1944 issue of Time Magazine had the following articles...

The First 2,000,000
Russia tried to buy 2,000,000 artificial legs on the American market last week. The small U.S. factories, already far behind on domestic orders, could not help out — none of them produces more than 5,000 artificial limbs a year. The Soviets, who must step up their own small output, are already studying American methods. For 2,000,000 false legs was only a starting estimate; after three and a half years of continuous fighting, the number of war cripples in Russia is unknown.

Down to the Minimum
The U.S. is down to the last thin line of motorcars essential to the maintenance of its civilian economy. At the rate of 4,000 a day, the nation's much-enduring cars (average age 6.3 years) are rolling off the roads into the junk piles. By year's end, the Office of Defense Transportation predicts, only 23,750,000 privately owned passenger cars will be operating versus 29,507,000 in 1941.

In reserve are only some 650,000 used cars held by dealers or in storage, and less than 20,000 new 1942 models not yet released. The margin of safety in the U.S. car supply is as thin as the tires on many of the cars still rolling.

Passenger tire production for this year will be between 15,000,000 and 18,000,000 — far short of the scheduled 22,000,000, the estimated minimum tire requirements for civilian cars. Mechanics available to keep cars in repair have fallen some 44,000 short of the needed 250,000.

Gloomiest note: even with the best of luck, next year the attrition rate will rise to 2,000,000 cars.

Racket on the Alleys
A new black market burgeoned in Chicago. The commodity: bowling-alley pin boys, who are the key cog in the industry, and are at a premium because of the manpower shortage. To beat this bottleneck, some alley proprietors are hijacking the "pin boys" (usually older men) working for other alleys.

Hijackers lure experienced pin boys away from alleys by offering them 9¢ or 10¢ a scorecard line instead of the ceiling wage of 8¢. The teen-agers still available can be bought by the mere offer of a hamburger or a hot dog, and will then work in a new alley for the ceiling wage. But proprietors are reluctant even to waste a hamburger on the young boys, because they are undependable. One desperate proprietor offered a group of high-school boys 15¢ a line so he could hold a tournament—then had to call the tournament off when they all walked out at the last minute.

Army & Navy - Persistent Poles
Someone in the Army Service Forces, which thinks of everything, thought that U.S. invasion troops would need a lot of telephone poles. Two years ago troops had scarcely landed on North Africa when ships and trucks arrived laden with poles from the U.S., poles from Argentina, native poles — 8,000 in assorted sizes from 20 to 40 feet.

Signal Corps Lieut. John Johnson, of Atlanta, Ga., and others took a baffled look at what A.S.F. had sent, and hurried on. Combat units merely unroll their telephone wires along the ground or string them through handy trees. They have no time to put up poles.

But Service Forces officers had their orders and they carried them out in the old Army way. As the invasion moved across Algeria, they moved the poles. Trucks carried the supply (which included crossarms, insulators, copper wiring) some 400 miles over the mountains to Constantine, on to Mateur, on to Bizerte.

That winter was cold, and soldiers finally found a use for the poles. By the time the Army began jumping into Sicily and up through Italy, some 5,000 poles had disappeared into G.I. bonfires and cookstoves. But last week Lieut. Johnson groaned again. Onto his beach in southern France a ship was unloading the remaining 2,800 poles. "I'm afraid when the war is over and I am back with my family," Johnson declared, "someone is going to deliver those things to my backyard."

Art from Paris
For four years the art circles of three continents have wondered what was happening to the artists in occupied Paris. What had become of the famed Paris School of modern painting branded "decadent" by the Nazis? Was there a new, underground art movement? Were there many new paintings by such modern masters as Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse? Last week the curtain was beginning to lift. French-made color reproductions of new work by Matisse, Picasso, Bonard and some younger men had been flown across the Atlantic. The portfolios (called Editions du Chene) established two points: 1) the older artists had done considerable work, had not changed markedly in style; 2) the younger painters had followed modern traditions.

Matisse had been painting tanned, voluptuous young girls such as his Dancer in Blue Dress. His Woman in Veil was top-form and more familiar in subject: bold, exuberant painting in sensuous flesh pink decorated with gay scrolls and dots.

Picasso still experimented with his own brand of cubism, and distorted figure painting. Woman in Blue Waist showed a seated figureagainst soft green. Woman in Armchair added to Picasso's cubism a pinwheel-and-tinsel fantasy.

Producer of the portfolios is 25-year-old Maurice Girodias, son of an Englishman who published advance-guard writers in between-wars Paris. Girodias got most of his paper from the black market, foiled German authorities by simply leaving town when his work appeared.