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by Lewis M. Bloom

Here it is, almost 2001, and the event that occurred at the very end of the war in the ETO returns to mind, again and again. I have noted many World War II incidents, but, until now, felt constrained about telling this story. The impact it had on me was quite complex, even a little disturbing.

The 100th Infantry Division was moving at a rapid pace into the eastern part of our sector in Wurtemberg-Baden. A stop occurred in a small village. Division Headquarters assembled itself and the G-2 Section set up shop. As the Division's assigned Order of Battle Analyst, I proceeded to the Team's space and began to unload our gear. The AC of S, G-2, Lt. Col. Paul S. Reinecke, shortly came by and advised me to prepare to leave the next morning to investigate a Wehrmacht Reserve Lazarett (the numerical designation has long escaped memory) about ten to fifteen miles east of our forward positions. The Colonel would lead the "task force," which would include the assistant divisional surgeon (a dentist) and assistants, a chaplain, myself, an interrogator, perhaps a few other officers in charge of a section of armed infantry riding in jeeps, a reconnaissance section with armored vehicles, and some two-and-a-half ton trucks. The Colonel and I rode in the armored vehicle

The rationale for this activity rested in an unusual development. Resisting divisional German Army units were in disarray and offering only minimal resistance by very small, dedicated "kampfgruppen." There were large gaps between major enemy combat units. A German Army Medical Corps officer from the Reserve Lazarett slipped through one of the gaps, surrendered to one of our units, and requested to convey a formal message from the Colonel commanding Reserve Lazarett to our Commanding General. The message, in essence, was that his hospital had about 2500 to 3000 military patients, mostly bedridden, many with serious wounds, and a few fanatical walking wounded who were planning to sneak weapons onto the hospital grounds for the purpose of organizing a "kampfgruppen," later to deploy it nearby to harass the invading American troops. The hospital, in the minds of these fanatics, was the only structure where arms could be collected without being observed and harassed by the ever present fighter bombers that would shoot up any moving object or suspicious area. The exception to such danger was the hospital; its Red Cross markings were off limits to the American Air Force. Further, the hospital was almost out of such medical supplies as alcohol, bandages, anesthetics, food and other necessities. Our commanding general was urged to send troops to neutralize the area, provide needed supplies, including medical personnel, and to evacuate those wounded able to be moved.

General Burress decided to move on the request, putting Lt. Col. Reinecke in charge of the next morning's task force. We all "saddled up" after breakfast and took off. The ride was eventless, except for the beautiful spring scenery that appeared to me, not unlike the expansive meadows of central New Jersey. We approached the hospital, noting the unusual architectural layout. The central capitoline structure had five (I believe) extending wings, as in a five-pointed star. The entrance, between two wings, was broad enough to hold a few of our armored vehicles; the others remained at the edge. We entered and were met by the German Army Medical Colonel and a small staff. The amenities completed, we began to walk upstairs to the headquarters when we were interrupted by a few unarmed, noisy and obstreperous groups of young, slightly wounded officers shouting obscenities at their Colonel and us. Our people pulled pistols immediately and made for the rebels. I grabbed one and shoved the barrel of my pistol into his back. He yelled in pain and fell down. The group was quelled in minutes and taken away by our accompanying infantry squad. We proceeded to the Colonel's office to discuss the problem and possible solutions.

First and foremost, it was agreed, was to determine how many men and women (nurses) were in the hospital, the condition of the patients, and an inventory of needed supplies of medical and non-medical items. It was agreed that all members, patients and otherwise, would be inventoried and their clothing marked with colored chalk, those capable of being moved in one color and those who would remain in another. Our medical personnel, assisted by German Army nurses and their medical personnel, plunged into each of the wings where the wards were to determine who could not be moved and who was to be evacuated to a USA hospital or other center. I walked around the wings, sometimes with the medical personnel, to determine if there were any items of military intelligence that were useful for my work. Aside from such things as morale, I was able to put together a structure of enemy unit identifications and their military condition that I used to compare with what I had accumulated. There were later interesting surprises. As the Germans say about many things, the aphorism, "alles in ordnung," applied to the hospital. It was "spit-and-polish" without the shine, but, it was very obvious that much needed things were missing. There was a permeating, nauseous odor everywhere and no available germicidal disinfectant to destroy it. Bandages were unclean, no more to replace them, plus, lots more deficiencies, even to a medically untrained eye. The wounded troops were from Das Heer (Army), Marine Kusten Artillery (Naval Coastal Artillery--they manned the naval railroad guns), no SS personnel, but, lo and behold, a goodly number of Afrika Korps wounded, though these seemed to be in fairly good condition. The day wore on while our people made their rounds, marked off those for the evacuation, categorized needed supplies, etc. Near dusk, Col. Reinecke called me aside to tell me the great news. American personnel were to leave shortly and present a thorough report, including the recommendation that a requisite number of trucks from a transportation company arrive shortly after dawn the next day to evacuate movable sick and wounded prisoners. Made sense! The next statement from the Colonel was that I, alone, would remain behind to organize all those who would be moved. Speechless was the order of the moment. Before I could muster all the reasons, or some of them, as to the hazards of such an order, not an easy thing to in front of your commander, Reinecke was off and running, as was everyone else. Fifty-five years is a long memory stretch, but, knowing this G-2, he made sure there was a recon car with radio communication to Division Headquarters, plus, some infantry outside the hospital's periphery. I had to think fast, get my brain organized, and come out with some plan that would not only secure my neck, but, make the next morning's move smooth and efficient

The German Medical Colonel understood my predicament. He moved me up about two flights to his very impressive private quarters. It was impressive! I recall about two large living room/sitting room accommodations, the smaller one possessing something like a bar, and both with a pleasing non-military decor. The larger room opened to an outside veranda that encompassed, if memory serves me, at least 180 degrees around the central capital-like dome, possibly 360 degrees. There was one entrance-exit leading to the downstairs central rotunda. It was this singular entrance that posed the beginning phase of a gripping period. Let me add that the Colonel spoke English very well. He acted with great civility, told me about the many medical conferences he had attended in the US, while also touching upon the problems he had with this hospital. No sooner than when we seemed to settle down in the apartment, we were interrupted by a heavy knock on the door and the entry of a medical "feldwebel" who announced that the "guard" was in place. The Colonel and I moved to the open door and what I saw took me aback. There, next to the door and down about two landings, were a squad of "Afrika Korps soldaten" armed with ax staves. Upon seeing both of us, they snapped to attention, the senior reporting to the Colonel the oft repeated phrase of "alles in ordnung." I learned that, as a group, they stood up to the previously mentioned insurrectionists, agreed that the hospital should come under US control, and volunteered to protect the Colonel (I guess me, too) from anyone who interfered with the process at hand. It was obvious that there was more brewing amongst these people than met the unknowing eye of a first lieutenant like myself. If any fireworks were in the offing before evacuation time, my meager arsenal of a Tommy gun, plus, a .45 caliber pistol, plus, the guards' ax staves was enough for only a very meager defense against about 1500 reasonably capable soldier-patients. There were a great many abandoned arms outside the hospital compound. It didn't take much imagination to assess my predicament. The more my situation sank in, the more I recognized that I had to move into the next phase with great speed, both to put things in motion for the evacuation and also to keep things in movement to avoid an inactivity that could breed defiance. Maybe there were some rebels that we didn't apprehend. I couldn't roam the wings of the hospital after dark without a strong escort and I had no such desire. Our troops were gone and the Afrika Korps guards were too few and, so it seemed to me, itching to use those ax staves. I was 1st Lt. Bloom in charge of this piece of geography, but, make no bones about it, they were in charge of me. The trick was to make them perceive only the former. I asked the Colonel for two things: first, to round up all walking patients of field rank or higher into his quarters; second, to provide me with the senior enlisted man in the hospital, walking wounded or whole.

The first to arrive was the senior "feldwebel," a short bulldog of a man with a scarred face. He could have been cast for a Hollywood movie. The "Hitler salute," thank goodness, was not given; his salute was not unlike the kind we used. His oral "zum befehl" was preceded by the litany of rank and unit designation (my inner thought was that he should have included the German word for prisoner, "gefangenen"). With my best military German, aided by the Colonel, I ordered him to go into the wings and choose each senior "feldwebel," and then, bring them into the apartment for further orders. In less than one half hour, the five senior wing NCOs, plus, the senior "feldwebel" reported, each saluted, (one almost gave the "Heil Hitler" salute, but, quickly relented), each gave the customary report about themselves. I even remember heel clicking. All this was almost unreal, yet, somehow, fell into the mold of all the military intelligence training that the Army had lavished on me. I was not uncomfortable; this was all an extension of what I was trained for and what I was now practicing. Again, with the Colonel's discerning manner and with my reasonably good military German, these NCOs were ordered to organize their wing into units of twenty-three and for each to fill the rear of a two-and-a-half ton truck for evacuation. Officers were to be loosely kept near the entrance for placement in a special truck set aside for them. Entrucking would probably begin shortly after dawn. It was made clear that the most senior of the group, the "bulldog," was in charge of this organizing effort and that all questions were to be referred to him. He, in turn, was to refer them to me, as well as to the progress of the procedure. They were then dismissed to carry out the order. They saluted and filed out "by the book."

In retrospect, organizing the wings was relatively easy. While the above little drama was acting out, the field grade officers (majors to colonels) were slowly making their way to the apartment. They placed themselves in the rear of the very large living room, discreetly chatting amongst themselves and closely noting how I handled the matter with the NCOs. Our interaction was formal and polite, with conversation limited to the problems in the hospital. They sipped Bol's Gin and other liquors from a small liquor locker at the far end of the room and concentrated there. One Oberst (colonel) kept moving towards the Medical Colonel and me. He must have been wounded by shrapnel. His right arm extended horizontally from his body, fingers spread on a wire support that extended to his chest and was somehow reinforced on his body frame. He seemed desirous to engage in conversation with me, speaking in a mixed German and English which I found easy to understand. We seemed to hit it off and I felt no apprehension. His opening gambit was to tell me about his educational visits to the US, especially to key battlefields of the Civil War. This signaled the fact that he was a professional officer of the pre-war Reichswehr. Somehow, the Medical Corps Colonel mentioned his name; there had been no formal name introductions to this point. It was a revelation to me, since I had been tracking the kampfgruppen named after him for some time. He, obviously, was an expert in his business, a superb organizer, canny and tough. Perhaps it was my imagination, but, I read hints in his comments that he had some knowledge of our G-2 Section and even of my position; only a guess. He was interested in my educational background, especially my military training. The response to his query called for a yes or no answer. When I gave an affirmative reply, he assumed that I was a graduate of a military academy. I misinterpreted his question, but, made no effort to clarify my CMTC, ROTC and OCS background; the situation did not call for lengthy explanations. He probed seemingly inoffensively towards a point that I clearly saw coming, where I was from, where my parents were from, how close to New York was Highland Park and New Brunswick, and so on. It led to the obvious fact that I was a Jew, without an overt mention of the fact. This guy would have made a brilliant lawyer, especially when up against a non-worldly first lieutenant in his early twenties. Nevertheless, his inquiry was clear. The other officers, apparently, were following the conversation and the points that were evolving. Time was passing, it was quite late, and, yet, no one had any idea of snoozing off in some comfortable chair. The interest in the room was quite high. Occasionally, the senior "feldwebel" would appear and speak to the Medical Colonel. Time passed slowly. What seemed to change was a higher pitched murmuring among the klatch of wounded officers on the far side of the room. There were apparent glances in my direction from time to time and a palpable rise in the conversational decibels, yet, I detected no hostility in their demeanor. However, as they communicated amongst themselves, I sensed that the word of my religious background was the topic of conversation. The word "Jude" escaped in a hushed tone. My understanding of spoken German, at that time, was quite good. Their words focused on inner thoughts which, until now, were secretly repressed, but, now, escaped as personal anecdotes. "There was the up-and-coming Oberst-Lieutenant whose wife was Jewish; The Graf von So-und-So whose maternal grandfather was a prominent banker, who moved in the highest of pre-war circles," and so on, and so forth. "Mea Culpa" stood out as the night neared day. They knew I was listening and understood. Did I not give German military commands correctly to the senior feldwebel? The gulf of war separated us as well as the subtle but very real subject of who I was. This scene could only have happened at this wartime moment and in an enemy military hospital. All this went on until almost dawn.

Dawn happily came. I looked around and strained my ears for the sound of the promised transportation. Fatigue, it was there, but, the night's episode generated enough adrenaline to keep me awake and effectively sharp. Anyway, I was accustomed to short periods of sleep. The welcome sound was heard and it was identifiable. I recognized the rumble of our two-and-a-half tonners. The column was on the level road some distance from the Lazarett. In a moment, the senior feldwebel came rushing into the apartment to await orders. I ordered him and the Medical Colonel to accompany me to the front entrance. We made our way through the Afrika Korps "guards" and the lined up walking wounded and sick troops just as the truck column halted on the road circumscribing the compound. The CO of the truck unit came barreling up in his jeep to where we stood at the front entrance. Lt. Col. Reinecke, the Assistant Divisional Medical Officer, the Chaplain, etc., all followed in other vehicles. Everyone saluted, the moving plan was explained in detail, and the evacuation was put in motion. The trucks were equally divided to each of the hospital's wings. Deployment went smoothly and, in short order, I was advised that the vehicles were ready for entrucking.

With the German Medical Colonel looking on in relief, Lt. Col. Reinecke ordered the entrucking. The order was simultaneously passed on to the CO of the truck unit and the German military personnel; twenty-three men to a truck, officers to report to the hospital entrance for movement in specially designated vehicles. A few moments passed; I excused myself from the US Army group to make my way to the nearest wing. The "soldaten" began to surge forward, each element of twenty-three straining to keep their prescribed distance from the element ahead. What occurred next is deeply imprinted in my mind, a sudden outburst, a roaring chorus of human voices in a military song. In a moment, all the wings reverberated almost in unison. It was astonishing; the first words of the song were, "Ich hatt einen Kameraden." ("I once had a comrade.") It is an old, patriotic military song about a friend lost in battle. The singing did not stop; it continued after all of the trucks were loaded and the convoy moved out.

The fatigue was setting in and the chorus was disquieting and disturbing, especially after the night's experiences. I sought some profound explanation. A nationalistic exclamation? The words were about a comrade killed in battle, about destroyed comradeship. An outburst of relief from a lost war? I did not know the answer, nor do I now. I watched and listened to the disappearing chorus and made my way back to the US Army group. I doubt whether they were affected the same way. The experiences in war are so many and diverse, I am sure that those who were there have little or no recall of that moment in time. They did not live through that night and the singing of the next morning.

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