The Horror of Ohrdruf's Camp


I soon had another shock but of a different type. My division was the first Allied Unit to liberate a Nazi concentration camp. It was located outside of Ohrdruf, and was a subunit of Buchenwald. The discovery of the camp is depicted in the entrance to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC, exhibited on the third floor. As you exit the elevator, you first see a life-size photo of a GI in a jeep talking to his headquarters in disbelief having discovered the Ohrdruf Concentration camp. General Finley, our Division Commander, insisted that every man in the division see this horrible sight, along with the town's people of Ohrdruf. Although a labor not an extermination camp, it was difficult to note any difference. Most died from being overworked. As we approached, however, there was wholesale slaughter by the panicking guards. Bodies were everywhere, some half buried or simply thrown in pits; others still in the furnaces.

Combat Vignettes


It is impossible to predict one's reaction to combat. For example, we had a young Swede whom, back in the States, had been given the assignment to handle our one anti-aircraft gun, a 50mm machine gun. In training, by constant repetition and dedication, he learned how to fieldstrip the gun and reassemble it almost blindfolded. When permitted, he practiced firing and was very proud of his responsible assignment. One day we were in a small town for a long enough time to set up the machine gun for defense in a pit with some sandbags around to protect him and the gun. A low flying, German fighter plane came so close that I could actually see the pilot's face as he attacked us. Heroically, I unslung my carbine and emptied my clip certain I must have hit him or the plane but, of course, it had no effect except to make me feel better. On the other hand, the poor Suede didn't fire a round off; his hands had frozen on the trigger. How do you explain those things?

Not being either in the infantry or even on the line with a battery except when making deliveries, for me combat was a series of unrelated circumstances, some already mentioned, limited to aerial attacks, occasional battery counter fire and, rarely for us, small arms fire. In fact, I never saw the enemy except from a considerable distance or when he was dead or surrendering. We had seen the V-2s high in the sky on their way to England and knew the war was still killing innocent civilians. Sometimes I wished I were with the infantry (my old enthusiasm returning) and one time, after getting angry over something I can't even remember now, I asked the First Sergeant for an immediate transfer to an infantry outfit. He calmed me down and told me to forget it. While I must have given him fits at times, he was a real man.

I did have one experience that made me realize the type of anxiety and fear our infantrymen experienced on a regular basis. For some reason I have long ago forgotten, one evening I was ordered to take a truck with two of our Sergeants to a unit some distance from us but located on our map. However, despite the extensive mapping knowledge of my fearless leaders, we soon got lost and it was rapidly getting dark. To make matters dicier, we were in an area where enemy infantry was likely to be close by, an unusual experience for Service Battery soldiers. Close to midnight, as we approached a small town in the pitch black, we ran into one of our tank destroyers guarding the entrance, much relieved to discover it wasn't a German tank. Other 89ers, I don't know from what unit, were holed up for the night in the village and we were advised to do the same. I don't believe any of us slept well that night and were relieved when day broke and we could carefully find our way back to our unit. . During my combat experience, we had been shelled by 88s and strafed and bombed by the Luftwaffe, no picnic I assure you, but I never had the experience and fear of dealing face-to-face with enemy. This was as close as I got and it was not pleasant.

In combat and moving so fast, food was always a problem but some of us became very skilled at feeding off the land. We arrived one night in a small farming village and stayed there overnight. The next morning I was elected to scrounge around the several hen houses in view and get some eggs for breakfast. I was delighted to find about a half dozen eggs still in their nets, placed them carefully in my helmet liner, and rushed back to proudly display my catch. Something was wrong as my buddies started to laugh. Only two of the eggs were real, the rest were porcelain eggs used to encourage the hen to lay. Needless to say, I was highly embarrassed but what could you expect from someone born in Brooklyn?

Another peculiarity of this time was the nightly visits of "Bed Check Charley" which is what we called the single fighters which flew only at night, flying very low, firing at any light they saw. They were mainly a nuisance but could be deadly. They were particularly interested in convoys moving towards the "front". This is what the once vaunted Luftwaffe now finally reduced to.

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