The End Approaches


As we drove through the cities of Werdau and Zwickau, we knew it would soon be over. We had a little song we used to sing as we passed German refugees on the road. It went something like this: " Was ist los? Der hund ist los. The Burgomeister is tot. Alles ist kaput." Our principal preoccupation was to keep our batteries supplied with food (c-rations) and ammunition. One night, I joined a convoy going westward for a resupply of artillery shells. We, including me, drove all night, under blackout conditions of course, to the distant supply depot and returned exhausted well after midnight. As a reward for my attention to duty, I was put on guard duty immediately. You have to wonder sometimes what went through the heads of these junior officers and pray it wasn't repeated at higher levels of command. There was plenty of cut-off Germans in the area requiring one to stay alert. I had to constantly fight the overwhelming urge to close my eyes, awaking quickly in a state of alarm. Fortunately, no kraut was prowling about.

We were holed up in a small town outside and east of Zwickau, near the Czech border. We had stockpiled a supply of 105mm shells near our makeshift motor pool area. It had been raining steady and the ground was a mass of mud. Of course, I was selected for guard duty that night. I was no longer on "extra duty" but was still the lowest ranking soldier in the Battery even though Congress had passed an Act which promoted me to PFC. To keep my feet as dry as possible and avoid killer trench feet, I would take a break from walking in the mud and climb up and sit on top of a pile of shells for a moments rest. When I did this one time, I noticed distant flashing in the sky that kept coming nearer to us. About two or three hundred yards directly in front of me was a highway used by our Redball Express trucking units to get supplies to the front. Even though they were traveling with blackout lights, the pilot spotted them and started to fire his tracer-loaded machine guns. Being in a direct line with both the fighter and the trucks, the tracers began to arch their way to what seemed the very pile I was sitting on. Without a moment's thought, I dived for the ground thereby immersing myself deeply in the mud. Another heroic, but unsung event in my Army career.

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