Playing with the Enemy

by Gary Moore

  “Looks like you have your answer, Gene.”

  Gene beamed with pride and felt a lump in his throat at the same instant. “Think about it Ray!” he said, unable to contain the excitement rising in his voice. “Tomorrow, we will be playing with the enemy!”

  Chapter 20

  Kraut Ball!

  “Okay, gentlemen,” began Gene. “Listen up.”

  A few minutes earlier, 21 Germans had emerged slowly through the compound gate and walked, under armed escort, to the diamond, where they sat in a semi-circle behind home plate. Colonel Arbeiter watched the initial practice session standing well down the first base line. Ten armed guards walked around the periphery of the diamond, giving it and the men gathered there a wide berth. It was 8:30 in the morning. It was hot. And it was time to teach these German sailors how to play baseball. Many others from U-505 adamantly refused to participate at any level.

  When Mueller interpreted Gene’s first few words, some of the German sailors tilted their heads back and looked into the sky. Ray Laws laughed loudly and elbowed Tim Milner, who also chuckled. Arbeiter’s face broke into a smirk. “No, no that’s just a saying, Heinrich,” explained Gene. “Just tell them to watch me and listen to whoever is speaking.”

  “Ja, okay.”

  “This,” Gene continued, holding up a new white ball, “is a baseball.” He picked up a Louisville Slugger. “This is a bat. We hit the baseball with the bat.” Gene paused for Heinrich to catch up. The Germans shook their heads. “What’s wrong,” he asked innocently.

  With a deadpan look, Mueller answered, “We are not stupid. We know what a ball is. Most of us have played the British game called cricket. We understand the basics of your baseball, and we have been watching you play now for some time.”

  “Well, sure. Okay.” Gene glanced over at Ray. “This may be easier than we thought.” He turned back to face the Germans. “We will divide in half. Half of you will go over there with Ray and some of our other teammates, and learn to throw and catch. The other half will stay here with me and these guys,” he said while motioning with his arm to four players, “and learn how to hold a bat and swing it properly.”

  Gene looked at Mueller. “Let’s go! Tell them to move!” Mueller barked out a few words in German and the men did exactly as instructed. Gene turned to look at Arbeiter and smiled. The officer arched his eyebrows in a “we’ll see” look and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. He nodded once toward Gene and returned to his office.

  Arbeiter stopped at the entrance to his office and listened to the sounds of men laughing and yelling in two languages, and the crack of a wooden bat giving a hardball a ride through the humid Louisiana morning air.

  The weeks passed quickly. As the Americans discovered, the Germans were quick learners and most of them were very good athletes. Like kids meeting for a practice or game on a sand lot, they just played ball and had fun.

  Thankfully for everyone, there were no escape attempts, and no physical altercations. The only incidents were of a minor nature. Most had to do with one German telling another how or why to do something. They had grown used to a precise pecking order.

  The one occasion everyone remembered was when Mueller was trying to help a former diesel mechanic, who was something of a hothead, properly swing the bat. The interpreter stood back with his hands on his hips and shouted, “Juergen! If you don’t like me telling you how to step into a swing, then go back behind the wire! There is no rank out on this field!”

  Juergen, who had been troublesome from the start, said something in his native tongue and stomped away to pout. Gene arranged for two guards to escort the mechanic back inside the compound. When he left, Mueller walked to where Gene was standing and said, “No big loss. He could not catch well anyway. We will be a stronger team without him.” Gene marveled at the progress Mueller had made in such a short time. Like Gene, he proved to be a natural athlete and was good at everything he tried.

  “Hans!” Mueller yelled, striding away from Gene’s side. “You must keep your elbow down when you catch a fly ball. You will never catch it like that! Let me show you.” Gene looked over at Tim and both men laughed. Mueller was beginning to look and coach like an American ballplayer.

  Because the Germans were so inexperienced and new to the game, Gene and Ray decided to mix the two teams together. This worked well and did not give either side a distinct advantage. After two months of practicing and scrimmaging, however, Mueller made a surprise request on behalf of the German prisoners.

  “Gene, we do not want to play with you.”

  The statement, delivered forcefully, took him by surprise “What are you talking about, Heinrich? I thought things were going great. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. We do not want to play with you anymore.”

  Gene looked over at Ray, who stepped closer to get into the conversation. From the look on his face, he was as confused as Gene. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Gene was about to ask Mueller a question when he noticed the German was wearing a big smile. “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

  “I told you,” Mueller chuckled. “We do not want to play with you anymore.” There was a brief silence before he added, “We do not want to play baseball with you Americans. We want to play against you!”

  Gene turned to Ray and they erupted in laughter. “You want to play against us?” Ray replied. “I don’t think you know what you are asking.”

  “Do you not speak English, Ray Laws?” Mueller chided. “We wish to play baseball against you. Our German national team against your American national team.”

  Ray shook his head. “Heinrich, you wouldn’t stand a …”

  Gene interrupted Ray in mid-sentence, “Yes, of course! The Germans against the Americans will be fine.”

  “Gene,” Ray protested. “They can’t beat us, so what’s the point?”

  Before the catcher could explain it, Mueller proceeded to do so. “Germans are proud people,” he began. “What you would call very nationalistic.”

  Ray opened his mouth widely and answered sarcastically, “Oh … I think we’ve noticed that.”

  Mueller ignored the pitcher and continued. “We have grown to like some of you as fellow human beings, but many of our team cannot tolerate the fact we are still at war, and you are still our … enemy. You must understand there is not a man on this field who wishes to harm another, not a single one. That was not true when you first brought us out here.” Mueller let the words sink in. “Yes, it is true that we cannot compete against you in baseball and win, but some of my fellow sailors would rather lose to you as a team, than win with you as teammates.”

  It seemed reasonable to Gene, but Ray was obviously disgusted, offended that some of the Germans felt that way.

  Mueller wasn’t finished. “We have new rules of engagement to which you must agree.”

  “Whoa, there,” began Ray. Gene cut him short by throwing up his hand. Mueller looked at Ray without moving an eyelash. The two respected one another, but had never become as friendly as Gene and Mueller had.

  “Tell us,” Gene urged him.

  “When the Germans pitch, the Americans only get two strikes and they are out, but get five balls before taking a base.” He paused and waited for their response. Ray had removed his hat to scratch his head, deciding to leave this to Gene.

  “Go on. Name them all,” Gene said.

  “When the Germans pitch, the Americans only get two outs, and the inning is over.” Once again Mueller paused for their reaction, and once again Gene told him to continue.

  “When the Americans pitch, the Germans get four strikes before it is an out, but only two balls allow us to take a base. We also get four outs per inning, but as I said, the Americans only get two outs.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “When the Germans cross the plate, it is two runs. When the Americans cross the plate, it is only one run.”

  “I think that’s fair, Heinrich,” Gene said.

/>   “Fair?” Ray protested. “Fair to who? Have we forgotten who’s in charge here?”

  “There is more,” Heinrich continued.

  “Of course there’s more!” shot out Ray. “I think maybe after the third inning, the Americans should serve you cold beer and sausage sandwiches on dark German rye! Would you like that?”

  Mueller looked at Ray for a moment and turned back to Gene. “Can we arrange such a thing?”

  Gene shot Ray a sharp look and shook his head. “Ray is being facetious—making a joke. What other rules do you want to change?”

  “The Americans can only score three runs in an inning; then you are out. We can score as many as we can,” replied Mueller.

  Gene pushed the rim of his cap up higher on his head. “Ray, I think this is great! It will even the sides and force us to be sharper.”

  “There is still more,” Mueller said. Ray groaned. “All dropped strikes by the American catcher will allow the Germans an opportunity to take a base. A dropped strike by the German catcher will not allow the Americans to do anything. Passed balls by the German catcher will not allow the Americans to take additional bases or score.”

  Heinrich stopped and smiled. “Those are our rules. Do you accept?”

  “We accept,” Gene said.

  “What do you mean, ‘we’ accept?’” Ray blurted out. “Don’t you think we should talk it over with the guys?”

  “No. They won’t mind.” He turned back to Mueller. “It’s a deal, Heinrich. You go tell your team they have a deal.”

  “Wait, I am sorry,” Heinrich interrupted. “I forgot something.” Heinrich smiled at Ray. He was getting everything he wanted despite Ray’s protests, and was obviously enjoying getting under Ray’s skin.

  “What now?” Ray asked. “We have to play blindfolded?”

  “No,” Heinrich said calmly. “That would not be fun. We want you to see us beating you at your own game. No blindfolds.”

  “In your wildest dreams,” Ray mumbled under his breath.

  “What’s your final rule change, Heinrich?” Gene asked.

  “The German pitcher pitches as in cricket. They call the pitcher a bowler. He can take a running start, but will throw from twenty feet closer.”

  “No way—NO!” Ray blurted out.

  Gene was going to object, but changed his mind. “It’s a deal.” Mueller thanked him and turned away.

  Ray looked at his catcher as if he had lost his mind. Gene smiled and said softly, “Ray, these rules will not change a thing. And won’t it be more fun when we beat an entirely German team—I mean, really take it to them, with rules they set?” That got Ray thinking about the changes in an entirely new light.

  The next morning was a Sunday. This time, for the first time, the teams divided up according to nationality, and began playing their own unique form of baseball. Some of the Americans referred to the new game as “Kraut Ball.” The Germans called it an improvement on an otherwise boring game.

  Word of the game spread quickly, inside and outside of camp, that the guards were playing baseball with the prisoners. Several dozen people from the small town of Ruston ventured out with their families on a Sunday afternoon to watch through the camp fence as the two most unlikely teams in America played a most unusual form of what would otherwise be called baseball. The Americans won the first game 17-2, and the second—a double-header that afternoon—19-4. The Germans didn’t care one whit. They acted as if they had won both games.

  Like kids, they played baseball nearly every day. They laughed, they argued, they yelled at each other. Occasionally, they even pushed and shoved one another, but at the end of the day, they walked off the field together, reliving a controversial call at second base, a long ball Mueller smacked into right-center, or a tag Gene missed at home plate. The catcher didn’t have the heart to tell Felix Kals he had slapped his mitt into the dirt intentionally.

  While Gene was in Louisiana, teaching the German sailors from U-505 how to play baseball, Ward Moore was in central Europe teaching the Germans something else.

  Chapter 21

  Fighting with the Enemy

  The fighting in Normandy to break out of the beachhead and drive inland consumed the rest of June and most of July, at the cost of tens of thousands of lives. Inland the fighting took on an entirely different characteristic, a yard by yard push through the old-growth hedgerows known as “bocage.” Towering and thick, these hedgerows were nearly impossible to cut except by running a specifically equipped tank through them to clear a path for infantry to follow. The inability to break away from the beachhead and cut across France threatened to become a bloody stalemate.

  For the Axis enemy, matters were much worse. Erwin Rommel was severely wounded in a strafing attack and sent away to recuperate, replaced by Field Marshal Günther von Kluge. Neither marshal would ever command in the field again. Both were implicated in the July 20 plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. Rommel was forced to commit suicide to save his family honor and assets; Kluge did so voluntarily.

  British efforts to break free in the north in early August attracted heavy German reinforcements, which made it easier for General Patton and his Third Army in the south to sweep around the German lines into Brittany. When a large German counterattack, ordered by Hitler himself, was thrown back with heavy losses, the stability of the entire Axis position in France was threatened. By the middle of August, Allied landings in the southern part of the country forced the Germans to begin withdrawing to escape a potential pincer movement that threatened the occupation force with annihilation.

  The breakout of Normandy nearly destroyed the German Seventh Army and put the Allies on the fast track for Paris, which was liberated from a four-year occupation on August 25, 1944. With Patton bogged down in the south opposite Aachen, Germany, Montgomery was given permission to make a massive paratroop drop into occupied Holland to hold key bridges and roads, followed by a deep and narrow armored thrust, in an effort to break through and sweep toward Berlin. Operation Market-Garden, as the campaign was called, quickly fell apart when the Allies blundered into elite German units resting there, rather than the weak and green outfits Montgomery expected.

  As the end of 1944 drew near, it was obvious Germany was losing everywhere—Italy, Russia, and western Europe. The Battle of the Atlantic had been lost more than a year before. That fall, Hitler proposed to mass Panzer and infantry divisions and launch an offensive through the Ardennes in Belgium. His goal was to capture the port city of Antwerp and sever Allied supply lines. Although his generals were adamantly opposed to the attack, which they did not think could possibly succeed, Hitler was determined to follow through.

  The Americans manning the fifty-two miles of front were largely inexperienced or desperately in need of rest and organization. Intelligence suggesting a massive enemy build up was ignored. When the attack came on December 16, the Allies were woefully unprepared. German armor smashed through the lines on the way to Antwerp. A giant bulge was formed in the lines, giving the campaign its historic name. Heavy fighting took place around Bastogne and Saint-Vith, where the 101st Airborne and other units hung on, blunting German attacks and slowing down the advance. The bitter cold also took its toll on men of both sides.

  Hard fighting, good luck, and a lack of sufficient German fuel and troops doomed the attack, which was finally contained and driven back with heavy losses on both sides. Although other Allies played a role, the campaign was largely fought by American troops. It was the largest battle in Europe waged during the war. More than 600,000 Americans participated; 80,000 were killed, wounded, or captured by the time it officially ended on January 30, 1945. Hitler had stripped troops and tanks from the Eastern Front to launch the unsuccessful attack—a critical strategic blunder that hastened Germany’s demise.

  Everyone was confident that the advent of spring would see the end of the war in Europe.

  Ward Moore and his Sherman tank, together with others from the 45th Tank Battalion and infantry from the 16th
Armored Infantry Battalion, all part of the 13th Armored Division, moved slowly across the German countryside on the way to a small village reported to be occupied by Nazi infantry. On Ward’s shoulder was the triangular patch with the number “13” on top and the words “Black Cat” emblazoned across on the bottom, which gave the unit its nickname: the “Black Cat” Division. This was his first opportunity to see real combat. The loud noise generated by the rolling tanks, he thought, would surely announce their arrival to the enemy.

  After leaving Gene in North Africa, Ward had remained behind for a few weeks before his outfit left for the Italian Campaign. Ward never made it to Italy. To his dismay, he was transferred to the 13th Armored Division, which trained in England before landing in Normandy at Le Havre, France, on the 29th of January, 1945. Instead of the action he was craving, two months of tedious occupation duties occupied his time. There was no action worth writing home about. In early April the division moved to Homberg near Kassel, Germany, where it joined General Patton’s Third Army for an advance into enemy territory.

  Ward was pleased with the assignment. After his breakout performance in France, and aggressive action in the Ardennes Campaign, Patton had become a household name. Many of the Germans considered him the finest Allied general in the field. He was given the nickname “Old Blood and Guts,” which one of his soldiers proclaimed was earned by their “blood” and his “guts.” Brash, loud, mouthy, dramatic, and a brilliant tactician, George S. Patton was a fiery warrior driven by his own desire to fill a destiny he believed was preordained. Ward was sure they were going to be in the thick of things soon. He may have doubted their ability to sneak up on the waiting Germans, but once they locked horns, Ward had no doubts about the outcome.

  As the tank rumbled slowly along the narrow muddy road, Ward thought about how eager he had been to get into this war. His sense of duty and patriotism had driven him to be the first in line after the attack on December 7, 1941. Now, more than three years later, Pearl Harbor seemed a lifetime ago. Although he was still determined to do his part and defeat the enemy, his enthusiasm for war had long ago faded. Well into southwestern Germany and hopefully headed for Berlin, Ward’s thoughts were less of glory and fame than of family and home. He knew he had a job to do and wanted to get it done as fast as he could. Like nearly everyone else, Ward just wanted the whole mess to end so he could return to Sesser and start his life over again.