In the fall of 1942, my draft board advised me that as a college student, I could get a deferred status until I completed my two semesters for which I had just signed up at City College New York. I told them I was ready to go anytime I was called, feeling very strongly that I should be in the military at this time, fighting the Nazis.
A month later I found myself on a train to Camp Upton, Long Island, for processing. Like all new recruits, I was given a short IQ test and interviewed by a classification officer, who did not seem very interested in my background or my knowledge of German, though he made a note of it. So, I was sent to Camp Grant, Illinois, for basic training, which was a very cold place during the winter of 1943.
After a few weeks into the year, a rather unusual thing happened. On a snowy morning, I was suddenly told to pick up my belongings and given my travel orders to transfer to the 83rd Division of the 101st Infantry at Camp Atterbury, Indiana. No reason was given for the transfer until I arrived there. I traveled by train to Chicago and changed to another train going to Indianapolis, arriving that same evening. At the railroad station, I called the number I had been given.
While waiting to be picked up, I noticed a few other soldiers waiting for transportation to the camp. Soon I discovered they too had been assigned to the outfit, but had no idea the reason for the transfer. Two of the men spoke with a German accent and the other two seemed to be American-born with Slavic-sounding names. When the driver came to take us to the camp, even he knew very little about the outfit, except that it had been activated recently and was located in a special compound of the camp. He thought it might be a commando/ranger outfit, but I would never have guessed that our assignment was to an “Austrian battalion.” To this day, I wonder how many Americans—and for that matter, Austrians—ever knew that there was such a unit in the U.S. military.
As soon as we entered the room that seemed to be the headquarters of this new outfit, we were received by a good-looking, youthful captain who spoke in a southern drawl: “My name is Captain Schmidt, and that is spelled with a ‘dt’ on the end, and I’m a native Texan and proud of it. My parents came here before WWI from the Austrian province of Styria. We’re a farm family or, as they say in Texas, ‘ranchers with a spread.’ The reason we’re all here is to form an Austrian battalion, but an American outfit in every respect. Hopefully, we will be able to participate in the invasion of Europe, and liberate Austria from the Nazis. This battalion will consist of four rifle companies and one heavy weapons platoon.”
When I met my bunkmates, I found only a few more German refugee boys. The parents of the rest had come from the old Austria-Hungarian Empire prior to World War I. This had included Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, Poles, and Croatians—a real ethnic and religious mixture. As time went on, however, more and more recruits filled up our barracks—foreign and U.S. born. Many of them came directly from their reception centers and had no basic training at all. I soon learned that the originator of this outfit was none other than the Archduke Otto von Hapsburg. Upon fleeing occupied Europe, he met President Roosevelt and the First Lady for tea at the White House and proposed the idea of such a unit.
Secretary of War Harold Stimson, who was present, agreed and made the unit part of the U.S. Armed Forces. While the archduke himself was not allowed to join for various reasons, he sent his three younger brothers. I met one of them a few days after my arrival, when I was given kitchen duty. While working there, I heard the mess sergeant, who was of Czech descent, shout, “Damn it, Hapsburg! Put those hands deeper into the water. I want those dishes clean.” Then in a somewhat lower voice, he turned toward us and said, “Boy, I sure wish my old man could see me now, giving orders to a Hapsburg. He sure didn’t care for them and wouldn’t like it at all for me to be in an Austrian battalion, but that’s the fucking army for you.”
During the next few weeks, more men began to arrive, and we all were given basic training, whether we had it before or not. This included the usual obstacle course and rifle training, as well as lots of marches and hikes. One time when we were returning from such an outing, we passed by a recently built compound for German prisoners, most of them from the Afrika Korps. Unknown to us, they must have heard us sing, which we usually did when on hikes. Not only did we sing American songs, but older German tunes, too, and so they rushed to the fence and cheered us wildly, thinking we were new arrivals, but when they saw our uniforms, they became silent and backed away. We then switched back to English songs, while some of us made obscene remarks and pointed rifles at them.
Apparently, word about this encounter got out to the camp commander, and we were told to avoid this area in the future. From then on, we never had any more contact with them. One day in our mess hall, Colonel Conrad addressed us with the following remark: “Now we are almost at battalion strength, and soon we will receive the Edelweiss insignia to be worn on the upper sleeve of our uniforms. Wear it proudly, regardless of our national or religious background, and perform as a team.” He emphasized the need for secrecy at this time, but hoped that there would eventually be favorable publicity about this outfit. He also believed that, in time, we might have outside visitors, such as reporters or local officials from the nearby city of Indianapolis.
Eventually, reporters from the Indianapolis Star came to the camp for interviews and took pictures of the battalion in training. At first, the publicity was favorably received, but eventually opposition came from two sides: from a socialist Austrian exile group which objected to the Hapsburg involvement, and from American voters of Slavic background who wanted the outfit abolished all together. So the end came pretty quickly. Even up to the final days, all members performed their duties well, having by then set aside much of their earlier antagonistic attitudes. In one of its last acts, the commander of the 83rd Division, General Milburn, presented the outfit with a citation, giving a medal to one of its soldiers who had saved another from drowning during a night exercise.
It was a sad day for many when our departure date became final. Some who had been expert skiers were sent to the newly formed mountain division in Colorado. Others like me were transferred to the 75th Division stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Many eventually did get a chance to go overseas and see action in Europe, and some even took part in the liberation of Austria. I am further convinced that had this outfit existed longer, it would have been a great credit to the U.S. military and to Austria.
UPON MY ARRIVAL at Fort Leonard Wood, I was assigned to Company B, 3rd Battalion, 289th Regiment of the 75th Division, a rifle company which had only recently been activated. Once more, I had to undergo basic training and spring maneuvers in Louisiana and the eastern portion of Texas, which lasted several weeks. After the D-Day invasion of Normandy resulting in more than the expected casualties, specifically among infantry divisions, the War Department quickly initiated a new policy to send individually trained enlisted men and officers as replacements, in what became known as “package shipments.” To sweeten the deal, they gave both volunteers and selected GIs short furloughs.
Since I had not seen my folks in a year, I returned to New York. My parents were overjoyed to see me so tan and fit, except that my mother cried when she saw my partly shaven head. After making the usual rounds with relatives and a couple of friends, I reported to my new station, Fort George, Maryland. From there these “packages” going overseas to Europe were assembled in the East Coast.
After several days, we were ready, with full field packs and gears, to ship out to our final staging area, which was Camp Kilmer, New Jersey. Then we were taken to the docks and boarded the Queen Mary. It was pretty foggy and evening when we landed in Scotland, left the ship, and took a train with its windows blacked out. After several hours, we arrived at an army camp somewhere in the middle of England between Chester and Nottingham and stayed there while making final preparations for joining the Allied forces on the Continent. Then it was to Southampton, where we boarded a Norwegian fishing vessel with a Scandinavian crew. When dawn came
, we were all anxious and ready to get off the boat, which would not come any closer than about half a mile from shore. Instead we climbed down nets with ropes, holding on tightly as we got into waiting LCTs. We stood around in silence, somewhat bewildered by what we saw.
Then we heard a voice and noticed a major with a bullhorn, making an announcement: “Welcome to Omaha Beach. As you can see, right where you are standing, many guys like you were wounded or died on D-Day. And there is still much fighting ahead, and our supply lines are stretched to the limits. While we need everything, there is a critical shortage of ammunition, mainly for the M1.” Then he pointed to the nearby tents and said, “I want each of you to pick up at least one belt of ammunition or a box of cartridges, and carry it with you up the hill. And don’t worry how long it takes, just follow the path as marked; rest if you have to, and you will find water cans along the way for drinking. And good luck to all of you.”
We could now get a real feeling what it was like to be in a war zone. Our group, or “package,” was taken to a partially bombed out railroad depot, where we huddled together to keep out of the rain. This was a “repple depple” (replacement depots), where we waited for assignment to our final destination. That turned out to be a place called St. Truiden in Belgium. This was not too far from the German border and was under the command of the Ninth Army. From now on, we were no longer considered a “package,” but part of the 30th Division now engaged in the Eupen-Mastricht area. It also had recently participated in the battle for Aachen and sustained heavy causalities. One of my comrades remarked, “It really didn’t make much difference where we were going or what the number of our outfit was, for we were still nothing but a fucking replacement for some poor bastard who had either been killed or wounded.”
WE WERE NOW HEADED to a regimental command post (CP) of the 30th Division, much closer to the frontlines. From there, we would be parceled out to one of the rifle companies as the need for replacement arose. The sky was gray and the whole landscape looked gloomy; our spirits were kind of low, too. None of us had much to say, even those who usually liked to make wisecracks to relieve a tense situation. As we were coming down the road near an intersection, we heard an explosion and saw a flashing light, thinking it could have come from an artillery shell or a mortar. In any case, the driver came to a stop, telling us we might be coming under an attack, so it was best we get out quickly and take cover on the side of the road. This being my first experience, I jumped out so fast that I fell very hard to the ground, and the butt of my rifle hit my mouth, knocking out a front upper tooth and breaking the next tooth in half.
I was in a great deal of pain (the doctor gave me a shot of morphine) and couldn’t sleep that night. The next morning I sat in front of my tent and contemplated my fate while I watched replacements getting on trucks. I felt like the cartoon character Sad Sack, which appeared in the army newspaper, Stars and Stripes. On the other hand, this was the opportunity I had been waiting and training for—to fight the Nazis. Moreover, I realized that there were many native-born American soldiers who had less reason to be here than I had, and yet they seemed very courageous and often eager to battle the enemy. I also knew that they, too, had their anxieties and fears, but usually they were able to disguise it, by humor, making wisecracks like: “Ain’t it great, our getting a free tour of Europe, thanks to Uncle Sam,” or “Don’t you feel sorry for the poor fucking civilians back home, who don’t have steaks to eat every day!” and so on.
While deep in my thoughts, I heard someone call my name and touch my shoulder. “Private Hochwald, I’ve been looking for you all over,” he said. “Get your gear together. I will be back in a few minutes with my jeep, which is parked in the CP motor pool.” I figured it was my turn now to be sent “up front” and paid no attention to where we were going, trying also to get some sleep. I had gotten so used to the sound of gunfire that it took a while for me to notice the noise started to get less and less. All of a sudden, I realized we were heading back in the direction of St. Truiden, from where I had come a couple of days ago.
Now I was wide awake and asked the driver if by any chance he was taking me to Ninth Army headquarters, which he answered in the affirmative, but could not tell me why, since his job was mainly that of a courier. I figured it could be almost anything, but had a hunch it might have something to do with my German language and background. The moment we arrived, a first lieutenant came over to me, pointing to a folder he was holding, and said, “You are the last on my list, and as soon as you hop on the truck, which is across the road, we will be off.”
When I climbed aboard, I saw several other soldiers already seated. They seemed glad to see me and shook hands with me. As they introduced themselves, I could tell that three of the six fellows there spoke with German accents, and I assumed that their backgrounds were similar to mine. The others sounded like native-born Americans with knowledge of the German language.
As soon as we got going, the lieutenant, who was sitting up front with the driver, turned around and, with a slight accent, spoke: “I know you all have been anxious to find out why you are here and where we are going. My name is Martin Rheinhammer, and I have only recently come to the ETO from Camp Ritchie, an intelligence school in Maryland. There is a critical need now for German-speaking personnel, and you have been selected based on your 101 file. The military only recently has decided to give you guys a shorter version of the Intelligence course that’s been given back in the States. And as to where we are going, it’s a town west of Paris called Le Vesinet, and we try to keep that secret.”
Hardly had the lieutenant finished his sentence than we all jumped up from our seats and began cheering, for I could tell that they, too, were greatly relieved, having come from frontline units. Lieutenant Rheinhammer told us to sit down and remarked that we should not be so enthusiastic, for in about two weeks, which would be the length of our training program, we would either be back with the Ninth Army or be reassigned to one of the other army units in the field. He even mentioned the possibility that one of us could be sent on a mission behind enemy lines. Nevertheless, none of his comments could dampen our spirits, and for me the recent painful accident no longer seemed to bother me as it had earlier that morning.
We were told to exchange our M1 rifles for carbines, and those whose rank was sergeant or above were given watches and binoculars, which at that time excluded me. In between classes, we engaged in some physical training and target practice with the carbine and pistols, including a few weapons of German make. This lasted about ten days straight without any time off, but the following weekend we were given permission to spend a Saturday night out. We had to be back by Sunday morning the latest and, furthermore, were told to confine ourselves to the area of Le Vesinet.
And so, another fellow and I found ourselves walking down the road into town, when we came upon the railroad station. To this day I can’t explain what made us do it, but we bought two tickets and before we knew it, we were on a train for Paris. When we returned to Le Vesinet the next morning, it wasn’t long after we arrived that we stood in front of Lieutenant Colonel Rothschild. Standing at attention, he began to address us in a stern voice, telling us that we were facing disciplinary measures for disobeying orders and going AWOL, but he also had something else in mind.
He then gave the command “at ease” and, in a friendlier tone, waved a paper in front of us, which we tried to read quickly. It was a memo from SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force), dated July 14, 1944, and signed by General Eisenhower, ordering the establishment of two T-Forces, their mission to participate with frontline units in the analyzing captured intelligence targets. “Since the two of you are anxious for action and excitement, I am sending both of you to these T-Forces, which are in need of more manpower. One of you will go to the Sixth Army Group, the other to the newly formed Twelfth Army Group. Your orders will be ready in a day or two. In the meantime, you are both confined to your quarters.”
We were alm
ost overjoyed, but tried not to show it. Sure enough, a couple of days later we had our travel orders, sending my comrade to the Twelfth and me to the Sixth Army Group, which was located in a place called Vittel, not far from Nancy.
The unit was commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Pumpelly and had about 250 men of whom one-third were intelligence personnel and the rest were support, such as ordnance and other logistical services. I also found out that T-Force, upon entering the town of Saarbourg, had sustained some casualties when it came under enemy fire. There had been one guy killed by the name of Arthur Remer, a former refugee like myself, and two others wounded by shrapnel. Also, two of the T-Force’s jeeps and its mess truck were hit and completely destroyed. I was then told that the main body of the unit was relocating to the town of Savern in preparation for the Third Army’s entry into Strasbourg, which could happen in the next few days.
It was December 1944, and we were all very optimistic that the Allied Armies would soon be crossing the Rhine and that shortly after the war would be over. We already had noticed the arrival of U.S. Navy personnel, along with engineering units, which brought with them various bridge-building equipment, including pontoons and rubber rafts. Both American and French Army units had reached the western bank of the Rhine and were making preparations to cross the river. One of the jumping off places was the town of Kehl, only a few miles east of Strasbourg, and where such activities were taking shape. However, this was not to be.
On December 16, news arrived that the Germans were attacking, not only in the north, breaking through the Ardennes, but also attempting to retake the Alsace region in an operation called Nordwind. Already, reports were reaching us that Nazi infiltrators and paratroopers, along with advance units of the German Army, had made surprise attacks deep into allied positions and territories.
Steven Karras Page 25