A Train Near Magdeburg

by Matthew Rozell

  I was in a state of shock; I had never seen people look that bad in my whole life. I was terrified. My biggest frustration was that I had nothing to help them with. I was reminded of the words of the prophet Ezekiel—

  ‘He took me down in the spirit of G-d and set me down in the valley. It was full of bones.’

  George C. Gross

  Major Benjamin led our two tanks, each carrying several infantrymen from the 30th Infantry Division on its deck, down a narrow road until we came to a valley with a small train station at its head and a motley assemblage of passenger compartment cars and boxcars pulled onto a siding. There was a mass of people sitting or lying listlessly about, unaware as yet of our presence. There must have been guards, but they evidently ran away before or as we arrived, for I remember no firefight. Our taking of the train, therefore, was no great heroic action but a small police operation. The heroism that day was all with the prisoners on the train.

  Carrol ‘Red’ Walsh

  We were coming down this dirt roadway, as I remember. I had no idea what we were approaching or where we were going or what was going on. I can remember just approaching this area, and all of a sudden, ahead of me I saw this train. It was stopped. In my mind I can still see it, and I could see how long that train was, that long, long string of boxcars and the engine in the front. There were no SS guards around it at the time that we came upon it. I can remember swinging my tank to the right and proceeding alongside of the train. I didn’t know what was really on that train until that tank stopped. Then I saw what the train held.

  Q. Did you see the doors of those boxcars open at that time?

  Yes, I believe they were. I believe that they were open; some of the people were up. But I still remember peering into those boxcars and seeing those people just huddled and mashed together inside those boxcars.

  Did you know at the time that these were prisoners, or had been prisoners, or that they had been held? Did you have any idea what they were doing there?

  No, I had no idea. I had no idea who they were, where they had come from, where they were going—nothing. No idea. All I knew was, here’s a train with these boxcars, and people jammed in those boxcars. No, I had no idea. And as I look back and I contemplate that thought, I suppose we were too busy in combat to think of anything except what we were doing at the time. And of course, you know, we were not privileged to hear any news. We did not know really what was going on. We did not know whether we were successful in our own [chuckles] endeavors or not! So, no. I was not aware of the extent of the horror that was perpetrated on the Jewish people. No, I had no idea at the time of the extent of the concentration camps.

  George C. Gross

  Major Benjamin took a powerful picture just as a few of the people became aware that they had been rescued. It shows people in the background still lying about, trying to soak up a bit of energy from the sun, while in the foreground a woman has her arms flung wide and a great look of surprise and joy on her face as she rushes toward us.

  In a moment, that woman found a pack left by a fleeing German soldier, rummaged through it, and held up triumphantly a tin of rations.[*] She was immediately attacked by a swarm of skeletal figures, each one intent upon capturing that prize. My yelling did no good, so that I finally had to leap from my tank and wade through weak and emaciated bodies to pull the attackers off the woman, who ran quickly away with her prize. I felt like a bully, pushing around such weak and starving fellow humans, but it was necessary to save the woman from great harm. The incident drove home to me the terrible plight of the newly freed inhabitants of the train.

  I pulled my tank up beside the small station house at the head of the train and kept it there as a sign that the train was under American protection now. Carrol Walsh’s tank was soon sent back to the battalion, and I do not remember how long the infantrymen stayed with us, though it was a comfort to have them for a while. My recollection is that my tank was alone for the afternoon and night of the 13th.

  Carrol ‘Red’ Walsh

  What are we going to do with these people? How can we handle this situation? Fortunately, there was another attached unit with the 30th Division. They were in the area. The 823rd Tank Destroyer Battalion immediately went around the neighborhood there, getting food from the local farmers and bringing it to the people. And then overnight or the next day, there were other units that arrived to assist these people and find shelter for them. That first night they stayed around the train.

  George C. Gross

  A number of things happened fairly quickly. We were told that the commander of the 823rd Tank Destroyer Battalion had ordered all the burgermeisters of nearby towns to prepare food and get it to the train promptly, and were assured that Military Government would take care of the refugees the following day. So we were left to hunker down and protect the starving people, commiserating with, if not relieving, their dire condition.

  *

  Colonel Dettmer of the 823rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, also attached to the 30th Infantry Division, set up his command post in Farsleben, a small German hamlet of 500, now suddenly invaded by several hundred more desperate skeletal figures. The swarm of refugees, many of whom had broken into the town’s two bakeries, reported to him that they had had nothing to eat for days. Dettmer immediately summoned the mayor, and ordered the bakeries to bake throughout the night, for cattle and sheep to be slaughtered, and for families to open their homes to the survivors. When the burgermeister began to protest and made a display of reluctance, the battalion commander drew his sidearm, put it to the mayor’s head, and calmly asked him to recite his instructions.[60] The following day, the 823rd’s surgeon, Captain Baranov, spent the entire day setting up a makeshift hospital to try to contain a typhus epidemic that was rapidly escalating among those rescued. The Military Government was arranging to transfer the survivors to a Luftwaffe base and proving grounds recently captured; Dettmer’s command post moved out, and shortly thereafter the burgermeister unceremoniously murdered his wife and committed suicide.[61]

  The logbook for the 105th Medical Battalion of the 30th Infantry Division was kept by T/4 Sgt. Wilson Rice, who interjected colorful personal commentaries when typing up his reports.

  Wilson Rice

  April 13, 1945

  Farther on down the road, when the convoy was halted again, Major Marsh from the Military Government drove up to Col. Treherne’s jeep. He told him about a train of civilians that were prisoners of the Germans. Our jeep pulled out from the convoy and went to Farsleben, Germany, where the train was located.

  Also in this town was the command post of the 823rd Tank Destroyer Battalion, and we stopped there to pick up Capt. Baranov, the 823rd Battalion surgeon. He took us down there, and it was something that you’ve read about, but couldn’t believe. They were people that looked of being very refined and cultured; it is said that among them was the French Consul to Germany.

  Some great minds were among these people. There were two doctors that were members of the train, and they were caring for the people the best they could without any equipment. Capt. Baranov’s men came up with a few drugs, bandages, etc. to use until they could get more. It was about the same as nothing, but it was to go to the women and children first. About 75% of the members of this train were Jews, so the drugs were given to the two doctors and the rabbi for distribution.[*] Major Lowell and Major Huff told them to get all of the contagious and seriously sick to be segregated into cars by themselves. These cars that they were traveling in were boxcars. Sanitation was terrible and the people had been traveling in them for eight days and nights, without food or water. Most of the sickness was due to malnutrition. There were only two typhus cases.

  As all of the business was being transacted, a beautiful little girl, about eight years of age, came up to my side. She was very sweet and her complexion was very clear. I looked at her, smiled, and patted her on the head, and she smiled back. As Tommy and I were standing there, I soon felt a little hand slip through my arm. As I look
ed down, a big lump came in my throat.

  As we were leaving, a man came up to our jeep. He was one of the American citizens and was from Detroit, Michigan. He was taken prisoner two years ago in Warsaw, and his family is still now in Detroit. He was a sick man, but there was nothing we could do for him, as we were not prepared for such things. The Military Government is taking care of things as fast as they can.

  This is what I mean when I say that warfare such as this was not planned for by the Army. Things are going too fast. This man told us about the 33 American citizens[*]. He went on to say that he knew our circumstances, knew we had to take care of the troops first, knew that everything possible will be done for them as fast as possible, and went on to say, ‘We know how busy you guys are, what you will do for us, maybe one week, maybe two weeks, but even if nothing else is done, there is one thing we truly and dearly thank you for, and that is for our liberty.’

  There was a break in this man’s voice, and I knew how he felt. There was a lump in my throat.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘The Americans Are Here’

  From all across war-torn Europe, the occupants of the train transport from Bergen–Belsen that was now encountered by the Americans recalled their reaction to what most, indeed, considered a miracle and came to regard as the day they were reborn.

  Hilde Huppert, a Polish woman who had survived with her eight-year-old son, noted one of the first encounters with the American soldiers.

  Hilde Huppert

  The first American jeep passed by at about ten in the morning, an iron bar across its front bumper searching for booby-traps and a radio mast waving madly in its rear. It was manned by four GIs with steel helmets coated in dust. They pulled up and approached us warily: a motley crowd of women and children together with a couple of men here and there, all clad in rags and tatters. We must have been a pitiful sight.

  ‘Who are you?’ they demanded.

  ‘Hello, friends!’ we shouted back in a chorus. ‘We love you! We are Jews.’

  They slipped off their helmets and mopped their brows; one of them pointed to the Star of David he wore on a chain around his neck.

  ‘So am I!'

  The reconnaissance jeep had to go on its way, but before it did, the GI called up his battalion headquarters and reported finding a large group of Jewish survivors.[*]

  Shortly thereafter, the tankers arrived with another jeep carrying Major Benjamin. Peter Lantos of Hungary was now six, and was with his mother.

  Peter Lantos

  I remember the first few hours of freedom. At the beginning, no one knew what was happening; that the train had been stationary for such a long time was not surprising—endless stops on the open track were common. But this stop was different. More and more people were leaving the wagons, and the German guards, who had previously ordered us back to the trains, were nowhere to be seen. The train had come to a stop at a siding—there was a clearing with a few trees and bushes, and an embankment that ran parallel with the track. We saw two tanks on the horizon, and those ahead of us started to shout: 'The Americans, the Americans!'

  As the news spread, more and more left the train, still not believing that it was all over and that we were free. Soon it was all but deserted, although some were too weak to move, and a few had not survived the journey. We made our way towards the tanks, but we were so weak that the gentle slope of the embankment nearly defeated us. We managed to climb it slowly, and then we saw the first American soldiers. They were so different from us, and from anybody else we had seen during the last few months. They were very tall, or so it seemed to me, well-fed, and clean. They displayed a facial expression we had all but forgotten existed; they smiled at us. They explained, while someone translated from English into German and Hungarian, that they were going to get food and accommodations for us, but this might take some time.

  Fred Spiegel of Germany was now almost 13.

  Fred ‘Fritz’ Spiegel

  Very soon, slowly coming over the hill, the first American soldiers appeared. We had never seen these uniforms before and were not sure who they were. The soldiers also were not sure who we were, but I suspect for a different reason. We must have looked terrifying, like nightmare figures, monsters from something out of science fiction, apparitions arisen from the grave. They obviously had never seen inmates from concentration camps.

  Irene Bleier of Hungary had just turned 18.

  Irene Bleier Muskal

  The SS officers fled, leaving us to be liberated shortly by the US Army. Our leaders told us how to behave, letting us know that we could leave the cattle cars, but must stay close by. We were also told that we were in close range of an ongoing heavy battle. At long last, the enfeebled crowd began crawling out of its prison, although many were too faint to enjoy the very first steps of freedom. Many of us spent the night on the grassy hill just in front of us, beneath the open, starry blue sky. A nearby gun battle illuminated the area through the night. Sounds of cannons kept us awake and we prayed fervently now more than ever for our liberators' swift victory.

  We soon spotted a small pond, and together with my sister Jolan, I took my first steps in its direction in order to take a real bath in real water. As we walked there, a band of SS German officers were running away. One of them aimed at us with his small gun and fired some bullets with an accompanying last farewell to us—‘Swine Jew!’ Luckily for my sister and I, we were far enough not to get hurt.

  In front of the cattle car, we could see German civilians from the two nearby towns running in opposite directions on the main road, trying to escape from the approaching US forces. With dulled sense, we glimpsed towards them. Several SS guards stayed with us. Some of them asked for—and received—civilian clothes from our people.

  The next morning we dug up recently planted potatoes we found, made a fire, and cooked them. They tasted delicious. I again started walking towards the small pond, but then Jolan excitedly hollered to me: ‘Hey you, come back fast, the US Army has arrived!’

  As much as my faint condition would allow me, I hurried to the scene of the miracle to welcome them, this being the big moment we so yearned for. Two angel-like American soldiers stood there beside their magic jeep. My sister and I looked on enchanted as they took captive the several SS cowards who stayed in their shameful and disgraceful uniforms. The SS henchmen held up their hands while one of the Americans stood opposite them with a pointed weapon. Then, the second US soldier searched their pockets.

  Standing there and looking up at our liberators, I waited to sense some kind of emotion on this miraculous occasion—but no. Reality did not penetrate my consciousness. My senses were incapable of experiencing any signs of emotion; I had no tears of joy that appeared, nor even the slightest smile. My senses were left stiff, in the aftermath of extended suffering. We are liberated, but only outwardly. Our mind still remained under great pressure, as heavy, dark clouds obscured our world of comprehension. It will take a good many years to be free completely. When that time comes, if ever, we will be able to feel wholly liberated and shake off the shackles of bondage and imperceptible suffering.

  The majority of our group was so feeble that they stayed inside the crowded cattle cars. Some ventured to the nearby small towns for provisions. The following day, early in the afternoon, the US Army arrived with a big army truck. They brought us a delicious hot meal, potato goulash with veal meat. Never before in my life, or after, did I eat as tasty a meal as this. I just looked on as those US soldiers of valor took care of our group of two thousand, going from cattle car to cattle car so patiently. After suffering so long from inhuman treatment, I felt a great distinction to be treated with human kindness by those American soldiers. It was like being born again.

  With their kind devotion toward us they sowed back into our souls the sparks and seeds of human hopes and feelings. By Sunday morning, my sister Jolan and I plucked up some courage and crawled out of the cattle cars to look around at the nearby town of Farsleben. We were pleasantly
surprised to discover that US soldiers were already patrolling the locality. Some of our fellow Jews were also around and about. The local population either locked themselves in their homes or escaped. None of them ventured to welcome the new liberators.

  Aliza Melamed of Warsaw was 17.

  Aliza Melamed Vitis–Shomron

  What will happen now, to us? We were alone. Slowly, people started leaving the carriages; the train was standing in the middle of a field. I also got off, with my faithful friend Tusia. We saw a small pond not far away, and our people were catching little fish there. Those among them with initiative found a tin, made a fire, and cooked the fish. We joined in, glad to share the job.

  We breathe fresh air, the sky is clear, it is spring. Although we are weak, exhausted by hunger, hope is reflected in all the faces. Of course, there are also some ‘ravens,’ prophesying that the Germans will not give up as long as they can harm us, but who listens to them? Mother is also pessimistic.

  My sister Mirka and I join the stream of people going to the nearby village of Farsleben. The village houses are pretty, clean, surrounded by gardens with fruit trees. We entered a garden in full bloom; I knocked on the door of the house. A woman wearing a big apron came out. Her face expressed amazement at the two figures facing her. Evidently we looked like ghosts.