April 13, 2013

Hasso Castrup from Denmark, creator of the new website Shoabloger is Carolyn’s guest. Hasso’s special hobby is translating French and German revisionist texts into English and Polish. Currently he is featuring the 2007 Horst Mahler interview by the Jew Michael Friedman, posting it in parts because of it’s length. Among the main topics discussed are:

• Hasso’s mixed Polish-German family’s experience between the wars, and during & after WWII;
• The 1943 Jewish uprising in Warsaw vs the August ’44 Polish uprising there;
• How Poles were treated by the Germans and how German officials sought to identify ethnic-Germans or part-Germans;
• Soviet/communist treatment of Poles vs. German ‘Nazi’ treatment of Poles;
• The real Josef Beck and the real Jan T. Gross& the Jedwabne Affair;
• Poland’s Jewish Problem in it’s many ramifications;
• Are the present German-Polish borders set for all time or can there be a reconciliation that changes things;
• Horst Mahler’s spiritual perspective on opposition between Germans and Jews.
  

Exclusive at carolynyeager.net!This is the never-before-published true story of a young German soldier thrown into the battle of Seelow Heights in the last month of the Second World War—how he survived against all odds and managed to return home.

The Odyssey of Fahnenjunker Wenger

From the Seelow Heights—April 1945

Back Home to Leoben, Austria—July 1945

By Willy Wenger

An officer-candidate in the German Luftwaffe, Willy Wenger was only 18 in 1945 when his “odyssey” began. He is now 86. His older brotherLeopold Wenger was awarded the Knight’s Cross, Germany's highest military decoration.

Translation and Introduction by Wilhelm Kriessmann

Editing by Carolyn Yeager
copyright 2013 Wilhelm Wenger

For the 17-year-old high school student Willy Wenger, his brother "Poldi," squadron leader at SG10 of the German Luftwaffe, was an outstanding role model. Willy wanted to follow in the footsteps of this highly decorated Jabo*pilot, who was five years older than himself. In July 1942, Willy received his C license for glider pilots (pictured at right on glider) and in April 1943 at the Reichssegelflugschule Spitzerberg near Vienna, he earned the Luftfahrerschein (air pilot pass). (See picture below)

[*Jagdbomber: fighter-bomber ]

The war situation in the spring of 1943 made it necessary to call up the final classes of high school students to the services of the Home Anti-Aircraft Forces, or FLAK. Wenger’s high school class assembled at barracks within the steel plant of the Herman Goering Werke (later named Voest-Alpine) at Linz/Donau. School lessons continued but the young pupils also had to learn how to handle the 3.7cm anti-aircraft guns and all the additional equipment.

Above: Wenger earns his basic pilot's license in 1943 at the flying school at Spitzerberg.

Because of injuries at gun practices, Willy was able to spend a furlough at home in Leoben at the same time his older brother 'Poldi, the Luftwaffen pilot, also arrived back home for a short leave.

Turbulent months followed his return from his New Year furlough to his FLAK unit in Linz. Only a few weeks after the class returned to the school in Maburg and report cards were issued, Wenger was called to the service at the RAD (Reichs Arbeits Dienst), Reichs Labor Service, an obligatory three-month draft. During the three very cold winter months of 1944, the RAD men were working on a railway ramp to connect the main line with a trunk line to a large armament plant in Silesia. Basic boot camp training was still part of their activities, however. (Right:Willy is in center of group)In early May, Wenger was back at school in his last year but, as it turned out, only for a few weeks. There were merry reunions, parties and dancing and when the call for military service came, Wenger volunteered to be an officer candidate in the Luftwaffe.

On July 6, 1944, he arrived at the Kriegsschule 3 at Oschatz, in the state of Saxonia. As a Fahnenjunker (cadet), he was looking forward to becoming a pilot like his brother.

That dream ended when Reichsmarschall Göring ordered 100,000 Luftwaffen personnel to fill the gaps suffered by the German army. In early spring 1945 Fahnenjunker Wenger, now Fallschirmjaeger (parachute trooper), was on the way to the Eastern front some 80km distance from Berlin.

We now let him tell his story:

I was literally thrown out of the luggage netting where I had just found space to take a nap. A screeching, breaking noise and then a sudden stop. Mixed into it was the terrible howling sound of numerous sirens - horror music like a multiple echo swept across the area. Though experienced by the civilian populationfor years, it had luckily been unknown to me up until now. It was late March 1945 when we entered Berlin by train.

I had never experienced any air attacks before. Not in Marburg, where I attended high school in the summer of 1943 and lived with Aunt Hilda in her big house. As soon as I left, a bomb hit the house and demolished part of it. Straight from the high school in Marburg we were drafted into the Flak. In Linz, we Hitler Youth became anti-aircraft gunners.

I arrived with a train transport at a location close to Berlin where we had to run away from the train because all hell broke loose. Sirens were howling gruesomely from all directions, accompanied by the engine noise of hundreds of bomber airplanes approaching the city. Searchlights cast their rays into the sky and caught an aircraft from time to time. Soon darkness turned into bright light as burning "Christmas trees" floated from the sky, marking the targets. They were dropped by the enemy pathfinder airplanes.

I ran into a field and tried to dig a protective hole into the frozen soil with my empty canteen but without much success. When scared to death, one develops super strength. Then the bombs dropped like a carpet over the city, some close to us. We jumped up and down thinking to be torn to pieces any minute; the pressure of the explosions seems to destroy the eardrums.

Even though the attack lasted only minutes it felt like an eternity. Then, as the engine noise simmered away and only sporadic anti-aircraft gun fire occurred, one could see the ghostly remains of the vast housing complexes lit by an immense blaze. I never imagined my first encounter with the capital of the Reich would be like this!

Finally, our train arrived at the railway station of a suburb. Something very touching happened. One of our comrades noticed his mother on an arriving train. He waved and yelled; his mother came over, stayed with him a few hours and drove with us to the next station where she departed with tears in her eyes.

Well, here I was now, a Fallschirmjaeger wearing that odd, coat-like, long uniform jacket and the special helmet – so different from the infantry helmets – with flattened edges to avoid air resistance when jumping. The Inside was cushioned with heavy rubber pads. A parachute, however, I did not carry.

As a glider pilot at the Reichssegelfliegerschule Spitzerberg I always carried a parachute but never used it; never jumped. Only much later, in 1977 in North Africa, I jumped out of curiosity and hurt one of my vertebrae. As a result, I still have trouble turning my head properly.

I did not know which city parts of Berlin we marched through but the general direction was North. They said Stettin was our target . We took our first rest at a very idyllic recreation spot, a forest next to a lake in the vicinity of the city of Finsterwalde. I remember the place because I mailed a parcel from there to my parents. They never got it. We drove towards Angermuende and received the order to turn southward, parallel to the Oder river, until we reached a small village, Seelow, west of Kuestrin. There we disembarked.

The Seelow Heights overlook the Oderbruch, the western flood plain of the Oder River which is a further 20km to the east.

 Near a small farmhouse, we occupied an already pre-built large trench system. I was now a member of a Sturm-Zug (attack troop) at a parachute troop unit. All of us were youngsters, none over 25 years old.Our troop leader, a young lieutenant just a few years older than us but already an old timer, told us that we had been selected to attack the enemy even if all others retreat. We were kind of proud to hear this.

At the corner of the farm house I saw a row of shoes covered by canvas, with only the toes protruding. A soldier explained they were dead German soldiers, killed last night when they tried to break out of a Russian encirclement and were hit by our own artillery which thought the Russians were attacking. Never before had I seen a dead person and was afraid to look at death, and did not therefore help to put them to rest.

At this time of the year it was still very cold and at night we were really near freezing. I had to share a small foxhole with my comrade. This was our living quarter where we stored our belongings and weapons and where we slept. Pressed together, we lay there on straw, protected on top by two logs covered with soil … pretty crummy.

Now I was a combat soldier, fulfilling my duty, holding the attack rifle in my hands and carrying the hand grenades around my hip, trotting through the wide system of trenches and being mighty proud. Even as the first artillery shells hit closer it was an adventurous happening. But when the shells hit closer and closer, my heroism disappeared rather fast and I anxiously ran for cover. I was terribly scared.

We crouched in the trenches and waited and waited – sometimes the Russian artillery decked us pretty good. The first wounded yelled, the first blood ran, and I was afraid I would lose consciousness. I tried to hold on to something but then realized I had to help and I regained strength and was not afraid. That Will helped me for the rest of the war, never again did I collapse.

At the East bank of the Oder River the Russians had concentrated strong forces close to the damaged bridges during the last few days, ready for the crossing. We saw several Ju 88 bombers, protected by fighter planes, flying over our trenches. Mounted on top of their wings were FW 190 fighter planes steering the 88's loaded with detonation material into a steep dive down onto the Russian concentration.[Willy was seeing the "Mistel" composite aircraft,pictured at left.The name came from the German "Mistletoe." It was also called Beethoven's Device and Daddy and Son.-cy]

All hell broke out, the Russian flak fired out of all their barrels, we could see red flaming grenades flying into the sky (we called it the tomato flak). Black clouds formed by the exploding shells crowded the sky. When the heavy bomber planes hit the ground the strong Russian anti-aircraft defense was suddenly silenced. Heavy smoke columns raised skywards. Shortly before the attack, Hermann Goering, the Reichsmarschall, passed by our trenches to watch the air attack of his Luftwaffen pilots.

For quite a while after these Luftwaffen attacks our front line was rather calm. We all knew it was the silence before the storm. Our daily food supply got worse – an old soldier delivered it on a broken down carriage drawn by an old, half starved horse. It consisted mainly of bread and milk, over-cooked potatoes, and pudding powder without any sugar. The so-called cook had no idea what he was doing; he was holding the job in order to avoid Front service. When he was supposed to bake bread with flour, which he said he found at a desolated farm house, it was gypsum powder that he mixed. That's what we had to live on.

There was not much shooting going on. Everyday Russian reconnaissance airplanes circled above our front line dropping leaflets asking us to surrender. The air traffic increased at night when a small airplane – its engine sounded like a sawing machine – dropped bombs which missed but the noise kept us awake. Sleep was very light and rare, we all were under severe tension. The Russians succeeded in crossing the Oder River at Kuestrin and had a bridgehead at the Western bank. Masses of troops flooded the area with tanks and artillery.

In the early hours of April 16, 1945, a massive 2200 cannon artillery barrage began and literally tossed every square meter of the German defense line.

Devastating was the howling noise of the Russian rocket artillery, the Stalin Organs (pictured right). You could hear the regular artillery shells buzzing in but the rockets hit like a sudden lightning. This heavy barrage lasted nearly three hours. Russian airplanes dropped their bomb carpets on our defenses. Finally at 6:55 the Soviet infantry attacked. Horizontal searchlights ghostily illuminated the battlefield, blinding friend and foe; dense fog increased the turbulence. Total chaos reigned.

We could hear but not see the fearsome rattling noise of thousands of Russian tank wheel-chains and, likewise, could only hear the echo of the gruesome yells of the storming Russian infantry. We were scared to death. The moment arrived when we wanted to leave and run away from our trenches but it turned out that we ran in circles. We lost our orientation completely and arrived at a small bridge which we had seen only shortly before. We were running in the midst of Russian infantry and tanks that were visible only as shadows – a total confusion. The time between the artillery barrage and the attack seemed like eternity.

The anxiety one experiences in such a situation is indescribable. Closely pressed to each other, my comrade and I lay in the foxhole and felt the slightest shivering of our bodies. We started to pray and expected to be hit any moment and were then surprised to still be alive. By that bombardment of shells and rockets not one inch of the terrain remained untouched. Thank God we did not stay at the same spot but ran panicky for coverage.

After running around for several hours I found my platoon leader, the young lieutenant. He also looked rather distraught and felt sorry that we inexperienced soldiers had to go through such a traumatic experience. Most of our comrades we could not find. They probably did not survive the vehement Russian attack. I found out that my foxhole neighbor was seriously wounded and lost an eye.

We had to retreat westward. On the way we ran into a SS unit; they ordered us to counter attack. We were bunched together, no one knew each other but we moved forward – such a diverse unit – and all of a sudden found ourselves marching through dense fog between Russian forces. Desperate, we dug ourselves in on top of a small hill. All was frighteningly quiet around us. We were exhausted and dog tired.

That was the moment for us to beat back the enemy. We started our counterattack and stormed forward. Horrible was the smell of burned human flesh in the destroyed tanks as we closed in. Tremendous smoke clouds rose into the sky, shrieking battle noise all around, and the thousand-fold “hurraehh” roar of the attacking Russians. It was hell!

Right in front of me a Russian soldier suddenly sprang out of a bush, his rifle directed at me. It was the only time in my life that I was forced to aim and shoot at a human being in order to save my life. I certainly had my jitters and trembled. The Russian probably also. Both shots discharged nearly at the same time, both missed and we both ran in opposite directions into protective bushes. I still remember very well that I lost the reserve bullet magazine of my assault rifle, ran back and picked it up. Afterward I thought how dumb I was to run back and expose myself to the enemy. They could have killed me.

We retreated again, better said, we ran to save our lives – behind us the gigantic mass of attacking Russians. It is impossible to describe the situation. We reached Muencheberg. I always remember the event there. During a short pause in the fighting I ran into some comrades who were separated from our unit. I was very angry about the SS fellows ordering us to that senseless attack while they retreated. I turned pale when, turning around, I looked into the eyes of a tall SS man in uniform. But he agreed, and joined us and stayed with us all the way through the final Berlin battle. He was a Berliner and a very reliable comrade.

Chaos and confusion all around. One could not find his comrades anymore. From time to time we were controlled by the military police, called “chain dogs” (Kettenhunde) because they wore a small metal shield on a chain around their neck. They were looking for deserters or stray soldiers, thus not too popular with the common soldier.

On April 20, 1945, Adolf's 56th birthday, one of the fellows said "Today Adolf is celebrating his last birthday," a remark he would not have dared make a few weeks earlier. At a shelter in the woods we listened to Dr. Goebbels’ speech, calming and inspiring us, about new miracle weapons that would reinforce our forces. We had no idea what was happening; what the situation was. We did not know that the American Army was already deep into Germany and approaching from southwest of Berlin. New hope bubbled up. But three days later, Hitler was dead and the Third Reich destroyed.

* * *

When the Russian offensive began, Marshal Zhukov addressed his troops:

"Soviet soldiers, take revenge in a way that the invasion of our armies is remembered not only by the present German generation but by their descendants in the distant future. Remember also that everything the German sub-humans owned belongs to you. Soviet soldier, have no mercy in your heart."

Every German soldier now had to face such slogans. He was thinking about the uncertain future—what will happen? Apathy took over and the only thought became survival. Gone was our idealism, our belief in the just cause, and our enthusiasm – but still we wanted to defend our homeland. In panic, everyone moved westward – masses of soldiers but also civilian refugees, women and children moved through the Brandenburg landscape. By foot or with horse-drawn wagons or pushing their own carriages, while behind, the thunder of guns in between shell explosions, detonations, smoke, dust and the approaching shrill “hurraehh” of the Soviet infantry.

We gathered again on top of a hill, a group of stray soldiers which my lieutenant and I ordered into trenches to set up a defense line. We were both surveying the area when all of a sudden whistling shells exploded around us . A Russian rocket hit. I heard the cry of the lieutenant, "Wenger, I got hit, help please."

We were close to a farmhouse and I was able to find a two-wheel carriage upon which I loaded the wounded man and pushed and pulled, as it seems for hours, until I reached a field emergency hospital. Hundreds of wounded German soldiers were being treated, most  laying on the bare ground, and the doctors operating on tables in the open air. A pitiful scene, filled with blood and misery. They clung to my arms and legs and cried out for help but I had to march on with the troop of lost soldiers westward towards Berlin.

Shortly before Koepenick we were lucky again when a series of Russian artillery shells hit a mighty tree on a hillside where we had intended to rest, but moved away when I warned my comrades. I am not superstitious but when I found a horseshoe on the first day of the Russian offensive, and looked for one and found it everyday from then on, I considered it my lucky charm. At Neukoelln, we reached the city edge of Berlin. Tired as we were, we dragged ourselves through the empty streets towards the railway station, just in time to meet an arriving food supply train. We received our special rations, and, in addition, I got a big margarine cube which a little later I gave away to a young woman with her child.

We were now in the capital of the Reich at its eastern part, ruins and rubble all around – apartment caves, barricaded windows, stove pipes like black fingers sticking out into the cold air. When we marched through Koepenick I smiled bitterly, remembering the comedy of the “Hauptmann (Captain) of Koepenick.”

It was dark when we reached the Teltower canal and entered a factory hall full of iron ingots and half-fabricated tools to find our night quarters. There we established our new defense line and I, an 18-year old youngster, was now in charge of a platoon of members of the Volkssturm (people's militia); most of the men could have been my grandfathers. They asked me awkward questions, like 'how to handle a Panzerfaust?' (bazooka) which I had never handled myself. It was very hard for me to keep their confidence.

Late in the evening a small troop returned from a reconnaissance tour loaded with cartons of chocolate. Across the Teltower canal they had found the well-known Sarotti chocolate factory, completely desolated, and took whatever they could carry. The Russians were already close to the Tempelhof airfield.

It was pitch dark when I stepped out to investigate our immediate neighborhood, finally having a chance to munch on my provisions. As I cautiously approached a bridge that I wanted to cross, with the thundering sound of Russian artillery bombarding Tempelhof, a tremendous blast suddenly occurred. My little food parcel flew into the air, I lost the bite I had just taken and struggled to the ground. The bridge was not there anymore; German pioneers had set the explosives. Shattered, I returned to the factory and now helped myself to the Sarotti chocolate; the biting hunger was soon gone.

A young NCO from Vienna who had joined our troop always walked around with his automatic MP slung around his shoulder and the unavoidable happened. He tripped, his gun hit the hard floor, a shot discharged and hit him in the stomach. The poor fellow yelled, roared like an animal, beat with hands and legs around him. I can still hear the terror cries, but don't know if he survived.

We move on toward the center of the city, the Russians close behind us. We were told to take whatever we can from the warehouses before the Russians arrive. So, whole butter barrels were dropped from the Karhaus department store. Never in my life had I had such thick butter sandwiches. On the way we found our SS man again; he had gotten lost and was involved in some street fighting. His head was so wrapped in bandages he looked like an Indian. A Russian prisoner carried his ammunition belts and together we marched and reached the S station Gesundbrunnen and the Humboldt Hainpark.

Two giant flak towers loomed into the sky – one of them became our new quarter. Finally, we could rest on mattresses and soon fell into deep sleep. The Russian prisoner tried to run away, was shot and buried right there. (Right: View of the Humboldthain Flak Towers in Berlin which still stand today.)

We spent about two days in the bunker, exhausted, losing any contact with the outside world. No gunfire, no smoke, no roaring . The thick cement wall kept everything away. But it was quietness before the storm. We marched out and were surprised by a heavy air raid – the sirens did not work any more. I ran into the cellar of an apartment house when the bombs hit. Walls and ceilings tumbled down, dust, smoke and darkness surrounded me. I was buried and lost the orientation but could hear muffled yells. Digging  and crawling I finally found an opening excavated from outside. What a relief! Dusty and dirty and blue spots all over but otherwise okay – I survived.

Again we were astray, our unit did not exist anymore and we were directed to gather at the Maikaefer-kaserne (barracks) at the Chauseestrasse, the battle post of our parachute division. We arrived and bivouacked at its spread-out grounds. Pretty soon an alarm came; a police officer reported the approach of a Russian tank and requested volunteers for a counterattack with Panzerfaust Bazooka (Picture below left, a volksturm man with a panzerfaust). I thought I had to join even though I had no idea how to handle a Panzerfaust and, sure enough, I nearly killed myself when I tried to discharge it with my back close to a stone wall.

The officer called me back. We crawled across a yard into a small house and were supposed to occupy a better position in the nearby building block. I considered that plan insane but had to follow orders. Under heavy Russian MG fire from three sides, we had to storm the house, now positioned between the two front lines. Behind us the German Police unit protected us with their gunfire, in front of us the Russians shot at us wildly.

From the cellar of the house a few women ran towards us, threw their arms around our neck, kissed and cried and demanded that we enter the cellar to witness some horrible crimes. I tried hard to avoid that; the Russians could throw a hand grenade into the cellar and all of us would have been killed. The Russians were only a few meters away, shooting like crazy and throwing hand grenades. They wanted to retake the house. I covered from behind the front door and when I dared for a quick look out, sure enough I got hit.

A fiery flash, a strong detonation, I felt something strike my hand and immediately blood ran profusely. A Russian hand grenade exploded close to the door.

To be continued. End of part one.

Please contribute to the publishing of this valuable memoir, if you are able to, so that I can send some token of appreciation to the author who lived it, Willy Wenger.  Click on Donate on the top menu bar and select either by Paypal or by mail. Designate that it is for Herr Wenger, either all or in part. Thank you.

Exclusive at carolynyeager.net! This is the never-before-published true story of a young German soldier thrown into the battle of Seelow Heights in the last month of the Second World War—how he survived against all odds and managed to return home.

The Odyssey of Fahnenjunker Wenger

From the Seelow Heights—April 1945

Back Home to Leoben, Austria—July 1945

By Willy Wenger

An officer-candidate in the German Luftwaffe, Willy Wenger was only 18 in 1945 when his “odyssey” began. He is now 86. His older brotherLeopold Wenger was awarded the Knight’s Cross, Germany's highest military decoration.

Translation and Introduction by Wilhelm Kriessmann

Editing by Carolyn Yeager
copyright 2012 Wilhelm Wenger

For the 17-year-old high school student Willy Wenger, his brother "Poldi," squadron leader at SG10 of the German Luftwaffe, was an outstanding role model. Willy wanted to follow in the footsteps of this highly decorated Jabo*pilot, who was five years older than himself. In July 1942, Willy received his C license for glider pilots (pictured at right on glider) and in April 1943 at the Reichssegelflugschule Spitzerberg near Vienna, he earned the Luftfahrerschein (air pilot pass). (See picture below)

[*Jagdbomber -  Refers to Bf 109 fighter aircraft converted to carry 250-kg bombs and carry out nuisance raids.]

The war situation in the spring of 1943 made it necessary to call up the final classes of high school students to the services of the Home Anti-Aircraft Forces, or FLAK. Wenger’s high school class assembled at barracks within the steel plant of the Herman Goering Werke (later named Voest-Alpine) at Linz/Donau. School lessons continued but the young pupils also had to learn how to handle the 3.7cm anti-aircraft guns and all the additional equipment.

Above: Wenger earns his basic pilot's license in 1943 at the flying school at Spitzerberg.

Because of injuries at gun practices, Willy was able to spend a furlough at home in Leoben at the same time his older brother 'Poldi, the Luftwaffen pilot, also arrived back home for a short leave.

Turbulent months followed his return from his New Year furlough to his FLAK unit in Linz. Only a few weeks after the class returned to the school in Maburg and report cards were issued, Wenger was called to the service at the RAD (Reichs Arbeits Dienst), Reichs Labor Service, an obligatory three-month draft. During the three very cold winter months of 1944, the RAD men were working on a railway ramp to connect the main line with a trunk line to a large armament plant in Silesia. Basic boot camp training was still part of their activities, however. (Willy is in center of group)In early May, Wenger was back at school in his last year but, as it turned out, only for a few weeks. There were merry reunions, parties and dancing and when the call for military service came, Wenger volunteered to be an officer candidate in the Luftwaffe.

On July 6, 1944, he arrived at the Kriegsschule 3 at Oschatz, in the state of Saxonia/Anhalt. As a Fahnenjunker (cadet), he was looking forward to becoming a pilot like his brother.

That dream ended when Reichsmarschall Göring ordered 100,000 Luftwaffen personnel to fill the gaps suffered by the German army. In early spring 1945 Fahnenjunker Wenger, now Fallschirmjaeger (parachute trooper), was on the way to the Eastern front some 80km distance from Berlin.

We now let him tell his story:

Please continue reading HERE at carolynyeager.net

August 22, 2013

Why didn’t Hitler address the German nation considering its defeat as the Emperor Hirohito did in Japan? Why was Hirohito allowed to live and continue his reign, while Hitler and his party had to be eradicated totally? Why was Japan allowed to keep its industrial capacity and participate in world trade, but Germany not. One reason is the difference between Dwight David Eisenhower (the terrible Swedish Jew) and Douglas MacArthur.

Image:  FM Wilhelm Keitel, Chief of Army (center) with Chief of the Luftwaffe Stumpff (left), Admiral Friedeberg of the Kriegsmarine (right) are forced by Eisenhower's threats to surrender to the Soviet Union on May 8, 1945 in Berlin-Karlhorst.

Carolyn also looks at the continuing media attention to the  “problem” of antisemitism and what to do about it. Friday, April 26 is the 100th anniversary of the rape/murder of 13-year-old Mary Phagan by the Jew Leo Frank in Atlanta, Ga. The Anti-Defamation League was created 100 years ago to defend Frank and has been doing its best to prevent justice for Jews ever since.

The Odyssey of Fahnenjunker Wenger

Part Two - Conclusion

From the Seelow Heights—April 1945

Back Home to Leoben, Austria—July 1945

By Willy Wenger

An officer-candidate in the German Luftwaffe, Willy Wenger was only 18 in 1945 when his “odyssey” began. He is now 86. His older brotherLeopold Wenger was awarded the Knight’s Cross, Germany's highest military decoration.

Translation and Introduction by Wilhelm Kriessmann

Editing by Carolyn Yeager
copyright 2013 Wilhelm Wenger

From April 20th onward - the final days of the Reich - 18 year old Willy Wenger was involved in the Battle for Berlin. His story continues right after receiving his first wound as he covered for German civilians trapped inside the cellar of a house. As he attempted a peek out the front door to check conditions, a Russian grenade exploded close to it. A grenade fragment struck his hand, bringing forth profuse bleeding.

For the time being we escaped hell; it was insanity what we tried to accomplish near the Sparre Platz next to a waterfront. (I still carry the grenade fragment in the ball of my left hand. I feel it only when I hit something accidentally.) We marched back to the Maikaefer barracks.

The long row of barracks on Chausseestrassee as it appeared in 1910.

I was sent to a first aid station to get properly bandaged and to receive a tetanus shot. Marching on, I was informed that it was the famous Hotel Adlon on the Unter den Linden, close to the Brandenburg Gate, where I could get help. With ruins and wreckage all around, I tried first to cross the wide Unter den Linden avenue – impossible with continual rocket fire from the Stalin Organ batteries. So I found the subway entrance and finally entered the Adlon, my first encounter with my future profession.

But what did this former luxury establishment look like? Debris all over. The floor of the great hall was covered with straw bales, wounded soldiers lay spread out. From the adjoining rooms a penetrating smell of blood and antiseptic circled the air. Doctors, nurses and medical orderlies were busy attending, all of them with tired eyes. I received my tetanus shot and the medal for wounded soldiers was handed to me, not too proud an award.

I ran into soldiers from the nearby Fuehrerbunker-headquarter. They told us Hitler and his staff were living deep underground in a bomb-secure extended bunker from where he is still giving his orders. He will remain in Berlin. There was also talk that an airplane landed at the Axis (Siegesallee) raising hopes that we might be able to leave the city. Many years after the war I read that Hanna Reitsch with Reichsmarshall Ritter von Greim landed with a small plane, stayed a few days and then returned to Rechlin. Hitler refused to leave.

With my hand bandaged and a sling around my shoulder, I returned to the Maikaefer barrack. Immediately I was assigned to an ammunition transport - a motorbike with a sidecar. I was sitting on the back seat, the sidecar loaded with ammunition. We were driving like crazy back to our infantry. There were no clear roads anymore, just debris, rubble, dense smoke, and artillery shells howling in the air. We got entangled in utility wires hanging down from split poles. (Picture below of Under den Linden gives only an idea of the clogged nature of the streets.)

It was ghostly, not a soul around, eyes and nose were burning from smoke and dusty air. We could hardly distinguish ruins and obstacles when, not too far ahead of us, a Russian T 34 tank turned from a side alley into our road. With no way to turn around, we drove with full speed straight toward the tank and swerved around the corner into an alley, seeing how the tank's turret swung in our direction and the canon fired. It hit the corner of the ruin – another narrow escape. The munitions were delivered on time.

With a small group, I moved from the Maikaefer barracks to the cellar of the Deutsche Theater where we stayed put. The outside was under continual Russian artillery barrage - only a few houses away the Russians were dug in. The cellar was full of civilian refugees, mostly women and a few elderly men. They warned and begged us to empty the wine cellar, they were afraid if the Russians got hold of it a terrible consequences for the women would occur. We helped ourselves with the selected treasures and obviously overdid it, a kind of end-of-the-world mood.

The 1st of May was also approaching and we had all the more reason to celebrate, believing in a miracle victory. Champagne was flowing, close to an orgy when a shrieking “hurraeae” and wild rifle shooting broke out. The Russians stormed in. Stark awake, I ran straight away through the pitch dark night and saw a glowing object rolling toward me. I thought first it was a burning cigarette, but jumped into the next house entrance. A hand grenade exploded.

I felt right away a hit in my back and the left leg. No pain but I could feel warm blood. With a large group of soldiers I moved with great difficulty from the Friedrichstrasse northwards. They laid me in a communication car, more troops joined us and, finally, two armored vehicles with guns.

We moved through the part of the city which for days had been already occupied by the Russians. Along the side of the streets and behind ruins they were dug in, shooting at us. It was severe street fighting again, with heavy losses. After hours, about 800 to 1000 men arrived in Pankow (North Berlin), among them men from the bunker who told us Hitler was dead. Years later, I read that Axmann, the Youth leader, and Bormann were amongst us, and Bormann was killed.

Martin Bormann, right, and Artur Axmann, far right

Early in the morning, still within Greater Berlin in its northwest part, our column got bogged down. Everybody was dead tired, quite a few apathetic lifeless forms sitting around, waiting, no action.

I, the wounded little corporal, forced myself up and pushed toward the head of the column. There I pleaded strongly with a ranked officer, and might even have yelled at him to take over the command. It was his duty to lead and fight us through the encirclement. There was no way back.

So we formed ourselves into a solid formation and broke though towards the Northeast, still moving through villages with Cyrillic signs – Russians living there who, surprised by our appearance, ran away in panic. By using secondary roads and trying to avoid towns and villages we managed to proceed undetected. Some young hot-heads then started shooting at distant, shadowy Russian positions and, sure enough, we right away got their answer. Our unprotected column was an easy target for the grenade launchers. A shell hit close to the radio car where I was laying between a bunch of different cables.

The driver tried to swerve around, lost control and we tumbled down a slight slope. Like in a movie in slow motion I watched how we turned around and landed upside down on the roof. The crew ran away, but I could not, entangled as I was in the mess of all the cables. I yelled for help and finally a fellow soldier got me out of the rubbery pile. I had difficulty walking but with his help reached a near-by forest.

Under hedges of dense bushes we were all hiding. I could finally change my bloody shirt and a medical orderly tried to treat my terribly hurting foot. He cut my shoe up, blood and pus oozed. The grenade fragment entered my foot between the big toe and the ball of the foot. I would not let the man touch the wound; I handled it myself with a knife, scissors and tweezers. The excruciating pain drove tears from my eyes but I succeeded, and thanks to the tetanus shot I received a few days before I did not get an infection. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.

They woke me up late and it was already pitch dark. We decided to march only at night and traveled a long semi-circle in a westerly direction  throughout the night. The morning breakfast: we licked the dew from the leaves of the bushes and trees. For days, we had nothing to eat or drink. We were down to a small group of about 20 men, decided upon in order to avoid the more likely detection of a large column. We dared now to march during the day, found an empty house and some food – cans of pork fat. We mixed it with rhubarb leaves and gorged it down, resulting soon in running diarrhea. Horrible.

Worse was the sight at some other desolated farm houses we passed by of brutally murdered German soldiers, mutilated just a few hours before. We were terribly shaken, checked again and again the terrain ahead of us. Our movement slowed down, partly due to my inability to march by myself. I needed help and I got it, but I felt the eyes looking at me. For a short moment I thought to take my life. They took away my rifle and the hand grenade.

An old Berliner stood up in front of me and said he did not want to walk further away from his home town and would help me. It was a sad moment when I shook hands and said good bye to all the comrades with whom I spent the last days and nights so close to disaster and death.

*

We both looked for protection, dead tired as we were, and fell asleep under dense bushes. Unreal serenity greeted us when we woke. No canon thunder, no rifle shots, burning fires or thick smoke. Flat country with no people. It was  a herd of bellowing cows, their udders full of milk, that woke us, We listened to the lovely song of birds and recognized spring was here, after all the past days of horror.

Only then we noticed a farmer and his wife chasing some of the cows, trying to catch and milk them. First they were scared when they saw us in our hideaway. When we spoke hesitantly in German, they recognized our worn-out uniforms and became very friendly and helpful. “You have to get rid of your uniform, otherwise you have no chance to avoid getting caught by the Russians,” they said, and told us they would bring us civilian clothes when dusk set in.

They had two sons who were both killed on the Eastern front. We lay around the whole afternoon listening to the cows still bellowing, the longest afternoon of my life. Then there was the farmer again, pulling out of a jute sack a whole bunch of clothes and in a brown bag boiled potatoes. Heavenly thanks.

We buried all our identification, the uniform, our dog tags, our military passbook, even family photos, and started walking - my comrade from Berlin putting his arm around my shoulder, I limping. We reached a large farmhouse, the farmer allowed us to sleep between his horses overnight. The first time we had a roof above our head and no frosty shivering. The following day, May 6th, my 19th birthday!

I had slept well and felt newly born. For breakfast we got hot milk, bread and butter – what a beginning of a day. Before we left the farmer asked for my camera and explained that the Russians would confiscate it right away or even accuse me of espionage. It made sense, so sadly I handed it to him. We were civilians again, a little strange but nevertheless a nice feeling. We walked along a narrow field path, progressing slowly; my foot hurt and I could not step on it. I realized I could not continue.

A small dwelling, very isolated, literally invited us to seek rest. A farmer's wife of about 55 years invited us to come in, immediately gave us something to eat and dressed my wounds. She was very helpful, very sympathetic and reminded me of my aunt Gritzi. When she realized how desperate my condition was she would not let us leave and offered us to spend the night in the barn. We accepted thankfully.

In the next days the pain in my foot became intolerable. Pus oozed out of the cut-up shoe. I could hardly make a step; I needed a doctor. The woman told me the next available doctor would be in Oranienburg, 40km (25 miles) south. Her farmhouse was about 3 to 4km south of Löwenberg, a road junction where Neuruppin-Eberswade crosses Neubrandenburg-Berlin.

We had to march to Oranienburg, a long way ahead of us. So we bid goodbye by to the dear, helpful farmer's wife and thanked her gratefully. She repeated to us that we were welcome to come back any time if we are in trouble. But I wanted to go home and see my family; I was worrying about what might have happened to them.

At a snail's pace we marched along a wide road, an important main artery to the South.At times, my Berlin friend pulled me in a hand cart, where I could sit. Many people, mostly refugees, wandered with us. They told us that today, May 9th, the remaining German army capitulated – the war was over. Then we confronted the first Russian soldiers. We were scared but they only wanted to ask us how we were, exclaiming "nix Krieg, nix Krieg” (no war, no war), giving us some cigarettes. We were relieved and marched on, soon passing by a column of German prisoners guarded by Russian soldiers. What a pity to see them and what luck had struck us.

A little bit outside the city of Oranienburg, the town of Sachsenhausen is located. There we found out that the only doctor was at the KZ Sachsenhausen (concentration camp), pictured above. I did not hesitate to go there since I knew a KZ was a penalty camp for criminals. We walked first through a pine tree forest amid nice villas. I later found out those were houses for the SS guard. Then a big gate, where we parted, my friend and helper now wanting to return home to Berlin. There were fences with barbed wire and, after the entrance, a long barrack with a large Red Cross sign. Relieved, I thought I would very soon see a doctor.

But it didn't happen. Several strange-looking men wearing red arm straps, who I was told later were armed civilian Polish bandits, blocked our way, and when I told them I was injured and sick they yelled, "Du nix krank, Du muessen arbeiten.” (You are not sick, you have to work).

A broom was pressed into my hand to sweep and clean the ground. From other civilians doing the same job, I was told they were grabbed on the street and forced into the camp to work. When it turned dark I was driven to the exit – free again. Since nobody was allowed to be seen outside after dark, I was afraid to be caught and get into deep trouble.

Limping into a small alley amidst villas, I entered one – it was empty. I found a soft bed and fell into a deep sleep. Next morning, I rummaged through all the drawers, found fresh underwear and could, after quite a long time, wash myself. I did not know what to do. Continuing homewards seemed to be impossible. The words of the farmer's wife entered my mind and those words gave me strength enough to make it all the way back. It was also the fear of being caught again that made me forget my pains. I found a walking stick and marched on.

When I arrived late in the afternoon at the small farmhouse the woman greeted me like a lost son. I found out that she had a close relative - nephew, or even son - with the name of Willy and maybe, for that reason, took such good care of me. I had my own room, bed, table and chair, and felt like I was  in seventh heaven. For breakfast I had real coffee with an egg since she had no milk. Lots of chickens but no cattle. She grew plenty of asparagus, which was unknown to me, but now very appreciated for its various dishes – soup and omelet and as salad with mayonnaise.

I thought I was living in the land of milk and honey. I helped her with daily chores as well as I could and was happy as a lark. Gradually my wounds healed. My foot and hand showed scars, but I could move around fairly well.

For over a month Elswitha - that was her name - took care of me. But I got restless wondering what was going on back home, thinking what the future held. We were completely cut off from the outside world - no radio, no newspapers. From time to time people from Berlin found our farm house, trying to exchange some of their "goodies" for eggs and vegetables. Some of those visitors told me the Ostmark was now Austria again, and that my homeland, Styria, was occupied by the Soviets. They also told me Berlin and the rest of Germany was divided into four zones.

Were my parents alive? Where was my older brother, fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe? Plans circulated through my brain; maps and traveling routes were tossed around. My desire to return grew stronger and my female protector knew that the time would come when I would have to leave. I thought I should try to reach the US zone in Berlin and from there somehow get to Bavaria and from there to Austria. It was known that the Russians very often snatched young people without any special reason and forced them to accompany the cattle transports headed back East.

Luck then helped me with my further planning. Two women from the mayor's office of the village of Loewenburg visited Elswitha and, when they heard I was going to try to return to Austria, they offered me an identification pass. A few days later they returned and, sure enough, they handed me a paper which was of immense help later on. On a half page the following text was typed:

CERTIFICATION

Mr. Wilhelm Wenger, born May 6, 1926, in Anger, Austria, was drafted to render important war services in the town of Löwenburg. He was hard-working and did his job properly. There is no objection to his return to Austria. Kindly help Mr. Wenger as much as possible to return to his homeland.

Signed, Mayor of Löwenburg (carrying the office stamp)

It was not easy to leave. She treated me as her son as she nursed me back to health and now I was leaving. We both had tears in our eyes as I bid her goodbye. She put a large food package and a shirt into my rucksack. I gripped my walking stick and, slightly hobbling, I walked on. One last time I turned around, seeing the little farmhouse disappear behind the group of willow trees.

Pretty soon I reached the main road South. I walked through Oranienburg and Sachsenhausen and arrived dead tired at the edge of Berlin, in Tegel. (Note that Seelow is east of Berlin close to the Oder River. Willy is back where he began. -cy) I was surprised when a young, well-attired man addressed me, asking if I were a former soldier on my way home. He introduced himself as a Lutheran priest helping homeward-bound soldiers. At a small villa, I met a lot of other ex-soldiers; we were fed, slept in a bed and next morning we could even take a shower bath. A hearty breakfast and some pocket money were handed out and, with a goodbye, we were sent on our further way. Indeed, a very unusual treatment.

I received detailed information on how to find my way to the South end of Berlin, and thought to visit the Deutsche Theater where I found such good company in April. I had to turn away in a hurry when I noticed Russian soldiers at the entrance. Walking through ruins and debris, I came to the railway station of Lichterfelde-Ost at the South end of Berlin. The hall was crowded but I found  a patch of straw on which I could lay down for sleep. 

Early in the morning, everyone pushed to get a place in the rail cars. We passed through Jüterbog, which I had marched through two month ago, and arrived in Wittenberg on the Elbe river. I tried to cross the river over the bridge but the Russian border guard drove me back. My idea to reach the West through the U.S. zone to Bavaria failed. Some of us were thinking to swim across the Elbe river, but gave up the idea when we were told the Russians were cold-bloodedly shooting at everybody who tried.

I joined a small group of refugees and we marched for quite a time southwards. At a small village I went to the mayor's office to find out which route we should take. Bread was distributed. I received half a loaf and got signature and stamp on my identity paper. Overnight, a mixed crowd of women, children and men slept in a large school gym. Our morning toilette was very primitive. Again, a long, tiring foot march and we reached the city Riesa on the Elbe river.

Someone suggested to try a steamship trip; we saw a boat on a landing stage and managed to get on board amid a hard-pushing crowd. In the distance we recognized the silhouettes of Dresden and by the dimming light of the early evening we made out the contours of some of the well-known buildings. How terrible then was the view when we approached the waterfront.

Not one house or building was intact. It was ruins everywhere, and piles of rubbish – a depressing scene of devastation. We lost our orientation because former streets were narrowed to paths of small roads edged on both sides by piles of stones, wire and wood. We hurried along and just guessed our direction towards the South. We were now a small group of Austrians, closely bound together by our decision to make our way to Austria through the former protectorate, Bohemia-Moravia. It was now the new Czech Republic and we were uncertain what was waiting for us there.

We were hungry and tired when we boarded the overloaded train and in a while crossed the border. We noticed that the Czech passengers looked at us with deep suspicion. We were all wearing red-white-red patches on our jackets and held on to our papers identifying us as Austrians. When we could not answer their questions in Czech, most of them addressed us in German.

A flood of terrible tales poured over us. They were eager to let us know how they treated German civilians, their neighbors, and German soldiers without their weapons. They demanded our attention as to how they threw people into the Elbe river, nailed them on rafts and burned them, buried German soldiers alive after they clobbered them to cripples. Deeply shocked, we were quiet, did not utter a word and were relieved when we arrived at Leitmeritz/Litomerice and had to get off the train.
 
We were directed to a freight train and told it was on the way to Vienna. The cars were dirty and full of coal dust. I got very suspicious and, sure enough, after the train left, somebody yelled, “It is going to Poland.” When the train slowed climbing up a hill, I and a friend from my home area, Bruck, jumped off the train. It was pitch dark, I rolled down a hill, did not hurt myself and found my comrade also unhurt. We walked back to the train station and in the morning boarded a train to Prague. Sheer luck. At Prague, we had to leave the train again and found out that in a few hours a train will depart for Vienna. We walked through the city and were surprised to see streets and houses intact, no ruins at all and plenty of goods in the stores, like a fairy tale. But it did not help us.

Hungry, we returned to the station. Terrified, we recognized that the entrance was cordoned off by military police and everybody was checked. I had lots of trouble convincing them that I was an Austrian returning from work in Germany and not a Hitler Youth or soldier. My paper with the stamps and signatures were finally a help to me. They turned my rucksack upside down, but luckily my watch that was hidden there did not fall out. My comrade from Bruck also passed.

We found the train to Bruenn but we did not find any room inside and so climbed like many others onto the roof. There, we did not have to listen to the horrible talk but we got some bruises on our head and shoulders when hit by the  wires hanging down from bridges we passed under. Right next to me sat a Russian soldier with his automatic rifle across his legs, trying to talk to me. By gestures and finger-pointing we finally understood each other. He also spoke some German. He was rather friendly to us, however he disliked the Czechs very much.

When we stopped at a station he asked me take care of his weapon; he wanted to get a drink of water. He left the gun on my lap. The Czechs looked hatefully at me and I was afraid something might happen. With a friendly smile, the soldier returned and sat down by my side as if nothing happened. Did he want to humiliate the Czechs?
 
During the afternoon we arrived at the central station of Bruenn. I tried to join a line in front of a Red Cross station to get something to eat. Hateful voices yelled at me, "Deutsche, Raus” (get out, you Germans), pushed me away and threatened me. A Red Cross nurse grabbed my hand and gave me a bowl of soup and a slice of bread – never did a meal taste better.

A local train took us to the border. As dusk set in, we walked to the border line. The customs-and-transfer station was closed. We were informed that after dark an absolute lockout was ordered; we were afraid to be shot at if we moved and looked for shelter. So we – about 30 people – camped right there on the meadow next door to the customs house. Czech officials tried to drive us away but we stubbornly laid down and would not move.

Hardly any one slept and restlessly we waited for the dawn, looked over the crossbeam to the dear homeland only a few feet away. Finally, after hours, the ugly beam was lifted; we ran across, threw our arms around each other and cried, “Home!” Suddenly a Russian soldier approached us with his Kalashnikov raised, shouting "Dokumenti, Dokumenti." I pulled my paper out, he turned it around and when he noticed the many stamps and signatures, I could pass.

We marched on and were lead to a big building where we received a hearty breakfast and then had to register and check out lists of refugees, to eventually find friends or family. Overwhelmed and carried away with emotion, I could not wait for a train which was supposed to arrive in a few hours. I took my walking stick and arrived shortly before noontime at Gaenserndorf.

I was hungry and needed help. I found the mayor's office adorned by a Soviet star – Communist rule?  I entered and introduced myself as an ex-soldier. They were very friendly and handed me a loaf of bread. Gratefully, I turned around, clicked my heels, raised my hand in "Heil Hitler." Right away realizing my mistake, I could have sunk into the floor – but they laughed and I rushed out and hurried up the road.

There seemed to be no end to the Marchfeld when I walked towards Vienna and reached the Danube. No bridge led across the river, two were destroyed. A local told me to march further on northwards and I would be able to climb over the broken pillars and cement blocks of a half-damaged bridge.

It was dark when I reached the west bank of the Danube. The streets were empty, a curfew was obviously established, but I still walked on, hiding behind corners when military guards approached. I knew where my Aunt Mitzi and Uncle Karl lived – it must have been past midnight when I pushed through the entrance door and awakened my relatives. They stared at me half-awake, recognized who I was and embraced me dearly.

Next morning, my uncle and I climbed into a crowded train at the Suedbahnhof that was going to Graz. In Bruck a Mur we departed the train;  my uncle went on to Bad Gleichenberg to find out if his garden house survived the war, and I boarded the train to Leoben. I was nervously excited, everything went too slow. When I crossed the Mur bridge on foot my knees shook. I waved when I saw the windows of our apartment on the second floor and my mother looking out. She recognized me.

What tremendous joy, a deep, emotional embrace, what heavy tears and sobs. My sister had grown up, my 6-year old brother Gerhard did not recognize me. There was joy all around, but one bitter pill – we did not know where my older brother was.

My odyssey was over, my future very uncertain.

Please contribute to the publishing of this valuable memoir, if you are able to, so that I can send some token of appreciation to the author who lived it, Willy Wenger.  Click on Donate on the top menu bar and select either by Paypal or by mail. Designate that it is for Herr Wenger, either all or in part. Thank you.

April 27, 2013

A mix of subjects ranging from the Boston Marathon bombing– to the pure propaganda play of a 20th Anniversary of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC – to the Czech treatment of Germans in May 1945 and since. Some of the points made:

• Are the “victims” we see on television and in photos actors hired to participate in a drill;
• Media fakery is becoming more believable to more people, and fits the political climate;
• All-Jewish-run museum in United States claims right to offer a National Tributeto Holocaust Survivors with Elie Wiesel and Bill Clinton speaking;
• Special award given to Susan Eisenhower (in honor of her grandfather “Ike”) and Polish Jew Wladyslaw Bartoszewski;
• Outrageous lies and nonsense featured at holocaust museum’s special exhibition “Some Were Neighbors”;
• Thirty-five million visitors since museum opened – 1/3 from schools (forced attendance);
• Stop contributing to Mark Weber’s IHR and donate to Vincent Reynouard instead.
• Willy Wenger tells in his WWII memoir about his own experience with Czechs when traveling through the new Czech Republic on his way home to Austria;
• Hadding Scott joins the program in the last half hour to comment on German treatment of Poles from 1939-1944 and on whether German dominance in Europe is natural.

Image: Toy ‘Nazi’ figurines are supposed to show the “demonic appearing in the most minute details” at the USHMM special exhibition titled, “Some Were Neighbors, “meant to keep the guilt trip going.

The Odyssey of Fahnenjunker Wenger

Part Two - Conclusion

From the Seelow Heights—April 1945

Back Home to Leoben, Austria—July 1945

By Willy Wenger

An officer-candidate in the German Luftwaffe, Willy Wenger was only 18 in 1945 when his “odyssey” began. He is now 86. His older brotherLeopold Wenger was awarded the Knight’s Cross, Germany's highest military decoration.

Translation and Introduction by Wilhelm Kriessmann

Editing by Carolyn Yeager
copyright 2013 Wilhelm Wenger

From April 20th onward - the final days of the Reich - 18 year old Willy Wenger was involved in the Battle for Berlin. His story continues right after receiving his first wound as he covered for German civilians trapped inside the cellar of a house. As he attempted a peek out the front door to check conditions, a Russian grenade exploded close to it. A grenade fragment struck his hand, bringing forth profuse bleeding.

For the time being we escaped hell; it was insanity what we tried to accomplish near the Sparre Platz next to a waterfront. (I still carry the grenade fragment in the ball of my left hand. I feel it only when I hit something accidentally.) We marched back to the Maikaefer barracks.

The long row of barracks on Chausseestrassee as it appeared in 1910.

I was sent to a first aid station to get properly bandaged and to receive a tetanus shot. Marching on, I was informed that it was the famous Hotel Adlon on the Unter den Linden, close to the Brandenburg Gate, where I could get help. With ruins and wreckage all around, I tried first to cross the wide Unter den Linden avenue – impossible with continual rocket fire from the Stalin Organ batteries. So I found the subway entrance and finally entered the Adlon, my first encounter with my future profession.

But what did this former luxury establishment look like? Debris all over. The floor of the great hall was covered with straw bales, wounded soldiers lay spread out. From the adjoining rooms a penetrating smell of blood and antiseptic circled the air. Doctors, nurses and medical orderlies were busy attending, all of them with tired eyes. I received my tetanus shot and the medal for wounded soldiers was handed to me, not too proud an award.

I ran into soldiers from the nearby Fuehrerbunker-headquarter. They told us Hitler and his staff were living deep underground in a bomb-secure extended bunker from where he is still giving his orders. He will remain in Berlin. There was also talk that an airplane landed at the Axis (Siegesallee) raising hopes that we might be able to leave the city. Many years after the war I read that Hanna Reitsch with Reichsmarshall Ritter von Greim landed with a small plane, stayed a few days and then returned to Rechlin. Hitler refused to leave.

With my hand bandaged and a sling around my shoulder, I returned to the Maikaefer barrack. Immediately I was assigned to an ammunition transport - a motorbike with a sidecar. I was sitting on the back seat, the sidecar loaded with ammunition. We were driving like crazy back to our infantry. There were no clear roads anymore, just debris, rubble, dense smoke, and artillery shells howling in the air. We got entangled in utility wires hanging down from split poles.

It was ghostly, not a soul around, eyes and nose were burning from smoke and dusty air. We could hardly distinguish ruins and obstacles when, not too far ahead of us, a Russian T 34 tank turned from a side alley into our road. With no way to turn around, we drove with full speed straight toward the tank and swerved around the corner into an alley, seeing how the tank's turret swung in our direction and the canon fired. It hit the corner of the ruin – another narrow escape. The munitions were delivered on time.

Please continue reading here 

This instrument of surrender was signed on May 7, 1945, at Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower's headquarters in Rheims by Gen. Alfred Jodl, Chief of Staff of the German Army. At the same time, he signed three other surrender documents, one each for Great Britain, Russia, and France. Signatories: On behalf of the German High Command. JODL. IN THE PRESENCE OF: On behalf of the Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force. W. B. SMITH On behalf of the Soviet High Command. SOUSLOPAROV. Witnessed by F SEVEZ Major General, French Army. For an enlarged version, go here.

On May 7, 1945 the German Instrument of Surrender was signed in Rheims, France by representatives of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW) and the Allied Expeditionary Force [US and UK] together with the Soviet High Command. Those signing were Alfred Jodl of the OKW, Walter Bedell Smith of the Western Allies, and Ivan Sousloparov of the Soviet Union.

On May 8, a second signing took place in Berlin by representatives of the three armed services of the OKW [Keitel, Stumpff and Friedeberg] and the Allied Expeditionary Force together with the Supreme High Command of the Red Army. French and US representatives signed as witnesses.

While it was in three languages, the document states that only the English version was considered authoritative.

Tag der Kapitulation in Germany is known in the West as VE Day (Victory in Europe).

*      *       *

The preparations of the text of the instrument of surrender began in January 1944 by US, Soviet and British representatives - called the European Advisory Commission, or EAC. They proposed that the capitulation of Germany should be recorded in a single document of unconditional surrender.

It was suggested that the instrument of surrender be signed by representatives of the German High Command to prevent the repetition of the "stab-in-the-back" belief widespread in Germany following defeat in the First World War. At that time, the act of surrender in November 1918 was signed by representatives of the German government only, allowing it to be claimed that the High Command was not responsible for that defeat. The Allies did not want a repeat of returning veterans arriving home believing they had not been vanquished.

*      *       *

The first Instrument of Surrender was signed at Rheims, at 02:41 Central European Time (CET) on 7 May 1945.

However … US diplomat Robert Murphy claims that EAC approved surrender documents were not signed on May 7 because an exhausted General Smith had thought that EAC had never approved a surrender agreement. He had filed away in his personal top-secret cabinet the folder containing the EAC text. The surrender documents of May 7 had been prepared on "miscellaneous reference material," whatever that means. Although the documents had been certified by General Sousloparov as the Soviet liaison officer, Moscow quickly protested that the surrender terms were not the EAC agreement which had been endorsed by the Soviets.

The May 7th document was signed by Generaloberst Alfred Jodl, on behalf of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (English: "Supreme Command of the Armed Forces") and as the representative for the new Reich President, Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz.  But Dönitz himself never signed.

Shortly after the surrender had been signed, the Soviet Command announced that the Soviet representative in Rheims, General Sousloparov, had no authority to sign this document. In addition, it had been found that the document signed in Rheims was different from the draft prepared earlier, which had been approved by the Big Three.

A part of the Wehrmacht refused to lay down their arms and continued to fight in Czechoslovakia. A German radio broadcast stated that the Germans had made peace with the Western Allies, but not with the Soviets. This was actually the intention of Dönitz when he sent Jodl to sign at Rheims. Germans wanted to continue to fight in the East as long as German civilians and troops were still retreating to the West, out of Soviet controlled areas. By surrendering then, all troops had to lay down their arms and be captured by the Soviets. This was a tactic by Dönitz to save German lives.(Although it turned out that being in the captivity of the Americans did not save one's life at all.)

The Soviets would have none of it, though, as they understood exactly what was happening.

The Soviet side insisted that the act of surrender signed in Rheims should be considered "a preliminary protocol of surrender," so the Allies agreed that another surrender ceremony should take place in Berlin shortly before midnight on 8 May at the seat of the Soviet Military Administration in Berlin-Karlshorst.

Marshall Zhukov, Air Chief Marshall Tedder (UK), US General Carl Spaatz (as witness), French General Jean de Tassigny (as witness)  … signed along with Keitel (pictured right, signing), Friedeberg and Stumpff. Wilhelm Keitel was Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces, representing the Army. Hans-Georg von Friedeberg was Commander-in-Chief of the Kriegsmarine and Hans-Juergen Stumpff represented the Luftwaffe.

Thus, while Jodl was said to sign as the representative of Reich President Karl Dönitz, that document was not considered the correct one, according to the Soviet Command, and agreed to by the U.S. and UK, so it can be said that the Reich government never surrendered. Only the German Armed Forces surrendered to the Allies.

*      *      *

The surviving Reich government, headed by Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz as Reich president, was known as the Flensburg Government because it was located in the city of Flensburg in Northern Germany. It's leaders were arrested on May 23, 1945 in a grossly dishonorable (and probably illegal) way, by way of subterfuge, after being summoned to a meeting with SHEAF representatives on the passenger ship Patria. The decision to do this was made on May 19 in a meeting between SHEAF and the Soviet High Command. Thus the Allied victors took control of the Reich by force, with no agreement by the representatives of the Reich or its people.

Grand Admiral Karl Donitz, followed by Gen. Alfred Jodl and Dr. Albert Speer after their surprise arrest by the Allied Supreme Headquarters Expeditionary Force, 23 May 1945.

Please visit the new website German Victims

By Willy Wenger
May 5, 2013

I was in the final battle for Berlin - from the Seelow Heights up to the last bitter street fighting in the vicinity of the bunker of Adolf Hitler. All Berliners participated in this, the bloodiest battle on German soil. The city had already included for some days troops of the Red Army.

Knowledge of the possiblity of being liberated by the Twelfth  Army under the command of young General Walther Wenck must have been what gave us the hope and the courage to endure. But General Wenck came up only as far as Potsdam.

"Then was the terminus." Those were his words as I heard them from him in Geneva in 1966, a time that I was able to talk to him about it.

At right, Willy Wenger right before his 87 birthday.

The war ended on 8 May 1945. Immediate peace should have followed, but it was different. Families waited for husband or father, but so many were languishing in prison camps under inhuman treatment. (The Rhine meadows camps, most people still don’t know about today.) Women, longingly expecting their husbands to return, were often enough raped by occupying troops - especially in the East.

I myself personally know some soldiers who were delivered by the Americans and Russians to spend many years in Russian camps, leading a most terrible life. Erich Hartmann, the most successful fighter pilot in the world; Fritz Schröter, who was Poldi's* group commander; or Wilhelm Rauch from Bad Gleichenberg,  now a spa director, was held ten years in Siberia.

Albin Laggner, my wife's brother, was heavily wounded on the day of capitulation in Czech territory and was beaten almost to death. Then, with other wounded, he was made to lay down on the road to be run over by tanks. A Czech woman, feeling pity for the 17-year old, pulled him out of the road at the last second, while others were being crushed by tank tracks.

These may be anecdotal, but there are thousands of similar stories. And these victims remained silent, as they did not want to be reminded of the horrors they experienced and one has to respect that. Even so, they were usually innocent victims.

A monument should be built to the German women. It was they, in German cities night after night with their children, often having to remain in the freezing cold of the shelter when Allied aircraft of up to a thousand machines carried out their carpet bombing on the defenseless civilian population down below. Instead, the British commander responsible for this area bombing gets a monument located in the English capital.

I want to avoid arousing hatred, but justice should prevail in the world and reporting should correspond to the facts. The war that really no one wanted was brought to the German people, and not vice versa.

*Poldi is Willy's older brother, Oberleutnant Leopold Wenger, who died after being shot down over Vienna in April 1945.

The great battleship Bismarck was launched on Feb. 14, 1939 at Hamburg.

Adolf Hitler proclaimed June 18, 1935 the happiest day of his life. It was because the naval agreement his government sought with Great Britain, the A.G.N.A., was signed. Hitler saw it as the beginning of an alliance between the two nations against France and the Soviet Union—the beginning of the partnership that he was seeking between the “leading” nations of Europe: Germany and England. These two, Great Britain by sea and Germany by land armies, would share the burden of defending Europe from all enemies.

It also released Germany from the Treaty of Versailles in the area of naval rearmament. Under the 1919 treaty, Germany was allowed no submarines, no naval aviation, and no battleships. The total naval forces allowed to the Germans were six each heavy and light cruisers, 12 each destroyers and torpedo boats. 

Germany had continued through the years to protest these restrictions, demanding that either all of Europe disarm down to German levels, or Germany be allowed to rearm to their level. Every German government of the Weimar Republic , preceding Hitler's Third Reich, had been implacably opposed to the terms of Versailles; the British were well aware that the terms were unjust, unstable and indefensible. It was France that always vetoed any relaxation.

Deep cuts that were made to the Royal Navy, imposed by two conferences, combined with the effects of the Great Depression caused the collapse of much of the British shipbuilding industry in the early 1930s. Thus, the Admiralty valued treaties which imposed quantitative and qualitative limitations on potential enemies as the best way of ensuring British sea supremacy--not something that Britain considered negotiable.

Hitler, from1933 onwards, requested a Reichsmarine one-third the size of the Royal Navy, which was then changed to 35% to make it all come out more evenly. Britain's Admiral Chatfield advised it would be best to have a treaty in order to regulate the future size and scale of the German Navy, and stated that a 35:100 tonnage ratio between London and Berlin was “the highest that we could accept for any European power.”

Germany had already started to build its first U-boats again in 1933, and launched the first ones in April 1935.  On May 2, the Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald told the House of Commons of his government’s intention to reach a naval pact to regulate the future growth of the German Navy. On May 21, Hitler gave a “peace speech” in Berlin formally offering to discuss a treaty with a German Navy that was to operate forever on a 35:100 naval ratio, disallowing any intention of engaging in a pre-1914 style naval race with Britain. 

“The German Reich government recognizes of itself the overwhelming importance for existence and thereby the justification of dominance at sea to protect the British Empire, just as, on the other hand, we are determined to do everything necessary in protection of our own continental existence and freedom.”

For Hitler, his speech illustrated the equality of status in an Anglo-German alliance, namely British acceptance of Germany's dominant position in continental Europe in exchange for German acceptance of British dominance over the seas.

*      *      *

The Pact was signed in London on June 18 without any consultation with France and Italy. Hitler became annoyed, however, when the A.G.N.A was not followed up with further expressions of alliance between the two countries. By 1937, he started to increase both Reichsmarks and raw materials to the Kriegsmarine; in December, he ordered the laying down of six 16-inch gun battleships. By 1938, the only use the Germans had for the A.G.N.A. was to threaten to renounce the treaty as a way of pressuring London to accept continental Europe as Germany's rightful sphere of influence.

In January 1939, Hitler gave first priority to the Kriegsmarine in the allocation of money, skilled workers, and raw materials. He launched the Plan Z to build a colossal Kriegsmarine of 10 battleships, 16 "pocket battleships", 8 aircraft carriers, 5 heavy cruisers, 36 light cruisers, and 249 U-boats by 1944. Since the fleet envisioned in the Z Plan was larger than that allowed by the 35:100 ratio in the A.G.N.A, the Z Plan made it inevitable that Germany would renounce the A.G.N.A.

In response to the British guarantee of Poland of March 31, 1939, Hitler, in a speech in Wilhelmshaven for the launch of the Admiral Tirpitz battleship, threatened to denounce the A.G.N.A. if the British persisted with their encirclement policy as represented by the guarantee of Polish independence. On April 28,  in a speech before the Reichstag, Hitler did renounce both the A.G.N.A. and the German-Polish Non-Aggression Pact.

On Britain's side, Chatfield, who originally had recommended the treaty, commented at a Cabinet meeting on May 3, 1939 that Hitler had “persuaded himself” that Britain had provided the Reich with a “free hand” in Eastern Europe in exchange for the A.G.N.A. In a later paper to the Cabinet, Chatfield stated

“that we might say that we now understood Herr Hitler had in 1935 thought that we had given him a free hand in Eastern and Central Europe in return for his acceptance of the 100:35 ratio, but that as we could not accept the correctness of this view it might be better that the 1935 arrangements should be abrogated.”

Adolf Hitler made a surprise visit to Gotenhafen on 5 May 1941 to inspect the Bismarck and Tirpitz (which had recently arrived to conduct her sea trials in the Baltic) and be briefed on Admiral Günther Lütjens' plans for executing the forthcoming sortie, although the actual date was kept vague. 

R. R. Davison served as an American rifleman in World War II and later got a university education (probably on the GI Bill), eventually becoming a professor of Chemical Engineering at Texas A&M University. In 1983, he wrote the following letter to the editor at theWall Street Journal.

[I confirmed Davison's identity by doing a search and coming up with this page http://books.google.com/books/about/Methyl_Alcohol_as_Motor_Fuel.html?id=Z1YaMwEACAAJ where I found the following information:

*A book by R.R.Davison published by Texas A&M University in 1974: Methyl Alcohol as Motor Fuel.

*Extraction Or Destruction of Chemical Pollutants from Aqueous Waste Streams, R. R. Davison, Environmental Protection Agency, 60pp, 1977.

*Economic Feasibility of the "Solaterre" System, on "Solar Energy," R.R. Davison, W.B. Harris, J.H. Martin, 58 pp, Department of Chemical Engineering, Texas A&M University.]

“I Thought Americans Were Good” 9-23-83

I have a question and an appeal regarding the Sept. 6 editorial page article on the post-WWII Russian refugee tragedy. Why does not someone, using the Freedom of Information Act if necessary, write a definitive history of the U.S. participation in this atrocity?

In August of 1945, I was a 19-year old rifleman in Company G 318^th Infantry stationed in Kempten, Germany. One Sunday morning we were ordered into formation and issued ammunition. The company commander explained that our government had promised to return all the Russians that had entered Germany between certain dates. The Russians were refusing to go. Some had committed suicide and others had taken refuge in an orthodox church, claiming they would die there rather than return to Russia. Our orders were to load them on trucks for deportation, even if we had to kill them. Then the CO added that Stalin had promised that they wouldn't be harmed. A low laugh rippled through the formation, and to me that laugh is more significant than the brutality that followed.

We were battle-hardened veterans but most of us were in our late teens and twenties; yet we knew, even in 1945, that Stalin would probably kill these people. How then could our leaders, including Truman, not have known, or worse not have cared, especially in view of the trials about to begin in Nuremberg. Ironically, a few months later I was serving at the Palace of Justice in Nuremberg.

We marched down to the church and the people were inside. Another rifleman and I were left to guard the gate. All the gates were guarded and then a few score men went inside to clear the church. An old woman sprawled at the door apparently suffering a heart attack. Some of the people rushed for the gates, and about ten headed for my buddy and me. We threw our rifles to our shoulders and screamed halt. A shot rang from the courtyard and a boy in the group crumpled to the ground. My finger squeezed on the trigger and I was within a second of firing point blank into those people when they stopped.

A little old woman with tears running down her face and my rifle pointing at her head said in broken English, “I thought Americans were good.” I snarled at her to shut up. We drove the people into the middle of the courtyard and surrounded them with a corridor of soldiers leading to a gate. Here the trucks were loaded with several of the biggest men in the company lending a hand. One woman laid down and refused to get on and a big red-head picked her up and literally threw her against the far end of the truck. Another man had been shot besides the boy at our gate. They were both alive when carried off, probably to a hospital, and I have always thought that they were the lucky ones.

We willingly obeyed orders. No one complained. I remember no expression of guilt. The terrible truth is that we had a good time. A few months later at Nuremberg I guarded SS troops who were being used in work details around the Palace of Justice during the war crime trials. Most of them were very young, about my age. They had been drafted into the SS, but they were being punished for obeying orders.

PROF. R. R. DAVISON
Texas A&M University
College Station, Texas

August 10, 2013

Carlos Porter’s new book War Crimes Trials and Other Essays refers to the International Military Tribunals put on by the Allies in the city of Nuremberg following Germany’s defeat in WWII. There were 13 “trials” but the first and most famous was of the “Major War Criminals” (so-called), prosecuted by the young American Colonel Telford Taylor (pictured right) under Chief Counsel Robert Jackson. Porter's first essay is “Anatomy of a Nuremberg Liar,” which compares Taylor’s description (in his own book) of the “defendants” testimony to what the actual court transcripts show.

Among the Third Reich personalities covered are General Erich von Manstein; Foreign Minister Joachim Ribbentrop; Rudolf Hess; Head of SS Security (SD) Ernst Kaltenbrunner; Head of Reich Labor Deployment (after 1942) Fritz Saukel and Field Marshall Erhard Milch (Luftwaffe).

August 19, 2013

From the “Phoney War” of  Sept. 1939 to May 1940, to the phoney news stories that constantly appear (especially in Britain) retelling the 2nd world war in the light only of atrocities committed by Germans, to the phoney “peace treaty” between the Four Powers and Germany signed 45 years after the end of the war — Carolyn covers it all in an attempt to show how lies proliferate in our media and on the Internet, too. Main topics:

• Making up quotes attributed to famous persons is fairly common, and it’s amazing how unquestioningly they are accepted;
• The story behind Merkel’s first Chancellor’s visit to Dachau Memorial, and Helmut Kohl’s and Ronald Reagan’s refusal to go in 1985;
• Germany to introduce “indeterminate” gender option on birth certificates;
• New book on Roger Bushell based on ridiculous speculation aimed at building up his “war hero” status;
• The British quote the Geneva Convention and ignore the Hague Convention;
• The “Treaty on the Final Settlement With Respect to Germany” does not make Germany a sovereign nation;
• The sale of National Socialist toy soldiers, including Hitler figure, is big news for the Daily Mail;
• Brothers Lord Northcliffe and Lord Rothermere founded the Daily Mail — during the early 30′s Rothermere strongly supported Mussolini, Hitler and Mosley.

Image: POW Roger Bushell (left) in a congenial conversation with Leutnant Eberhardt (German Security) and Paddy Byrne (fellow POW).

On Sept. 26, 1939, Leopold's group of soon-to-be-graduates pose with their educator Ltn. Geissler who, like others, had been drafted for military service. Younger educators arrived to take their place. I believe "Bibi" is 2nd from the left in the second row, and it looks like Gilbert to the right of him.

These letters from July to November 1939 are the last ones written from the NPEA (Napola) school in Köslin,  Pomerania (Northeast Germany). The young men's schooling ended a bit early; if their grades and demeanor warranted, they were granted what Americans would call the High School diploma and were inducted into the Luftwaffe as officer volunteers in training (cadets). They still had to complete the A, B and C flight training in order to earn their basic pilot's license.

copyright 2013 Wilhelm Wenger and Carolyn Yeager

Translated from the German by Markus

July 1939:  Yesterday, we had theoretical lessons followed by a test. I passed my theoretical A-exam. Because we will probably go back to Köslin tomorrow [from flight training in Rossiten -cy], we have our goodbye evening today with the other flight students and flight instructors. We will probably receive our A-certificate and badges.

I'll answer dad's question now. Gilbert and I were in Köslin for the military physical. We were checked for aviator suitability before, but everyone has to go through the aptitude test and is then assigned to an armed service branch (Air Service, Flak, Weather Company, Aviation Spotter, Av. Intelligence, Av. Sciences, Av. Engineer, etc.) In the end, everyone arrives at the branch of the Luftwaffe for which he best qualifies.

Motorsports school in Dramburg, July 15-31, 1939.

All of the 120 young men of the Aviator group of a hundred were divided into subgroups. Some stayed in Köslin (including Gilbert), others went to Hornberg in Swabia, others to Dramburg (Motorsports-School), others to Neumühlenkamp in Pomerania, and we went to Rositten [home of the"Deutsche Forschungsanstalt für Segelflug (DFS -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deutsche_Forschungsanstalt_f%C3%BCr_Segelflug), the German Research Society for Gliding (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rh%C3%B6n-Rossitten_Gesellschaft) -cy]. We are 23 young men. I'm one of them and the only Southern-German. Most already had passed the A-exam and continued right away with the B.

An engine towing winch works as follows:  A specifically designed car is set; in front of the wheels, break pads are tucked and one rear wheel is dismounted and a coil with wound-up wire rope is mounted on. The wire rope is then construed to a glider one kilometer away and hooked up at the beak of the machine. Upon certain wave signals, the engine of the car is started, as if you would get ready to drive, and the wire rope is being rolled up at 50-80 km/h speed (towing only in the second gear). Thereby, the glider gets into motion and rises relatively steeply. At a certain height (ca. 120 meters), the pilot has to bring the machine into its normal position and unhook the wire rope. This most difficult part is done and the actual gliding begins. I was towed for approximately 250 meters, and after unhooking, I flew about 400-500 meters.

Above & below: The winch launch is the cheapest and most common form of launch. Winch launching involves hooking the glider to a long cable; this cable is wound in by a powerful engine at the opposite end of the field, pulling the glider into the air. Once the glider is airborne, the cable is released allowing the glider to fly away.

The B-pilots, who are already advanced in flying, may do a traffic circuit. There is always high traffic at the airport. Two motor winches drag and [also] one tow airplane. There are often two to four airplanes in the air at the same time. And then, every other moment, NSFK [Nationalsozialistisches Fliegerkorps] leaders land in their machines.

In the very beginning, a young man uncoupled too early at 5 meters high. His machine turned upside down and bore into the ground. Everything was destroyed but the pilot remained unharmed. It was horrible. Later, I saw another plane crash. That time they had to transport the flight student to a hospital in Königsberg.

A local doctor flew with our NPEA-group. When he passed the A-exam, he donated a barrel of airman-beer. That is another of the alcohol-free stuff that looks like beer. It foams a lot but tastes like, I don't know – but everyone was delighted by it. Well, country-service  is such a thing, after all. [Service of one's own free will, not a duty -cy]

It is not mandatory and not necessarily recommended, but I figured the trip home would be expensive, at least RM 30 – and if passing through Prague is now possible, that I don't know. Our vacation off-time is about at the same time for all of us. We just have to go to Köslin and get everything done. After that, the institution would be inaccessible throughout the vacation until September.

14 September 1939: 

Because of your application to the receiving office 1, Berlin, you can expect to be drafted as a volunteer to the Luftwaffe on December 1st, 1939 (applicant for officer's career). You will be sent a conscription order, thereover.

Upon the decree of the Reich-Minister of Science, those students who completed at least 6 months of 8th grade in a higher learning institution receive the certificate of eligibility for university entrance without special examination if their conduct and performance justifies awarding the certificate, and if they present an acceptance slip or induction order as volunteer to the Wehrmacht at their schools. They are called, upon delivery of the certificate by the school administration, immediately after receiving the induction order.

Promotion to officer ensues now only after previous probation in a front unit during war. Later takeover of up-and-coming war officers into the active, reserve or Landwehr officer corps is decided after the conclusion of the war by the commander-in-chief of the Luftwaffe.

Well, I can expect my induction order in December, but hopefully earlier. All arrangements for the war-matriculation are being made. The educators reckon four weeks. Next week, we are having flight service for the entire week in Neumühlenkamp. Many educators are absent; therefore, we have new young ones. Our institution is still partly occupied. Right next to us is a big sickbay. The red cross is publicly displayed.

The same educator, Geissler, says goodbye as his students flock around him, wishing him well. In two months time, the young men are all soldiers too. That is Bibi at the upper right.

Other than that, only a few things have changed here. We sense the food is somewhat different than before. Our bunker even has a phone connection to next door. The educators reason with us. They say, they can understand if we were not in the mood to learn right now, but some things had to be taught to us.

I will also send the film home, for I don't want to develop the film here. I also have to write my statement. You have to hand over my ration card for food and must not use it for me. Please don't send on the notebooks which I put on Willy's desk. That's all that I know to report today. There are probably a lot of other changes going to happen in the next few days. I couldn't say good-bye to little Gerhard and Schwesterchen (little sister), but I am doing it in this way. Greetings Bibi

“Chamberlain, oh Chamberlain. How your England will decline!”

Someone wrote that on the board. We all share the same opinion. I am so unfathomably angry about these damned gentlemen. And now the megalomanic Yugoslavians are becoming cheeky. Well, they are right on time, they couldn't wait long. Unfortunately, it is so cold here already. That's it. Hearty Greetings. Bibi

9 November 1939: Today, we got the news about the [attempted] assassination of the Führer in Munich. We are so outraged about this infamy. The people in town are ranting so much! We will hear the Führer speak tonight. I am very excited. I have been to town a couple times today—because we are dismissed already, without furlough. It's a very unusual feeling when you see others going to class while having already graduated. So, I achieved my first partial goal for which I have been working for twelve years. I can't really express how happy I am that I have the certificate. It wasn't easy because there is some difference between the common secondary school and our institution.

I am confronted with a problem at this point; that is my departure from here! I will probably leave on Tuesday the 14th in the morning to Berlin and then further on Wednesday morning. I obtained ration coupons (travel coupons) for a week.

"Bibi" and some of his roommates relaxing in their bunker while still students, before the reality of war broke into their lives.

The film has been developed and prints have been made. My pictures are gradually becoming better, therefore, I will send them to you. One more thing: Please bring my HJ-ID card to the Bann [a Hitler-Jugend jurisdictional office], it will be required for the transfer from Köslin. I am taking my notebooks and books, my magazines "Adler" (Eagle), to Oschatz in the meantime. From there, I would either send them home altogether or simply bring them, once I am going to go home. I am looking forward to the day when I show up at home as a soldier for the first time.

I have told you enough for now and would like to know more about your stories. Mom wrote that Gerhard could already stand. He must be walking by now. Is little Bonzo also going to be like little Krot had been? [Teasing names for baby Gerhard and sister Gretl] I can't imagine Gerhard with a bald head when he had such dark hair before. What is our wicked Weibi doing? She will soon be able to go for a walk with her little brother.

And how is Willy doing in school? He must take care to keep up with the tasks from the beginning on because when one is the representative it is doubly difficult, as far as I know. And he should go to the dentist; it is just a matter of overcoming. How is Dad and his business? Are there still enough workers? How is TN-Service [Technical Emergency volunteers]? Have you seen the film on the Polish Campaign yet? It ought to be very good! How are Mom's hands? It has been a lot of trouble. Will diaper washing end soon?

Finally, many greetings and kisses to you all, Weibi, Gerhard and Willy. Yours Bibi

11 November 1939: We will probably get the results in 14 days. For almost 4 weeks, we had no English lessons whatsoever. The other lessons with two platoons together—sixty men in one class for there are so few educators. Furthermore, one day per week is now off. Yesterday, there were a few officers and leaders of the Reichs-Aviation Ministry here. So, coming home is scrubbed. I will remain in Oschatz [air base in Saxony] for a month, and then spend seven months at an aviation flight school. Hence, I am satisfied for now. One educator was also in Oschatz in garrison.

We are already counting the days to get out of here. I have got a number of rings and counters, and every day one ring is deleted. Today, there are only 47 left and everywhere is the slogan to be seen (also in the classroom) “It sounds like a saga, only 47 days left.” By the way, what is up with Temmel and Müller? They surely have to enlist on December 1st, no?

Greetings and kisses to you all, Schwesterl and Brüder, from Bibi

"Bibi" at shooting practice during his time at Napola-Köslin. 

This concludes the letters from Napola. Coming next will be Leopold Wenger's letters from Ochatz and aviation flight school, that he mentions here. It's a lot of material and is in the process of being translated, but since my translators are volunteers, it takes time. Any donations to help defray the costs of this website will be appreciated.

Sept. 7, 2013

David Irving’s long-promised but still to be published book on Heinrich Himmler will be “his story” of the man, as it is often said that history is telling stories and making them interesting.  In a video of one of Irving’s private meetings with ticket purchasers, he tells them:

• He has “Jewish friends” with whom he agrees there were “extermination camps” for Jews;
• Himmler’s wife was “predatory” and “got her claws into him,” says Irving, when this is not objectively supported by facts;
• Himmler’s writing to a woman, “There are certain things that I have to do for Germany’s sake that are not very nice,” is proof to Irving that Himmler was doing unspeakable things;
• Selected telegrams intercepted by the British are used by Irving to “prove” that Jews who were being transported East did not reach their intended destination but were killed in the so-called Reinhardt camps;
• The total number killed in Operaton Reinhardt" was 1,274,166, says Irving;
• "Last source" for Irving’s beliefs is what he calls the English Interrogation Center where top German prisoners talked freely together (unaware of hidden microphones) and some described Jews being shot;
• Juergen Graf refuted Irving’s extermination theories all the way back in 2009, but Irving persists;
• Napola schools required it’s students to be racially flawless, with above average intelligence and appropriate competitiveness — preparing the future leaders for the Reich, including the military, SS and police.
• This is what all national governments try to do – somewhat comparable to West Point, Anapolis, etc. in the U.S.

Image: Cover of David Irving's 2012 DVD, $20

Albin's Story

In the photo above, Albin Laggner stands in center, utilizing a crutch under his right arm, next to his sister Wilma at right.

Albin Laggner was the 5th child of Stefan Laggner and Ida Gols Laggner, of Feicht, Lendorf parish, (Pfarre Holz), Carinthia. Wilhelm Kriessmann's home village was in Carinthia also. Albin's birthdate was 14 May, 1927, making him one year younger than Willy Wenger, of Styria, who eventually married Albin's sister, Wilma.

After attending eight years of elementary school in Holz, Albin Laggner sought for an apprentice position as a cook or waiter. He found a place at the Hotel Reisch in Kitzbühel, Tyrol. Later, he was hired at the Europa Hotel in Bad Gastein, initially as elevator operator, later as a waiter.

In the autumn of 1944, at the age of 17 ½ years, Albin was drafted into the Wehrmacht. Reporting in early 1945, and after probably minimal training, he was assigned to an armored unit that was stationed on the Czech border near Cottbus. It was clear the end of the war was already approaching.

However, in March Albin was seriously wounded. A grenade exploded into his upper left arm. He lost the entire arm, for which he was operated on two or three times in the hospital in Cottbus. While in the hospital, he was taken into Czech captivity.

On May 9, 1945 (fourteen days before his 18th birthday), the end of the war was declared, but the Czechs kept shooting at the German soldiers! In the following days, all the prisoners were driven to the streets and scorned by the Czech population. German soldiers were kicked, beaten and hit with rifle butts. The crippled and wounded were laid down on the street and continued to be beaten and kicked, also by hateful women. Albin was seriously wounded on his right foot at this time. They then brought trucks and tanks and these defenseless men were brutally run over. This is documented and some film of it was found and shown on the Internet.

In Albin's case, an old woman, feeling pity for the German-Austrian soldier because of his youth, reached out and pulled Albin out of the way of the tank tracks. He thus escaped being crushed to death. He was placed in a Czech concentration camp, where he had the good fortune to meet a comrade from a neighboring parish, Ragersdorf in Mölltal, Anton (Toni) Zraunig who became like a guardian angel to Albin.

They thought about ways to escape the hell they were in and one lucky day they succeeded in walking away in the direction of home. Because of Albin's injured right foot, which had been given no medical attention, walking was very difficult for him. Yet they walked all the way from the Northeast Czech Republic to the southernmost part of Austria.

As Albin often told, when they came to uneven terrain, Toni had to actually carry Albin. Without Albin, Toni would have reached home quicker and without problems, but Toni would not abandon Albin. They had to endure a lot of trouble and hardship along the way, yet it was together that they arrived in Feicht, Lendorf parish, in September 1945, in an emaciated condition. Albin was badly wounded, tattered, ragged and hungry, but happy to have reached home. The friendship with Anton kept, as is said in good German, forever.

As you might expect, Albin had big problems with his neglected injured foot until it finally had to be completely amputated to above the knee. Thus he lost both his left arm and his right leg. Albin was a victim of and witness to the crimes committed by the Czechs after the war was supposedly over.

Albin also developed a close friendship with his school friend Peter Lipp (Peter Lanzinger). Peter visited him regularly and there was a lot of singing on these occasions. Albin later moved with his brother Louis to Graz, they then went back to Bludenz in Vorarlberg and, finally, home again to Feicht. Albin then took an apartment in Klagenfurt, close to his sister Anna. Albin got to know a woman there who took care of his war wounds.

Albin died on 26 October 1976 in Klagenfurt at age 50, and was buried in St. Peter's, Holz. He never married. He was a good soul.

Compiled by Carolyn Yeager, thanks to information received from Rupert Laggner, Albin's brother, and Wilma Laggner Wenger.

Below: The family of Stefan and Ida Laggner all together on Christmas 1944. Albin is at far left. At far right is Stefan Jr. in paratrooper uniform. In front of him is Wilma, age 9. To the left of his mother and father (holding youngest) is Sepp Laggner, home on leave  after having been wounded, wearing civilian clothers. Thus, the older three sons all served in the war.

Sept. 21, 2013

Carolyn looks at whether the sympathy engendered for members of the “White Rose Society” is warranted; were they really carrying out only minor “youthful rebellion” for which the Reich justice system showed it’s brutal side by condemning them to death? Who were the most moral parties in this situation?

• The new Pope, Francis,  is introducing to the public the idea that abortion and gay marriage (which were illegal and considered immoral in the 3rd Reich)  may become more acceptable in the Church;
• Conversely, Gabor Vona of the N-S Jobbik Party in Hungary speaks up against modern individualism, deviance and liberalism;
• The book The White Rose, allegedly written by Scholl sister Inge, admits to having been written in 1947 for use as propaganda in the schools for those aged 13 to 18;
• The inner circle of the “White Rose” listened to foreign radio broadcasts and sought out contact with members of groups involved in serious treason, like the Rote Kapelle (“Red Chapel” or “Red Orchestra”) that transferred information to the Soviets via secret radio messages, which is said to have directly caused the deaths (and here) of 200,000 Wehrmacht soldiers;
• The German people did not try to protect “White Rose” members but turned them in to the authorities;
• Catholics Michael Hoffman and Michael Colhaze viciously attack Adolf Hitler as the cause of the sufferings of the German people (and even of Jewish usury!), yet have no answer to “The Jewish Question”;
• The trial transcripts (partial only here) of the two “White Rose” Trials reveal that everything was done according to law and good police practices, and that “mercy” was denied the 6 main members because of the serious consequences of their crimes, which were spelled out in detail.

Image: The People’s Court in N-S Germany in session, left to right:  Hermann Reinecke, Roland Freisler, Ernst Lautz. If you don’t like this, ask yourself if our Jew-run courts are better.

Polish troops in action in Monte Cassino, Italy, 1944

In 1944, Jews in the Polish Army were whining about antisemitism, asking for special privileges. Nothing new about that.

Jews are generally disliked wherever Aryans have to experience being physically around them. In 1944, Jewish soldiers in Polish military units sought to be transferred en masse to British units, claiming antisemitic discrimination against themselves from the Poles.

Some of these Jewish soldiers had been convicted by a Polish court-martial for “leaving their units without leave.” But the Jew-loving British came to their aid and over-ruled the Poles whose government had made the mistake of allying itself with the British, rather than the Germans. Here is the newspaper report from The Jewish Telegraph Agency, May 11, 1944.

Polish Government Plans Wide-Amnesty for Convicted Jewish Soldiers

May 11, 1944
London (May 10)

The Polish Government is planning to grant a "wide amnesty" to Jewish soldiers who have been convicted by a Polish court-martial of leaving their units without leave, because of the anti-Semitism prevalent there, in order to seek admittance into the British Army, it was reported here today.

A Polish spokesman said that an official statement would be issued tomorrow. He indicated that the statement will be "very conciliatory," but added that the amnesty will not cover all the convicted Jews.

Meanwhile, the question of anti-Semitism in the Polish Army was raised in the house of Commons again today by Tom Driberg, Independent, who suggested that the British Government ask the Polish authorities to hold future court-martials in public in accordance with Polish law. Foreign Secretary Eden rejected the suggestion.

In the course of his speech, Driberg revealed the interesting fact that among Jewish soldiers who are still to be tried by Polish court-martials for leaving the Polish Army because of anti-Semitism, is one who has been living in England for years and speaks only English. Since this soldier does not understand Polish, Driberg urged that the British Government intercede to have his trial conducted in English.

Although Driberg did not mention the name of the Jewish soldier involved, it was reported in the London press yesterday that he is Herbert Hear, a Polish Jew who has been living in England for eleven years. Although he speaks no Polish, he enlisted in the Polish forces and was later among the Jewish soldiers who came to London to seek transfer from the Polish Army to the British because of the anti-Jewish atmosphere in the Polish unit in which he served.

He was not present when the other Jewish Soldiers were arrested as "deserters" in London, but the British civil police arrested him yesterday and handed him over to the Polish military authorities.

POLISH SOLDIERS FROM U.S. ASSAIL JEWS LEAVING POLISH ARMY

Polish soldiers from the United States and Canada serving with the Polish Army in Britain, held a conference at Edinburgh during the week-end and adopted a resolution condemning the Jewish soldiers who are asking for a transfer from the Polish forces.

Gen. Gluchowski, commander of the Polish troops in Britain, was one of the principal speakers at the conference, it was learned here today. The gathering was presided over by an American-Polish war veteran named Dolnicki, who fought for Poland in the last World War. The resolution adopted states that “if there have been any incidents against Jews in the Polish Army, they are not the result of racial and religious differences.”

The British Council for Civil Liberties1, which is demanding the transfer of the Jews, today published a survey on the treatment of Jews in Poland before and during the war. The survey mentions the attacks on Jewish students in Polish universities, the introduction of “ghetto benches” there, the boycott of Jewish shops, the compulsory recruitment in France of Polish Jews who had, at the same time, been deprived of Polish nationality, and the anti-Semitic incidents during the evacuation of the Polish Army from Russia.2

The civil liberties group reveals in its survey that after the defeat of the German Army in Africa, Poles from Marshall Rommel’s units who were taken prisoner by the British and transferred to Polish military units in England, were heard singing the Nazi Horst Wessel song which urges the killing of Jews. They also circulated anti-Jewish picture-cards which resembled reprints from the notorious anti-Semitic Nazi publication “Der Stürmer.”

Notes:

1. I could not find a single mention of any "British Council for Civil Liberties" from anytime around 1944. Therefore I think it was something invented at the time, probably by British Jews, for the purpose of this single issue.

2. The complaints listed here are all from past times. There is nothing directly affecting Jews in the Army units.

Sept. 28, 2013

Translator Hasso Castrup, otherwise known as Shoabloger, discusses the latest additions to his website – propaganda documents byIlya Ehrenburg and articles on the Polish-German WWII question. He and Carolyn also talk about the Golden Dawn arrests, the release of the long-awaited “Action Reinhardt Extermination Camps” rebuttal-to-a-rebuttal, and Hitler’s Table Talk. Some highlights:

• How World Jewry works to destroy any nationalist political parties in Europe;
• Propagandist writer Ilya Ehrenburg was not genetically Russian or Prussian, but 100% Jewish;
• Vincent Reynouard chastises M’bala M’bala Dieudonné for using “suicidal tactics” against the anti-racist organization LICRA;
•  Had Hitler  stopped with the Sudentanland, could WWII have been prevented;
•  Hitler’s Table Talk authenticity is confirmed;
• Is professionally directed propaganda more powerful than truth in the end?
  

The
"Extermination Camps"
of
"Aktion Reinhardt"

An Analysis and Refutation
of Facetious "Evidence," Deceptions and Flawed Argumentation
of the "Holocaust Controversies" Bloggers

 by Carlo Mattogno - Thomas Kues - Jürgen Graf

is available online at http://codoh.com/sites/default/files/downloads/28-tecoar-long.pdf

Read more about it at http://codoh.com/library/document/3052

Please don't ignore this book. It will educate you, inspire you and entertain you. Really. It's even funny. Below: The laughable Treblinka camp "plan."