March 17, 1999
My view of World War Two
S/Sgt. Lewis T. Haas
452 Bombardment Group (H)
730th Bombardment Squadron
Tail Gunner/Armorer
On a B-17 Heavy Bomber
Served from Dec., 1942 to Dec., 1945
Summer Cruise on the Baltic After over fifty years, I’m having trouble remembering some things that didn’t leave a big impression at the time. I don’t recall times of departure and arrival. I am also unsure of where or how we boarded the ship. I may not have known the name of the port, or have forgotten it since. I was in a great many places in Germany and most of the time I hadn’t a clue as to where I was. I could neither speak nor read German, and in the early 1940's, to a large segment of the U.S. population, myself included, Germany was almost as alien as another planet. I would guess that not one person in several thousand had ever flown. That is the main reason so many of us young bucks were so intrigued by the adventure of flying. As for trips abroad, mostly only the rich had done so. Another excuse I will offer for my inattention is that I was 20 years old, and after six months of POW fare, I was more interested in food than geography.
The first permanent camp I was taken to was Stalag Luft six; it was located near the town of Heydekrug East Prussia, seven miles from the Lithuanian border; about thirty miles south of Memel. I was there about six months. We marched out in late July or early August 1944. I don’t remember if they marched us to someplace on the coast of the Kurisches Haff, or if they loaded us on a train and took us to Memel or Konigsberg. I’m hazy on these matters; but once aboard the ship my memory is very good indeed. Mainly, because I was miserable and scared from the time we loaded until we were behind the wire at the next camp.
The freighter we boarded looked pretty big to me; but the farther you go down the narrower it gets because of the contour of the sides. We, of course, were at the bottom of the cargo hold, so space was very limited considering the amount of men they were loading into it. We were pretty well stacked in; for instance, one man would lay his legs flat on the floor and two others would put theirs over his. When the cramps got too bad we would shift positions or stand up for a while. They started loading a little after noon, and it was night when we sailed. The main cargo hatch was closed, so our only ventilation came from a personnel hatch at the top of a long vertical ladder. We were aware that the Baltic had been mined from the air by the British. Had we hit a mine, not a man would have made it up the ladder. We would have killed each other in the panic; but Lady Luck was smiling and we hit no mines. Conditions got pretty bad after a few hours at sea. There were a lot of men in a constricted poorly ventilated area. A lot of men were seasick, so the stench really became bad. I was never subject to either sea or air motion sickness, so I was better off than most. My main troubles were cramps, the stink and plain fear.
We were on the ship all night and part of the next day. I guess it doesn’t sound like much, but when you're miserable in tight quarters, and tensed up waiting for the big bang, the hours pass very slowly; especially to a cowardly type like me. Please keep in mind the psychological angle of the situation we found ourselves in. No food, no water, and no idea how long we were going to be at sea. Hell! I volunteered to fly, not bounce around the Baltic Ocean in a rust bucket. One bright spot on our summer cruise occurred during one of our otherwise uneventful nights. A German soldier sat on the combing of the hatch and played Lili Marlene on his accordion. His body was silhouetted against the moon, and he played very well. To me it was a very pleasant and moving experience. That is the only part of the voyage I wouldn’t mind doing again.
I don’t know where we unloaded; Swinemunde, or someplace in Stettin Bay. They took us from the ship and loaded us in boxcars. I don’t remember if we were given a drink of water before loading on the train; but we were given no food. The boxcars were weird, at least I had never seen anything like them. They had iron rods running parallel the length of the car, about two feet apart. They had about a million handcuffs, or shackles, with a one-foot length of chain between the cuffs. The bars were above our heads, and we were cuffed over the bars. We were jammed in, front to back, and shoulder to shoulder. I suppose this was so they could accommodate more men; or perhaps, they just hated our guts. That’s the way we spent that night and next morning. We were unloaded at Kiefheide Pomerania, now Poland. We were in bad shape by this time. Sometime, when you’re hard up for entertainment, try holding your hands above your head for even an hour. We were numb clear down to our waists by the time they unloaded us.
We were lined up, four abreast and cuffed in pairs; no food, no water. After awhile they brought in a bunch of young Marines armed with rifles and bayonets, along with police dogs. The road on both sides was lined with Luftwaffe guards, spaced about 30 yards apart, armed with automatic weapons. This was to keep us from breaking for the woods. When they were all set they pointed up the road and we were to run or else; or else, was left to our imagination; and since we all had vivid imaginations, we ran. What made it even worse was that they didn’t tell us how far we had to run. It turned out to be a little over two miles, which seemed more like ten. That run is a nightmare that I would just as soon forget. Several men died, and many suffered wounds and bites.
I was cuffed to a kid named Hank, short for Henry I suppose. I’ve forgotten his last name, if I ever knew it at all. The poor kid broke his leg when he bailed out of his plane, and it was never set properly. I don’t believe we were half way through the run when he went down the first time. I tried to help him as much as possible, but it was difficult being cuffed together the way we were. My left arm under his right arm was the best I could manage; then he went down and refused to get up. The events that followed took place in less time than it takes to write them down; especially for a one-fingered typist like myself.
As I was trying to help him up, I looked back and saw the red headed Captain in charge yelling at a couple of Marines and pointing our way. For some reason those two didn’t have their bayonets attached; but as they started toward us they began attaching them. I yelled at Hank, “for Christ’s sake, get up they’re going to stick us.” He replied, “I don’t care.” I said, “damn it, they’ll stick me too.” To my surprise and relief, that brought him up. I’ve always felt he did it for my sake. I think he was so sick, tired, and hurting so bad, that he was past caring what happened to him. In fact, I’m sure this was the case; because, six months later on the long march, I was so sick, weak and miserable, I was quite prepared to let them shoot me and get it over with. The whole situation seemed pretty hopeless. When the two Marines got to us, we were both on our feet, but unable to run at more than a brisk shuffle. They drew back their rifles and pretended to hit us across our shoulders, but they pulled their punches and pushed us hard enough to make us stumble. This seemed to satisfy the redhead; I suppose the bastard thought they were beating hell out of us. Anyway, he passed us on his bike and went on.
So up the road we went, slowly to be sure, and escorted all the way by our two friendly, humane, enemies? A few hundred yards from the camp, we came up to a guy that had somehow gotten loose from his partner. He was lying in the road, conscious or semi conscious. My two escorts made me help him up and take him along; at least I was able to get an arm around him. I was feeling pretty picked on by this time, but even the extra man benefited me in a way. When we arrived, they lined us up in two long lines, then with their hands gripped together, they went down the line clubbing us between the shoulders. When they got to us, we were three abreast. Poor Hank and the other kid got knocked to their knees, and I stood there smelling like a rose. Well okay, we didn’t smell like flowers; between ship, train and running two plus miles on a hot summer day, maybe stinkweed was a better description.
When the run started Hank and I were near the front of the column. By the time we arrived, there were only a few behind us, and they were half-dead. I’ve often wondered what would have happened that day if it weren’t for the helpful Marines. I don’t think I would have made it. I suppose that if I had made it as far as the third man, I would have ran on by just as the guys ahead of us did. The two marines were in the right place at the right time; from three men’s point of view the timing was great. I thank God they were there, because back down the road, for the third time in my life, I was convinced I was a dead man. After a while, the Marines and dogs were pulled out so we were safe from bites and bayonets; all three of us escaped without being bitten. I don’t know if our two helpful Marines kept them off us, or perhaps the men who were bitten had the dogs sicced on them.
Our troubles were still not over; there was no water available and we were all suffering from thirst. A little cool water to bathe our wrists in would have felt heavenly, since they were raw and bleeding from the tugging and chaffing of the cuffs. Our sweat on the raw flesh was very painful. To add to our misery, we could see men inside the camp at the well pumping water into a container and then dumping it on the ground. It’s funny how much thirstier it made us to see water wasted, and yet we didn’t look away. It was as if we were fascinated by the scene. The men inside would not have done it had they realized we were suffering from thirst; at least I hope they wouldn’t. That evening they brought in a tank of water on a wagon and we had a drink; not enough to satisfy, but enough to alleviate our misery somewhat. The next day we were taken in the camp, Stalag Luft four, and we settled down to life behind wire. I wish I could say I endured the move from camp six to four bravely; but the truth is I was scared out of my gourd most of the time. My main thought was survival; even after all the years, I still shudder as I write about it. Hero material I am not!
Stalag Luft four was much harder as far as escaping was concerned. The barracks were built on stilts, two or three feet off the ground. This made tunnels pretty well impossible, since there were guards roving the grounds day and night. Also, dogs and floodlights were ever present at night. If anyone had gotten past dogs and guards, the fence was electrified. In fact, a German working on the fence was electrocuted while I was there. I don’t believe anyone escaped from four; at least I never heard of anyone. Even if some hardy soul tried it, there was nowhere to go. At six we were only seven miles from possible help (Lithuania); at four, the nearest help was the Baltic ports, and they were pure German.
The camp was pretty standard; four prison compounds, and hospital compound inside the wire. German offices, barracks, mess hall, etc., outside. The guard towers were built high; maybe thirty feet or so, manned by two guards with two mounted machine guns. The towers were all around the outside perimeter of the camp. One at each corner, and one in the center of each compound. The fences were double with coiled barbed wire between them. They were about fifteen feet tall; with the top two feet or so tipped. The inside fence tipped in and the outside fence tipped out. There were double fences between compounds as well; but instead of coiled wire, there was a walkway between them with armed guards patrolling. The roving guards inside were unarmed so that the prisoners wouldn’t overpower them and take their weapons.
I was put into a small room designed as a wash room. The barracks were overcrowded. There were eight of us in a room along with a king sized, coke fired water kettle. Once a day we fired it up and rationed out hot water to the rest of the guys in our barracks. We didn’t mind the work, because it gave us something to do besides walk the compound, or swap lies. Also, we had more hot water than the rest, which allowed us to keep our clothes and ourselves cleaner than most. This also cuts down on the body lice; the fleas would have stayed with us regardless of how clean we were. We were worried about being in with all the steam, in case we were there when winter came. It turned out we were the healthiest guys around because of the steam, and because we stayed warmer than the rest of the barracks.
The most serious illness cases were taken to the hospital compound. After the run, several men were put in the hospital with non-fatal gunshot and stab wounds. We heard of a kid who had sixty small stab wounds. The doctor said he died from a combination of loss of blood, exhaustion, malnutrition, and shock. The most common illnesses other than dysentery, were insanity, and later on Typhoid Fever. I was sent to the hospital for Typhoid; but I didn’t have it so bad that I needed a tube cut into my neck. A lot of the guys had to breathe through such a tube. Like I said, I was always lucky. I always seemed to be in the right place at the wrong time. Some of the original guys at four said we were the only bunch who were run with dogs and bayonets; but my wrists healed and I got over being thirsty. I was lucky.
The only way we rated hospital with Dysentery, was when we were too weak to get off our bunk. Dysentery was a way of life. We had to watch carefully for insanity in case they hurt themselves, or did something to get shot. We could usually tell when a guy was starting to flip out, and then his buddies or whoever bunked close to him, would watch him close. If he went round the bend, he was physically restrained until the Germans could be notified to remove him to the hospital compound. Once they were in the hospital, they were allowed to do most anything, within reason. They would let them climb a fence that wasn’t electrified, or pick weeds, which they thought were flowers.
Some things that we had to battle constantly, were boredom and brooding about home; not a healthy pastime. We tried to avoid thinking of home and loved ones as much as possible, because there was an excellent chance that we wouldn’t make it home. I found it nearly impossible not to think of my wife and baby boy. I missed a lot, since he was only 6 months the first time I saw him, and over two years old when I saw him next. It was hard getting film during the war years, but Helma seemed to find enough to get me caught up on the two years that I missed: First sucker, first haircut, first birthday cake, etc. We soon learned that brooding led to madness, and yet at night we couldn’t help but think of home, food, toilet paper. Many nights we decorated our gunnysacks with a few tears. I may have been a man by law, but I was a six foot two inch baby when it came to home sickness.
In the day we tried to keep busy washing, cleaning, and visiting around the o ther barrack, or just walking the warning wire. I guess I haven’t mentioned the warning wire; why it was labeled that I haven’t a clue. It was two by fours laid atop posts a little over two feet high. It ran parallel to the fence, and in about twenty feet. If we stepped over the two by fours, we were machine gunned without warning. I think it happened only once in our compound. The man was shot through both legs, so at least he wasn’t killed outright. He was one that flipped out and took everyone by surprise. He always kept busy, was cheerful, and was great at cheering up others. He would have been one of the last men I would have figured would flip out. It was kind of strange, because we were all just walking the perimeter and the talk got around to what would happen when the war ended. He said, “oh, the wars over, they just won’t tell us for fear we will riot.” Everyone laughed because we thought that he was making a funny. He said, “I mean it, look I’ll prove it.” Before anyone could stop him, over the two by fours he went. The terrible thing about it was that we couldn’t go after him without being shot too. We just had to stand there and watch him bleed and suffer until the Germans took him out. As far as I know he made it, although he lost a lot of blood. I wouldn’t be surprised that he lost one or more legs.
That was one of the few instances that took everyone by surprise. Usually it was the ones that stayed in their sacks and brooded; or just started to act or talk strangely. As I said, it was wise to try and stay busy during the day. Another pastime was to play improvised games with the cripples. One of the guys I played games with was repatriated and ended up in a hospital in Las Vegas, Nevada. He got in touch with Helma and she went to Las Vegas to see him. He told her what he could about me; but by that time a lot of time had passed since he had seen me last.
Several men died at four, and we were getting a fair cemetery started. Some were shot; one was killed by lightening, but most died from illness. As I said Dysentery was a way of life. If treated, it wasn’t too serious; but when we were forced to march, many didn’t get the help that they needed. By the time we marched out of camp four, most of us had been prisoners for a year and our bodies were run down and malnourished.
Some of the stir crazies were kind of funny in a pathetic kind of way. One day a kid was cowering by the corner of his bed, flailing his arms and screaming. It turned out he that he was fighting fleas. I guess they looked as big as Godzilla to him. Crazy people could be rather difficult to subdue. Several guys would have to sit on them until the Germans came along, trussed them up, and out they went. Every time someone flipped out, we would get kind of nervous wondering who would be next; since we were all half nuts to begin with.
Every day, in the afternoon, a squadron of German fighter planes would buzz the camp; I guess to say hello, since we were all airmen in that camp. Then again, they could have been returning from a mission and were just feeling their oats. Anyway, we usually were out to watch them, maybe because they seemed to be free as birds and it kind of gave us a lift; at least in my case it did.
They would come in real low, bank right and leave the area. Usually they would waggle their wings. One day as one banked to leave, his controls jammed and he started slowly barrel rolling and was unable to recover. He went directly over where some of us were standing; I doubt he was more that fifty feet above us and we could see him fighting the controls. Most of us felt sorry for him, even though he was the enemy. We wouldn’t have wished that on another human being. Maybe I was just thinking about how desperately I fought to get out of a spinning tail section and how scared I was. He eventually plowed into the woods and exploded. Ammo kept going off, so we all moved to the other side of the compound. No one was interested in picking up a stray round.
Shortly before we left on the march, they bulldozed a huge hole on the backside of the camp. They said it was for spuds, but we figured it was for a common grave. The Germans were handy at such sports, considering what they did to the Jews, Poles, and Russians. In fact, that may have been the plan. At camp Lucky Strike at Le Havre France, after liberation, we were taken before a large panel of Officers and questioned about any possible war crimes we had suffered, or any ill treatment we may have received. They told we were very lucky, what’s new, because Hitler had ordered our camp exterminated, but the commandant had refused. I never knew anyone would refuse Hitler anything. I bet they dug the hole and then chickened out, knowing that the war was a lost cause by then. At any rate, they marched us 800 miles instead. Beats being shot!
That’s most of what I remember of camp four. I’ll start the story of the march some other time. I’m sick of typing with one finger, and I’m sure whoever is stuck reading this is tired as well. Cheer up dear descendant, not too much more to go, and you will have completed your good deed for the day.
(Continued on the next page)
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