OIC Interrogation of Prisoners of WarWilliam T. Stelling
Cpt. William T. Stelling
104TH (TIMBERWOLF) INFANTRY DIVISION. February 4th 1945. Subject: Interrogation Prisoner of War Team #30 Activities since Spring 1944
In January 1944, Interrogation Prisoner of War Team #30 was sent from Prisoner of War cage #1 near Broadway, Worcestershire, England to Tavistock in Devonshire to join the 29th Infantry Division which had been in England for a couple of years by that time. The G-2 thought it would be a good idea for our team to stay with the various types of units within the division for at least a week at each place. Thus we became Artillerymen, Ordnance, Engineers, and so on down the line, and in this way we became acquainted with the entire division and its struc- ture and the various other elements, in turn, got acquainted with us, coupled with indoctrination in Prisoner of War and Intelligence functions. All members of team #30 lectured on Prisoner of war and allied subjects, serving a dual purpose, e.g.: the lecturer was obliged to make deeper study of his subject materials, thereby enhancing what he had learned at Camp Ritchie (I discount the practical experience of strategic interrogation at Prisoner of War Cage #1 for practical purpose at this time), gained a new sense of confidence in himself and his responsibility to other personnel in the division; the division personnel became well acquainted with the lecturer and adopted him thenceforth as a rightful member of the division family. While I presently reflect on whether or not it has done Interrogation Prisoner of War Team members good to have participated in all exercises, such as, "cannoneer's hop" with the artillery and bridge construction with the engineers during these "lehr monate", later experience on the field of battle has proven these occasions as no waste of time or energy. The Interrogation Prisoner of War team, though attached to an Infantry regiment or division headquarters, can more effectively apply their all-around knowledge born of practical experience with other units such as, Artillery and Engineers, when plying Prisoners of War with questions based on essential elements of information of interest to all types of units within a division command; hence, the original members of this team are grateful for the experience of having served as Ordnancemen for a period, as Artillerymen for another period, etc. Thereby a solid foundation was built and an appreciation for all units' work within a division was engendered. There were two other Interrogation Prisoner of War teams within the division doing similar work with their particular regimental combat teams. In March of 1944 it was decided to switch teams when the G-2 was changed, hence, Interrogation Prisoner of War Team #30 was attached to the 115th Infantry Regiment in Bodmin, Cornwall. Here, until we were sent with the regiment to a martialing area prior to D-day, we participated in all types of maneuvers and difficult field training in preparation for the "big show". One of the men, a Staff Sergeant, developed a chronic skin infection and another man, the T/3, was too old for the active work we were called upon to do, so they were replaced by two men who reported to me while we were in the martialing area a few days before we embarked. The replacements found it a rather sudden transition to be thrust in a "spearhead outfit" after the relatively relaxed tempo of existence under Field Intelligence Division auspices in Broadway, but adjusted themselves to the threatening conditions as real men will, or won't, as the case may be. I found it desireable to increase discipline, not only for our team's sake but for the other elements with which we had to work. It was at this time I stressed neatness of dress to my men. I had noticed a tendency toward slovenly dress among soldiers, especially among my men to wear their uniforms as though they were civilian clothes. I "harped" on this daily for a while until I was satisfied that the condition was corrected. I felt it was especially important for men who were going to deal with German military prisoners to be meticulous in their dress, clean-shaven, and military in manner. They were to carry out this idea all the more thoughtfully if conditions in the field would make it difficult. Later incidents proved the value of this measure. "The horrors of anticipation are worse than the realization" could well be applied to the feelings of the team individuals during these last dark, tense hours in the martialing area where everyone worked most assiduously not to betray their true feelings. One of the replacements reminded me of the time when I came in to his tent to get acquainted. He said I looked very Prussian and cold, there was no color in my cheeks and my attitude was stiff and formal. This suggested to him the seriousness of the invasion phase more than anything else, apparently. I was not aware of any change in my attitude, however, it is quite possible that the tenseness of the time had affected me this way as it had others one way or another. The morning we drove the last miles to the ramps where the Landingship Tanks, Landing Craft Infantry and other invasion craft were waiting with open maws to receive us, spirits rose perceptively. This was IT! We were crowded on a Landing Ship Tank, a swarming mass of machines, vehicles, and khaki clad humanity. That was, to the best of my recollection, on or about the 29th of May. We were escorted to the English Channel by a congress of sea-going craft that exceeded my most extravagant expectations - destroyers, rocket ships, cruisers, mine sweepers, PT boats and others not mentioned in the daily briefings. This impressive assemblage of ships and craft was in itself enough to divert the thoughts of the soldier cargo on this overcrowded Landing Ship Tank from any dispiriting fears they may have had. We had no need of a chaplain at this stage of the game. The zig zag course along the channel was more like a Naval game of follow the leader; the chalk cliffs appeared and disappeared intermittently and many of us were sorry to leave England. On June 4th we had a day of talks by various officer personnel, last minute instructions and warnings, bits of sage advice on what to do and what not to do. I led the ship's personnel in singing of the national anthem and was shocked to learn how few people really knew the words. Or possibly most people were thinking about German planes and E-boats at that time, for we were in THAT zone. Actually, it was a most calm and peaceful-seeming cruise, an illusion somewhat contradicted by the show of lethal weapons and war material. On June 5th tension and excitement grew again. Flights of our planes were skimming the waves, dipping their wings at us and flying on to the direction we knew now must be ours too. All sorts of inspections were held on this day and vehicles were given the last phase of water-proofing. Shortly before midnight we heard the C-47s droning above us carrying the Airborne units to the H-minus 6 mission. We saw the flashes of bombings on the Carentan Peninsula, but heard no rumbling follow-up as yet. Dawn of D-day was ominously quiet. The sea was gray and quiet, and the expected horizon gave no indication of what was to occur shortly after. H-hour took possession of us with all known faculties and senses alerted and tingling, and some that were not known to us now evinced themselves. We were a few hundred yards off the beach. The curtain had parted before the deceiving overture had finished. This was REALLY IT! The village of Colleville-Sur-Mer was plainly visible to us. The water breaking roughly on Omaha Red beach (aptly called "Red" beach) was just a few yards from us now and the symphony of cannon, small arms and bombs now reached our offended ears. Mines exploded, taking with them in their giant upward surge and splash an Landing Craft Infantry or other smaller craft. Hell could show no greater fury than this, an awe-filling panorama of invasion night, noise and destruction, too big for the eyes to encompass, the point beyond "which" in one's wildest imaginings. We were very much in it. The missiles from shore installations were reaching our ship, their whistling and whining, then, new, soon to be daily song. M/Sgt. Birnhak and I were due to go on shore at H-plus 3 but were delayed a couple of hours by the congestion in front of us and some mysterious conditions known only to the Navy personnel. Wounded were already coming in on Ducks. Some German soldiers, wounded, were being brought to our ship and each of us was very eager to be the first to interrogate them. There were two of them to begin with. One was a Russian from the "Ost" battalion and the other was from the 352nd Infantry Division,to the best of my recollection. It was difficult to get near them firstly, because of the curiosity gazers milling about them and, secondly, they smelled so, one might say, volatilely. The Prisoners of War were talkative enough but the information we had from them was of little use to our S-2 when we finally reached him two days later. We learned about shore defenses from them (radioed immediately to nearby battleships for sixteen inch gun missions); we learned their organization, what weapons they had; and some probables as to what reinforcements might be expected if the invasion were to have struck at this beach. It was a complete surprise to the Germans that the invasion took place at this time and sector, according to the Prisoners of War. I began to appreciate by what they unfolded, the enormity o Intelligence planning, complete- ness and accuracy of information from all the various intelligence agencies. The information I had been given in briefings was somewhat confirmed by Prisoners of War (later on much more so) and brought more sharply to mind the responsibility I and my crew now had in serving the S-2; how faithfully and accurately we must record what Prisoners of War had to say. Sergeant Birnhak and I took leave of Lieutenant Puffert, Corporal Beer and others on the Landing Ship Tank and soon found ourselves in the midst of the bloody mess on the beach. The two we had left behind on the Landing Ship Tank were to come in the next day with the jeep and proceed to the Command Post planned for that day's objective. T/3 Koppel and T/5 Mayer were to come in on our about D-plus 8 with the other jeep and trailer. So it wasn't until D-plus 8 that the whole team was assembled at Cartigny l' Epinay. I remember the place well because I met a lovely girl there, the only really attractive girl I met in all of Normandy. But that is another story. The team at that time was composed of the following personnel with the ratings of that period:
Sgt. Birnhak and I were to make contact with the S-2 in all possible haste and prepare the way, so to speak, or the other team members. I shall omit the gory details of dead and wounded we staggered over and by, both American and German, though mostly American at that time. We clambered up a sandy trail, intermittently falling on our faces and digging in the sand with our fingers to avoid being hit by mortar, spraying machine gun fire and an abundance of 88's. All we carried was a couple of fragmentation hand grenades each, some K-rations, a Tommy gun and a 45. automatic pistol; plus our water-soaked lower bodies and the sand, which was al- ready chafing and rubbing all our moving parts. There was no sign of the 115th Regiment. We made our way to a group of trucks, engineer personnel mostly, and talked to some PWs that were there. Nobody seemed to know what to do with them, so we directed them to the beach where a collecting point was being formed by some rather confused and breathless MPs. Shells were falling all over the place and it was difficult to keep people from shooting the PWs. Again, we went up the sandy path to the gathering of trucks, some of which were hit and on fire since we'd been there last, but this time we ventured to go in the direction of St. Laurent-Sur-Mer where heavy fighting was going on.The artillery was thick and heavy enough to justify a few hours stay in some freshly dug holes near a hedgerow. When the fire had subsided a bit and our second wind had returned we reached the edge of town and found ourselves with some lads from 175th Infantry Regiment. 29th Division dug in, waiting for a scrap with some enemy elements that had not been cleaned out of town. I asked a few officers where the 115th was. They were supposed to be in this spot and, obviously, were not. "Oh, they're down the road a piece", "that a-away", "you'd better dig in for the night" and other mixed Texan and Maryland mouthings were well meant but unhelpful. We had orders to join the S-2 in all possible haste and it was my intention to do just that. The only organized group we met at that time were the people from the 175th; the others were small bands of lost souls (like ourselves) and stragglers out to win, the war for ourselves, or so it seemed. It was virtually every man for himself in the initial stages; kill or be killed. We attempted to crawl, creep and snake our way down "that a-away where the 115th was supposed to be and were making precious little headway. It soon became dark, though the sky was morbid red from the burning buildings before us. It was useless to attempt going further under these conditions, though later we wished we had for where we were was a particular hot spot. We had occasion to fire our weapons for the first time from the holes where we stayed. What a relief to know they worked properly. Someone was zeroing in (on) us from our left, so Sgt. Birnhak sprayed the area with the Tommy gun. A ghastly, sleepless night thundered and wore into the day. Long single files of doughfeet, crouching as they sneak-marched along the road, were going past us so we left our holes and soon overtook the head of the column of 2nd Infantry Division men coming in from their landing. We went a mile before we encountered anyone alive along that road and then met some Rangers coming our way with PWs. We asked them if they had seen any 29th people and they pointed down the road punctu- ating the gesture with a spurt of tobacco juice from their mouths. At the next small village we met some 175th men who told us that the 115th was at Deaux Juneau, a small town a few miles inland from the beach. We couldn't take a direct route to Deaux Juneau so we attempted several by -ways in that direction. In each instance there were chattering German machine guns to prevent our getting through. There was no definite main line of resistance the first two days, strictly speaking. The unit attacks were by columns of battalions or regiments which by-passedas many German units as they could, it seemed to me. The next town, the name of which I've forgotten, looked like a movie set (it was Points Chemins) on some major studio lot. This was some super-colossal pro- duction, surely, and the Sgt. and I were playing a couple in the mob. Even the stiffs didn't look real with their waxen pallor, but forced thinking made me realize that there was no peaceful end of the day ahead when we'd be able to pick up a fat check for the day's work and go home. Here was stinking, noisy, misery-making reality giving us the ha ha, and still we weren't with our proper unit. On down the road we saw some familiar forms in all positions in the ditches along both sides. A S/Sgt. from the defense platoon of the 115th Regiment recognized us and ran to greet us. He looked pretty tired and dirty, and when we joined the others, who were in restful attitudes along the road, I realized that here was a sizable group that should be able to give a good scrap to any Krauts that would oppose us. There were 27 headquarters men beside the Sgt. Birnhak and myself with the most unorthodox array of weapons for such a group to have. I re-arranged them for greatest effect.There were several BAR men loaded with ammunition, one 60 mm mortar, several bazookas with so much ammunition the men carrying it wanted to throw it away because of its weight; a few Thompson 45. S?Gs and some mine detectors the boys had picked up along the road. Later on we added some charges of TNT to our collection and another mortar.Undeniably this was a task force that could sweep through any small pocket of resistance; and it became my responsibility to get them to the regimental CP, wherever that was by now. Because of the heavy equipment we were carrying, and everybody was exceedingly tired to begin with, we rested a short while when the loads would permit us to go no further. These weapons were our best insurance. I allowed nobody to drop any of it. Later events proved the value of all our weapons except the mine detectors. There were plenty of booby traps and mines here and there but we relied on our eyes and intuition rather than instruments, which ultimately turned out all right. The tired troop trudged through some woods and fields, still following the beach line but gradually angling a way toward Deaux Juneau. We came upon a large farm that appeared to be intact but uninhabited. This might be a good place to fill our canteens. Sgt. Birnhak and I being least tired, took it upon ourselves to investigate the possibi- lities while all the others rested, except two BAR men who came part way with us to cover our approach. We were crossing the courtyard toward a well when we were greeted with a shot that made a soprano singing note when it ricocheted before my feet. The Sgt. ran for a wall on one side and I ran for the protection of a large, two-wheeled farm wagon a few feet away. A couple of more shots zinged altogether too close to my feet, and another grazed my heel. I knew now where the shots came from and so did the Sgt., who was in a better position than I was. He took out a hand grenade from his gas mask and threw it in the approximate upstairs window followed by another one shortly after (neither of us had ever hurled grenades before.) I hazarded a sneak look from my bad posi- tion and saw a curtain move in a downstairs room. It didn't take long to send a shot at the curtain, after which I ran over to Sgt. Birnhak. The others were aroused by the firing and had made a circle around the house, pouring fire and hand grenades into the building making it reasonably uncomfortable for anyone (that was) in it. A bit later I made a cautious way to the room where I had fired, and it turned out to be the kitchen. On the floor was a girl about twenty years old with a nasty hole in her shoulder bleeding profusely. She was suffering a great deal but I must say she was remarkably quiet about it. This wasn't in the book. A 98K carbine was lying not far away. That I was astonished to find a girl in these circumstances is putting it mildly. She was questioned in German but made no answer in that language. Questioning in French brought forth a few halting words in a strange accent, and then what upset me most was her query, "Why did you shoot me?" Just like a woman: I could think of nothing better than to ask, "Why did you shoot at me?" Then nothing more. A strange smile broke her otherwise inscrutable expression and then it was time to leave. This was quite a shock to me. Canteens filled, we proceeded on our way to another group of farm buildings at a cross road, all of us expressing mixed feelings about the last incident. At the cross road there were a few civilians in a huddle over their immediate plight. Some had bags of household goods and clothing within reach, others looked miserable but defiant and loathe to leave their homes. Shells were falling not far away which these people seemed to ignore; in fact, I have noticed throughout Normandy the uncon- cerned attitude of the civilian population in a "hot" area where mortar and artillery fire were pouring in. Just as we approached the group, an elderly man, his wife, and daughter emerged from a nearby farmhouse, all of them weeping, all of them laboring under the heavy load each was carrying. The set of conditions was in itself eloquent and moving. When the old man saw American soldiers he dropped his pack and rushed up to our group and asked for an officer. He spoke very rapidly and excitedly, still weeping, and the gist of his almost unintelligible French was that there were Germans in a concrete emplacement a couple of hundred yards behind his house; they had killed his son; would we destroy them? Did he have to leave his property? And numerous other questions relative to the occasion. I had asked him how many there were in the bunker, what sort of weapons they had, was the area mined, was there any means for us to make a covered approach, etc? Sgt. Birnhak, the S/Sgt. and I held a brief consultation on the matter and decided that we would attempt to clean out the bunker. Sgt. Birnhak and the old man went down the path toward the emplacement and returned after about twenty minutes time. Sgt. Birnhak reported his findings to me and it seemed that we were more than equal to the job, according to his estimate of the situation. If we could believe the Frenchman there were about twelve German soldiers in the bunker armed with carbines, one machine pistol and, worst of all, an 88 AT gun protruding from the emplacement with a fairly extensive lateral traverse, designed to cover the beach approach, and we were behind it. One man on guard was visible. The task force was split in three groups. Sgt. Birnhak's group was to approach it from the right, my group was to approach it from the rear and the remaining group was to take the left approach. The right group was to train bazooka fire on the aperture of the 88 at as close a range as possible in (and) insure accuracy and destructive effect; the S/Sgt's group was to place mortar and bazooka fire on the bunker entrance, which was slightly left angled and to the rear. My group was to pick off the guard or guards (one might have been hidden) and at the end of this firing, those with grenades advanta- geously situated to hurl them would do so, followed by a rush attack by all three groups. Everything worked according to plan, miraculously, and the Germans, in various stages of dress and undress, tumbled out of their bunker with hands up, wild-eyed and fearful. If there were twelve they weren't all here. With two dead, there were only five left and these were turned over to an Engineer unit on the beach some distance below. The road to Deaux Juneau was full of concealed turns and each of these compelled much care in the approach. Haylofts, steeples and large trees were to be regarded with keenest suspicion, warranted by the fact that in several instances along the road snipers were drilled like a sieve by an admittedly "trigger happy" group. Farther down the road at a junction we joined forces with a Lt. and his company of the 2nd Bn of 115th. He let us take the lead. Nice of him. It was several days before all elements of the 115th were fully assembled. Lt. Puffert with Cpl. Beer in the jeep had reached the CP in late afternoon of D-plus 1 without a mishap. Sgt. Birnhak and I were extremely tired and had the feeling that we were the only ones to have gone through tight spots in our trek to the CP. Our situation paled in comparison to that of others (the dead) en route to the CP and it was soon put back in our minds by the extremities of continued events. Losses were heavy each day within the division and the types of PWs made the losses on our side all the harder to take. On or about D-plus 5 the German PWs began to come in from newly identi- fied units, first class troops. IPW Team #30 had its hands full, not only with the interrogation of military PWs but of civilians. In one instance two deaf-mutes were picked up riding on German bicycles. Everybody thought it was an act; circumstances were definitely against them. After a couple of hours of sweating them out we decided that their act was too good for them to be anything but deaf-mutes. Everyone had a crack at trying to "break" them and then they were sent as suspects through PW channels. A couple of days later I had occasion to go to rear PW cage and there I saw Ike (Mike) waving at me and smiling forgiveness at me in their expressive, deaf- mute smiles. We were encountering all kinds, all the unexpected kinds. In those days we were IPW,MII, Civil Affairs and Military Government combined. The European languages that were quite well represented by our team enabled us to cope with all these problems normally. We were at Chateau Minneville, a few kilometers from St. Lo. Everyone was deeply dug in because of the unusually heavy and constant artillery fire. I make special note of the artillery in this instance because I believe our team contributed to its eventual destruction as much, if not more, than any other agency. We were encountering German paratroopers of the 3rd Parachute Division, the toughest and most aggressive fighters the 29th Division has ever encountered, I believe. They were young, first class, fanatic fighters and most difficult of all to interrogate, even more so than PWs from the much vaunted SS divisions, "Das Reich" and "Gross Deutsch- land". There were other Wehrmacht units interspersed with the paratroopers around it. Lo and from among these we were able to get pinpoint loca- tions of German Artillery pieces, headquarters and ammunition supply depots that read like a page out of a Brooklyn Telephone directory. If we didn't do anything for several weeks to follow (we were busy 24 hours of the day always) this series of reports prior to the fall of St.Lo justified our existence as an IPW team. It gives me satisfaction that the division team of that time sent down hints that our reports were too complete! When we ignored the hints a certain officer of that team laid his cards on the table, so to speak, and said we were taking all the wind out of his sails by covering too many EEIs at regimental level. This was indeed interesting to me for I had no ulterior motives in my efforts to send in the most complete reports possible to the S-2 and G-2. This was no time for selfish outlooks. Cpl. Beer, a sergeant by this time, had displayed some astonishingly good facets as an interrogator, for I believe in switching individual duties around as much as possible to develop all facets in team personnel. Sgt. Koppel organized our Order of Battle notebook with such ingenuity and method that we were constantly informed about enemy situation. I had reason to be proud of my good crew. T/5 Mayer did far more in his duties than his rating called for. Both Koppel and Mayer were wounded in action and were a most unfortunate loss to the team, however, that took place a bit later. The S-2 was especially anxious to get a certain report of ours one day while we were at Chateau Minneville and Sgt. Beer showed extraordinary courage taking the report across a field that was at the time being showered by artillery of all sizes; a devotion to duty I shan't forget. It was this same Sgt. who went into the town of Colombieres on a reconnaiss- ance with the S-2 long before the infantry reached there and with his Tommy gun was the means of protection for his accompanying officer during a rather critical time in the evening. When a man is afraid and admits he is afraid but does his duty regardless- he is truly brave. The men I least expected to show iron-willed control in the face of danger, evinced a bravery that in normal periods they would not exhibit. Sgt. Birnhak and I were called upon to go with the task force that took St. Lo, to make hasty interrogation that would help the immediate tacti- cal functions. Neither of us expected to come back, and as it turned out, many did not come back after that memorable raid that is now looked upon as one of the key battles of this war. The taking of St.Lo was a turning point of the Normandy operation. It was night and no one was sure who the next fellow was. The stench of death made our work as difficult as the mortar and small arms fire that was ranging everywhere, not to mention the heat of burning buildings. It was an unforgettable experience for both of us to interrogate under those conditions when all Hell broke loose and Germans were everywhere. We dared not to show any signs of nervousness before PWs; somehow that would not be honorable: it wasn't cricket- not even darts. It was truly a "Dante's Inferno" that no pen, brush or camera could fully record. It was too much. It was St. Lo. When our regiment moved in a long vehicular column along the main road into St. Lo another evening there appeared a small armada of German planes that dropped flares and strafed the column. My two vehicles were caught at a cross road which was bombed, but luckily were not damaged so that they could not be repaired. I told the boys to run at least a field away from the road. It would have been foolhardy to remain on the road that was the principal target of Jerry planes. T/5 Mayer was the last to leave his vehicle and was hit by bomb frag- ments while running across the field. I have since learned that Mayer is recuperating nicely back in the States, but the team feels his loss. Between St. Lo and Vire we were occupying a position East of St. Germain-de-Tallevande. We were averaging several hundred PWs a day at our regiment alone. No one had any sleep at this stage of the game. We thought the Germans were on the run, and so they were; everywhere but from our division, was my impression. Someone had chosen a CP location that afforded the Germans a 270 degree horizon of observation on us. Our aggressive division had run ahead of the division to its left and right boundaries and thereby exposed itself to flanking attacks by the Germans, which they, of course did. A narrow sunken road was the only entrance and exit to the CP and the Germans must have known it. When all the complement of equipment and vehicles that a regiment has, found its way to the cramped CP location for every mother's son of a Kraut to see, a Mark IV tank moved up to the CP entrance and sealed off any further traffic to and from the CP. It all happened as though rehearsed for the Germans, for soon everyone was manning the hedgerows for a 360 degree perimeter of defense, and ere long, we could tell by the ripping chatter of MG42's and machine pistols that we were completely surrounded. A battery of 15cm Nebelwerfers was registering on the middle of the CP, wiping out about one half of the staff and headquarters personnel. An order was given to clear out the vehicles to the last location in St. Germain. Followed by orders to retire with personnel to St. Germain. That was quite in order, I might say, too, it was quite an (in) order, but would we be able to break through the ring of fire the Germans had made for us? There was a footpath along a hedgerow that led to a gate, and one more field before the road leading back to St. Germain could be reached. This was no time to wait for people. Both IPW jeeps were loaded as they had never been loaded before or since, and the springs of our trailer were like an inverted "U" even before a batch of men added their weight to it. These emergency situations speak well for our equipment. The driver of each vehicle had to rely on the men sitting over the front bumper to steer a proper course; I drove the jeep with the trailer, so I can attest the difficulties the other less experienced driver must have had. It's still a thought for amazement to me how we ever got across the fields to the road. Lead and steel flew through the air around us thick enough to make it seem at the time as though they were shrieking through my brain. One fellow was hit in the leg. It was SOP not to raise any dust on these roads lest enemy artillery lay down a concentration. The enemy was laying down very good concentrations already, so the precautions of raising no dust was (were) disregarded. There was so much dust raised on the road that it served as a smoke screen for the evacuation. Nonetheless, a couple of lads riding my jeep were hit; one of them quite badly, but he decided he could hold out until we reached comparative safety and an aid station. A mile down the road behind the CP (command post) there was another 88 trained on the crossroad we had to use and it was doing frightful damage. The jeep behind me, Sgt Koppel driving and Lt Puffert with him, got two direct hits by the 88 AT gun on an SP 300 yards from the road. Koppel was hit pretty badly, and Lt Puffert miraculously escaped with just a hot blast and shock from concussion by the shell burst. This sort of thing just couldn't go on; there was little percentage in it for us. But, it would get worse, if anything ... and for many months and months to come. A couple of days later, after we had reorganized (the 175th took over) the 115th made a vengeance drive through this sector which the Germans had taken from us, only this time there were very few PWs, alive. No one wanted to take any alive after what everyone had been through. Shortly after the Normandy campaign we reorganized again and became a motorized division until we de trucked on the Brest Peninsula. Normandy, with its death and gloom was now behind us. Brittany was a new challenge. All I had to remind me of St. Lo was a bandaid patch on my stomach to cover a shrapnel sliver I acquired from a land-mine triggered off in a field where I sought to relieve myself. A reminder of an injury on maneuvers was quiet as long as I could ride jeeps. (I rode jeeps) We all felt lucky, those of the original crew around to remember. The landscape was mild and unspoiled, the sun shone brighter, the houses were gayer, and best of all, the houses were untouched by war. People lined the highway throwing flowers at us. All was smiles and happiness. The men were overjoyed to see so many pretty girls; to feel the warmth the Bretons gave. I overheard such enthusiastic remarks as, "What a war!" quite a few times during the Brest operation. It was a fitting and proper change after the stench and gloom of Normandy. Here, in this different terrain, where several divisions were drawing in toward one central point, e.g., Brest, lines of communication between battalion-regiment-division could be extended more without impairing the functions of one echelon of command with respect to another. It meant, too, that once we got going on this operation we could settle in one place a bit longer than formerly in Normandy. The prisoners we grilled were two extremes. There were those who would not talk despite every trick of the trade being used on them, and there were those who almost talked too much. We had to take "breaks" during the lengthy interviews so we would not overtax ourselves and, thereby miss the minute details that we recorded on the town plans. We did not have to waste precious time trying to "break" non-talkers, there were enough of the talkers to give us all we needed and then some. We got to know German held Brest as well as one can without having seen it. The extent of fortifications in that area made it understandable why the Brest garrison held out so long. Every prisoner of War knew that it would fall eventually, but many showed a smug satisfaction that it was tying up a few crack American divisions. I believe they could have held out another month, after I saw the depth of underground installations and the supplies they had. The U-boat basin had enough food for the next six months. One must give the devil his due; the U-boat basin was one of many engineering marvels the Germans had achieved. Even before I saw it I heard about it from Prisoners of War and imagined what a fabulous structure it must be. When I saw it, went through it, I was satisfied that Prisoner of War statements were not exaggerated. It was all I thought it would be. The most interesting part of the Brest campaign was the final surrender. One early morning I had a phone call to report to the commanding colonel of the 115th. I was to accompany him to Red battalion situated in Recouverance, a suburb of the harbor city. We were to meet some high ranking German delegates who came across the lines under the white flag. All were impeccably dressed, in stiff formal attire and attitude, lined up according to rank to deal with responsible American officers. One of the Germany party spoke a little English but couldn't get very far with it, so I was interpreter for both sides. Developments were such, at the time, that we were a bit surprised that the whole West section of Brest was capitulating. General Ranks had skipped over to the Crozon Peninsula leaving subordinates to assume the responsibility of decision; fight or surrender. These apostles of Hitlerism had decided to quit. We were prepared for continued fighting, apparent because most of our officers were in need of a shave and had mud and dust over their Olive drabs and had come from foxholes in the field without stopping to change for this sudden appearance of German officers. After that day I was all the more determined that I would do all I could to maintain a standard of neatness and smartness of dress among my men; the worse the field conditions, the harder we'd try anything to preclude another incident of this sort. It was excusable under the circumstances, no doubt, but I have my own ideas which I'd rather live by. The Germans presented their case. Colonel Smith of the 115th directed that the Brest garrison personnel would come out from wherever they were under the white flag immediately. The Germans insisted that they needed time to make arrangements; they had luggage to pack, they wanted the assurance that their orderlies would be left with them; they wanted American officers to come over to the German side and arrange the remaining German troops according to unit, counting casualties and equipment; (all this and heaven too!) I translated this demand, using the German Colonel's inflections, as much verbatim as possible. While I was so doing I could see Colonel Smith grow angrier by the word. Suddenly he exploded epithets at the Germans and at me; mostly at me. He said "What the Hell is this? Are you on our side or theirs?" I was between the devil and the deep, so to speak. I explained that I was merely translating and acting as interpreter for both sides; I was not trying to sell the German ideas to Colonel Smith. It all turned out well. Face was saved. The Germans did NOT get their ridiculous terms, I was gratified to learn. And so ended a very interesting operation for Interrogation Prisoner of War Team #30. Immediately after the Brest operation VIII Corps took us out of the 29th Infantry Division and included us in their convoy to the area around Bastogne, Belgium. The Corps G-2 attached us to the 8th Infantry Division, with whom we stayed for a few weeks. We had had become Ninth Army assigned personnel, but were with these units temporarily until the new army had made more commitments. With the 8th we were introduced to a new procedure in the employment of an Interrogation Prisoner of War team. There was no such thing as a "division team". All Interrogation Prisoner of War personnel were divided among the regiments ostensibly to serve both the S-2 and the G-2 at the same time. I was not there long enough to learn if the division intelligence picture was ever fully recorded and used to greatest effect based on interrogationat regiment alone. We didn't have enough Prisoners of War while with the 8th division to learn for ourselves if that system has any advantages over the more common one, e.g., having Interrogation Prisoner of War personnel question Prisoners of War at all levels to satisfy the Essential Elements of Information, which would be different at division than at regiment. I felt that this system, at the time, had one distinct disadvantage; the lines of communication were rather long between division and regiment and it was necessary for me to take at least one trip to the G-2 each day, taking much valuable time on transit. It was, however, novel and interesting employment of a specialist team; I think neither aye nor nay in its favor. Two of my men and I were borrowed by an army headquarters to do some "special" work for a few days. The men with me at the time and I feel there is something to be said for special work at army headquarters, if there had been work to do. However, there was not and we were pleased to be back at division again. If one has been with a combat unit for any length of time one appreciated the work and personalities of each other; there is a family spirit that exists at no other levels above division that I know of. This is not intended as a slight against army level, rather, as a boost for combat units. We learned to appreciate the little Dutchy of Luxembourg while we were with the 8th Division. It is tempting to describe many extra- curricular experience we had there. It's a little country endowed with many of the features that we like to consider American. We did quite a bit of MII work among the civilians; we worked quite often with CIC and found our selves in many intrigues, for Luxembourg had its share of Nazi Collaborationist elements. It made an agreeable change from PW work. After a brief stay at Ninth Army Headquarters in November 1944 we were sent to the 104th infantry (TIMBERWOLF) Division, which was at this time a part of the 1st Canadian Army in Holland. This division started out on its first combat venture with the proper foot forward, so to speak. We felt no consciousness of its being a "green" division and soon adjusted ourselves to the most agreeable set of working conditions we have had to date. The greenness, from an OPW aspect, was very short-lived in that eager doughfeet brought PWs in to us double timing them all theway; they took the spirit of the words "speedy evacuation" very much to heart and brought the PWs in a breathless state, one or two of them most unhappy about the whole thing. Battalion S-2s were eager to make identifications of enemy units as the PWs came by them and in a couple of instances, by amateur interrogation, made mistakes. This was very soon corrected and soon resolved itself into smooth functioning. I believe the regimental S2s have developed a confidence in the more reliable and competent methods of IPW personnel. Before I close I would like to cite two recent happenings in the Timber- wolf Division with IPW Team #30 that was directly connected. It was around January 1st 1945, that a German plane, ME-1o9, was strafing the 415th regiment CP. Up and down the road he flew causing traffic to stop and personnel to take shelter. Sgt. Birnhak, Sgt. Frowenfeld and Cpl. Hermann were in their house hugging the walls so as to avoid being hit by the bullets ripping in from the ME-109. Sgt. Frowenfeld said, "someone's going to get that guy and it is going to be my pleasure to give him the "squeeze"",rubbing his hands together like a prophet, which he was in this instance. The plane was shot down a few fields away and a very frightened pilot was led in to the interro- gators a short while later. Sgt. Frowenfeld had the satisfaction of handling the case though I do not recall anything the pilot had to say that was vital to division level. Some time prior to that while the PW enclosure was situated in Brand, Germany and fighting was taking place in Stolberg, a few kilometers away, a German 1st lieutenant was brought in to us with four or five of his men. They looked rather worn and ragged after the scrap one of our regiments had given their unit. The PW lieutenant was a tall, angular individual of Austrian background who seemed to be pleased about his capture and a very willing talker indeed. After having given us some rather interesting information about the strength of his unit and pin-point locations of depots and artil- lery we lapsed into a brief discussion of conditions in Austria and then into the subject of what he thought of American soldiers. He pointed out that we were rather careless about taking cover and were not exploiting our gains. Then he went on to say what really prompted him to give up. We had made an attack which by its very aggressiveness had made the German division give way. This lieutenant, a platoon leader, was struck by the "giants" that came over the hill, looking as though they had stepped out of a band-box. He went on to state, " I looked at these fresh, clean specimens and then at my own crew and decided that we didn't have a chance against such men. It was useless to fight on". Somehow that made an impression on me as being rather significant. The European phase of the war is drawing to an end, however, as long as this contest of arms continues I trust we shall impress all of our enemies the way we did this German Officer. I would like to mention the use of our equipment and the employment of team personnel in the past year. I shall write of it as frankly and sincerely as I know how. During maneuvers on the Cornish moors prior to D-day, I found such items as a large field desk, CP tent, 2 drawer filing cabinet, speakaphose (phone?)and a few other bulk bits of equipment impracticable. It was my desire to turn these items in to S-4 but did not do so until some time in July and August. In all this time NOT ONCE did we have occasion to use these heavier pieces of equipment and, let them lie in the 1/4-ton cargo trailer. Had we been with a higher headquarters, or in slow moving situation less near small arms and other fire. I could appreciate the uses which a generous allotment of equipment, which we certainly have, would be put to. In France, to have put up a CP tent would have taken precious time and, too, would have been extreme- ly hazardous under our operating conditions. We found the thick walls of old French houses the safest and simplest expedient to our purpose, thereby having enhanced our efficiency and improved our strained state of mind. The CP was placed very close to Bn, closer in most instances than the Leavenworth School solution, all of which was splendid for the type of terrain and operation we encountered (our field training never once included what was best, operationally,in hedgerow country) and showed the quick and facile adjustment our commanders made to this "different" country and warfare. I do not mind admitting, for my men and myself, that interrogation this close to the front row companies didn't make us comfortable or happy, but I think I can state that our missions were accomplished despite these more extreme working conditions. It was my duty to comply with the wishes of the S-2, who wished to have the team as close to his office as possible. Disagreements on the technicalities of interrogation arose between the S-2 and myself now and then, chiefly over team administration location, of the PW enclosure, and the handling of PWs. I wish to point out that these disagreements never became unpleasant or heated but it was difficult at times to per- suade the S-2 that a PW enclosure within sight of the regimental CP jeopardized security, that interrogation at company and Bn level, except in rare instances, was less effective than at regiment where EEIs were employed for the combat team as a whole. These slight differences in point of view were found to be just on my part, after a while, and later on working arrangements and results were smooth and satisfactory, gratifyingly so. One of the chief difficulties was light. We interrogated at night as much as we did during the daylight hours and the kerosene lamps we had made photomaps and other maps exceedingly difficult to read. I have in recent times acquired a small, one-cylinder gasoline electric gene- rator of German make and the work has shown marked improvement in accu- racy, detail and speed of communicating the information to the G-2 and S-2, as the case may be. Several Coleman type gas or kerosene lanterns would be almost as good, and certainly far better than the sort of lamp issued to us. The storage battery and 20 foot work-light are good for the short while that the storage battery lasts, but are still not the most effective sort of light certain important phases of interrogation demand. Were I asked by someone with authority to change certain items of equipment, two properties would I emphatically recommend: Another cargo trailer, other than the one now authorized, to allow for split teams and the equitable division of properties for each; and a 250-W power electric generator to allow sufficient and proper light for the exacting condi- tions encountered during interrogation. The units with which IPW split teams are working in the TIMBERWOLF Division consider interrogation im- portant enough to their program that they have been given a high prio- rity on the light circuit within the unit's needs. A splendid spirit of co-operation and exchange of understanding in the relation of the specialist team to the other exists here as I have never known it to exist in any other division with which I have been associated. Why can't it be that way everywhere? I may have not stressed method of interrogation sufficiently, but I will say this in favor of the Ritchie Method: The classes at Camp Ritchie that give a student trial interrogation and honest constructive criticism after each period, plus the all-around 8 day problem, are definitely no waste of time for the soldier who is interested in this work, and too, no waste of Government expenditures in this direction. |
In a report, written in the form of a memoir, rendered his headquarters in the spring of 1945, Cpt. William T. Stelling relates the year-long activities of his prisoner of war interrogation team starting with its landing on D-Day 6th of June 1944 on Omaha Beach. He relates in engrossing detail the handling of German POWs during the invasion and afterwards as the U.S. army breaks out of Normandy on to the Brittany Peninsula and captures the port of Brest. He then relates his team's experiences with the 104 Infantry Division during the Battle of the Bulge ending with his impression of the German military based on an interrogation of a captured German officer.