CHAPTER 3
Action This Day
“It is probably wrong to permit any highly developed art, no matter how fatuous, to perish from the earth. To me, the high-schooling of horses is certainly more interesting than either painting or music.”
General George S. Patton
In June 1942, Podhajsky had been horrified to learn that Rau planned to use the Lipizzaner mares as bloodstock to create a new army horse. For a time, the Nazis had protected the Spanish Riding School and used it as a propaganda showpiece and later as a morale booster for the war-weary Viennese. But the exigencies of war had meant that something had to give, and when the Piber Stud, where the Lipizzaner mares and foals were kept, was requisitioned by the army to breed pack animals in 1942, Podhajsky had faced a shortage of new stallions for the School.
Rau had left the Spanish Riding School stallions in Vienna alone, but had moved the breeding herd to Czechoslovakia, merging it with the former royal Yugoslav and other requisitioned Lipizzaner horses at Hostau. When Rau’s plans for breeding the animals had become known to Podhajsky, the colonel had sent strong representations to the authorities in Berlin demanding that such an atrocity be forbidden: “If the Lipizzaner strain is to continue to be preserved in the interests of the Spanish Riding School, then at all costs any experiments which might impair its suitability for the classic style of riding must be prevented.”1 But Podhajsky’s missives had been ignored—Rau was too well connected to have his madcap experiments stopped by one Austrian colonel.
Podhajsky was also unhappy that Hostau was where the mares were being accommodated. Rau failed to understand that the horse was a product of the soil, and Hostau was completely unsuitable to raise a delicate breed like the Lipizzaner. The pasture was much too rich, and when Podhajsky hurried to investigate, he discovered that the soil was so deficient in calcium that a supplementary feed had to be given.
But what worried Podhajsky even more was the location of Hostau, deep inside a hostile occupied nation. “If the war were lost and the Greater German Reich collapsed,” wrote Podhajsky, “what was to become of the Lipizzaner in a ‘protectorate’ whose people were filled with a bitter and enduring hatred?”2 Without the mares producing fresh pure-blood stallions the Spanish Riding School would wither on the vine and disappear, and with it 500 years of irreplaceable Austrian cultural heritage.
Gustav Rau was happy, using the Lipizzaners for a series of experiments that he termed “line breeding.” Horses that were closely related were bred with each other, often brother with sister, allegedly to preserve the breed and the good qualities of the single strain. In this way, Rau believed, the best characteristics of the horses would be enhanced, while others were eradicated. Colonel Podhajsky was further outraged when he discovered that Rau had been using three-year-old mares for breeding. They were too young. Podhajsky had again protested to Berlin that Rau’s breeding experiments were useless and should be resisted, since the extensive records of the Piber Stud were a sufficient guide to the breed, “and the achievements of the Spanish Riding School gave the best proof of the success of the present strain.”3 On this occasion, Podhajsky had managed to win some concessions from Berlin, one of which was to be informed when any breeding using the Lipizzaner mares was to occur and his opinion taken into consideration. But Rau had ignored the restrictions placed upon him, and continued with “line breeding,” using mares and some stallions from Piber, secretly breeding father with daughter. In January 1943 Podhajsky had managed to stop this, but Rau still bred from brothers and sisters. Podhajsky was later to write that the offspring of such unnatural unions proved useless for the Spanish Riding School.
Inside Captain Sperl’s tent, Colonel Reed’s eyebrows had arched in surprise at Lieutenant Colonel Holters’ mention of Alois Podhajsky, for the name was familiar to him. Podhajsky’s brother had attended the Cavalry School at Fort Riley, Kansas, at the same time Reed was studying there, and Reed had even ridden a horse that had been named “Podhajsky” in honor of the commander of the Spanish Riding School.4 Furthermore, Reed had attended the 1936 Berlin Olympics as an observer from the army, and had seen Alois Podhajsky ride in the dressage competitions, winning a bronze medal in the individual.
Holters’ tale was now nearing its end.
“Rau had 250 Lipizzaners and hundreds of Europe’s finest racehorses and stallions under this program,”5 said the German.
Colonel Reed shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that an incredible amount of time, effort and resources had been poured into Rau’s madcap experiments, and to what end? Holters explained that with the collapse of the Eastern Front in late 1944, Rau’s program had been abruptly terminated by Berlin. Other precious horses had been transferred from the program’s satellite studs in Ukraine and Poland to Hostau for safekeeping, to prevent their falling into Soviet hands. There they had joined the Lipizzaners and Thoroughbreds already in residence.6 Rau had decimated the numbers of Piber mares at Hostau during the last months by constant selling. Podhajsky knew little of what was happening, as communications between Vienna and Hostau were precarious at best—though he was aware that the number of barren mares was on the increase: they had become fat and refused to be served by the stallions. It was also known that some horses had been born with misshapen hooves—“so bad they were almost like goat’s feet”7—a problem never encountered at Piber.
“Is Rau still at Hostau?” asked Reed, lighting up a Chelsea cigarette.
“No, Colonel. He is gone,” said Colonel Holters. “And he won’t be missed,” he added with a wry smile.
Holters explained that professional army officers were running the stud in Rau’s absence, with the horses in the care of two dedicated young veterinarians. Recently, more horses had arrived from the east. With the arrival of each new batch of horses more pressure was placed on Hostau’s limited space and resources.
“Tell the colonel about the prisoners-of-war,” urged Captain Sperl, suddenly changing the subject.
“POWs?” said Reed, sitting forward in his seat, “what POWs, Colonel?”
“There are also Allied prisoners-of-war at Hostau and its outlying stations. Americans like you. There are also British, Poles, Serbs and French. The Army uses them to help take care of the horses and for work in the forest.”8
“How many?” Reed demanded.
“Maybe… one hundred fifty,”9 replied Holters, meeting Reed’s gaze.
After further questioning, it emerged that the Germans had formed the prisoners-of-war into several Arbeitskommandos (working parties) at Hostau to care for the horses that were spread over the stud and its three outlying farms and pasture totaling 1,500 acres. Colonel Reed knew that the Geneva Convention permitted non-commissioned personnel of the lower ranks to be used for work in agriculture and industry, but not in any industry producing war materiel.
Holters told Reed that the prisoners at Hostau had been sent from Stalag XIII-B at Weiden on the Bavarian–Czech border. This vast camp had housed 25,000 enlisted prisoners with most out on working parties before it was dissolved on January 22, 1945.10 Two units that were positively identified were Arbeitskommando 3119, consisting of thirteen French prisoners and Arbeitskommando 5129 with seventeen Serbs. Others were also in the Hostau area. Another Arbeitskommando, Number 3770, was located in the nearby town of Weissensulz* and consisted of nineteen French. Along the border area were Arbeitskommando 7062, twenty-one POWs at Zwirschen working in one of the attached stabling facilities; and 5206 with sixteen Serbs at Eisendorf and a large concentration of unidentified prisoners laboring in squads of thirty in the forest near Waier.11
“What about the guards, how many?” demanded Reed, immediately beginning to form an assessment in his head.
“Not many,” replied Holters, “perhaps a few dozen. They are from Number 3 Company, Landesschütz Battalion 804.”12 Sperl was making notes on a small pad as Holters spoke. Reed knew that Landesschützen represented a desperate last war measure on the part of the Germans. The units consisted of either older soldiers aged 35 to 45 who were unfit for front-line service, reservists or younger soldiers whose battlefield injuries kept them out of further combat.13 They had only light weapons and were, in Holters’ opinion, mostly “third rate.” The Americans would also learn later that a column of over 300 Allied prisoners was slowly marching through the area after evacuating from the east.14
“Where exactly is Hostau?” Reed asked, turning to Sperl.
Sperl reached over and unfolded a map of western Czechoslovakia, laying it on the collapsible table between them, and pointed with his index finger.
“Here, sir, about fifteen miles east of our current forward outpost line.”
Any operations in the vicinity of Hostau would be the responsibility of the closest 2nd Cavalry Group unit—in this case Lieutenant Colonel Thomas B. Hargis’ 42nd Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron.
Sperl’s finger traced a wavy line that ran roughly along the Bavarian–Czech border.
Troops A, B, and C had crossed the Czech frontier on the morning of April 26 and halted just inside Bohemia, establishing a forward outpost line. “Troop A is at Eisendorf as Squadron reserve and currently inactive,” reported Sperl. “Troop B has pushed forward to establish a line of foxhole positions running from the village of Rustin through Waldorf to Ples, with patrols forward of this line.”15
Troop C, meanwhile, had run into intense opposition.
First Lieutenant Bob McCaleb, Troop C’s recently elevated commander, had spearheaded his attack with 2nd Platoon backed up with a platoon of five Chaffee tanks from Company F in support. The GIs had moved forward cautiously on foot from their forward outpost positions at 0845 hours, moving through a line of booby-traps that they had emplaced on the edge of the woods.16 The troop’s 3rd Platoon was on the flank. It was preternaturally quiet in the forest, with hardly even a bird noise under the gloomy canopy. The Americans could almost feel the presence of Germans close by. Guessing that the Americans might cross the frontier, the Germans had laid small minefields and also erected stout roadblocks across the forest tracks that were in many cases liberally booby-trapped.17 As the American squads located the roadblocks they called forward engineers to deal with any explosive charges. So far the Germans hadn’t attacked, but as Troop C continued the advance they ran straight into a well-concealed ambush.
The silence of the forest had been suddenly rent by the ripping sound of an MG42 machine gun thundering into action, tracers flicking through the trees like red lasers or clipping off branches as the GIs hit the deck and returned fire from behind trunks or from natural hollows and ridges. German Mauser rifles thumped while the GIs’ M1 carbines and M3 machine guns returned fire. It was difficult to see the enemy soldiers who were hunkered down in prepared positions amid the greenery and rocks. They were a mixture of regular army, air force and Hitler Youth.
The American squads went straight into the attack, refusing to allow themselves to be pinned down and picked off, the platoons maneuvering to try to flank the German positions as the squads leapfrogged forward covering each other. It had all been practiced in combat many times before and was second nature to the veterans. Technician Fifth Grade Chatterton and Private First Class McFarland fell wounded, their squads calling up medics, while the GIs closed to grenade range with the Germans. As Germans started to go down, they realized that the American attack was unstoppable and like gray wraiths the enemy soldiers evaporated into the misty forest, leaving behind many dead and wounded and a handful to be taken prisoner.18 With night soon to fall it was decided to withdraw C from the forest—they would return on the morrow to reoccupy the positions they had just taken by force. Eventually, a line of static positions covered the villages of Sveta Katarina, Mlýnské Domky and Skarna with the usual patrols forward.19
The 42nd’s flanks were tied in with their sister unit from the 2nd Cavalry Group, 2nd Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron, on the left (north) and with a battalion from the 358th Infantry Regiment on the right (south).20 Once again, booby-traps were carefully prepared and laid on the edge of the forest to forestall a surprise German attack and the men dug foxholes and waited.
“According to latest reports, the Red Army is about here,” continued Captain Sperl with his map briefing inside the IPW tent at Vohenstrauss, “forty miles or so east of Hostau and approaching Pilsen from the east.” Colonel Reed could immediately see how little Czechoslovak territory remained in German hands. The Soviets were striking strongly into eastern Czechoslovak lands with the Germans barely containing them.
“In between is Indian country, sir,” said Sperl, sweeping his hand over the map, “full of Wehrmacht and SS units from the German Seventh Army.”
“Colonel,” interrupted Holters, “I can see that you, like me, is a man who loves horses, no?”
Reed nodded. His reaction to the photographs must have made it obvious to the German.
“I consider it, how you say, to be more than a coincidence that you and I should meet, here, at this time,” Holters continued. “Colonel, I have to tell you that the horses that I have shown you, the horses that I have come to care for deeply, are in great danger.” Holters’ face was a mask of concern as he spoke. “You must save those horses, Colonel, before it is too late.”
“What danger are you referring to, Colonel?” replied Reed coolly.
“The Bolsheviks, Colonel, they are only two, maybe three days march from Hostau,” said Holters, his lip curling in disgust as he cast a belligerent glance at the American map.
Reed looked again at Sperl’s map. It was obvious that the German was right. It appeared a foregone conclusion that the stud would be swallowed up by the Soviets. And anyway, Reed knew that this part of Czechoslovakia had been promised to Stalin as part of the Soviet occupation zone after the German surrender. It was for this reason that General Patton had thus far been prevented from striking at Prague.
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” said Reed matter-of-factly, “but my orders clearly state that I’m to hold the line here and advance no further east for the time being. It has already been decided that the area you are referring to will fall under Soviet control in due course.”
Holters didn’t take Reed’s words well. For the first time his urbane façade slipped, his face turning red. “No, Colonel, I cannot accept that,” he said excitedly. “If you don’t rescue the horses they will all die, and the prisoners, your own countrymen, will probably die with them.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” exclaimed Reed, his brow furrowing in concern.
Holters, his face still flushed, briefly explained what had happened to the Lipizzaners captured by the Soviets outside of Budapest. The Royal Hungarian Riding School had been evacuated just too late. Lieutenant Colonel Ceza Hazslinsky-Krull von Hazslin’s column of twenty-two Lipizzaners had been engaged by Soviet T-34 tanks and forced to surrender. Red Army soldiers had simply shot eighteen of the stallions for rations, and also shot any of the grooms or riders who tried to intervene. The surviving four priceless animals were roughly placed in harness and forced to pull heavy ammunition wagons. None were ever seen again. At a stroke, the Royal Hungarian Lipizzaner stallions, descended from the same ancient bloodlines as their Austrian cousins, were lost to history, ending up as horse burgers for hungry peasant soldiers. The surviving staff were hauled off as prisoners-of-war to an uncertain fate.21
But Holters went much further. The small town of Nemmersdorf in East Prussia had been temporarily captured and occupied by Soviet troops on October 21, 1944. The story had been widely distributed to the German armed forces and population by Dr. Goebbels’ Propaganda Ministry in order to stiffen the will to resist the Soviets after German forces had recaptured the town. The Soviets had raped dozens of women before killing them. Young children and even babies had been beaten, bayoneted, or shot along with most of the male inhabitants.
“But this is not all,” continued Holters darkly. “The Bolsheviks also liberated an Arbeitskommando of fifty French prisoners-of-war. Do you know what your allies did next, Colonel? They stripped these Frenchmen naked and each one received a bullet in the back of his neck,” said Holters, making a pistol with his right hand as he spoke, pressing his index finger behind his right ear.22
“Imagine, Colonel,” continued Holters in a low voice. “Fifty prisoners murdered by their own allies.” Sperl nodded solemnly as he listened, his eyes never leaving Reed’s face. As an intelligence officer, he was more than aware of the dark stories that were emerging from the Eastern Front. Soviet propaganda made no secret of its desire to enthuse Red Army soldiers with a deep thirst for revenge against the Germans for their crimes in Russia. The Western Allies turned a blind eye to what they were learning of “Uncle Joe” Stalin’s way of fighting the war.
Reed was both shocked and horrified. There were hundreds of Allied prisoners in the area with nowhere to go. The implications for both the horses and the POWs struck home like a thunderclap.
“Anyway, even if the Bolsheviks don’t arrive before the end of the war, the horses will be lost,” said Holters angrily. “The Czechs hate us Germans and they will surely confiscate them.”23
An orderly entered the tent and laid out a simple breakfast of American K rations and real coffee. Holters crushed the butt of his cigarette beneath one jackboot. Reed had plenty of questions and Holters was happy to answer them all. Holters already had a strong sense that this American officer was different, that he might be prodded into action. As they ate, the three officers discussed the wider tactical situation in the territory between the US lines and Hostau.
With the front line as leaky as a colander, and with resources stretched to the utter limit, the Germans had established blocking positions at four locations astride the main roads leading to either Prague or Pilsen, including covering Hostau where not only the military stud was located but also an assembly point for collecting military stragglers.24 The forces facing the Americans were the last scrapings available to the Germans. At the village of Rosshaupt* one weak battalion was covering the settlement and both sides of the road that ran from Vohenstrauss, through the town of Haid* all the way to the strategic city of Pilsen.
At Weissensulz, a town just northwest of Hostau, one small Volkssturm home guard defense unit was dug in west of the road from Eslarn, hidden among the trees. They covered the main road to the stud. In a natural depression between the towns of Waier and Stadlern was a Ski Infantry Battalion, and defending the town of Taus,** just thirteen kilometers south of Hostau, was another army battalion covering the important road junction. The men had loose contact to their north with Army Engineer Brigade 655, highly professional and experienced combat engineers now fighting in an infantry role.25
Hank Reed had little fresh intelligence on these enemy emplacements, but even before he had finished his simple meal with Holters and brought the stressful meeting to a close a thought had been planted in his mind—a thought that deliberate and decisive action was required. As Winston Churchill’s personal motto stated, what was required was “Action This Day.”
* Today’s Bela nad Radbuzou.
* Now Rozvadov.
* Now Bor.
** Now Domazlice.