CHAPTER 14

All Quiet on the Western Front

“Maintain order and discipline in town and country. Let everybody do his duty at his own post.”

Reich President Karl Dönitz

S now was falling when Tom Stewart left his command post in company with Captain Catlett to make his rounds of the Troop A positions.¹ Since the battle with the SS the day before, everyone had remained on full alert lest the enemy reappeared. The weather didn’t help allay those fears, with visibility limited across the fields and woods that surrounded Hostau and its environs. Spring stubbornly refused to break in this part of Europe and though not heavy, the white dusting nonetheless reminded the American veterans of the Ardennes. More than one thanked the Almighty that unlike at the Battle of the Bulge, the Germans they faced here seemed to lack those dreaded 88mm anti-aircraft guns that they had used to such effect in Belgium, firing air bursts among the tall fir trees that looked eerily similar to the stands of timber around Hostau.

Stewart climbed behind the wheel of a jeep, with Catlett jumping in the passenger seat. They drove by way of the Hostau Stud, where Colonel Rudofsky and the veterinarians Lessing and Kroll came out to greet them and reported that all was well with the horses—in fact, some more of the mares had foaled, adding more little black bodies to the growing collection. Then Stewart set off to make his rounds of the outpost positions, talking to the platoon and squad commanders and checking that the positions were properly sited, weapons and men secure and that they were well supplied with ammunition and water. Hot food made an occasional appearance, though many of the men were living off K rations or the larger multi-man ration packs from their vehicles.

Using his field glasses, Stewart scanned the fields over which the SS had attacked the day before. The German bodies lay where they had fallen, grotesque lumps covered in a thin layer of snow, only recognizable as corpses by the occasional frozen hand or boot that poked into the air. Stewart was pleased with the performance of the “tame” Germans, those of the Hostau garrison and stud who had chosen to fight for the Americans. The former prisoners-of-war and Cossacks had also done well, and many continued to help run the stud and the two outlying farms, tending to the horses and carrying out the multitude of tasks that had to be completed with such a reduced staff.

When Stewart and Catlett returned to their command post at the castle, they reviewed their large situation map tacked to the wall in Stewart’s rudimentary office. From the messages that they had received from the rest of the 42nd Squadron, they knew that their comrades were in constant action against the Germans further south, securing the Eisenstein Pass for whatever General Patton might decide to do next. But for the time being at Hostau, all was quiet—too quiet. Neither Stewart nor Catlett thought that the stillness could last long.

Twenty-five miles to the northeast at Kladrau Castle another pair of officers examined a situation map. German Lieutenant General Karl Weisenberger and his chief of staff, Colonel Bennicke, were going over the deployments of their few units. Since their voluntary ceding of Hostau to the enemy, the German line had reformed to take the American bulge into consideration. Ominously for the Americans, the Germans continued to reinforce the area.

“The overall situation is relatively quiet, General,” said Bennicke. “Apart from the American fighter-bombers, of course.” He was referring to the P-47 Thunderbolts that during good flying weather continued to harry German forces, attacking any vehicles or groups of soldiers that were spotted moving on the country roads. Such was their level of activity that Captain Stewart had had one of his own jeeps shot up by an American plane in a case of mistaken identity. Fortunately, the occupants had managed to get out before the vehicle had been hit and destroyed.

“Our front line remains thinly garrisoned,” continued Bennicke, “but the situation of the troops has improved somewhat with the arrival of fresh reinforcements.”

Weisenberger raised one eyebrow quizzically.

“Newly activated units?” asked Weisenberger with a long sigh.

“Yes, General, mostly from unwanted Luftwaffe ground crews. But we have received a handful of artillery from Pilsen, which has been deployed here,”² said Bennicke, pointing to the positions on the map.

“The 2nd and 11th Panzer Divisions remain to the rear of our line, General.”

“What state are they currently in?” asked Weisenberger. Bennicke consulted his papers.

“The 2nd has about twenty operational Panzers and approximately two thousand men. They are deployed at Plan, Mies, and the Nürschau-Staab area. But they have no fuel.”³

Weisenberger grunted dismissively.

“And the 11th?”

“In much better shape, General. Most of the division has concentrated southeast of Taus. They have some fuel for their Panzers, with most of the men acting as infantry. They have established security points behind our units. A portion of the division has departed for Austria to protect Linz.”

“But neither unit has been placed under my command, despite my urgings at Army headquarters, Bennicke,”⁴ said Weisenberger bitterly. Instead, he had been told to make do with the ragtag assortment of odds and ends that were occupying strongpoints and roadblocks in front of the Americans.

“General Schulz at Mirikau and the other commanding officers report that their men’s training is inadequate, they have insufficient artillery, unit cohesion is fragmented and desertion rates remain intolerably high,”⁵ said Bennicke, riffling through the reports in his hands as he spoke.

Weisenberger shook his head mournfully and sat down behind his desk.

“So what do we think?” he asked, changing the subject. “Is the great Patton coming?”

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Bennicke honestly.

“Well, I’m inclined to think that the Americans have stopped for political reasons. Take this situation at the Hostau horse depot, for example. Patton has not exploited this bulge in our line. It supports my impression that the Americans do not intend to move into Czechoslovakia.”

“I hope that you are right, General, for one real attack by the enemy will smash our defenses with little effort,”⁶ replied Bennicke gloomily. Weisenberger stared back at him before nodding slowly, despair etched on his face.

Weisenberger was right in his assumption that politics had prevented Patton from exploiting a wonderful opportunity to smash the Germans in western Czechoslovakia. But the halt would only be a temporary one, if “Old Blood and Guts” had anything to do with it. Patton still pushed General Eisenhower for permission to strike for Prague, his dream of pissing in the Danube still at the forefront of his mind. But if it was to happen, it had better happen fast. Moving into position to assault Prague and western Czechoslovakia from the east were 1.7 million Red Army soldiers.

Patton had a strong ally in the British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who believed Prince von Bismarck’s old adage that stated, “He who holds Prague, holds Central Europe.” Churchill did not want to see the Soviets take Czechoslovakia, and the Czechoslovak government-in-exile in London was pushing him hard. He was also concerned by the influence of a Soviet-occupied Czechoslovakia on neighboring Balkan nations.⁷ Though promises had been made to Stalin at Yalta, there was everything still to play for. The problem for Patton and Churchill was the new American president, Harry S. Truman. He seemed loath to go back on the agreement made at Yalta by Roosevelt.

Patton did order Third Army units to push into western Czechoslovakia on May 1, 1945, but they only moved a few miles inside the border, some through the Eisenstein Pass secured by 2nd Cavalry Group, before Eisenhower ordered Patton to halt. For the time being, Patton champed at the bit but didn’t dare risk defying Eisenhower and his president.⁸ On the same day Stalin issued orders that the assault on Prague was to commence in six days’ time.

Task Force Stewart remained horribly exposed at Hostau. Stewart knew that he wasn’t going anywhere for the time being. Rudofsky and the veterinarians were adamant that the mares and foals couldn’t yet be moved, certainly not under their own steam. The previous day’s fighting with the SS had demonstrated that American-occupied Hostau was a juicy target, and with only a handful of men with which to defend the place, Stewart knew that they could only withstand a few such attacks before the worst happened. Would a general like Weisenberger tolerate a bulge into his front line forever? After all, the agreement that Stewart and Lessing had struck with the local German command was that the horses would be evacuated to the American lines. That hadn’t occurred. Weisenberger could view American inaction as a ploy to build a bridgehead. Patton could reinforce Hostau and totally undermine the rest of the German line by attacking it from behind. And what of the Soviets? If the German front in the east collapsed and the Red Army came steamrollering across the open terrain past Hostau to the American front line in the Bohemian Forest, what about his little command and the horses? Would the Red Army just stand by and allow the Americans to evacuate the horses? That seemed unlikely. Most probably Stewart and his men would be politely asked to leave while the horses and the German staff and their families were turned over to the tender mercies of the Soviets. One thing was abundantly clear to Captain Stewart—the situation needed to be resolved as rapidly as possible, for every passing day brought the likelihood of an extremely undesirable outcome to the whole mission.

At the stud, Captains Lessing and Kroll remained busy with not only the horses under their jurisdiction, but also with a constant flow of refugees. Though the town was under temporary American jurisdiction, the human wave that was fleeing the advancing Red Army had not been staunched—in fact, as the Soviets grew closer, more and more Sudeten Germans were abandoning their homes and trying to move into Germany proper and the protection of the Western Allies.⁹ Mixed in among the refugees were other Germans from the eastern provinces, Russians who had fought for the Nazis, forced laborers and Allied POWs who had escaped from relocation marches or camps as confusion reigned in the countryside. With this tide of human misery came more horses, and more work for the veterinarians. The Americans tried to keep the refugees moving on to the US lines, rather than using up precious resources in the town.

It must have been a shock for some of the displaced persons to have arrived in Hostau. Finding it occupied by the Americans, they would have thought they had made it to safety, only to discover that the town was an isolated outpost and vulnerable. Colonel Rudofsky worked hard for his new masters, ensuring that the stud was properly run and the horses well cared for, even with a more limited staff than before. He also complied with Colonel Reed’s orders, and began to create lists of the horses, equipment and supplies that would need to be taken out by the Americans when the time came for the evacuation of the stud and its precious animals.

One of the immediate problems that faced Rudofsky was maintaining discipline. The arrival of the Americans had signaled to many of the former Allied POWs working at the three stable sites that they had been liberated. But many remained working, often reluctantly, as they could not be returned to the Allied lines for political or logistical reasons. And some, like the Soviets, were causing trouble. A few had turned aggressive, and looked to confront Germans, while others behaved in a truculent or mutinous fashion. Colonel Reed had left Rudofsky in command at the stud and its two satellite stations, but though Rudofsky was still in German uniform, he was now technically a civilian. Some of the workers resented taking orders from a German, though Rudofsky looked to First Lieutenant Bill Quinlivan’s platoon to protect him and his men from any unpleasantness. Quinlivan managed, through some rough but extremely effective measures, to prevent unruly behavior from taking root. His no-nonsense demeanor and tough Irish attitude carried the day, and allowed some semblance of normality to continue even though the surrounding countryside was in uproar as the old order collapsed and anarchy gradually took over.

“General, Radio Hamburg has just warned the German people to stand by for a grave and important announcement,” said Colonel Bennicke to Weisenberger after knocking and quietly entering his office at 9.35pm. Weisenberger looked up from his paperwork, removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Switch on the wireless,” he said, and Bennicke went over to a radio set that sat on a side table and warmed it up. Martial and funereal music soon wafted through the ether from besieged Hamburg far to the north, filling both men with a mournful feeling. Bennicke sat in the chair opposite Weisenberger’s desk and crossed his arms, both men waiting in silence for whatever was to come.

At 10.36pm the music stopped abruptly and there followed three drum rolls. Then an announcer began to speak.

“It is reported from the Führer’s headquarters that our Führer, Adolf Hitler, fighting to the last breath against Bolshevism, fell for Germany this afternoon in his operational headquarters in the Reich Chancellery.” Weisenberger and Bennicke’s eyes locked, both men in a state of shock. The Germans had yet to discover that Hitler had actually shot himself the day before in the bunker. “On April 30th the Führer appointed Grand Admiral Dönitz his successor,” the announcer continued. “The grand admiral and successor of the Führer now speaks to the German people.”

Karl Dönitz took the microphone. Far from ending the war, the new Reich President assured his listeners that the war of resistance against the Soviet invaders would continue, as would fighting against the British and Americans if they chose not to come to terms with Germany. The situation for the remaining armed forces of Germany remained unchanged. “Give me your confidence because your road is mine as well,” said Dönitz plaintively. “Maintain order and discipline in town and country. Let everybody do his duty at his own post.” The leadership may have changed, but the rhetoric remained the same.

Captain Stewart was roughly shaken awake by an orderly just after first light on May 2, 1945. He came to and sat up.

“What’s up?” he asked, instantly alert and expecting trouble. When an officer was suddenly awakened it usually wasn’t for ham and eggs.

“Sorry to wake you, sir, but we’ve had a report that Captain Verry has been attacked,” replied the orderly clerk.

“Details?” asked Stewart. The orderly quickly outlined what was known. Captain Verry’s jeep had been ambushed again while returning to squadron headquarters.¹⁰ Stewart got out of bed and began issuing orders while looking at a situation map. It appeared that Verry and Radar had bumped into some SS within the “no-fire line.”

“Have Sergeant Walker report to me immediately,”¹¹ ordered Stewart.

When Walker arrived, Stewart told him to have his platoon ready for immediate deployment. He also ordered that all outposts be placed on full alert, weapons manned and eyes skinned. His fear was that the SS was trying another attack on Hostau in a rerun of their earlier assault.

As Stewart gathered his jacket, helmet and M1 carbine and hurried downstairs to where his jeep was parked, the corporal who was to drive him piped up.

“Did you hear the good news, sir?” asked the corporal, grinning.

“What good news?” demanded Stewart, clipping on his belt with its leather holster and heavy .38 revolver.

“Hitler’s dead,” said the corporal, “just came over the BBC.”

Stewart stopped fiddling with his equipment and gave his companion a strong look.

“That’s swell, Corporal. But it looks like someone forgot to tell the Krauts, don’t you think?”

Stewart’s jeep thundered along towards the edge of the forest with Sergeant Walker’s platoon strung out behind in their M8s and jeeps. Fortunately no Americans had been injured in the initial ambush. The column halted and Stewart gave orders for the platoon to debark and take up positions, establishing a base of fire. Stewart and his men didn’t have long to wait before the threat materialized.

The GIs scanned the thick trees, searching for the enemy. Eventually, movement was spotted. The Americans were well down and waiting for the signal to open fire. The German soldiers moved carefully but purposefully through the trees, wearing camouflaged smocks and helmet covers, or else bundled up in thick greatcoats, their weapons held at the port across their chests ready for instant use, heads scanning from side to side as they fanned out. A twenty-strong group of “field-expedient” armed British ex-prisoners-of-war joined the American soldiers, each man carrying a German rifle. They had been ordered to remain in reserve but could not resist jumping into the fight.¹²

Stewart judged the enemy group to be a lightly armed patrol of indeterminate numbers—obviously the reconnaissance element for a bigger force that was as yet unseen. Stewart waited until the distance dropped before giving the order to fire.

A fusillade of American lead raked the trees, taking down several of the Germans, the rest hitting the dirt and returning fire with their rifles and machine pistols. Grenades were flung in both directions and the fire was rapid, chipping bark off tree trunks and cutting down branches. Stewart was in the thick of the action, but reports arrived that more SS were arriving on the scene, outnumbering the small American force. As the GIs slowly eliminated the SS patrol, “I became conscious that a force of about company strength, using marching fire, was coming through the forest in a skirmish line,”¹³ recalled Stewart. The SS, numbering perhaps a hundred men, moved forward deliberately, firing as they came. Stewart immediately recognized the danger his command was in, outnumbered and outgunned. But he still had the M8s and their 37mm cannons and heavy machine guns and help was but a radio call away.

“Get on the horn and tell the two Chaffees to join us,” said Stewart to his radio operator. Then he ordered Sergeant Walker to take his M8 armored car up on to high ground to the right and enfilade the exposed German line while the dismounted troopers kept the enemy pinned in the trees. But then another sound broke in over the firing, a deeper thumping of heavy weapons. And it sounded familiar. Stewart could see Walker frantically pointing from his M8’s turret and following his signals he started to make out olive-drab uniforms moving in the trees.

“Cease fire, repeat, cease fire,” Stewart ordered urgently to all squads and vehicles.¹⁴ The German fire had stopped and instead SS started to emerge from the trees with their hands above their heads, prodded on by US infantrymen armed with Garand rifles and Thompsons. At their head were Captain Verry and Radar, who sought out Stewart.¹⁵

The other GIs were from the 387th Infantry, and their officer turned to his radio operator and ordered him to send an immediate message. “From White Three, report for Easy Six. Patrol has entered six-five and met friendlies.”¹⁶ “65” was the 387th’s codename for Hostau. Colonel Long had ordered his battalions forward to push slightly ahead of Stewart’s “no-fire line” and to maintain patrol contact with the 42nd’s Troop A at Hostau. The town and the stud were no longer sticking out like an appendix into hostile territory, but were now forming part of the American front line.¹⁷