Friday, November 12, 2010

Seeing Dad Alive for the Last Time

Dad and I during one of our last visits together
My father, Roger Lacroix, fought in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II, was a prisoner of war in Nazi Germany, was awarded the Purple Heart Medal for his injuries, and was blessed with a long and fruitful life. But around age 80, the symptoms of Alzheimer's disease became very pronounced.

In June 2008, he was admitted to the Veterans' Hospital because of his disease. And after that, he never went home. He had to be kept in either a hospital or nursing home for the remainder of his life. He didn't like that at all. He felt it was worse than his prisoner of war experience.

I knew that I would soon be leaving the United States with my family to serve as missionaries in Eastern Europe. We planned to remain overseas for at least a couple years before our first trip back to the US, so I knew I would most likely never see my father again. That was difficult, but we spent as much quality time with him as we could while we were there.

Our children would sing songs about Jesus to him and he loved that. Whenever we would talk about my upcoming departure, he would need to be reminded that were going overseas as missionaries. He would always respond by saying something like, "I'll be dead before you come back." That was very difficult.

But one of the most difficult things I ever had to do was to say goodbye to him there in the hospital for the last time. The picture above was one of those last visits I ever had with him. Visitors were only allowed to stay with him for a very limited amount of time. So I took each of my children in to see him and my wife went in to see him. I asked the nurse for special permission to stay with him longer, since this would likely be the last time I ever saw him alive. She graciously allowed me. And we had a good visit, but it was somber. Finally I had to say goodbye. I embraced him and walked away for the last time.

As I left the hospital with my family, our eyes had tears in them, and our hearts were sad. It was final.

Dad's Reaction to My Departure 
I got news later from my sister Claudette how Dad responded after I left that night in mid-October 2008. It surprised me to learn from her just how much he understood what was going on. Claudette wrote to me saying:

“I still remember after you left. Dad called Mom that night and told her he needed her to come visit him so they could talk about your leaving. He was very upset and told her he was going to miss you and probably never see you again.”

Needless to say, I was touched by his love for me. Dad's health continued to decline and he ended up in the Emergency Room with breathing difficulty on New Years Day. I had the chance to talk to him on the phone from Budapest, Hungary later on New Years Day, once he was stabilized. He downplayed his condition. I asked for his blessing, which was our family custom. And after he gave me his blessing, he said, "Pray for me, because of what I'm about to go through." Four days later on January 5, 2009, he breathed his last and went to be with the Lord very peacefully.

I know he is with the Lord, because he confessed with his mouth that Jesus is Lord and believed in his heart that God raised Him from the dead. The apostle Paul wrote: "if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved." (Rom 10:9). He made it clear that he was trusting in nothing but the blood of Jesus for his salvation. He and I had many discussions about the Lord, and he had prayed together with me a few years earlier to invite Jesus Christ into his heart. During his final hospital stay before I left, we confirmed in prayer together that he was ready to meet his Maker.

In the final two days before he died, my father was seeing things in the invisible realm that nobody else could see. They had wrapped some white blankets around him as he was sitting there in his room, in order to keep him warm (see video). He commented to them that he thought he had already been given his heavenly robe (photo below).

My son preaches the Bible

Dad and Mom share a kiss in December 2008

Around Christmas time, approximately twelve days before my father died, my friend Dan Prescott went to visit him at the Epsom Manner nursing home, along with his fiancé, Valerie. He introduced himself as a friend of mine, then he played a couple worship tunes on his guitar and sang. Dan is a very talented musician.

Dad made a comment like, “Let’s clear out the room and let people know you’re coming.” He was serious, and he meant that if Dan was going to be playing his guitar, Dad wanted everyone else there to be able to enjoy it, too. Val read from the Psalms, maybe Psalm 91. Dad was blessed. He seemed content and reposed throughout the visit, just taking it all in. Dad talked proudly about me, saying, “My son preaches the Bible. I’m very proud of him.” This reminds me of what my sister Teresa told me about Dad. She said he would talk about me during her visits with him at the Epsom Manner.  One time he spoke about the fact that I had taken my family to Budapest, saying, “I’ve got to give him a lot of credit to go over there with his family. He must have had a good calling.”

Dad robed in white two days before he died


Blessed are those who wash their robes 
After I left the States, I asked a friend of mine named Don Bartlett if he would visit my father on my behalf and encourage him. Don called me shortly after Dad died to tell me he did visit my father as I had asked him to do, while Dad was still at the Epsom Manner. This was right after Christmas, so it was within a week and a half before Dad died. Don said he had a good visit with Dad and read some Scriptures to him.  He prayed for Dad and had a good conversation with him.

Apparently when Don turned to visit with the man next to Dad in his room, he set off the man’s security alarm next to his bed. Don turned to Dad, who had closed his eyes to rest, and said, “Wake-up call, Roger. Wake-up, call.”  He said that Dad chuckled at that.  But Don felt like it was significant that he read these Scriptures to Dad, which are for a person getting ready to go home to be with the Lord, and he had no idea Dad was so close to his time.

These are the passages Don read to Dad: Rev 21:1-4 and 22:1-5, 14.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth passed away, and there is no longer any sea. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, made ready as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne, saying, 'Behold, the tabernacle of God is among men, and He will dwell among them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself will be among them, and He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death; there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain; the first things have passed away.'" (Rev 21:1-4).

"Then he showed me a river of the water of life, clear as crystal, coming from the throne of God and of the Lamb, in the middle of its street. On either side of the river was the tree of life, bearing twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. There will no longer be any curse; and the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and His bond-servants will serve Him; they will see His face, and His name will be on their foreheads. And there will no longer be any night; and they will not have need of the light of a lamp nor the light of the sun, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever." (Rev 22:1-5)

"Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the tree of life, and may enter by the gates into the city." (Rev 22:14)

Isn't it amazing! Just a week and a half after my friend Don read those Bible verses to my father, he went to be with Jesus and was walking the streets of gold in heaven. There is no pain, no crying, no death there! During his lifetime on earth, my father had washed his robe in Christ's blood. And when his earthly life had ended, he entered the gates into the Holy city. And I thank God that he is in glory now. I know I will see him again one day.

Attribution notice: Most Scripture quotations taken from the NASB

Do You Want to Know Him?
If you want to know Jesus personally, you can. It all begins when you repent and believe in Jesus.  Do you know what God's Word, the Bible says?

“Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.’” (Mar 1:14b-15).  He preached that we must repent and believe.

Please see my explanation of this in my post called "Do You Want to Know Jesus?"
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.

Life After the War

So my father, Roger Lacroix, was finally free after spending six months in a Nazi prison camp. After returning home to Manchester, NH, life soon returned to normal for my father, as he returned to textile mill work. He went to work for Arms Textile Manufacturing on Stark Street in Manchester in August 1946. There in his hometown he met Rita Groulx in 1946. They were on the same bowling league made up of workers from their mill. He and Rita fell in love with each other, and began to date on a steady basis. They would go see a movie together for 20 cents each, or go bowling together on a date. They would also see each other at work and exchange letters they had written each other while apart.

They were married in June 1947, in Manchester, NH. My father told me that when he knelt in prayer at the church on the day he was married, he felt that God had called him to be a father. And he was faithful to that call. My mother had nine children, and together they raised us faithfully in Manchester. I am their youngest child, pictured below in the front row, wearing the blue jacket.

Roger earned a living as a cab driver for 6 years, beginning in March 1955, then later as a postal worker. He worked in Manchester as a mail sorter. At the end of his career, he was in charge of the airmail section of the Manchester Post Office. He retired after 26 years with the US Postal Service.

Shortly after they married, they conceived their first son, Donald. It was not long after that when my father was diagnosed with tuberculosis. He had a spot on his right lung the size of a half dollar. He was admitted to the VA Hospital in Rutland Heights, MA in December 1947. His son Donald was born the following July in 1948. He spent two years there in the sanatorium until he was finally healed completely. When he was released from the hospital in December 1949, he had two children – Donald was now 17 months old and Janet was 3 months old.

Although my father remembered a time in his life when he didn’t expect to live past age 21, he lived to age 83 and had 9 children, 22 grandchildren, as well as 10 great grandchildren, all of whom he loved very dearly. He gave God all the credit and the thanks for seeing him through his war experiences and his subsequent battle with tuberculosis.

He remained married to Rita, his sweetheart whom he met after returning from the war. They enjoyed 62 years together living in Manchester, NH.

I salute my father for his service to this country. I am very grateful to him and the men of the 106th Infantry Division for their great sacrifices in the Battle of the Bulge that helped to upset the German’s timetable. It was that key event that made it possible for reinforcements to arrive and halt the enemy’s advance across Europe.

I am also thankful to my mother for the important role she played in supporting our country back in Manchester and for the sacrifices she made stateside during the war. I am so glad for my parents who never succumbed to a "victim" mentality. Instead with God’s help they faithfully and diligently labored to fulfill their responsibilities as parents, in spite of the trials and tests they went through.

If you have not read the first four parts of this story, please find the links to those posts on the right margin of this blog. There is also one on my last and final visit with him, called Seeing Dad Alive for the Last Time.

Roger and Rita Lacroix celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary


Excerpts taken with permission from John Kline’s journal,
Copyright © 1996- 2003 John Kline

Also read:
A Time for Trumpets, by Charles B. MacDonald.
Company Commander, by Charles B. MacDonald.
Death of a Division, by Charles Whiting
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.

Liberation

This is a tribute to my father, who was a prisoner of war in Nazi Germany from December 1944 until May 1945. I've written about his actual capture, nine-day forced march, and prison experience in previous posts on this blog. You can find the links to those posts in the right hand margin of this blog. Here's the account of his liberation as he related it to me.

May 1945
Neubrandenburg, Germany
Liberation Day
The prisoners kept wondering who was going to reach them first – the Americans or the Russians. Well, the Russians reached them first. When the Russians arrived, they shot every German guard right on the spot. Then the Russians left the prisoners there for the Americans, who were fast approaching.

When the Americans arrived, an Army Colonel walked into the infirmary where my father was. My father said the Colonel went crazy at the sight of the condition these men were kept in. He was yelling and swearing in anger over the situation. Just imagine this battle-seasoned Army officer. He had surely seen men killed and others seriously wounded. Yet when he looked inside the prison where my father spent six months, he could not believe the deplorable conditions he saw there.

My father was reduced to skin and bones, with bruises on his hips and the skin taut over his face. He only weighed 90 pounds. His hair and beard had not grown due to malnutrition. He also lost some of his hair because of the lack of proper vitamins, but it all eventually grew back.

The prisoners were so happy they made there way outside any way they could. Some men crawled; others went down the steps one at a time in the sitting position, because they couldn’t walk.

They were taken by Army ambulance to a Field Evacuation Hospital.

Field Evacuation Hospital
At the field hospital they told my father to take off his old, filthy, tattered uniform that he had worn for months. Those clothes were full of lice. Then after a shower (his first one since before being captured), he was given clean clothes to wear. After a short stay there he was flown to the 194th General Hospital in Paris, France.

194th General Hospital
Paris, France
Upon arriving at the airfield in France, my father was transferred to an Army ambulance. The driver said, “You look like you’re well enough to ride up front with me, so my father hopped in the front passenger seat. The driver said, “I’m gonna drive you right through the heart of Paris.” Then he proceeded to do just that. They saw the Eiffel tower and passed right through the Arc de Triumph (pictured above) on the way to 194th General Hospital.

At the Paris hospital he was given clean pajamas and a bathrobe to wear. Paris looked like a real modern city. He was unable to get out on pass and even if he could he was unable to walk.

He had jaundice, so he was unable to eat any food. In the hospital, they gave him all the hard candy he wanted all day long. Other patients helped him devour the candy, and the nurses just kept refilling the bowl whenever it became empty. It was wonderful to be back in good hands. He got good medical care there. The nurses at the hospital were so nice to them. As Kline puts it, “They were just great.”

May 1945
The plane my father flew home in was a Douglas C-54 (4 engine) aircraft. The ride was very choppy. He was on a stretcher in the plane as it went from France to England and then West across the Atlantic. The plane stopped at the Azores Island airport and was refueled. This trip was great, knowing they were on their way home. Their next stop was Newfoundland.

Mitchell Field, Long Island, New York. After arriving and being checked by the officials he was taken to the hospital. He stayed at the Mitchell Field Hospital for a short time before being transferred to Lovell General Hospital near Fort Devens, MA.

Lovell General Hospital near Fort Devens, MA.
My father arrived there in his pajamas. There they put him on a bed. It was a weekend and most of the other patients were gone home. The doctor asked my father if he would like to go home. My father gladly accepted the offer, so the doctor left the room to prepare him a weekend pass. The doctor didn’t know my father was a “stretcher case”. Although he didn’t even have his own uniform, his roommate let him borrow his uniform. Even though my father didn’t even have any sox or underwear, he put on his roommate’s uniform. When the doctor returned, my father was standing between the two beds, supporting his weight inconspicuously. After the doctor gave him the pass, he saluted the doctor sharply. Once the doctor left the room, my father made his way down the winding long, corridors of the single story hospital and caught a bus to Manchester, NH.

When he arrived in Manchester at the Carpenter Hotel bus station on Carpenter Street, he took a taxicab with another soldier who was headed to Amory Street. He went to his parent’s house, but they were not home. So he walked all the way to his sister, Jeanette’s, house on Kelly Street and climbed the stairs to the second floor -- all this with another man’s shoes and no sox or underwear on. But there was no one there either. Have you heard the saying, “Until you’ve walked a mile in another man’s shoes”? Well, my father literally did this with bad feet. So he walked all the way to Lafayette Street to his brother’s house. He was not even supposed to be walking, as he hadn’t done so in months and his feet had not yet healed from the surgeries he had at the prison camp.

He knocked at the door, and his sister-in-law, Maria, answered the door. Her jaw dropped and her eyes were popping out of her head with surprise. She said, “What are you doing here?” She would not even open the door. He asked if he could come in and sit down, so she let him in. He asked if he could take his shoes off, since his feet were hurting. When she saw that his feet were bleeding, she nearly passed out. She then explained that her husband – my father’s brother, Ray, had driven the whole family down to see my father at the hospital in Mass. They eventually returned home and were incredulous to find him there. He was so glad to be home, he managed to stand up and greet his parents with warm hugs.

After the weekend visit was over, his brother Ray drove him back to the hospital near Fort Devens. The doctor on duty who readmitted him was a different doctor than the one who gave him the weekend pass. This doctor was shocked when he discovered that my father went all the way home to NH for the weekend in his condition. He did not think it was funny, and was quite upset that this had happened.

The rest of the story about my father's life in the land of the free and the home of the brave can be found in my next post called Life After the War.
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.

Prisoner of War Experience

After his division was captured, my father, Roger Lacroix, was forced to march for nine days across country to Germany, where he was a prisoner of war. The full story of the battle that led up to this and the march are covered in previous posts shown in the side margin of this blog. Here is the account of his German prison camp experience.

At Stalag II-A, in Fünfeichen, Neubrandenburg, Germany, the buildings were single story wood frame and would accommodate, normally, about 500 men. They were extremely overcrowded. They were quite large and separated into two sections. Other than Americans, prisoners there included Russians, Poles, Czechs, French, English and Serbians in camp. At first they had to sleep on the floor and eventually he was given a bed to sleep on. There were no regular beds. They had wooden platforms, about one or two feet high, that they slept on -- very much like in a chicken coop. These platforms were stacked two-bunks high. All they had to spread on the bed slats were their two thin blankets. Like John Kline wrote in his journal, my father carried bruises on his hips and upper legs for months after he was liberated. They were caused by the hard boards he slept on in camp, as well as from the floors in the many buildings he slept in during the evacuation march.

This prison camp had an infirmary and a hospital. An official report* regarding medical care at Stalag II A Neubrandenburg states, "Initially, the infirmary of Stalag II A Neubrandenburg comprised two barracks, one for patients with less serious conditions, and the other for more seriously ill patients." My father was in the infirmary, which he didn't remember as being too cold. There was some sort of small metal stove. As Kline states: “We were out of the wind, and the many bodies huddled close together probably accounted for the warmth.” My father said he did not catch a cold during his captivity, and he attributes this to the many Army-issue vaccinations he received prior to his deployment. They normally got grass soup and rotten spuds to eat.


My father had to share a filthy, community bedpan with all the others in his section where he was bedridden in the infirmary. The prisoners called it a mandolin, because it had a handle on it and made a noise when it was used. So whenever they needed it, they called out “mandolin” and one of the prisoners who was well enough would bring it over. There was no nurse or orderly to assist them. The small convenience of toilet paper was nonexistent. My father used the paper currency in his wallet as toilet paper. He had just been paid before being captured, so he had plenty of currency.

However, the currency could not buy anything there. The cigarettes he received from the Red Cross were used as money to buy things from the guards. The German guards were older men. As Kline described: They wore long gray winter coats and had the little red triangular patch on the lapel that shows they had had service on the Russian front. They carried old bolt-action rifles and wore a leather belt, much like the American web pistol belt. The belt had a pouch hanging down in the back, which was used to carry their food and personal articles.

My father confirmed what Kline writes: “The other prisoners would cut your throat for something to eat, like a bunch of starved rats…Your own buddy would turn you into a guard, if it would bring food as a reward.” My father said that he would get a Red Cross box perhaps once a week. These packages were designed for a single man, but the Germans always required that he share it with another man. There would be canned meat in there, and my father would cut the can in half to share with the other man. However, this caused the meat to spoil and it was not edible. He definitely attributes his survival to these packages though. He is certain he would not have survived without them. One night he saved some food in the Red Cross box and put the box under his head like a pillow. While he slept, another prisoner cut a hole in the side of the box and stole the rations from it.

A loaf of bread was shared among 15 to 20 men, and they spent a great deal of time making marks on the bread deciding how to divide it among themselves. The Germans mixed sawdust with their dough, and it is known as "ersatz bread." Each loaf was very heavy like a brick, made from whole grain, cracked grain, and sawdust mixed together. All my father could think about was food; he was starving all the time. He also had body lice and other bugs, which caused him to scratch every minute of the day. He was fed rutabaga soup once a day, which is turnip greens, boiled in hot water.

According to the report, "When the War started, each German POW camp was envisaged to hold no more than 10 thousand POWs, with a staff of about 150 to guard them. In practice, these figures were much higher. The maximum for Stalag II A Neubrandenburg was recorded in a report for November 1941 and amounted to about 50 thousand" POWs. Imagine 50 thousand POWs being crammed into a camp that was designed to hold only 10 thousand prisoners maximum!

The report states that "The Germans tried to break the morale of those who stayed in the camp and reduced their food rations, which were limited to just bread and potatoes. Luigi Roso recalled that they were not allowed to take a bath or change their clothes. His arms were covered with wounds which bled because he scratched the lice bites."

The report states that in 1942: "There were just three POW doctors, two Frenchmen and a Pole, looking after them. An entry in the records for April 1942 says that only one French POW, Dr Dumont, was still working in the infirmary. He was overworked..."

According to my father, at the time when he was there, only one American doctor was there at the prison camp, a captain whom my father saw perhaps no more than once per month. There was no medicine, and medical care was not that great.

My father was bedded between two foreign prisoners from Yugoslavia (Serbia) and Czechoslovakia. One of those prisoners had tuberculosis, and had a tube inserted into his lung, which drained into a can on the floor beside my father’s bed. It was this man from which my father eventually contracted the disease after he returned from the war. (He later spent two years in a sanatorium after his release from the Army and was completely healed of tuberculosis). While he was in the prison camp, he had to have the tips of two toes amputated by a French doctor, due to his frostbitten feet. This was done with no anesthesia and they needed to have men sit on my father’s chest to hold him down. His feet were so frozen that the gangrene had set in, and the feet had become black as coal. The gangrene began to move up his legs toward his heart, and they planned to amputate his leg, but the lights went out due to a power outage before they could carry out the amputation.

The French doctor, which must have been Dr. Dumont (mentioned above in the report), spoke to my father only in French. He said he needed to make incisions in his leg and dig a hole in there to let the gangrene out. He said, “You will want to swear at me, but I don’t care. I’m going to save your life.” Sure enough, with men sitting on his chest, my father swore at the doctor and screamed as he dug into his leg with the scalpel. The doctor inserted crepe paper funnels into the holes he made in my father’s leg. This surgery had to be repeated one or two more times. This eventually caused all the gangrene to drain and the doctor truly saved my father’s life through these crude operations in terrible conditions with no anesthesia.

Until the day he died at age 83, my father had the scars to show for this, where several holes were made in his calf. Throughout his lifetime, he had pain in his feet as a result of the frostbite and amputations, and his balance was less than optimal, but he continued walking on those feet ever since the time he returned from the war.

Please see photos below of Stalag IIA also known as Camp Fünfeichen. 

If you would like to follow the rest of the story, it's continued in the next post called Liberation.

Photos
In the first photo at the beginning of this article, there is a local newspaper clipping from Manchester, NH, showing my father, Roger Lacroix, in the top left corner of the photo, and three of his brothers (my uncles) who were also serving our country in the military, fighting in the war overseas.

In the second photo above, you can see a postcard that my father wrote to his parents on January 27, 1945, one month after being captured. He was careful not to say anything negative about the conditions, or else his postcard probably would not have been allowed by the Germans to be mailed to his parents. His parents did not receive the postcard until after he had already been liberated and returned to the States.













 
The photo directly above is a memorial located at the site of Stalag IIA in Neubrandenburg, Germany.













The photo above shows a group of Polish, Serbian, and Soviet POWs in front of the hospital of Stalag IIA Neubrandenburg (1944). Since the caption in the report calls it a "hospital", it was apparently not the infirmary where my father was imprisoned and bedridden. However, since it looks like the infirmary that my father described, it may actually be the infirmary. Archives of Centralne Muzeum Jeńców Wojennych, Łambinowice. Photographic collection, Ref. No. I-7-26














The photo above shows a group of Polish POWs working in the Stalag II A Neubrandenburg hospital. In the background of the photo are seen two buildings. The one on the righthand side of the photo seems to fit the description of the infirmary of Stalag IIA Neubrandenburg (1944), where my father was imprisoned. However, I am not certain if this was the infirmary or the hospital. Dr Wojciech Leski POW No. 9199, standing first right (1941). Archives of Centralne Muzeum Jeńców Wojennych, Łambinowice. Photographic collection, Ref. No. I-7-27. 


Attribution notice: *The official report cited in this article is "Medical care for prisoners-of-war in Camp Fünfeichen Stalag II A Neubrandenburg) during the Second World War," from Proceedings 2021 - Behind the Barbed Wire 2021, by Joanna Lusek.
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.

Death March

My father, Roger Lacroix, was captured on 19 December 1944, during the Battle of the Bulge. It was the greatest battle of World War II. His entire division was destroyed by the German SS troops. Immediately following his capture, he and his division marched 110 miles to a prison camp in Limburg, Germany called Stalag XII-A.

Another veteran named John Kline, who was in the 423rd Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division, kept a personal journal of his experiences leading up to, during, and after that great Battle. We are very thankful for Kline’s excellent record of events, which are very accurate. A great credit goes to him for this, and much of his work is re-posted in this blog. Here is the account of the nine day forced march.























12/20/44

Left Bleialf at 6:30 AM, they were on the road until 2300 that night. “They had no water or food except for the snow from the ground. There was much evidence, in the area, that a large-scale battle had taken place.”

Kline records: “I remember as we were leaving Bleialf walking through a small village. It could have been outskirts of Bleialf, or some small village nearby. There were German troops in American jeeps. They were opening ration boxes and meat cans. They were eating our Christmas dinner. My guess is that this had been our battalion supply depot. There had been had been a real shoot out, with hand to hand fighting. There were dead Americans and Germans lying in doors, ditches and hanging out of windows. The infighting must have been fierce, for some of the bodies were on top of each other.”

Dad remembered women handing them food through the windows as they walked through the small village. The road they were on eventually took them through the town of Prüm (pronounced “Prom”), Germany. They ended up that evening sleeping in an open field near Gerolstein, Germany.

12/21/44
At Gerolstein they were awakened at 0600, and given their first food since breakfast on Dec 18th. They fed them hard crackers and cheese. Seven men to one can of cheese. They left Gerolstein during the evening.

12/21/44
”Arrived in Dockweiler Dries 2300. Billeted in an old German barracks. During the three and one-half days there, they were fed one ration of very weak potato stew. They received two bread rations of one loaf split between five men, one ration of cheese and one small can between four men. They were each given two old German Army blankets. They were old and worn, but did give some warmth. They would prove to be lifesavers as time went on.”

12/22/44
During the night the road along side the barracks was strafed and bombed by a British Spitfire. The English usually flew night missions; the Americans flew during the day. The weather was clearing and cold.

12/25/44
Christmas Day Dockweiler Dries: On the march by 0630, marched all day and night, no water, or food, except snow. Kline remembers there was “No Christmas, except in our hearts.” And to that my father agreed!

12/26/44
They stopped at a cluster of farm homes about eight miles north of Mayen. They were billeted in one of the barns. No food.

Kline points our that “In Germany you always see several farm homes and barns clustered together, as if they were built that way for protection. Many of them have a common courtyard arranged around a square, with each family living in buildings on opposite sides of the square.”

12/27/44
Koblenz: They arrived there in the afternoon. They were fed soup and bread served from a portable kitchen. Koblenz is a big city. It took a lot of punishment from bombings. They were walking in groups of about 500. Dad remembered seeing a uniformed German photographer taking pictures of his group, as they walked by.

They were billeted in one of three large brick barracks just on the south edge of Koblenz. They were three stories in height. The barracks were said to be part of a former officer-training center. They slept on the cement floor using the blankets. It was at least out of the weather. There was a bucket at the entrance to be used as a latrine.

12/28/44
At 1430 (2:30 PM) bombers began to bomb the rail yards near them. The guards herded them into the basement. Dad remembered that he and other prisoners jumped into a trench outside when this bombing occurred. Many of the bombs fell around the barracks. Fortunately, there were no direct hits. They counted fifteen bomb craters around the buildings. It was very cloudy and overcast. It had to be American planes bombing by radar, for the practice was that Americans bombed during the day and English by night.

12/29/44
Again at 1430 the antiaircraft guns started firing. They were bombed again. This time the guards would not allow them to go down into the basement. He was in a room on the second or third floor. Again bombs fell around them. They were hitting very close by. After the raid they all went outside, to see what happened. There were bomb craters all around the area. The bombers had been aiming at the nearby railroad yards, but hit in their area.

The high-ranking noncommissioned American officers (noncoms) asked for a meeting with the German guards. These noncoms insisted that they could not keep them in a place of danger. They told the Germans, if they did not voluntarily take them out of town, the Americans would walk out on our own, as a group. The guards were as frightened as the Americans were. They agreed, but told them that they would have to walk all night, over 25 miles, without stopping. The noncoms agreed to that and they prepared to leave Koblenz on a forced overnight march.

12/29/44
1700 - Darkness had set in when they left Koblenz. They crossed the Rhine over a wooden bridge, which Dad remembered, that had replaced the one that had been bombed. They turned right after they crossed the Rhine River bridge. Then they followed a road to the left, up into the hills. They walked until 1030 the next morning. One of the toughest trips for these weary men so far, 40 kilometers with very little stopping. When they did stop we were not allowed to get off the road. The guards were afraid they would try to escape. It had turned very cold and the two German Army blankets did little to ward off the cold. But, as thin as they were, the blankets kept them from freezing. There was no water, so they ate snow. Some of the men were developing diarrhea.

They had traveled at night most of the time since leaving the front lines. The roads were narrow and rough. Kline recounts: “There were many German troops and vehicles, including tanks, moving in the opposite direction, towards the front. In the blackout conditions it was difficult to see how large the towns and villages were. You could be walking along on a valley road and the silhouette of the hills with a building on the skyline, would give you the impression you were in a large town. The German troops, in particular the tank troopers, would not give way for our columns. It was a matter of just stumbling along, following the man in front of you.” Dad remembered this well.

12/30/44
Arrived Stalag XII-A, Limburg, Germany 1030 in the morning. This was a large prisoner transit camp. Large circus style tents and what seemed to be adequate food. They still had not been registered as Prisoners of War. My father received his number, which he believes was POW#10011.

A typical boxcar
They left Stalag XII-A, Limburg at 1600, 30 December 1944. They were loaded into old 40&8 style boxcars with sixty men to each boxcar. Their boxcars are much smaller than those in the U.S.A. The larger U.S.A version of these boxcars were designed to hold forty men or eight horses, so you can imagine how cramped these POWs were with sixty men packed into a boxcar smaller than a 40&8.

There was a very small amount of straw on the floor. There were two small vents, high on each side near the end of the cars. The vents were covered with boards and barbwire. “There was one metal can to be used as a sanitary facility. It was about the size of a five-gallon lard can. They had no canteens or jars with which to carry water.” Many men had dysentery at the time and the hardship of being confined to the freight cars was aggravated by the filth and stench resulting from men who had to urinate and defecate inside the cars.

During their short stay at Stalag XII-A, they had been given a large portion of bread, but no water. The sanitary conditions in the boxcars, using the lard can as a toilet, were terrible. Many of the men had developed diarrhea. They could not all lie down, to rest or sleep, at the same time. Someone was always left standing. They slept in short shifts and when they did get settled down, they would all decide to try to lie more closely on top of one another to allow others to lie down. Often someone would have to run for the lard can. Usually there was someone over it. It caused a lot of problems, since a man with diarrhea has little "holding power." The stench was terrible.

They were not allowed out of the boxcars. That was until at one point, during the day when they were being attacked by one of the British planes. First the tracks in front of the train was bombed, causing the train to stop.

Amazingly, Kline was in the boxcar immediately behind my father’s. Here is Klines account: “The train stopped and the guards headed for the fields. The prisoners in the car just ahead of mine managed to break out of the car and get to the fields. They formed the letters 'POW' in the snow. This kept us from being strafed. Those of us in my boxcar were not able to get out. We were told that the pilot dipped the plane's wings and waved when he recognized us as prisoners. I had no opportunity to see it, for I was not next to the small window. Most of us huddled on the floor, in fear of our lives, when we heard the plane.” This testimony of the incident by Kline is confirmed by my father’s own account. Since I was a child, I remember him telling me about this incident where the man laying in front of him in the boxcar was cut in half by the planes strafing. He and his fellow soldiers in that boxcar immediately panicked, and banged on the door to be released. Once the Germans let them out, they formed the “PW” in the snow, identifying themselves to the pilot as prisoners of war.

After that, due to the heavy Allied air strikes, they traveled at night. The travel was erratic. They would go for a long time, stop and sit, then they would go again. This was due to bridges and other sections of the railway being bombed out, forcing the train to find alternate routes.

From Leipzig, the rail system leads southeast to Dresden a major railroad center. Their destination turned out to be Mühlberg, about thirty-two miles north northwest of Dresden.

01/07/45
My father arrived at Stalag IV-B, Mühlberg, Germany. Stalag IV-B was just a few miles south of Muhlberg on the Elbe. The Commandant welcomed incoming prisoners and told them, "For you, the war is over" and told them about the warning wire and what would happen to them if they stepped across it. Stalag IV-B was a transit army camp. They lived a horrible existence there. The camp contained 240 or more acres and was surrounded by a page and barbed wire fence on 10-foot posts, 4-6 feet apart. The 240 or so acres were subdivided and cross fenced sometimes with a double fence into 8-10 compounds or more.

The buildings were wooden frame, single story structures, 40-50 feet wide and 150 feet long, with lined interior walls and ceiling with inlaid red brick floors, running water and electrical power. Down the one side and half way up the other were a double set of tandem triple bunks, which would cover an area approximately 12' x 7' and accommodate twelve prisoners. At the one end was some washing facilities, running water and a large vat for brewing up tea, coffee or cocoa and at the other end near the entrance to the hut a single toilet: used for emergencies only. The balance of the floor area, approximately 25%, was used for the dining eating area and cook stove. The cook stove was made of brick with a sheet metal steel plate top, more of a grill than anything. The Germans supplied the prisoners with a ration of coal and wood for heat and cooking.

Security on the camp consisted of watchtowers around the perimeter manned by armed guards and in between patrolled by guards on foot. Sixteen feet inside the perimeter fencing was the warning wire and if you crossed it you were shot. Here the prisoners were fed 1/6th loaf of bread, a pint of Grass Soup with five boiled potatoes. They were fed once a day.

At this camp, they were finally registered as Prisoners of War. They were also each given a German POW postcard to write home, which my father used to write to his mother on January 27, 1945. She received it (as pictured below) after he had already returned home the following summer. He wrote: "Dear Mom and Dad, Here I am this morning to say that I am fine and in good health also. Hoping you are the same. I am a prisoner of war in Germany. See Red Cross about writing back. Time to say goodbye. God bless you. Love, Roger."

Mr. Kline explained to me that this was the point where his party got separated from my father’s out of Stalag IV-B. He said that when they classified the Americans as prisoners of war, “They split out the non-coms "Sergeants" from the Pvt's, Pfc's and Corporals and sent them to different Stalags or Work Camps (all in accordance with the Geneva Convention). That is why I ended up with the Non-Com group shipped to Stalag VIII-A, Gorlitz, Germany.”

During the march to Neubrandenburg, Germany, many had to sleep outside on the ground in the freezing weather. There was two feet of snow and 19 degree temperatures. Sometimes my father would find a rotten potato on the ground and eat it. He carried an old hunk of cheese in his shirt that he would pull out occasionally and take a bite.

My father clearly remembered one occasion when he slept in a very cold, bombed out school building. It was just as cold in that school as it was outside and he slept on the floor. There were two cans by the door for sanitary purposes. But to get there you had to climb over other men sleeping on the floor in the dark, and it was difficult to do so without stepping on someone’s feet. Since everyone had frozen feet, it really hurt when they were stepped on and they wanted to kill you when you did so.

On another occasion, his party bedded down for the night in a train depot. It was overcrowded and there was no room left on the floor to lie down. The only place my father could find to lie down was between the small rail tracks used by the coal cars.

At another time they were moved to some barns in town. Once when they slept in a barn, the farm lady, cooking potatoes for her cattle, brought out a whole tub of freshly boiled, steaming hot potatoes for the prisoners to eat. This was so refreshing to the hungry and exhausted prisoners. They devoured every potato in that tub!

There were political prisoners there as well. They wore old, dirty and tattered striped prisoner’s uniforms and caps. They looked like they were the walking dead. They were nothing but skin and bone -- pitiful, emaciated creatures in striped pajama-like uniforms, their faces hollow, eyes haunted, and movements halting. My father said that all prisoners wore uniforms. However, by the time he got there, they were out of uniforms, so for six months he wore the same Army uniform he had worn since arriving in Germany in December.

My father recalls that he was marched out to a bombed out street and told to clean up the debris. He was so weak that he collapsed. He still had diarrhea, as everyone else did. It was making them all so weak they could hardly walk. At this the point my father was moved from there to an infirmary at Stalag II-A in Neubrandenburg, Germany.

If you would like to follow the rest of this story, it is continued in my next post titled Prisoner of War Experience.
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.

Battle of the Bulge

My father, Roger Lacroix (pictured left), was a part of the 106th Infantry Division "Golden Lions", based in Camp Atterbury, Indiana. This blog is written in honor of my father for his bravery and loyalty to our great country, the United States of America, and to our family.

He was a veteran of the Battle of the Bulge. Another veteran named John Kline, who was in the 423rd Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division, kept a personal journal of his experiences leading up to, during, and after that great Battle. We are very thankful for Kline’s excellent record of events, which are very accurate. A great credit goes to him for this.

After discussing it with my father, he confirmed to me personally that he was there at the same time and experienced many of the exact same events Kline did. However, my father’s party seems to have been taken in a different direction than Kline’s sometime in January 1945, ultimately ending up at Stalag II-A. My father was a rifleman with the 106th Infantry Division, 422nd Regiment, E Company, who joined the Army at age 18 and was deployed right after his 19th birthday. Many of the excerpts in the following account are quotes used with permission from Kline’s journal, which he has published on the Internet.

Kline gives these interesting facts about the 106th Infantry Division, when they caught the brunt of the German offensive on 16 Dec. 1944:
-- Had been on the Continent only 15 days.
-- Had been placed in a "quiet" sector for orientation.
-- Had the youngest troops (average age - 22) of any American Division.
-- Had been in their front line positions only 5 days.
-- Had no prior warning the Germans were preparing to attack.
-- Occupied a front line that covered at least four times the normal distance.

10/09/44
Two days after my father’s 19th birthday, he left Camp Atterbury, by train, early Monday morning.

10/10/44
Arrived Camp Myles Standish, near Boston, Mass. Staging area for overseas move.

10/16/44
Left Camp Myles Standish. Arrived New York after dark, boarded Queen Elizabeth.

10/17/44
They left New York in the early morning. They did not see Statue of Liberty. The trip was peaceful. He ate greasy English sausage and potatoes. The "Queen" was chased by two submarines, and he saw those subs during the trip. The "Queen" had a record of outrunning fifty subs on one mission.

10/22/44
They arrived at Glasgow, Scotland, Firth of Clyde. This was the only time in crossing the Atlantic, that they were placed on alert. They were instructed to stand on the outside deck with their life belts on. They were told this was standard practice going into a harbor, where the subs could be lying in wait.

10/24/44
They left Glasgow by train late evening. Rode all night. Ate breakfast on the train.

10/25/44
They arrived at Cheltenham, England (photo at the top of this blog was taken while he was in England). The surrounding country side was very hilly. It was a beautiful area. They were billeted in metal "Quonset" huts, a building that looks like a very large steel culvert pipe sawed in half, horizontally lying on its side. The Quonset huts were scattered throughout the area near the grandstands.

Though the training was tough, they did get a few evening passes into town. Cheltenham was a unique and picturesque town.

When they did have a pass they could walk into the town. Of course, it was always filled with soldiers. There were a few places to eat, and food was not plentiful. The town was in black out mode, so all windows were covered, and there was a pre-entrance to the taverns where an outer door was closed before an inner door could be opened. This was to prevent light from escaping and being seen by enemy bombers at night. The town was always "loaded" with soldiers.

11/06/44
Charlie McArthy and Edgar Bergen were being featured on the radio on the ABC Armed Services Network, which Roger listened to. Bing Crosby was on the radio singing Dreaming of a White Christmas. This was so ironic, considering what Christmas would be like for Roger and his division in just a little more than a month's time.

11/09/44
They were into heavy physical training, part of which meant running through the town. The Armed Forces network was playing the song "Amor" and Glen Miller songs, a popular, big band at that time.

11/19/44
Dad did not like the food there. He found it bland.

11/25/44
The homes and business buildings were all built of stone. All the streets except the main street were without sidewalks. The houses extended right out to the edge of the street. The homes were very pretty. The countryside was beautiful. The English beer was bitter and he didn’t like the taste of it. There were a lot of Quonset huts where Dad stayed.

Troops were issued the new, longer style field jackets with tighter cuffs and a drawstring around the middle.

11/28/44
After a heavy training schedule, they went by train to the port of South Hampton for shipment to France.

11/29/44
Arrived in South Hampton. Boarded the Duke of Wellington, a small English craft. It held only a small number of troops. It was showing its age and had seen a lot of action. There were ominous signs all about, like "Don't Prime Grenades" and "Keep Weapons Unloaded." The English Channel was very rough -- it is always choppy. The Duke, pounding the waves with its bow, pitched and rolled like a roller coaster. Troops were happy to reach the temporary harbor at Le Havre. It is standard practice on entering a harbor area to stand to, on the outside deck, with life jackets on.

11/30/44
Le Havre, France. The original docking facilities had been destroyed during the invasion. It was now made up of many old ships, cabled together to make the temporary harbor. They debarked and formed up on the docks. It was still daylight.

Le Havre was leveled to the ground during the invasion. There was little standing. There were a few German pillboxes that had been camouflaged to represent commercial buildings. There was a very heavy downpour of rain, as troops marched nine miles to board trucks late that night.

12/01/44
Arrived at Field J-40 (a staging area) near Rouen, France. Troops joined other company members who brought along squad jeeps. Dad and his fellow troops slept in pup tents. The weather was wet and miserable. They could hardly keep the tent stakes in. As a consolation the food was good. The terrain was flat and open, with a few small woods. Troops had little to do. One afternoon, his captain went into town to buy some straw for the ammunition tent. He had brought with him a man with a French last name, who said he could speak French. When the captain discovered the man could not speak French, he came back and found my Dad. Upon discovering he could speak fluent French, he took Dad with him to interpret for him and they bought the straw.

They bivouacked in their two man pup tents for the six days they were at J-40. It rained, at least once a day. They were never able to get completely dry and comfortable.

12/07/44
Left J-40 combat-loaded in the early morning. It was getting colder. It was an arduous truck journey across France and Belgium, through bitter cold and clinging damp. As they traveled along the French road towards Belgium, they came across miles and miles of German vehicles that had been strafed and burned. They were lying in the ditches, either completely burned or stripped.

12/09/44
As they entered St Vith, Belgium, older, established troops gave them the normal "new kid on the block" salutations. They yelled at them, "You'll be sorry" and other similar phrases, some not so nice. Some said, “There’s nothing happening here.” They set up bivouac in woods on the edge of town. As Kline remembers: “The large pines, looking like huge Christmas trees made the woods quiet, warm and very beautiful. The silence and peaceful surroundings of the pines and snow, was pleasant. Especially after the week near Rouen, France, where they had rain beating on the pup tents and the hustle and noise of the motor march on the way to St. Vith.”

12/11/44
They left the woods near St Vith for front line positions. Their destination was a defense line in the Ardennes forest atop the Schnee Eifel (Snow Mountain). The positions were 12 miles east of St. Vith and were in Germany. A name they would learn to remember, Schönberg, was 9 miles east of St Vith and 3 miles west of their positions. They were facing the German troops from emplacements on the East slopes [reverse slopes] of the German Siegfried Line, known as "The German West Wall."

They took over positions held by the 2nd Infantry Division and exchanged much of their new equipment for the old equipment of the 2nd Division. The exchange was to be made as quickly and quietly as possible. The 2nd Division was being transferred to Aachen to participate in an attack on the Roer Dam area. Conditions were quiet. Excellent chow was served twice a day.

According to John Kline, “Historians and military strategists, argue that the Schnee Eifel positions should never have been occupied. They say that it was impossible to launch an offensive from there. They argued that the positions presented no defense against an assault from the east. This the Germans proved, on Dec 16, as they cut off our positions by attacking around the north and south ends of the Schnee Eifel. A static defense line was not the answer for a thinly spread force. Any penetration through our lines would result in disaster.”

Kline goes on to write, “The Ardennes forest is, for the most part, heavily wooded. It is interlaced with many small logging trails, fire fighting lanes and streams. We slept in rough, but warm dugouts and enjoyed solid gun bunkers. Built by the 2nd Division, they were built of logs, with a log and earth roof.” Since Dad was a rifleman, he was entrenched in a log-covered foxhole.

They completed the changeover with the 2nd Infantry Division as darkness came. They had no time to become acquainted with the territory around their new positions. Because of that, and since they were new and inexperienced troops, their first night was unforgettable. They were facing, for the first time, an enemy that they only knew from newsreels and training films. It was a sleepless and anxiety-filled night.

John Kline writes, “Every sound was amplified. Every bush could be an enemy crawling towards you. Your eyes grow bleary from staring into the darkness. You are happy when the relief crew shows up. The next day, you take a good long look at the stump that moved during the night. You take note of all unusual objects, and then things start to settle down.”

Their field of fire was good, but very limited. The 2nd Division had cut down a lot of trees and cleaned out the brush. However, the forest still offered the enemy excellent cover. The 422nd Regiment was on the Eifel. Dad’s regiment and the 423rd Regiment to the South sent alternate patrols across the several hundred yards of unoccupied space between them each half hour. Dad was on many of these 12-man patrols. They reported very little German activity. The first days passed without incident.

They left the foxhole area twice daily to eat their meals in a mess tent. It was behind them, on the opposite side of the hill. To get to it they had to walk along a trail, through a clearing, and down the other side. The Germans had the clearing zeroed in. As they crossed the clearing, they had to be prepared to hit the ground in case the Germans decided to harass them with machine gun fire. It was said that two men had been killed crossing the clearing a few days ago. The daily trips to the mess tent were something to look forward to. The food was good and the Mess Sergeant seemed to be friendlier since they had moved up to the front lines. Dad did enjoy those meals, there were generous portions and they could chat with the others and get brought up to date on the local news. After getting their food at the mess tent, they would carry it back to the foxhole area to eat it.

12/16/44--12/17/44
History reflects that The Battle of the Bulge" started at 0530 on the morning of December 16, 1944. John Kline states, “Because we were high atop the Schnee Eifel and out of the mainstream of the German Offensive, we were probably the last to know that it had been launched. I cannot remember any evidence or any sounds that would have indicated to us the size of the battle that was to take place. A battle, that was to become known as one of the largest battles in the history of World War II. The 40 days that battle raged were the coldest and snowiest weather remembered in the Ardennes Forest area. More than one million men, 600,000 Americans and 500,000 Germans and 55,000 Englishmen fought in this battle. 32 American, 3 British and 29 German Divisions were in the battle before it ended. The Germans suffered 100,000 killed, wounded or captured. There were over 81,000 American casualties, including 23,554 captured and 19,000 killed. The British suffered 1,400 casualties and 200 killed. Each side lost 800 tanks and the Germans lost 1,000 aircraft. The Malmedy Massacre where nearly 90 American Soldiers were slaughtered was the worst atrocity, against the Americans, during the European Campaign.” Dad clearly remembers hearing about the Malmedy Massacre.

Dad’s division, the 106th Infantry Division, suffered over 416 killed in action, 1,246 wounded and 7,001 men missing, in action in the first days of the Battle of the Bulge. Most of these casualties occurred within the first three days of battle when two of the three regiments were forced to surrender. In all, there were 641 "Killed in Action" from his division through to the end of the fighting. In losses "The Battle of the Bulge," was the worst battle for the Americans in World War II.

On the 16th, Kline recalls: “Part of the German 18th Volksgrenadier Division and the Fifth Panzer Army's Fuhrer Begleit Brigade [Tank Brigade] broke through the 14th Cavalry Group, who were on the left flank of our division (north of us on the north edge of the Schnee Eifel).”

Here is Kline’s account of the German units involved in the battle:

”The 18th Volksgrenadier Division was formed in Denmark around the cadre of a Luftwaffe field division, with fill-ins from the Navy. It was at full strength [17,000 men] and had two months experience, in defensive positions in the Eifel area. [The 106th Division was not at full strength. They probably were at less than 12,000 men. They had 5 days experience on the front line].

The Fuhrer Begleit Brigade, under control of General der Panzergruppen Hasso von Manteuffel, was built around a cadre of troops from Hitler's headquarters guard. It included a tank battalion from the Gross Deutschland Panzer Division (still on the Eastern Front). It was strongly reinforced with assault guns [large caliber guns mounted on tracks]. They were equipped with 88mm and 105mm pieces from the 460th Heavy Artillery Battalion.”

”It should also be noted that even though there were many young German troops and some fillers from other branches of service, the German unit commanders were veterans. The 106th Division commanders were, with a couple of exceptions, facing the enemy for the first time. The complete surprise of the attack, the overwhelming numbers of German troops and the static position of our two regiments atop the Schnee Eifel eventually led to our defeat and capture.”

German activity was not reported along the 422nd Regiment’s front until the 17th, the day after the Battle of the Bulge began. They were completely encircled by the enemy and cut off from the rest of the division early in the morning of the 17th. They were trapped.

Dad saw a U.S. Army Air Corps P-47 Thunderbolt chase a German Messerschmitt (ME 109) through the sky. Kline recounts this in his journal: “The P-47 was about two hundred yards behind the ME-109 and was pouring machine gun fire into the German plane. They left our sight as they passed over the edge of the forest. We were told later, that the P-47 downed the German ME-109 in the valley.”

During the night of the 17th they heard gunfire, small arms, mortars and artillery. They also could hear and see German rocket fire to the South. The German rocket launcher was five barreled and of large caliber. Due to their design, the rockets make a screaming sound as they fly through the air. Dad remembers the screaming sound they made.

12/18/44
On the morning of the 18th, the Germans had broken through the supply lines of the 106th Division. The artillery and rockets that they had heard to the south, were sounds of the battle that was taking place at Bleialf, a small village on the road between Prüm and Schönberg. Kline recalls: “The 423rd Anti-Tank Company who had that defensive area had been thrown out of Bleialf on the 16th. They used all available troops in the area and pushed the Germans back out of Bleialf, only to be overrun again on the morning of the 17th. They were overpowered by the tremendous numbers of German troops heading northwest up the Bleialf-Schönberg road. The Germans had closed the pincers behind us, at Schönberg.”

They then prepared to leave their positions taking only the bare necessities and as much ammunition as possible. Their personal gear was in their duffel bags, stacked near the mess tent. They left them there, thinking that they would retrieve them later. Just as Kline recorded this is the way Dad remembered it.

Kline goes on to explain that Colonel Cavender sent him two packets of the Colonel’s personal papers in November of 1989, explaining his reasons for his strategy during the first three days of the Bulge, and also explaining the reason he surrendered his regiment on 19 December 1944. The Prüm Corridor was left open for a purpose. The reason was that the Army and Corps Commanders were overconfident that the war was about to end.

“Both German units, those from the North down the Andler-Schönberg road and the ones on the South on the Prüm-Schönberg road had converged on Schönberg. They had closed the pincers. By that action the 422nd & 423rd Regiments of the 106th Infantry Division were trapped in the Ardennes forest southeast of Schönberg.”

12/18/44
As they approached the logging trail, near Radscheid, their column was shelled by German 88's.
Dad cannot remember what happened during the night of December 18. It would have been logical to set up defensive positions and sleep in shifts, which they probably did. However, Dad cannot recall the events of that night. M Company men whom Kline has met in recent years, 1988 and 1989, tell him that they spent most of the night trying to get their jeeps out of the mud. And this confirms what Dad remembers. He confirms Kline’s account that “the number of vehicles on the road and an unusually warm spell caused the fields to be very muddy. The weather turned much colder and stayed that way until after the end of January.”

12/19/44
Battle positions: In early morning of the 19th at about 0900 they were suddenly hit by very heavy artillery fire. It seemed that all hell had broken loose. The shells were exploding all around them, on the ground and in the trees. Men were screaming for medics. There was a terrible amount of confusion at that time.

Kline states: “The first hostile artillery barrage, at 0900, was unbelievable in its magnitude. It seemed that every square yard of ground was being covered. The initial barrage slackened after forty-five minutes or an hour. Men were on the slopes below, screaming for medics. Shortly after that the shelling started again. The woods were being raked throughout the day by a constant barrage of small arms and artillery fire. We were pinned down in the edge of the woods and could not move.”

“Most of our officers ended up being held at Oflag XIII-C (13C). After the aborted attempt by Patton to liberate the camp, the Germans put all the officers on the road, marching in the direction of Bavaria.”

“The Germans had many antiaircraft guns (88s and 128s) with them during their Ardennes Offensive. They were for protection in case the weather turned better. They knew for sure that the Allied air support would eventually come. The German antiaircraft gun is capable of being used to support ground troops. This is done by elevating the guns downward, and firing timed bursts or tree bursts into the trees that explode on contact. There is very little protection as the fragments rain down from above.”

“They also had 20mm antiaircraft guns, mounted on quad mounts and half-tracks. They were fired into the treetops, and sometimes at point blank range, causing severe damage to our troops. The tree bursts, exploding high in the trees, were hard to hide from. They caused many casualties. There is no doubt that they were used to our disadvantage.”

The weather was overcast and foggy and did not turn to the better until December 21st or 22nd. The sky cleared and it got much colder, as they were then walking, as prisoners, back into Germany.

On the Schönberg Hill, rifle companies like Dad’s, mortar and machine gun squads were being pinned down in the woods. In the confusion, caused by the demoralizing artillery fire, they were being separated from each other. The 422nd and 423rd Regiments lost track of each other. The day was going bad. There were no targets in view, at least from Dad’s point of view. The Germans were waiting for their artillery to neutralize the Americans, before they moved. With the ravaging artillery fire, and no chance of counter artillery, the Americans were literally sitting ducks. There was some action on the edges of the perimeter by two German tanks that were mopping up troops that were pinned down in the fields and road below. They were also scouting around the area, in the edge of the woods near Schönberg. One of them threw out a smoke grenade. Dad was only able to identify one German infantry troop, prior to being captured. Most of the action occurred early in the fight, between the rifle companies below and the Germans across the road.

K & L Companies, in trying to push into Schönberg, were caught in the ditches and fields. It was their men that could be heard screaming for help. They were being ripped to pieces by the tremendous artillery barrages. At the same time German troops coming up the road from Bleialf were hitting from the rear.

The order to surrender
The German tanks rolled through the battalions on the right while the German infantry poured in from the woods. At 1430 the 422nd regimental commander decided to surrender the part of his regiment that was disorganized and entrapped. After negotiations to determine that the Germans would feed the Americans and provide care for the wounded, the surrender was completed about 1600. An American officer, accompanied by a German officer told the 422nd Regiment they were surrounded. He told them that they were cut off from the other battalion, the 423rd, and that their Regimental Commander, was ordering them to surrender.

Kline states: “As the history of this battle shows, we were surrounded on all sides by German troops. They were heavily armed, with many mortars, antiaircraft guns, assault guns and artillery pieces. They were being reinforced by more and more troops from the Southeast and there would have been no possibility of reversing the battle situation.”

Dad and his fellow soldiers disabled their weapons by breaking them on tree trunks, as they were told to do, or by taking them apart and throwing the parts in different directions. After that the Germans led them to a clearing in the forest and directed them to throw down their equipment, such as ammo belts, packs, hand-grenades and trench-knifes.

Kline remembers that they were led in a small column down to the Schönberg-Bleialf road. There were Germans on one side of the road and Americans on the other. They had been facing each other, in a fierce firefight, from ditch to ditch. There were many dead, both Americans and Germans. The wounded were still crying for help. As they approached the Schönberg road, it seemed that hundreds of Germans rose up out of the field.

Kline recalls: “There was a German truck burning in the middle of the road. Behind the truck was an American infantryman lying in the middle of the road. He was dressed like an officer, but with no insignia, as would be normal in combat. His was wearing his winter uniform, a heavy winter coat, ammo belt and canteen. He was lying on his back, as if he were resting. The body had no head or neck. It was as if somebody had sliced it off with a surgical instrument, leaving no sign of blood. All my life I have had flash backs of that scene and I still find it hard to believe. I always wonder how it happened. He was the only soldier, either American or German that I saw laying on the road. There were many wounded and dead in the ditches and fields as we were led out of the woods.”

Kline states: “The Germans then walked the Americans in columns to Bleialf where they herded them into a church courtyard.

It had turned dark and the temperature was dropping. Most of them were without overcoats. They had only their field jackets and their winter issue of "Olive Drab" uniforms with long johns”. Dad recalls that he wore pants, his long johns and his field jacket. He still had a necktie on, since he had not even had a chance to change into his battle uniform since the time he arrived in theater. Upon his capture, he was forced by the Germans to give up either his ankle-high shoes or his overshoes (boots that fit over the shoes). He chose to give up the overshoes, thinking they would be too heavy to walk in.

The churchyard at Bleialf where many of the 106th
spent their first in captivity












 
While many had to sleep on the ground outside, he slept inside the church. Like Kline, my father remembers how nervous he was. Every little sound was amplified. He wondered what was going to happen to us when daybreak came.

A 2012 photo that I took of the Bleialf churchyard

Inside the Bleialf church, where my father spent the first night
The Bleialf church, with church yard just inside this gateway





































In 2012 I had the pleasure of visiting the battlefields of the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium. I went to the church in Bleialf, where my father spent his first night in captivity.  You can see some of my photos here.  There is one of the inside of the church where my father tried to sleep.  If my father were still alive, he would have been very interested to hear that I went there.  Nobody else in my family has ever seen this place.

I was blessed to meet a wonderful family in Belgium, who took me, my wife and children out to see the battlefield and the church.  It was a day I will never forget.

If you would like to follow this story further, it's continued in the next post called Death March.
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Len Lacroix is the founder of Doulos Missions International.  He was based in Eastern Europe for four years, making disciples, as well as helping leaders to be more effective at making disciples who multiply, developing leaders who multiply, with the ultimate goal of planting churches that multiply. His ministry is now based in the United States with the same goal of helping fulfill the Great Commission. www.dmiworld.org.