Letter 195- May 11, 1945

May 11, 1945 (V-E+3)
(Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,
I know I’ve been neglecting you “sumpin” fierce for the last few days and if you’re mad I don’t blame you in the least. I did write you a letter on V-E Day but the paper was so thick that I couldn’t get the damn thing into any envelope I could find.

Well, the great day has come and gone. On V-E night I believe 99.44% of everybody in the E.T.O. was plastered—even the kraut civilians. I guess everyone is happy that the thing is finished. To quote a popular G.I. phrase—“all is Kaput fur Deutschland.”

Considering the fact that we were fighting so bitterly such a short time ago, it’s awfully hard to believe that the war here is really over. To tell you the truth there’s been a “helluva” lot of times when I’ve seriously doubted that I’d be alive to see this day. After having gone through that there’s certainly no doubt in my mind about there being a God. Shrapnel and machine gun bullets can just miss a person so many times and still remain in the realm of coincidence.

Right now I’m in a small town “Somewhere in Germany” and it seems there’s a good chance of my staying here even as long as a year. I hope so. It’s about time combat troops got a break.

Last night they announced the point system and there’s a good chance of me getting my discharge sometime in the fall of nineteen-eleventy five; that’s if I’m lucky. I’m not complaining though as long as they keep me on this side of the world. I hope, I hope, I hope.

We’re quickly adjusting ourselves to garrison life. Military courtesy, clean uniforms, clean shaves, this and that. You know Harvard School stuff. Not that it isn’t a very good thing, but after living like a bum for months it’s a bit confusing to say the least—but I love it. I don’t care how tough they get with us. The toughest training schedule in the world would be a picnic as compared to our lines.

I’m due to get new clothes in a few days—clean new trousers and shirt, shiny shoes, overseas cap, Eisenhower jacket, the works—Boy! Will I slay ‘em. That’s what it takes to impress these dumb Jerries. The fact that we chewed up one German army after another doesn’t mean a thing. We’re not good soldiers if we don’t wear a snazzy uniform. What jerks! When I get the outlay I’ll have a snapshot taken and send it to you.

That about does it. I know you feel as happy as I do right now and let’s hope all the Japs slit their throats to save their faces so we’ll be together again in the near future.

Best Love, Bill

About Letter 194

The war news is coming at a furious rate now. Bill hears of the German surrenders in Italy and the fall of Berlin. In a sure sign that combat is over Company A and Company B play a baseball game. Bill complains that "the kids here are pestering me something fierce, "every two minutes they come and hand me a couple of Jerry bullets that the Krauts left behind in their haste."

Letter 194- May 3, 1945

May 3, 1945
(Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I’m standing guard this morning which entails doing practically nothing so I figured that it would be a good time to get a letter off to you.

We seem to be having a bad cold spell here with frost and even an occasional flurry of snow. It’s pretty cheesy weather for May at any rate. Of course it’s pretty nice when we go on a hike but otherwise I don’t like it. When I think of last winter, however, it seems pretty tame.

The setup here is pretty nice—good houses, meals, shower baths and generally peaceful atmosphere.

Last night after I sent my letter we heard of the surrender of the Italian forces, or rather the German armies in Italy and the fall of Berlin. It must be all over but the shouting.

The kids here are pestering me something fierce. Every two minutes they come and hand me a couple of Jerry bullets that the Krauts left behind in their haste.

Yesterday A Company had a baseball game with B Co. We lost. It was a lot of fun though. I was lousy. I never could bat but now I couldn’t do “nuttin’”. I haven’t had a ball in my hand for such a long time.

I can’t think of anything else to write. Isn’t it awful? If they keep me in this blooming army much longer I won’t know my own name. There’s two Taylors in the squad now and I’m getting so I answer to the name Powell too. It’s on the back of my helmet liner and everyone who doesn’t know me just takes it for granted that I’m Powell.

Well, I think I’ll try to get something on the radio.

Bestus Love,
Bill

About Letter 193

Bill receives the news over Radio Hamburg that Hitler is dead. "Achtung! Achtung! Unser Furher, Adolf Hitler ist gefallen." His terse comment is "Strange and simple. Twelve years of tyranny gone in a few words."

Letter 193- May 2, 1945

May 2, 1945
(Germany)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Heil Hitler the dog is dead!!! I remember that as being the punchline to a joke and it seems appropriate now. Last night I heard the first announcement of his death over Radio Hamburg. I pride myself that I was able to translate it from the German. “Achtung! Achtung! Unser Furher, Adolf Hetter ist gefallen”. Strange and simple. Twelve years of tyranny gone in a few words. Tonight we understand the old S.O.B. died of a brain hemorrhage. No heroes’ death. Tonight the entire Wehrmacht appears to be dying. All German troops on the Italian Front have just surrendered unconditionally. Three German Field Marshalls, including Von Rundstedt himself, have been captured within the last 48 hours. When you get this letter it will be ancient history but now it’s all too much to take in. The war here must end in a few days at most and then I’ll be “sweating out the C.B.I. (China Burma India). So much has happened recently that it’s just too much.

Well, I haven’t received any mail from you for several days now but I guess we’re using so many trucks for hauling Kraut prisoners to the rear there aren’t any left to carry mail. That’s okay with me. It’s not bad, however, since I’m now in training again—just like the States. Really life is pretty pleasant these days. It’s nice to be a human being once again.

I really don’t know what else to write. I am well. I’ll write a good letter tomorrow.

Best Love,
Bill

About Letter 192

In this expansive letter Bill expresses his scorn for those people back in the states who say "go get 'em boys! Show 'em what you're made of". "If they only knew how desperately scared we are at times like that they'd keep their big mouths shut." Bill says "that's why the average doughboy had such a great affection for Ernie Pyle. He knew how miserable war is and wasn't afraid to admit he was scared."

Letter 192- April 28, 1945

April 28, 1945
Somewhere in Deutschland

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I just received 4 letters from you and my only complaint is that the damn things don’t come in the right order. First I get one letter dated the 17th. or 18th. of the month then in a few days I get letters dated the 6, 13, 15, und so weiter—how do you like the Jerry lingo? If I stay over here much longer you won’t be able to tell me from the rest of the lousy Krauts—I hope not. It gives me a laugh to hear all the places the news commentators put this outfit. We’d have to have wings to be all those places. That doesn’t burn me up though it’s just these people back in the states who say, “go get ‘em, boys! Show ‘em what you’re made of.” If they only knew how desperately scared we are at times like that they’d keep their big mouths shut. They ought to come here and try it out. I think that’s why the average doughboy had such great affection for Ernie Pyle. He knew how miserable war is and wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared—flag waving heroics from the sideline is just plain bad taste.

I’m sorry that my combat badge won’t be in with the rest of those souvenirs. Here’s the story. I lent the badge to a buddy of mine to wear to Paris. While he was there he was approached by another palooka from my platoon who told him that I said he could borrow it. Well, that’s alright but the palooka then proceeds to get sick and go to the hospital. That doesn’t bring my badge back, however. I figure I can get my C.O. to write a note as you once suggested, but I’m still sore.

I’m getting all set for garrison life, training schedule, pressed uniform, newly painted helmet, etc. I sure hope it lasts a long time. There was a report tonight that Hitler offered to surrender unconditionally to the Western allies but not Russia. With “fat stuff” resigning “á la bad heart” the Jerries must be pretty well finished. That they continue to resist at all is stupid. It’s a far cry from the summer of 1942 isn’t it?

You don’t have to worry about me falling for one of these Kraut heifers. I see an American girl around here every now and then and they make these fraus and freuleins look pretty damn sick even if our girls are dressed in khaki. It is strange to see these Red Cross girls though dressed in OD’s, combat boots, field jackets and steel helmets.

Some people have all the luck. Dude Robinson in my humble opinion hasn’t got enough brains to come in out of the rain yet he gets this swell deal out of the A.S.T.P. What do I get—glory—phooey—two phooeys. Of course, I’m grateful that I’m alive a kicking. Considering everything that’s remarkable, but still…..

I was sorry to hear about Freddie Brennen—first mission too. There’s always something pitiful about being cut off so damn short.

No! I wasn’t part of the gang that took that outfit of Jerries who were running that “horror camp.” I believe that if my outfit had caught those birds there wouldn’t be anyone left to try.

You don’t have to worry about me endangering myself by getting souvenirs the hard way. I’m just a scavenger at heart—that’s all. Someday I’ll tell you about Aunt Marge.

I saved this for last. I got packages yesterday. The orange loaf was so strong that it was just about ready to start taking vitamin pills. Everything else was O.K. though and Jesse’s candy all right.

That does it.

Bestus Love,
Bill