It’s Memorial Day. An appropriate day to read Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.’s powerful first letter home after surviving as a German POW during World War II.
Dear people:
I’m told that you were probably never informed that I was
anything other than “missing in action.” Chances are that you also failed to
receive any of the letters I wrote from Germany. That leaves me a lot of
explaining to do — in precis:
I’ve been a prisoner of war since December 19th, 1944, when
our division was cut to ribbons by Hitler’s last desperate thrust through
Luxemburg and Belgium. Seven Fanatical Panzer Divisions hit us and cut us off
from the rest of Hodges’ First Army. The other American Divisions on our flanks
managed to pull out: We were obliged to stay and fight. Bayonets aren’t much
good against tanks: Our ammunition, food and medical supplies gave out and our
casualties out-numbered those who could still fight – so we gave up. The 106th
got a Presidential Citation and some British Decoration from Montgomery for it,
I’m told, but I’ll be damned if it was worth it. I was one of the few who
weren’t wounded. For that much thank God.
Well, the supermen marched us, without food, water or sleep
to Limberg, a distance of about sixty miles, I think, where we were loaded and
locked up, sixty men to each small, unventilated, unheated box car. There were
no sanitary accommodations — the floors were covered with fresh cow dung. There
wasn’t room for all of us to lie down. Half slept while the other half stood.
We spent several days, including Christmas, on that Limberg siding. On
Christmas eve the Royal Air Force bombed and strafed our unmarked train. They
killed about one-hundred-and-fifty of us. We got a little water Christmas Day
and moved slowly across Germany to a large P.O.W. Camp in Muhlburg, South of
Berlin. We were released from the box cars on New Year’s Day. The Germans
herded us through scalding delousing showers. Many men died from shock in the
showers after ten days of starvation, thirst and exposure. But I didn’t.
Under the Geneva Convention, Officers and Non-commissioned
Officers are not obliged to work when taken prisoner. I am, as you know, a
Private. One-hundred-and-fifty such minor beings were shipped to a Dresden work
camp on January 10th. I was their leader by virtue of the little German I
spoke. It was our misfortune to have sadistic and fanatical guards. We were
refused medical attention and clothing: We were given long hours at extremely
hard labor. Our food ration was two-hundred-and-fifty grams of black bread and
one pint of unseasoned potato soup each day. After desperately trying to
improve our situation for two months and having been met with bland smiles I
told the guards just what I was going to do to them when the Russians came.
They beat me up a little. I was fired as group leader. Beatings were very small
time: — one boy starved to death and the SS Troops shot two for stealing food.
On about February 14th the Americans came over, followed by
the R.A.F. their combined labors killed 250,000 people in twenty-four hours and
destroyed all of Dresden — possibly the world’s most beautiful city. But not
me.
After that we were put to work carrying corpses from
Air-Raid shelters; women, children, old men; dead from concussion, fire or
suffocation. Civilians cursed us and threw rocks as we carried bodies to huge
funeral pyres in the city.
When General Patton took Leipzig we were evacuated on foot
to (‘the Saxony-Czechoslovakian border’?). There we remained until the war
ended. Our guards deserted us. On that happy day the Russians were intent on
mopping up isolated outlaw resistance in our sector. Their planes (P-39’s)
strafed and bombed us, killing fourteen, but not me.
Eight of us stole a team and wagon. We traveled and looted
our way through Sudetenland and Saxony for eight days, living like kings. The
Russians are crazy about Americans. The Russians picked us up in Dresden. We
rode from there to the American lines at Halle in Lend-Lease Ford trucks. We’ve
since been flown to Le Havre.
I’m writing from a Red Cross Club in the Le Havre P.O.W.
Repatriation Camp. I’m being wonderfully well feed and entertained. The
state-bound ships are jammed, naturally, so I’ll have to be patient. I hope to
be home in a month. Once home I’ll be given twenty-one days recuperation at
Atterbury, about $600 back pay and — get this — sixty (60) days furlough.
I’ve too damned much to say, the rest will have to wait, I
can’t receive mail here so don’t write.
May 29, 1945
Love,
Kurt – Jr.
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