Bob McCarty Writes

On the occasion of Memorial Day and in honor of all those who paid the ultimate price in service to their country, I decided to publish a series of war stories that hold a special value in my heart, because they were written by my father, Ted, who served as a low-ranking enlisted man in the U.S. Army during World War II. The stories appear in his 1992 autobiography, Some Events in One Life: Mine! Please know he captured these stories as a means to provide his children and theirs context for his participation in one of history’s most harrowing events, World War II, not for any commercial gain. This is part eight of twelve.

Since I had become closely associated with the captain, some of my fellow soldiers seemed to think I had influence with him and could get things done if they asked me. They were wrong. I found out that day it was going to be a difficult job just to keep the captain in sight.

This was routinely confirmed as time passed. I started looking for him but, after a short time, I decided to explore the basement of a nearby house. Curiosity can get you killed, but I lucked out that time. The concrete steps formed the outside entrance and led down to a door which was wide open. I had taken just a few steps down those stairs when two Germans stepped out in front of me. However, they had their hands locked together above their heads. Were they surrendering to me? Absolutely not, two men from my company were already there and had forced them to surrender. Now, they were following their captives with rifles at hip level and pointed at the men. We had been taught how to say “Come out with your hands above your head” in German.

The two Americans were a party to the search for snipers that had to be carried out. They had gone into the basement to get them, a task much more dangerous than waiting for them to come out. While still outside, the soldiers could have ordered the Germans to come outside. If they wouldn’t come, then the operating procedure was to throw a grenade through the open doorway and stand clear.

The two Germans were dressed in their winter uniforms of drab brown. They wore heavy overcoats and “soft” felt caps with visors as opposed to our steel helmets. They didn’t look particularly frightened but just taking things as they come. The two prisoners paid no attention to me as they walked past ahead of their captors.

At the time, as I crept down the steps of the basement, I thought I was ready for any surprise but I know now I should not have gone into it by myself. We had been warned to always have a buddy to cover us, but I had no partner. I was a messenger, a Lone Ranger without a Tonto.

One of their captors grinned as he passed me, “You’re a little late, McCarty.”

I found nothing in the way of souvenirs down there. The cupboard was as bare as a baby’s rear. We couldn’t carry extra items with us anyway.

Including these two, our company had taken five prisoners so far that day, and one of the platoon lieutenant commanders asked me to take them off of his hands.

He saw me and said, “McCarty, take these prisoners back to the rear and turn them over to the military police.”

“I am sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. Captain Czajkowski told me that I am always to stay beside him as much as possible unless he gave me other instructions,” I replied.

He looked at me as if to say, “But I‘m a Lieutenant, you’re an enlisted man and I gave you a direct order.” However, he said nothing more, possibly because he did not want to argue the subject with the captain. A rifleman from one of our company’s platoons was designated to escort them to the MP command post in the rear echelon.

After the war, when I started college at Ames, Iowa, I met another man from my company.

Following some small talk, he asked, “Say, do you remember the POWs you were asked by the lieutenant to take to the MPs the first day we pushed off? Well, the lieutenant picked another one of our men to escort them. He killed all five of them on the way back to the MPs post. Whether they tried to escape and the guard was forced to shoot them or if he just shot them for personal reasons, I don’t know. However, there was a considerable stink about it and an official inquiry was ordered. I don’t know what was ever determined, if anything.”

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My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part One

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Two

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Three

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Four

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Five

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Six

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Seven

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Nine

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Ten

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Eleven

My Father’s War Stories From World War II — Part Twelve