The Box Car Ride ... continued

We quickly learned two German words: Vasser and Luft, water and air. Whenever we stopped and the guards, who rode in a separate car, were outside our door, we shouted out to them, "Guard, Vasser! Guard, Luft!" They ignored us or told us to shut up. We banged on the door. The guards either screamed something that sounded threatening or let us bang. Among ourselves we argued whether air or water was more important. Tempers grew short. Cigarettes were running low. Early in the morning one POW thought he heard a plane overhead. He was mistaken. The quibbling and bickering over water, air, and a place to sit continued into dawn and the next day.

All of the first day we sat. The sun was warm on the top of the boxcar, and we sweated. We tried to get more air in the car: no answer. During the day we heard distant planes, but none came over or near us. Outside, there was activity, guards walking up and down, conversation among them. No action. Shortly after dark, with frightful suddenness, planes swooped down over us and strafed the area. We later learned that the train engines were blistered with machine-gun fire and disabled. We sat all night and waited. Before dawn we started again. Most of us were groggy or half-asleep but conscious that at last we were getting clear of the switchyards. We traveled without a stop into the next day.

By ten o'clock on the second day it was warm in the car. Whenever we stopped, the guards appeared outside the door, but the door did not open. By noon it was sweltering in the car; we began stripping off clothes. The day passed without water, food, or air. There was no chance to stretch our legs or walk around. What cigarettes were left were smoked down to butt ends and passed around among six or seven men. One man had a tweezer and held the butt a little longer, passing it to a friend or two. We stopped numerous times but got no response from the guards. One POW spoke German and was persuaded to tell the guards about the Geneva Convention regulations regarding POWs-whatever these regulations might be.

The third night the tension in the boxcar was rising-or, more exactly, the irritation increased. We were hungry and thirsty. The air stank: the only method of relieving ourselves was to use a five-gallon milk can left for that purpose. The cap on the can didn't entirely prevent odors from escaping. When the train was moving it was difficult to use the can. It was at best a tremendous effort to climb over many men to reach it. One man didn't make it to the can.

On the morning of the third day the door was opened and some loaves of bread and a few hunks of cheese and butter were thrown in. The door was immediately shut. We tried to get the guards to reopen the door, to no avail. We now had nearly a full milk can. None of the bread was cut, which made distribution an almost insurmountable task. We had a few knives, so, arguing and quarreling as to the size and number of slices per portion, we cut the bread into pieces. A few men went without bread. Some got cheese, some butter. Some none. Each time for the remainder of the trip when the door was opened and food tossed in, there was endless bickering and quarreling.

On the fourth evening we got water: some did; some didn't. By now it was clearly a case of every POW for himself, quite literally for himself, if he wished to survive. A few of us worked together. Stubbs and I stationed one of us near the door to assure us of at least one portion.

Next day we spotted, outside the car, an American officer, a POW. After much arguing he got the guards to open the door. We were not allowed out; we spent our energies keeping men from crowding around the opening, blocking the entrance of air. In a short time the door was shut, but the officer, who was surprised at our condition, got the guards to remove the boards on the windows. Strong barbed wire covered the openings, but we had more air and light. The officer returned to his car, the guards to theirs, and the train went on.

By the fourth day the unshaven, hungry men ran entirely out of the buddy system. It was "to hell with my buddy." The milk can was removed; helmets were now used, the contents thrown out the window. The eighteen-inch square window would allow, once the barbed wire was kicked out, a not-too-large man to squeeze through, drop the ground, and make a run for it. There was big talk about it. Two paratroopers slipped out.

On the afternoon of the fourth day the train came to a screeching halt. We could hear and see the guards running away from the train. Someone shouted, "Planes!" Inside the boxcar there was sudden panic. One man was screaming and kicking against the door. Several men hollered out to the guards, "Guards! Open! Guards! Let us out!" Other men shouted back at them, "Shut up! They ain't lettin' us out. So shut up." A man yelled, "Why not? They can't shut us up in here." "If they let you out, you'll escape; that's why. So shut up."

The German-speaking POW was trying to get the guards to answer him: "Posten! Posten!" A couple of men begged the guards to let them out. There was no response.

We heard the planes at some distance; they were far off. We waited. They never came near. The guards returned to the train. We shouted at them again for more air. The train continued on its way.

During the fifth night a few men stretched out on the floor and stayed put until shoved over and made to sit up so all could at least sit down. By now our muscles were stiff, our hipbones bruised from the hard floor, and we itched from the straw. We sat with our heads resting on our chests until our neck and back ached. We then stood up, exchanging places with others. It seemed colder the fifth night.

Some attempt was made to cooperate and take turns lying down or lying together for warmth against the cold. Most of these suggestions were futile. Time and again the train stopped for interminable waits, would suddenly jump forward and stop after fifty yards. Again we'd wait.

... to be continued