December 19, 2019

1944. "The Battle of Nijmegen Bridge" by Bill Downs

The Battle of Nijmegen
"Cromwell tanks of 2nd Welsh Guards crossing the bridge at Nijmegen, 21 September 1944" (source)
This report by Bill Downs from September 24, 1944 was published in the BBC's The Listener magazine on September 28, 1944. As an eyewitness, Downs described the Nijmegen bridge assault as "a single, isolated battle that ranks in magnificence and courage with Guam, Tarawa, Omaha Beach."

From The Listener, September 28, 1944:
The Battle of Nijmegen Bridge


The story of the battle of Nijmegen bridge should be told to the blowing of bugles and the beating of drums for the men whose bravery made the capture of this crossing over the Waal River possible. You know about the Nijmegen bridge. It's been called the gateway into northern Germany. It stretches half-a-mile over the wide tidal river and its flood land. And without the bridge intact the Allied airborne and ground operation northward through Holland could only be fifty per cent successful.

The Nijmegen bridge was built so it could be blown, and blown quickly. Its huge arching span is constructed in one piece. Only two strong charges of explosives would drop the whole thing into the river. Special cavities for these dynamite charges were built into the brick by the engineers that designed it. The bridge was the biggest single objective of the airborne invasion and its capture intact is a credit to all the American and British fighting men.

American airborne patrols reached the area at the southern end of the bridge on Sunday night, September 17th, shortly after they landed, but at that time they were not in enough strength to do anything about it. On Monday the paratroops and glider forces were too busy beating off the German counter-attacks to co-ordinate an assault on the bridge. By this time the armour of the British Second Army was on its way northwards from the Escaut Canal. Then on Tuesday the British tanks arrived on the outskirts of Nijmegen and an attack was commenced, but still the Germans held on strongly in the fortification and houses on the south end of the bridge. American airborne infantry and British tanks were only 300 yards from the bridge in the streets of Nijmegen, but they couldn't get to it.

Tuesday night was the strangest. The American troops took machine guns to the top of the houses and sprayed the approaches and the entrance to the bridges with bullets. All night they shot at anything that moved. Perhaps it was this constant fire that kept the Germans from blowing the bridge then. But still the shuddering blast that would signal the end of the bridge did not come. And when morning arrived a new plan was devised. It was dangerous and daring and risky. The commanders who laid it out knew this; and the men who were to carry it out knew it too. Thinking a frontal assault on the bridge from the south was impossible, American infantry were to fight their way westwards down the west bank of the Waal River and cross in broad daylight to fight their way back up the river bank, and attack the bridge from the north.

On Wednesday morning the infantry made their way westward through the town and got to the industrial outskirts along the river bank near the mouth of a big canal. Some British tanks went with them to give them protection in the street fighting and to act as artillery when the crossings were to be made. Accompanying this task force were trucks carrying twenty-six assault boats brought along by the British armoured units in case of such an emergency. Most of the men who were there to make the crossing had never handled an assault boat before. There was a lot of argument as to who would handle the paddles and preference was given to the men who had at least rowed a boat. Everything was going well. The Germans were supposed to be completely surprised by the audacity of the move.

But late in the morning the impossible happened. Two men showed themselves on a river bank and were fired at by the enemy. No Americans were supposed to be in that part of the town. The 88 mm. shells began plastering the area. The gaff was blown. Reconnaissance spotted batches of German troops being transferred to the opposite bank. A few hours later, machine guns were dug into the marshes on the far side—the plan had been discovered. The task force was under shell-fire, and several hundred Germans with machine guns were sitting on the opposite bank waiting for the crossing. This was about noon.

There was a quick conference. It was decided that the original plan would proceed, but this time the men crossing the river would have the help of heavy bombers: Lancasters and Stirlings flying in daylight a few miles from the German border to drop their bombs on the opposite bank in tactical support of the men from the assault boats.

Working under enemy shell-fire, the assault boats were assembled. When they were put into the water, another difficulty arose. The tide was moving out with a downstream current of eight miles an hour. Some of the boats drifted 300 yards down river before they were retrieved and brought back. Meanwhile machine guns spluttered on the opposite bank and German artillery kept smashing the embarkation area regularly.

At last everything was ready. The bombers went in but didn't drop their bombs close enough to knock out the machine guns. Twenty-six assault boats were in the water. They would carry ten men each: 260 men would make the first assault. Waiting for them on the other bank were some 400 to 600 Germans. The shelling continued. Every man took a deep breath and climbed in. Someone made a wisecrack about the airborne navy and someone else said they preferred airborne submarines to this job. And off across the river they started. At the same time behind them, the British tanks fired their heavy guns, and our own heavy machine guns fired into the opposite bank giving the little fleet as much cover as possible.

And over on the other side of the river the enemy tracers shrieked at the boats. The fire at first was erratic, but as the boats approached the northern bank the tracers began to spread on to the boats. Men slumped in their seats—other men could be seen shifting a body to take over the paddling. One man rose up in his seat and fell overboard. There was no thought of turning back. The paddling continued clumsily and erratically, but it continued. One of the boats had so many holes in it that the men were baling out with their tin helmets—it was almost splintered when it reached the other side.

The fighting, though, had only just begun. The hundred or so men who had arrived on the opposite side fought their way forward with bayonet and grenade, going from one machine gun nest to the other until they had established a bridgehead only a few yards deep and several hundred feet wide. The thirteen boats had hardly left for the return trip for the reinforcements, when the men on the north bank saw specks in the water. The men on the opposite bank, seeing the casualties suffered in the landing under fire, were not waiting for the boats. Some of them had stripped off their equipment, and taking a bandolier of ammunition, were swimming the river with their rifles on their backs. And thus it went—the thirteen little boats going time after time across the river under fire; the men on the bridgehead digging in and firing as rapidly as possible, routing out the German machine gun nests by hand while British tanks fired for all they were worth. After an hour and a half of concentrated hell, the infantry were over. They held a bridgehead several hundred yards wide and one hundred yards deep. At that time, one officer counted 138 Germans dead in a space of sixty yards of that bloody beachhead.

There was a welcome pause as the men consolidated and rested in their foxholes. Some had thrown the German bodies out of the Nazi machine gun nests and were using these to stiffen their defences. The plan was to turn eastwards and assault the northern end of the bridge. But on the left flank of that minute bridgehead was another menace—for there on the high ground overlooking the bridge and firing at us with some 88 mm. guns, was an ancient fort. It is called Hatz van Holland and was supposed to have been used centuries ago by Charlemagne as a fortress. The Germans had been using the fort as an anti-aircraft gun position to defend Nijmegen, and now they turned the ack-ack guns downward to bear on the bridge and the airborne bridgehead across the Waal. While these guns were firing at the back, the troops could not fight their way to the northern end of the bridge. A detail was formed to attack the Hatz van Holland and put its guns out of action.

That, as warriors centuries ago found out, was extremely difficult because the Hatz van Holland was surrounded by a moat. This moat had a few feet of water in it—black dirty water, covered with a layer of bright green slime. Also, the attacking party would have to advance under point blank 88 mm. fire. But anyhow the party set out. They crawled towards the high ground and the 88s banged away at them. And then they came to a zone where there were no 88 shells. It was found out that the other 88 guns were so installed that the guns could not reach downward that far. The German gun-crews discovered this too late and rushed to put up a rifle and machine gun defence along the moat.

But the Americans by this time had faced so much that a few machine guns were nothing. They made a stand-up attack, shouting like Indians, and, with tommy-guns blazing, knocked out the historic Hatz van Holland. A few Americans with blood in their eyes left seventy-five Germans dead in that moat. The remaining troops fought their way up the river all right. They captured the northern end of the railroad bridge and worked their way to the junction of the railroad highway from the main bridge. The entire German position on the northern side of the river was cut off. There was bitter bayonet fighting and Americans died, but more Germans died. And finally, British tanks made their way across the bridge and it was ours.

British tanks and airborne American infantry had begun their frontal assault on the southern end of the bridge at the same time as the river crossing was started. They had to make their way down streets alive with Germans. And this is how it was done. The tanks went down the streets firing at targets of opportunity, which means any German or German tank or vehicles that appeared. And the Americans went through the houses on either side of the street. Yes, literally through the houses—for instead of going along the outside of the houses and risking cross-fire from the Germans within, the American troops blew holes through the sides of the houses with bazookas. That was how they made their way through the strong defence area built to protect the bridge—blowing a hole with a bazooka into a house, clearing it of Germans and going on.

Meanwhile, the tanks had discovered that sitting on one street corner was a German Tiger tank waiting for them to make their appearance. It was out of sight and protected by the houses, but one of the Sherman tanks mounting a big 17-pounder gun decided to have a shot anyway. It aimed its armour-piercing shell in the general direction of the tank. There was a great boom: the shell plunged through twelve houses and came out with a great crash, taking a large section of the last house with it. The Tiger, seeing this destruction, decided he did not like the neighbourhood so well and retreated.

At the southern end of the bridge were stationed four self-propelled German guns guarding the streets leading to the bridge area. There was nothing to do but rush them. So the tanks lined up four abreast around the corner of the wide main street leading to the bridge and, at a signal, all roared into the street firing their mortars, their heavy guns and even machine guns. The assault was so sudden and heavy that three of the self-propelled guns were knocked out before they could bring fire to bear. The fourth gun ran to safety. Between the two—the American airborne troops and the British tankmen—the south end of the bridge was seized. At first only tanks could get across the bridge because a half-dozen fanatical Germans remained high in the girders of the bridge sniping. These were soon cleaned up. Today the Nijmegen bridge is in our hands intact—a monument to the gallantry of the Americans who crossed the river and the British and airborne troops who stormed it from the south.

December 16, 2019

1944. War Correspondents on the Battle of Arnhem

Eyewitness Accounts of Operation Market Garden
Canadians of the British Second Army during the Battle of Arnhem in September 1944 (source)
From the BBC's The Listener magazine, September 28, 1944:
The Battle for the Rhine Bridges

Despatches broadcast by eye-witnesses

THE ARNHEM BATTLE FROM THE AIR: Through binoculars you could see the ferocity of what was going on down below. Smoke curled up all along both sides of the main avenue of advance, you could see flashes of gunfire everywhere. At one time you could see our guns spitting angrily like alley cats, firing at an incredible speed. Away in the distance in front of us huge clouds of smoke seep lazily up to the sky. Today I was looking at one hour of what our airborne troops have been going through for nearly six days. You felt as though you wanted to swoop down and push our ground troops along the fire-raked corridor but, believe me, the men of the Second Army are not the sort that need any pushing.

Back at our airfield my pilot and I were discussing the battle, and I think he hit the nail on the head when he said, 'When you think of what those airborne types are going through, and are still holding on, you and I are awfully lucky citizens'. Think of those men, encouraged even with a slight increase in the signal of a wireless set, surrounded and pounded on all sides and still they go on. How right he was! These airborne lads in the Arnhem area are in a class by themselves.

Stewart Macpherson, September 22

IN THE 'POCKET' WITH THE AIRBORNE: On this sixth day in this mortar and shell riven pocket the airborne troops are hourly becoming more amazing to me. This morning enemy loud speakers again blared out in clumsy English asking them to surrender. It was a silly thing to do. It made these chaps hopping mad. You should have heard their language. Then the whole area was intensively shelled and mortared for the rest of the morning. Our commander walked around among his men as coolly as though it were their regimental sports day, enquiring and and encouraging. The guts of these airborne chaps is wonderful. . . . The hate has started again. As I write it seems that there is no point of the compass from which we cannot get mortared or shelled or machine-gunned or sniped. One part of the perimeter is held by sergeants—the glider pilots, every one of whom is a sergeant or a staff sergeant. The medical corps are on the job right round the clock. Theirs is a particular sort of courage. Some 943 prisoners have come in today, just Germans who have had enough and are stunned by the cold ferocity of men who don't know what quit means. The artillery of the Second Army has come into range and engaged enemy targets today. It was sheet music. We hope the orchestra swells. We are pretty sure it will.

Stanley Maxted, September 23

GETTING IN SUPPLIES: We knew the boys down there would be hard up for news, so before we set out we collected all the newspapers we could from the mess and dropped 'em for the chaps below. I'd like to say one thing about the glider pilots. We were towing a glider and as we set off the pilot reported he had difficulty in keeping his left wing down. Both he and his second pilot had to hang on to the stick together to keep the craft steady. We asked him if he'd like to be cast off at base. He said no . . . they'd carry on. And they did. . . . Jerry had light flak close up and heavy flak from a good way off. It was not like bombing a large town where you can weave in and out of it. Jerry knew we had to go that place . . . they had it taped. Tuesday was the first night I saw any real anxiety in the mess. The boys who got back went straight to the mess for a drink. Then they were ringing up control tower . . . asking 'Is so-and-so back?' . . . It was the first day we'd any real losses. On Wednesday I saw five kites go down in two minutes. There were others burning on the ground that we hadn't seen go down. Visibility was zero that day. . . As kites were being shot down you'd hear your bomb-aimer say 'There goes "Q Queenie"', and so on. . . .

Pilot-Officer R. W. Passingham, September 23


3 p.m. More reinforcements and supplies coming in by a few hundred more gliders over us. I am going out to a landing zone to watch them arrive, although a pretty sticky fight is going on at one of their zones.

3.30 p.m. It was a highly successful supply mission in that the gliders reached the right zone, but flak took a pretty heavy toll of the tug planes, two of which crashed within 500 yards of us. There is no sense in trying to describe that spectacle—no one would believe you. Two parachutes blossomed out early on. Out of the second glider a body hurtled as the plane screamed earthward, but the parachute apparently was shot up by flak and failed to open.

4 p.m. I decided to move up towards the fighting a mile or so away, but suddenly Jerry brought our woods under heavy artillery fire and I spend the last half-hour in a not nearly deep enough drainage ditch. Shells are still popping in here, within a few dozen yards, but we are going to try to make a run for it in a jeep and get to hell out of here.

4.30 p.m. Our driver really put the jeep through its paces down a path through the woods as shells continued to crack. We couldn't tell exactly where they were hitting.

5 p.m. Decided to go back to Eindhoven and check communications facilities.

6 p.m. We took nearly an hour to make the six miles south to Eindhoven, over the canal ferry and past a solid convoy of British armour and supply trucks. In Eindhoven the tidy city streets were stacked from kerb to buildings with cheering throngs. Flags and pictures of the Queen hung in front of every house.

7 p.m. Found Press headquarters of the Second Army. Just as we are about to turn into the headquarters a lone twin-engined German bomber, flying high, drops flares immediately overhead.

8 p.m. The last hour has been the worst of my life. We tried to get away from the centre of the city, but only managed to get a short way off the main street when the bombers came. We were alongside the city park so we pulled our jeep under the trees when the first of a stick of bombs dropped and crunched right up on us. We stuck there and the rest of the stick walked towards us, until the last burst across the street just 50 feet away. Then a few ammunition trucks began going up in terrific explosions, and there was the high whine of screeching shells.

Walter Cronkite, September 23

MESSAGE FROM ARNHEM: The area in which we are dug in can be best called a garden city, pleasant straight streets with modern houses in their gardens. Now the trees are stripped, the houses smashed, the well-paved roads fitted and littered with equipment, jeeps and improvised German transport, smashed Bren carriers and torn tramlines. Our troops hold position in some of these gardens and houses and I wandered among them during a lull at dusk last night. In the uncanny silence I could hear two paratroops joking and laughing, while a garden wall away a German soldier was asking his companion to fetch some water for cooking. This formation has got its teeth into the German defence position on the northern Rhine and, like the proverbial British bulldog, it won't let go.

Guy Byam, September 24

December 7, 2019

1943. Stories from the Eastern Front

The Stories of Ordinary Soldiers
"Soviet soldiers advance through the streets of Jelgava; summer 1944" (source)
Below are some of the stories told by Bill Downs during his time reporting from Moscow in 1943. They include accounts from Stalingrad and Kharkov. Parentheses indicate text that did not pass Soviet censors for military security or propaganda reasons.

(For more, see the complete 1943 Moscow reports. The New York Times also published a story in 1945 entitled "First-Hand Report on the German Soldier.")

Red Army and Nazi Soldiers Trade Insults
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

February 9, 1943

The war that is being fought in Russia tonight (while being the most terrible and devastating conflict in military history) is in many ways like any other war. The viewpoint of the ordinary Russian private towards the fighting around Kursk and Kharkov and Rostov tonight is much the same as any American soldier.

The soldiers with whom I spoke in Stalingrad (last Sunday had the soldier's avid interest in food, in women, in getting leave, and seeing his side win, as any buck private in the rear ranks of the United States Army. The Russian private doesn't) don't like the idea of dying any more or less than any other soldier—and consequently they don't talk too much about it. (You talk to them about their battle experiences, and like all good soldiers they don't say a word about their own exploits.) To hear them talk, the tremendous Battle of Stalingrad is merely a collection of little incidents which finally ended up in a German defeat.

For example, one of the crack non-commissioned officers in a Red Army guard's regiment (a tough youngster whose friends said he had killed at least three Nazis in a hand-to-hand encounter,) would only talk about the way German soldiers admired the Red Army's fur caps. (This soldier was fighting in a factory building in the Red October plant that formed the Russian line in this part of Stalingrad. The German trenches were in front of another building only twelve yards away. I stood atop these German positions and you could throw a stone between two lines.)

At one point in the Stalingrad line, the German and Russian soldiers used to amuse themselves by shouting insults back and forth to each other. My Russian friend said that one German soldier shouted across the lines and offered to exchange his automatic rifle for a Red Army fur cap.

I asked the Russian soldier what his answer was.

"Oh, I answered all right," he said. "I told them to bring along a tank and I would bargain with them."

Then there was the time near the end of the Stalingrad fighting when the Germans were very, very hungry. Only a month before, the Germans had been razzing the Soviet forces, saying the end of the Red Army was in sight. Now the situation was reversed and the Russian soldiers devised their own fun. To show starving German troops how well Soviet kitchens were working, they put whole loaves of bread on the ends of their bayonets and stuck them above the trenches. The German answer was to riddle those loaves of bread with Tommy gun bullets.

These are the stories which will mark themselves in the minds of ordinary soldiers.

Cartoon Hitler
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

April 10, 1943

Certain Red Army units have started their own spring offensives in a war of nerves that has had some pretty ridiculous results.

Here's what happened a few weeks ago on one sector of the front. The Red Army unit dug into this sector has been fighting the Germans for a long time. They were fairly familiar with a crack German regiment opposite them. It was a regiment of the Waffen-SS, Hitler's personal troops.

One night a group of soldiers went out on a strategic clearing that formed the no-man's-land between the two trenches and put up two poles. Between these two poles they stretched a canvas cartoon of Hitler—it was not complimentary to the Führer. Under the cartoon was written in German in large letters: "Shoot at me." Then the unit waited until morning to see what would happen.

When the sun rose, they could hear loud discussions in the German trenches. Staff officers came to the trenches and had a look at the insulting cartoon through binoculars. But the Germans refused to obey the instructions to shoot at their own leader.

Before noon they opened an offensive to capture the cartoon. A detail of German soldiers was ordered to take the canvas down. This detail almost reached the cartoon of Hitler before they were wiped out. Another detail was sent. It too failed to get the cartoon. And then in the evening, German artillery all along the sector opened up on the Führer. All the German guns were concentrated on the spot. It took a fifteen minute concentrated barrage before the cartoon was blasted out of existence—which is one way of killing a dictator.

Right now the grandstand military experts are having a field day. (You can get a military plan of attack from a score of armchair generals at the drop of a hat.)

(There are plans for a Red Army offensive—there are people who say Hitler is going to do this and that—there are others who say Hitler is going to start mass bombing again.)

And any time you want, you can find Russians who will argue that there is not going to be a second front this year and why. Other Russians will argue just as violently that there will be a second front. It's a favorite way of passing the time here.

But the feeling of the ordinary soldier is best expressed in a story from the front that I heard the other day. The Red Army men are getting a lot of American canned meat, and they like it. However, they don't call it canned meat. When they get hungry, they say: "Come on Ivan, let's open up a can of that Second Front."

Celebrating with Soviet Soldiers
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

Early January 1943

...Most Soviet factories I have seen seem to have the same high walls. On a plane, I met a Russian-speaking man from a tourist agency and asked him, "How do you tell prison from factory in this country?"

He replied in broken English, "People inside factories are willing to fight for them. Ask the Germans in Stalingrad."...

We landed at Kuybyshev in a blizzard, where I was forced to get along on my own speaking Russian. I walked into the airport waiting room and saw Russian soldiers sitting around while a chess game progressed in one corner. Someone brought me a cup of tea—I had no Russian money and don't know who paid for it. The atmosphere about this place had the same sort of isolated comradeship you find in old-time village grocery stores. All it needed was a cracker-barrel and a potbellied stove.

Finally an army captain approached me without smiling and asked, "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" I didn't know whether to say yes or no, since I am able to speak a sort of pidgin German from my college days. I looked around the room, which had sort of frozen up when it heard German, and I was the only foreigner around. I decided to chance it and replied, "Ja, aber ich bin Amerikanischer korrespondent."

The room roared in laughter and I was immediately offered a flask. I was expecting vodka, which I already knew all about. I prepared to show what healthy drinking men Americans were and took a big mouthful. As a result I about blew the top of my head off; the captain had given me a flask full of raw 190 proof alcohol that tasted as if it had recently come from an automobile radiator. Again the room roared in laughter. Soldiers came up and we shook hands.

With the aid of my Russian dictionary, I discovered that most of the men just came from Stalingrad. They said that American and British tanks fought in that battle. I asked the Russians how they liked the American tanks, a question answered amid exclamations of "khorosho, khorosho" which, according to my dictionary, means damn good. Then the Russian captain took the dictionary from me and began looking up words after repeating a sentence which I couldn't understand. The first word he pointed out translated to "we." Turning pages, the captain pointed out another word: "want." Ruffling the pages some more, he pointed out another Russian word which meant "more." I grinned and told him I understood the rest. The Russians in the room smiled very seriously and said "da, da, da, khorosho."

For sleeping arrangements I volunteered to sleep on the floor like everyone else because the blizzard made it impossible to get into the city. However, the captain insisted I go to the airport hotel, which is kept mostly by Soviet airmen. Offering me the best bed in the house, I found it a bare room with six other beds jammed in.

The captain stuck around, much to my relief, and took me to a dance with young Red Army pilots. The pilots were dancing with girls ranging from young to old to a cracked recording of Tommy Dorsey's "Marie." It is evidently the favorite of this post, because it was played over and over. I picked out the best looking gal in the house and found out she danced better than most English girls in London as well as the average girl in the United States. I paid her a lot of compliments which she didn't understand, but I didn't have the chance to get anywhere because a large, tough boy, wearing the medal of the Hero of the Soviet Union which he got at Kalinin, took her back like the Red Army takes inhabited points.

I was kept awake in my crowded hotel room, partly by snores and partly by the same feeling I had been here before. These people were trotting out their best for me, exceedingly interested in news of the outside world.

I continued on to Gorky in an extremely cold Russian troop carrier—another Douglas—which was jammed with officers going to Moscow and various types of cargo, including huge bales of wool for uniforms. This Douglas had about twenty patches on her. The plane had seen action, but the pilot wouldn't tell me where.

In Gorky I added another word to my vocabulary. I billeted with the Douglas crew, all youngsters. We got into a dictionary conversation about American planes; the first mention of them drew exclamations of "ochen khorosho." It was funny to hear airmen talk in authoritative Russian tones about Lockheed Electras, Airacobras, and Bostons, and discuss the merits and faults of tricycle landing gear. They knew more about them than I did.

I got my first glimpse of what it means when people in Russia say "everything for the Red Army." These airmen had clean, neat rooms and soft beds, and they ate in a separate room where such rarities as butter were served. They looked healthy and tough, about the same as our own airmen. Their equipment was tremendous, with good heavy clothing and fancy gloves. They wore great oversized boots lined both inside and out with fur. One rear gunner was very proud of his because they were made from the hide of a dog he used to own.

The Capture of Field Marshal Paulus
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

February 9, 1943

...(The common characteristic of these troops is the spirit of youth which runs from the highest general to the lowest private.)

Typical of the daring, devil-may-care spirit of these new Red Army forces was the almost comic capture of Field Marshal Von Paulus. Von Paulus, the only German field marshal ever to be made a prisoner of war, was taken after initial negotiations conducted by a 21-year-old Red Army first lieutenant. He is Fyodor Yelchenko, a Ukrainian kid with a grin a mile wide.

I talked with Senior Lieutenant Yelchenko in the narrow, bare room where Von Paulus had his headquarters in the basement of Stalingrad's biggest department store. Only the basement of this big five-story building was intact.

Yelchenko was leading a group of fifteen Tommy gunners (which were part of a force which surrounded) against the German Sixth Army headquarters. The lieutenant (who grinned all the time as he told the story) said that, after the initial artillery barrage on the headquarters, a delegation of German soldiers carrying a white flag approached his group.

"They said they wanted to talk with a Russian big chief who would talk with me," the lieutenant said. "I was the officer in command so I went along. Since Germans are still Germans, I took along two men. The guards led me (through the minefields protecting the building, and I went) into the basement. There, Major General Roske and Lieutenant General Schmidt stood at the table. Von Paulus was lying on a narrow iron bed in another room. They asked what were our terms, and told them they were complete surrender as outlined by our command several days earlier. Schmidt kept running back and forth to Von Paulus as we talked.

"Then they asked if I wanted to see Field Marshal Paulus and ask him any questions. We had settled all the questions, but I had a look at him anyway. He was lying on his bed looking very sad, and he needed a shave, but he wore all his decorations."

Fyodor Yelchenko, a farm boy from Ukraine, is typical of the "Soviet men of decision" who are pledged to clear Russia of fascists.
Sergeant M. Katasonov, a front-line scout in the 372nd Rifle Division, in 1944 (source)
Red Army Scouts
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

April 28, 1943

The military spring training on the Russian front seems to be just about over. Nothing of importance happened along the 1,200 mile front last night. There was the usual artillery barrages—Soviet aircraft made their regular trips to railroad junctions and supply points behind the German lines; snipers on a half-dozen sectors put a few more notches in their guns; and scouts succeeded in slipping through the Axis lines on their hell-raising missions in the enemy rear.

During this spring lull we've heard a lot about the achievements of these Russian scouts. They are the modern Russian counterparts of "Buffalo Bill" Cody and Kit Carson and others who formed the vanguard in America's winning of the west. Except the work of a modern scout in the Soviet Union is a lot more complicated.

For example, take the Red Army scout Yakov Chekarkov, a 30-year-old bachelor who used to be a storekeeper at a tractor station in one of Russia's big collective farms.

Chekarkov knows his stuff. His job is to creep as close to the German lines as possible and find out just what the Nazis are up to. There are thousands of these men who creep out every day and night to gather information. Sometimes they go deep behind the German lines, and sometimes groups of them do commando raids.

Chekarkov has introduced his own methods. For example, he watched the Germans lay a minefield on the approaches to a forest. At night he took his own mines and mined the passages which the Germans left through the field. You can imagine what happened when the Germans attacked. This scout also has become an expert on German uniforms. He spotted tank reinforcements in one sector because he noticed the pink tabs on the collars of some of the men who were designated tank troops.

This winter he sat for days in the frozen carcass of a dead horse just in front of the German lines. Another time he found a hollow stump almost inside the German fortifications. He established his position by burrowing under the snow and cutting his way inside the stump from the bottom.

It takes a lot of courage to be a scout in Russia, and Yakov Chekarkov is a brave man. However, he has one great fear: catching cold. He was scared to death by a cold last fall. He was behind the German lines when he sneezed. He had to run for his life. Now he never does any scouting without a heavy wool shawl wrapped around him like an old woman.

Ukrainian Resistance Terrorizes Nazis
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

June 17, 1943

Today we have the story of a Ukrainian Robin Hood who is now giving the occupation authorities more trouble than any guerrilla leader that has yet appeared in Russia.

He is called "Bogdan the Elusive"—and he heads one of the biggest partisan armies in Russia. His record of train wreckings, executions of German burgomeisters, and picking off of isolated Romanian and German garrisons is still being added up. But his reputation is known throughout the Ukraine—more by the Germans than by the Russians.

German punitive expeditions have tried time and again to capture him. But when Bogdan is reported in one town, the police troops will arrive only to find the German mayor of the town hanging from the nearest beach tree, and a note saying "I'll be back" signed "Bogdan."

Early this year his partisan band even made an attack on the outskirts of Kiev in western Ukraine. It was just a sortie, and nothing came of it except a lot of Germans were killed. But his spies infiltrated into the city and brought back reports of how the Germans were running gambling halls and vice establishments all over Russia's most beautiful city—and it made Bogdan mad. So he decided to conduct the sortie. Life in Kiev was a lot more sober for several weeks afterward.

(German occupation authorities who hear that "Bogdan the Elusive" is operating in their district have sent emissaries out looking for him to offer safe passage through their provinces—if only he won't make trouble in their district.)

Once, the Germans thought they had Bogdan. They carefully threw a cordon around his camp. When they finally closed in on the camp they found warm campfires, empty tin cans—and a goat. Around the neck of the goat was a note saying "A hurried good-bye—but I'll be back." Since that time several other goats have been found wandering the Ukrainian steppe-land—all with notes from Bogdan around their necks. Now the goat has become a sign of bad luck among the Germans—they hate the very sight of the animal.

Schoolchildren Ask About a Second Front
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

February 20, 1943

One of the biggest surprises I've had here in Russia was my experience yesterday with a history class of 14-year-old boys at a Moscow public school.

I was having a look around the school and wandered into the classroom (in time to hear a lecture on Iran. It was the sort of class discussion that you could get in any school in America.)

The teacher asked me if I wanted to ask the boys any questions. Well, I knew that sooner or later these kids would want to know when America was going to start a second front. Russian people always do. (If I've been asked that question once over here, I've been asked it a million times.)

So I decided I would beat them to the draw. I asked the class just how and where they thought a second front should be started.

Those kids (put up their hands to express their own pet theories) had as many theories (—well you might have thought it) as the combined general staff (meeting) in Washington. The reaction was terrific.

One black-haired youngster (who seemed to be a spokesman for the majority opinion) walked to the map on the wall and outlined a campaign through Italy. (It involved taking Sicily and Sardinia followed by a combined assault on Italy itself from these islands and from the northern coast of Africa.)

However, there was opposition to this plan. A tow-headed kid named Tolya took over the discussion. His argument that there was nothing particularly wrong with the Italian invasion plan except the supply question. He advocated the classic move through France. (The second front supply question would be alleviated through England and direct supply communications with America.)

(There was considerable agreement to this reasoning).

And then up stepped the boy who obviously was a grade-A student. He wore thick glasses and his ears that morning seemed to have escaped his mother's inspection. But he was a leading figure in that history class. You could tell by the way the other boys shut up when he talked. His named was Felix.

Felix was all for an advance through the Balkans. He explained that (the position of Turkey had been stabilized and said that) the Balkans were definitely Hitler's back door. There would be, according to Felix, much help from the Balkan population. And after this landing, the invading troops could join up with the Red Army and clean up Europe from the East.

After that, I thought the discussion was ended and that I was going to escape without getting asked any questions. However it came anyway. "When is the second front going to start?"

I told the history class I didn't know—but I promised I would pass along their second front strategy to the United States. So there you are—the report on military tactics from the seventh grade history class of Public School Number 175 in Moscow.

Alyosha and His Pig
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

April 1, 1943 (censored report)

It seems that at one of the liberated villages west of Rzhev there was a little boy named Alyosha...

Alyosha was raising a pet pig named Khrushka when the Germans came to the village. He loved his friend Khrushka and was very much afraid when the Germans started collecting all of the other pigs and cows and chickens in the village to send back to Germany.

When the Germans came to his house to get Khrushka, the boy hid the pig behind the big peasant's stove (that was heating the small house. He told the Germans that Khrushka had run away.)

The Germans finally went away. When Alyosha went to get Khrushka, he found that the pig was dead. You see, peasant stoves are very hot during the Russian winter and Khrushka had suffocated.

Alyosha was very sad and wanted to give his friend Khrushka a fitting burial. (However, he was afraid that the Germans might kill him if they found him with the body of Khrushka after he had lied to them.) So Alyosha got another boy in his village and dug a grave by the side of the road. At night, they carried Khrushka to the grave and carefully buried the pig.

However, both of the boys knew that Germans are very careful about freshly turned earth—they are always looking for hidden parachutes or arms or valuables when they see that something has been buried.

So Alyosha made a rough cross and got a German helmet. On the cross he carefully copied the first German name he could remember. It was Schmidt—or Schwartz—something like that. Alyosha put the cross at the head of his pet pig's grave and placed the German helmet on top of the cross. It looked just like a score of other German roadside graves that dotted the area.

Then the German headquarters moved to the village. The German general stopped to examine the grave and gasped when he read the name. It was the same name as the general's son, who was missing on the front.

The general immediately called his officers and demanded that his son be buried with more honor. He ordered the body be disinterred.

This story ends with the sweating officers digging out the grave, with the German general standing bravely aside, waiting to view the last remains of his son. No one stayed long enough to see what happened when the general discovered that his "son" was the prize pig Khrushka.

Nazi Booby Traps
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

April 2, 1943

Right now, the big events in Russia are occurring behind, and not at, the front.

The Red Army the other day turned up something new in booby traps. They entered one recaptured village and found that every house had been mined. Sappers cleared all of the houses but one. (The local inhabitants told the Russian soldiers that, before they left, the Germans spent a lot of time in this particular house.)

(The area was cleared and) a Red Army lieutenant (started looking for the mine. He) sounded the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling of the house. Still he could not locate the hidden explosives.

He was just about to give up when he heard cats meowing in the stove. He opened up the door and one cat jumped out. The second cat just started to leave the stove when the lieutenant pushed it back inside.

On investigation, he found that the second cat had a string attached to one of its rear paws. The other end of the string was attached to the fuse in 25 pounds of high explosive.

It was another of those cute Nazi ideas that didn't work.
A German soldier rides a motorcycle in the snow on the Eastern Front, wearing a gas mask to protect from the extreme cold. February 18, 1942 (source)
Scorched Earth Retreat
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

March 28, 1943

The Red Army railroad battalion has achieved something of an engineering miracle. In a little over two weeks they have succeeded in opening the vital Moscow-to-Velikiye Luki trunk railroad. The first military train moved over this railroad yesterday.

The repair of this stretch of 280 miles of railroad was one of the most difficult assignments any engineering corps has ever had. The railroad has been the center of a battlefield since the early days of the German invasion. It has been bombed by both German and Russian planes. Soviet partisans have blown it sky high at a hundred places during the period when the Germans held the line.

And when the Germans were chased from the area, they did one of their most complete jobs of earth scorching along the Velikiye Luki-Moscow railroad. Every bridge was blown up. Switches and sidings were destroyed. In some places the Germans even burned the forest around some vital bridges so that the Russian engineers would have no material with which to reconstruct them.

But even before Velikiye Luki was taken, the Red Army railroad corps went to work. They found that, in addition to widening the gauge of the railroad tracks, they would have to virtually reset every rail.

You see, the Germans not only destroyed all switches, they also sent men along the lines with heavy sledgehammers who every fifty feet or so just knocked a piece of rail out. I have seen this type of destruction in every place where the German Army passed.

Consequently, the railroad corps had to saw and chisel these broken rail ends so that they could be joined together. At first, the repair gangs could only repair fifty of these rails a day. Before the job was finished, they were repairing 250 a day. Each gang—and there were four big corps working on the railroad—succeeded in relaying something like four to six miles of railroad a day. When a job was particularly difficult, the civilians in the neighborhood were called in to give a hand.

You probably couldn't run an American streamliner at a speed of a hundred miles an hour over the reconstructed Velikiye Luki-Moscow railroad line today. But you can job along at twenty to thirty miles an hour with heavy freight and munitions and arms. And that's what's happening today as the Soviet command reinforces its Velikiye Luki garrison—the garrison which is closer to the borders of the Soviet Union than any other group pushed to the east by the Nazi invaders.

The Czechoslovak Last Stand
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

April 8, 1943

The first independently led and organized units of the Czechoslovak army to fight the Germans in this war went into action the other day somewhere on the Russian front.

The men of this army, refugees from their homeland, lived up to every standard of courage and honor that has made Czechoslovakia one of the proudest of Europe's small nations. The story is worth reporting.

The Czech army in Russia is led by Colonel Ludvik Svoboda, a 48-year-old veteran who fought against the Germans in Russia during the last war. (He has been fretting for action since the Germans marched into his country. Meanwhile, as his refugee army was trained, they spent part of their time helping Russian peasant harvest their crops. When the Czech soldiers left the district for the front, the Russian villagers gave them a banner all their own.)

At the first of April, the Czechs were thrown into the front line—probably somewhere on the Donets front. Their sector was of big importance. The Germans launched a counterattack. It was a big show, and sixty tanks appeared on one narrow sector opposite the dug-in Czech troops.

A young lieutenant named Yarosh was in command on this sector. His field telephone rang, and Colonel Svoboda said the unit would have to hold out alone. There were no reinforcements to help the lieutenant stop the sixty tanks. The colonel's orders were "It is impossible to retreat."

The unit was equipped with the new Russian antitank rifles. They knocked out tank after tank, but they still came on. (Some of the tanks were equipped with flamethrowers, and many of the Czechs were burned to death. However, the fight continued all day and into the night. About twenty tanks broke through to a village, where they were engaged by artillery.)

Approaching the Czechs behind the tanks came the German infantry with Tommy guns. While the Czech machine gunners kept the German infantry on the ground, other Czech soldiers continued the battle against the tanks with incendiary bottles.

But during the battle Lieutenant Yarosh was killed. He was crushed under a German tank thinking he might be able to stop it at the last moment.

That's the first story of the Czech army in Russia. The official communiqué commemorating the event read: "The men of the Czech unit (during the whole day and night) self-sacrificingly waged fights against the enemy and repelled all attacks. As a result of this fighting, nineteen German tanks were disabled and burned, and four hundred German Tommy gunners annihilated."

The Wehrmacht's Lice Epidemic
Bill Downs

CBS Moscow

June 27, 1943

The German troops in Russia form the lousiest army in the world. I mean that literally. The one thing about them that really shocks the Russian fighting man is the number of lice on the average captured German soldier.

This condition was particularly bad during the Russian winter. One of the big differences between the Red Army and Hitler's Wehrmacht is that the Russian soldier knows how to keep clean and still protect himself from the cold. The ordinary German soldier is so busy keeping from (getting killed here in the Soviet Union) dying that he doesn't bother too much about personal hygiene. Consequently, he gets lousy.

(The Red Army man, on the other hand, gets up in the morning and washes with snow, even at forty below zero. Believe me, I've seen it at Stalingrad and Rzhev.)

The German command is trying to combat the louse that infests the invincible, Aryan Nazi soldier. They are using all kinds of propaganda. Soap is scarce in the German army, and propaganda has not been a very good substitute. (Bulletins that I have seen in captured German dugouts warn against the louse as a major enemy. It seems that the lice in Russia are definitely non-Aryan.)

One German headquarters tried to raise hygiene standards by ridiculing particularly lousy units. This headquarters issued a special cross to an unclean squadron. It was a big wooden affair in the shape of an iron cross, but instead of a swastika in the center there is a very life-like louse with legs akimbo. This cross was found over one German dugout on the Moscow front. (The Russian command had some trouble getting a Red Army man to inspect this dugout.)

But seriously, the (Russian) louse has turned out to be a very valuable ally to the United Nations. The German troops have run on to typhus in this country, and it has been a problem for the Nazi medical corps. And a soldier can't keep his mind on fighting if he's busy scratching.

Babi Yar
Bill Downs

Newsweek (full article)

December 6, 1943

...Thousands of men, women, and children marched out to Lukyanovka, thinking they probably would be evacuated. Instead, Nazi SS troops led them to Babii Yar.

At the wide shallow ravine, their valuables and part of their clothing were removed and heaped into a big pile. Then groups of these people were led into a neighboring deep ravine where they were machine-gunned. When bodies covered the ground in more or less of a layer, SS men scraped sand down from the ravine walls to cover them. Then the shooting would continue. The Nazis, we were told, worked three days doing the job. However, even more incredible were the actions taken by the Nazis between Aug. 19 and Sept. 28 last. Vilkis said that in the middle of August the SS mobilized a party of 100 Russian war prisoners, who were taken to the ravines.

On Aug. 19 these men were ordered to disinter all the bodies in the ravine. The Germans meanwhile took a party to a nearby Jewish cemetery whence marble headstones were brought to Babii Yar to form the foundation of a huge funeral pyre. Atop the stones were piled a layer of wood and then a layer of bodies, and so on until the pyre was as high as a two-story house.

Vilkis said that approximately 1,500 bodies were burned in each operation of the furnace and each funeral pyre took two nights and one day to burn completely.

The cremation went on for 40 days, and then the prisoners, who by this time included 341 men, were ordered to build another furnace. Since this was the last furnace and there were no more bodies, the prisoners decided it was for them. They made a break but only a dozen out of more than 200 survived the bullets of the Nazi Tommy guns.

November 18, 2019

1944. Allied Forces Push Through Western Europe

Updates from the Western Front
"HQ Twelfth Army Group situation map," September 9, 1944 (source with full size)
United Press story printed in the Sweetwater Reporter, September 10, 1944, pp. 1, 8:

PARIS (UP) — Allied Armies in Western Europe have hurled back a desperate breakout attempt by tens of thousands of Nazis trapped along the channel coast.

The frantic Germans threw everything they had into one last try at pile-driving through the British lines between Lille in France and Ghent in Belgium.

But the determined Tommies held fast. In a giant battle, raging along scores of miles of the front yesterday, the Germans were stopped cold. The Allies still have them cornered.

Supreme Headquarters still is close-mouthed about progress of the triple Allied armies deployed along the frontiers of Hitler's Germany.

A United Press front dispatch from General Patton's Third Army says the battle of the Moselle River should be settled within two days. [Illegible] smother German troops defending the hills behind the river, or the fight will settle down into a long slugging match.

The U.P.'s man with the Third Army—Robert Richards—reveals that even now Patton is gathering his forces in the valley for a great lunge at the Germans entrenched in the heights beyond the Moselle. Already, the Americans have thrown five bridgeheads across the stream to serve as springboards for their coming assault.

A great fleet of American planes also paved the way for the attack today by striking a mighty blow at Nazi west wall bases in the Rhine and Ruhr valley. Hurling the battle lines for the second straight day, one thousand heavy bombers—shepherded by half as many fighters—struck road and rail targets and the Rhineland cities of Düsseldorf, Mainz and Mannheim.

German supplies are reported streaming into the Siegfried line, barely 18 miles ahead of the American advance. And the great air fleet, plus America's deadly new Black Widow night fighter, worked them over with bombs and bullets. Twenty-three bombers and four fighters are missing from today's assault.

To the north, the American First Army still is battling its way through the dense Ardennes forest toward the German frontier. Front reports say the Germans are streaming back before tankmen under General Hodges, hounded every step of the way by American flying columns.

While the First Army's left wing fans out through the Ardennes, its right wing has pushed 13 miles southeast of captured Sedan to within 28 miles of a triangle formed by the Luxembourg, German and French frontiers.

As for the British Second Army, an unofficial front report says it had smashed across the Albert Canal a second time. The new bridgehead is at Geel, 12 miles from the old one, which is under heavy German attack. Far behind the front, Canadian troops have pushed to within eight miles of Dunkerque.

Incidentally, a front report (from Bill Downs of CBS), says British, American planes have begun to use airfields in Belgium. Soon, they're expected to establish themselves also in Holland.

Back in England, Queen Juliana, heiress to the throne of Holland, has arrived by plane—perhaps in preparation for a return to her homeland.

As Allied armies pushed through masses of disorganized Germans today, the Berlin radio (as heard by CBS) comforted the home folks with the thought:

"The large-scale disengaging movements, upon which the German commanders were forced to decide recently, may be considered virtually at an end."

But in almost the next breath, Berlin said that the American Seventh Army has stepped up considerable the intensity of its attacks on the Belfort Gap—chief escape route for the broken Nazi 18th Army coming up from the south of France. An Algiers broadcast says Allied troops are within only nine miles of Belfort. But the latest Rome communiqué places them 25 miles away. The Seventh Army also is only 22 miles southwest of Dijon and has overrun the site of the largest munitions plant in France.

Across from Southern France, in Italy, the Germans in the western sector of the front have been forced back behind their Gothic line defenses. American troops, capturing two dominating heights north of Florence, now are within only two thousand yards of the big communications center of Pistoia.

On the other side of the front violent rain storms are restricting the operations of the British Eighth Army, which already has punched through the Gothic line.

Incidentally, the Germans long have been preparing to sink the big Italian luxury liner Rex in the harbor of Trieste once the Allies neared the port. But today the 51,000-ton vessel was written off as a total loss after RAF planes left it two-thirds submerged and burning fiercely.

Big things soon may be coming up in Italy. It is the anniversary of the American landing at Salerno. And, to commemorate it, Lieutenant General Mark Clark issued a special order of the day, promising that his Fifth Army troops soon will deliver a blow from which the enemy will not recover.

When and where the blow will fall is, of course, a secret—like another secret in Washington. The British ambassador to the United States, the Earl of Halifax, had a long talk with President Roosevelt today. Afterwards, he says they'd made a little bet as to when the war would end.

What were the bets?

"That," said the Earl, "is a secret."

November 15, 2019

1934. Nazis Declare Absolute Power After Referendum Vote

Hitler Uses Vote to Justify Consolidation of Power
"German Chancellor Adolf Hitler, upper window, returns the salute of a dense crowd, in Wilhelmplatz, Berlin, Aug. 19, 1934, gathered to greet him." (source)
This article is part of a series of posts on how The New York Times covered the rise and fall of fascism in Europe.

From The New York Times, August 20, 1934:
38,279,514 Vote Yes, 4,287,808 No on Uniting Offices
Negative Count Is Larger in Districts of Business Men and Intellectuals
Reich Bishop at Victory Fete Says Hitler's Anti-Semitism Is Fight for Christianity

BERLIN, Monday, Aug. 20 — Eighty-nine and nine-tenths per cent of the German voters endorsed in yesterday's plebiscite Chancellor Hitler's assumption of greater power than has ever been possessed by any other ruler in modern times. Nearly 10 per cent indicated their disapproval. The result was expected.

The German people were asked to vote whether they approved the consolidation of the offices of President and Chancellor in a single Leader-Chancellor personified by Adolf Hitler. By every appeal known to skillful politicians and with every argument to the contrary suppressed, they were asked to make their approval unanimous.

Nevertheless 10 per cent of the voters have admittedly braved possible consequences by answering "No" and nearly 1,000,000 made their answers ineffective by spoiling the simplest of ballots. There was a plain short question and two circles, one labeled "Yes" and the other "No," in one of which the voter had to make a cross. Yet there were nearly 1,000,000 spoiled ballots.

38,279,514 Vote "Yes"

The results given out by the Propaganda Ministry early this morning show that out of a total vote of 43,438,378, cast by a possible voting population of more than 45,000,000, there were 38,279,514 who answered "Yes," 4,287,808 who answered "No" and there were 871,056 defective ballots. Thus there is an affirmative vote of almost 90 per cent of the valid votes and a negative vote of nearly 10 per cent exclusive of the spoiled ballots which may or may not have been deliberately rendered defective.

How Chancellor Hitler's vote declined is shown by a comparison with the result of the Nov. 12 plebiscite on leaving the Disarmament Conference and the League of Nations. The tabulation follows:
                                Yesterday         Nov. 12
Yes ......................  38,279,514    40,600,243
No .......................    4,287,808      2,101,004
Invalid .................      871,056          750,282
Per cent of noes ...              9.8                 4.8
These results therefore show that the number of Germans discontented with Chancellor Hitler's course is increasing but is not yet seriously damaging to it. He is the Fuehrer [leader] of the Reich with absolute power by the vote of almost 90 per cent of the Germans in it but the number of dissentients has doubled since the last test.

It is not yet a matter for international concern but there are other considerations which may be.

Dictatorship Now Complete

The endorsement gives Chancellor Hitler, who four years ago was not even a German citizen, dictatorial powers unequaled in any other country, and probably unequaled in history since the days of Genghis Khan. He has more power than Joseph Stalin in Russia, who has a party machine to reckon with; more power than Premier Mussolini of Italy who shares his prerogative with the titular ruler; more than any American President ever dreamed of.

No other ruler has so widespread power nor so obedient and compliant subordinates. The question that interests the outside world now is what Chancellor Hitler will do with such unprecedented authority.

Nazi opinion is not disposed to be altogether cheerful about the result. When one high official was asked by this correspondent to comment on it he said:

"Obviously we feel the effects of June 30."

He referred to the execution of Ernst Roehm and other Storm Troop chiefs.

That is also the opinion of many other Germans, especially among the more substantial classes. They interpret the result as the beginning of a protest against the rule of arbitrary will and as an effort to force Chancellor Hitler back to the rule of law.

In their view the vote may induce the Fuehrer to steer henceforth a more moderate course and take account of the sensibilities of general opinion. Some of the more optimistic even hope it may induce him to get rid of some of his radical advisers to whom the opposition within Germany is great.

This view, however, is not shared generally and the dissent is borne out by the remark of a Nazi official who said bitterly, "We have become too soft."

Ex-Marxists Support Hitler

A feature of the election was that former Marxists cast a far heavier vote for Chancellor Hitler than the so-called bourgeoisie. In Berlin especially, judging by their vote, former Communists still are Leader Hitler's most loyal followers. In one voting district in Wedding, where a few years ago Communists fought from behind barricades against the police, the "yes" votes amounted to 949; the "no" votes and invalid ballots totaled 237.

In one district west of Berlin, inhabited mainly by business men and intellectuals, the "yes" vote was only 840 and the "no" votes and invalid ballots totaled 351. Other tests provided similar results.

In the Communist districts protest votes with Communist inscriptions were rare. In Western Berlin they were more frequent. In one district five ballots had the name "Thaelmann" written in. [Ernst Thaelmann is an imprisoned Communist leader.] One ballot contained this inscription, "Since nothing has happened to me so far I vote 'Yes.'" It was signed "Non-Aryan."

Interesting also are the following results: the hospital of the Jewish community in one district cast 168 "Yes" votes, 92 "Noes," and 46 ballots were invalid. The Jewish Home for Aged People in another district cast 94 "Yes" votes, four "Noes" and three invalid ballots. This vote is explainable, of course, by the fear of reprisals if the results from these Jewish institutions had been otherwise. It is paralleled by other results outside Berlin.

In all Bavaria Chancellor Hitler received the largest vote in his favor in the concentration camp at Dachau where 1,554 persons voted "Yes" and only eight "No" and there were only ten spoiled ballots.

Hamburg Leads Opposition

Hamburg, which only two days ago gave Herr Hitler the most enthusiastic reception he had ever received anywhere, led the country in the opposition vote. The official figures were: Total vote cast, 840,000; "Yes," 651,000; "No," 168,000; invalidated ballots, 21,000.

The "No" vote, in other words, was 20 per cent of the total vote. Counting the invalid ballots as negative in intent, the total opposition votes exceeded 22 per cent. The percentage of the electorate voting was 92.4.

Hamburg is the home city of Ernst Thaelmann and on his triumphant entry into the city on Friday, Herr Hitler made it a point to drive past Herr Thaelmann's former home.

As far as observers could ascertain, the election everywhere was conducted with perfect propriety, and secrecy of the ballot was safe-guarded. The ballots were marked in regular election booths and placed in envelopes and these were put in the ballot boxes. After the voting had ended the ballot box was emptied on a large table and the vote was counted publicly in the regular manner. Appraising of individual votes seemed impossible.

One check on possible non-voters, however, was exercised by instructions that the voting authorizations issued to those who for one reason or another planned to be outside their regular voting district on election day must be returned unless used. The number of such authorizations issued for this election exceeded anything known before.

Throughout the day Storm Troopers stood before each polling place with banners calling on the voters to vote "Yes." Otherwise voters remained unmolested. Inside the polling places uniforms and even party emblems had been forbidden, but the execution of this order was lax. In some apparently doubtful districts brown uniforms dominated the scene as a warning to would-be opponents.

Nazis Try for Record Vote

All past efforts in getting out the German vote were eclipsed in this election. During Saturday night a huge final poster was plastered on billboards everywhere. It said:

Your leader [Hitler] has traveled 1,500,000 kilometers by airplane, railway and motor car in the cause of Germany's rebirth. You have but to walk 100 meters to your voting booth to vote "yes."

All over Germany means were taken to get the Sunday late-sleeping population out of bed early. The polls opened at 8 o'clock, but in Berlin Storm Troops, Hitler Youth Troops and Nazi labor union groups took to the streets as early as 6 o'clock to wake the populace by shouting at them to do their duty. Many of these groups had bugles or drum corps and an occasional band was heard.

In Munich twenty-five brass bands started marching through the city about the same hour with the same object. At Frankfurt-am-Main Storm Troops' bands played at the most important street intersections all morning.

At Erfurt late Saturday night Storm Troopers with torches marched the streets, and soon after daybreak again were under way shouting to the citizens to get up and vote. In Bremen all the church bells rang for fifteen minutes before 8 o'clock. In Karlsruhe saluting cannon reinforced the brass bands.

Berlin Goes to Polls Early

The result was that at Berlin's twenty-seven polling places throughout the morning there were long lines before each, waiting to vote. In the working class districts crowds assembled before the polling places were opened. By 11 o'clock 40 per cent of the vote had been polled, but all day trucks equipped with buglers and cheering corps went through the city rallying the laggards.

Ambulances for the sick voters and volunteered private cars for the aged and infirm were busy all day. The polls were open until 6 o'clock, but in the late afternoon comparatively few votes were registered. The voting had been done.

An odd feature of the election was the large number of voters who voted outside their home districts. This is the holiday season, so 2,500,000 had special permission to vote away from home. Four Saxon cities granted 130,000 such permissions to vote in other parts of the Reich.

At the central railway station in Munich 10,000 travelers had voted in thirteen special booths set up there before 11 o'clock. Polling places were set up along the wall of the Kiel Canal for sailors on German ships.

In foreign ports German Consuls hired vessels and took voters out to the high seas, making a celebration of it. Lieut. Col. Franz von Papen, envoy to Vienna, came back to Berlin from Austria to vote.

In Berlin enthusiasm was skillfully maintained by every conceivably device. Around the chancellery, where Chancellor Hitler slept, there was a crowd from daybreak onward. By 8 o'clock the police had to rope off Wilhelmstrasse for through traffic.

A loud-speaker in an open window in the Propaganda Ministry across the street led the crowd in singing Nazi songs. During the day Chancellor Hitler appeared in a chancellery window about twelve times and was madly cheered.

At all important traffic centres in Cologne busts of Chancellor Hitler had been set up and at the polling places his picture was wreathed in evergreens hung over the entrances. All cities were beflagged as for triumph.

In Breslau the polling places were decked with flowers and there were long parades of Storm Troopers and war veterans through the streets all day. At Neudeck the ninety-six voters of the Hindenburg manor went to the polls in a body to vote "yes."

More to attain the universal "joyous affirmation" that all Nazis speakers demanded throughout the campaign could hardly have been done.
The New York Times, August 19, 1934:
Hitler Now World's Supreme Autocrat; Legally Answerable to Nobody for Acts

BERLIN, Aug. 19 — Powers greater than those held by any ruler in the modern world are put in the hands of Adolf Hitler as a result of today's plebiscite.

As Reich leader and Reich Chancellor he holds the powers that belonged to the late President von Hindenburg and he has in addition the enormous authority conferred on him as Chancellor by an act adopted when the Nazis obtained full power in the Reich. Under that act he has virtually supreme legislative authority. He now inherits any and all executive authority that he has not enjoyed previously. In short, Herr Hitler alone has the powers formerly exercised by the Kaiser, the President and Parliament. It must be realized that the Reichstag has become a mere rubber stamp for his decrees.

Herr Hitler has the power to declare war and to make peace. He inherits from the late President the exclusive right to make binding agreements with other nations. Hence he alone may sign treaties and make alliances. His consent is required to all diplomatic appointments, and all German diplomatic representatives must report to him at his request.

Moreover, Herr Hitler may annul existing legislation or call for new legislation. He employs and discharges all state employees unprotected by the complex civil-service law. He has the power to pardon any person sentenced by a Reich court, thus holding the power of setting aside a court decision.

Further, Herr Hitler is commander-in-chief of the army, the navy and the air force. Under Article XLVIII of the Weimar Constitution—which is now moribund but which can be invoked at Herr Hitler's will—he may employ force against any German Province that in his opinion fails in its duty toward the Reich.

Under the same article he has the widest dictatorial powers in times of national emergency, and under precedents set by the Bruening Government he may make virtually any internal difficulty the excuse for declaring a state of national emergency.

November 12, 2019

1953. "Korea Lesson: How Not to Cover a War" by George Herman

CBS Radio Correspondent George Herman on Covering the Korean War
"Tokyo, December, 1952: CBS commentator Edward R. Murrow, center, and Washington bureau chief Bill Downs, right, are welcomed to Tokyo by Japan-Korea bureau manager George Herman" (source)
Article by George Herman in Broadcasting magazine, December 7, 1953, pp. 97-100 [PDF]:
Considering the primitiveness of the equipment they had to work with, it is a wonder that radio correspondents who reported the Korean War ever got a broadcast out of that beleaguered country. The author of this article, now CBS Radio's White House correspondent, believes the planning of radio coverage of future combat should begin now. If he sounds somewhat embittered, it is because, as chief of his network's Far Eastern bureau, he learned at first hand the . . .

Korean Lesson: How Not to Cover a War


Now that the Korean War is over, those of us who covered it for radio can look back on our experiences with more objectivity than was possible while we were struggling with the absurdly inadequate radio facilities made available to us. We may be able to manage a weak little laugh at the hay-wire contraptions we had to lash up ourselves because the military flatly refused until the very end to make anything available to us except wire. And we can certainly offer some serious thoughts about what must be done in the event of any future wars or police actions which may, unhappily, erupt elsewhere.

It is my understanding that in World War II in the European Theatre of Operations radio news broadcasts originated largely in the mobile studios and vans of commercial radio outfits such as Press Wireless, RCA, and MacKay Radio. And in the Pacific, I am told, United States military facilities with studios and technicians were made available from island to island.

For some incomprehensible reason, the military ruled flatly against making any such facilities available in the Korean War. Commercial companies, after an abortive attempt by RCA, were deterred from installing facilities by the ephemeral nature of the war, which seemed continually about to end, either in victory, defeat, or Panmunjom.

What is incomprehensible to me is why, during the three years this Korean conflict dragged on, with news of incomparable interest and importance to every American, one of two things was not done. Either the American radio networks should have pointed out forcefully to the military its failure to accord fair and equal consideration to the needs of the radio medium, or the radio companies themselves should have supplied the technicians and equipment needed.

The Army and Air Force gave a good deal of thought to getting out the news, but somehow they always thought in terms of teletypes and never in terms of the faster on-the-spot listener coverage of radio. And the radio networks, content to leave the problem to their newsmen, non-technicians though they were, sent out only the equipment those newsmen requested and never brought the minds of their high-paid technical departments to bear on the problem. Consider our experiences:

When the North Koreans opened their unprovoked attack on South Korea the city of Seoul boasted one of the four really good commercial transmitters in the Far East capable of reaching San Francisco. (The others: Tokyo, Hongkong, Jakarta.) Which was fine for radio newsmen except that we didn't hold Seoul long enough to get much use out of it. And the only way a voice signal could be gotten out of the rest of South Korea was by means of an ancient and rickety telephone system built by the Japanese and maintained in rather desultory fashion by Korean technicians.

During the days of the Pusan Perimeter a sweating, steaming radio correspondent had to start out with an army field phone—and you know what kind of quality they have even for radiomen smart enough to keep a full pocket full of fresh batteries for them. This military phone connected by frayed string into the ancient Mukden cable which snakes its way under the water separating Japan from Korea plugs into the improbable long-distance telephone system of Japan. That brought a precious fraction of the sound into Tokyo where perspiring Japanese technicians under the command of a U.S. Army corporal fed it into the overseas shortwave hookup, and thus eventually to San Francisco.

It's easy to see from all this why such husky-voiced specimens as Edward R. Murrow, Bill Downs, Bill Dunn, and the like huffed and puffed and failed to get through with regularity. It's hard to know how many great classics of radio war reporting we missed during the darkest and most dramatic stages of the Pusan period. It's even more painful to think how needless all this waste of talent was.

We know now that a simple piece of equipment, costing less than $50 at the most, could have reversed the odds and jammed a signal through nine out of ten times. Just a line amplifier and a cheap microphone of any variety, plus a couple of leads with alligator clips to clip onto the phone wire where it comes out of the Army field phone. Any duffer of a hi-fi enthusiast could figure it out. And the first hi-fi fan to arrive in Korea immediately did so.

For two years almost every single broadcast which came out of Korea was punched out by a battered elderly CBS Magnecorder pressed into overtime service as a remote amplifier between recording jobs. From Taegu, from Suwon, from Seoul, all broadcasts after January 1951 until quite recently were made over this single piece of gear or over duplicate models later imported by the Army.

Only for one brief period, from Oct. 12, 1950, to Jan. 2, 1951, did we use anything which might be termed studio facilities. And I hesitate even to describe them. In the center of Seoul during this period was a small studio carefully hung with splendid oriental rugs used as sound proofing. From its control room a set of Army phone wires ran across the street to a tall building atop which a U.S. Army FM radio setup kept us in contact with the short wave receiving station 12 miles north of Seoul and the transmitter in a town called Poo'pyong, 16 miles west of Seoul.

The FM link was unsteady to say the least and the first hour before the broadcast was always entirely occupied by a Korean technician shouting despairingly into the phone "Hello Poo'pyong, Hello Poo'pyong," a sound I still occasionally hear in bad dreams after an overdose of apple strudel.

With Jeep and Carbine

For any really important or lengthy broadcast I usually jeeped out to Poo'pyong, with a GI driver who insisted on arming me with a carbine because of the prevalence of snipers, and did the broadcast from there. There was no studio, merely the Magnecorder set up on an overturned oil drum in the middle of a vast barn-like building. But the equipment, a mixture of RCA and Russian gear abandoned by the North Koreans, worked fine until the Chinese returned for it on Jan. 3, 1951. So, back again to the old Taegu-Pusan telephone line.

But by now we had the Magnecorder system to work with. The Army built me a small phone-booth kind of cubby in a corner of the correspondents' billets. The Army Signal Corps ran in a set of wires, handed over the bare ends and said, "Go ahead, broadcast." Although we held endless consultations with various colonels and even a brigadier general or two in the Signal Corps, the Army never furnished us with any technical equipment at all until the outbreak of the peace talks.

For future reference it should probably be noted that the Army also had strong objections to our doing broadcasts from any place but the correspondents' billets, mostly for censorship reasons. But in time we managed to argue our way out of that, and during the final stages of the retaking of Seoul, we moved our Magnecorder up to a wrecked airplane which served as a temporary correspondents' hangout at Suwon airfield. Turning up the gain jammed a usable signal down the miles of battered cable to Taegu, Pusan and across the straits to Tokyo. It also occasionally jammed the phone communications of irate generals who picked up our signal by induction along their regular command lines. But by keeping our circuit time to the barest minimum, we managed to avoid any restrictive action.

In due time, of course, the Eighth Army retook Seoul and we moved the CBS Radio Magnecorder into a special room in the correspondents' billets there, a room sound-proofed with slabs of compressed seaweed of the most unappetizing appearance. Again the Army ran in some wires, handed us the ends and said "Here you are; go ahead." And in the very next room they set up bank after bank of complex and expensive teletype installations for the newsmen who worked in the printed medium.

Again we queried the Signal Corps on the availability of the kind of radio gear used in the second World War. They said there wasn't any requisition number for any gear, that it would have to be sent from Washington, that it couldn't be authorized, and so forth far into the war. Also that it wasn't their duty to provide us with radio gear, even if they did provide all gear for teletype copy.

Eventually the peace talks developed and then everybody said it would all be over very soon anyhow, so why worry. That was, let me think, July 1951! The Public Information Office (not the Signal Corps) did, however, make available a series of several Magnecorders and a bright young radio hobbyist named Hugo Victor. Single-handed, and with his own money very largely, this enthusiast rescued American radio from its own inertia and that of the Pentagon. He built a studio, soundproofed it with Army blankets, and constructed an ingenious control room out of odds and ends which he scrounged or we bought for him in Tokyo.

But all this came about only after a bitter battle between radio and the press services which is better forgotten about. The Public Information Office of the UN Command under Brig. Gen. William P. Nuckols for a time sided with the press services, but eventually put in the lines which enabled us to do direct broadcasts from the news train at Munsan.

Which was all right until the news broke out at the other extreme of the stretch of Korean peninsula under our control. You may remember the riots at Koje-do when Communist-minded Chinese and Korean prisoners kicked up such a fuss? Quite a news story. And quite a long way to carry the CBS Magnecorder by train, plane and boat.

From Koje Island to the Korean mainland we had only one line of communications, the feeblest, leakiest phone line I have ever used. But once again the simple expedient of high-gain line amplification solved the problem. It even helped soothe relations between press associations and radio. We set up the Magnecorder in the press tent by day and briefed the newspapermen on microphone technique, and they used it to read their copy to Tokyo. It worked fine, but really there ought to be some kind of field amplifier lighter than the maggie. It was a lot of weight to carry back and forth from the press tent to the telephone shack where the commanding officer of signals had allowed us the use of his bedroom as a comparatively soundproof studio.

By this time everybody in the Far East Command had begun to catch on to the idea of line amplifiers. The lone CBS Magnecorder was joined in Korea by a brother job from NBC as the peace talks moved to a climax. Three more were provided by the Public Information Office and the Psychological Warfare division. Everybody in radio news in Korea had acquired packrat habits, and rolls of wire and spare connectors and odds and ends of equipment began to show up. The only thing we never seemed to have enough of was Cannon XL connectors.

By now you must have heard how we made certain connections at Big & Little Switch, the exchanges of prisoners. Enough mention has been made of how we stuck bare ends of mike wire into Cannon female sockets and braced them in with whittled matchsticks. But even as veteran an ad-libber as Ted Church, director of CBS Radio News, was shocked when he actually saw the broken match-ends sticking out of the sockets in the side of the amplifier.

More Makeshift Measures

By then we were using a Gates three-pot job provided by Psychological Warfare, and it took a lot of matches to set it up every day. Ted paled visibly when he first saw the contraption, placed precariously on an Army table in the middle of the prisoner reception center. We didn't tell him about the days during Little Switch, the preliminary exchange of sick and wounded prisoners, when one of us had held a pair of stiff Signal Corps wires tightly twisted together in his hand during an entire 20 minute broadcast, somewhat like the Dutch boy with his finger in the dike. We didn't get to solder that connection until late that evening. And since the broadcasters were also technicians, there's no telling what we said, it was a triumph just to hear that faint faraway voice in the earphones saying "We hear you loud and clear,—where've ya been—ya go ahead in 20 seconds from woof!"

Better Help for Radio

The point, I think, is this. If the American military is going to have its action in the field covered, it's got to stop thinking in terms of press services alone. The frustrating favoritism accorded to press service reporters is known to every radio newsman. That it should apply to facilities as well is intolerable.

Why there should be an order number and a supply item of teletypes for press men and not for an amplifier for radio men is absolutely beyond me. The cost of the radio gear is fractional.

There is no reason why the Army should make teletypes and teletype operators available to press men and flatly refuse to make radio gear and even one single technician regularly available to radiomen. And the radio industry had damn well better realize this and get on the ball before the next overseas fracas. Both the policy and technical departments of our industry can make better suggestions than this correspondent. Leave them do so PDQ or the next fight will again see the finest, high-priced radio news talent again shouting into unresponsive field phones in a "press" tent filled with other correspondents grinding out copy to go slowly but surely by teletype.