Left for Dead at Nijmegen by Marcus A. Nannini

Author:Marcus A. Nannini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: HISTORY / Military / world War II
ISBN: 9781612006970
Publisher: Casemate

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Stalag VII-A

The bucolic sight of acre upon acre of potato fields dotted by occasional stands of trees did not prepare Gene for what he was about to confront. As he rounded the street corner alongside an old cheese factory, he came face-to-face with the camp for the first time. Chills ran up and down his spine at the spectacle of very tall barbed-wire fencing announcing the Stalag’s presence.

Stalag VII-A would be Gene’s new home. It was located adjacent to the small town of Moosburg, Germany, near the Austrian border and a relatively quick train ride from München. At the time of Gene’s arrival Stalag VII-A was home to about 110,000 prisoners of war representing every front in which Germany had been engaged. Within the sprawling network of structures the prisoners were segregated into separate compounds based first on country of origin and further segregated based on rank. The various compounds were cordoned off from one another by barbed-wire fencing.

The barbed-wire barriers were further reinforced with guard towers, each manned by guards who, Gene thought, looked as if they were guarding the gates of hell. Some of the soldiers manning the towers carried rifles, while others held machine guns across their torsos. All of the tower guards were intently monitoring the incoming procession of new prisoners.

The smoking cigarette incident at Stalag XII-A came rushing from his memory, causing Gene to consider whether the guards were hoping for an opportunity to conduct a little bit of live target practice. Events would soon prove there was a legitimate foundation for his anxiety.

As he passed through the main gate he noticed the barbed-wire fences utilized the same 10–12-foot-wide no-man’s land as had been present at the prior two camps. He assumed the Germans insisted there always be a clear expanse of vacant space on the interior side of the fencing and certainly appeared to be consistent in their application of the rule.

Numerous French soldiers were milling about their compound, which was on one side of the American compound, while the Russians were on the other side. The British compound, he would later learn, was on the far side of the French barracks. About a dozen curious Frenchmen were looking over the newly arriving Americans when one of them noticed someone had tossed a still-burning cigarette into no-man’s land. For Gene, it was about to be a case of déjà vu.

One unfortunate Frenchman couldn’t resist the temptation, possibly because he had simply had enough with life. His dark eyes were sunken into his skull, exaggerating the eff ect of the heavy, purple bags of skin hanging below them. His unshaven cheeks were nothing more than skin pulled against bone, and his worn-out uniform appeared to be several sizes too large. The man had wrapped cloth around his feet in what looked to be an eff ort to prevent his boots from completely falling apart.

He was staring at the burning cigarette when suddenly he stepped over the low wire to retrieve it. The tower guard

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