RAMPS
Chapter 11
March 29, 1945
Luft Stalag 13
"Colonel. You awake? I'd like to check you out."
Hogan turned his head and, through his haze, realized that Wilson was standing by the bunk. "I'm not dead?"
"No, sir. Your fever broke."
"I vaguely recall someone saying that. Is everyone else all right?"
"Haven't lost anyone." Wilson unbuttoned Hogan's shirt, and warmed up the stethoscope. "We've been extremely lucky," he said as he placed it on Hogan's chest. Once he finished, he helped his patient sit up, propping the pillows behind him.
After a few moments, Hogan realized he could think a bit more clearly. "Can we hold out? Oh, I need a report. I don't even know where the front is," he told Wilson.
"We'll get that information to you. Everything is under control. Don't worry. I know that's your job, but you have to concentrate on getting better. You're still very sick," the medic reminded the colonel.
Camp Lucky Strike
April 24, 1945
evening
"Colonel? You there?" Wilson gently shook Hogan's shoulder.
"I'm here. I lost my train of thought."
The nurse poked her head around the curtain. "You need to wrap it up, Sergeant."
"Thanks," he answered. "I'll l be right out."
Hogan grabbed Wilson's shirt. "I need to see the men before they leave. I owe it to them."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Wilson pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "Kinch gave me the latest orders. Don't quote me on this, but we just missed the last troop ship. That left two days ago. There's another one coming. The Brits will go back with us. So hang in there."
"Yeah, Wembley mentioned another one is on its way." Hogan grabbed the envelope.
"I assume you'll stay put." Wilson gave the colonel a stern look.
"Go. And tell the guys I'll try and behave myself," Hogan told him. He watched the medic leave and then waited for whatever came next. That was his current lot in life and it was the routine for more men than he could count. The least he could do was try and set a good example.
Wilson met the rest of the men in front of the building.
"He hasn't gone crackers, has he?" Newkirk was the first to badger the medic.
"No. His behavior has been perfectly reasonable for someone used to always being in control. But our conversation was confidential."
"Is he going to be okay, Wilson?" Carter asked with concern.
"I think so. And I gave him the orders, Kinch. That seemed to perk him up."
"He wants to see them off," the radioman said. "Don't blame him."
"Well, I believe that's a good possibility. I'm heading for the hangars." Wilson turned around. "They're showing a double feature. For Me and My Gal. That's a musical. And Ride em Cowboy. With Abbott and Costello."
Baker smiled. "That sounds great."
"You like musicals, Rich?" Olsen asked Baker.
"Better than war pictures," he replied.
"Who's seen war pictures?" Olsen quickened his pace. "I mean, I only saw a few before I got sent overseas."
"I did. Before I got shot down," Baker said. "Right now, I really don't want to be reminded."
"That's right. Forgot you came after us." Carter stated.
"You get used to him," Kinch teased, referring to his relief radioman. "And next time, don't sneak on a flight, like I did."
"Not going to be a next time." Baker couldn't help but think of the colored, liberated POW's spending time here in segregated areas, and probably not getting the same care as the rest of the RAMPs. He wondered if they were allowed in the gift shops and had movies to keep them occupied. He almost didn't want to know.
"Did you have a nice chat with your medic, Colonel?" the night nurse asked Hogan as she checked his vitals for what seemed to him the umpteenth time that day.
"I was… why do you ask me questions just before you plan on sticking that thing in my mouth?"
The nurse smiled sheepishly as she held back the thermometer. "Sorry. Go ahead."
"It was enlightening," Hogan stated.
"Wonderful. Here. Put this under your tongue. He's a good medic. Has a nice bedside manner." Hogan almost choked on that description. "I assume he was a great field medic; although you didn't know him then, did you?"
Hogan shook his head.
"You should be proud of Sergeant Wilson and his staff, sir. From what I can see, I really believe he saved some lives back at that camp of yours."
Hogan nodded.
"Do you need another blanket?"
Hogan shook his head.
The nurse removed the thermometer and smiled. "Look. It went down again. You're almost back to normal."
"Normal would be an exaggeration." Hogan winked at her.
Although he still felt somewhat out of sorts, his spirits had improved after his talk with Wilson. "Can you roll back the curtain," Hogan asked the nurse before she left. To accommodate patients from another liberated camp, the rest of the patients from 13 had been moved closer to his end of the ward. Hogan's men were doing well and were steadily being discharged. Those remaining were warned not to say anything about their unusual circumstances.
"How are the new guys doing?" he asked the nurse before she left.
"Lucky to be alive. The other nurses are taking care of them. This bunch... they're very malnourished. The sickest are in another ward. Those boys are going to be here for quite a while."
"If it's okay, I'd like to visit with them tomorrow," Hogan told her.
"We can see if that can be arranged," the nurse replied as she left to continue on her rounds.
"Colonel Hogan?" The man in the bed next to him piped up a short while later.
Hogan put down the copy of the Stars and Stripes he was reading.
"What is it, Corporal?"
"Do you think we will make that troop ship?"
"I hope so. But it's up to the doctors. How's your breathing?" he asked him.
"Better, but it still hurts."
"I hear ya." Hogan shifted and rested his head on the pillow propping him up. He was just about to close his eyes when another soldier sidled up to the bed. The sergeant, a barracks chief, was admitted to the hospital when he arrived at the complex.
"What's up, MacCrindle?"
"We're down to eleven," he reported. "But you know that. Um," he lowered his voice. "The boys are a bit unnerved."
"Oh, by what?"
"The transport schedule and what they've seen." He pointed to the further end of the ward. "Their morale is a little down if you ask my opinion, sir." This wasn't the first time the chief dealt with morale issues. Fortunately, Hogan was available to talk to the rest of the men in the hospital. The previous month was full of uncertainty and fear.
Luft Stalag 13
3/24/45
MacCrindle, a native of Edinburgh, Scotland, had been the barracks chief of Barracks 20 for just over two years. On a cold, windy morning in March, he and several other chiefs crossed the compound after a hastily called meeting in the mess. He blew on his hands and opened the door to his hut.
"Hey, Sarge. What's up?" asked one of the residents.
"Hang on." MacCrindle shoved the door shut and removed his jacket. "Where's Green?"
"Sick call. He hasn't come back." Green's bunk mate hopped off the top bunk and checked the stove. The rest of the men either remained on the bunks or slumped in the few chairs facing the heat.
MacCrindle sighed. "The meeting. The news isn't too good." That got everyone's attention. "Colonel Hogan is really sick. He's been grounded."
"What do you mean grounded?" asked a corporal, who placed a mug of weak tea in the chief's hand.
"Thanks. Well, grounded is not the right word," MacCrindle answered. "He's been temporarily relieved of command."
Everyone began talking at once, and MacCrindle had to whistle loudly to make everyone stop so he could be heard. He threw his jacket on his bunk and then plopped down. "Kinchloe's in charge of the operation," he said as he took a sip of the tea. "McMahon has been appointed MOC."
"I don't get it," said one of the newer prisoners, a tall Canadian flight engineer from Montreal. "Kinch is the colonel's..." Another man whispered in his ear. "Oh." The Canadian shook his head in disgust.
"Oh, God." One of the other newer prisoners, a gunner still in his teens, flipped over and faced the wall. "Oh, God."
"Hey." A British technical sergeant quickly went over. "Pull yourself together, mate. It'll be okay. We have a chain of command." He looked up at McMahon. "Did Kinch say anything about the advance?"
"No. He couldn't. We were in the mess and there were krauts there. He'll call a briefing in the tunnels if they get any news. Can one of you go over to the infirmary and see what happened to Green? Oh, and we have two airmen in the tunnels."
The men grunted in response.
"More mouths to feed," someone grumbled.
"Knock it off or I'll put you on report. We're all in this together." MacCrindle collapsed onto his back, and threw his arm over his face.
Camp Lucky Strike
Hogan took MacCrindle's concerns very seriously. Not only had the men seen what they fortunately avoided, they were beginning to speculate on other rumors and what else might have happened to both prisoners and civilians.
"I'll speak to everyone tomorrow. Go back to bed before the nurse yells at me."
"Thanks, Colonel. I didn't want to worry you, but…"
"You're just doing your job," Hogan interrupted. "I appreciate that."
The next morning, Colonel Hogan was permitted to speak to the other patients. He pulled up a chair, introduced himself, and then listened to a group of men who were held prisoner at a camp in Austria.
"They weren't really brutal, sir. I guess we were lucky. But we had no food," explained a young airman, a tech sergeant from St. Louis, who was shot down over Italy. "We usually got one bowl of soup a day."
"Rutabaga." Another airman grimaced. "Day after day. And some bread. Which was awful, but we ate it."
"How many men were in your camp?" Hogan asked.
"Over 4000, sir. We were housed in abandoned WW1 buildings. Only two small stoves. It was always cold. And we really never saw many Red Cross packages." The man was very pale and painfully thin. But, his tone of voice displayed his now upbeat demeanor. It was clear they were all thrilled, if not surprised, to be alive and in Allied hands.
Hogan was shocked when he heard about the camp evacuation and the forced march the malnourished and ill prisoners, as well as their captors, took in advance of the Russians. Fortunately, an American jeep swung by their new camp and quickly sent in reinforcements. He was aware of all the forced marches, but hearing about it first-hand was sobering. And these men were in fairly good condition despite their ordeal.
"And that's how we ended up here, sir," added a gunner from Chicago.
"What did you do with your time?" Hogan asked the gunner.
He smiled. "We played pranks. Made the guards go off count."
Hogan smiled back. "Sounds familiar."
"And we managed to build our own crystal radio. Hid one of the antennas in the clothesline," the man added. "They never found it."
Talking with these new patients made Hogan feel useful; although he was frightened for the rest of the Allied prisoners.
"So the troop ship heading across the Atlantic isn't leaving until the end of the month," Hogan explained later that morning to his men. "There's a good chance you'll make it. And believe me; I know how you all feel." The colonel was seated in the chair next to his bed. Five of the remaining eleven were standing around. The rest were propped up in beds and could hear the gist of the conversation. Hogan had asked the staff to temporarily cordon off their area with curtains so that they could have some privacy, and so as not to disturb the sicker men down at the other end of the ward.
"I know you've had a glimpse of the other men who were brought in. It's not uncommon to think in these circumstances of what could have been, if things had been different. It's easy to dwell on. Planes get hit. Guys next to you in foxholes get killed. We make the best out of a unique situation. Mainly because we're sitting here on our you know whats with nothing better to do than to think of the what ifs. It's also hard to see the effects of the brutality and inhumanity of what we were fighting, considering how lucky we really were. It makes you angry and scared, so think of the guys we saved that could have ended up in one of those places. Got it?"
The small crowd quietly acknowledged him and went back to their beds, while Hogan signaled the orderly and had him remove the curtains. He only hoped his talks had some effect.
"Lieutenant Gage." Hogan's face lit up as the nurse approached. "What a nice surprise."
"Good morning, sir. I guess you won't mind if I draw some blood."
Hogan reluctantly held out his left arm. "I thought I was scheduled for an x-ray this morning."
"The doctor wants to push it back a bit. More chances for your lungs to clear, and then we can release you. Better that, than too much exposure."
"Oh." Hogan was disappointed.
"You look tired." The nurse marked the vial and put it on her cart. "Bad night?"
"Not the best." Hogan admitted. "I'm beginning to miss my flat, thin excuse for a mattress at camp."
"Cough for me. I will speak to him, but he most likely won't order anything to help you sleep. It will suppress your respiratory system."
Hogan let out a breath. "I'm used to managing without sleep," he told her.
MacCrindle waited for the nurse to leave before asking Hogan if he was interested in playing a game of chess. Thinking back to a recent match with one of his core team, he smiled and agreed.
Luft Stalag 13
April 16, 1945
Hogan stifled a yawn and gazed at the chessboard. "Tired sir? I can leave." Newkirk began to get up.
"No." Hogan held out his hand. "I'm a few moves from wiping you out." Newkirk stared at the board. He looked up, then down. Hogan grinned. "You don't see it, do you?"
"Never really been me game." Newkirk made a move and threw up his hands. "Go ahead. My talents lie elsewhere."
Hogan moved his queen. "Checkmate." Hogan folded his arms. "That was satisfying." A knock at the door interrupted his victory.
"Colonel. You need to see this." Kinch handed Hogan a sheet of paper.
He read the report and looked up. "They've advanced past Dusseldorf."
Newkirk, as well as the crowd gathered around the door, were speechless.
"I think I better get back to the radio," Kinch said a few moments later.
Hogan smiled. "Keep me posted. I'm going back to bed." For the rest of his life, Hogan would continue to be fond of chess.
The cigarette camps and the troopships were segregated.
A/N The history given by the other men in this chapter is partially taken from the memoirs of Frederick E. Ehmann, 1914-2013. His obituary, which I saved from the Philadelphia Inquirer (9/11/2013), included details of his life before, during and after the war. He was shot down over Italy in '43 and spent his captivity in Stalag 17B, in Krems, Austria. I've changed the dates a bit so this similar unit could be at Lucky Strike the same time as the men from Luft Stalag 13. The men from his camp did go on a march, but the obit didn't say where the troops were sent after they were rescued by American units. It appears this rescue took place on 5/2/45.
TROOPSHIPS: ww2troopships crossings / 1945 . htm I was all over the internet looking for records (for this project and to see if I could locate info on my dad's ships) I tried to get this to work with the story. According to this site, a ship named The Argentina left LeHavre on 4/22. The site says most of the passengers were RAMPS. The next ship to arrive would have been the General M. C. Meigs. It left England on the 27th, and arrived in LeHavre on the 28th. It left LeHavre on the 30th and landed in Southhampton on May 3rd. The site did not show the ship complement. FYI: there is a lot of information out there-both in print and online. Gov docs from the United States and the United Kingdom. Fascinating. Fortunately, more info is uploaded to the world wide web all the time. There is so much more available now (then in 2008 when I first began writing, and then researching and reading about POWs).