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Blood in Our Boots

by Edward P. Haider

126 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0620; ISBN 1-55369-807-X; US$15.50, C$17.95, EUR13.00, £9.00

Blood in Our Boots is the proud story of one 82nd Airborne soldier's experiences in preparing for the the invasion of Sicily and his subsequent suffering as a German prisoner of war. The author includes anecdotes and stories of daily life for the prisoners of war attached to the Stalag 2 B Schulenberg farm, work detail.


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About the book      About the author      Sample excerpts       Catalogue info

About the Book

Blood in our Boots is one soldier's gripping story of his World War II experiences including life inside the walls of a Nazi POW camp. The author explains the training for war and his battle experiences from his unique perspective, an everyday soldier, not an historian. His reflections are tempered and distilled by the fifty-seven years which have passed since the events the events took place.
From his perspective and reflection he explains what it was like training to be a paratrooper. He shares with the reader the sea cruise to Casablanca and desert life, including bartering with the locals - selling G.I. supplies for a few extra bucks.
Memories of the tension and preparation involved with making America's first combat paratroop jump are vividly recalled by the author. The reader can sense the uncertainty among the men as they flew into harm's way and made their jump on the moonlit night of July 9, 1943.
Skirmishing with the Germans and eventually falling into their hands is shared with the reader. The reader feels and understands the stress and anguish of being taken prisoner and the uncertainty of what the future held for the author and his buddies. You will read of surgery without the benefit of anesthetic or sufficient medical supplies.
The author points out what daily life was like for POWs who were held in Stalag 2B and he takes issue with Military Intelligence reports that claimed life was bearable and hospitable for the men being held. You will experience the author's unrequited joy upon being liberated by the Russian Army.
This book gives a personal glimpse of life in the 82nd Airborne and how one man and his buddies survived the maltreatment they received at the hands of the Germans. It is a must-read for every student of history and for all who want to have a better understanding of life as a POW.


About the Author

Ed Haider was an eager, patriotic, twenty year old when he enlisted in the airborne in April of 1942. As is all combat, his experience turned into a living nightmare, being taken prisoner of war and living for almost two years in the hands of the Germans.
Following the war Ed married and raised two sons. He worked for Burlington Northern Railroad for thirty-three years as a fireman, engineer and as a trainmaster-road foreman.
Ed is now living in Roseville, Minnesota enjoying his retirement and sharing his prisoner of war experiences with students and other interested groups.


Sample Excerpts

DETTEMENN DORF-KELSO (January 1945 to May 1945) How horrible it all was!

 
        Many have heard of the Bataan Death March. There was another death march, one conducted by the Germans during the dead of winter.*
        One bitter, cold morning in January of 1945, we were rousted out and told we were leaving. The weather was like I was used to back home in Minnesota, lots of snow and very cold. We started marching and would keep moving until we came to a barn big enough to house us all for the night. There were about 100 prisoners in this march. It was about 20° below zero and most of us didn't have any socks to wear, just bare feet inside our boots that were like a couple of boards. At night in the barns we would take our boots off and pour the blood out. It seemed like we each had about a shot-glass full of blood in our boots from the walking. We would shove our feet into piles of straw, hoping for a little warmth, but there was none to be found. In the morning we had to put our boots back on - it wasn't easy over raw feet. It was just hell walking the first mile or two, but the farther we went, it all just settled down into a painful march. One time we noticed one of our guards take off his boots and for socks he only had rags wrapped around his feet. We figured things were not going too well for Germany if even their soldiers had no socks. From our perspective though, rags were at least better than nothing.
 
* For additional information, refer to: Gary Turbak, Death March Across Germany, published in VFW magazine and on-line at, www.b24.net/pow/march.htm
 
pg 95
1,000 Mile March
 
        We would generally cover about 25 to 30 miles a day. Sometimes the snow was up to our knees. We just kept going. With a guy next to you prodding you with his rifle and bayonet, there was nothing else to do but take the next step. This march that had started the second week of January, continued until the last week of February 1945. We figured we probably walked about 1,000 miles. We kept going in a generally south-western direction, toward the American lines, because the Germans did not want us to fall into the hands of the Russians.
        We lost a lot of men on the march. Some of the fellas died in the wagons and sometimes they would just fall out to the side of the road. When that happened, a guard would stay with them and then later the guard would come running up to the group alone.
        Somewhere south of Berlin, before we started heading northwest, we were marching through some small town and there was a fella standing there in civilian clothes, just watching us. As we went by he winked and said in a low tone, "Keep your chins up, it won't be long now." We figured he must have been one of our intelligence agents.
        During this stint we weren't fed much. Each day we got one slice of bread and one boiled potato. The inside of my mouth became all blistered. Even though I was hungry, I couldn't drink water or eat my bread or potato. I just gave it away. This went on for five days. I thought I was going to die of starvation, not being able to eat. I was later told that this was a symptom of malnutrition or starvation.
        While we were on the march, one of the guys named Simms, got such frozen feet that he couldn't get his shoes on. The Germans gave him a pair of straw shoes, these looked like a pair of overshoes. He put these on and the Germans allowed him to ride in their equipment wagon. None of us escaped the problem. Eventually, all of us ended up with frost-bitten feet. This was sure getting to be old, marching day in and day out in knee-deep snow and without socks. If only the weather could have been warmer.
        Eventually we got to a little hamlet called Dettemenn Dorf-Kelso, just west of the city of Rostock. We were housed on the second floor of a building. Our barracks consisted of a number of bunk beds lining two walls with one table and two benches in the center of the room. Just off our room was another smaller room, sort of a closet. Here the guards would lock up our clothes at night to discourage our trying to escape. All we were left to sleep in were our green boxer shorts. Outside, down a wooden walk-way, was our toilet.
        Every morning before going to work, repairing the railroad by changing damaged rails or tamping ties, there was a chore for two men to empty the toilet can. The can was kept in our barracks and we used it throughout the night. We would empty it in the outhouse behind our barracks. One morning as Cliff and I entered the long outhouse we saw a chicken inside. I said, "Don't let him get away. As soon as you get him, twist his neck and put him in the can." We approached him very carefully and I got him by the neck. One quick twist and he never made a sound. Into the can he went and we covered him up with the lid. That evening in our potato soup we had chicken. It was impossible for us to see the chicken, but we knew it was in there. Another night, our cook, South Carolina Jim, told us he had a treat for us in our soup. After we were through eating, we asked him, "What was the treat?" Our soup was always so watery it was difficult to tell if anything was in it. He told us he had caught a cat and cooked it in the soup. None of us could tell what it was, it didn't hurt anyone, and besides, it tasted pretty good.
        About an hour after eating, around 7:30 in the evening, Henry the guard would open the door and just stand there. He had come to take us for our drinking water. We had to walk to the train depot to pump our water. We hauled the water in a 25 gallon can which two of us would carry. On the way I would ask Henry how the war was going. He would tell me just where the American and Russian fronts were. Our conversations went on like this every night. Henry kept us up to date on the progress the allies were making.
        One night about 9:00 PM we heard the movement of the iron bar that locked our door. In walked Henry. He had always treated us well besides keeping us up to date on the war's progress. He called for me and told me to sit down. I sat down on a bench at this little table across from Henry and he pulled out his wallet. He removed some pictures and handed them to me. The first was a picture of a beautiful woman, his wife. Then there was a picture of his two children, they were about 10 or 12 years old. Finally, there was a picture of his home. He looked at me and just started to cry, saying, "That was yesterday, today I have nothing." He kept repeating this over and over, "Today I have nothing." Evidently, our bombers came over and hit his house with his wife and children inside. He said there was nothing left. His family and home were in Aachen. The tears rolled down his face as he cried. I felt so bad for him that I too cried with Henry as did all the rest of us. All I could say was how horrible it all was. The war was destroying everything. He told me that he didn't blame the pilots because they had a job to do just like we have. Henry was the nicest German guard we ever had. That made two Germans that were decent to us, Henry and the German medic.


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