The Black Panthers

The 761st Tank Battalion, the “Black Panthers,” was the first independent black armored unit in the history of the U.S. Army to see combat. Independent because the law at that time decreed blacks and whites couldn’t serve in the same outfit.

The brass had reservations about using black soldiers in combat roles. The CO of Army Ground Forces, General Lesley J. McNair, argued they would be just as effective as white troops. In 1941, the Army began to enroll blacks into combat units.

Prior to 1941, blacks were relegated to labor units, truck drivers, cooks and orderlies. Old opinions die hard. Their own Commanding Officer, “Old blood and Guts” General George S. Patton Jr. said, “…I have no faith in the inherent fighting ability of the race.”

The 800 man strong 761st (motto: “Come Out Fighting”) trained for over two years before it shipped overseas. Fully armed, the unit was outfitted with fifty-four M4 Sherman and fifteen M5 Stuart tanks.

The most famous member of the 761st was baseball legend, SSgt. Jackie Robinson.

In the fall of 1944, Able Company and the 104th Infantry Regiment launched an attack on German positions in northeastern France. As they approached the town of Vic-sur-Seille, a German roadblock halted the advance. Withering enemy fire poured into the American column. Casualties mounted.

The pride of Hotulka, Oklahoma, Staff Sergeant Ruben Rivers, the tank platoon sergeant in the lead tank, jumped from his tank, attached a cable to the roadblock and pulled it off the road while bullets snapped all around him. The column proceeded into the town and won the day. Rivers was awarded The Silver Star for his heroism.

A week later, Rivers was back in his usual position, in the lead tank. Able Company led an assault on German positions in the French town of Guebling. As the Panthers entered the town, River’s tank hit a mine. The Tanks’ right track was blown off.

Rivers was seriously injured. The medics found him with a jagged bone sticking through his pants. Shrapnel had cut his leg to the bone from knee to thigh. His commanding officer said, “Ruben, you’ve got a million dollar wound. You have a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. You’re going home.”

“Captain, you’re gonna need me. I’m staying.”

“Goddammit, Ruben, I’m giving you a direct order. You’re going back!”

“This is one order, the only order, I’ll disobey.” Turning to the medics, he said, “Clean and dress this thing.”

Risking losing his leg, Rivers refused evacuation and continued to fight in another tank. The lead tank.

The Germans knew their backs were against the wall. If they lost eastern France, the Allies next stop would be the Fatherland. Patton’s tanks broke through line after line of enemy defenses. The Germans fought with the ferocity of the desperate.

Anti-tank fire swept the American tank columns. Rivers poured fire into enemy positions. They reciprocated by zeroing on River’s lead tank and hammered it with shells. The first shot penetrated the tank spraying the interior with steel fragments, wounding all of the crew. The second shot decapitated Rivers. The daring, fearless fighter was gone. The same officer whose orders he disobeyed recommended him for the Medal of Honor.

The Panthers fought their way across Europe, participating in four different major campaigns in six different countries.

By the end of the war, the 761st had been in continuous combat for 183 days. During that period, the Black Panthers suffered 50% casualties, earned one Medal of Honor, seven Silver Stars, fifty-six Bronze Stars and 246 Purple Hearts.

This from a unit that didn’t have “ inherent fighting ability.”

Despite facing fierce discrimination at home, the 761st showed the world a loyalty, valor, bravery and fighting ability equal to their white brothers-in-arms.

The Man Who Won The War

Andrew Jackson Higgins and the Eureka Boat

Andrew J. Higgins was the brusque, outspoken, bourbon loving, red tape hating founder and owner of New Orleans based Higgins Industries.

He was described by Dwight D. Eisenhower as “…. the man who won the war for us… if Higgins had not designed and built those LCVPs (landing craft, vehicle, personnel), we never could have landed over an open beach. The whole strategy of the war would have been different.”

America’s nautical savior was born in 1886 in Columbus, Nebraska. His early years were spent on the banks of the Platte and Loup Rivers. Both rivers were shallow and full of sandbars. Only shallow draft boats could navigate its waters. It is thought this is where Higgins’s interest in this type of watercraft began.

In the basement of his parent’s home, Higgins constructed his first boat. A minor detail of being unable to move the finished boat from the basement to the outdoors due to its size was remedied in typical Higgins style: he knocked down the wall that stood in his way.

His inborn desire for independence and self-confidence showed up early. He was thrown out of prep school for brawling and never looked back.

After a stint in the Nebraska National Guard, he moved south to pursue opportunities in the lumber business. He saw a market with oil drillers and trappers who operated in the waters of the Gulf Coast seaboard. In 1926, he developed a shallow draft boat with a recessed propeller in the stern and a “spoonbill” bow so the craft could slide over submerged obstacles and flotsam without jamming the propeller and a “spoonbill” bow so the craft could be run up on riverbanks.

But Higgins Lumber and Export Co. faced stiff competition from larger lumber companies that ultimately put them out of business in 1930.

Nevertheless, the indefatigable Higgins kept the boatbuilding side of his business and began constructing motorboats, tugs and barges for private firms. He also could count the U.S. Coast Guard as a client.

Lady Luck smiled on the hard-charging Higgins.

The U.S. Marine Corps was always interested in finding better ways to get men across a beach in amphibious landings. After twenty years of dealing with failure by the U.S. Navy’s Bureau of Ships and the frustration that The Bureau of Construction and Repair could not meet their requirements, they became interested in Higgins’s boats. He produced a prototype that met the design requirements of the USMC in 60 hours. He called it the “Eureka” boat. It was a plywood, shallow-draft, barge-like rear engine craft and it out-performed the Navy-designed boat. The military called it the “Higgins Boat.”

The only drawback to its design was that the troops on board had to climb over its side to disembark, thus exposing them to enemy fire in a combat situation.

The Japanese, meanwhile, had developed ramp-bowed boats for use in the Sino-Japanese War since 1937. U.S. Navy & Marine observers showed a picture of one to Higgins. It featured a front ramp for troop disembarkation. He immediately got on the phone to his chief engineer, described the Japanese design to him and told him to have a mock-up built for inspection upon his return to New Orleans.

In a month, successful tests of the ramp-bowed Eureka boat on Lake Pontchartrain convinced Higgins and the military this was the answer.

At thirty six feet stem-to-stern with a 10ft, 10inch beam (widest point of the vessel), all plywood, a rear-mounted 225 hp diesel engine, with less than a three foot draft, it could make twelve knots in calm water.

In later designs, the front ramp extended the with of the craft and two .30 cal. machine guns were added aft. It could hold a 36-man platoon of men in full battle dress or a jeep and a twelve-man squad. Helmed by a four man crew, it was possible for a boat to rush onto shore, disembark men and supplies, reverse itself off shore and head back to a supply ship in three minutes.

The little boats were used in all major invasions of the war – Sicily, Italy, North Africa, Normandy and the islands of the Pacific. In the course of the war, Higgins Industries turned out over 20000 such vessels and added to its repertoire with fast PT boats, twenty-seven foot airborne lifeboats which could be dropped from a bomber and 56 foot tank landing crafts.

All the while, Higgins fought running battles with the Bureau of Ships, the Washington bureaucracy and powerful eastern shipyards.

“If the Navy wants something sensible, why the hell don’t they just listen to people like us who have had years of experience?”

                                                         —- Andrew Jackson Higgins

 The Higgins boat changed modern warfare forever. The Allies now had an easily replacable, formidable tool that eliminated the need for established harbors or minesweepers prior to landing an assault force.

After the war, Higgins was socked with an IRS investigation and was largely forgotten by the public and military.

The inventor of some 30 patents relating to amphibious landing craft, the tough, straight-ahead, hot-tempered old boat-builder passed away on August 1, 1952. He was buried in Metairie Cemetery, just outside of New Orleans.

In 1987, the fleet oiler USNS Andrew J. Higgins was named in his honor and a statue of his likeness in Columbus, Nebraska.

Precious little recognition for “…the man who won the war for us….”

The 442nd Regimental Combat Team

The most decorated military unit in U.S. history was the 442nd Regimental Combat Team of the U.S. Army.

The 442nd was comprised of “Nisei’s” — first generation Japanese-Americans. All were enlisted men led by Caucasian officers. All were volunteers and most hailed from Hawaii.

After Pearl Harbor, all Japanese-Americans were classified as “4C” (enemy alien) and not allowed to enlist in the Armed Forces. FDR reversed that decision, and on 2/1/1943, Nisei’s began to join up.

They saw fierce fighting in eight major campaigns in Europe, in Italy, France and Germany. Casualties were high. The original unit strength of 3800 was replaced three times.

The unit’s members earned a total of an unheard of 18143 decorations for valor, including twenty Medals of Honor, 560 Silver Stars, 4000 Bronze Stars and 9436 Purple Hearts.

Ironically, as these men fought bravely for their country, the backlash after Pearl Harbor against people of Japanese descent in the U.S. resulted in their relatives languishing in internment camps for fear of “fifth column” sabotage action in the U.S.

“Go for Broke” became the unit’s motto. It is a gambling expression describing players who would risk all their money on a single roll of the dice.

The Nazi Schindler

Wilm Hosenfeld

Wilhelm Adalbert Hosenfeld was a mild-mannered schoolteacher from the central German state of Hesse.

Born into a family of a middle class, pious Catholic schoolmaster, his upbringing emphasized Catholic charity work, German patriotism and Prussian obedience.

He was also influenced by the Wandervogel movement that became popular at that time. This organization was a back-to-nature youth group whose adherents stressed freedom, personal responsibility, nationalism and a return to the values of the German Teutonic era.

He saw action in WWI, was seriously wounded and received the Iron Cross 2nd Class.

After the war, he retired from the Army and taught school. In 1935, he joined the Nazi Party, but as time passed, he became disillusioned with their policies towards Poles and especially Jews.

In August 1939, the month before Hitler invaded Poland and began WWII, Hosenfeld was drafted into the Wehrmacht-Heer (German Army). He was posted to Pabianice, a town in central Poland, where he built and ran a POW camp.

In 1940, he was posted to Warsaw where he was promoted to Hauptmann (Captain) and attached to the Wach-Regiment Warsaw as a staff officer and battalion sports officer. He remained there for the rest of the war.

It was during this time he, with several other German Army officers, developed a sincere sympathy for the people of occupied Poland. Ashamed by what some of their countrymen were doing, they offered to help Poles in need whenever possible, contrary to Nazi Party orders.

As early as 1939, against Nazi regulations, he allowed POWs access to their families. When he was transferred to Warsaw, he used his position to give refuge to people, sometimes arraigning for the papers they needed and jobs at the local sports stadium, which was under his pervue. He helped hide persecuted people, including Jews. He helped Jewish pianist and composer Wladyslaw Szpilman hide from the Gestapo in the ruins of Warsaw, an act that was portrayed in the 2002 movie The Pianist.

He befriended numerous Poles and even tried to learn the language. Contrary to Nazi orders, he attended the local Polish Catholic churches, heard Mass and received Communion.

Hosenfeld was captured by the Soviets as he led a Heer company on a mission to Blonie, a town west of Warsaw.

The Soviets accused him of war crimes (he had committed none) and sentenced him to 25 years of hard labor.

In 1950, Szpilman learned the name of the German officer who hid him from the Gestapo. He launched a campaign to have the Soviets release Hosenfeld, which was unsuccessful.

Hauptmann Wilm Hosenfeld died in a Soviet concentration camp in 1952 of a rupture of the thoracic aorta.

On February 16, 2009, Yad Vashem (Israel’s monument to Jews who fought Nazi oppression and Gentiles who aided Jews in need) posthumously recognized Wilhelm Hosenfeld as Righteous Among the Nations.

“Wild Bill” Donovan and the OSS

“Need you here to lead a unit to mount sabotage ops and intel gathering behind Jap lines in Burma. Get four or five guys you trust with your life and get here.” Signed, “Joseph Stilwell, Major General, Commander American Forces in China-Burma-India (CBI) Theatre.”

He picked up the phone and called Captain John Coughlin, his executive officer. “John, Carl here. Round up the other OSS guys, Sergeant Curl, Archie Ming and Bob Aitken and meet me in the company duty office in an hour.”

The duty office was a bare bones windowless room. A poster of Uncle Sam, a scowl on his face and pointing a finger at the observer ordering “I Want You!” hung on one wall. The other walls were bare. The floor was covered in dark linoleum that had seen better days. A small conference table with mismatched chairs commanded the center of the room. As the men filed into the empty room they saw Eifler standing at the end of the table with a sly smile on his face. Captain Archie Chun Ming, company medical officer, noticed the smile. “Our fearless leader is showing us his patented shit-eating grin. We’re probably in deep doo-doo.”

Coughlin laughed, “Christ, not again.”

Quiet, thoughtful Captain Robert Aiken, a member of the Army’s Hawaiian Intelligence Department silently took a seat, followed by Master Sergeant Vincent Curl. Eifler passed out copies of the telegram. Each of the men took a copy and gave it a quick scan. They looked at each other. Coughlin said, grinning, “When do we leave?”

Sergeant Curl said, “Fuckin’ Burma? It’s all jungle and swamps. They’ve got mosquitoes the size of dragonflies and spiders the size of dinner plates there. If the spiders bite you, your cock will fall off. It’s even more humid there than it is here, if that’s possible.”

Eifler said, “Well, I, for one, am bored shitless. Aren’t you guys getting tired of sitting around on your asses while there is a war on? Do you want to miss out on being a member of the soon-to-be famous “Co-coordinator of Information Service Unit Detachment 101.”

The room erupted in laughter. Even Aitken chuckled. “Heavens to Betsy, no!” Ming chortled, “But what happened to the other 100 Detachments?”

Curl said, “Shit, they’re probably chilled out on the beach at Waikiki, snortin’ down mai-tais and gettin’ laid every night.”

Eifler said, “O.K., get your gear together and meet me on the flight line at 07:00 tomorrow. “Dress is casual. Don’t bother with your long johns.”

From Chapter IV, World War II Black Ops, Vol. II

Click here to buy the Kindle version.

The French Resistance

“The defensive does not fit France. France is not a shield; she is a living sword, carried by its own momentum to the throat of the enemy.”

                                                                      Jules Michelet, French historian. 1798-1874

By the autumn of 1940, a number of small autonomous resistance groups began to form. They included members of both sexes and all political persuasions. No one group had a monopoly. Members of the Socialist Party, conservative Catholics (including priests), trade unions and others, with little or no money, almost no weapons and a chronic shortage of cigarettes, began to coalesce.

A nascent cancer was growing in the body of the Third Reich.

Prior to 1941, the French Communist Party, the largest in Europe, viewed Germany as an ally. Hadn’t Hitler and Stalin signed the German-Soviet Non-Aggression Treaty of 1939? The Communist Party line was that the war was simply Germany’s defense against British colonialism. The Party had, until that point, negligible resistance participation.

But when Hitler somersaulted and violated the treaty by invading the USSR in Operation Barbarossa, Soviet dictator Josef Stalin hit the ceiling. He called on all Communist Parties in Europe to attack Germans whenever and wherever they could be found. The Parti Communiste Francais (French Communist Party – PCF) jumped into the resistance with both feet. They formed a group called the Organisation Speciale (OS). They carried out attacks on German facilities; set fires to supplies bound for Germany and blocked roads. Assassination squads began to attack German officers everywhere at every opportunity.

The gloves came off.

From Chapter III, World War II Black Ops, Vol. II

Click here to buy the Kindle version.

Operation Chariot, “The Sauciest Job Since Drake.”

Hughes-Hallet stepped forward. “This is essentially a mission of demolitions. Code named Operation Chariot. The target is the largest dry dock facility in the world and services the capital ships of the Kreigsmarine. Destruction of the dock and surrounding facilities denies repair and refurbishing services to those ships. This keeps them bottled up in their home port in the Baltic Sea and out of the North Atlantic. The result will render them unable to wreck further destruction to merchant shipping in the Atlantic. As you know, keeping our supply lanes open is absolutely vital to our success in the war. This op has three primary objectives: the destruction of the dry dock, of the water pumping machinery and any U-boats in the area.

“The operation will be a land assault by the commando chaps, led by Lt. Colonel Charles Newman of No. 2 Commando. Commander Robert E. D. Ryder has consented to support them with a strong RN detachment. The RAF will carry out a number of diversionary air raids to keep Jerry’s head down.  And, to reiterate what the Admiral said, this is very top secret. Security must be maintained at the highest level.

“Specifics will be couriered to you in the next few days. They will be on a need-to-know and for-your-eyes-only basis. There will be no telephone communication regarding this op. This mission has the highest priority and supersedes anything you’re tasked with currently. Colonel Newman and Commander Ryder will organize you and your chaps into teams with various mission objectives. Thank you for your time.” With that, Hughes-Hallet left the room.

“Extraordinary,” remarked a captain.

“Sauciest since Drake?” skeptically queried a major.

“Sounds bloody exciting!” chirped a young lieutenant. The group broke into small clutches and began exchanging remarks. Col. Newman and Commander Ryder moved to the map and peered at various aspects of the port.

Newman, who had traveled extensively in France, smiled knowingly and murmured, “St. Nazaire, without a doubt.”

From Chapter II,  World War II Black Ops, Vol. II

Click here to buy the Kindle version.

“The Most Dangerous Man in Europe”

He swung around in his chair to face me. “Ever hear of a guy named Skorzeny?”

In the haze of the smoke, with my stomach doing back flips and a conga drummer in my head banging out a steady rhythm, I tried to focus. “Who?”

“Otto Skorzeny. He was one of Hitler’s right-hand men. Pulled off a lot of commando stuff for Der Fuehrer. Hitler thought he walked on water. When it became obvious the Third Reich’s party was over, he had the smarts to surrender to our side, no doubt preferring us to the gentle ministrations of the Red Army. If had they recognized him, they would’ve cut his balls off with a rusty tin can and take their time doing it. He’s been recently moved from the Wiesbaden prison. He’s right here in the Nuremberg lock-up. He’s gonna stand trial for a batch of war crimes allegedly taken place during the Battle of the Bulge. They’ve got him up on charges of ‘improper use of military insignia, theft of U.S. uniforms and theft of Red Cross parcels.’ All petty, chicken shit charges, but the International Military Tribunal is out for blood. They’re going after thousands of SS guys. The press, excluding us, is calling Skorzeny ‘the most dangerous man in Europe.’ They’ll probably throw his ass into prison for years. I want you to get his story before the locals wake up and beat us to it. I’ve arranged for a press pass. Get it and some background info on this guy from Doris on the way out.”

I rose to go. Sandy, glowering, pointed a finger at me. “Now, listen up. Stay the hell off the booze until I get a story on this guy and it better be good! Get cracking!”

“Right, Sandy.”

From Chapter 1, World War II Black Ops, Vol. II

Click here to buy the Kindle version.

Operation Anthropoid, The Hit on Reinhard Heydrich

“I am Jindra. We all use code names in case we’re caught by the Gestapo. In which case, one can’t betray anyone else in the group. Now, what is your mission here?”

Gabcik growled, “Wait a damn minute. We are taken to a strange apartment, surrounded by men armed to the teeth. You cross-examine us and satisfy yourself about our identity. You haven’t told us anything about you or your organization except it is a secret one, which is obvious. You can’t expect us to tell you everything!”

Jindra shifted his weight in his chair. Laser eyes looked straight at Gabcik. “Is it possible you are here to kill Heydrich?”

Stunned, Kubis exclaimed “Good God! How did you know?” Both men stared at Jindra, who actually smiled, displaying crooked, tobacco-stained teeth.

“We have contacts as well. They’re not very good, but they are contacts all the same. Is it true?”

Gabcik paused, thinking. He finally said, with iron in his voice, “Yes, and we’re going to get him.”

Jindra responded, “Then we’ll give you all the help we can. You should know that since Heydrich arrived, waves of arrests have crippled us. Intellectuals are especially persecuted and often executed. There is nothing in the law justifying such treatment, but it continues nevertheless.”

He stood, ending the meeting. “Henceforth, you will be dealing with Hajasky,” nodding to a slight, middle aged man with a beard standing quietly in the back of the room.

Hajasky’s specialty was finding safe houses and providing authentic-looking false identity cards and papers. He took one look at the documents the parachutists were carrying and laughed out loud. “This is what they gave you in London?This wouldn’t get you past even the stupidest German soldier or Czech policeman. Look at the spelling errors and the shitty ink on the stamps. Christ! Someone back there should have his ass kicked!”

From Chapter IV,  World War II Black Ops, Vol. 1

Click here to buy the Kindle version.

Heavy Water

She was tall. Hell, she had to be 5’-11.” With cascading red hair, a body to die for and a ready, hearty laugh. A lot of freckles. He had never seen freckles before arriving in England. They had met at one of the many parties people threw during the Blitz, one of those living-for-the-moment-who-knows-what-tomorrow-will-bring shindigs. Lots of laughter, alcohol and bullshit. The most popular record played on the phonograph (after “There’ll Always Be an England”) was the old 20s flapper anthem, “I Don’t Care.”

She had been standing in a corner, with four RAF types slinging bullshit as hard as they could, hovering around her like dogs in heat. Her dress clung to her curves. She had a smile that could glow in the dark. He had never seen anything like it in the small Norwegian town he grew up in. “Shit, she’s out of my league. She’ll wave me away like a troublesome insect,” he thought. “Ah, to hell with it. I’m going to try, if no other reason than to stick it to those cocky RAF fucks.”

He sauntered over. When there was a slight break in the conversation, he made his play. “Hello.” Just “hello? Arne, you asshole, that was pathetic. You have to do better than that!” The RAF men turned and looked him over. Not recognizing a Norwegian uniform, they turned to look at each other and grinned. She didn’t. With a killer smile and an extended hand, she said “Hello, Norway, I’m Tilda Colquhoun.”

They were together almost constantly after that. Dinners, walks, long conversations over wine which was new to both of them, exquisite love-making and making of plans.

He was called to Scotland. It was the next morning, fuzzy with sleep, that she told him she was a Scot and wanted to know where in the country he was going. “I’m going up there for some training. They don’t tell us until we’re airborne, but I’ll write you every day.”

And he did. She was not able to respond since the location was secret. The training was rigorous and helped keep his mind off of her. Four weeks of parachute jumps, rappelling down cliff sides, weapons and explosives familiarization, hand-to-hand combat exercises and a “wee hike” three days a week of twenty-five miles.

Training completed, with a seventy-two hour pass in his pocket, he almost ran from the London train station to her flat. But there was no flat. There was no building. Just an enormous pile of concrete rubble with clouds of smoke and dust almost obliterating what was left. Adjoining buildings, with all their windows blown out, stared with hollow eyes. Their structures, ruined by the blast, leaned inward where the other building had been and looked down curiously at their obliterated neighbor. A small clutch of people stood around. A small, almost tiny old lady wept quietly. A burly policeman stood guard. A crew of rescue workers swarmed over the pile, looking for survivors and bodies.

He almost shrieked, “What happened?”

The policeman looked at him as if he were the village idiot. “V-2. Direct hit.” Then, softening, “You got some someone here?”

“Yeah, Tilda Colquhoun. Tall, redhead, late 20s.”

The policeman looked over to the elderly woman crying and said gently “Mrs. Christie, do you know anything about a redheaded lass named Tilda Colquhoun?”

The woman nodded her head slowly.

The air went out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He thought his head would explode. He covered his face with his hands and groaned, “Ahh Gud, ahh Gud.” He staggered, stumbling over some rubble and flopped down.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill every one of those goose stepping, square head bastards. I’ll kill every one!”

From Chapter III, World War II Black Ops, Vol. 1

Click here to buy the Kindle version.