I was stationed in Baumholder Germany, (1989 - 1992), and one weekend after a binge-drinking weekend at the real Hofbrau Haus in Munich during Oktoberfest, we piled into a taxi to head back to our military base.
Our path back lead us directly past Dachau, as our cabbie pointed and said, “Das ist das Konzentrationslager Dachau.”
STOP!!! We asked the cabbie to wait with our stuff and we’d pay him for the hour, while we toured the camp.
As we piled out, still feeling Germany’s fine brew as we lightheartedly made our way to the main gate with the words “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work Will Set You free)staring us in the face, a large tour bus pulled up, full of older Americans.
Keeping to ourselves, but within ear shot of the group we learned that many of the men on that bus had been with the units that had liberated Dachau.
Suffice it to say, the giddy beer drinking soldiers that we were moments before were gone and immediately humbled at the greatness of the soldiers behind us.
They hugged each other and sobbed at the pictures on display from the era and what the camp used to be in its horror-days, as they shared with their spouses what they saw when they opened doors and saw the faces of death. What they did. Who they killed, and the passion and fury at the dispatch of that enemy.
The smell of the pile of shoes alone, much less the ovens and the ashen remains was more than they, or we, could bear to see. Real men in tears.
My buddies and I realized, just then and more than ever, what the true purpose of the U.S. military is and should be; to wipe evil off of the face of the Earth.
That was the longest, soberest drive back to Baumholder that I can ever recall.
I thank God for getting to be there at that moment, to hear the words those men spoke and to have a glimpse into the horrors they faced and eliminated.
God bless them all.
That ... is an awesome story.
Not to downplay modern conflicts, but the great wars were awful, awful wars. My dad was in the navy in WWII and was present for some of the sea-to-land assault battles. Rarely, he would speak of them, and it was unfathomable. He was an LST driver, and during every assault, he was was only able to make one beach landing, and never made it back to the ship for another load of troops. His boat went down every time. He used to always say that he never understood how he survived while so many around him died. He died at age 51 from a service-connected disability.
When Eurorailing with my Swedish mate in the ‘80s we had one day in the area. He wanted to visit Neuschwanstein Castle but I MADE him to go Dachau. He pouted about for a while that morning, then told me afterward that he was very grateful I made him visit the camp.
Good story to tell...