The Last Battle (34 page)

M
ARIE
-A
GNÈS AND
A
LFRED
C
AILLIAU

Though the Cailliaus’ imprisonment at Schloss Itter lasted barely a month, the harsh conditions they’d experienced before arriving at the Austrian fortress left lasting scars—both physical and mental. Alfred returned to work as an engineer but was plagued by poor health until his death in December 1956 at the age of seventy-nine. Marie-Agnès was awarded the Légion d’honneur in June 1975 in recognition of her wartime activities on
behalf of the French resistance. Her personal reminiscence of her eventful life,
Souvenirs personnels
, was published following her death in March 1982 at the age of ninety-three.

T
HE
N
UMBER
P
RISONERS

Sadly, it has proven impossible to track Andres Krobot or any of the female number prisoners following their handover to the UNRRA.

Z
VONIMIR
Č
UČKOVIĆ

Following his return to Yugoslavia at the conclusion of his brief postliberation trip to Paris, Zvonko Čučković set up a small electrical contracting business in Belgrade. He consolidated the incredibly detailed notes he’d kept during his time at Schloss Itter into the manuscript “Zwei Jahren auf Schloss Itter,” and provided copies to both the West German and the French governments. Čučković corresponded with several of the French notables after the war, and he provided Augusta Léon-Jouhaux with many of the details she used in her book
Prison pour hommes d’Etat
. Čučković died in Belgrade in 1984.

THE GERMANS

J
OSEF
G
ANGL

Following the liberation of Schloss Itter the Wehrmacht officer’s body was first taken to St. Joseph’s Church in Itter village but was eventually interred in Wörgl’s main municipal cemetery. Gangl is considered an Austrian national hero because of his alliance with the anti-Nazi resistance movement, his efforts to protect the civilian population of Wörgl, and his participation in the defense of the French VIPs at Schloss Itter. A major street in Wörgl is named after him.

S
EBASTIAN
W
IMMER

Despite his efforts to disappear, Schloss Itter’s former commandant was arrested within weeks after Allied forces occupied Tyrol. He was held at the fortress of Kufstein, the medieval castle overlooking the city, which was run as a POW camp by the French (who were the primary occupation force in that part of Austria). Thérèse Wimmer contacted the Jouhauxs and other former Itter prisoners, asking them to intervene on her husband’s behalf.
Several of the former VIP prisoners did so, via the French government’s occupation headquarters, the Mission de Contrôle en Autriche.
¹⁷

As an SS-TV officer, Wimmer was automatically considered a war criminal and logically should have been tried for his role in the 1939 Polish massacres and his administrative duties at Dachau and Madjanek. Inexplicably, he was released by the French in 1949, after which he went to work as a common laborer on a farm near Wörgl. His continued heavy drinking apparently drove his wife away, for in May 1951 he returned alone to his hometown of Dingolfing, Bavaria, and lived with his father at Bruckstrasse 101. He killed himself there on December 10, 1952, at the age of fifty.

S
TEFAN
O
TTO

Though his name appears on several postwar lists of suspected war criminals, the former SD officer was apparently never apprehended, tried, or imprisoned. As of this writing no information has come to light about his whereabouts or status.

K
URT
-S
IEGFRIED
S
CHRADER

Following their liberation the French VIPs at Schloss Itter gave Schrader a note, in French, which read “On May 4 [sic], 1945, Captain S. Schrader ensured the safety of the French detainees at Itter castle and stayed with them during the German attacks.”
¹⁸
While not exactly a ringing endorsement, the letter—which was signed by all of the VIPs—helped ensure that the decorated Waffen-SS officer spent only a relatively short period of time as a POW. After his release in 1947 he rejoined his family and worked for several years as a bricklayer. In the early 1950s the family moved to Münster, in northwestern Germany, and in 1953 Schrader was appointed to a position in the Interior Ministry of the state of North Rhein-Westphalia. He retired from that post in 1980 and reportedly died in the mid-1990s.

THE AMERICANS

J
OHN
T. K
RAMERS

As interesting an experience as the Schloss Itter rescue operation might have been for the 103rd Infantry Division military-government officer, it was only one of many in John Kramers’s long career. He remained in the army after World War II, serving as a military attaché in the U.S. embassies
in Finland, Egypt, Algeria, and Ethiopia, among others. His last assignment was as the garrison commander at Fort Indiantown Gap, Pennsylvania, and he retired from the army in 1967 as a colonel. After obtaining a degree in business from the University of Pennsylvania, he worked as a financial advisor, retiring in 2004. I am pleased to say that he was alive and well at age ninety-five at the time of this writing.

T
HE
142
ND
I
NFANTRY
R
EGIMENT
S
OLDIERS

After rejoining their unit following the relief of Schloss Itter, the four GIs were told that they would be put in for decorations stemming from their actions in the battle, but none ever received an award. The four men eventually returned to the United States and, like millions of other former service members, got on with life. Unfortunately, for three of the four all I have been able to discover about their postwar lives are the dates and places of their deaths: Alex Petrukovich, Illinois, November 1973; William Sutton, Wisconsin, June 1979; and Alfred Worsham, Kentucky, June 1993. Arthur Pollock, on the other hand, is alive and remarkably well at the time of this writing: eighty-eight-years-old and in good health, and working five days a week in the family business.

T
HE
23
RD
T
ANK
B
ATTALION
S
OLDIERS

As with the GIs from the 142nd Infantry Regiment, for three of
Besotten Jenny
’s four crew members I could locate only the dates and places of their deaths: Herbert G. McHaley, Indiana, November 1988; William T. Rushford, Michigan, March 1988; and Edward J. Szymczyk, December 1998. And, as in the case of Art Pollock, I was pleased to find Edward J. Seiner doing well at eighty-eight years of age; he is not, however, still working five-day weeks.

H
ARRY
J. B
ASSE

Jack Lee’s second in command returned to California after the war, and he and his wife went into farming near Anaheim. They grew oranges until Harry retired in the early 1960s, and one of the groves they sold was razed to help make way for Disneyland. Harry spent his retirement doing the things he enjoyed: hunting, fishing, and spending time with his extended family. He was in good health until his last two years, according to his son. Harry Basse died in Bishop, California, on October 4, 1991, at the age of eighty-one.

J
OHN
C. L
EE
J
R
.

The man who engineered the rescue of the French VIPs and the defense of Schloss Itter attempted to jump-start his postwar life even before leaving the service. On the advice of his father, who in addition to being a Norwich physician was also an important player in Democratic Party politics in Chenango County, New York, while still in Germany with the 23rd Tank Battalion, Jack Lee filed the paperwork necessary to make himself a candidate for the Democratic nomination for county sheriff. It was apparently the first time a U.S. military officer serving overseas sought a stateside political office.

Not coincidentally, Lee’s candidacy was announced in his home county the same week that Meyer Levin’s account of the fight for Schloss Itter, “We Liberated Who’s Who,” appeared in the
Saturday Evening Post
. While the magazine piece and several laudatory articles about Lee’s actions in the battle—coupled with news of the young tank officer’s Distinguished Service Cross—undoubtedly helped garner him some votes, Lee was ultimately unable to parlay his war record into public office; he lost the election by a substantial margin.

Lee finally returned to the United States in late January 1946 and was released from active duty at Fort Dix, New Jersey, on February 2, and transferred to the inactive reserve with the rank of captain.
¹⁹
And from that point on his life seems to have gone into a slow but seemingly inexorable downward spiral. Though he played several seasons of minor league football with the New Jersey Giants of the short-lived American Association, he was unable to win a berth on a pro team and turned to coaching local semipro and farm-club teams. He found work as a bartender, and, not surprisingly, his own drinking increased. At some point—the exact date is unclear—he and his wife, Virginia, split up, and she took their young son
²⁰
to California and eventually obtained a divorce. In the early 1950s Lee decided to go into the hospitality business and made a deal to buy the historic Eagle Hotel in New Berlin, New York. He took possession of the structure but was ultimately unable to make the final payments, and when the former owner took him to court, Lee lost the hotel. In a separate legal difficulty, Lee was charged with assaulting his sister’s estranged husband and was ultimately fined $50 and put on probation.

Details of Jack Lee’s subsequent life are few, though we do know some things. He married a second time, to a woman named Stella Evans, a waitress
whom he’d met while working as a bartender. She eventually divorced him—also because of his drinking. After the failure of his second marriage Lee lived for a few years in Texas City, Texas, but by the time of his father’s death in 1961 he was living in Long Beach, California; during his time in the Golden State (perhaps searching for Virginia and his son?) he apparently spent many hours with his old friend Harry Basse. How Lee made his living is unclear, as is the date when he returned to Norwich. At some point he married for a third time, to the former Nellie Porter, though he never had additional children. As to the last important date in Jack Lee’s life there is no doubt: he died at Chenango Memorial Hospital in Norwich on January 15, 1973, at the relatively young age of fifty-four. The cause of death was listed as “asphyxiation,” likely as the result of acute alcohol poisoning.
²¹

While Lee’s obituary in the local newspaper mentioned his role in the battle for Schloss Itter—which the piece’s author located in France rather than Austria—the man who’d led the rescue mission and the castle’s defense had perhaps the most succinct summation of that improbable fight: A few months before his death, Lee was asked by a reporter in Norwich how he felt about the long-ago incident. The hero of “the Last Battle” thought for a minute and then replied, “Well, it was just the damnedest thing.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

W
RITING HISTORY IS ALWAYS CHALLENGING
, in that the passage of time often obscures the truth rather than revealing it. Eyewitnesses pass away, memories fade, and records—if they were kept at all—are destroyed as being no longer relevant or simply disappear into bureaucratic oblivion. And there is an added difficulty when we try to write accurate accounts of military actions: the exhaustion, fear, exhilaration, panic, and sheer volume of war ensure that participants in the same battle will forever remember it in profoundly different ways.

That being said, it is the historian’s duty to diligently search out whatever documents remain and, if writing about relatively recent events, any participants who may still be alive. Much as a detective evaluates evidence through knowledge of the subject and the application of both logic and common sense, the historian assesses the available information and then weaves all the various strands into an account that is as accurate and complete as possible. For many who choose to write history, myself included, the hunt for the information on which the final story is based is the most enjoyable part of the process, even though it is often the most frustrating.

Fortunately, in researching
The Last Battle
I have been ably and generously assisted by a number of people in the United States and abroad. Their help has been immensely important, and I greatly appreciate it. Any errors or omissions in this volume are, of course, mine alone.

Above all, I wish to thank my wife, Margaret Spragins Harding. This book would literally not have been possible without her love, support, counsel, limitless patience, and extraordinary skills as a French linguist. She is the most remarkable human being I have ever encountered, and I am truly blessed to have her in my life.

I would also particularly like to thank Dr. Alfred Beck, an eminent historian and true gentleman, who many years ago—when we both worked at the U.S. Army Center of Military History—first told me of an odd little battle in Austria in May 1945 that involved Germans, Americans, and a gaggle of French VIPs. Thanks also to my agent, Scott Mendel, for his excellent advice and guidance; Robert Pigeon, my editor at Da Capo, for his friendship and assistance in shaping and improving the manuscript; and Bryce Zabel, friend and screenwriter, for suggesting that the Schloss Itter story would make just as good a book as it will a screenplay.

I am also indebted to:

I
N THE
U
NITED
S
TATES
:

My colleagues Michael W. Robbins, David Lauterborn, Dan Smith, and Jennifer Berry at Weider History Group’s
Military History
magazine for putting up with my frequent absences and almost continuous preoccupation while writing this book.