by Gary Moore
Two days later on May 8, Gene, Ray, Heinrich, and the two teams were finishing up a late afternoon game when a siren sounded. Someone started yelling something, and the call was taken up by others. Everyone on the ball diamond stopped playing. Ray Laws caught himself as he was throwing a pitch, and the ball dropped into the dirt.
“That’s a ball!” yelled out Felix in German. “That counts! No one called time out!”
By this time no one was paying any attention to whether Ray had thrown a ball or strike. That was because everyone who could understand English was standing with their mouths open, shocked by the news some of the sailors were yelling: “The Russians took Berlin! The war is over!”
Ray took off running for the plate and leaped on Gene, who bearhugged the pitcher as they rolled in the dirt. “Did you hear that?” Ray screamed. “It’s over! The war in Europe is over!” One by one, the American players fell onto the top of the pile until nothing but a mass of squirming arms and legs was visible. Anyone watching the scene would think the American team had just won the pennant or the World Series. The celebration continued for a minute or two until Gene extricated himself from the pile. The first thing he saw made him stop mid-yell.
The Germans were gathered along the first base line, exchanging somber glances. A few looked as though they were crying. None spoke. They had not had any word of how the war was going for nearly a year, so the news that Berlin was in enemy hands floored them.
Gene walked over and stood a few feet from Mueller. “I’m sorry, Heinrich—for you and for these guys, I am sorry. But this is good for us both, right? The war is over and you get to go home.”
Heinrich turned his head away. “Home to what?” he answered softly. “What could possibly be left of my country? The Russians have Berlin? I could never have imagined it in a thousand years. Part of my family had moved there before our last patrol. What are the odds they are still alive?” The German leaned over and said something to another from his crew who looked to be having a hard time with the news. “You have every right to celebrate your victory, Gene. You won. Your family is safe, your country strong and intact.” Heinrich threw his glove to the ground and walked off the field. Every other German player followed him.
Dave MacIntyre heard the exchange between Gene and Heinrich. “Hey, Mueller, remember, we didn’t start this war! We were dragged into this thing! The Japs bombed us on a Sunday morning, the cowardly bastards, and your Hitler declared war against us—remember?” Mac was walking after Heinrich now, who was still stomping away. “Yeah, walk away! We didn’t invade other countries, either!”
“Mac!” Gene screamed, trotting after the pair. “Knock it off!”
Mueller, however, boiled over with emotion. He spun around and ran toward Mac, who reached down and picked up a bat and headed for the approaching German. Ray jumped in front of the American and grabbed him, while Gene tackled Mueller and knocked him to the ground.
“Heinrich, don’t do this!” Gene yelled as he struggled to hold the German on the ground. Gene lifted his head and looked around, convinced the rest of the Germans would be leaping to Mueller’s defense. Thankfully, Milner and Riordan had jumped in front of them and waved them off. The fact that sailors with rifles were running to the field also helped keep the argument from escalating into something much worse.
Gene jumped up and waved his arms. “Put the guns away, we’re arguing over a bad call!” When the sailors hesitated, Gene said it again, not as loudly but just as convincingly. “It’s fine! Put the guns away! The war is over, right? It would be stupid for anyone to get hurt now.”
The guards lowered their weapons but surrounded the teams. “What the hell is going on here?” barked Colonel Arbeiter as he trotted onto the field. “Moore! Where’s Moore?”
Gene waved his hand to catch the colonel’s eye. “Actually, nothing’s going on, colonel. We were arguing a call and decided to settle it with a wrestling match, what with the war being over and all. Sir.” Several of the American players lowered their eyes and looked away. Many of the Germans did the same.
Arbeiter wasn’t a complete fool, but he didn’t press the matter. “Okay, the ball game is over.” He turned toward the guards. “Get these Jerries back into that pen, and if they so much as look at you funny, you have my permission to drill one as an example!” Mueller quickly translated for the men who did not speak English while the guards herded the prisoners toward the gate to the compound. Mueller caught Gene’s eye and nodded briefly as if to thank him.
“What the hell got into them?” Ray asked.
“Probably the same thing that would get into us if we were in their shoes,” Gene replied. “We were celebrating the loss of their country, and maybe even the death of many of their family and friends.” He bent down to pick up his mitt and started walking toward the pen. “Damn thoughtless of us,” he muttered.
“Moore!” It was Colonel Arbeiter. Gene stopped, and turned. “Where do you think you are going? Get over here.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Gene, walking to where the colonel was standing and saluting.
“Now what the hell really happened?”
“We started celebrating the news of the end of the war. They don’t know about their homes or families, I guess we forgot about them standing here listening. That’s all.”
“Moore, don’t go native on me,” Captain Arbeiter shot back. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about their feelings or their families. As I have told you over and over, they are the enemy, and …”
“Not as of today, sir.”
Arbeiter’s eyes bulged and he looked like he was going to explode. “Damn it, Moore! Don’t you ever interrupt me again! Am I making myself crystal clear?” Stunned, Gene swallowed hard and nodded. “Answer me now, or I will have you arrested!”
Gene stood there, unable to say a word. The American team gathered around him. The colonel looked at Ray Laws, who stared back without saying a word.
“Moore, Laws—in my office. NOW!” Arbeiter stormed off.
When he was out of earshot, Ray asked, “Do you think he meant right now, Gene, or do we have time for a cup of coffee?” The entire team fought, largely without success, to stifle their laughter. Luckily, the colonel was already out of earshot.
Gene shot a look at Mac, who fumbled his way through an apology. The catcher shook his head and waved him off. “Forget it, Mac. Just forget it.”
“Do you think he’s calmed down, Gene?” Ray asked during the walk to Arbeiter’s office.
“Who knows,” he answered. “I’ve never seen him so worked up, but he’s a reasonable man.” Ray shot him a look as if he had lost his mind, but Gene ignored him and knocked on the door.
“Colonel Arbeiter, sir? Moore and Laws reporting as ordered.”
“Come in and have a seat.” Arbeiter’s voice was calmer, his tone measured, but it was obvious he was still steamed.
Both players took a seat while Arbeiter remained standing near the window looking outside. An uncomfortable silence followed. The officer finally cleared his throat and began speaking. “I took a big chance on this baseball thing, Moore, and as I told you, it was not the fiasco I thought it might be. So you can imagine my surprise when I look out my window this afternoon and see what others might view as a prison revolt.” The colonel turned and looked long and hard at both men. “This is not the way I want to end my career!” he yelled.
The colonel walked to his desk. One of his massive forearms pushed aside a stack of paper and two empty bottles so there was room for him to sit down on the corner. A full minute passed before he spoke again. “You know, Moore, overall, this has been a great experiment. I doubted it in the beginning, but you made a believer out of me. Except for today, there hasn’t been a single problem—not one. No fights, no escape attempts, no sharing of unauthorized information—at least nothing I heard about.” He paused before adding, “A few months ago I almost shut the whole program down.”
The ball players looked in surprise at
the colonel. “Why?” they both asked together.
“Either of you ever heard of Papago Park, outside Phoenix, Arizona?” The sailors looked at one another and shook their heads. “Large POW pen for krauts. They wanted to play volleyball, and got the tools to do it. Bunch of bleeding hearts there, too, I guess.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Can you guess what they did with the tools?”
“Tried to escape?” guessed Ray.
“Now that’s a shock, isn’t it?” Shot back Arbeiter, his eyes wide in mock surprise. “They dug a 178-foot tunnel under the volleyball field! More than two dozen slipped free just before Christmas. Most were recaptured within a few weeks. Can you guess who the leaders were?”
Ray and Gene shook their heads.
“U-boat men.” Arbeiter watched for their reactions. Ray looked over at Gene and raised his eyebrows.
Gene ignored him. “When will they be leaving, sir?” he asked.
“Who? Your German players?” Arbeiter scratched his head and then shook it. “I don’t know. I’m sure there are many details to be worked out. If they don’t close the camp and transfer them, they could be here months—maybe longer. Who the hell knows? The brass doesn’t consult me on these things.” Arbeiter looked lost in his thoughts. Another twenty seconds of uncomfortable silence followed.
Gene and Ray looked at each other, not knowing whether they should say anything. Finally Gene broke the silence. “Sir?”
“No more baseball.”
Gene and Ray turned to look at one another. “Colonel, did you say no more baseball?” Gene asked.
Arbeiter nodded. “I’d say baseball is over, wouldn’t you? There’s no reason to keep playing now that the war in Europe has ended. They will probably be shipping out soon—or you guys might be. Have you given any thought that all of us might be headed for the Pacific soon?”
Gene thought fast, trying to come up with a reason to continue playing. “With all respect, colonel, I think there is a reason to keep playing.” The catcher was buying time. He had no idea what he was about to say next.
“And what would that be—other than you want to play baseball?”
Flustered, Gene paused and looked at Ray. “Yes, of course, sir, there is every reason to keep playing,” Ray chimed in, looking back at Gene for an answer.
“Sir, as you said, this has been good, and because it’s been good …” Gene looked back at Ray.
“As Gene was saying, sir, as good as all this has been—.”
“We thought it would be good to end with ‘The Friendship Game,’” interjected Gene, whose smile and nodding was completely at odds with what he was feeling. “Where did I come up with that?” he wondered.
“The Friendship Game?” Arbeiter narrowed his eyes as if he smelled a rat. “Why haven’t I ever heard of that?”
Gene stood up with excitement, but then remembered where he was. “Sorry, sir. The Friendship Game is something we have been planning for just this occasion, colonel.”
“Sit down, Moore.”
“Yes sir, colonel,” answered Gene, dropping back into his seat.
“Now, fill me in on what you have in mind.” Arbeiter sat down in his own chair and began hunting for his pack of Lucky Strikes.
Colonel Arbeiter had informed his superiors that baseball was being played in the Louisiana POW camp. The initial reaction was disbelief, followed by anger. Eventually the brass warmed to the idea—especially because someone like Colonel Arbeiter strongly endorsed it. That was something neither Gene nor his teammates ever learned.
When the rest of the camp found out about the American-German “Friendship Game,” the idea took root and everyone looked forward to the event. All Gene had to do was sell Heinrich and his teammates on the idea. To his surprise, it was much easier than expected.
The game was scheduled for August 8, 1945. The news was that after the game, Mueller, Kals, Goebeler, and the rest of the Germans from U-505 would be transferred elsewhere. Some said they were going to a camp in Canada; others claimed their destination was England, where they would be put to work cleaning up the ravages of war.
When they would return to Germany was a question no one could answer.
Chapter 23
The Friendship Game
The simultaneous advance of the American and British forces from the west, and Russians from the east closed a death-like vice grip on the German Third Reich. How the war would end was largely decided in early 1945 at the Yalta Conference, where President Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and Josef Stalin agreed on terms that would change the world forever. Poland, Hungary, the small Baltic states, and Romania would be governed by the Soviets. Others, like Yugoslavia, Austria, and Greece, would be divided between “The Big Three.” Additional countries directly affected by the Second World War—France, Holland, Denmark, Luxembourg, Belgium, and Norway—would remain under Western (American and British) control. Germany itself would be occupied by American, British, Soviet, and French troops, as would Berlin itself. These decisions seemed wise at the time, but were really a recipe for future conflicts that also voluntarily stripped freedom away from tens of millions of people for two generations.
With the war winding down, the Germans became increasingly anxious to surrender to American or British troops, knowing that capture by Russian forces meant either a death penalty or long-term captivity. Hundreds of thousands of Wehrmacht troops surrendered en masse in April and early May. During the deep Allied advance, evidence of horrific German war crimes became apparent when concentration camps were discovered. The barbaric treatment of the Jews and others in these camps shocked even the hardened Russians, who thought they had seen it all in a lifetime of hardship. After General Eisenhower walked through the camp at Ohrdruf, he wisely ordered every German civilian in the immediate vicinity to do the same, so no one could later deny what had taken place right under their noses.
Hitler selected Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz, the head of the German U-boat war, to act as the next Führer, and then killed himself in his underground bunker in Berlin. Dönitz did what he could to get hundreds of thousands of refugees west and away from Soviet forces before signing the surrender documents on May 7. Others surrendered to the Soviets the following day. V-E Day (Victory in Europe) was officially proclaimed on May 8. Many high-ranking German officers like Hermann Goering, Albert Speer, Alfred Jodl, and Wilhelm Keitel, were captured and eventually tried for war crimes. Many were eventually hanged.
The war in Europe was over. But the world war was not. On the other side of the world in the Pacific Theater, many hundreds of thousands would be killed and wounded over the next few months as the Japanese continued to wage a bitter defensive struggle to the death.
The U.S. Navy baseball team was set to play the German prisoner team in front of all the other prisoners from the entire Camp Ruston, as well as most of the service men and women from the area and local townspeople. It was being billed locally as “The Friendship Game.” The war was over, the German prisoners would soon be leaving for somewhere, and this was the last time they would play baseball together.
Gene knew that most people would enjoy seeing the game, but until it was ready to begin he had no idea so many people would place so much significance on it. They had been playing with the Germans in Louisiana for the better part of a year. Except for the first game or two, when Colonel Arbeiter would attend to try and find a reason to shut it down, it had never been a big deal. A dozen people would show up—mostly other off-duty guards or a few local area residents. That was it. All Gene knew was that he was going to play a game and a crowd was expected, so he wanted to be at his very best.
On the morning of the big event, he was standing at the foot of his bunk getting dressed when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.
“Well, if it’s not Sesser’s favorite son, the Pride of the Egyptians.”
Gene spun around and dropped his mouth in astonishment. “Mr. Boudreau! How are you?” He could barely contain himself as he shook hands
with the man who signed him to play baseball.
“I’m doing fine, Gene. Please call me Frank.” The scout looked the star catcher over from head to toe. “I didn’t think you could get any taller, but you added an inch or two since I saw you last—what, four years ago now? How are you, Gene?”
“Yes sir, I think it has been four years. Well, the war’s over and I’m still playing baseball. I’d say all in all, I’m doing just fine.” Gene could not wipe the grin from his face. Neither could Frank.
“Gene, I have been talking with Colonel Arbeiter about how you and the boys are playing ball with the enemy. I heard this whole thing was your idea!”
Gene’s broad smile turned into a sheepish grin. “Well, I don’t know. It just evolved out of an idea to keep our own skills as sharp as possible, that’s all. It’s no big deal, really.”
Frank nodded and grinned back. “I always said you are a sharp kid—sorry, you’re not a kid anymore! I’ll let you finish getting ready, and you can tell me more about what it’s like to play against the Germans. Any good prospects out there I should keep my eye on?” Both men laughed at the suggestion. “It’s good to see you, Gene.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Boudreau—I mean Frank. So you’ll be around after the game?”
Frank nodded. “I have already talked with the colonel, and he said we can have dinner together off base, if you like—my treat, of course. They still don’t pay you enough for me to expect you to pick up the tab, but I have a hunch you’ll be buying me dinner soon enough!”
When Frank arrived at the Camp Ruston ball field, he was amazed to find a sizeable crowd of people had gathered to see a local baseball game. From what he could tell, people were still arriving, parking long distances away, and walking in with picnic baskets and kids on their shoulders. Some even brought their family dogs. The Brooklyn Dodgers’ scout took a seat behind the American bench on some scaffolding set up for the occasion. He didn’t expect much, but “The Friendship Game” was obviously a local event not to be missed.
