The Liberator: One World War II Soldier's 500-Day Odyssey from the Beaches of Sicily to the Gates of Dachau
Alex Kershaw
Language: English
Pages: 448
ISBN: 0307888002
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The untold story of the bloodiest and most dramatic march to victory of the Second World War
Written with Alex Kershaw's trademark narrative drive and vivid immediacy, The Liberator traces the remarkable battlefield journey of maverick U.S. Army officer Felix Sparks through the Allied liberation of Europe—from the first landing in Italy to the final death throes of the Third Reich.
Over five hundred bloody days, Sparks and his infantry unit battled from the beaches of Sicily through the mountains of Italy and France, ultimately enduring bitter and desperate winter combat against the die-hard SS on the Fatherland's borders. Having miraculously survived the long, bloody march across Europe, Sparks was selected to lead a final charge to Bavaria, where he and his men experienced some of the most intense street fighting suffered by Americans in World War II.
And when he finally arrived at the gates of Dachau, Sparks confronted scenes that robbed the mind of reason—and put his humanity to the ultimate test.
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(right) at Anzio. [Courtesy of Jack Hallowell] Brigadier General Robert Frederick (left), commander of 1st Special Service Force, and Mark Clark, 5th Army commander, after Frederick received DSC at Anzio, spring 1944. [National Archives] Thunderbird private from E Company 157th Infantry Regiment getting his shoes shined before invasion of southern France, August 7, 1944. [National Archives] Winston Churchill (left) and Mark Clark (right) aboard a submarine chaser off the coast of Italy,
Anziate, where so many Thunderbirds had died. Poppies and other bright flowers dotted the ravaged earth, swaying lazily in the warm breezes, obscuring the scatterings of bullets and rotting corpses. As men pulled back heavy canvas covers and basked in the sunshine in their foxholes, they talked of rumors about a big buildup, this time to punch out of the ring of iron around Anzio. Patrols became more frequent. Fake artillery pieces made of rubber and wood were spread across some rear areas to
combat since landing in France on August 15, and most, Sparks knew, were at their limit of endurance. They crept down wet lanes, skirted by bare trees, not knowing if they would see green leaves again. Combat never became less terrifying. It felt as if they were starting from scratch every time they closed on the enemy, cracking feeble jokes to keep their minds off what lay ahead, hearts pounding, stomachs contracting, calves twitching, muscles fluttering in their cheeks, jaws clenched, lips
city, which was demolished by twenty-five artillery rounds. Nothing was sacred. Only God knew when it would end. ASCHAFFENBURG, GERMANY, EASTER SUNDAY, APRIL 1, 1945 THE LOW-LYING CLOUD above Aschaffenburg cleared on the fourth day of the battle, April 1, 1945, and an increasingly frustrated General Frederick was able to call in air support. A P-47 fighter-bomber squadron attacked using .50-caliber ammunition because of fears that bombing might kill Americans below in the burning and
work, smoke (all the time)—anything to push the minutes along.… Everything we could think of to do has been done; the troops are fit; everybody is doing his best. The answer is in the lap of the gods.” In Rome, Eisenhower’s opposite number, fifty-eight-year-old Albert Kesselring, overall German commander in the Mediterranean, also spent that evening in his headquarters. He had not fallen for an ingenious counterintelligence operation, code-named Mincemeat, aimed at convincing the Germans that
