WWII

May 30, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 5 Comments

We Meet Again by Charles Torluccio

We Meet Again

by Charles Torluccio | 11th Armored Division

One morning in 1990, my wife Doris and I were having morning coffee and reading the newspaper when I noticed that a Holocaust survivor named George Topaz was having a book signing in our town. As I read about Mr. Topaz’s experiences, I felt my skin tingle. I grabbed my cap with the 11th Armored Division emblem on it and told Doris we had to make that signing.

We sat off to the side while Mr. Topaz talked with those who’d purchased copies of his book, The Iron Furnace. Hours later, after the last person had left, Mr. Topaz lifted his head and looked to Doris and I, surprise we still waited. Then he looked to the emblem on my cap. Instantly, his eyes grew wide and he smiled. Before I could say a word, the man jumped from his seat and swept me into his arms.

“You were there. It was your division that liberated our death march in 1945!” Mr. Topaz spurted.

I thought back to that day as I was again pulled into this man’s strong embrace. It was a day I’ll never forget.

The horror began when our armored division drove up to the empty camp Flossenburg. The Nazi’s had heard we were coming and had fled. All that remained were the skeletal bodies of prisoners—silent testimonies to the horror. As an armored division, we couldn’t stop long and soon moved forward, only to spot dead bodies lining the roads. I was just a young kid straight out of high school; a replacement for killed or injured troops. Nothing had prepared me for the sight of thin arms and legs poking out of striped uniforms, their distorted faces staring at us, reminding us we were too late.

Not too much further, we rounded a hill and noticed a staggering parade of prisoners. There were thousands of them, and they looked like broomsticks with tennis balls on top. Upon seeing us they cheered, realizing they’d beat all odds and had survived the war.

“I will never forget that day forty-five years ago,” Mr. Topaz continued, looking into my eyes. “It’s the day I again became a free man. The only thing I wish I knew was whether we were liberated on April 22rd or April 23th. I was so weak, I hadn’t paid much attention at the time.”

“Oh, it was the 23th. I know that for a fact,” I told Mr. Topaz.

“How?” He scratched his head.

I placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “It’s hard to forget the events of one’s nineteenth birthday.”

“April 23rd is your birthday?”

I nodded, my eyes brimming with tears. George and I discovered that day that we only live ten miles from each other. When we parted, George told me he’d be in touch. A few weeks later I received his phone call.

“Happy Birthday!” George’s voice called out over the phone.

“Happy Liberation!” I cheerfully answered back.

After we hung up, George came over and we celebrated our day with brunch and presents. George told me about his life in a prison camp and about the many things he’d done to survive. The Nazis needed a shoemaker, and he was their next shoemaker. The Nazis needed a plumber; he was their next plumber. He didn’t know a thing about plumbing, but that’s what got him through.

George and I have been friends ever since. Recently, we’ve also met a third man who was in the same death march that our division liberated. He also lives close by and joins in our celebration.

Every year, I make sure I’m early to bed on April 22nd. That’s because George and I have a contest to see who will be the first to call. Sometimes George wins, sometimes I do.

“Happy Liberation!” I tell him as the dawn breaks on our new year.

“Happy Birthday!” he answers. And I smile, knowing that George’s friendship, and our amazing connection from a continent way, makes my birthday happy indeed.

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May 28, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 1 Comment

The Forgotten War

… ever heard of it? Yeah, I hadn’t really either. Beyond hearing about a For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway, I didn’t understand the time period or the events of this war.

When I was researching for my World War II novel, Arms of Deliverance, one of the autobiographies I read was from a man who was a B-17 bomber pilot over Europe — but before that he was an American volunteer for The Spanish Civil War.

I had never heard of this war before so I started researching, and I was soon fascinated. Some people call it “the first battle of World War II” because it’s where the Nazis first tried their hand at modern warfare.

What was The Spanish Civil War about?

Ordinary people tried to take over the country from the Spanish (fascist) Government and military, and people around the world came to help them fight. Other European countries also got involved. Most of them sided with the fascist Spanish Government. In fact, Germany jumped into the fight and German pilots bombed Madrid after the people took over the city. German bombs fell in Spain long before they hit the French or English soil.

The Research Begins

As I started by researching this time in history, unique characters who had an impact started to form in my mind.

For this series, I dove into the lives of an American artist, a few international volunteers, a Basque priest, and a German pilot. I researched the real people first, and then the plot for my novel built around them.

Writing from a Different Worldview

The most difficult part about writing about The Spanish Civil War was dealing with the political climates of that time. One of my characters, Deion, is African American and he is part of the Communist party. Today’s reader has a different view of what that means than people in 1930 did. In the 1930s, many people found hope in Communism. In a country that was still segregated, the idea of “equality of men” was a huge draw, especially for African Americans.

Even though the political climate was hard to grasp at times, I really liked researching the Spanish culture. Bullfights and flamenco dancing both found their way into these books!

My characters surprised me the most thought. In fact, at the beginning of A Valley of Betrayal, I added a minor character because my protagonist, Sophie, needed a ride across the border into Spain. As it turns out her driver ended up being one of the major players in this series. Who knew?

When God Showed Up

This series was very challenging because I knew nothing about The Spanish Civil War before I started. Yet, I felt sure that God was leading me to write these books. I felt Him asking me to take a leap of faith, and during the writing process, God (again) taught me to trust Him.

When God gives me an idea for a novel it is so BIG. I mean there is so much to pull together. Yet, God has shown me time and time again that He is faithful. He gives me ideas, leads me to the right research books, and even brings people into my life to help me!

The Prayer that Changed Everything

While I was researching this book, I was having trouble finding out about the German pilots who bombed Madrid, mostly because they did so in secret.

I also didn’t have much information about the planes they flew … this was especially troublesome since one of my main characters was a German pilot! At my whit’s end, I prayed about it. “God, you were in Spain in the 1930s, PLEASE lead me to the information that I need to know.”

During that time, a man named Norm Goyer contacted me because he was working on his family tree. He was a sweet old guy in his 80s, and he wanted to know if we were related. It turns out, we weren’t related, but Norm ended up being an airplane expert and consultant for movies! In fact, he’d actually flown the very planes that I needed to write about!

Norm ended up helping me research my German pilot in Spain. What an awesome gift from God!

This showed me that whatever God brings before me, He also has the power to help me succeed.

The Lessons I Learn

It’s been years since A Valley of Betrayal released, but I still find myself sharing the stories about this forgotten war over and over again. I also share the story about Norm, and how God proved himself to me. I mean, come on, I could have easily ignored an inquiry about my genealogy … since I was in the middle of writing a very complicated novel!

Yes, I learned about The Spanish Civil War as I wrote, but I also learned to trust God more.

God provided Norm just when I needed him. And now every time I struggle with finding just the right research I remember when God showed up. He always shows up in this book-writing business.

Today, I want to urge you to tell one person about this “forgotten war.” How cool that you now know a piece of history that most people don’t!

Also, take time to share with someone a personal story of a time God answered one of your prayers in an amazing way. You’ll never know how it’ll encourage them!

Finally, consider picking up A Valley of Betrayal. It’s fun for me to know that I’m bringing history to life for readers. While most of the country has no idea what this war was about, my readers not only know but they can also see God’s hand in history in ways that would otherwise be forgotten.

My Spanish Civil War Series is available here https://triciagoyer.com/spanish-civil-wars/

How about you? What’s your favorite historical time period to read about in a novel? Also, when was a time that God showed up to you in an unexpected way?

Read the original post at Inspired By Life and Fiction.

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May 23, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 2 Comments

Excerpt from ‘Songbird Under a German Moon’

Happy Memorial Day weekend! If you are looking to add to your TBR pile, here’s another WWII book of mine I know you’ll enjoy! Here’s a bit about the book:

Songbird Under a German Moon

The year is 1945. The war is over and 21-year-old Betty Lake has been invited to Europe to sing in a USO tour for American soldiers who now occupy Hitler’s Germany. The first nights performance is a hit.

Betty becomes enthralled with the applause, the former Nazi-held mansion they’re housed in and the attention of Frank Witt, the US Army Signal Corp Photographer. Yet the next night this songbird is ready to fly the coop when Betty’s dear friend, Kat, turns up missing.

Betty soon realizes Franks photographs could be the key to finding Kat. Betty and Frank team up against post-war Nazi influences and the two lovebirds’ hearts may find the answers…in each other.

But will they have a chance for their romance to sing? The truth will be revealed under a German moon.

Click here to read the first chapter!

What books are you planning on reading this weekend?

Read an excerpt of ‘Songbird Under a German Moon’ on @TriciaGoyer’s blog

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May 22, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 4 Comments

Food Rationing & Recipes in World War II

Going grocery shopping and cooking may be a chore, but not like it was during World War II. During the war, many things were rationed. This meant families were only allowed a small amount each. Some items weren’t available at all.

Recently, I wrote a book set during WWII. In Where Treetops Glisten, my main character, Meredith, is a nurse on the war front. During Christmas 1945 she is stationed in The Netherlands, and the fighting is thick in the Battle of the Bulge. 1945 in The Netherlands was considered the “Hunger Winter” because there was so little food. Things weren’t nearly as bad in the United States, but everyone sacrificed so the troops could have food.

Sugar, butter, and meat were rationed, but that was only a start. Here is a list of other food items rationed during the war:

Sugar: May 1942 – 1947
Coffee: November 1942 – July 1943
Processed foods: March 1943- August 1945
Meats, canned fish: March 1943 – November 1945
Cheese, canned milk, fats: March 1943 – November 1945

Recipes

With the rationing came recipes.

A typical recipe ad contained between three and six recipes, sometimes as many as a dozen or more. Some advertisers like Frigidaire and Armour also offered free ration-oriented cookbooks containing, on average, about eighty recipes. Even Lysol, which had nothing to do with food preparation except cleaning up the kitchen afterwards, offered its free “Victory Cook Book” of eighty-one recipes with every purchase of the disinfectant.

Want to try one of these recipes? Why not try Chocolate Potato Cake?

Here’s a recipe for Chocolate Potato cake from the cookbook, “Dressy Dishes from Your Victory Garden.” Print the recipe.

This is what the introduction for the dessert section said:

“Guess-Again” Desserts

Desserts from the Victory Garden? Cross our heart … and watch the plates cross the table for “seconds” when you serve such ingenious delicacies as Carrot Pudding, Tomato Spice Cake or Carrot Pie. Their good taste hides their secret, of course … no one would ever guess they’re just bursting with vitamins and came right out of the garden.

Another recipe you can try is Salmon Loaf Recipe.

And if you’d like to learn more about rationing during World War II, here are some great resources … including a film in color!

What did rationing & recipes look like during WWII? Find out on @TriciaGoyer’s blog

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For rationing discussion questions and recipes, download the free printable!

Read the original post at freehomeschooldeals.com.

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May 20, 2015 by Tricia Goyer Leave a Comment

Marion’s Favorite Month–A WWII Story

I get a few emails from veterans every week. I shared one last week, and here’s another one I just had to share. NOW do you know why researching novels is one of my favorite things to do? I get to meet amazing men like Marion!

Marion’s Favorite Month

For the last sixty-three years, July has been a special month in my life.

July 8, 1943 was the day I turned 21-years-of-age. (Years-of-age was a term used back then.)

As was the custom when you get to be twenty-one, you escaped the family connection and could venture out on your own to seek what the future may hold. Being an upcoming farm boy, I could have avoided WWII, to be a farmer.

Or I could leave the farm life and go to war. (It so happened that on our farm, we eight boys, out of a family fourteen, worked the farm as indentured servants for our father until we were twenty-one.)

When it became my turn, I had a proposition for my father to run the farm. With the war (WWII) into its third year, the cards were in my father’s favor. He would not accept my proposition. I had no money, therefore, I could not afford to go into farming on my own. The banks would loan money for 4% interest. Bernita and I were engaged to be married, but I couldn’t afford that either. It was my choice, rather than be drafted, I would volunteer on my own to go into the military.

In the spring of 1943, Bernita had graduated from High School and, not being able to pursue a job of her liking, had to go into war production. She had to travel 60 miles to Evansville, Indiana get an apartment and go to work.

Even though we were engaged I did not feel it fair to tie her down to our commitment. I told her I may not come back from this war alive. And I almost didn’t. In the next two years and one month, I went through military training, combat, Missing in Action (MIA) for three months, POW incarceration for four months.

This included surviving starvation, cold, no shelter, and a forced march 345 miles across Germany. We fought, we prayed, we sweat, we bled, we nearly died. (Many did die).

I take pride. I am proud to have served my country, to defend the Liberty, Independence and Freedom we enjoy.

I came home on June 14, 1945. The first thing I did was go to see Bernita. I ask her if we could continue where we left off.

She said, “Yes, I waited for you.” Within a month, on July 6, 1945, we were married.

Also, on July 8, 2006 I celebrated my 84th birthday.

Our daughter Sheila was born on July 18, 1947.

Now you see why July is an important month in my life.

~Marion C. Hoffman

@TriciaGoyer shares a veteran’s WWII story on her blog!

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May 18, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 2 Comments

Sharing The Stories of The Greatest Generation

About 15 years ago I was on vacation with two friends when I first heard about the 11th Armored Division–the men who liberated Mauthausen and Gusen concentration camps.

So intrigued by the history of these men, I wrote two novels about them, From Dust and Ashes and Night Song. In the course of writing these books, I attended two of their WWII reunions. I interviewed them, looked through their photo albums and cried with them as they shared their experiences about being young kids fighting a big war. A few years ago I got to see many of my veteran friends again as I attended their 68th, and last, reunion.

I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to go.

Walking into the hotel and seeing the men in their 11th Armored caps brought tears to my eyes. I know their history. After being with them, I understand their friendship. I know that although they looked weak and feeble they were once young and very brave. Actually, they are still brave. Many traveled to their last reunion despite their failing health. Others came knowing that many of their friends were now gone. They came and confronted painful memories. I saw glances of knowing as they looked at each other across the room. Only their friends there could truly understand, having experienced what they did, too.

Many people label these men and women as the greatest generation.

I was reminded again how true that statement is. They were raised in a time when the United States was a Christian nation. They have lived lives dedicated to God, country and others. After the war, their hard work didn’t end. They came back and attended school, started businesses, and created a foundation of community for their children and grandchildren. Some of the men, in their 80s and 90s, still work and give. They know they could have lost their lives on foreign soil, and they don’t waste a day wishing the world was different. They know WE are the difference.

At the reunion, I spent time with wives, too. I talked to some of the women who were home during the war. One woman talked about being in high school and every week seeing a flag at half-mast … knowing that they’d lost yet another young man from their community. The women cared for our country during the war. They raised families afterward. And some of them now physically care for the men they promised to love in sickness and in health. For most, those years of health have passed, but their dedication and love hasn’t.

I interviewed these veterans again. I spoke to some who attend the reunion for the first time in 30 or 40 years. Knowing it was the last one they had to come and say their final goodbyes. I talked to men who drove tanks, who fought from foxholes, who supplied the troops with fuel and ammunition, who cooked on the front lines. Their faces may fade in my mind over time, but their stories will always be with me.

I have to admit that tears are flowing down my face as I write this.

First, because there were many of my veteran friends who didn’t make it to this reunion. Arthur, Charlie, Roy, Pete, John … you were missed. You are remembered. But I’m also thankful I got to sit by Bert and hear his stories again. I’m thankful that Tony was around watching out for me. I’m thankful for the hugs I got from LeRoy and that I danced with Darryl. I’m thankful for talking to Chet and Phyllis and so many more.

I’m also crying because I’m so grateful for the opportunity to know this men. My own grandfather died before I had a chance to hear his stories. I missed out for sure, but God gave me 100 adopted grandfathers. I care for them and they care for me. When I walked among them I was appreciated. I gave voice to their inner memories. I brought their stories to life. And they do think of my novels as THEIR story. Each one feels the novels are about him. I love that. I want them to feel loved by the words on those pages.

One man, Gerald rereads From Dust and Ashes and Night Song twice a year. He’s told me many times that I got it right. I took his words to heart.

They deserve to have their stories told correctly.

I can’t believe there will be no more reunions with these men. Tears come again when I realize I won’t see them again, this side of heaven. When I left the reunion that last day some still lingered in the hotel lobby. They had suitcases by their sides and a far-off look in their eyes.

They couldn’t believe it was the last reunion either, but they all decided it would be.

They’re getting too old to travel. They’re hoping their children and grandchildren will pick up where they left off. Will still meet and remember.

The last moment of my time with them was spent saying goodbyes. One of the guys I had the hardest time saying goodbye to was Tony. He grew up in New York and told me about getting care packages from his mom during the war. “I’d open the box and it would be filled salami and cheese,” he’d say with a chuckle. Tony is New York though and though, but his tough exterior crumbled on the last day.

“This doesn’t seem right it being the last one,” Tony said in our last moment together. There were tears in his eyes.

“I know Tony, it doesn’t.” I gave him a hug. “But I’ll keep writing stories. I’ll keep telling people to remember.” Hearing those words seemed to give him a little peace.

As he hurried over to the shuttle, loading up for the plane ride home, I said a prayer for thankfulness. I don’t know what I deserved to be honored to get to know these men, but I’m forever grateful.

I’ll keep writing stories. I’ll keep telling people to remember. @TriciaGoyer

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Daily Prayer

My heart is full with gratitude for the World War II generation. Thank you God, that a generation with such a rich strength of character preceded my own and future generations. May we never stop sharing our stories.

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May 16, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 5 Comments

Trailer for ‘The Swiss Courier’

Looking for another WWII book to add to your TBR pile? The Swiss Courier is a gripping tale full of action, love, and intrigue.

Working as a Swiss transcriptionist for the Americans during WWII, Gabi Mueller’s life changes overnight when she’s recruited as a spy for the precursor of the CIA.

Asked to safely courier a German physicist working on the budding Nazi atomic bomb project to the Swiss border, Gabi feels the weight of the war on her shoulders. But who can she trust?

Don’t forget to link-up your favorite WWII stories here or leave a comment below to be entered to win a copy of Remembering You. I have 40 copies to give away!

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May 13, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 5 Comments

The Story Behind From Dust And Ashes

Learn the real-life story behind From Dust And Ashes, a World War II novel by homeschooling mom, Tricia Goyer.

I can clearly remember when my interest was sparked by the liberation events that took place in St. Georgen, Austria, during World War II. An Austrian historian had invited me and my friends into her home, serving tea and bread, meat, and cheeses. It was the end of a long day of travel, and I secretly desired a hot shower and a soft bed. But it wasn’t long before our host had me intrigued with her true tales of villains, prisoners, and GI heroes.

I sat—eyes wide—as Marta described the twenty-three American GIs who had stumbled upon the Gusen camps on May 5, 1945. I imagined their horror as they witnessed prisoners reduced to skin and bones. Or worse, piles of corpses. But Marta also spoke of other things, such as the first help to enter the camp: a young Nazi wife with her children in tow.

Who was she? I wondered. Obviously, she had not believed in the Nazi persecution. What would it have been like to witness such horror helplessly?

How was her life forever changed?

I also imagined those prisoners who were mere days from death. How did they go on after facing such hatred, such loss? Just the night before, on a dinner cruise in Prague, I had sat elbow-to-elbow with a young Jewish girl and her brother.

“Fifty years ago, they would have been killed,” my friend whispered in my ear as we talked and laughed with our new friends. It was then that the horrors of WWII became real, and I knew I would never be the same.

After we left Marta’s house that night, I turned to travel companions—also fiction writers.

“Are you going to write about this?”

At that moment their no’s became my yes.

Purchase From Dust and Ashes

I went home with much excitement and began researching the events concerning the liberation of Gusen and Mauthausen death camps. But I soon realized no articles or fuzzy black-and-white photos could ever take the place of speaking with those who were actually there. So in August 2001, I was invited to attend the 59th reunion of the 11th Armored Division.

With Tom

With Charlie T

In Kalamazoo, Michigan, I spoke to the brave men, now in their 70s and 80s who had liberated the death camps. Their bodies have aged, but in their hearts, they are still the same brave, young soldiers who witnessed so much.

As the research progressed, I was also able to visit Austria a second time to participate in the memorial services celebrating liberation so many years prior. And while there, I spoke with others, including a man who was just twelve years old in 1945. I was awed as he led me through the streets where former SS houses still stand. And tears formed in my eyes as I stood before the guesthouse of the brave, Nazi wife, now gone.

So fueled by memoirs, oral histories, and personal interviews, I began to write. And in my mind, the streets of St. Georgen and the events of 1945 soon became as real as life around me.

On that sunny day in October, my greatest concern had been resting after a long day of travel. It was only later, after months of writing, that I realized God’s intentions were far greater. His plan was to have me share a story of liberation. A story inspired by true events . . . and true heroes.

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I’ve always considered it an honor to have my books reach the hands and hearts of readers. But these books have even more significance because it’s not only my stories but the true stories that these men lived that inspired my novels. I want to do their stories justice. I want to give them honor for their sacrifice. Knowing that so many have come to know the true valor these men displayed has given me such joy. I pray these stories–their stories–bless you as well.

From Dust And Ashes was just the beginning. I was fortunate to be able to share even more real-life inspired stories with my Liberator Series. Travel back in time with me and see, hear, and feel the hearts and minds of the greatest generation as they fought for justice, peace, and honor in World War II. Learn more about my Liberator Series Novels here!

All of my novels are perfect for homeschooling students, too! Junior high and high school students don’t just learn dates and facts. Instead, they get to experience true events within the pages of a Christian novel. I love hearing from parents who say, “My teen couldn’t put it down and loves World War II history now!” It’s an honor to bring history to life!

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May 11, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 2 Comments

How to Find Hope in the Darkness | Stories from WWII

How to Find Hope in the Darkness

With every one of the 12 hours it took me to get to Kalamazoo, Michigan, my doubts grew. I was a young mom of three, an aspiring romance novelist who’d yet to commit more than a few chapters of a book to paper—let alone get a publisher interested. What business did I have attending a reunion of World War II vets, interviewing them about one of the most troubling times in human history? Now here I was, at the hotel, wondering if my trip was a big mistake. These veterans might not warm up to you right away, I warned myself, walking into the lobby.

A man saw me and rushed over. “Are you the author?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“I’m Bob. My father was in the 11th. The men knew you were coming today. They’re all waiting for you.” I nodded, eager to meet the vets, especially those from the 41st Cavalry Recon Squadron, who were part of the 11th Armored Division and the first ones inside the Mauthausen concentration camp.

I followed Bob into the conference room, wheeling my suitcase. Reunion of the 11th Armored Division, Patton’s 3rd U.S. Army a banner declared. Eight of the veterans were sitting in a row, some wearing caps with army insignias, others with photo albums resting on their laps. That was a good sign, wasn’t it, that they would tell me their stories? Unless they were too difficult to share…

How to Find Hope in the Darkness

I had reason to doubt. My grandfather was a World War II veteran. He could regale me for hours about growing up in Kansas with 11 brothers and sisters, but when I asked him about the war, he’d backtrack to stories of his youth or skip ahead to later in life. Grandma took me aside and, in a hushed tone, told me he had been wounded and sent home on a hospital ship. I wanted desperately to know more, but I didn’t want to upset him. Maybe it was better to let the past be the past.

Six months after Grandpa died I traveled to Europe with two friends of mine—also writers—who were researching World War II sites for their books. Our last stop was the Mauthausen concentration camp, in a tiny Austrian town. From outside, it looked like a castle, a stone fortress. But inside, it was clear it was built for one thing: death. Our guide told us about the 11th Armored Division that liberated the camp after a grueling battle through France and Germany. It wasn’t Grandpa’s unit, but hearing about the horrors the men witnessed helped me understand his stoic silence.

Back home in the States, I tried to work on the next chapter of the romance novel I’d been writing, but the 11th Armored and what they had seen at Mauthausen wouldn’t leave my head.

***Lord, I asked, are you trying to tell me this is the story I need to work on?***

I called my literary agent and pitched her a novel based on the liberation of Mauthausen. “This doesn’t sound like you. Where’d this come from?” my agent asked. I told her about my trip. She agreed my pitch had potential. “Can you get in touch with any of those men to find out more details, Tricia?” she asked.

Could I? I’d never done anything like that before. Then again, I’d never written a novel before either. I went on the internet, found the 11th Armored Division Association and e-mailed the group’s secretary. Within minutes, he replied with 10 names and addresses. I wrote letters to each veteran, asking to meet them. I got six responses back, all saying the same thing: “Why don’t you come to our reunion?”

Now here I was, ready or not.

I set my suitcase against the conference room wall and pulled out my tape recorder and notepad. A tall, thin man with white, white hair and a short, stocky man with gray-black hair motioned me over.

“I’m Arthur,” the taller man said. “And this here is Charlie. We were wondering if you could interview us at the same time.”

Arthur and Charlie were best friends. One began a sentence and the other would finish it. They told me the pranks they pulled on each other, the time they’d gone east to pick up rations and gas and unexpectedly ran into the Russian Army.

“This is a great bunch of guys. I wasn’t in the original division, but when I came in, they took me under their wing,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, but if I knew what type of guy you were, I would have beat you up right then,” Arthur teased, a sly grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

They were having such a good time, I almost didn’t want to ask the serious questions. But I needed to.

“Tell me about Mauthausen,” I said.

They both turned somber. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live,” Arthur said. They described the decaying and burned bodies, the prisoners so emaciated they were like walking skeletons. “You should speak to Pete,” Charlie said, pointing to the short man sitting at the end of the row. “He was a medic, among the first in.”

LeRoy “Pete” Petersohn was the exact opposite of Arthur and Charlie, quiet and reserved. “I don’t know that you can learn all that much from me,” he said when I sat down next to him.

In a soft, gravelly voice, Pete told me, “I had gone through so many things, patching up soldiers who’d been shot, hit by shrapnel. I thought I was pretty hardened. Then I got to Mauthausen.”

He said that against the stone walls, the Germans left the bodies of executed prisoners to rot. Some of the survivors dropped to the ground and died before his eyes. “I see piles of eyeglasses,” he said, voice trembling, the memory so vivid it was as if he were back at Mauthausen. “The furnace of the crematorium is still red hot.” Tears filled his eyes. Pete began to cry.

The other veterans nodded in sympathy. I couldn’t say a word. This was what I was afraid of. Lord, did I push too far? Finally, I reached out and took Pete’s hand.

He took a deep breath and then continued. “My commanding officer told me that anyone who appeared beyond help should be let go so that we could focus on treating the rest. But there was this one woman, rail thin, holding a baby who couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. The baby was covered in boils—one of those cases that seemed to be beyond our help. But I couldn’t just let the baby die.”

With his C.O.’s permission, Pete spent half a day lancing off the boils and cleaning the child’s wounds. He administered antibiotics, scrounged around for some milk and food he could give her. “Then I went on to the next person,” Pete said, wiping his eyes.

“Did the baby survive?” I asked.

“I’ve always wondered about that,” Pete said.

As painful as Pete’s experience had been, he was amazed by the resiliency of the camp survivors. “A group of them got together and took out musical instruments. Before the war, they had been famous composers, violinists, cellists. The Nazis had forced them to perform for their entertainment. Now they played ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for us.”

I spent four days with the veterans listening to their stories. Then I went home and started writing. I combined the soldiers’ recollections with a story I’d heard from the tour guide at Mauthausen, about the wife of an SS officer who aided the Americans and the survivors after liberation. My agent sent the first three chapters to publishers, and within weeks I got a call that a Christian publisher in Chicago was interested. As soon as I finished the manuscript, I sent it to the men of the 11th. “When they make a movie out of this,” Arthur said, “just make sure you have someone really handsome play me.”

Pete’s story about the prisoners’ orchestra inspired me to write another historical novel. I had my publisher put a note on their website, asking for information from other medics who’d been at Mauthausen.

A few days later, I got an e-mail. It wasn’t from a veteran. It was from a woman named Hana. “I’m looking for someone who helped me when I was sick during the war,” she wrote. “Do you know any medics from the 11th Armored Division?”

I knew one. I sent her Pete’s information. Maybe he could put her in touch with the medic who had helped her.

Less than a week later my phone rang. “Hello?” I answered. Not hearing any response, I almost hung up.

A quiet, gravelly voice finally spoke. “Tricia? It’s LeRoy Petersohn. Pete. Remember me?”

Pete told me that Hana had called him. “Were you able to put her in touch with any other medics?” I asked.

“Tricia, you don’t understand,” he said. “Hana … she was born at Mauthausen. Three weeks before liberation. Her mother told her about an American soldier, a medic who helped her when no one else would. She was the very same baby I told you about.”

Hana and Pete’s reunion overwhelmed me. I wondered what Grandpa would have thought about the unlikely role I had played in it all. I’d learned from him how painful these stories could be. But thanks to his fellow veterans, I discovered how necessary they were to tell. Even in our memories of the darkest times, sometimes we can find hope and good and light.

Even in our memories of the darkest times, we can find hope & good. @TriciaGoyer

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May 9, 2015 by Tricia Goyer 1 Comment

The Story Behind ‘Remembering You’

About Remembing You

35-year-old Ava Andrews’ dream job is interrupted by an unusual request–fulfill her 84-year-old grandfather’s last wish by joining him on a battle site tour of Europe. Ava is sure her boss will refuse her request. But, instead, he gives her a directive of his own–to videotape the tour and send it back as mini-segments for the show she produces.

As if juggling these two things isn’t hard enough, Ava is soon surprised again … twice. First, Ava and Grandpa Jack arrive in Europe, only to discover the tour is cancelled. Unwilling to let down her grandfather or her boss, Ava and Grandpa Jack head out on their own. Then, while they’re on their way, the pair soon meet up with Paul, her grandpa’s best friend, and his grandson Dennis. The same Dennis who just happens to be Ava’s first love.

Before she knows it, Ava and Dennis are swept down memory lane as they visit the sites that are discussed in the history books. And even though Ava’s videotaping old soldiers, she can see their youth, their hopes and fears, and their pride in their eyes. Soon Ava learns the trip isn’t just for them … it’s for her too–especially for her heart.

Get to story behind ‘Remembering You’ by @TriciaGoyer

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May 7, 2015 by Tricia Goyer Leave a Comment

Remembrance of Liberation

70 years ago on May 5th, Mauthausen Concentration camp was liberated by 23 men from the 11th Armored Division. Here is the true story told to me by one of my WWII veteran friends!

My Remembrance of Liberation

by John Slatton | as told by Tricia Goyer

On May 5, 1945, when the war in Europe was winding down, I served in First Platoon of Troop D, 41st Cavalry Reconnaissance Squadron, Mechanized. My job was the gunner and radio operator in Sergeant Harry Sander’s armored car.

We left Katsdorf, Austria early that morning. Our mission was to scout a route across the Danbue River for our 11th Armored Division tanks. We hadn’t been on the road for more than fifteen minutes when we came to a roadblock of fallen trees. Within minutes, we secured our position and cleared the trees, but just as we prepared to move forward, a little white car approached flying a white flag of surrender. A representative of the Swiss Red Cross drove, bringing the commandant of the Mauthausen concentration camp to meet our troops. The Red Cross worker assured us that the commandant wished to surrender the death camps in that area to General Patton.

Sergeant Albert Kosiek commanded our platoon at this time. Kosiek stated, “I directly represent General Patton, and our platoon will take command of the camps.”

The commandant warned Kosiek that twenty-three men would not be enough to handle the many German soldiers. Kosiek’s answer was firm, “Then you don’t know my men.” But at that time, Kosiek had no idea the horror we’d soon face.

Our armored trucks and jeeps approached the camps with caution, winding our way through the small community of St. Georgen. In the middle of the quaint town we discovered Camp Gusen. The camp consisted of wooden barracks, barbed wire fences, and entanglements. The German guards stood at attention as we neared, their gun muzzles facing downward. But before we had a chance to provide much help to the thousands of prisoners, we were forced to move on to the mother camp, Mauthausen, where more German guards were awaiting surrender.

My goodness. We didn’t expect anything like what we witnessed at Mauthausen. It was horrible. Thick granite walls and prisons, designed to last a thousand years, covered the hillside. Skeletal prisoners were everywhere—both dead and alive. Those barely hanging on to life apparently knew we were coming, and as we approached a mob surrounded our vehicles. Sergeant Kosiek spoke to the crowd in his native tongue of Polish. Cheers of those who understood rose after each sentence. A Jewish soldier, Rosenthal, spoke several dialects of Hebrew and German. Another soldier spoke Spanish to the many prisoners from Spain.

In the end, the people finally understood their freedom. And although we couldn’t offer much help with our limited supplies and expertise, we promised that medics and nurses, cooks and clergy, would arrive the next day.

When we returned to base camp that night, our platoon of twenty-three men had rounded up over two thousand German guards. Also journeying with us was a former prisoner. Lieutenant Jack Taylor, part of Navy intelligence, had been captured and taken to Mauthausen many months prior. That night as he rode in my armored car, Lt. Taylor told me about evidence he’d buried in the camp grounds—other American, GI dog tags he’d risked his life to save. Lt. Taylor also told me how he’d been in line for execution three times, and how each of those times a Russian soldier had pushed him out of the way, taking his place. The Russian soldiers had given their lives to save Lt. Taylor’s. They needed the American soldier to survive. Needed his voice, his position, to bear witness to the Nazi atrocities in the camps.

I will never forget that day of liberation. I have been back to the area twice. The first time was in 1975. The International Mauthausen Committee had invited three other liberators and myself. The second time was in 1989 when a Swiss television documentary, “The Forgotten Savior,” was filmed in honor of the Swiss Red Cross gentleman who’d led us to the camps.

Yet, going back to Mauthausen was not as easy. When I went back in 1975, one thing destroyed me. The camp had monuments, statues, and memorials for all kinds of people—the Italians, French, Belgians, and British. But nothing mentioned the Americans, the ones who liberated the camp. I returned home determined that America would have some sort of marker. Something to let future generations know about the deeds of the men I served with.

I went before Congress, but soon discovered Congress can not spent money on overseas monuments. My next plan was to approach members of 11th Armored Division Association for funds. Instead, when the International Mauthausen Committee and the Austrian government heard of our desire, the Austrian government agreed to pay for the plaque.

It’s not a big thing, but we have a 3-foot by 5-foot marble marker attached to the prison walls, stating:

“In remembrance of the members of the 11th Armored Division of the Third U.S. Army who liberated the concentration camp at Mauthausen, Gusen, Ebensee and others located nearby in Upper Austria. In May 1945. Their deeds will never be forgotten.”

It thrills me to know that the plaque will always remain as a reminder—even after the last liberator has passed on. After all, it was an ordinary humanitarian worker who approached our armored column that sunny, May day. It was twenty-three ordinary soldiers who opened the gates to freedom, bringing hope to thousands. And years later it was also just one ordinary veteran who made sure the deeds of his friends would never be forgotten.

@TriciaGoyer shares the true story of the liberation of Mauthausen camp here:

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