Becoming a pro © Reinhard v. Bronewski

As my elementary school textbook English started to get better and better, I found it more of a pleasure to talk to the soldiers in a bit more depth. They liked to tell me about their home, their hopes, and their future plans. It was clear to see that they were interested in a conversation, for it no doubt represented a change from their daily military routine. For me, it meant a bit of attention and recognition, and who doesn't need those things? But then all these weapons, as a boy such unusual "toys", what a thrill! Again and again they explained the weapons to me in detail and they often let me fire blanks, as a so-called "test fire". Wow! While I operated the trigger, they held the M1 rifle steady for me and reloaded it after each shot. With their .30 cal Browning machine gun I quickly noticed that after every loading motion a full cartridge ejected out underneath the weapon. The soldiers would then empty it and give it to me. Whenever I was allowed to fire off a long burst with the machine gun, I felt like one of them. I can vividly remember the shaking of the gun and the strong smell of gunpowder that immediately spread when shots were fired. They must have had enormous patience with me, because I was very fond of fiddling with the sight or unscrewing the height-adjustment on the tripod. Many really acted like big brothers to me, what for great guys! Sometimes GIs brought out a small transistor radios and I enjoyed to listen to popular AFN music. In those years I've heard some songs very often. Never I can forget songs like: "House of rising sun" from the Eric Burdon and The Animals, "Green, green grass of home" from Tom Jones, or "Keep on searching" by Del Shannon. Some soldiers loved that groove and played with their rifles "air guitar". But soon typical army missions interrupted the fun time.

I watched with pity when they regularly had to dig out deep ditches, known to them as "foxholes". It took a long time for them with their little green folding shovels to dig a hole that was about 3 feet wide and 5 feet deep. Countless strong roots always have caused hard work and sweat. Completing a foxhole for a machine gun position took considerably longer. When they were finished, they looked like a large "V", "L" or "U". As there were often several expended cartridges lying at the bottom of these holes, I would often jump in, only to find myself able to get out again only with great difficulty. I was simply too small, and the soft, slippery sand made climbing out very hard. When the positions had been dug out and camouflaged, it was not all uncommon that the troops after a short time had to fill the holes back in again. After a quick change of location, sometimes just a few hundred yards away, they then started all over again. What a mess! The soldiers, most of them in age of 19, would be in a bad mood, on some days they felt really rotten! But this was the army, there was a lot of work and no holiday time.

For me this endless waiting always was very boaring. This was the way how I spent my free time until 6 p.m. and it passed by too fast. Often I had to go back home with empty hands because anything having happened. Then, in the evenings in my small room I would often be able to clearly hear shots being fired. I quickly opened the window to Onkel-Tom-Str. and looked in the direction of the woods. The edge of the Grunewald was about 400 yards away only. On its opposite end, about 3 miles away, was the Havel river. Just before the bang of the simulators, the woods would light up like sheet lightning. I would have liked so much to be there! Everything seemed to be so close but was for me so far away now. I listened to the firing actions, could hear each single shot, and especially the long bursts of the automatic weapons. Sometimes such firing happened all night long in intervalls of 1-2 hours. When I went the following afternoon after school to search out the firing locations from the night previous, I would often find them abandoned and all the brass already picked up. How frustrating!

In the meantime I had become the proud owner of a scooter. It was dark red, came equipped with thick rubber tires, and it was my most valuable possession. It was extremely useful to me in the Grunewald and it eased the awful job of having to constantly lug things around. Brass is naturally very heavy, and after a while it feels weightier and weightier. I sometimes took my little sister Astrid out with me on my scooter, for she too found my hobby great fun and eagerly put all her energy into helping me. An extra pair of hands collecting in the "money" produced a rather lucrative side effect. Every afternoon, the same contest took place. The idea was to find the right spot, perhaps where the last night exercise had taken place, as quickly as possible, and to be the first to get there! If you were actually lucky enough to be the first one there, the most important thing was whatever you did, not to draw attention to yourself and attract your rivals. The clatter noise of collecting empty shells could be heard for miles around, and perching on the ground gave you away. If a rival were to approach, the cleverest thing to do was to hide yourself as best you could, or if need be divert them from the treasure spot. It always depended on one's speed and prudence. By frequently observing their exercises, which mostly followed the same pattern, I learned where I could count on finding the biggest catch, thanks to them always repeating the same tactics. According to the nature and location of the positions, you could usually determine the next firing positions of the attacker or the defender. I was well on my way to becoming a pro, and I insisted on claiming my position in the large group of collectors. I searched the Grunewald trails for fresh footprints and tire tracks. I also examined the vicinity for broken or dried up branches and scraps of paper. But there also were other hints. The white, blue, or black road markers were the Americans' signposts. These metal signs looked like large, wide arrows and written on them were the names of the particular sub-unit, for example "A Company 2-6". They were intended to direct, above all, the combat support vehicles to the practicing troops' camp. In order to lose my troublesome competition, I turned the signs around straightaway. I worked with all the tricks that were in my power. Unfortunately, other people had the same idea as well. Who knows how many times I must have unwittingly turned the signposts back to their original position and then myself walked off into the wilderness. It proved to be much easier when the soldiers had rolled out telephone wires. All you had to do was to follow the thin, black double cable, and at the other end you usually found the practicing unit. It was only when they forgot to reel the cables back in that you would be searching in vain. With the help of my scooter, I was now able to transport home ration packs and brass by the crate. This brings me to is another funny story from my memory.

It must have been a Monday morning, sometime in 1962 or 63, when I went with my little sister Astrid into the Grunewald. Our desire was, as usual, to get in touch with American soldiers. After two miles we approached the small parking lot at the end of Fischerhuettenstrasse. This spot was the main entrance into the Grunewald for all the soldiers, whether they were going to the Keerans Range or on maneuvers. Day in, day out, all year round there was constant movement of U.S. troops through this place. On this day, right after the weekend, the soft and dry sand showed us no fresh tire tracks of any military vehicles. We sat down and waited patiently. After about 20 minutes suddenly I heard the expected sound of heavy American trucks. Clearly I could recognize the glow of their bright headlights. In the front of the convoy drove a jeep towing a small trailer, followed by two big trucks and an ambulance jeep. The front vehicle came close to where I was standing. The passenger next to the driver took a white metal arrow road marker out of the trailer and stuck its steel spike into the ground.

The open trucks were crowded of GIs in full battle gear. Their faces were painted green, and their M14 rifles showed red blank adapters fixed to the top of their barrels. Obviously, they were not on the way for life firing practice to Keerans Range. Their mission for sure was maneuver training in the Grunewald. Quick as a flash we followed, keeping them in sight. I didn't know how far they would go. My scooter wasn't fast but it was very helpful. At the end, our haste was unnecessary. After only about 500 yards the convoy stopped. Both truck drivers got down from their vehicles and noisily opened the tail boards. The GIs, about a platoon in all, jumped joking and chatting out of the trucks. Most of them were equipped with the new M14 rifles, two soldiers had a M60 machine gun, and their assistant gunners carried a tripod for each weapon. The crews temporarily set up in a position on both sides of the crossroads. All of the other GIs stood around, chatting in small groups. The empty trucks turned around and roared off back to the barracks.

After a while, big wooden crates containing ammunition were taken out of the jeep trailer. Some Sergeants went to the ammo crates and opened them. In one crate there were four small metal boxes of belted machine gun ammo. Inside of each small box were two cloth bandoleers with 100 blank rounds in each. From the other, wider boxes, the Sergeants took out a large number of green cloth bandoleers and handed them out to their people. In the next half an hour, all that could be heard was the constant, monotonous "clack, clack, clack", the noise of the soldiers filling their magazines with rounds. At that time, the new 7.62mm rifle ammo came in small five round clips, 60 rounds in each bandoleer. Lots of ammo! Suddenly this sound was broken by loud machine gun test-fire. Each gun wasted a few rounds, the remaining ammo still packed in the green 100-rounds bandoleers beside the weapons.

Another soldier, who looked like an officer, then rummaged around in the trailer until he found a small brown cart box of "big-bang" simulators and two smoke grenades, which he put under his arm. All of the GIs attached twigs and leaves to their helmets. I was very excited. There was going to be a big "battle", and hopefully, nobody else had heard the loud test-fire. For an hour nothing happened and the soldiers remained perched around on the ground in a half circle. Friendly like always, they talked with us. They told me that the exercise would last until 5 p.m.

Suddenly, a tall Sergeant came by and spoke briefly to the GIs. After that both machine gun teams got up and walked off in the direction of the Waterworks building. We followed, and after about a half mile the soldiers stopped. The GIs set up the two guns in ambush positions about twenty yards apart only, and pulled big branches in front of the weapons to hide them. I didn't want to give their locations away, so I hid my sister and myself behind a thick bus nearby. Then, about thirty minutes later, not far awa from us, some simulators exploded and clouds of white smoke billowed up into the air. The rest of the unit had discovered the two "sixties," which at the same moment started to fire. Then I saw the attackers. There was wild firing as about twenty soldiers exchanged blank fire with the two ambush machine guns. Dense yellow smoke suddenly enveloped the ambush; presumably a smoke grenade had been detonated. The enemy guns were silenced and their teams "played dead". The attackers claimed victory and cheered wildly. A tall black soldier from one of the machine gun teams, dropped his pants and presented his nude backside. He screamed: "Come on, kiss my candy"! It was like in a Kindergarten, everybody was laughing.

After that everything calmed down. The GIs formed a circle on the ground and listened to their Captain's briefing. During this time, quick as a flash, we collected all of the empty shells that the troops had fired. Astrid and I finished just as two competitors of mine appeared. Before they even had time to understand what was going on, most of the brass was already in our bags, what a luck. The soldiers all got up and marched back to where they had left their trucks. Now it was lunch time and the GIs were always punctual about eating. We followed to watch that ceremony. Big cases of C-Rations were piled up in front of the jeep trailer. Each soldier grabbed one meal pack and sat down to eat. Suddenly a Sergeant asked me where he could get some ice-cream. I replied that there was an ice cream stand nearby at the Krumme Lanke lake, about 600 yards away only. Politely, he asked me to get him some ice cream. No problem to us. He promised to keep an eye on my little sister and the small bags filled with brass which I do not wanted to take with me for that short shopping ride. Alone and without extra weight I was much faster. He gave me a ten marks bill and told me to spend all of it. No sooner had he asked it, than it was done. After about twenty minutes I returned with all kinds of small ices. The Sergeant ran to me right away, took four or five of the about 15 small packs of ice-cream, wolfed them down, and handed the rest to his waiting comrades. A little bit confused and disappointed, I asked myself why the "Jolly Green Giant" had given us nothing to eat? But then suddenly, if he has read my thoughts, he indicated the C-Ration cases and asked whether I wanted some. "Yes, sure, of course," I replied! He ordered another soldier to take some unopened packs of C-rations and give it to us. What a joy! The Sergeant also told me that another "battle" was planned for the late afternoon, plenty unfired blank ammo was left. But for this day I really had enough and just hoped to get my good yield safely back home. We rode back very happily, balancing the heavy find on my scooter. That experience proves that all small good deeds can bring their own rewards.

My scrap dealer, who in the meantime had raised the purchase price to 1.50 marks / Kilo, now came to our house twice a week of his own accord. He rang the doorbell and asked if we had anything for him. We always had something for him! As always, Oma had carefully weighed the brass and conducted the business with the dealer. When I got home from school, the money would always be lying lined up on her kitchen table. This always gave me further incentive, and I even began to save some money. Such behavior brought about words of appreciation from my grandparents, and that felt really good.

Caught!