Terrorists in West Germany
In June 1972, I had only been in West Germany for six months. I was stationed at HHB 1st BN 81 FA near Neu-Ulm, West Germany. We had the Pershing nuclear missiles aimed at the Eastern Bloc countries. The ones made famous by President Reagan to bring down the Iron Curtain and Communism in Eastern Europe. I was a communications specialist and had to keep communications between our mobile rigs and the missiles in the field being moved by mobile launchers. I had to change codes each day and put the codes in a machine that sent my messages garbled to the missiles so that anyone who might intercept it could not make any sense of it.
I took pride in my work and was very perturbed when I was chosen along with 19 other guys to be armed guards to try to find and stop members of the German Communist Gang known as The Red Brigade, along with other things. The officers who chose us said we were handpicked because we were the only ones they could trust with live ammo and under these conditions. That didn't make me feel any better as all I saw it, we, the strict soldiers, were being put on guard duty, like punishment, while the loafers and gold brickers were rewarded for bad behavior by not being chosen and doing anything they wanted to do in their free time.
The other "chosen ones" felt the same way I did, and we were not in a good mood at all when we began to pull our shift. Another guy and I were given the job of guarding the American Bank in Neu-Ulm. Our orders were not to let anyone park a vehicle, walk away, and use whatever means necessary to stop such an act, including lethal force. The other guard and I split up and walked around the bank, him on one side and I on another the whole time we were on duty.
I was furious when at about 03:00 the following day, a W. German pulled up in a car, got out, and asked me for a light for his cigarette. I shoved my rifle into his gut and just stared at him. About that time, the other guard came around the bank and had his rifle on him. The W.German started shaking and asked, "Hey guys, what are the sub-machine guns about?" The other guy lit his cigarette, and I asked him what he would try to do next. He said, "nothing, just wanted a light," and got back in his car and sped off.
It was suspicious, but no reason to shoot him, which made me even angrier.
We split up again, and at about 05:00, I came around the corner of the bank and saw a German riding his bike away with a suitcase by a tree that he had to have left behind. I screamed at him to halt and brought my rifle up, aiming at his head. He didn't respond and kept riding, and I began to squeeze on the trigger, but just a second before it was to go off. I heard a very loud voice that sounded like it came from the clouds say, "Stop!!!? It was the loudest voice I had ever heard and sounded as loud as thunder. I hesitated for a second and then started squeezing the trigger again. The same thing happened that time, and I lowered my rifle for a second and shook my head in disbelief, then brought my rifle back up and started squeezing on the trigger again. Again, the thundering voice came down, "Stop!!!" I lowered my rifle at the last second, wondering why I had not fired.
He was out of range by then, so I walked over to the suitcase. I knew that if it blew, it would get me anyway, and maybe some cars coming by. I put my rifle down and opened it ever so slowly after all cars had passed. I got it about 1/2 inch open and saw something that looked like plastic in it. I closed it back very slowly but didn't put the latch on it. Then I got on the radio and called the MPs. They arrived in a few minutes. They acted like it was no big deal until I told them that I had cracked it and saw plastic inside. 
They freaked and dove behind their jeeps. Weapons came out, and we were huddled there when I saw this same old W. German man coming back. I could not believe my eyes and told them, "that is him coming back!" When he almost reached the suitcase, he reached down to get it, and that was when they and I grabbed him. We slammed him against a jeep and had his arms behind him, coming close to breaking them. We just started to question him when my guard shift changed, and I got relieved by another guard.
I didn't get to see what happened. I asked the other guard if he had heard the voice, and he said he didn't hear anything, even though it had been as loud as thunder. I told another guard what had happened, and he didn't seem to believe me. So, I never told anyone else about the incident.
About a week later, I went by the MP station and asked them what had happened. They said they made him open the suitcase while they were behind their jeeps with weapons trained on him. All it was were some sandwiches in plastic bags that had fallen off the back of his bike.
Almost 50 years have passed since then, and this is the first time I have written or told anyone about it other than that one guard who didn't believe me. I have often wondered if that old man ever realized how close he came to dying that morning and wondered about the family he would have left behind. The voice from the sky saved his life.
SP 4 Charles Kenneth Nesbitt
US Army (1971-1974)
kcrocker112@gmail.com