“Deadly Winter Will Kill Us” – German Women POWs Saved by Locals in the US

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A Story of Kindness in the Cold: The Women of Camp McCoy

On January 12, 1945, a train groaned to a stop at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, where the temperature plummeted to a staggering 22 degrees below zero. As steam hissed into the frigid air, the doors opened, revealing 200 German women stepping onto American soil for the first time. These women—nurses, radio operators, and military auxiliaries—wore thin summer uniforms meant for a milder French autumn, completely unprepared for the harsh winter that awaited them.

Among them was Helga Brena, a 23-year-old nurse from Munich. As she looked out over the endless white landscape, a chilling thought crossed her mind: “This is where we die.” The Nazi propaganda had painted a grim picture of American captivity, suggesting that they would face abuse and neglect, left to perish in the snow. Yet, what unfolded over the next few days would shatter everything they believed about their captors.

After enduring a grueling three-day train journey, the women were loaded into canvas-covered trucks and taken to Camp McCoy. The cold air hit them like a wall, and Helga watched in disbelief as one of her fellow prisoners, a 19-year-old named Leisel Hartman, collapsed from the freezing temperatures. An American guard rushed to her aid, picking her up gently instead of yelling or hitting her. This was not the behavior they had been led to expect.

Upon arrival at the camp, the women were processed in the biting cold, standing for hours while their names were recorded and medical checks were conducted. The temperature outside was a brutal 18 degrees below zero, and by the end of the ordeal, several women suffered from frostbite. Helga felt the weight of despair settle over her as she lay in her cot that night, listening to the soft sobs of her fellow prisoners. The cold was a predator, and they were easy prey.

But as Helga drifted into an uneasy sleep, she remained unaware that help was already on its way—not from the military or Washington, but from the compassionate people of Wisconsin. The following morning, Helga awoke to the sound of a bell ringing outside. She was greeted by the sight of a female American guard who announced breakfast. The women expected meager rations, but what they found in the mess hall was astonishing: scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh bread with butter, and hot coffee. They ate in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the abundance of food—a stark contrast to the starvation back home in Germany.

As the days passed, the women were assigned work details, and Helga found herself in the camp infirmary alongside an American nurse named Dorothy. They communicated through gestures and smiles, forming a bond that transcended language barriers. Dorothy handed Helga a cup of hot chocolate one day, and as Helga tasted the rich sweetness, tears filled her eyes. This small act of kindness was a revelation, breaking down the walls of hatred built by years of propaganda.

Despite the kindness shown to them, the winter remained a formidable enemy. Frostbite cases continued to rise, and the barracks were still freezing. One day, an American sergeant gathered the women and explained that their winter supplies had been sent to the wrong camp. However, local civilians wanted to help. Helga was baffled—why would enemy civilians care about enemy prisoners?

That afternoon, Ruth Henderson, a farmer’s wife from a nearby town, arrived in her old pickup truck, filled with hand-knitted scarves made by the women of her church. She didn’t ask for permission; she simply started unloading the scarves, each one a symbol of warmth and compassion. As Ruth handed out the scarves, Helga felt immediate warmth envelop her. This was the first crack in the wall of propaganda that had shaped her beliefs.

Over the next few weeks, Ruth and other local residents continued to bring supplies—coats, socks, mittens, and food. A retired schoolteacher named Margaret Klene visited regularly, teaching the women English phrases and sharing stories about life in Wisconsin. One evening, when Helga asked Margaret why she chose to help them despite the loss of her son at Normandy, Margaret replied, “If I’m cruel to you, then what did he die for? I honor him by being better than the thing he fought against.” This powerful statement resonated deeply with the women, forcing them to reevaluate their beliefs.

As they received more aid, the women began to change. They worked harder, not out of obligation, but out of a desire to repay the kindness they received. When Ruth returned with another load of supplies, they cheered for her, a gesture that would have been unimaginable just weeks prior.

But the harsh Wisconsin winter had one final test in store. A massive storm was brewing, bringing record low temperatures and fierce winds. The camp commandant called an emergency meeting, urging everyone to stay inside. The women immediately began preparing, using everything they had learned from Samuel Redcloud, a Ho Chunk elder who had come to teach them survival skills.

As the storm hit, the wind screamed like a living thing, and snow piled against the barracks. For three days, the women huddled together, rationing food and working as a team to keep warm. They rotated positions near the stove, shared blankets, and followed Samuel’s advice to breathe through their noses to warm the air before it reached their lungs.

When the storm finally subsided, the women emerged to find the world transformed, buried under a thick layer of snow. They dug their way out, only to see Ruth Henderson’s truck approaching through the snow, bringing hot soup, fresh bread, and blankets. The local civilians had risked their lives to check on them, further solidifying the bond that had formed between them.

As news of Germany’s surrender reached Camp McCoy on May 8, 1945, the women felt a mix of relief and dread. They would return home to a country that had been ravaged by war. Helga received a letter from the Red Cross informing her that her mother was alive, but many of her fellow prisoners were not so fortunate.

The night before the first group of women was set to leave, Ruth organized a farewell gathering at her farm. For the first time, the women were treated as guests, enjoying a real dinner around the table, surrounded by warmth and love. Ruth reminded them, “What happened here between us? That was real. The war was the lie. This was the truth.”

Over the years, the women kept in touch with Ruth, Margaret, and Samuel, sending letters filled with gratitude and updates about their lives. The kindness they had received in the frozen Wisconsin winter had transformed their understanding of humanity. They returned to Germany carrying not just memories of hardship but also a profound sense of compassion that transcended borders.

The legacy of their experience lived on, as the women shared their stories with future generations, reminding them that even in the darkest times, kindness can prevail over hatred. The lessons learned at Camp McCoy became a testament to the power of compassion, proving that in the end, it is not the uniforms we wear that define us, but our shared humanity.