E (Victory in Europe) Day came on May 7, 1945, and our battalion was located near the border of Germany and Czechoslovakia. We were awaiting the orders for a move to England to re-equip our division preparatory to readying for the invasion of Japan. Our unit was engaged in house-cleaning, which consisted of refurbishing our equipment, restocking supplies from the nearest medical depot and carrying out automotive maintenance. Our medical mission now was not involved so much in caring for the wounded (even though there were still unexploded mines and munitions all about), but operating what would be called ambulatory outpatient clinics as well as inspecting the infantry, artillery, engineering, and signal and ordinance units for sanitation compliance.

We also had the task of overseeing the problems of venereal disease control, which meant the establishment of “pro-stations” where the soldiers hopefully would report after having sex with females of the local population, even though cohabitation with the German or refugee female was prohibited. The pro-station was stocked with condoms and a routine established where after sex the genitals were washed with a disinfectant soap and water and the urethra injected with a solution of Argyrol, a silver compound that had bactericidal properties against the microorganisms causing syphilis, gonorrhea and chancroid. Finally, another bactericidal agent, mercurous chloride ointment, was rubbed externally into the genitals. It was advantageous for the GI to use the pro-station since becoming infected with VD was a courts-martial offense, and going on record to prove that the soldier attended the station within a few weeks before the onset of the infection would obviate being charged.

The defeat of the German Wehrmacht also brought with it the collapse of the civilian infrastructure, and this included the railroad system that was subjected to intensive bombing attacks by the allied forces. The termination of combat causes a certain amount of ennui among the troops — similar to a spring released of much of its tension — and this lassitude understandingly made these combat veterans not always amenable to discipline. The town nearby had a large railroad marshaling yard that contained many dozens of tank cars filled with methyl alcohol, which was used as a propellant for the V1 “buzz bomb” rocket that was terrorizing London during the past year. Realizing that imbibing methyl alcohol had deadly consequences, we worked with the military police and sealed-locked the stopcocks on all the tank cars, had armed guards patrol the marshalling yards, posted signs in English and German that this chemical was deadly if ingested, and sent memorandums to all the units in the area warning against the dangers of ingestion.

At about 5 a.m. one morning, we received a call from one of the divisional engineering units that some type of medical emergency had occurred, since a number of soldiers were reported ill, having intense diarrhea, cramps and vomiting profusely. These symptoms brought to mind that we were dealing with an outbreak of food poisoning usually associated with improper sanitary practices in the preparation, delivery and storage of food in the kitchens and mess halls. We sent a number of ambulances with combat medics, medical supplies that included sulfa tablets, and medications to treat diarrhea as well as two medical officers. A short time later, our battalion headquarters received an emergency message from one of the medical officers to alert the battalion for mass casualty evacuation and triage.

I rode into the former German Army barracks occupied by the engineers and beheld a scene that I can visualize even to this day. Entering one building, you were overwhelmed by the intermixed odors of feces, vomitus and urine and greeted with the cries, screams and moans of anguished voices that did not seem to let up for a moment. Cots were overturned and the floors slick with excrement, urine and stomach contents. The latrines were full of GIs puking, some of them sprawled on the floor comatose, others draped around the toilet bowls, holding on to them protectively as they retched. Some of the soldiers were comatose, others twitching as their seizures gathered strength, and many continuously had the dry-heaves. I asked a sergeant who was responsive, propped up against a wall in the latrine with his shirt and trousers soiled, what had happened. He explained that they had a party in the barracks where they mixed “rot gut” liquor with canned grapefruit juice. Replying to my question as to where the “rot gut” came from, he thought that the origin was from the tank cars. It seems that the foot soldiers were convinced that the substance in the tank cars was in reality ethyl (grain) alcohol and not methyl (wood) alcohol, and that the signs indicating a poisonous substance were placed there only to prevent them from drinking and enjoying it. Later on, we found out that a group of these GIs managed to circumvent the military police patrols, found a tank car in an isolated area, and easily opened the locks and seals on a stopcock. The methyl alcohol was poured into a large number of empty five-gallon water cans. The rot gut, as it was called, was then distributed to a number of barracks for consumption. Some of the soldiers, worrying about the possibility that the liquid was poisonous, adopted the folk custom of filtering it through cotton batting, thinking this would detoxify it! It was then mixed with a fruit juice and consumed. Little did these soldiers realize the poisonous effects of drinking wood alcohol — that it can overwhelm the body’s metabolism, causing brain swelling, seizures, blindness, coma and death.

The strategy employed to succor the sick troops in the barracks was repeated over and over — first identify and take care of the sickest GIs, those who were unconscious, seizing and/or delirious, and get them to where they could be sent to the clearing company for disposition to a hospital. This situation was difficult because we were accustomed to taking care of those who were directly wounded and not those who necessitated medical treatment. So amidst the screams and initial chaos, some semblance of order was established. It’s important to realize that we were not prepared to deal with these types of medical problems in a battlefront area and that the medicine of yesteryear, even in the mid-1940s, was indeed primitive compared with today. Initially, the most we could do was to start an intravenous infusion of those who were comatose, give barbiturates for those in convulsive states or delirious and move these individuals to a medical facility where definitive therapy could be initiated.

Within about two hours after our arrival, most all of the acutely ill soldiers had been evacuated, and we were left with the dead GIs and those who appeared to be in reasonably good condition. It was about this time that some of the patients who were to be evacuated and some of the “survivors” started to complain of vision problems, including inability to focus, blurring, the appearance of flashes of light, and partial and complete blindness. Our medical officers bemoaned the fact that we really had no equipment and few drugs to deal with this type of patient. In fact, we only had two large tubes available to “pump” out the stomach, even though in retrospect this would not have helped since most of the ingested “Devil’s Brew” had already been absorbed in the digestive tract. I can’t remember the total casualty count, but my impression was that more than 150 soldiers became ill, of which 27 died, 25 became permanently blinded and another 25 had serious side effects!

One thinks that one becomes immune to any catastrophe after spending nearly two and a half years with an infantry unit as a combat medic. The wounded, your dying comrades, the concentration camp victims, the plodding, lice-infected hordes of displaced persons, dying children, rotting, bloating corpses of enemy soldiers, the carcasses of putrefying dead horses and cattle — all this makes one think that there can be no new unfamiliar experiences in this type of hell. Yet, somehow, a new terror can invade the psyche and bring with it the realization that there are tears that can still fall from the eyes and that the quality of mercy, though often well hidden, can find its way through the many layers of denial to activate the soul.

I am sorry to say that the Devil won the day.

Maurice S. Albin, M.D., M.Sc., is Professor of Anesthesiology, David Hill Chestnut Section on the History of Anesthesia, University of Alabama School of Medicine, Birmingham, Alabama.