“Metcalfe turned and immediately recognized one of the officers was indeed Hitler’s own SS chief, Heinrich Himmler in the flesh.”
By Marcus A. Nannini
EUGENE METCALFE OF the 82nd Airborne’s 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment was the last man to jump from his C-47 in the opening wave of Operation Market Garden, the ill-fated Allied invasion of the Netherlands. As the paratrooper’s chute opened, he glanced behind to see the aircraft from which he leapt plunging to the ground having been hit by enemy flak. It was about 1330 hours, Sept. 17, 1944.
It would not be his first brush with death that day. Eleven hours later, Metcalfe and his comrades found themselves in a furious night battle with elements of the 10th SS Panzer Division, who had been moved to Holland just days before the Allied invasion.
As the fire fight raged in the darkness, the 22-year-old private from DeKalb, Illinois was knocked unconscious by a round from a German “Eighty-Eight” anti-tank gun.
Left for dead, Metcalfe was picked up by enemy troops and dragged into the bowels of nearby Belvedere castle in Nijmegen. There he found himself in a rectangular-shaped room flanked by machine gun-toting SS guards. The only furniture was a large table with two chairs, each occupied by a Nazi officer.
The two were whispering to each other about their prisoner in sometimes urgent tones. After a few minutes one of the guards nudged Metcalf’s left shoulder with the butt of his Schmeisser and whispered: “Das Herr Reichsfuhrer.”
Metcalfe smiled, which apparently wasn’t the response the guard was seeking. He nudged him again, much harder, and firmly stated: “Das Heinrich Himmler!”
Metcalfe turned and immediately recognized one of the officers was indeed Hitler’s own SS chief, Heinrich Himmler in the flesh. The young paratrooper imagined that he “was a goner.”
Himmler motioned for Metcalfe to step a little closer to the table upon which sat a map of Operation Market Garden. Large red circles were drawn around the towns of Eindhoven, Nijmegen and Arnhem.
The second officer, which it became immediately clear was the interpreter, seemed relaxed as Himmler leaned forward and stared intently at Metcalfe. The translator posed the Schutzstaffel Reichsführer’s questions.
“What’s your name paratrooper?”
Metcalfe made a point of looking directly at Himmler when he answered.
“Private Eugene Metcalfe, sir.”
The questions continued.
“Would you mind if I called you Gene?”
“No, sir, I don’t mind.”
“Gene, how many men dropped with you today?”
“Sir, I really have no way of knowing that, but there must have been a ton of us.”
The interrogation was continually interrupted by a procession of officers making reports to the SS chief. After each one left, the interpreter would continue as if nothing had transpired.
“Tell me, Gene, how was Colonel Lindquist this morning?”
Metcalfe was caught off-guard at the mention of his commanding colonel’s name.
“Sir, I don’t travel in those circles,” he responded warily.
“How about General Gavin? Was he well?”
“I don’t know about that,” Metcalfe replied. “But next time I see him I’ll be sure to ask.”
Himmler smiled at the answer.
“Gene, come forward,” his captor waved. “I want you to point out where your drop zone was this afternoon.”
Metcalfe moved to the front of the table and stood less than three feet from Himmler. He noticed the area marked Groesbeek Heights had been circled in pencil, signaling to him they already knew the answer.
“Sir, I have no idea where I dropped,” Metcalfe lied. “I had no map and missed all the mission briefings because I was in the hospital. In fact, I’m probably listed as AWOL and need to get back.”
The Interpreter appeared confused when “AWOL” was mentioned.
“What is this AWOL?”
Himmler leaned forward and stared directly into Gene’s eyes as he waited for the answer.
“I’m A-W-O-L,” he explained. “You know, absent without leave?”
The interpreter repeated the explanation in German to Himmler who smiled in response. It was a crooked, rather unpleasant smile.
“Gene, do you have anything in your pockets?”
“I still have a phosphorous grenade,” he replied.
“Place the grenade on the table, please.”
Metcalfe pointed to the SS guards.
“Do those fellas know I’m about to pull out a grenade?”
Himmler understood and warned the guards what was about to transpire.
“Gene, it’s okay to put the grenade on the table now,” he reassured.
The paratrooper complied.
For 45 minutes the questions continued. Many were trivial in nature, some were serious, like those that concerned the number of paratroopers involved in the operation. Most queries seemed as if they were posed to catch Metcalfe in a contradiction. SS officers and one Fallschirmjäger commander entered the room with more updates for Himmler. Eventually Metcalfe was asked a question he felt comfortable answering:
“Gene, have you had dinner?”
“No, sir. I’ve been kind of busy.”
Metcalfe was directed to sit on the thick red-shag carpeted floor about five feet to Himmler’s left. Soon, a soldier came in carrying a tray with food. He looked at Himmler, who, in turn, pointed towards the seated paratrooper. The guard placed the tray on the carpet in front of Metcalfe. The interpreter smiled. “For you.”
On the tray was a large loaf of brown bread, a jar of Belgian marmalade and a pot filled with Polish sausages drowning in a tangy mustard.
It would be well over a year before Gene could eat a dinner that large in one sitting again.
Two hours later Gene was forced into an open-top staff car and driven over the Nijmegen road bridge as a guest of the 10th SS.
Over the next few days Gene dodged Allied artillery and aircraft from both sides before arriving at Stalag XII-A for assignment to a permanent POW camp. While at XII-A he put his life at extreme risk to save a gravely wounded fellow paratrooper and was then reassigned to Stalag Luft III, the site of the famous “Great Escape.” He was again reassigned and endured five days and nights locked in a freight car with about 50 other men, seven of whom died while being transported.
He finally arrived at his permanent home, Stalag VII-A where he was forced into slave labor. He witnessed both single and mass executions, escaped and was recaptured. The arrival of Patton’s tanks marked the end of his captivity.
His complete story is retold in the “very riveting” book, Left for Dead at Nijmegen, The True Story of an American Paratrooper in WW II. Casemate Publishers, Philadelphia, PA and Oxford, UK. (2019)
Amazing story
Wonderfully engaging! The author did an A-1 job of portraying the subject, Gene Metcalf, in all of his complexity. A courageous hero and good time guy, Gene will leave this world a better place because of his spirit!
It appears the photo of men carrying Red Cross parcels was likely staged.