National Affairs: The Colonel & the Private

In a former ballroom of Bad Nauheim’s plush Park Hotel, the most shocking Army scandal of World War II reached its climax last week. Grim and flushed, his green eyes squinting belligerently through steel-rimmed glasses, Colonel James A. Kilian, for 26 months commandant of the notorious 10th Reinforcement Depot at Lichfield (England), heard an Army court-martial pronounce its verdict: not guilty of “knowingly” condoning the brutalities practiced in Lichfield’s prison stockade, but guilty of “permitting” them. The sentence: a $500 fine, an official reprimand.

This wrist-slap satisfied no one but the Army’s brasshats, who were only too glad to see the whole unsavory mess over & done with. The prosecution privately argued that the sentence was ludicrously mild. The defense insisted that the court had actually found Defendant Kilian guilty of neglect of duty, a charge not filed against him. Said one sarcastic G.I. spectator: “We’re going to take up a collection to pay the poor guy’s fine.”

“Shoot a Prisoner.” Similar cynicism had long echoed in the U.S. among civilians and G.I.s alike. Since the trials of 16 guards and camp officers began last December (TIME, Dec. 31 et seq.), they had listened, appalled, to the grim testimony of former Lichfield prisoners. Men had been beaten there with fists and rifle butts till they were unconscious, then revived and ordered to clean up their own blood. Prisoners who complained of hunger were gorged with three meals at a time, then dosed with castor oil. Hours of calisthenics, of standing “nose and toes” to a guardhouse wall were routine punishments. Purple Heart veterans were deliberately jabbed in their old wounds. There was even a ghastly, sardonic slogan among Lichfield guards: “Shoot a prisoner and be made a sergeant.”

In partial justification for Lichfield’s “get-tough” policy, Army apologists had pointed out that many of the prisoners were combat dodgers. At a time when the need for replacements in Europe was critical, the best way to get them back to duty was to make the guardhouse so tough that they would prefer the front lines. But many of the 6,000 prisoners who passed through Lichfield’s stockade were minor offenders—AWOLs by only a few hours.

Court-Martial the Prosecutor? The trials were a travesty on justice. Witnesses refused to testify; there were postponements, delays, finally transfer of the trials from London to Germany. At one point a court-martial president quit in disgust. So did Prosecutor Captain Earl J. Carroll.

Last week, with only one junior officer still to be sentenced, the Army seemed ready to close its books on the case. At least two questions remained unanswered. Was the conviction of Kilian just a smokescreen to conceal a policy ordered from above? How far could a superior officer go in disclaiming the acts of his juniors? Editorialized the Washington Post: “Generals Yamashita and Homma were convicted. . . . Is the principle of a commander’s responsibility for Japanese only?”

Unperturbed, Colonel Kilian went right on fighting back, started a formal attempt to court-martial former Prosecutor Carroll for “maliciously instigating” his trial.

Also convicted in Bad Nauheim last week was Lichfield prosecution witness Fred C. Moore, a Negro private. For pummeling a German civilian who, he said, was caught rifling his billet, Private Moore was fined $180, sentenced to six months at hard labor.