You’re Mine Now,” Said the U.S. Soldier After Seeing German POW Women Starved for Days

In May 1945, as World War II was drawing to a close, a dusty processing camp near Regensburg, Germany, became the setting for a remarkable story of humanity. Here, 329 female German prisoners of war (POWs), mostly young members of auxiliary units, were marched in under guard. These women had been on the road for weeks, their rations cut to almost nothing as the Nazi regime collapsed around them. They arrived at the camp like shadows of their former selves—skeletons in rags, with sunken eyes and gray skin, many barely able to walk.

The Arrival of the POWs

As they entered the camp, the women braced themselves for the worst. They had heard horrific stories about the treatment of female prisoners and expected nothing less from their captors. The first American soldier to see them was Sergeant Mike Kowalski, a 25-year-old Polish American from Chicago, who belonged to the 104th Infantry Division. Fresh from liberating a sub-camp of Dachau, Mike was no stranger to the devastation wrought by starvation and suffering.

When he saw the women, he froze. One girl, 19-year-old Greta Müller from Berlin, suddenly collapsed in the line. Without hesitation, Mike rushed forward and caught her just before she hit the ground. Her eyes were wide with terror as she flinched at his touch. Mike looked at her ribs protruding through her torn uniform, her hollow cheeks, and her trembling hands. In broken German, learned from his grandmother, he softly said, “Du bist jetzt mein” — “You’re mine now.”

A Promise of Care

Greta’s reaction was immediate. She began to cry—not from fear, but from the shock that an American soldier was claiming her to feed her. Mike carried her to the field kitchen, shouting at the cook, “Full rations for all of them now!” The cooks sprang into action, and within minutes, the women were seated on benches, their eyes wide with disbelief as they were served a full army mess tin filled with roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, fresh bread with real butter, apple pie, and cold milk.

As Greta took her first bite of roast beef, the flavor exploded in her mouth. Overwhelmed, she sobbed so hard that she could barely swallow. Around her, the other women followed suit, tears streaming down their faces. For the first time in years, they were crying over real food. Some stuffed bread into their pockets, while others hugged their mess trays tightly, whispering “Danke” over and over again.

Mike sat with Greta, ensuring she ate slowly. “You’re mine now,” he repeated softly. “Means I’ll take care of you.” Over the next weeks, Mike adopted the entire group. He brought extra rations every day, stealing chocolate from the PX and finding clean uniforms in their sizes. He even taught them simple English phrases like “more please” and “thank you.”

Healing Through Kindness

As the days turned into weeks, the women began to gain weight, their eyes brightening with life again. They affectionately called Mike “Unser Amerikaner”—“Our American.” By July, the camp was preparing for repatriation. On the last day, Greta found Mike and handed him a small embroidered handkerchief with “Danke Mike” stitched in red thread. “You said I was yours. I was starving. You fed me. Now I live because of you.”

Mike’s eyes filled with emotion as he hugged her, careful and fatherly. “You were never mine to own. You were mine to help.” As the women boarded the train home, there were no tears this time—only full bellies and straight backs, a stark contrast to their arrival.

A Reunion After 50 Years

Fifty years later, on May 15, 1995, 30 of the original women returned as grandmothers to Chicago, seeking out Mike Kowalski, now 75 and retired. He was waiting at O’Hare Airport with his family, unaware of the emotional reunion that awaited him. The women opened a large picnic basket filled with roast beef sandwiches, mashed potatoes in thermoses, and apple pie.

Greta, now 69, placed one sandwich in Mike’s hands. “You said I was yours, and you fed me when I was nothing. Tonight we feed you.” They sat together under the Chicago sky, sharing the same tastes and tears as they had decades earlier.

The Impact of Compassion

As they reminisced, Mike spoke of the war and the choices that defined him. He recalled that day in May 1945 when he had made the decision to turn his back on the soldiers’ protocol to protect the dignity of the women. “Some words like ‘you’re mine now’ can mean chains or they can mean, ‘I won’t let the world hurt you anymore,’” he said, reflecting on the impact of that moment.

The women shared their stories of survival and the bonds they had formed, not just with each other but with Mike. They spoke of how his kindness had changed their lives, how it had given them hope when they had none.

The Legacy of a Slice of Roast Beef

As the night wore on, Mike and the women laughed and cried together, a testament to the enduring power of compassion. They had all come to understand that dignity is a choice that costs something. For Mike, it had risked his career; he could have faced reprimand for defying orders. For the women, it had meant accepting help when they had been taught to expect cruelty.

In the years that followed, Mike kept a slice of roast beef wrapped in wax paper in his wallet. It was a reminder of that day—a promise of dignity, compassion, and humanity amidst the horrors of war. When he passed away in 2005, his children found it still there, preserved as a symbol of the love and care that had transcended the boundaries of conflict.

Conclusion: A Promise Remembered

The story of Mike Kowalski and the German women POWs serves as a powerful reminder of the impact one person can have in the face of adversity. It challenges us to reflect on our own choices and the times we might stand up for others, to be the ones who say, “You’re mine now,” and mean, “I will not let you die alone.”

In a world often marred by division and hostility, this story shines as a beacon of hope, illustrating that even in the darkest times, acts of kindness can transform lives and create bonds that last a lifetime. The war may have ended, but the promise of dignity and compassion lived on, one bite at a time.