‘Please Stop—I’m Infected’ German Female POWs Didn’t Expect This From U.S. Soldiers

In the chaotic final months of World War II, as the Allied forces advanced through Western Germany, a haunting story of survival and unexpected compassion emerged from the ruins of a collapsing regime. This is the story of a group of German female prisoners of war, their harrowing experience aboard a forgotten train, and the American soldiers who found them in their darkest hour.

The Collapse of Order

It was late autumn 1944, and the roads of Western Germany were filled with a desperate exodus. Columns of refugees moved alongside retreating military units, and trains ran sporadically, carrying anything that could still be moved: supplies, wounded men, displaced civilians, and prisoners. Among these were women who had been caught in the maelstrom of a war that had spiraled out of control.

One fateful morning, a U.S. infantry patrol stumbled upon a motionless train on a siding outside an abandoned industrial town. The station building was empty, and the surrounding factories were silent. As the soldiers approached the sealed boxcars, they noticed faint sounds coming from within—weak knocks and the desperate cries of women begging for help.

A Disturbing Discovery

The lieutenant in charge ordered his men to stop and listen. The air was thick with tension as they heard the muffled voices of women inside the cars, repeating the word “Hilfe” (help) in a thin, cracked tone. When the soldiers forced the doors open, they were met with a sight that would haunt them forever.

Inside the first car, dozens of women were crammed together, collapsed against each other on the floor, surrounded by makeshift bedding made from coats and rags. The stench of sickness, waste, and despair filled the air. Many women were barely conscious, while others lay completely still, their bodies succumbing to the conditions they had endured.

As the soldiers took in the scene, one voice broke through the confusion—a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, pressed herself against the wall, palms raised in fear. “Please stop! I’m infected!” she cried, her voice trembling. The soldiers froze, realizing the gravity of the situation. In 1944, disease was a terrifying specter, often more feared than bullets. Typhus, dysentery, and tuberculosis were rampant among displaced populations, and the instinct to isolate suspected cases was strong.

A Choice to Help

The lieutenant hesitated, weighing the risks. Instinctively, the soldiers felt the urge to close the door and move on, marking the train as a quarantine zone. But as they observed the women’s fear and desperation, something shifted. They were not attacking; they were begging for help, pleading for mercy.

Slowly, the lieutenant stepped forward, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Through a German-speaking corporal, he began to ask questions. Who were they? Why were they here? The answers came haltingly, overlapping as more women tried to speak. They were German civilians—factory workers, clerks, students—who had been evacuated from cities devastated by bombing or arrested for minor offenses under the Nazi regime.

Weeks earlier, they had been loaded onto trains under guard, told they were being relocated west to avoid the advancing front. But the guards had disappeared, the train had stopped, and the women were left locked inside, without food or water. As days turned into weeks, sickness spread, and the strongest among them tried to care for the weakest, but supplies ran out quickly.

The Horrors of Abandonment

The conditions inside the boxcars were horrific. Women began to fall ill, suffering from diarrhea, fever, and rashes. Some developed open sores, while others coughed up blood. The strongest attempted to care for the weakest, using torn clothing as bandages and collecting snowmelt to drink. One by one, the sick succumbed; the survivors had stopped counting.

The Americans opened the other cars, finding similar scenes of horror. In one car, more than half the occupants were already dead, bodies stacked against the walls due to the lack of space. In another, only a handful remained alive, barely conscious, their shallow breathing a haunting reminder of the neglect they had suffered.

The soldiers stood in stunned silence. They had seen death before—on beaches, in hedgerows, and in burned-out villages—but this was different. There had been no battle here, no enemy fire, just abandonment by a regime that no longer existed in practice.

A Decision of Compassion

The lieutenant immediately radioed headquarters for medical assistance, debating quarantine protocols. Command wanted to know whether these women were prisoners, civilians, or enemy personnel, but no one had an immediate answer. As they waited, the soldiers faced a moral dilemma: leave the women sealed in the cars until help arrived, or risk infection to begin assisting them.

In a quiet yet resolute decision, one soldier stepped forward, removed his gloves, and offered his canteen through the door. Others followed suit, passing water carefully, breaking bread rations into small pieces to avoid overwhelming the starving women. They remembered their training about famine victims: everything had to be slow and controlled.

The woman who had first spoken, “I’m infected,” watched as an American medic finally arrived hours later, donning improvised protective gear. The medic examined her carefully; she was feverish, malnourished, and covered in lice bites, but she was not infected with typhus. Most of the women weren’t. The rashes and sores came from malnutrition and untreated injuries.

A New Beginning

As the medical tents were set up near the tracks, the women who could walk were helped out first. Many collapsed immediately, their muscles giving out after weeks of confinement. Those who couldn’t walk were carried. The Americans moved methodically, documenting each person, tagging the cars, and burning contaminated bedding. The dead were removed last, a somber task that weighed heavily on the soldiers.

The survivors were transported to a temporary camp under American control, where they were separated by condition rather than nationality. The sick were isolated but treated, the weak gradually fed, and lice were shaved away. For many women, this was the first time in months that anyone had spoken to them without shouting or threats. Some still didn’t trust it; one woman flinched violently when an American nurse reached for her arm to take her pulse, crying out, “Please stop! I’m infected!”

The nurse paused, smiled gently, and explained through a translator that she was there to help. The woman burst into tears, overwhelmed by the kindness she had not expected.

The Aftermath of War

Word of the train spread through nearby units, and other abandoned transports were discovered in the following weeks. As Germany collapsed, its system simply stopped functioning. Guards fled, orders were never delivered, and entire groups were left locked in place, forgotten by a state that had ceased to exist.

For the American soldiers who encountered that train, the memory never faded. They had expected cruelty from the Germans, punishment for being on the opposing side, but instead, they found human beings in desperate need of help. Years later, some of the women would recount the moment the doors opened, the fear of infection, and the realization that no one was going to abandon them again.

For the soldiers, it was a poignant reminder that war did not always end with surrender documents or victory parades. Sometimes, it was about the choices made in the face of suffering and the humanity that could still shine through the darkest times.

Conclusion: A Lesson in Humanity

The story of the German female POWs and the American soldiers who chose to help them is a powerful testament to the resilience of the human spirit. It highlights the importance of compassion, even amid the horrors of war. As we reflect on this moment in history, we are reminded that humanity can prevail, that kindness can exist even in the most challenging circumstances, and that the actions of individuals can create ripples of hope that resonate long after the conflict has ended.

In a world often divided by conflict, the lessons learned from this encounter serve as a reminder of our shared humanity, urging us to choose empathy over indifference, and to recognize the dignity in every person, regardless of their circumstances. The women who emerged from that train were not just survivors; they were symbols of hope and resilience, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, compassion can light the way forward.