In the Dauphine Alps, rod-backed Major General Otto Richter, a Nazi who had tried to be like a Junker, led a group from his disorganized 198th German Division into an American ambush. Before he could say Achtung he was a U.S. prisoner.
In a clump of trees he sat stiffly and sullenly in the front seat of a U.S. jeep—and acted out his version of how a German general should meet defeat. He refused to talk to anybody below his rank. Beside him sat a G.I. driver, staring ahead and nonchalantly popping his gum. Back of him sat one of...
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