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

May 1945, a dusty processing camp near Reagansburg, Germany. 329 female German PWs, mostly young hellerinan from flock and signals units, are marched in under guard. They have been on the road for weeks. No real food. Rations cut to almost nothing as the Reich collapsed. They are skeletons and rags, eyes sunken, skin gray. Many can barely walk.

They expect the worst from the Americans. The first soldier to see them is Sergeant Mike Kowalsski from Chicago, 25, Polish American, 104th Infantry Division. He has just come from liberating a sub camp of Dao. He knows what starvation looks like. He sees the women and freezes. One girl, 19-year-old Greta Müller from Berlin, collapses in the line.

 Mike runs forward, catches her before she hits the ground. She flinches, eyes wide with terror. Mike looks at her ribs showing through the torn uniform, her hollow cheeks, her shaking hands. he says quietly in broken German learned from his grandmother. Do mine. You’re mine now. I won’t let you starve. Greta starts crying, not from fear, from the shock that an American is claiming her to feed her.

 Mike carries her to the field kitchen. He shouts at the cook, “Full rations for all of them now.” The cooks spring into action. Within minutes, the women are seated on benches. In front of each, a full army mess tin. Roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, fresh bread with real butter, apple pie, and cold milk.

 Greta takes one bite of the roast beef. The flavor explodes. She sobs so hard she can’t swallow. The other women follow. 329 women crying over real food for the first time in years. Some stuff bread in their pockets. Some hug the mess trays. Some simply stare at the butter melting on the bread and whisper, “Danka over and over.

” “Mike sits with Greta, making sure she eats slowly.” “You’re mine now,” he says again softer. “Means take care of you.” Over the next weeks, Mike adopts the whole group. He brings extra rations every day. He steals chocolate from the PX. He finds clean uniforms in their sizes. He teaches them English phrases like more please and thank you.

The women gain weight. Their eyes brighten. They start calling Mike Unser Americana are American. By July, the camp is closing for repatriation. On the last day, Greta finds Mike. She hands him a small embroidered handkerchief with danka Mike in red thread. You said I was yours. I was starving. You fed me.

 Now I live because of you. Mike’s eyes fill. He hugs her, careful, fatherly. You were never mine to own. You were mine to help. The women board the train home. No tears this time. just full bellies and straight backs. 50 years later, May 15th, 1995, Chicago, 30 of the original women return as grandmothers. They find Mike Kowalsski, 75, retired, waiting at O’Hare with his family.

They open a huge picnic basket, roast beef sandwiches, mashed potatoes in thermos, apple pie. Greta 69 places one sandwich in Mike’s hands. You said I was yours and you fed me when I was nothing. Tonight we feed you. They eat together under Chicago sky. Same taste, same tears. The war ends 50 years late over one plate of roast beef that finally got shared.

 Because some words like you’re mine now can mean chains or they can mean I won’t let the world hurt you anymore. And on that May day in 1945, 329 German women discovered the second meaning, one bite at a time. 3 months later, the camp was running like clockwork. The women had gained weight. Their uniforms fit again.

 They worked the laundry, the gardens, even helped in the messaul. Mike Kowalsski visited every day. He brought extra roast beef slices wrapped in wax piper. Greta learned to say thank you in English without crying. One evening in August, Mike found Greta sitting alone on a bench staring at the sunset. He sat beside her. You okay? She nodded.

 I dream of roast beef now, not bombs. Mike laughed. Good dream. She turned to him. You said I was yours. He nodded. Serious. Meant I’d take care of you like family. Greta took his hand. In Germany, family feeds you. You fed me when I was nothing. Mike squeezed her hand. You were never nothing. September came.

 Repatriation orders arrived. On the last day, the women lined up to board the train. Greta was last. She carried a small package. She handed it to Mike. Inside, a perfect slice of roast beef she had saved from supper, wrapped in the original wax paper from May, still fresh enough. You gave me roast beef first when I was starving.

 Now I give you the last piece, so you remember you saved more than my body. Mike’s eyes filled. He took the slice, pressed it to his heart. I’ll keep it forever. Greta hugged him long, hard like a sister. The train whistle blew. She boarded. Mike stood on the platform until the train was a dot. He never opened the wax paper.

 He kept it in his wallet for 60 years. When he died in 2005, his children found it, still there, still wrapped. They buried him with it because some meals are not for eating. They are forremembering the day someone said, “You’re mine now.” and meant, “I will not let you die alone.” And on that September day in 1945, one slice of roast beef became the warmest promise a soldier ever kept.