| Original caption: “Russians shake hands with officers and men of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, First Allied Airborne Artillery, when they met at Grabow, Germany. They are waiting for orders to move into their respective sectors.” United States Army 82nd Airborne Division paratroopers and Soviet Red Army soldiers celebrate linking up at the end of the European war. They are exchanging schnapps and chocolate. General James M. Gavin (March 22, 1907 – February 23, 1990), later related the meeting of Americans and Soviets: “Within twenty-four hours I met the Russians. Earlier I had sent an armored cavalry unit that had been attached to the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, under the command of Captain William A. Knowlton (June 19, 1920 – August 10, 2008), to find the Russians. It was a hair-raising experience for him, but he made his way through the skeptical Germans and finally established contact with the Russians and was able to communicate to me that he had done so. The day after the surrender of General der Infanterie Kurt von Tippelskirch (October 9, 1891 – May 10, 1957), I made my way with a Russian interpreter, a sergeant from the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, toward the Russian lines. After we left the front of the Eighty-Second, there was absolute quiet; the area was abandoned with no evidence of war except the piles and piles of weapons in the ditches beside the roads. As I approached the small German town of Grabow, four or five miles away from my own front, I could hear the sounds of a few weapons firing and vehicular movement. As I entered the town square of Grabow, I saw that Russian soldiers had a hogshead of wine in the square. They had fired into it with their pistols, and as the wine spurted out, they caught it in their helmets and drank it. One soldier had smashed the window of a nearby store, stepped through the broken glass, and held up a blue gown that had been on display. To say that they were celebrating without restraint would be an understatement. The thought occurred to me that they might not know my uniform and that I soon could have a problem on my hands, for they were all getting very drunk. We asked one of those who appeared to be sober about higher headquarters, and he indicated that it was somewhere down the road, so we continued. About a mile away a Russian truck chockablock with standing soldiers approached. As it neared me, for no reason at all, it drove up on the shoulder of the road, which was a steep slope, six or eight feet high. Slowly the truck toppled over on its side and out tumbled all the Soviet troops, happy and laughing and obviously unconcerned. I thought of stopping to offer to help, but no one seemed a bit interested. And there was some risk in stopping, since they did not know me, so I continued to the next small town, a couple of miles away. There on the main street were two very prim-looking, Tartar-featured, stocky, tough soldiers guarding the front of a building. They had Russian tommy guns slung across their chests and looked at me rather menacingly. I inquired about the nearest Russian headquarters, and that building turned out to be the Command Post of the Russian division commander I was looking for. I went into the living room of the house and introduced myself. Maps were spread on the table, and we went about explaining our dispositions. The thought crossed my mind that this must have been what it was like in 1939 when the Russians met the German army in Poland. I suppose I thought, along these lines because the Russians acted distrustful, as though we were combat enemies. All we wanted was to get our dispositions understood, bring the war to an end, and go home. But it had been a good meeting, and the Russian general accepted my invitation to visit me the following day. As was the case with most American combat divisions, we had a roisterous meeting with the Russians. At first they were obviously suspicious of us, but in the next weeks the evening receptions and the vodka seemed to remove all barriers. There was much celebrating and many toasts. However, as the days went by, I noticed that the senior Russian generals were accompanied by their political commissars. The Russians began to behave a bit more quietly and more seriously and, in fact, almost became unfriendly. By then a couple of weeks had passed, and it was time for us to leave. But before the division left, we received our first orders to return our high-point personnel to the United States for discharge from the Army. Although the men were all delighted to go home, it was a sad parting for many of us. We had been together since Africa, and through much, and once the old-timers left, the division would never be the same, or so we thought.” Technician 4th Class Ralph W. Forney (December 15, 1909 – October 13, 1968) was injured shortly after taking this photo. A photographer for the Ogden, Utah, Standard Examiner before the war, Forney enlisted on October 11, 1943, in Los Angeles. He moved back to Hollywood after World War II. | |
| Image Filename | wwii0862.jpg |
| Image Size | 149.52 KB |
| Image Dimensions | 1146 x 669 |
| Photographer | Ralph W. Forney |
| Photographer Title | United States Army Signal Corps |
| Caption Author | Written or Adapted by Jason McDonald |
| Date Photographed | May 3, 1945 |
| Location | |
| City | Grabow |
| State or Province | Mecklenburg-Vorpommern |
| Country | Germany |
| Archive | National Archives and Records Administration |
| Record Number | 111-SC-181995 |
| Status | Caption ©2026 MFA Productions LLC Please Do Not Duplicate or Distribute Without Permission; Image in the Public Domain |
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