1,500 at Plouvien

Until last week Plouvien was just another of the quaint, peaceful villages that dot the Breton peninsula—a set pattern of small tidy houses, large untidy barns and barnyards, a few shops, a church at the crossroads. Even their names—Plouescat, Plougonven, Ploudaniel—bear the patina of time: plou is the ancient Celtic prefix for "parish."

Plouvien had been left behind by U.S. tank columns bearing south to the siege of Brest, ten miles away. By the time their vanguard had passed, Plouvien's 2,500 citizens had decked their cottages with the tricolor and with homemade U.S. flags, The men came in from the fields to celebrate liberation.

But the Americans had also left behind them a unit of 1,500 Germans. Soon these were probing through to the village again. Flag-decked Plouvien maddened the German commander. He sent shells screeching into the crowded streets. The Plouviennois left their dead and wounded in the rubble, streamed into their few air-raid tunnels. Then the Germans drove into the village, looted the shell-torn homes and shops of wine.

Besotted soldiers went to the shelter openings, called on the men to come out. There was a burst of machine-gun fire as each emerged—the parish priest, village officials, farmers, townsmen, 23 men in all. Women and children, cowering in the tunnels, were not molested (but one infant was killed by a fire bomb tossed into a shelter).

Vengeance came swiftly for Plouvien. U.S. troops caught the Germans in the town, trapped them as they fled afoot and in horse-drawn vehicles, raked them with shells. Of the 1,500 Germans who had marched into Plouvien only 700 marched out again. They were prisoners.