Growing up, I knew little about my dad’s service in World War II. The only clues were his Army uniform, tucked away in a basement closet, and a rifle – a trophy taken from a German prisoner – prominently displayed above the fireplace. It wasn’t until 50 years after the war, when the missions were declassified, that my dad, longtime Milwaukeean Al Albrecht, became an advocate for his fellow veterans and shared at school and community events the incredible, courageous and often humorous stories of his service.
READ MORE: THE REMARKABLE STORY OF THE WWII GHOST ARMY
After graduating from Washington High School in Two Rivers in 1942, Dad was immediately drafted into the Army and underwent intense background checks and skills testing. Due to his intelligence, he was selected for a specialized military deception training program and was assigned to the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops, known as the “Ghost Army.” This secret unit, the first mobile multimedia tactical deception force in U.S. Army history, was comprised of artists, engineers and performers. They were tasked with creating elaborate illusions to mislead the enemy – a mission that required not only skill but also a great deal of creativity.
As a corporal in the 3132nd Signal Service Company, 2nd Platoon, Dad drove a half-track equipped with powerful loudspeakers designed to mimic the sounds of troop movements. The sonic unit’s mission was to project recordings that simulated an Army on the move, crafting the illusion of a formidable military presence. Operating in Europe, the Ghost Army devised fake radio transmissions, phantom convoys and divisions, inflatable tanks and planes, and even blow-up soldiers, all to fool the Nazis about the strength and location of American troops.
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Dad explained to author and filmmaker Rick Beyer that the Ghost Army managed to convey an image of a “very big, strong force” to deter enemy aggression. He vividly recalled how they could deflate the rubber tanks in about two hours, making them “vanish into thin air,” leaving the enemy baffled. Dad gave the final quote in the Ghost Army documentary that summarized their mission: “Can you picture the German commander, after he was preparing to defend himself, and perhaps attack over in our direction, going over there and finding nothing … but maybe a lot of tank tracks. Because we were gone. That’s the Ghost Army.”
Dad recounted that their operations were so convincing in sound and appearance that the enemy would fire at them from tanks and aircraft, resulting in continuous punctures to the Ghost Army’s rubber tanks that required repair. The sagging inflatable artillery demanded frequent attention to maintain the facade. In one humorous incident, two Frenchmen on bicycles somehow breached the security perimeter and saw four American soldiers pick up and turn what looked like a 40-ton Sherman tank. Ghost Army soldier Arthur Shilstone stopped them from getting closer and explained away what they’d just seen: “The Americans are very strong.”
In addition to their battlefield deceptions, Dad and some of his fellow soldiers sewed fake patches on their uniforms and posed as military commanders in areas they knew German spies would detect their presence. These men immersed themselves in their roles, even hanging out at local bars and cafés and spinning counterfeit stories for spies who might lurk in the shadows. At first, I couldn’t imagine our dad doing this, but he was a persuasive speaker, and I wondered if those skills – so useful in his future career in sales – came from his specialized training in military deception. And I am sure my mom was also very surprised that he had sewing skills – since he never used them again.
Navigating nine-ton half-tracks was often an adventure in itself. Dad shared stories about his adventures in these half-tank, half-truck vehicles mounted with speakers blasting sounds of an actual army. To remain undetected, they drove the halftrack mostly at night using blackout lights, looking through a small slit for a window. Since he had good eyesight, Dad often drove the first half track that others followed. “One day I’m driving,” he recalled, “and I’m on a rather unusually rough road, and it turns out to be a creek bed.” His half-track, and all who followed, ended up getting stuck in the mud. “Can you imagine outliving that with all your buddies?” he smirked. “It took us all night to get out of there.”
Dad also had to drive the half-track through farm fields, often knocking down porch columns, and towns with narrow cobblestone streets in France where they broke a few storefront windows. “I can remember panes of glass falling out of the windows when we would drive at night.” He laughed, as if it was yesterday, that “there’s probably a few French property owners that are still looking for me.”
One of Dad’s most memorable adventures was from December 1944, when he and his half-track buddy tried to visit a hometown friend and neighbor who was serving in an artillery battalion stationed in Luxembourg. As they traveled, they noticed the villages along the way were deserted and many aircraft were flying overhead. “We knew immediately that we were probably in trouble,” he recalled. Other American soldiers urged them to stay, explaining that they were surrounded and it would be difficult to get past the Germans again. “We told them we were special forces and had to return to our unit.”
Despite the risks, they drove back using a different route through fields, where they got stuck several times. Avoiding German soldiers and minefields, they made it back to their unit. “We brought back information about the German breakthrough.” The Ghost Army barely escaped capture. That day was December 16, 1944, the beginning of the Battle of the Bulge – in which more than 200,000 German troops and nearly 1,000 tanks launched Adolf Hitler’s last attempt to change the course of the war.
When the war ended, the Ghost Army shifted its focus to humanitarian efforts, helping feed displaced people in and around Trier in Germany, including victims of the Holocaust. It was a horrible situation that, decades later after the Ghost Army was declassified, we family members still heard little about. It came up once, during a family conversation right before we sat down to a Thanksgiving feast; the pain in his voice and the solemn look on his face as he reminisced was haunting. It did not seem right at that time to ask for more details, and he never mentioned it again.
Despite his critical role in saving the lives of an estimated thousands numbers of Allied troops, my father never saw himself as a hero. “The real heroes were the infantrymen,” he insisted. Just two weeks before he passed away in 2010, I organized a special event at the Zablocki Veterans Affairs Medical Center, where he was receiving hospice care, so he could view a rough cut of Beyer’s documentary, The Ghost Army. At this gathering of family and veterans, he spoke his last words: “The people involved in the Ghost Army really deserved more attention than they got, because they saved many, many lives.”
Though he left this world believing their contributions were unnoticed, his legacy endures through his stories captured in family videos, the documentary, and in two books written by Rick Beyer: The Ghost Army of World War II, published in 2015, and a new edition released in October 2023. On March 21, 2024, the Ghost Army was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal, a testament to their bravery and ingenuity.
Today, my father’s uniform, once hidden in our basement, is part of a traveling exhibition curated by The National WWII Museum in New Orleans: Ghost Army: The Combat Con Artists of World War II. This ensures that the Ghost Army’s legacy is preserved and celebrated for future generations.
Dad, you and the other courageous men of the Ghost Army are no longer forgotten heroes. You and your buddies have finally received the recognition you deserve.
Karen Skibba can be reached at linkedin.com/in/karenskibba.
