May 5, 1945. Austria. The war in Europe has less than three days left. Hitler is dead; the German army surrenders in waves. High in the Tyrolean Alps, a medieval fortress stands on a hill—Castle Itter. Inside this castle, the strangest scene of World War II is unfolding.

If you looked through binoculars, you wouldn’t believe your eyes. On the castle walls, American soldiers fire machine guns. Shoulder-to-shoulder beside them are German soldiers—not prisoners, not captives—armed, in Wehrmacht uniforms, shooting at other Germans. Leading them: an American tank commander who looks like a movie star and a German major who just wants to go home.

They fight a common enemy—the Waffen-SS. A fanatical SS force climbs the hill to slaughter everyone inside. The Americans and Germans have one tank, limited ammo, and they are protecting the war’s most valuable prisoners: French prime ministers and generals. This isn’t a movie script. It happened—the only time in WWII the U.S. Army and German Army fought as allies.

To understand why, look at who is inside the castle. Itter wasn’t a normal prison; it was a luxury cage. The Nazis used it to hold “honor prisoners,” high-profile French VIPs. Inside were men who used to run France: Édouard Daladier, former prime minister; Paul Reynaud, another prime minister; General Maxime Weygand, former head of the French Army; and Jean Borotra, a famous tennis star.

They loathed the Germans—but also loathed each other, spending years arguing about politics while SS guarded the doors. By May 1945, the guards were nervous. Sebastian Wimmer, the SS commander at the castle, knew the war was lost. He knew if Americans found him, he’d be arrested. He also carried Himmler’s order: no prisoner leaves alive.

On May 4, Wimmer looked at approaching American lines, then at fanatical SS units roaming nearby forests, and made a choice. He ran. The SS guards fled. The French VIPs were suddenly “free,” but trapped. The castle was ringed by woods filled with the 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division—diehard Nazis executing anyone attempting surrender.

If the French tried to walk out, the SS would massacre them. The prisoners armed themselves with abandoned weapons, but they were old men, not soldiers. They needed help—and found it in the most unlikely place. A few miles away in Wörgl, Major Josef Gangl was trying to keep his men alive.

Gangl was a Wehrmacht officer, hero of the Russian front—and anti-Nazi. He had secretly helped the Austrian resistance. He knew SS planned to blow the town’s bridges and fight to the death. Gangl wanted to save the town and his men. He was looking for someone to surrender to when a messenger arrived from the castle.

A Czech cook had ridden a bicycle through SS lines. He told Gangl: “French leaders are trapped. SS is coming to kill them.” Gangl faced a dilemma. He couldn’t fight SS alone; he lacked men. But he couldn’t let SS murder French VIPs—it would stain Germany’s honor. So Gangl did something insane: he grabbed a white flag, jumped into his Kübelwagen, and drove toward American lines.

He wasn’t driving to fight—he was driving to find a friend. Eight miles away in Kufstein, the U.S. 12th Armored Division had arrived. Leading the recon unit was Captain John “Jack” Lee—the perfect American tank commander: cigar-chomping, tough, loud, straight out of Hollywood. His men loved him. He was resting his Sherman tank—Besotten Jenny—when a German car approached under a white flag.

Lee put a hand on his pistol; the German officer didn’t shoot—he saluted. It was Major Gangl. In broken English, Gangl explained: “French VIPs trapped. SS coming. I want to help you save them.” Lee looked at a German major asking to join forces—sounded like a trap. But Lee was a gambler. He chewed his cigar, checked the map, and said, “All right, Fritz—let’s go get ’em.”

He radioed HQ: “I’m taking a rescue mission to the castle—with the German major.” His superiors thought he was crazy—but gave a green light. Lee gathered a small force: two tanks, seven infantrymen, and Gangl’s truckload of Wehrmacht soldiers. It was the strangest convoy of the war—an American tank leading a German truck—driving together into SS territory.

On the winding road to the castle, they hit SS roadblocks. Besotten Jenny blasted them aside. German soldiers in the truck fired Mausers at SS positions. They fought to the castle gate. The French VIPs came out, expecting a massive American army. Instead, they saw one tank, seven Americans, and a bunch of Germans.

“Where is the rest of the army?” they asked. Captain Lee climbed down, grinning. “I am it.” He took command—ordering prime ministers like privates. “Get inside. Stay away from windows.” He parked Besotten Jenny at the gate, gun trained down the road. He positioned German soldiers on the walls and American infantry in the towers. “You watch the south wall,” he told Major Gangl. “I’ll watch the gate.” Gangl saluted. For the first time in five years, Germans and Americans shared cigarettes and food—checking each other’s weapons—knowing that when the sun rose, they might die together.

Morning, May 5—the fog lifted. The first shot cracked. SS had arrived—about 150 men from the 17th SS Panzergrenadiers, with anti-tank guns, mortars, machine guns. Furious, they saw an American tank at the gate—and their countrymen (Gangl’s men) shooting from the walls. To SS, Gangl was a traitor.

Fire poured onto the castle. Bullets chipped ancient stone. To their credit, the French VIPs didn’t hide. Reynaud and Daladier grabbed rifles and shot from windows; even tennis star Jean Borotra joined the fight. Then SS rolled up a bigger weapon—an 88 mm anti-tank gun—aimed at Besotten Jenny.

The shell hit—Besotten Jenny erupted in flames. The American crew bailed out just in time. Their only heavy weapon was gone. Now it was rifles against an army. Captain Lee ran from position to position, calm, cutting the fuse on his last cigar. “Don’t worry,” he told his men. “They have to come through the gate—we’ll pile them up like cordwood.”

Hours of fighting drained ammo. SS crept closer—preparing to storm. Major Gangl, directing fire from the wall, saw Prime Minister Paul Reynaud exposed. He ran to him—“Get down!”—pushing Reynaud aside. A sniper’s bullet caught Gangl in the chest. He fell. The German officer died saving a French politician—fighting for Americans against his own country’s fanatics. He was the only defender killed. The day’s hero was a German.

The defenders were down to last bullets. The tank was destroyed. SS prepared the final assault. Before the miraculous ending, hit subscribe—we bring you true stories that sound like fiction. It was noon. Lee checked ammo—almost dry. They couldn’t hold another hour. He needed to reach the American main force, but the tank’s radio was gone.

Jean Borotra, the tennis star, stepped forward. “I will go,” he said. “I am fast.” It sounded suicidal. He didn’t wait. He vaulted over the wall—sprinted across the open field—SS bullets kicking up dirt—dodged and weaved—disappeared into the woods. He ran miles until he found an American relief column on the road.

He reached the lead tank, breathless. “The castle—they are dying. You must hurry.” Back at the fortress, SS launched the final attack—at the gate—blowing it open. Lee told his men to fix bayonets—prepared for hand-to-hand fighting in the courtyard. German soldiers checked magazines—empty.

Then a sound—engines. Around the bend roared the 142nd Infantry Regiment—Sherman tanks—hundreds of soldiers. They opened fire; SS scattered into the woods. The siege broke. Relief troops flooded the castle, finding Lee blackened with smoke. He looked at the commander, pulled the cigar from his mouth, and said, “What took you so long?”

The prisoners were saved. French VIPs were driven to safety. Within days, the war was officially over. Captain Jack Lee received the Distinguished Service Cross—went home to New York—opened a hotel—never bragged. Major Josef Gangl was buried in Wörgl—remembered as a hero; a street bears his name—the German soldier who died fighting Nazis.

The battle for Castle Itter was a small skirmish in a vast war—but it proved something vital. Even amid the greatest conflict in history, humanity can survive. Enemies can become friends. Men can choose the right thing even when the world goes mad. Years later, when asked, Jack Lee smiled: “Weirdest thing I ever saw—me and the Krauts fighting side by side.”

It remains the only battle where the U.S. Army and the German Army fought as allies—a strange, heroic ending to a terrible war. Major Gangl died saving a French politician. Was he a traitor to Germany—or a hero to humanity? Tell us your thoughts in the comments. And if you want to know about the time Patton almost got fired before D-Day, check out our next video.