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There would be no sympathy on the long march toward Munich in May 1945. Gray uniforms were enemies. One wrong move and they'd be shot.

Elliott Stalnaker, a young U.S. Army soldier from Fayette County, remembers the order well. He was one of the few men holding the guns, herding the prisoners to POW camps. For every American, there were 200 Germans.

Little did Stalnaker know that one of them, a Nazi deserter named Joseph Ratzinger, would become Pope Benedict XVI 60 years later.

After the Americans found him and ordered him back into uniform to join the ranks of prisoners, Ratzinger wouldn't have looked like much more than just another German soldier. For all Stalnaker knew, the future pontiff may have marched right beside him.

"Who would even dream that something like that would happen?" Stalnaker, 85, of York Run, Georges Township, said. "I'm thankful that I'm still here, but you wonder how many people didn't get to come home and enjoy the fruits of life. ... There was a lot of good people that died over someone who wanted to be ruler of the world."

Having dodged bullets for about three years, Stalnaker and his fellow soldiers in the 2nd Chemical Mortar Battalion were ready to go home.

Moving into Traunstein, Bavaria, overnight in early May was one of their final tasks of the war. They were supposed to be backing up infantry, but the riflemen had not gone into town before Stalnaker's Company C began setting up 500-pound guns there. The area remained very much under Nazi control.

Rumors of the Third Reich's collapse were circulating, and soldiers on both sides wondered when an armistice would be signed. A white flag was waving the next morning. The Germans were giving up Traunstein after showing virtually no resistance, even though they vastly outnumbered the Americans.

Stalnaker said the surrender was a beautiful sight.

"They must have been under the impression that we were there and that the town had been taken," he said. "That was a great day."

Stalnaker came home and built a house. He married a war widow named Minnie who helped him clear his head after all the fighting. His war buddy from Pittsburgh, Edward Staniski, was best man. He had children. His only grandson is studying at West Point military academy.

Stalnaker keeps in shape by exercising at the YMCA, where he became friends with a Catholic priest who's taken great interest in a war story that Stalnaker himself didn't know until about a month ago.

"He said, 'Thank God you didn't shoot the pope,'" Stalnaker said. "I said, 'Thank God he didn't get out of line.'"

Stalnaker had encountered a pope when Rome was liberated in June 1944 -- Pope Pius XII.

"They had all of us out there, and he gave us his blessing," Stalnaker said.

Stalnaker was raised Protestant and remained so even though he married a Catholic. He said he believes that being affiliated with a religion isn't as important as being a good person and living a good life. But that doesn't mean he didn't plead with the great beyond when shells exploded and bullets flew.

"We're all preaching to go to the same place," he said. "There's only one God as far as we're concerned. ... You know you're going out there facing death every day. You're just hoping someone's out there backing you up."

Stalnaker enlisted in the Army right after he'd learned about the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. Several days later, he left for Fort Indiantown Gap in Lebanon County.

"I was willing to go anywhere they needed us," he said. "We were all young. Nobody knew what we were facing. Whatever we came across, we tried to deal with it."

The Army trained him to use a mortar, volleying 25-pound shells up to 4,000 yards, blasting holes in the German front lines.

He landed in North Africa under fire, scrambling off a boat and trying to drag the 500-pound gun through the sand in what felt like 110-degree heat. He was part of a human chain to fish one of the hulky weapons out of the Mediterranean Sea. It fell off the landing craft and sank during the invasion of Sicily.

In Italy, Stalnaker climbed mountain after mountain trying to push back the Germans. Dodging bullets. Returning fire. Attacking. Falling back.

Stalnaker heard about his connection to the papacy from a historical writer from Louisiana, Walter J. Eldredge, whose book, "Finding My Father's War", follows the 2nd Chemical Mortar Battalion's campaigns in World War II.

Eldredge is looking for veterans who remember anything about taking Ratzinger into custody.

Eldredge's search began shortly after Pope John Paul II died and Ratzinger, a cardinal, was elected to take his place. With Ratzinger's biography being read and analyzed by millions, the part of most interest to Stalnaker and the men of Company C was that Ratzinger deserted to Traunstein shortly before the Americans arrived.

Stalnaker can tell you about Mt. Vesuvius erupting while he was in Italy, a sight that made everybody think the ammo dump had been bombed. He remembers being among the troops to face the mounds of dead at Dachau Concentration Camp while the Germans were on the run.

But the only pope story he knew up until hearing from Eldredge was the one about Pope Pius. He'd later learn that young Ratzinger was hiding out from his own army when American soldiers found him in Traunstein the day the Germans surrendered there.

"I guess he was tired of fighting. He went over the hill," Stalnaker said. "I guess he wanted to escape that war."

Ratzinger, a son of a policeman who harbored anti-Nazi sentiments, grew up in Bavaria. He was enrolled against his will into Hitler's Nazi youth at age 12 in 1939. He was drafted into a Nazi anti-aircraft unit in 1943. Risking execution, he deserted in 1945.

The Rev. Ken Zaccagnini, pastor of St. Therese Roman Catholic Church in Uniontown, said he thinks Pope Benedict's memories of World War II give him special empathy for people seeking liberation from tyranny.

"Obviously, everything we do in life psychologically affects us, for the better or for the worse," Zaccagnini said.

Zaccagnini is a friend of Stalnaker's who thinks this recent revelation is a blessing years later for the men who fought, that they put Ratzinger in a prisoner camp when his own side may have shot him.

"I'm sure for many others like Elliott there were a lot of dark days wondering what they were doing there," Zaccagnini said.

The herd of prisoners behaved as the Americans marched them from Traunstein, Stalnaker said.

"We were all fatigued. These guys are human just like we are," Stalnaker said. "They were thankful the war was over."

But he'll never forget the threat he was told to enforce.

"If any of those guys start giving you any problems, just drop them," he said. "But war is war. What are you going to do?"

Millions of people were killed during World War II, more than 400,000 of them American military casualties. The 2nd Chemical Mortar Battalion alone lost 56 men, according to www.4point2.org, a Web site maintained by veterans.

As the years go by, Stalnaker sees fewer faces at the 2nd Chemical Mortar Battalion reunions. This year, he said 15 people made it. Five years ago, he said, 75 did.

"Of course, these guys are up in their 80s and 90s," he said. "We were thankful to see the guys we did see."

Ratzinger remained at a prisoner of war camp near the German town of Ulm until June 19, 1945. His brother, Georg, came home after being released from a prison camp in Italy. Both were ordained in 1951.

"It makes you wonder who else was in line," Zaccagnini said. "Naturally they were liberating future doctors and future nurses."

Stalnaker said he thinks about that, too. With all the human potential cut down during the war, he said he's proud to know he helped to save the pope, even if it took so many years to realize what happened.

"I think that's wonderful to think that you did something good in this life. It's rewarding in a lot of ways. You just feel that maybe you did something right," he said. "You were thankful that nobody did get out of line. You were thankful that you didn't have to shoot anyone. I'm thankful that he made it."

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