My name is Wolfgang Morel. It is a Huguenot surname because my ancestors came from France in the 17th century. I was born in 1922. Until the age of ten, he studied at a folk school, and then for almost nine years at a gymnasium in the city of Breslau, now Wroclaw. From there, on July 5, 1941, I was drafted into the army. I just turned 19 years old.

I avoided labor service (before serving in the army, young Germans had to work for six months for the Imperial Labor Service) and I was left to myself for six months. It was like a breath of fresh air before the army, before captivity.

Before you got to Russia, what did you know about the USSR?

Russia was a closed country for us. The Soviet Union didn't want to keep in touch with the West, but the West didn't want contacts with Russia either - both sides were afraid. However, back in 1938, as a 16-year-old boy, I listened to a German radio station that broadcast regularly from Moscow. I must say the programs were not interesting - solid propaganda. Production, visits of leaders and so on - this was of no interest to anyone in Germany. There was information about political repression in Soviet Union. In 1939, when there was a turn in foreign policy when Germany and the USSR signed a non-aggression pact, we saw Soviet troops, soldiers, officers, tanks - it was very interesting. After the signing of the treaty, interest in the Soviet Union greatly increased. Some of my school friends started learning Russian. They spoke like this: "In the future we will have close economic relations And you have to speak Russian.

When did the image of the USSR as an enemy begin to take shape?

Only after the start of the war. In early 1941, relations were felt to be deteriorating. There were rumors that the USSR was going to stop exporting grain to Germany. wanted to export their grain.

How was the start of the war perceived? Soviet Union?

Feelings were very different. Some believed that in a week all enemies in the East would be destroyed, as happened in Poland and in the West. But the older generation took this war with skepticism. My father, who fought in Russia in the first world war was convinced that we would not bring this war to a happy end.

At the end of June I received a letter in which I was ordered to be at the barracks of a military unit at such and such an hour on such and such a date. The barracks was located in my hometown, so it was not far to go. I was trained as a radio operator for two months. However, at first I played tennis more. The fact is that my father was a famous tennis player and I myself started playing at the age of five. Our tennis club was located near the barracks. Once in a conversation, I told the company commander about this. He really wanted to learn how to play and immediately took me with him to training. So I left the barracks much earlier than the others. Instead of drill training, I played tennis. The company commander was not interested in my combat training, he wanted me to play with him. When training in the specialty began, the games ended. We were taught to receive and transmit on the key, taught to eavesdrop on enemy conversations in English and Russian. I had to learn the Russian signs of the Morse code. Every sign Latin alphabet is encoded by four Morse characters, and Cyrillic - by five. It wasn't easy to master it. Soon the training ended, the cadets of the next set came and I was left as an instructor, although I did not want to. I wanted to go to the front, because it was believed that the war was about to end. We defeated France, Poland, Norway - Russia will not last long, and after the war it is better to be an active participant in it - more benefits. In December, soldiers from the rear units were assembled throughout Germany to be sent to Eastern front. I filed a report and was transferred to a team to be sent to war.

We traveled to Orsha by rail, and from Orsha to Rzhev we were transferred to transport Yu-52s. Apparently, replenishment was urgently needed. I must say that when we arrived in Rzhev I was struck by the lack of order. The mood of the army was at zero.

I ended up in the 7th Panzer Division. The famous division commanded by General Rommel. By the time we arrived, there were no tanks in the divisions - they were abandoned due to lack of fuel and shells.

Have you been given winter gear?

No, but we received several sets of summer. We were given three shirts. In addition, I received an additional overcoat. And after all in January there were frosts under forty degrees! Our government slept through the onset of winter. For example, the order to collect skis from the population for the army came out only in March 1942!

When you arrived in Russia, what struck you the most?

Space. We had little contact with the local population. Sometimes they stopped in huts. The local people helped us.

From our group, skiers began to be selected for operations behind enemy lines - it was necessary to connect to enemy communication lines and listen to them. I did not get into this group, and on January 10 we were already on the front line as a simple infantryman. We cleared roads from snow, fought.

What was fed at the front?

There was always hot food. They gave chocolate and cola, sometimes liquor - not every day and limited.

Already on January 22, I was taken prisoner. I was alone in the outpost when I saw a group of Russian soldiers, about fifteen in winter clothes on skis. It was useless to shoot, but I was not going to surrender either. When they came closer, I saw that they were Mongols. They were considered especially cruel. There were rumors that they found mutilated corpses of German prisoners with gouged out eyes. I was not ready to accept such a death. In addition, I was very afraid that they would torture me during interrogation at the Russian headquarters: I had nothing to say - I was a simple soldier. Fear of captivity and a painful death under torture led me to the decision to commit suicide. I took my Mauser 98k by the barrel, and when they approached about ten meters I put it in my mouth and pulled the trigger with my foot. Russian winter and quality German weapons saved my life: if it weren’t so cold, and if the parts of the weapons weren’t so well fitted that they froze, then we wouldn’t talk to you. They surrounded me. Someone said "Hyundai hoch". I put my hands up, but in one hand I held a rifle. One of them approached me, took the rifle and said something. It seems to me that he said: "Rejoice that the war is over for you." I realized that they are quite friendly. Apparently I was the first German they saw. I was searched. Although I was not a heavy smoker, I had a pack of 250 R-6 cigarettes in my satchel. All smokers received a cigarette and the rest was returned to me. I then exchanged these cigarettes for food. In addition, the soldiers found toothbrush. Apparently they encountered her for the first time - they looked at her carefully and laughed. One elderly soldier with a beard patted my overcoat and dismissively threw: “Hitler”, then pointed to his fur coat, hat and respectfully said: “Stalin!” They immediately wanted to interrogate me, but no one spoke German. They had small dictionary, in which there was a chapter “interrogation of a prisoner”: “Wie heissen Sie? What's the last name? - I called myself. - "What part" - "I don't understand." During the interrogation, I decided to hold on to the last minute and not reveal the number of my unit. After a little torment with me, they stopped the interrogation. An elderly soldier who praised his uniform was ordered to accompany me to the headquarters, which was six kilometers away in a village we had left two or three days ago. He was skiing, and I was walking on one and a half meters of snow. As soon as he took a couple of steps, I remained many meters behind him. Then he pointed to my shoulders and the ends of the skis. I could punch him in the temple, take the skis and run away, but I didn't have the will to resist. After 9 hours in 30-40 degree frost, I simply did not have the strength to decide on such an act.

The first interrogation at headquarters was conducted by the commissar. But before I was called for interrogation, I was sitting in the hallway of the house. I decided to take a moment and shake out the snow that had accumulated in my boots. I managed to take off only one boot when an officer of a heroic appearance addressed me, dressed in an astrakhan cape. In French, which he spoke better than I, he said: "It's lucky that you were captured, you will definitely return home." He distracted me from shaking the snow out of my boots, which later cost me dearly. We were interrupted by an interpreter shouting from behind the door: “Come in!”. The offer of a light snack was accepted by my empty stomach immediately. When black bread, bacon and a glass of water were handed to me, my hesitant glance caught the commissar's eyes. He motioned to the interpreter to taste the food. "As you can see, we're not going to poison you!" I was very thirsty, but instead of water there was vodka in the glass! Then the interrogation began. I was again asked to give my last name, first name, date of birth. Then followed main question: "Which military unit? I refused to answer this question. . The blow of the pistol on the table made me come up with an answer: "1st Division, 5th Regiment." Complete fantasy. Not surprisingly, the commissioner immediately exploded: "You're lying!" - I repeated. - "Lies!" He took a small book in which the divisions and the regiments entering them were apparently recorded: “Listen, you serve in the 7th tank division 7th Infantry Regiment 6th Company. It turned out that two comrades from my company had been taken prisoner the day before, and they told me in which unit they served. This ended the interrogation. During the interrogation, the snow in the boot, which I did not have time to take off, melted. I was taken outside and taken to a neighboring village. During the transition, the water in the boot froze, I stopped feeling my toes. In this village I joined a group of three prisoners of war. For almost ten days we walked from village to village. One of my comrades died in my arms from loss of strength. We often felt hatred for ourselves local population , whose houses were destroyed to the ground during the retreat in pursuance of the scorched earth tactics. To angry shouts: "Fin, Fin!" we answered: "Germanic!" and in most cases the locals left us alone. I had frostbite on my right foot, my right boot was torn, and I used the second shirt as a dressing. In such a pitiful condition, we met the crew of the News of the Week film magazine, past which we had to walk several times in deep snow. They said to go and go again. We tried to hold on so that the idea of ​​the German army was not so bad. Our "provisions" on this "campaign" consisted mainly of empty bread and ice-cold well water, from which I got pneumonia. Only at the Shakhovskaya station, restored after the bombing, did the three of us get into a freight car, where an orderly was already waiting for us. During the two or three days that the train traveled to Moscow, he provided us with the necessary medicines and food, which he cooked on a cast-iron stove. For us it was a feast, while there was still an appetite. The hardships we have experienced have taken a toll on our health. I suffered from dysentery and pneumonia. Approximately two weeks after the capture, we arrived at one of the freight stations in Moscow and found shelter on the bare floor near the wagon coupler. Two days later, we couldn't believe our eyes. The sentry put us in a white, six-seat ZIS limousine, on which was painted a red cross and a red crescent. On the way to the hospital, it seemed to us that the driver was deliberately driving in a roundabout way to show us the city. He proudly commented on the places we passed: Red Square with Lenin's mausoleum, the Kremlin. Twice we crossed the Moscow River. The military hospital was hopelessly overflowing with the wounded. But here we took a bath that had a beneficial effect on us. They bandaged my frostbitten leg and hung it over the tub with lifting blocks. We never saw our uniform again, as we had to put on Russian clothes. We were sent to the boiler room. There were already ten completely exhausted comrades there. There was water on the floor, steam escaping from leaky pipes in the air, and drops of condensate crawled along the walls. The beds were stretchers raised on bricks. We were given rubber boots so we could go to the toilet. Even the orderlies who appeared from time to time were in rubber boots. We spent several days in this terrible dungeon. Feverish dreams caused by illness drag on memories of that time… After five or maybe ten days, we were transferred to Vladimir. We were placed directly in the military hospital, located in the building of the theological seminary. At that time there was no prisoner-of-war camp in Vladimir where we could be accommodated in the infirmary. There were already 17 of us and we occupied a separate room. The beds were covered with sheets. How did you decide to place us together with the Russian wounded? A clear violation of the ban on contact. A Russian friend of mine, who by the nature of his activity was studying the fate of German prisoners of war in Vladimir, admitted to me that he had never seen anything like this. In the archives of the Soviet Army in St. Petersburg, he came across a card from a file cabinet documenting our existence. For us, this decision was a great happiness, and for some even salvation. There we felt treated as if we were our own, in terms of medical care and living conditions. Our food was not inferior to the food of the Red Army. There was no security, but despite this, no one even thought about escaping. Medical examinations were held twice a day, mostly by female doctors, less often by the head physician himself. Most of us have suffered from frostbite.

I already got there. My appetite disappeared and I began to put the bread that was given to us under the pillow. My neighbor said that I was a fool and should distribute it among the others, since I am not a tenant anyway. This rudeness saved me! I realized that if I want to go home, I have to force myself to eat. Gradually I started to improve. My pneumonia gave up after two months of treatment, including cupping. Dysentery was taken by the horns by the introduction of intramuscular potassium permanganate and the intake of 55 percent ethyl alcohol, which caused indescribable envy of others. We were treated like sick people. Even the slightly injured and slowly recovering were exempted from any work. It was performed by sisters and nannies. The Kazakh cook often brought a full portion of soup or porridge to the brim. Only german word, which he knew was: "Noodles!". And when he said it, he always smiled broadly. When we noticed that the attitude of the Russians towards us was normal, then our hostile attitude diminished. This was also helped by a charming female doctor, who, with her sensitive, restrained attitude, treated us with sympathy. We called her "Snow White".

Less pleasant were the regular visits of the political commissar, who haughtily and in every detail told us about the new successes of the Russian winter offensive. A comrade from Upper Silesia - his jaw was crushed - tried to transfer his knowledge Polish into Russian and translated as best he could. Judging by the fact that he himself understood no more than half, he was not at all ready to translate everything and instead scolded the political commissar and Soviet propaganda. The same one, not noticing the game of our "translator", encouraged him to translate further. Often we could hardly contain our laughter. Quite different news reached us in the summer. Two hairdressers said in great secrecy that the Germans were standing near Cairo, and the Japanese had occupied Singapore. And then the question immediately arose: what awaits us in the event of a passionately desired victory? The commissar hung a poster over our beds: "Death to the fascist invaders!" Outwardly, we were no different from the Russian wounded: white underwear, a blue dressing gown and house slippers. During private meetings in the corridor and the toilet in us, of course. the Germans were immediately recognized. And only a few of our neighbors, whom we already knew and avoided, such meetings aroused indignation. In most cases, the response has been different. About half were neutral towards us, and about a third showed varying degrees interest. The highest degree trust was a pinch of shag, and sometimes even a rolled cigarette, lightly lit and handed to us. Suffering from the fact that shag was not part of our diet, passionate smokers, as soon as they regained the ability to move around, set up tobacco collection duty in the corridor. The guard, who changed every half an hour, went out into the corridor, stood in front of our door and drew attention to himself with a typical movement of the smokers' hand, "shooting" chinarik or a pinch of shag. So the problem with tobacco was somehow solved.

What conversations were going on between the prisoners?

Conversations between soldiers at home were only on the topic of women, but in captivity, topic No. 1 was food. I remember one conversation well. One comrade said that after dinner he could eat three more times, then his neighbor grabbed his wooden crutch and wanted to beat him, because in his opinion it would be possible to eat not three, but ten times.

Were there officers among you or were there only soldiers?

There were no officers.

In the middle of summer, almost everyone was healthy again, the wounds healed, no one died. And even those who recovered earlier still remained in the infirmary. At the end of August, an order came to transfer to labor camp first to Moscow, and from there to the Ufa region in the Urals. After an almost heavenly time in the infirmary, I realized that I had completely lost the habit of physical work. But parting became even more difficult because I was treated here kindly and mercifully. In 1949, after spending almost eight years in captivity, I returned home.
Interview and literary adaptation: A. Drabkin

“... Each of us saw that time in our own way. And everyone has their own truth about the war. Ask two soldiers sitting in the same trench, a meter apart, and their stories will not match. I really have…”

Why did you receive the German Cross in Gold?

“According to the statute, I had to do something worthy of the Iron Cross First Class eight times. I just don't remember what I did there. Fought. It must be a good thing to have received such an award. I have a note from the front-line newspaper, but it describes the battle that took place later, I was already a Knight of the German Cross.

"Huntsmen" ("Hetzer") and self-propelled guns Sturmgeshyutz

To repel an enemy breakthrough on the front of the Rhenish-Westphalian infantry division, seven Jaegers (tank destroyers) and three Sturmgeshütz self-propelled guns under the command of 24-year-old Hauptmann Kühn from Deutzen near Borna were involved. Their task was to support the counterattack of the Fusiliers company. Fusiliers take their starting position. At lunchtime, the Jaegers and Sturmgeshütz self-propelled guns enter the hilly, shell-riddled main line of defense. After a short massive strike by our artillery, tank destroyers led by the commander suddenly appear in front of the enemy trenches - and the first shells of the Jaegers cannons are already falling in the ranks of the Bolsheviks.

Caught off guard, the paralyzed Reds (Sowjets) stare at fearsome"Huntsmen", not noticing how Sturmgeshütz self-propelled guns are sneaking up on them. And now they stand on their right flank, firing from all barrels. Simultaneously with the loud "Hurrah!" Fusiliers strike the enemy's flank, their machine guns harvest a rich harvest among the fleeing Bolsheviks. Headlong jump out of the trenches and the rest of the Reds (Sowjets), trying to flee across the field into the forest. But here, too, they are overtaken by shells and machine-gun bursts from the Jaegers.

The fire lasted for 30 minutes, but a considerable number of killed and even more wounded Bolsheviks testify to the fierceness of the battle. Four prisoners, six machine guns and many small arms. The battlefield is behind us, the enemy's breakthrough has been eliminated. “With redoubled dedication, the soldiers completed their task, with every shot they took revenge on the Reds (Sowjets) for what they are doing in our homeland with our women and children.”

- Were you superstitious?

No, I have never been a superstitious person or a believer. I officially broke with the church, following the example of my wife. (In order not to pay the church tax, which is levied in Germany on Catholics and Protestants - translator's note.) Throughout the war I was sure that I would survive - and, in fact, I was not deprived of happiness. Later, like some, I never had the thought that I would not survive captivity. Marching in a column of prisoners, I thought: “Well, now you are going into captivity. This turn in fate cannot be called beautiful. But you're not alone in this situation."

When did it become clear that the war was likely to be lost?

- Personally, I have lost faith in the victory from Stalingrad. Doubts arose even earlier. Before the start of the war, I had a poor idea of ​​Russia, and I didn’t know anything about Ukraine at all. At that time, there was no question of Russians, Ukrainians - the war was waged against the Bolsheviks. We were superbly motivated, there were more than enough efforts to serve for the good of the Fatherland, we were not afraid of difficulties and dangers.

And yet, as soon as I got to know a little the country where I had to fight, there was a doubt - do we have enough strength to win this war? appeared out of will. Everything was harder here than in Europe. Distances, weather, roads, language. The repairmen and the convoy were hopelessly behind - we had to abandon the guns due to minor breakdowns. I was not the only one who doubted, there were those who from the very beginning did not believe in success - of course, this was not said out loud, but one could guess.

However, doubts are doubts, but this does not mean that they fought badly. An order is an order - you always try to fulfill it as best you can.

And so on until last call. Despite everything, and at the very end of the war, they tried to fight as before. It didn't always work out. If the battle went well for us, the mood rose, it seemed that not everything was lost. It's like in sports: victories inspire. However, it was often suppressed. Shoot, shoot - and all to no avail: enemies do not decrease. Vice versa. If at the beginning of the war the ratio of forces was one to one - one to two, then at the end of it - no less than one to eight.

The daily order was invariably disheartening: so-and-so tanks, so-and-so men dropped out, lost, killed. There was, as a rule, no one and nothing to replace - how to fight? It happened that the commanders refused to carry out the order, referring to the lack of opportunities - they were dealt with according to the laws of war.

I - I commanded a company - was greatly depressed by the quality of the replacements that came to us in the last months of the war. The appeals of well-trained youth who had gone through the school of the Hitler Youth had already been knocked out by that time. There are no more fanatics.

I remember one such: "I will not regret anything for the Fuhrer, I will give my life!". However, they were of little use: they climbed under the bullets themselves, and this is not the essence of war. Our new comrades... what kind of audience it was! Old men, barely dragging their feet... It was useless to demand from them what you usually expect from a soldier. And they didn’t know how, the training was zero, they had to be taught from the basics. From here they suffered heavy losses.

I will tell you on one occasion what is the difference between an old and an inexperienced soldier. In total, six major battles took place in Courland. In the interval between them, they were engaged in sounding the area. Once we comb the forest. A blockage ahead - several trees, as if felled by a storm. One of my crew leaders says, “I really don’t like this,” and speeds up. Shot. His instinct did not let him down: we drove closer - the T-34 was on fire, hiding behind the trees in ambush. Ours managed to shoot first.

About this and in question in war: a warrior is required to be observant and quick to react. The life of you and your comrades depends on who fired the first shot. Well, how would an inexperienced soldier behave? Most likely, he would not attach any importance to what he saw - just think, a couple of trees are lying along the road - and, as a result, would not have left alive.

Why do you think they lost the war?

There is not one reason, there are several. We, the soldiers, did not know much at that time, for example, about the betrayal of the generals. And it was. The generals, at the very beginning of the campaign, partially distorted Hitler's strategic plans. Along with traitors, considerable damage was suffered from careerists who broke firewood in pursuit of ranks and awards. We called these "sore throats" (the Knight's Cross was worn around the neck on a ribbon) and this disease, admittedly, was widespread among the officers. Well, disparity in power. If there are ten of you, what can be done against a hundred? And, after all, it was so, especially at the end of the war.

What did they write home?

- Nothing special. He didn’t report any losses - why worry relatives in vain. Of course, when acquaintances were killed, fellow countrymen served with me, some of them were well known to their parents, and mentioned to my wife. I once wrote a letter to a friend. Many years later, after the war, he kept it and gave it to me. The text is the most common: "how are you?" etc. He also received letters from home, where, apart from family news, nothing remarkable was reported.

— How were relations with the population built during the occupation?

- We looked askance at communication with the population. It was not directly forbidden - it was impossible, but, let's say, too close contacts were not encouraged.

They were accommodated by the residents. Never faced a rejection. Of course, some people, probably, let us in not entirely of their own free will, they were afraid ... I don’t know. In any case, they didn't show it. I, placing the soldiers, tried not to embarrass the hosts too much. I didn't kick anyone out on the street. Convinced that the hut was full of people, he looked for another place for his people.

I personally never had to listen to complaints about soldiers from the local population. We didn't really need anything. There were, of course, interruptions in supply, but this happened on the front line. So, if they took from the owners, then some little thing, an onion, for example. I have always asked permission. Requisitions were not satisfied.

I must say, our orders were strict - no looseness. Discipline was maintained by strict methods. With my own eyes I saw in Ukraine an employee of the Wehrmacht, hanged by his own - on his chest there was a board indicating the crime. What he did, I don't remember. Once I had to testify in a court-martial in the case of one of my soldiers. Fortunately, the court acquitted him.

How did you have fun when you had the opportunity?

- Local women did not attract us, they were unappetizing. There was nothing feminine in their appearance: filthy padded jackets, scarves - one nose stuck out. Maybe if they were dressed differently, it would be different. And so, for all the time I remember only two cases when someone interested me. Once we, four officers, lodged with a learned lady with a degree, I think, in history. So, we looked after the hostess, flirted with her. There were dances in the evenings. And they talked about everything in the world - she spoke German quite well. But there were four of us, and the lady was distinguished by strict morals. Liberties were not allowed.

The camp kitchen was always surrounded by locals - the cooks gave them what was left of the soldiers. Sometimes canned food - we accumulated, for example, a lot of canned fish, not everyone likes them. In Slavyansk, in the winter of 1943/44, a pretty girl came to the kitchen to beg, advanced - at least she did not wear a headscarf. I cuddled with her a little, everything was, however, quite innocent. Later I received a letter from her in broken German, something like "I will not forget your strong kiss." - Strong kiss! There was nothing else.

We met in Poland beautiful women. But even there it was not so easy. I remember two girls walking down the street somehow, well, just hand-written beauties, you can’t take your eyes off. Noticing that I was seeing them off with an admiring glance, my "cleaner" (Putzer) - as we called the soldiers who acted as batmen; officially he was a contact (Melder) - he turns to me: "Hey, lieutenant, these are not for you."

Why not for me?

- Jews.

So... my soldier knew, but I had no idea!

So, in the war for me there was no sex.

- Well, okay, there was no sex, but what happened?

- On vacation, re-formation, when the weather was warm, they sunbathed with great pleasure. Throw off your uniform; lie idly, exposing the body to the sun's rays - a tremendous pleasure! On the front lines, you won't sunbathe...

Where did you meet the end of the war?

- Near Frauenburg (Saldus).

How was the news of surrender received?

- Were shocked recent weeks our ears were buzzed with stories of new weapons soon expected at the front. As evidence, they referred to the bombing of London by V-1 rockets. We used to believe that maybe we can still achieve a turning point. I don’t know where it went, this weapon, was it lost in the official mail, like my German Cross ?, but we never received it - and now we were completely deprived of hope. The first thoughts were about the women and children who remained at home: what is waiting for them now?

Were you afraid of Russian captivity?

- Yes, there was propaganda - they believed.

The fact that the eighth will be capitulation, we learned a day earlier. The whole day of the seventh, valuable things were drowned in the swamp, first of all, all optics, personal weapons: nothing should have gone to the Russians. Only penknives, notepads, pencils, and photographs were preserved—they were later taken away at the very first raid. They plundered their own convoy.

Everyone changed into brand new, brand new, uniform, put themselves in order, shaved, cleaned themselves. Throw away old rags. The Red Army men who came up on the eighth—greatly tattered, they got no less than ours—picked everything up, stuffing their knapsacks with used junk. Compared to them, our escorts, we looked simply chic. They went into captivity, like our fathers in the eighteenth year: undefeated, with their heads held high.

The fighting mood did not last long, however. May 8th was a hot day. The sun burned with hellish fire, lips were baked with thirst. Finally, the convoy, like us, exhausted by the heat, allowed a halt at some Latvian farm, where they could drink from the well. The water was drawn by a local peasant woman. And suddenly this woman, seizing the moment when the Red Army soldiers did not hear her, turned to us with almost hatred in her voice: “We will never forgive you for losing the war!” - Everyone's mood immediately deteriorated, the rest of the way they walked dejectedly.

Who was she, German?

No, although she spoke German.

In Frauenburg we were loaded into wagons, the train was on the way for several days. Finally, we arrived at camp 7270/1 in Borovichi, where I was to stay until the beginning of 1948. It was a barracks camp for about three thousand people with a long history: even during the First World War, prisoners of war were kept here. Soldiers and officers were together. They worked at a brick factory. They restored the building and equipment damaged during the bombing by German aircraft.

— Officers could not work?

— Could. But the camp administration adhered to the rule "who does not work, he does not eat." A cross was put on the refusenik in advance: his soldering was such that it was not possible to survive. The monotony of the camp routine was added to the hunger. As a result, the unemployed quickly lost the will to live, fell down, and died. Only a few of them were lucky, like one of my fellow countrymen, recognized as a dystrophic, to return to his homeland in this way - I managed through him to notify my relatives, who knew nothing about my fate, that I was alive and in captivity.

For me - to work or not to work - the question was not: work brought variety to our dull existence, allowed us to distract ourselves from heavy thoughts for a while. In particular, it was desirable to get into the "teams" where "specialists" were recruited.

In addition to the fact that they were weaker guarded, there was a hope of “organizing” something here - a word well known to every prisoner of war - i.e. exchange, beg, earn, steal, etc. Food. My knowledge of the Russian language, acquired during the war, helped me to “organize”. My Russian was not perfect, but people understood me and I understood them - this made contacts easier.

We were fed in such a way that “organization” was vital: a daily plate of liquid soup, a little porridge and 400 grams of bread. If there was fish in the soup, they ate it along with the bones, but more often the soup was just water. Porridge too - what kind of food is it? - just fill the stomach. For the fulfillment of the plan of bread they gave two hundred grams more - the so-called. "worker's bread" (Arbeiterbrot), it was rarely possible to fulfill the plan at inflated norms. It is not surprising that we - with such a diet, we had to deal with heavy physical labor— were severely emaciated. So I happened to lie down in the medical unit a couple of times with dystrophy.

- What, I wonder, could the prisoners of war exchange?

- Yes, anything. I remember that in Borovichi they sent us to whitewash the classrooms in one local school. They gave me chalk. There were no brushes. We had to make them ourselves, the material was the bark and branches of trees growing in the yard. When we got there, I immediately noticed behind the toilet - a wooden booth - a hole in the fence. And so, while the comrades were improvising a painting tool, having broken dry twigs and branches and dividing them with a crowbar - our universal tool in captivity - into parts of approximately the same length, I made a bundle. I'm standing outside, waiting. I saw a passer-by: "Mother, come here!" - helped out for firewood bread.

As an officer, he received 40 grams of shag. He traded all of it for food. In general, it must be said heavy smokers were the most unfortunate of all the prisoners. It happened - however, these are isolated, not mass cases, that, denying themselves everything for the sake of smoking, they brought themselves to literally to starvation.

- What did they talk about among themselves in the war, in captivity?

“When I was a rookie in Bourne, all the talk was about girls. Many barely had time to try the first joys and sorrows of love, it seemed that there was no more important object in the world. Later, at the front, the number one topic was food. Overhearing us, an outsider would think that he got into the courses of the culinary academy. We exchanged the most sophisticated recipes - we still couldn’t cook anything: where?

And, finally, in captivity, grub turned into the only topic, all thoughts were turned to it. There was no longer any talk of frills, I was worried about what - no matter what - to fill my belly, not to die of hunger. They ate, I remember, sunflower cake - what goes to feed the horses will fit the captive too: he also needs proteins.

In the camp one could meet people from all over Germany - Saxons, Bavarians, Rhenians, Silesians, etc., there were many peasants. I learned things from them that I had never known before. My knowledge of botany has grown tremendously, and I have learned to recognize dozens of edible herbs and plants. Tore, for example, nettles, boiled - delicious. They collected mint, dried it - it made a wonderful tea, moreover, very useful for colds.

Our rations were too meager for hard work, but we didn’t get enough either: everything was stolen in the camp, starting with the last dishwasher. At first, this greatly amazed us, then we got used to it - the word “tsap-scratch” became firmly established in everyday life. When a spoon scooped out only water in a soup bowl, someone would invariably make a comment: "Chief ... scratch-scratch."

We ourselves have turned into masters of "tap-scratch", we did not miss the opportunity. When they were repairing the chimney of a stove at a brick factory, they punched a hole into the next room. There was a warehouse of potatoes. Immediately, craftsmen made a tool like a harpoon from a stick with a nail, with its help they stole potatoes. Everything was done with great precautions: if we got caught, we were threatened cruel punishment for embezzlement of public property. But they did not feel remorse, having become Russified by that time - the main thing is not to get caught!

We were raised by our own bosses. I remember once I got on a thieves' business trip. The three of us were given dry rations for several days, then - by car - we were taken to the field, where the head of the camp himself was waiting for us. There were plots planted with potatoes. Cows were grazing nearby. Our task was to ensure that the cattle did not enter the plantings. The high boss led us across the field, showing us the boundaries of his site: "Don't take anything here!" Then, turning to the neighboring sites: “Here you can ... tsap-scratch. But, look, don't get caught!" He was not too lazy even to show us how to dig up potatoes, so as not to be conspicuous. We have learned our lesson, of course.

How were prisoners of war treated?

- With women, and we had to work mainly next to local women, we lived friendly family. Outsiders treated the prisoners differently: some warily, with apprehension, the majority - quite benevolently. What was overlooked was the obvious hostility. Nobody insulted or humiliated us.

Otherwise convoy. The escort, when he did not like something, could call in with a butt. Soldiers have a different mentality than civilians.

At the beginning of 1948, I was transferred with several other prisoners to the neighboring camp 7270/3 in Pestovo. According to the sawmill, located nearby, it was called "Sawing".

Approximately 400 prisoners of the camp were engaged in catching and transporting timber, laying logs and planks in piles. Hard labor was the work of loading railway cars: heavy beams were manually thrown over the head into the car. It was she who served as a turning point in my life.

On the night of May 4-5, 1948, I suddenly felt ill, I vomited terribly. However, I didn’t get a release from work: if I had cut my finger, they would have released me, and so, supposedly, my stomach hurts, there is no temperature - a malingerer. The German military doctor, who worked with us at the sawmill, could not help me in any way: having no tools, he found it difficult to diagnose.

Meanwhile, his condition worsened: he could not stand on his feet - he lay on the boards, tormented by unbearable pains. Finally, it dawned on the convoy that I was not pretending. I was sent back to the camp, where a female camp doctor, after an examination, redirected me to a local hospital, where I was taken on a cart. By that time, my stomach was very swollen, I was drunk with pain. At the hospital, they operated on me immediately. Waking up from anesthesia, I finally found out what happened to me: intestinal obstruction as a result of a rupture of the omentum, in short, I overwrought myself.

Hospital food was inadequate. Rescued rations, delivered from the camp. It included shag. Himself a non-smoker, he changed it from patients or visitors for food. The rumor that a captured German was in the hospital - in Russian conditions a small sensation - quickly spread. When I started to get up and walk around, no matter where I went, they followed me with curious eyes. Everyone I met addressed me with a greeting - some restrainedly, some in a friendly way. Once I ended up in a ward where an old man was lying. Emaciated - skin and bones, with a dull look that expressed apathy, he looked like a living dead.

His wife, a real Russian "womb", took care of him. Suddenly, taking out a boiled egg and a pie from her bag, she handed them to me: “Take it!” I began to refuse, referring to the fact that her husband was very emaciated; he needs to eat more to get back on his feet. “Take it, take it! He will die soon anyway, and you are young, your whole life is ahead of you - you need to get better after the operation!” This case deeply touched me: I did not think, going into captivity, that someone would someday treat me like this - a mysterious Russian soul! (in the original - "Russian mentality" - Ed.).

After being discharged from the hospital, I spent some more time in the camp medical unit, and later I was assigned to light work. In the end, this operation became my “ticket to my homeland”: I was written off. At the border we are last time We went through sanitation, then we were thoroughly searched. Through all the searches in captivity, I managed to save a small, palm-sized album with wedding photographs.

They were signed by hand. Knowing that any line in German acts on Russians like a red rag on a bull, I prudently hid the album in the locker room - there were some kind of pillows, I stuffed it into a pillowcase. As it turned out, not in vain. During a search of one of the comrades, several leaflets with diary entries that he kept in captivity were found. We drove on, but he stayed.

On December 18, 1948, after a long separation, I was finally able to hug my wife and parents. I think I'm lucky here too. It is not known whether I could have survived by staying in Borovichi. In a small camp in Pestovo, the rules were simpler, at home and a hospital nearby. Happiness must be had and, thank God, it did not leave me throughout the war and in the first post-war years.

According to the recollections of German prisoners of war, they rushed to the West ...

For me, there was no choice: the whole family lived in the eastern zone.

- What did you realize about life in Germany when you were in captivity?

- Not much, you can say, about her, we had no idea. It took time to acclimatize at home. First of all, because of the new orders. In material terms, our family, in comparison with the majority, did not have such a hard time in the post-war years. My wife's father was a butcher - we always had meat on the table. It remained for the exchange: at that time barter flourished.

- How were former prisoners of war met?

“For the new government, we were suspicious. Once, my boss, who is of the same age, also from 1920, I have improved relations with him, told me about a conversation he had in the district committee of the party. He was asked how many men, primarily those who fought, are employed in our savings bank. They were afraid of conspiracies, their own people aroused fear among the communists. There was an instruction not to allow more than three veterans to gather in one place. The chief assured that we have a female team.

To get a place in the specialty, I had to apply for admission to the party - that was the condition. They didn’t take me to the SED: everyone knew—it didn’t even occur to me to hide it—that I former officer Wehrmacht. Having managed to apply for a job at the savings bank by that time, he was not at all upset. Vice versa. Those who did well on their return from captivity were the leaders of the Free Germany Committee. They were appointed by various petty bosses. Village burgomasters, etc.

How were they treated in captivity?

- They despised it. The purest water opportunists. In the red corner, we had books by Marx, Lenin, Stalin, Gorky in German. For reforging, so to speak. Despite the temptation - sometimes we really wanted to read something - we did not take them in our hands. Out of principle. Only these portrayed diligent readers. No one believed in the sincerity of their sudden rebirth: the whole theater for the sake of an extra piece - they were given the so-called. "golden bucket", i.e. canned food by banks - and small privileges.

In general, the camaraderie in the camp, although preserved, became fragile. The Austrians set a bad example. Suddenly it turned out that National Socialism had been imposed on them by force, they seemed to be innocent victims. They didn't want to deal with the Germans. They clustered separately.

How was life after the war?

- Upon returning, he got a job at a savings bank in Born, where he worked until his retirement in 1985. In the end, he led the audit department.

The hardest thing in the GDR was the eternal fear of scammers. Having acquired a dacha in the 1960s, he acquired a kind of outlet. He trusted his neighbors in the country as he trusted himself. In the evenings, over beer, they could speak frankly, without hesitation and without looking around. At that time I greatly admired the West.

When he retired, he was finally able to visit an old comrade who fled to the West - he worked as a foreman at a large enterprise (in the days of the GDR, only pensioners could freely visit West Germany). He returned completely fascinated by what he saw. During a tour of the factory where my friend worked, he picked up screws from the floor: we have never seen such ones, but here they were lying around! Today there is no trace of the former enthusiasm.

As I understand it, this society is only interested in two things: who has how much money and who, to whom, how they spread their legs. Look what they did to our once rich region! They bought all the enterprises for next to nothing, pocketed state funds for reconstruction and closed them down. Today, only a couple of artisans work in Deutzen. The rest are pensioners, like me, or unemployed. The people are fleeing from here; cities and villages are dying out.

with wife in next year We will be celebrating our 70th wedding anniversary. We have wonderful children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Recently, the wife's health has deteriorated, due to the need for constant medical care, she had to go to a nursing home. I visit every day, I spend with her most time.

- What has changed in the situation of veterans after the Reunification?

- There were veterans' associations. Somehow by chance, in the early 1990s, I learned about such an organization - the "Association of retired foresters Saxony" (Kameradschaft gedienter Forstleute Sachsen) - in our area. Since then I have been going to meetings. To date, nine people have survived - all from different kinds troops; we are united only by the fact that we went through the war. But if you think that when we meet, we remember her, you will be mistaken. We talk about health, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, everyday things.

Began to receive mail. Write collectors - begging for photos. At first, no one refused. Having learned that business is being done on this, now I answer everyone: “No!” Letters come from relatives of those who fought, people are interested in the fate of their ancestors. Recently a letter arrived from a young man in Trier. He asked about his uncle, he fought in the 731st battalion with the rank of lieutenant.

The surname did not tell me anything, so I wrote to him. In response, I receive a bewildered message: “How so! It can't be!" Maybe. I don't remember everything. There are three companies in the battalion, four platoons in each - even in my company I can’t remember all the officers. And then there is the chaos of the last days of the war. People appeared and - just as suddenly - disappeared.

Otherwise, by and large, the difference is not felt. You watch the programs of Guido Knopp (the author of programs on history on the second channel of German television) - necessarily, if we are talking about that time, then with a negative connotation. Of course, mass destruction people in concentration camps need to be condemned - by the way, we knew nothing about this. Why not ask the next question.

After all, what a front it was - from Norway to North Africa! We would not have been able to hold it on our own. Hundreds of thousands of people of other nationalities fought on our side, more than twenty divisions only from foreigners. What motivated them to share their fate with us even when the outcome of the war was decided?

Such a mass cannot be forced to go into battle under pressure, they had to believe that they were fighting for a just cause. The SS is completely mixed with mud. But they were ordinary soldiers! Only a small part is guilty of crimes, those who guarded the concentration camps. Is it right to lump everyone together? I collect stamps. So, I can have stamps of the Third Reich for myself, but special permission is required for the exchange. Suppose you are also a collector, we want to change ... I have to send the stamps to Berlin, to the customs, and wait - they will allow it or not. What nonsense!

It turns out that nothing positive can be mentioned about the whole period of German history - from 1933 to 1945. In the GDR, he was generally crossed out, Telmans and Luxembourg roses - that's all the past for you. We, old people, are greatly offended by such an attitude towards the time of our youth.

I did not manage to get a German cross in metal at one time, only a stripe. In chaos recent months war, he was lost somewhere on the way from the headquarters of Lieutenant General Mellenthin, who signed the order for the award. Also, the cuff ribbon "Courland", which was marked after the surrender of our unit, of course, was not handed over to me as a prisoner.

For my ninetieth birthday, my comrades prepared a special gift for me: they organized the presentation of both awards (in Germany, you can order duplicate orders and insignia, modern copies are made without the forbidden swastika). At the ceremony, speeches later published by the Kameraden newspaper were delivered by retired Major Riemer and a veteran of the SS Panzer Division "Viking" G. Penitz.

(Quote from the speech of G. Penitsa, Kameraden, number 674, October 2010, p. 19:

“Also, my honor consisted in loyalty to the fatherland. We receive Vaterland's "gratitude" today in the form of slander, harassment and personal attacks. If it weren’t for the support of our veteran comradeship, one could have come to despair from the stupidity and indifference of the majority of fellow citizens!”

- Were you in the Soviet Union after returning from captivity?

- No never.

Would you like to visit those places again?

- I don’t particularly feel drawn to Ukraine, I didn’t stay there for a long time. And, here, where I spent several years in captivity - Borovichi, Pestovo - I would go willingly.

- Do you dream of war?

- The first years I dreamed, now I don’t. But a dream is what ... you wake up - it flew away, you can’t catch it.

What has she become for you?

- Lost youth. Well, what did I have for " best years life"?

I was called up at the age of eighteen, I was 28 years old when I returned from captivity. The experience gained is imprinted forever. parental home, school, army gave me what I have to this day.

After the invasion of the German army in 1941, the Soviet Union experienced a whole series of defeats and encirclements unprecedented in history, which cannot be explained otherwise than by political reasons. Those. manifestation of the hostility of the peoples of the USSR to the Bolshevik government and to its leader I. Stalin. In just the first six months of the war, the Germans surrendered over three million Soviet military personnel, and 25% of them crossed voluntarily, without even leaving their weapons.

And then Stalin decided on a public call for an inhuman treatment of German soldiers, believing in this way to cause a cruel response from the Germans, and thereby prevent the final collapse of the Soviet state. November 6, 1941 Stalin in his speech publicly announced his savage plan: “Well, if the Germans want to have a war of extermination, they will get it. From now on, our task, the task of the peoples of the USSR, the task of the fighters, commanders and political workers of our army and our fleet, will be to exterminate every single German who has made his way into the territory of our Motherland as its occupiers. No mercy for the German occupiers! Death to the German invaders! »

Stalin had no doubt that, thanks to the Soviet Agitprop, the hatred towards the Germans cultivated and mercilessly instilled in Soviet people would outweigh the truth that the Wehrmacht was in the USSR in order to liberate the people of this country from Jews and commissars, i.e. from the Soviet government. Now it was necessary to put into practice this inhuman hatred - and all the Jewish power in the Kremlin was saved! For these bloody deeds, Stalin enlisted those who, since the October Revolution, had proved their loyalty to the Bolshevik Party. Among them were the majority of Jews who were awarded the rank of political workers: divisional commissar D. Ortenberg, brigade commissar I. Ehrenburg, senior battalion commissar R. Karmen, senior battalion commissar L. Slavin, quartermaster of the 3rd rank L. Pervomaisky and others. commissar "legion", head of the Main Political Directorate of the Red Army, army commissar of the 1st rank L. Mekhlis.

In the southern direction of the Soviet-German front, the Stalinist clique developed a particularly dangerous situation. The victorious advance of the Wehrmacht in this direction threatened the anti-Bolshevik rise of the Cossacks of the Kuban and Terek, the Muslims of the Crimea and the Caucasus. It was in the Crimea that Mekhlis decided to arrange monstrous provocations in order to generate mutual hatred between Germans and Russians.

December 29, 1941 At 03:00 in the morning, a detachment of ships of the Black Sea Fleet landed an amphibious assault in Feodosia, occupied by the Germans. The main striking force of the landing was units marines consisting of sailors written off for indiscipline from ships, and violent storerooms of the fleet.

By the end of the day, the resistance of the German garrison was broken, after which a bloody drama broke out in the Feodosia hospital, which the Soviet commissars so needed. a large number of non-transportable, seriously wounded German soldiers, who, due to the amputations carried out, turned out to be completely helpless ...

The military commander K. Simonov, who arrived on the editorial assignment of Ortenberg in Feodosia on January 1, 1942, found the following picture: “The streets near the port were littered with dead Germans. Some of them were lying, others were sitting for some reason, and we had to fall next to them several times..”.

When January 18, 1942. the German units again managed to capture Feodosia, a chilling picture of the tragic death of their wounded comrades opened before them. To investigate these horrific murders, a special commission of inquiry Wehrmacht engaged in the collection of material evidence and interviewing witnesses. Lieutenant Döring testified about what he saw at the entrance to the former German hospital. The bodies of fifty German soldiers lay in two large rooms. On some of them, red hospital cards were still preserved, in which the type of injury was affixed. All corpses were mutilated. Some of those killed had a shapeless mass instead of a head. Apparently, they were beaten with rifle butts or other blunt objects. Some of the dead German soldiers had their ears or noses cut off, others had their tongues torn out of their mouths, their hands cut off and their eyes gouged out. In addition, their bodies were cut with knives and bayonets. Near the main entrance to the infirmary, other corpses of German soldiers were found. All of them had their hands and feet tied with bandages, so that the slightest movement must have caused unbearable pain. These wounded by their Red Navy tormentors were left out in the open, doused with water and froze to death.

The military doctor, Captain Burkhad, reported that the bodies of hundreds of German soldiers killed by blows of blunt objects were found in the city cemetery of Feodosia. In addition, he also discovered a hill on the Feodosia coast from under which 55 bodies were removed, identified as part of the German wounded who had disappeared from the hospital. All those killed were wearing splints and bandages, and there were gunshot wounds to the head and chest. Not far from the hill there were hooks that served as a murder weapon for the Soviet paratroopers in the massacre of the seriously wounded.

The brutal murders of defenseless German wounded were also confirmed by the Russian civilian doctor Yu. Dmitriev, who, during the first German occupation city, the German military commandant's office was instructed to provide treatment for the Russian wounded left by the retreating Red Army, later he began to work in a German hospital.

Dmitriev testified that the Red Navy during the assault on Feodosia were very drunk. According to him, about 160 German wounded were the victims of a terrible massacre. The Russian doctor mustered up the courage to ask Soviet commissar who commanded this massacre, why are the German wounded being killed. To this, the commissar answered him that this was done in accordance with Comrade Stalin's speech of November 6, 1941, which contained a clear demand to destroy all Germans without exception, including the wounded. Also in the report of the German military commandant's office dated February 10, 1942, it was reported: “A stunning picture of brutal cruelty is presented by the view of prisoners frozen from the cold, shot German officers and soldier. So far, 307 corpses buried in the garden of Stamboli Villa have been picked up and identified. 91 fallen comrades were not identified.

Infantry General E. von Manstein, commander of the 11th Wehrmacht Army in the Crimea, being well aware of frontline life, later in his memoirs confirmed the brutal massacre of Soviet soldiers with wounded German soldiers and officers taken prisoner in December 1941. in Feodosia: “In Feodosia, the Bolsheviks killed our wounded who were in hospitals, and some of them, who were in plaster, they dragged to the seashore, doused them with water and froze in the icy wind.”

The bloody drama played out in Evpatoria, where on January 5, 1942. was landed Soviet landing. In addition to the sailors, the landing force included officers of the NKVD, headed by the captain of state security L. Shusterman, and a group of party workers headed by the former chairman of the city executive committee, Ya. Tsypkin. Both of these high-ranking Jews, under the cover of paratroopers, were supposed to raise against the German soldiers a large Jewish population, which for the most part settled in the Crimea under the Bolshevik regime, whose resettlement was actively engaged in famous executioner white officers R. Zemlyachka.

At the same time, Chekists came out of the underground in the city to capture a number of villages in the western part of Crimea. The commander of the 11th Arimei, E. von Manstein, described the events as follows: "January 5 ... followed by the landing of Russian troops under the cover of the fleet in the port of Evpatoria. At the same time, an uprising broke out in the city, in which part of the population participated..In fierce street battles, drunken Soviet paratroopers spared no one: neither civilians nor wounded Germans.

A. Kornienko, Soviet Marine recalled: “We broke into the hospital, occupied all three floors, destroyed the Germans with knives, bayonets and rifle butts, threw them through the windows into the street ...”

And only due to the fact that local residents loyal to the Germans warned about the possible activation of the Bolshevik-Jewish underground, the Wehrmacht managed to quickly localize this terrorist performance and restore anti-Bolshevik order in the city. And the German units transferred to Evpatoria by January 7, 1942. completely defeated the landing, which was mostly destroyed, and partly captured.

In the same terrible days, a small Soviet landing force was landed in Sudak with similar goals, but the Germans, together with the Crimean Tatar volunteers, immediately destroyed it.

According to E. von Manstein, the landing of troops in Feodosia and Evpatoria opened the way for the Soviet troops to the iron Dzhankoy-Simferopol. At this time, there were more than 10,000 wounded German soldiers and officers in the hospitals of Simferopol, whom the German command was unable to evacuate. And if german front was broken through and the Bolsheviks reached the Simferopol hospitals, which Mekhlis so passionately desired, then probably the most cruel massacre of helpless soldiers in recent history would have occurred.

January 20, 1942 arrived in Crimea as a representative of the Headquarters Supreme High Command L. Mekhlis, in order to personally control and direct the bloody whirlwind conceived by Stalin in the Kremlin.

He had no doubts about the success of the upcoming crimes, declaring to Stalin: "We will play great music for the Germans here." That part of the Crimea, which was controlled by Soviet troops, was overwhelmed by repression. Military field courts tirelessly exterminated hundreds of commanders and privates of the Red Army and Navy.

Pathological cruelty touched not only their own, German prisoners of war suffered no less.

And, not jokingly, I considered it an honor. L. Mekhlis proudly wrote about this to his son: “I order the fascist prisoners to finish. And Fisunov is working well here. With particular satisfaction, he destroys the robbers.

The time of the "Mekhlis" terror continued until the spring of 1942. when, thanks to the leadership talent of E. von Manstein, the Soviet troops were finally and irrevocably expelled from the Crimea.

The ability to forgive is characteristic of Russians. But all the same, how striking this property of the soul is - especially when you hear about it from the lips of yesterday's enemy ...
Letters from former German prisoners of war.

I belong to the generation that experienced the Second World War. In July 1943, I became a Wehrmacht soldier, but due to a long training period, I ended up on the German-Soviet front only in January 1945, which by that time was passing through the territory of East Prussia. Then German troops no longer had any chance in confronting the Soviet army. On March 26, 1945, I was captured by the Soviets. I was in camps in Kohla-Järve in Estonia, in Vinogradov near Moscow, worked at a coal mine in Stalinogorsk (today Novomoskovsk).

We have always been treated like people. We had the opportunity to spend free time, we were provided with medical care. On November 2, 1949, after 4.5 years of captivity, I was released, I was released physically and spiritually a healthy person. I know that, unlike my experience in Soviet captivity, Soviet prisoners of war in Germany lived in a completely different way. Hitler treated most of the Soviet prisoners of war extremely cruelly. For a cultured nation, as the Germans are always imagined, with so many famous poets, composers and scientists, such treatment was a shame and an inhuman act. After returning home, many former Soviet prisoners of war waited for compensation from Germany, but never did. This is especially outrageous! I hope that with my modest donation I will make a small contribution to alleviate this moral trauma.

Hans Moeser

Fifty years ago, on April 21, 1945, during the fierce battles for Berlin, I was captured by the Soviets. This date and the circumstances accompanying it were of great importance for my later life. Today, after half a century, I look back, now as a historian: the subject of this look into the past is myself.

By the day of my captivity, I had just celebrated my seventeenth birthday. Through the Labor Front, we were drafted into the Wehrmacht and assigned to the 12th Army, the so-called "Army of Ghosts." After the Soviet Army launched “Operation Berlin” on April 16, 1945, we were literally thrown to the front.

The capture was a great shock for me and my young comrades, because we were completely unprepared for such a situation. And we didn’t know anything about Russia and Russians at all. This shock was also so severe because, only when we were behind the Soviet front line, we realized the full severity of the losses that our group had suffered. Of the hundred people who entered the battle in the morning, more than half died before noon. These experiences are among the hardest memories of my life.

This was followed by the formation of echelons with prisoners of war, who took us - with numerous intermediate stations - deep into the Soviet Union, to the Volga. The country needed German prisoners of war as a labor force, because factories that had been inactive during the war needed to resume work. In Saratov, a beautiful city on the high bank of the Volga, the sawmill was back in operation, and in the "cement city" Volsk, also located on the high bank of the river, I spent more than a year.

Our labor camp belonged to the Bolshevik cement factory. Working at the factory was unusually hard for me, an untrained eighteen-year-old high school student. The German "cameras" did not always help. People just needed to survive, to live to be sent home. In this endeavor, the German prisoners developed their own, often cruel, laws in the camp.

In February 1947, I had an accident in a quarry, after which I could no longer work. Six months later, I returned home to Germany as an invalid.

This is just the outer side of the matter. During the stay in Saratov and then in Volsk, the conditions were very difficult. These conditions are often described in publications about German prisoners of war in the Soviet Union: hunger and work. For me, the climate factor also played a big role. In the summer, which is unusually hot on the Volga, I had to shovel red-hot slag from under the furnaces at the cement plant; in winter, when it is extremely cold there, I worked in the quarry on the night shift.

Before summing up the results of my stay in the Soviet camp, I would like to describe here some more of my experience in captivity. And there were many impressions. I will cite just a few of them.

The first is nature, the majestic Volga, along which we marched every day from the camp to the factory. Impressions from this huge river, the mother of Russian rivers, are difficult to describe. One summer, when the river rolled its waters wide after the spring flood, our Russian guards allowed us to jump into the river to wash away the cement dust. Of course, the "guards" acted against the rules in this; but they were also human, we exchanged cigarettes, and they were a little older than me.

In October, winter storms began, and by the middle of the month the river was covered with ice. Roads were laid along the frozen river, even trucks could move from one bank to another. And then, in mid-April, after half a year of ice captivity, the Volga flowed freely again: the ice broke with a terrible roar, and the river returned to its old course. Our Russian guards were overjoyed: "The river is flowing again!" new time year began.

The second part of the memories is the relationship with Soviet people. I have already described how human our overseers were. I can give other examples of compassion: for example, one nurse who stood at the gates of the camp every morning in a bitter cold. Whoever did not have enough clothes, the guards allowed him to stay in the camp in the winter, despite the protests of the camp authorities. Or a Jewish doctor in a hospital who saved the life of more than one German, even though they came as enemies. And finally, an elderly woman who, during a lunch break, at the railway station in Volsk, shyly served us pickles from her bucket. For us it was a real feast. Later, before leaving, she came and crossed herself in front of each of us. Mother Russia, which I met in the era of late Stalinism, in 1946, on the Volga.

When today, fifty years after my captivity, I try to take stock, I find that being in captivity turned my whole life in a completely different direction and determined my professional path.

What I experienced in my youth in Russia did not let me go even after returning to Germany. I had a choice - to erase my stolen youth from memory and never think about the Soviet Union again, or to analyze everything I had experienced and thus bring some kind of biographical balance. I chose the second, immeasurably more difficult path, not least under the influence of the supervisor of my doctoral work, Paul Johansen.
As stated at the beginning, this hard way I look back today. I reflect on what has been achieved and state the following: for decades in my lectures I have tried to convey to students my critically rethought experience, while receiving a lively response. I could assist my closest students in their doctoral work and examinations more efficiently. And, finally, I established long-term contacts with my Russian colleagues, primarily in St. Petersburg, which eventually grew into a strong friendship.

Klaus Mayer

On May 8, 1945, the remnants of the German 18th Army capitulated in the Kurland pocket in Latvia. It was a long awaited day. Our small 100-watt transmitter was designed to negotiate terms of surrender with the Red Army. All weapons, equipment, vehicles, radio cars, and joy stations themselves were, according to Prussian accuracy, collected in one place, on a site surrounded by pine trees. For two days nothing happened. Then came Soviet officers and took us to two-story buildings. We spent the night cramped on straw mattresses. In the early morning of May 11, we were lined up in hundreds, count as the old division into companies. The foot march into captivity began.

One Red Army soldier in front, one behind. So we walked in the direction of Riga to the huge collection camp prepared by the Red Army. Here the officers were separated from ordinary soldiers. The guards searched the things they had taken with them. We were allowed to leave some underwear, socks, a blanket, crockery and cutlery. Nothing else.

From Riga we walked in endless daytime marches to the east, to the former Soviet-Latvian border in the direction of Dunaburg. After each march, we arrived at the next camp. The ritual was repeated: a search of all personal belongings, the distribution of food and a night's sleep. Upon arrival in Dunaburg, we were loaded onto freight wagons. The food was good: bread and American Corned Beef. We drove to the southeast. Those who thought we were going home were greatly surprised. Many days later we arrived at the Baltic Station in Moscow. Standing on trucks, we drove through the city. It's already dark. Did any of us manage to make any notes.

In the distance from the city, next to a village of three-story wooden houses, was a large prefabricated camp, so large that its outskirts were lost behind the horizon. Tents and prisoners... A week passed with good summer weather, Russian bread and American canned food. After one of the morning roll calls, between 150 and 200 prisoners were separated from the rest. We got on trucks. None of us knew where we were going. The path lay to the northwest. We drove the last kilometers through a birch forest along a dam. After about a two hour drive (or longer?), we were at our destination.

The forest camp consisted of three or four wooden barracks located partly at ground level. The door was low, a few steps down. Behind the last barracks, in which the German camp commandant from East Prussia lived, were the tailors' and shoemakers' quarters, the doctor's office, and a separate barracks for the sick. The entire area, barely larger than a football field, was surrounded by barbed wire. A somewhat more comfortable wooden barrack was intended for protection. On the territory there was also a sentry box and a small kitchen. This place was to be our new home for the next months, maybe years. It didn't feel like a quick homecoming.

In the barracks along the central aisle, wooden two-story bunks stretched in two rows. At the end of the complicated registration procedure (we did not have our soldier's books with us), we placed mattresses stuffed with straw on the bunk beds. Those located on the upper tier could be lucky. He was able to look outside through a glass window about 25 x 25 centimeters in size.

We got up at exactly 6 o'clock. After that, everyone ran to the washstands. At a height of about 1.70 meters, a tin drain began, looking at a wooden support. The water descended to about the level of the abdomen. In those months when there was no frost, the upper reservoir was filled with water. To wash it was necessary to turn a simple valve, after which water poured or dripped on the head and upper body. After this procedure, the roll call on the parade ground was repeated daily. Exactly at 7 o'clock we walked to the logging site in the endless birch forests surrounding the camp. I can't remember ever having to fell any other tree besides a birch.

Our "bosses", civil civilian guards, were waiting for us on the spot. They distributed tools: saws and axes. Groups of three people were created: two prisoners cut down a tree, and the third collects foliage and unnecessary branches in one heap, and then burns it. Especially in wet weather, it was an art. Of course every POW had a lighter. Along with the spoon, this is probably the most important item in captivity. But with the help of such simple object, consisting of a flint, a wick and a piece of iron, it was possible to set fire to a rain-soaked tree, often only after many hours of effort. Burning wood waste was a daily norm. The norm itself consisted of two meters of felled wood, stacked in piles. Each piece of wood had to be two meters long and at least 10 centimeters in diameter. With such primitive tools as blunt saws and axes, which often consisted of only a few ordinary pieces of iron welded together, it was hardly possible to fulfill such a norm.

After the work was done, the stacks of wood were picked up by the “chiefs” and loaded onto open trucks. At lunchtime, work was interrupted for half an hour. We were given watery cabbage soup. Those who managed to meet the norm (due to hard work and insufficient nutrition, only a few managed to do this) received in the evening, in addition to their usual diet, which consisted of 200 grams of moist bread, but good in taste, a tablespoon of sugar and a press of tobacco, and also porridge directly on the lid of the pot. One thing "reassured": the food of our guards was a little better.

Winter 1945/46 was very heavy. We stuffed cotton balls into our clothes and boots. We felled trees and stacked them in staples until the temperature dropped below 20 degrees Celsius. If it got colder, all the prisoners remained in the camp.

Once or twice a month we were awakened at night. We got up from our straw mattresses and drove the truck to the station, which was about 10 kilometers away. We saw huge mountains of forest. These were the trees we felled. The tree was to be loaded into closed freight wagons and sent to Tushino near Moscow. The mountains of the forest inspired us with a state of depression and horror. We had to set these mountains in motion. This was our job. How much longer can we hold on? How long will this last? These hours of the night seemed endless to us. When day came, the wagons were fully loaded. The work was tedious. Two people carried on their shoulders a two-meter tree trunk to the car, and then simply pushed it without a lift into the open doors of the car. Two especially strong prisoners of war piled wood inside the car in staples. The car was filling up. It was the next car's turn. We were illuminated by a spotlight on a high pole. It was some kind of surreal picture: shadows from tree trunks and swarming prisoners of war, like some fantastic wingless creatures. When the first rays of the sun fell on the ground, we walked back to the camp. This whole day was already a day off for us.

One of the January nights of 1946 especially stuck in my memory. The frost was so strong that after work the truck engines would not start. We had to walk on ice 10 or 12 kilometers to the camp. Full moon illuminated us. A group of 50-60 prisoners stumbled along. People became more and more distant from each other. I could no longer make out the one in front. I thought this was the end. To this day, I don't know how I managed to get to the camp.

felling. Day after day. Endless winter. More and more prisoners felt morally depressed. Salvation was to sign up for a "business trip". This is how we called work in nearby collective farms and state farms. With a hoe and a shovel, we dug out potatoes or beets from the frozen ground. There was not much to collect. But all the same, the collected food was put into a saucepan and heated. Melted snow was used instead of water. Our guard ate what was cooked with us. Nothing was thrown away. Cleanings were collected, secretly from the controllers at the entrance to the camp, they swept into the territory and, after receiving the evening bread and sugar, were fried in the barracks on two red-hot iron stoves. It was some kind of "carnival" food in the dark. Most of the prisoners were already asleep by that time. And we sat, soaking up the heat with our exhausted bodies like sweet syrup.

When I look at the past tense from the height of the years I have lived, I can say that I have never, nowhere, in any place in the USSR, noticed such a phenomenon as hatred for the Germans. It is amazing. After all, we were German prisoners of war, representatives of the people who, in the course of a century, twice plunged Russia into wars. The second war was unparalleled in terms of cruelty, horror and crime. If there were signs of any accusations, they were never "collective", addressed to the entire German people.

At the beginning of May 1946, I worked as part of a group of 30 prisoners of war from our camp on one of the collective farms. Long, strong, newly grown tree trunks intended for building houses had to be loaded onto prepared trucks. And then it happened. The tree trunk was carried on the shoulders. I was on the wrong side. When loading the barrel into the back of a truck, my head was sandwiched between two barrels. I lay unconscious in the back of the car. Blood flowed from the ears, mouth and nose. The truck took me back to the camp. At this point, my memory failed. I didn't remember anything after that.

The camp doctor, an Austrian, was a Nazi. Everyone knew about it. He did not have the necessary medicines and dressings. His only tool was nail scissors. The doctor immediately said: “Fracture of the base of the skull. There is nothing I can do…”

For weeks and months I lay in the camp infirmary. It was a room with 6-8 two-story bunks. Straw-stuffed mattresses lay on top. In good weather, flowers and vegetables grew near the barracks. In the first weeks the pain was unbearable. I didn't know how to get comfortable. I could hardly hear. The speech was like incoherent murmuring. Vision has deteriorated markedly. It seemed to me that the object in my field of vision on the right is on the left and vice versa.

Some time before the accident with me, a military doctor arrived at the camp. As he himself said, he came from Siberia. The doctor introduced many new rules. A sauna was built near the gates of the camp. Every weekend, the prisoners washed and steamed in it. The food has also gotten better. The doctor regularly visited the infirmary. One day he explained to me that I would be in the camp until such time as I could not be transported.

During the warm summer months, my well-being improved markedly. I could get up and made two discoveries. First, I realized that I was still alive. Secondly, I found a small camp library. On rough-hewn wooden shelves one could find everything that the Russians valued in German literature: Heine and Lessing, Berne and Schiller, Kleist and Jean Paul. Like a man who has already given up on himself, but who managed to survive, I pounced on books. I read first Heine, and then Jean Paul, about whom I had not heard anything at school. Although I still felt pain as I turned the pages, over time I forgot all that was going on around me. Books wrapped around me like a coat that protected me from outside world. As I read, I felt an increase in strength, new strength, driving away the effects of my trauma. Even after dark, I couldn't take my eyes off the book. After Jean Paul I started reading German philosopher named Karl Marx. "eighteen. Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte" plunged me into the atmosphere of Paris in the middle of the 19th century, and "The Civil War in France" - into the thick of the battles of the Parisian workers and the Commune of 1870-71. My head felt like it was hurt again. I realized that behind this radical criticism lies a philosophy of protest, expressed in an unshakable belief in the individuality of man, in his ability to achieve self-liberation and, as Erich Fromm said, “in his ability to express personal traits." It was as if someone had removed the veil of lack of clarity, and driving forces social conflicts have acquired a coherent understanding.
I don't want to gloss over the fact that reading wasn't easy for me. Everything that I still believed in was destroyed. I began to realize that with this new perception, there was a new hope, not limited only by the dream of returning home. It was hope for new life in which there will be a place for self-awareness and respect for a person.
While reading one of the books (I think it was "Economic and Philosophical Notes" or maybe " German ideology”) I appeared before a commission from Moscow. Her task was to select sick prisoners for further shipment to Moscow for treatment. "Will you go home!" - a doctor from Siberia told me.

A few days later, at the end of July 1946, I was driving in an open truck, along with a few, as always standing and huddled close to each other, through the familiar dam in the direction of Moscow, which was 50 or 100 km away. I spent several days in a kind of central hospital for prisoners of war under the supervision of German doctors. The next day I boarded a boxcar lined with straw on the inside. This long train was supposed to take me to Germany.
During a stop in an open field, one train overtook us on neighboring rails. I recognized the two-meter birch trunks, the same trunks that we massively felled in captivity. The trunks were intended for locomotive fireboxes. That's what they were used for. I could hardly think of a sweeter goodbye.
On August 8, the train arrived at the Gronenfelde assembly point near Frankfurt an der Oder. I received my release papers. On the 11th of the same month, having lost 89 pounds but a new free man, I entered my parents' house.