memoirs of a german soldier helmut pabst

about the eastern front.

Attack on Smolensk

It's hard to believe that this happened just two days ago. This time I was in the first attacking echelon. The divisions silently moved up to their positions, talking in whispers. The wheels of assault guns creaked. Two nights earlier we had made a reconnaissance of the area; now they were waiting for the infantry. The foot soldiers came up in dark, ghostly columns and moved forward through fields of cabbages and cereals. We went with them to act as the 2nd Battalion's artillery communications unit. In the potato field, the command "Dig in!" Battery number 10 was supposed to open fire at 03.05.

3.05. First salvo! At that moment, everything around came to life. Fire along the entire front - infantry guns, mortars. The Russian watchtowers disappeared in flashes of fire. The shells hit the enemy batteries, the location of which was established long before the attack. In single file and deployed formation, the infantry rushed forward. Swamp, ditches; boots full of water and mud. Over our heads, from position to position, a barrage was conductedthe fire. Flamethrowers advanced against strongholds. Machine-gun fire and the piercing whistle of bullets. My young radio operator, with forty pounds of cargo on his back, felt somewhat weakened for the first half hour. Then, at the barracks in Konopki, the first serious resistance was offered to us. The forward chains are stuck. "Assault guns, forward!"

We were with the battalion commander on a small high-rise, five hundred meters from the barracks. Our first wounded was one of the messengers. As soon as we established radio contact, suddenly we were fired upon from the nearby barracks. Sniper. We took up rifles for the first time. Although we were signalmen, we must have shot better - the sniper shooting had stopped. Our first booty.

The advance continued. We moved quickly, sometimes pressing to the ground, but relentlessly. Trenches, water, sand, sun. We change positions all the time. Thirst. There is no time to eat. By ten o'clock we had already become seasoned soldiers who had seen a lot: abandoned positions, overturned armored cars, the first prisoners, the first killed Russians.

At night, we sat in the trench for three hours. Tanks threatened us from the flanks. Once again our advance was preceded by barrage fire. On either side of us are attacking battalions. There were bright flashes very close. We were right in the line of fire.

The first burned village, from which only pipes remained. Here and there are sheds and ordinary wells. For the first time we were under artillery fire. The shells make an unusual singing sound: you have to quickly dig in and dig into the ground. We constantly change position.

We lower our equipment to the ground. Reception, unlike yesterday, was good. But as soon as they received the report, the battalion moved on. We rushed to catch up with him.

About three hours passed through the line of trenches, a march between the swamps. Suddenly - stop. Someone commanded: "Anti-tank guns forward!" The guns went past. Then on the way - a sandy expanse covered with thickets of broom. It stretched for about two kilometers to the main road and river, near the Osovets fortress.

For breakfast we had a piece of bread. For lunch - one cracker for four. Thirst, heat and that damned sand! We wearily trotted along, taking turns carrying the load. Water sloshed in his boots, mud and sand clogged in them, two days of stubble covered his face. Finally - the headquarters of the battalion, on the edge of the plain. Up by the river is our outpost. The Russians know exactly where we are.

We quickly dig in. God knows, not too fast. We already know exactly when the projectile is coming, and I can't help laughing as we burrow headlong into our holes, crouching to the ground like Muslims during prayer. But finally - a good little bit - the infantry is pulled back. We roll up the equipment and during a pause in the shelling we make a breakthrough. To the right and left of us, others run, and we all simultaneously plop down in the mud. I can not stop laughing.

Having reached a relatively safe place, they concentrated in the trench and waited for darkness. They shared the last of their cigarettes. The mosquitoes are completely mad. More signals began to arrive. I almost went crazy deciphering them, because my flashlight attractedeven more mosquitoes. And again the infantry appeared, returning from the firing line. We didn't quite understand what was going on.

We knew that somewhere there must be a height, a deep trench. Soup and coffee were waiting for us there - as much as we wanted. After walking another two kilometers at dusk, we completed the raid at one of our batteries. Soon they were already lying next to each other, pulling jackets over their ears. Russian shells wished us good night. When we climbed out again at about four o'clock, we found that we were a hundred meters from our headquarters.

An hour later we were marching west, then north. When night fell, we were near the village of Avgustova, whose church with its two domes reminded me of my father. A little further from Avgustov in the direction of Grodno, we were again declared a state of combat readiness. We had to be ready by half past ten. We were woken up at half past one and finally we left at five o'clock in the morning. The situation changed all the time; The front was approaching very quickly. We marched on Grodno, where we were to be thrown into battle. To the right and to the left swamps approached. A whole tank brigade of Russians, presumably somewhere to the right, but you never see this kind of thing. (You only see mosquitoes - there are plenty of them - and you feel the dust.)

Finally, in the evening, by country roads, we entered the village and along the same roads we walked through Lipsk. Everywhere clouds of dust rose into the air and slowly swirled behind the columns along the roads.

The road to the Forge is covered with sand, broken, rutted, and full of shell craters. She goes down like the bottom of a dryseas. With difficulty forced march we cross the slopes, sometimes the path winds like a snake. I guess it's like a Napoleonic campaign. At night we stop somewhere among the sands. It's fresh and it's raining. We, trembling, crawl under the cars. In the morning we continue to move, dirty and dusty, with trickles of dripping sweat. Forge. On the sides of the narrow road along which we walk, there are three cemeteries - Catholic, Orthodox and Jewish. The first Orthodox church on our way with its onion domes. Meanwhile, the monotonous plain gave way to a lovely park landscape. Gardens spread around the houses, a modest claim to beauty, unpretentious decorations on the houses and - fruit trees.

This place was partly destroyed. The entire block burned down. In one of the houses, a kitchen and a piece of pipe survived. A man and a woman are crawling around her, and smoke is coming out of this corner. An old man in a sheepskin coat with bare feet sits on a chair, smiling happily at us. His red liquor nose stands out against a thin, unkempt beard.

An hour later we reached a decent hard road, moving towards N. We were accompanied by light artillery; the horses and guns approaching the top of the slope we had crossed looked like figures cut out of paper. Not hot. Slightly hilly plain, and no dust. Great morning. The thatched wooden houses may have been dilapidated, but the village church was white and glittering on the hill as a clear symbol of its power.

This march is more tiring than the fight. One and a half hour rest: from one hour thirty minutes to three. Later, when we were on the march, we had the moonbehind us, and we were heading for a dark, threatening sky. It was like stepping into a dark hole; the ghostly landscape was pale and bare. We slept for an hour like the dead and stood on unsteady legs with a terrible heaviness in the stomach. Gentle morning. Pale, beautiful colors. You wake up slowly, and at every rest you sleep. At any time while advancing forward, soldiers can be seen sleeping by the side of the road, where they sank to the ground. Sometimes they curl up dead, or, like the pair of motorcyclists I saw this morning, happy to be on their own, back to back, resting in long overcoats and steel helmets, legs apart, hands in pockets.

The thought of getting up hardly penetrates the dope of sleep. Awakening took me a long time. When I woke up my neighbor, he continued to lie back in a leaning back position with a completely lifeless face. I went up to the other one, who was acting as a sentry, he had deep wrinkles on his face and feverishly shining eyes. Another started writing a letter to his girlfriend and fell asleep while doing it. I carefully pulled out the sheet; he could not write even three lines.

We set off at 4:30 p.m. just before the storm. We sweated terribly. The storm rolled in in a roaring veil. It's a relief, but the stuffiness hasn't gone away. For four hours we walked at an incredible pace without stopping. Even after that, we were cheated every time we stopped to rest; we moved on almost immediately. At nightfall we were given only three-quarters of an hour to rest.

Night. From the hill where we stood, we could see the lights scattered far on the horizon.At first I thought it was dawn. Yellow dust hung around like mist, drifting lazily to the sides or shrouding the roadside bushes.

When the sun rose like a red ball on the horizon, we had a problem with draft power. In the faint light, the van of our aerial radio observation station, a giant on huge wheels that had once served as a field forage dacha for the French, came off the log deck of the road. The horse became entangled in the trails, and the other two, who were led along the deck ahead to clear the way, got stuck in the swamp and tangled in the field communication wires. Some damn thing. With the help of fresh horses and another pair to help them, we rescued the stuck wagon and hurried to get our part. We found our own sooner than expected - a few kilometers ahead, in the forest near the lake. The whole forest was filled with troops and ammunition stacks, taking up all the free space to the last square meter. We warmed up dinner and pitched a tent, and when we crawled inside, it began to rain. A small hole in the canvas top allowed raindrops to seep into my face, but the weather was still sweltering, so I liked that. Besides, I'm very tired.

Went down to the lake in the morning. The water was warm. I had time to wash my underwear, which had already taken on an earthy gray color.

We continued to move at 14.00. We walked until our knees trembled as far as point L. It was already very close, and we were terribly thirsty. In the village one of our horses lost a shoe. A thunderstorm broke out, and I, along with others, lingered to find a blacksmith in one of the batteries that followed behind. Our own blacksmith was left far behind tofix a field kitchen that has a broken rear axle.

We found a blacksmith. Some of the guys gave us bread, tea, cigarettes and cigarette paper, and we drove into the gathering dusk and into another thunderstorm. The horses continued to shirk from side to side, not distinguishing the path. Finally, after an hour, we came to the heavy silhouettes of the guns on the edge of the road, lagging behind the unit. In the rain, shadowy figures crouched beside the cars or lay under them in odd-looking piles. I found all my companions lying under the trees. They were sound asleep, and the horses bowed their heads on each other's necks. Between five and six in the morning we went to the designated rest area in a meadow just above one of the villages. The rise was at noon, at four o'clock - on the road. Four hours of marching in wet boots. By the evening it became cool. The road rose and fell in a monotonous landscape, and from afar came the sound of gunfire. There were bomb craters along the road. By 2.20 we turned into an area overgrown with grass.

Cold and damp with a contrary penetrating wind. We collected wet hay and built a tent. Someone has a candle. Now that we're inside, it's suddenly quite cozy: four people ensconced comfortably in a shelter around a friendly warm light. Someone said: "We will not forget this evening," and everyone agreed.

It's exactly four weeks today. Since we crossed the German border, we have covered 800 kilometers; after Kulm - 1250. On the eighteenth night, the exact distance from the road junction at Shtanken, where we were gathered in order to movein the direction of Graev and Osovets, was 750 kilometers.

I am sitting on a bench near the ferryman's house. We were waiting for the rest of our unit to begin the difficult crossing of the Western Dvina, which our small group rode on horseback for more than an hour. Designed for a load of eight tons, the emergency bridge with one-way traffic could not pass the entire flow of people crossing. At the foot of a steep bank, crowds of prisoners of war help build a second bridge. Barefoot people, from among the civilians, laboredly swarm over the ruins of an old bridge that blocked a small river. The crossing can take many hours; the hands of one hundred and fifty prisoners, in order to push, are at our disposal.

The city of Vitebsk is in ruins. The traffic lights hung on the tram wires like bats. From the fence, the face on the movie poster is still smiling. The population, mostly women, busily wanders among the ruins in search of charred firewood or abandoned utensils. Some streets on the outskirts remained intact, and every now and then, as if by magic, a small shack survived. Some of the girls are dressed quite beautifully, although sometimes they wear jerseys, carry string bags, and go barefoot and with a knot behind their backs. There were peasants from the countryside. They have sheepskin coats or wadded jackets, and women have headscarves on their heads. On the outskirts live workers: idle young men and women with arrogant faces. Sometimes you are amazed at the sight of a person with a beautifully shaped head, and then you already notice how poorly he is dressed.

The order to continue our march was canceled at the last moment. We stopped and loosened the harness. Then, when they were about to give the horses a quarter of the oats, a new order came. We had to move out immediately, moving at an accelerated march! The crossing was cleared for us. We moved back, first to the south, in the main direction to Smolensk. The march turned out to be peaceful, however, in the heat and dust, but only for eighteen kilometers. But after an easy day before, stress and fatigue made me forget the beauties of the landscape. We are assigned to an infantry division that was moving further east; and indeed, we marched day and night and continue to march.

Before us stretched fields of softly swaying corn, acres of fragrant clover, and in the villages - rows of weather-beaten thatched huts, a white towering church that was used for other purposes, and today it could well house a field bakery. You can see the locals lined up at our bakery for bread, led by a smiling soldier. You can see the questioning looks of the prisoners, who, under the strict gaze of the convoy, take off their caps. All this can be seen, but only in a semi-drowsy state.

At 2.00 I woke up the advance group, half an hour later - the whole detachment. At half past five we set off. It is now half past five in the evening of July 26th. I lie sweaty and dusty on the side of the road at the foot of the hill. From here we have to go through a long open section of the road. A hum is heard in the distance. After Surazh, aviation stepped up operations, entire squadrons of ourdive bombers, escorted by fighters, raided the enemy. Yesterday three Russian bombers were circling over our lake after dropping their bomb load a few kilometers away. Before they were out of sight, we saw our fighters whistle after them, tailing them, and machine guns rattle in the hot midday air.

A few days ago, we came across more and more refugees, then the roads became less busy, and we passed camps for displaced persons, in which there were from a thousand to a thousand two hundred prisoners. This is nothing but a front line. In the villages, a huge number of houses are abandoned. The remaining peasants carry water for our horses. We take onions and little yellow turnips from their gardens and milk from cans. Most of them willingly share all this.

We continued to move along the road, respecting the intervals. Far ahead, at the edge of the forest, mushroom-shaped clouds of smoke rise from exploding shells. Before we got there, we turned onto a fairly tolerable sandy road that seemed to have no end. The night has come. In the north, the sky was still bright; to the east and south it was illuminated by two burning villages.

Above our heads, bombers were picking up targets and dropping bombs along the main road behind us. My riders shook and swayed in their saddles on their horses. At half-past four we began to hurry; at four our van hurried to the command post. It's seven o'clock, and I'm lying here, a little behind him with two sections of the radio set at the ready.

Calm environment in the afternoon. We woke up and ate, went back to sleep, and then were alerted. The alarm turned out to be false, and we continued to sleep. Below, through the meadow under escort, captured Russians were transported to the rear. Everything seems so friendly in the evening light.

The day was wonderful. Finally, we had some time for our personal affairs. The war is intermittent. No decisive action. An anti-tank gun or a tank opens fire - we respond with our mortars. The gun makes unpleasant sighing sounds. Then after a few shots, silence.

Our batteries bombard the enemy's observation post with intense fire, and the Russians "treat" us with several shells. We chew our bread and bend over as the "music" starts to play. You can determine in advance where it comes from. Up on the hill, the adjutant announces: "Tanks are attacking in three columns along the front, Herr Hauptmann!" - "Tell the gunners!" the captain replies and calmly finishes his shave.

About three-quarters of an hour later the tanks are coming at us en masse; they are so close that they come to the rear of our hill. The situation is getting quite tense. Two observation posts collapse and leave, the command post of the detachment and the headquarters of the battalion remain. Meanwhile, our infantry again advanced towards the burning village. I'm lying in a funnel on a hill. In situations like this, you always feel the satisfaction of seeing what separates the wheat from the chaff. Most are afraid. Only a few remain cheerful. And these are the ones you can rely on.

Last night we saw a light signal that ours was giving, about twenty kilometers from here. The ring around Smolensk is shrinking. The situation becomes calmer.

Mainly due to the slow advance of the German infantry through difficult terrain, a significant number of Soviet troops actually escaped encirclement. With their help, a line of defense was erected on the Desna, which thus subjected the advancing Germans to the first real test.

Retreating, the Russians set fire to their villages behind them; fires blazed all night. Until noon today, we had the opportunity to see the fountains of mud uplifted by the explosions of heavy shells. The army corps enters the battle, moving from south to north. The enemy puts up a desperate resistance; flying shells whistle again in the forest. Toward evening we were ready to change position, moving east. The cauldron of the encirclement, and look, will be broken. When it got dark, we went down the hill and drove twelve kilometers east on the freeway. It was a wide, well-maintained road littered with wrecked tanks and trucks here and there. We are heading straight for the middle of the "cauldron", for a new front that is already visible on the horizon.

They walked all night. The fire of two flaming villages reflects softly on a bluish-gray cloud bank, all the while broken by menacing flashes of explosions. All night long the low rolling roar did not cease. Then by morning the cloud bank had taken on a pale mauve hue. The colors were strangely beautiful. Gradually drowsiness left the body,and we were ready to go again. They got steel helmets and overcoats. In two hours we were to be ready for battle; The attack is scheduled for 6:00.

19.00. End of the turmoil of the day. Through a small field of view it is impossible to get a general picture, but it seems that the Russians immediately cut off our supply route and put considerable pressure on our flank. In any case, we quickly retreated along the road, which until then had been so calm. Very close we saw our batteries firing ahead, which were bombarding the hillside and the village with blasting, impact and delayed shells. At the same time, shell casings of infantrymen whizzed by from all sides. Putting our cars in a hollow, we went to the edge of a small forest, which was full of staff officers. Even there, one should not stick out unnecessarily.

At times like this, I'm not curious. You won't see anything anyway, and it didn't matter to me how far they penetrated our flank anyway. I knew that when they got close enough, we would still have the opportunity to "have a few words" with each other. Until that time, I was picking strawberries and lying on my back, pulling a steel helmet over my face - a position in which you can sleep well, covering yourself as much as possible. We were a few meters from the general and our division commander. It is amazing what situations high-ranking officers can find themselves in with such a blurred front as this one.

Meanwhile, our infantry is combing the forest ahead of us, our tanks are attacking Russian tanks, reconnaissance aircraft are flying over the positions,and the artillery prepares the way for the infantry. Three Russian planes managed to drop bombs on our positions half an hour ago, but our fighters got on their tail and they couldn't get very far.

It will not be so easy to talk about the events of August 4, especially when we are on the march.

A sentry called me and said that I needed to work with the radio communications department of the 7th company. The sergeant and three others with him went to look for the company. They were in a neighboring village and we moved along with them. The only difference between us was that the infantrymen wore light marching uniforms, while we had a set of equipment. The equipment was hot and tight. We did not often come into combat contact with the enemy, but with difficulty we walked six to eight kilometers through the meadows, making our way through low bushes. Ideal terrain for a game of hide and seek.

We crossed the postal road. After another two kilometers, we were fired upon from a grove in which, according to reports, there should have been no one. Action began. Gas throwers, anti-tank and assault guns entered the battle. Four Russian tanks appeared, three of which were quickly knocked out. One of them came to us from the left flank from the village of Leshenko and for some time caused concern. The company commander and I were in a small hollow and came under sniper fire, so that we could not stick our noses out of our hiding place. Shouts were heard: “The enemy tank is ahead!” From the left, a Russian “Hurrah!” was heard.

It sounds wonderful, this battle cry, and there is an awkward fussiness if you don't knowwhat is happening five hundred meters away from you. You turn to your ears, listen to the intensification and fading of the noise, recognizing the difference between the sound of our machine-gun bursts and that of the enemy. Russian machine guns make a dull coughing sound, while ours produce high-pitched clicks.

The attack was repulsed, and we tried to contact our command post. So far the connection has been excellent; now it suddenly broke off. We sat too low in our hollow. Until we can climb higher, we will have to abandon this attempt. The night had fallen, and intermittent shooting still continued. We could not go back because the situation on the road leading to the rear was unclear. We remained in place and looked at the burning village of Leshenko.

The fire opened by our own troops was erratic and resulted in more Russians rising from their positions when it became "hot" to stay on them. This is a cruel way, but it is impossible to do anything else. Somehow by itself, from that moment on, the battle became obviously more fierce and ruthless on our part; and only those who have been here will understand why. Two more events took place during the night, the price of which was for us - two killed and one seriously wounded. Now I know the meaning of the word fearlessness.

In the morning, when we woke up, we were greeted by a pleasant silence. Not a single shot. Coffee arrived, and the communications switchboard operator was just saying to the guys at the observation post: “So far, not a single aircraft is visible, and the artillery left us alone,” when a whistle and an explosion were heard - the first shell fell about two hundred meters awayon right. The lieutenant cursed, as if the unsuspecting operator had drawn the attention of the Russians to us - and we laughed. After that it was quiet, almost no shots were fired, except for what happened in the middle of the day when I went out on the road to show the forage trucks the way to the command post. It was then that our old friend tank thundered around the neighborhood. An ugly red flame with black smoke erupted, and there was a pop of gunshots.

This is weird. As soon as we are drawn into a new fight and hear the thunder of cannons, we become happy and carefree. Every time this happens, our guys start to sing, become cheerful and have a good mood. The air is filled with a new smell of freedom. Those who love danger are the good guys, even if they don't want to admit it.

From time to time a projectile flies out from one of the batteries. It makes a sound like a ball thrown very high into the air. You can hear it flying on. Then, some time after the whistle stops, the distant dull sound of its burst is heard. Russian shells have a completely different sound, similar to the roar of a heavily slammed door.

This morning, intense firing was heard somewhere in the distance, and since yesterday it has been very quiet. The Russians probably understood how weak their attacks were; they must be watching our supply lines so they can surprise us from the rear. We can wait. We can safely watch this, just as we watch them dig trenches designed to protect the approaches to the Beliy point. This is a strange war.

Last night I went up as an assistant with Arno Kirchner. It takes a whole hour to get from the command post to the observation post. A light mist hung between the trees, and the grass and bushes were heavy with rain. We made our way to the touch along the path past the hollows and slopes to Monastyrskoye.

There was a road there. There is an eerie silence everywhere. The front is perfectly calm, with the exception of individual flickering flashes rising up, shining alone with a chalk-white light in the darkness absorbing all sounds.

Stripes of light from cellars and dugouts were visible in the village; somewhere the light of a cigarette was surreptitiously glowing, a silent sentry shivering from the cold. It was late, closer to midnight. The puddles in the shell craters reflected the stars. “Has this all happened before? I thought. “Russia, Flanders, soldiers on the front line?..” Sometimes a picture puzzles you in this way. You think: this must have happened in the previous war. Now the same thing - time is erased.

We were in a hurry and only exchanged a few remarks with each other, pointing to the funnels. Spokes and wheels in a ditch, the remains of a local wagon. "Direct hit," Arno said dryly. What more can be said? It's a damn road leading straight to the enemy, to White.

“Be careful, we must be near a crossroads; then another fifty meters. We made our way through wires and communication trenches.

Finally, our soldier appeared with a radio station and a telephone receiver at a distance of ten meters from her. The guys stood around, shivering from the cold, chest-deep in a wet trench, each with a raincoat.over shoulder. I gave orders to fold by telephone; we changed the radio transmitter and I tried to make contact.

I slipped into a wet trench, whose walls were loose and soaked with water and were covered with rotten straw, and found a narrow place that was dry. Some skill was required to squeeze into it, with the legs squeezing first. Halfway down the ceiling collapsed; the side walls are not thick enough to withstand vibration. The trench was very tight. As a precaution, I tucked my steel helmet and gas mask under the two thickest bars, but since the trench was narrower at the bottom than at the top, the danger of being buried alive was not too great. It is true that the ceiling collapsed when someone was walking through the trench, but I pulled the blanket over my head and, once again listening to what was going on outside, calmly fell asleep.

Sword over silence

While the armored forces of Army Group South surrounded and captured 600,000 Russians near Kyiv, Group North bombarded Leningrad. {1} . September caught Army Group Center preparing to resume its offensive against Moscow. The main offensive began on 2 October and culminated in the capture of another 600,000 Russians near Vyazma. The road to Moscow now seemed to be open.

Our unit was part of the 9th Army, which covered the left flank of the 4th Panzer Army. The latter advanced seventy kilometers to the northeast, approximately in the direction of the capital, and then suddenly attacked in a northerly direction on Kalinin.

It started to rain in the morning and it was still raining when we started at one o'clock. Light drizzle from low clouds, gray and hazy landscape, like the Westerwald sometimes happens in autumn. We trudged through wet meadows and swampy roads with our two cars. Somewhere we again stumbled upon the battery, and the long column moved forward with difficulty. Cars skidded and slid, bogged down and stuck. The gun carriage fell into the ditch and was still there by the next morning.

When it got dark, we found something like a dugout, which housed a temporary command post. There we crawled, trying to get settled. By the time this was done, our overcoats were hard from wet sand and clay. We found a dugout with a hole as large as the entrance to the rabbitry. I groped my way inside and felt for a niche covered with straw. My hand touched someone's belt. I thought this would be perfect for me. Then he put the equipment in various other niches, and when he came back a little later, there was already light in the dugout.

The light in the narrow window looked cozy against the rain. Inside, I found two signalmen from the 12th battery, who had settled down here the day before. There were three in our own team, and there were only four beds. There was no turning around in this hideout, everyone occupied our wet clothesand equipment. But what did it matter? A roof, a smoky candle, a cigarette, and when there are enough of you, you warm up quickly.

Someone poured water out of their boots, someone prepared to stand guard. Anteman and I lay down side by side to sleep, one head to the west, the other to the east. We couldn't turn around; for this we clung to each other too intricately.

Yesterday we spent the whole day fixing the breakdowns that arose in our equipment and weapons as a result of this last march.

But we did have a quiet evening. We stood in front of our dugout, like a peasant at the gate of his yard, until the rain drove us inside. It's still quiet here in our corner, but the flank, a little further south, comes under some heavy gunfire from time to time. The Russians use long-range guns for this. Putting your hands in your pockets, you survey it all, just as a peasant looks at his potatoes and says in a connoisseur's tone: "It's doing quite well."

There is nothing heroic in all this. This word should not be used in an uncharacteristic sense. We are not heroes. Another question, are we brave? We do what we are told. Maybe there are moments when you hesitate. But still you go and you go "unshakably". It means you don't show it. Is it courage? I wouldn't say so.

It's not more than what you might expect; you just don't have to show fear, or more importantly, don't be possessed by it. After all, there is no situation that a clear, calm mind cannot handle.

The danger is only as great as our imagination allows it to be. And since the thought of danger and its consequences only makes you unsure of yourself, it is essential for self-preservation not to let your imagination take over.

For days on end, and often for weeks, not a single bullet or shell fragment flies so close to us that we hear their whistle. At such a time, we peacefully fry potatoes, and even in the rain (which is just now drumming on our roof), the fire does not go out. But even when the whistle is heard quite close, the distance between the flying bullets and shells and us is still quite large. As I said, you just need to stay calm and be alert.

Father understood this very well. I am always happy when I read his letters, and they warm my heart with the feeling that he understands all this by virtue of his own combat experience.

It's not so bad after all, is it, father?

Of course, we have to confront various types of weapons, but we ourselves have the most diverse weapons. The tank can be clumsy when working against you if you have an anti-tank rifle. But in the worst case scenario, you can always duck for cover and let him pass. And even such a monster is by no means invulnerable to one person - provided that you attack him from behind. This is an act of good will that I would call brave.

In general, the war has not changed. Artillery and infantry still dominate the battlefield. The increasing combat power of the infantry - its automatic weapons, mortars and everything else - is not as bad as it is believed. But we have to admit the most significant fact - in front of youanother person's life. This is war. This is trade. And it's not that hard.

And again, since the weapon is automatic, most soldiers don't realize the full implications of this: you kill people from a distance, and you kill people you don't know and have never seen. A situation in which a soldier is confronted by a soldier, in which you can say to yourself: “This one is mine!” — and open fire, perhaps more common in this campaign than in the previous one. But it doesn't happen very often.

Between eight and nine at night. We are sitting in a dugout. It's so hot that I stripped down to the waist. The flame of our fire is so high and bright that it gives off too much heat. This is our only source of light.

We all sit on the bench, notebooks on our knees, we think fondly of the house - Heinz of his wife who is expecting a child, I - of you, dear parents and friends. We want you to know that everything is really great with us and, speaking in all sincerity, at some moments we are completely happy, because we know that under the circumstances it cannot be better.

All this is done by our hands - the bench, the beds, the hearth; and firewood, which we prepared from the broken roof and brought here to throw into the fire. We brought water, dug up potatoes, chopped onions and hung pots over the fire. There are cigarettes, the field kitchen is making coffee, and the lieutenant has given us this remaining time for a break. We all got together in one friendly company and arranged a small holiday.

Heinz sits by the fire, I listen to music on the radio. He also took off his last clothes. He's sweating like a frying pan, and we grin at each other as we look up from the letter, or stare at the fire, or reach for our mugs. What do we care if it's raining or there are explosions outside if they're firing 150mm or 200mm guns?! We are warm, comfortable, as safe as possible; and hardly anyone will get us out of here. All is calm on the Eastern Front. Operations are going according to plan. Let them go, old man, we will not follow them, at least not today ...

When I got up in the morning, there was frost everywhere. I found a thick piece of ice in the water bags. Winter is not far off.

Last day of September. The mood is sad. It becomes even more painful with the sounds of playing a stringed instrument. Dancing tongues of bright flames. We hung our headphones anywhere - on protruding roots, rifle sights. Violins sound everywhere.

Chimneys smoke in all dugouts. This is just a whole village, filling a small valley with smoke. An oblique cut is made on each side of the dugout. You enter it at ground level, and between the two rows of dugouts there is a distance the width of a narrow street. You can put one transport unit there, and, as a rule, this is our forage van - a horse and a cart. When he arrives, everyone crawls out of their slots, the "village" starts to move. During the day, it’s not always calm, because the guys are chopping wood and carrying water or returning from trips to the potato field for provisions. There is no silence and in the evenings, when they arrange smoke breaks and conversations, or spread the latest news from dugout to dugout, or crowd around the one who came with the latest news.

Whatever the news, we fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Someone saw tanks, yellow, intended for action in Africa. Now they have returned here. Someone else saw assault guns. And one of the gasmen came by mistake. All types of special weapons - in large numbers - guns of all calibers; they are all concentrated in this sector. It accumulates with harsh inevitability, like thunderclouds. It is a sword over silence, a breath to strike that could be more powerful than any we have seen so far.

We don't know when it will be applied. We only feel that the veil over the silence is getting thinner, the atmosphere is heating up, the hour is approaching when only a word is needed to spew hell, when all this concentrated force will burst forward, when the fire shaft will again appear in front of us - and again I will have to follow behind machine guns. In any case, this is where we will have to “break the nut”, and it will be a real “nut”.

22.00. News on every wave. I turned off the radio to look at the fire for a moment, watching the ever mesmerizing play of the flames. Two of my comrades fell asleep to the music. It's very quiet, only the fire is lingering, and I took a coal to light one of my Gallic cigarettes, delivered from Paris today. The guys asked me for one. “Finally a cigarette that has tobacco in it,” one of them remarked. And another said: "They remind of France."

France... How long ago it was and how beautiful. How different are these two countries, these two wars! And between them lies an intermediate country to which we hope one day to return. Is it enough for me? No. Which have not be avoided. We need to lay down with all our energy.

Maybe then we'll have a few weeks off. We don't need the kind of rest we have now. It's all right as long as you're just a soldier used to minimal necessities like food and sleep. But there is another part of us, those who wake up at night and make us helpless - all of us, not just me.

6.00. I jump out of the dugout. There are tanks! The giants slowly crawl towards the enemy. And planes. One squadron after another, dropping bombs along the way. Army Group "Center" launched an offensive.

6.10. The first volley of rocket launchers. Damn, this is worth a look; rockets leave behind a black tail, a dirty cloud that slowly fades away. Second salvo! Black-and-red fire, then the projectile erupts from a cone of smoke. It is clearly visible as soon as the rocket burns out: this projectile flies just like an arrow in the morning air. Neither of us had seen him before. Reconnaissance aircraft return, flying low over the positions. Fighters circle overhead.

6.45. Machine gun fire ahead. It was the turn of the infantry.

8.20. The tanks crawl past, very close to the artillery positions. It's probably been a hundred, but they keep coming and going.

Where fifteen minutes ago there was a field, now there is a road. Five hundred meters to our right, assault guns and motorized infantry are moving non-stop. The divisions that were located behind our lines are now moving through us. The second battery of light guns changes position and crosses the path of the tanks. Tanks stop, then continue moving. At first glance - chaos, but they operate with an accuracy of up to a minute, like a clockwork. Today they are going to hack the Dnieper border, tomorrow it will be Moscow. Armored reconnaissance vehicles adjoin the columns. The Russians now only occasionally open fire. The same picture to our left: arrows on motorcycles and tanks. There is an assault. It is much more powerful than the one that was during the assault on the border defensive lines. It will be some time before we see a similar picture again.

9.05. The main forces passed; traffic is still going on only to our right. Several shells hit the skyscraper ahead. Some big guy is heading towards us vigorously, spending a lot of time getting down like all of them. I yell at one of our drivers, but he just opened his mouth stupidly in amazement. A moment later, there is an explosion behind him. He doesn't know what happened and makes such a face that we can't help laughing.

9.45. Now I think we've seen how the last ones went. Becomes calmer. 1200 tanks passed, not counting the assault guns, along a two-kilometer front. Any war movie pales in comparison to this one. “This is truly a spectacle!” the guys said.

Soon, from the advanced observation post of the tenth battery, they reported that the second line of defensive structures had been broken through. We haven't been fired on here for twenty minutes now. We were fired upon for the last time... We stand, basking in the bright rays of the morning sun. The radio connection works great. The most suitable weather for the offensive.

10.00. Our first task is done. I lie out of the wind on empty ammo crates, waiting for a new vantage point to be chosen so we can change positions. Everyone gathered in one company to chat and smoke. Medical Sergeant Lerch returns from the front line; A signalman from our forward observation post received a gunshot wound to the thigh. Lerkh tells us that it is full of mines, our sappers are pulling them out by the hundreds. Deep trenches and barbed wire. There are few prisoners.

12.30. First change of position. So, here it is the line of defense, which we fired at with intense fire. Terribly mangled trench system, a strip of pitted earth, a funnel on a funnel. There are white tapes with warnings about mines - and these warnings are serious, as can be seen from the piles of mines prepared for installation. The columns move forward through the mushroom-shaped explosions of shells that burst from time to time suddenly from Russian long-range guns. Or maybe these mushroom explosions are from the mines that undermine ours: it is difficult to distinguish these two types of explosions from each other. Bombers fly over the troops on the march in combat formation; then nimble silver fighters - forward to the East!

16.00. Again the old story: the change of position turned into a march. I am writing about this while relaxing on the side of the road, munching on a piece of bread. On the horizon, the same familiar smoke. And again, as before, we don't know where or when the march will stop. But whatever it is, it doesn't matter. On foot or on horseback, we move with frequent stops - forward to the east!

We walked like this until it got dark and the yellow moon rose over the hills. We spent a rather cold night in the barn. With the first rays of the sun we set off again. Puddles gleamed with ice; steam rose from men and horses, white and glittering in the rising sun. Amazing shades! Tracers lit up the lone bomber like brass balls, and the turquoise sky turned red on the horizon.

In the meantime, we were informed that we were going into battle. We had to move to a new position behind the hill. The bombers diving over the positions fell sharply and went up. Wounded prisoners were brought in, the tanks crawled forward, and the battalion went into battle. The artillery communications unit was responsible for fire support. The roar of artillery rumbles in my ears, and my headset microphone has pinched the stubble of my beard. I am writing this sitting in a hollow. Hit! To the shelter! Our antenna attracted the fire of some tanks. Just when I was just about to lower the equipment lower, a signal came from the fire control center: “Target number one has been taken. The battalion is detained by enemy tanks, and the infantry is holding the edge of the forest. Mortars to battle!

We opened fire. The targets were in full view - infantry, anti-tank guns and a gun tractor. Some of our tanks got stuck too. Squadrons of dive bombers appeared and rushed to the attack. The assault resumed. Anti-aircraft gunners and tankers met at our checkpoint. Anti-aircraft artillery was about to move out and join in firing at enemy tanks.

We returned hungry and cold, and were placed in a flax soaking shed among wonderful silver-gray bales. I spread several sheaves of flax on the floor and fell on them without removing my weapon. Slept like a god.

...Days passed and nothing happened. I got myself and my underwear in order again. I wrote and read a little. What a pleasure to have a good book handy. I have read Eichendorff's Idlener, Stifter's story, and a few passages from Schiller and Goethe.

This is another of the bridges built by the war between my father's generation and mine - one of the very small ones. The greatest are the trials experienced during the war itself. How much better we understand each other now, father. The abyss that sometimes separated us during the years of my growing up disappeared. This is a meeting of like-minded people, and it makes me very happy. You spoke about this in one of your letters, and I can only agree with what you say. Nothing binds us more closely than the fact that we have endured hardships, hardships and dangers, and in fact we have been literally in the same places - in Avgustov, Lida and on the Berezina. I have passed through the places of your battles. Now I understand what you were telling me, because I experienced the same thing and I know what four years in Russia must be like. Life experience is the best teacher.

There was a time when people of my generation and I said yes, thinking we understood. We heard and read about the war and got excited, just as the younger generation is getting excited today. excited when following the news. But now we know that the war is completely different from any description, however good it may be, and that the most essential things cannot be told to someone who does not know it himself. Between us, father, we only need to touch one string to get the whole consonance, apply only one stroke of one paint to get the whole picture. Our communication consists only of replicas; communication between friends. So that's what we've become - comrades.

Way to Kalinin

It is good to walk on the frozen roads of this country with hills topped with villages. But fifty-five kilometers is a lot. We spent time on them from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon of the next day. And then they did not find free rooms for standing. Several houses in the place of our rest have been allocated for a long time. But the boys squeezed into the crowded rooms, determined to stay warm even if they had to stand. I myself climbed into the stable and managed to sleep until seven. At eight we were on the road again.

Walking this winter-cold morning was a pleasure. Clean, spacious country with big houses. People look at us with awe. There is milk, eggs and lots of hay. Strings of geese strut across the withered grass. We are their ruin, because our diet is not improving and the bakery has long lost contact with us. This morning we followed the wagons, peeling potatoes and plucking chickens and geese. Field kitchencooks chicken with rice for dinner tonight, and now, for complete happiness, we caught geese and dug up potatoes to cook on our stove. The accommodations are amazingly clean, quite comparable to German peasant houses. At dinner I took a plate and a spoon and ate without the slightest hesitation. In the future, a glance was enough - and the family washed our dishes. Everywhere - images of the faces of saints. The people are friendly and open. For us, this is amazing.

On the 13th we were only going to walk nine kilometers. Morning walk through small wooded valleys, places rather like the Spessart(2) in winter. But the pleasure of returning to their temporary homes was short-lived. We had barely unsaddled our horses when the order came to move on. It was a long, painful march over frozen and slippery roads. It went on for almost the whole night. Then we lost our way; stood weary and cold in the wind until the fires were kindled and crowded around them. By five o'clock the lieutenant went to look in the neighboring village for quarters so that we could rest for a few hours.

Winter did not stop at its entry. Some of the horses still had summer shoes, so they kept slipping and falling. Even Thea, the last horse in the original team of our radio wagon, became stubborn. After many troubles and whims, I somehow managed to get her into the stall of the local stables. The 10th battery got stuck in a swamp and eventually turned back. Things seem to be goingnot so brilliant. I don't really like the way the 11th battery looks either.

For us, this means a day of rest. We gathered at a small bakery. Nine of us can barely move our legs. My boots were still so wet in the morning that I could only get into them with my bare feet. The house where we are staying is full of lice. Our little crown was so reckless that he slept last night on the stove; now he also picked them up - and how many! The socks that were put there to dry were white with lice eggs. We also picked up fleas - absolutely outstanding specimens.

The Russian old man in greasy clothes, to whom we showed these representatives of the fauna, smiled broadly with a toothless mouth and scratched his head with an expression of sympathy: “I have too -“ nix gut ”, it’s not good!” Now I am still awake for some time when others are already sleeping, even if I am not on duty. I can't sleep that much and sometimes I need to be alone with myself.

The ghostly pale light from the electric bulb falls on the dark stains on the floor, on the equipment, clothes and weapons that fill the room. When you look at them in this way, they are a pitiful sight, gray on gray, oppressive, like a heavy dream. What a country, what a war, where there is no joy in success, no pride, no satisfaction; just a feeling of restrained rage all the time...

It sleets. We march now along the road to Moscow, then in the direction of Kalinin. There is no need to mention all the houses where we stopped for a stay, tired and wet. Although the general impression has changed. More densely populated places began to come across. The situation in the villages is more like the city, withbrick two-story houses and small factories. Most of them have a nondescript rustic look. And only houses built before the First World War please the eye with their intricate wooden ornaments on the windows, the wooden ligature of the roof ridge. With all these flashy colors: bright green and pink, blue-blue and scarlet. Curtains and flowers in pots are quite common on the windows. I have seen houses furnished with great taste, gleamingly clean, with scoured floors, handmade carpets, white Dutch stoves with copper utensils, clean beds, and people dressed modestly but neatly. Not all houses were like this one, but many were.

The people are generally responsive and friendly. They smile at us. The mother told her little child to wave to us from the window. People look out of every window as soon as we pass by. The windows are often made of greenish glass, which is a tribute to the gothic colors - Goya's twilight. In the twilight of those dull winter days, green or red hues can have a striking effect.

We have been in Kalinin since last night. It was a difficult transition, but we made it. We are the first infantry division here and arrived ahead of two light brigade groups. We marched up the road leading to this bridgehead like a long arm, without much cover on either flank. The foothold must be retained for strategic and propaganda reasons. The road bears the imprint of the war: broken and abandoned equipment, destroyed and burned houses, huge bomb craters, the remains of unfortunate people and animals.

The city is the size of Frankfurt, not counting the outskirts. It's a chaotic jumble, with no plan or distinguishing features. It has trams, traffic lights, modern neighborhoods, buildings of hospitals and government agencies - all mixed up with miserable wooden shacks and huts. The new houses were located on a sandy wasteland, without any fence except for a wooden fence. Behind them rose the factory buildings in all their ugliness, with warehouses and railway sidings. However, we drove for an hour on asphalt roads, reading fancy names like "Culinary" over restaurants along the way. We watched as the remaining population looted in a hurry.

The Russians are still fortified on the outskirts; two days ago their tanks were still refueling in the city. They have a sneaky joke of running around the streets and just hitting our cars. Because of this, we had unfortunate losses. When we entered the city, we were faced with the fact that they set up their guns on the main road and made us have a great run. It was the perfect circus. Still, this afternoon, eight of the sixteen planes that bombed the overcrowded airfield were shot down. They flew low and crashed, flaring like matches. Since we have released the tanks, now they will soon clear the space for us to move.

Strange life on this island in a foreign country. We have come and are ready for anything, no matter how unusual it will be, and nothing will surprise us anymore. For the last quarter of an hour, there has been activity in the sector to our right. The positions of the third battery were out of order. Linearthe patrol stops. Outside, it's bitterly cold.

This is a serious war, serious and sobering. Perhaps it is different from what you imagine it to be; it is not so terrible - because for us there is not so much terrible left in things that are considered terrible. Sometimes we say, "Let's hope this ends soon." But we cannot be sure that it will end tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. And we shrug our shoulders and do our thing.

The Russians attacked all night. Today is calmer. The trees are shrouded in a wet mist, and the crows are brushing off their feathers. The Russians are reported to be planning a major offensive. The calm before the storm. I was downstairs at headquarters all day yesterday, fixing my shoes. By evening he returned to his position with Franz Wolf. We walked with our hands in our pockets, our collars open and our pipes in our mouths. While we were trudging along like this, our waist belts and all metal were covered with ice, and our collars and caps became hard from frost.

It must have been about half past three when the Russians carpet-bombed our positions with their damned guns. This "carpet" covered the hill in front of us with a series of furiously flashing sheaves of fire running from the rightto the left with intervals between beats of one second. A series of terrible explosions. The sky turned red and Franz said, "Damn, it was our village again."

Since I had nothing left to do, I took the opportunity to visit the radio office at observation post number 3. This meant going into the fire. When we came to the top of the hill, we began to wonder: is the small house engulfed in fire or not? We looked around at the top and Franz said, "Here they can always shoot you left and right."

We didn't have to wait long for machine-gun fire, and after a few quick crawls we turned to the right. In the meantime, it became clear that it was not a small house that was damaged, but a neighboring barn. “There was Zinka the cow. I'll have to tell him about it."

Zinc lay on the carpet in front of the radio equipment, an exotic sight in the dim light of an oil lamp. He really had something to tell us. The barn caught fire after the firstthe same volley at half past one. Zinc milked the cow. “The explosion threw me into the hay. After a while I got up. I looked at the cow, and the cow looked at me. Then a fire started, I untie the cow and take her to a safe place. After that, I did not get out all day. Once is enough!”

In the evenings we talked about serious things; about their situation, shared their impressions of the experience; about the change of character, about our work before the war and about what we will do afterwards; about what will happen to us, to Russia and Germany. Then there were jokes, because the guys from the motorized infantry called us the "hungry division" - we are always in a quandary, without a supply echelon, like "stray children" ... We don't get new army boots or shirts when the old ones wear out: we wear Russian trousers and Russian shirts, and when our shoes become unusable, we wear Russian shoes and footcloths, or even make earmuffs out of these footcloths from the frost.

But we have our rifles and the maximum minimum of ammunition. "No, just look who's here!" - say the guys from the motorized infantry. But we have an answer. “Our general has nerves of steel,” we say. Like it or not, this country feeds us.

It has been snowing since five o'clock in the morning. The wind blows small dry snowflakes into all the cracks. The infantrymen protect themselves from the cold with all they can - fur gloves, woolen caps, earmuffs made of Russian footcloths and cotton trousers. We occasionally stick our nose out and run back to the stove. Poor soldiers from rifle companies, sitting in dugouts and trenches. They do not have a suitable position for fighting.We have not prepared them for this, and we have not dug suitable dugouts, although we have been stuck here for some time. We did not intend to linger, we need to move forward.

The snow falls profusely and quietly; now it doesn't blow as much. It absorbs sounds and blinds. Separate shots, heard from the unreal gray haze, sound muffled. You don't even know why they shoot. Abandoned horses - stallions and old geldings - trot through the snow, their heads hanging down, emerging from the darkness and disappearing alone.

As we walked across the night-shrouded plain, the wind blew the snow crystals around our necks, and we barely spoke. Once Franz said: "This is a country forgotten by God." Then at the crossroads we said goodbye. When they shook hands, they lingered for a moment ... and the stooped figure of Franz quickly disappeared into the darkness.

There are times when a picture is imprinted in your mind. It was such a moment. As I took one last look at the friend I had parted with, I felt detached from the event in which I had taken part. We never know where we are going, even if we most often laugh at such thoughts.

I have my overcoat again. We have lost Anteman. One less good friend. The overcoat is old, survived two campaigns. With a greasy collar and out-of-shape pockets. Just right for Russia, for someone who wants to stick their hands deep into their pockets while smoking a pipe in their mouth. A very suitable position for someone who wants to create a kind of vacuum around himself, because each ofus became almost indifferent to everything. I personally feel great in this state. I take pleasure in hardening myself against all these adversities, mobilizing my strength and sobriety of mind against this dog life, so that in the end I may be able to benefit from it.

We are now twenty-eight men in this room, plus four women and a child. The hosts sometimes sleep in the kitchen next door, sometimes here on the stove. My own bed is by the door, in the aisle. Since we have a battery radio, people come to visit us even in the evening. This creates a whole problem with the passage; hard to turn around. When most people go to bed, I sit down to write, and sometimes we play a game of chess while others take off their shirts in a nightly lice hunt. That's when the infantry strikes up a conversation, real infantry soldiers, like machine gunners or guys from a rifle company.

It is difficult to describe this kind of evening conversation. So much in the very atmosphere of this conversation; in the way people sit with their elbows on their knees or lean back with their arms bent. Of course, sometimes we experience depression, but this is not worth talking about, because the best in us comes out in humor. For example, we take out a map and say: "Now, as soon as we get to Kazan..." or "Does anyone know where Asia is?"

Today someone said, "We'll be home for Christmas..." "He didn't say what year," another smirked. “Imagine, you get home and the first thing you find out is that you are taken to the militia ... You get up at five in the morning on Sunday, and someone is standing there and shouting: “Machine gunfire on the left! or “Two hundred meters beyond the village, Russian infantry! Your actions?"

“You tell them that you are going to the village to catch a couple of chickens for roasting,” says Franz. - What else?"

And Zink adds: "If anyone wants to talk to me, I'll ask him if he's been to Russia."

Despite the fact that Kalinin was taken, the offensive on the main direction to Moscow was stopped, "stuck" in the mud and forests, about two hundred kilometers from the capital. Following a new attempt to reach Moscow on December 2, as a result of which German troops actually reached the suburbs {3} , the Russians launched their first major counteroffensive. Within a few days the 9th and 4th Panzer Armies were thrown back far and Kalinin had to be abandoned.

Happy New Year to all of you! We walked out of the burning village into the night, and wherever we passed, flames billowed into the sky, followed by black puffs of smoke.

Now all the guys are sleeping. I went outside just to wish my sentries a Happy New Year. “Maybe we'll be home this year,” I said.

On the morning of the first, it was still over forty degrees below zero. We wrapped our boots in rags and kept looking at each other's noses. When the tailbone of the nose turns white, it's time to do something with it. Franz and I rode with the advance party. Franz couldn't get into the stirrup because of the rags wrapped around his boots. He took out his gloves to untiethe wire with which the rags were tied. Two of his fingers were frostbitten. Some of us got frostbite on our feet, some to third-degree frostbite. The Russians are pushing desperately. They are trying to capture the village unharmed at any cost, but we do not leave them a single one.

On January 9, we went on horseback to look for accommodation for the fighters of our supply echelon. It was already dark. The narrow road track was distinguishable only thanks to deadwood trampled into the snow. We trotted about four kilometers. Every now and then the horses sank belly-deep into the snow, jumping out and making their way forward with difficulty. It was like a camel race; we swayed and balanced, trying to tear our body away from the withers, then from the croup of the horse, helping it move forward to the best of its ability. It was a strange cavalcade: three scarecrows among bushes and hills. Behind, the sky turned red again. From time to time gun and rifle fire was heard; and it was very quiet.

An icy wind blew. Since last night, he has been sweeping the snow in stripes outside the city and tearing it to shreds. The bridge was covered with snow, snow dunes covered all the trails, and deep snowdrifts blew on the roads. Now we are waiting for ours. They should approach, having overcome thirty kilometers of a way. Can they do it?

20.00. Now they can't do it anymore. It's been dark for several hours now. We had dinner at half past four. They looked at the clock and shook their heads: it was still so early, and the night had already fallen some time ago. There is solid snow in the air, ice crystals are like soft needles that the wind blowsinto all the cracks. The light on the other side of the village street is dim, and if you venture outside, the wind will blow your clothes. It's better to sit by the fire.

Thank God for potatoes. We were not ready for a long stay in these places, and what would become of us without her? How could the entire army survive the Russian winter without this humble vegetable? In the evening, as always, we peeled the potatoes, mashed them reverently, and salted them with coarse Russian salt.

It's morning now. We finished breakfast, and again it was potatoes, thanks to which we felt the satisfaction of eating. In this house we were offered potatoes, tea and a loaf of bread, kneaded from rye and barley flour with the addition of onions. There must have been a few brown cockroaches in it; at least I cut one of them without saying a word. The saint in the corner looks meekly out of his golden frame, as if to say that the impassive spirit pays no attention to such trifles. What good is it to notice them? This can only prevent me from enjoying the splendor of creation, which has reappeared this morning in all its glory.

The first ray of the sun was a line of green and red fire going up into the sky. Then a strange light appeared in the northeast: the center of it looked like molten metal and was framed by two arcs of such a dazzling radiance that it was painful for the eyes to look. Everything around was plunged into a magical golden-white haze, the trees and shrubs were covered with a radiant glow, and in the distance the tops of the roofs and the tops of the hills shone with a white light against the soft gray horizon. At dawn, the sounds spilled strangelybewitching and elusive, as if all this was a magical game of a fairy tale.

We galloped back in the bright light of the sun; the last time I rode with Franz Wolff and my old comrades. I was transferred to the battery. The signalman is dead: long live the gunner!

Ivans woke up. We pushed them extremely hard, now they repelled the blow and went on the offensive.

Last night we spooked three reconnaissance groups in the battalion's sector. The latter consisted of twenty people. Only one of them fell behind the wire on our side. As for the rest, in the morning there were many small mounds left on the strip, marked over the bodies of those killed along the neutral strip. One of them was still smoldering. He must have had a Molotov cocktail and one of our tracer bullets hit it.

During the night the Russians came with a flamethrower. Ivan now uses quite a lot of strong explosive materials. In the cold, the roar of explosions is extremely loud. The fragments emit a piercing, sharp whistle, but the effect is not very great. We are too well protected. The shells of our heavy mortars inflict much more damage on Ivan. They bounce off the ground and explode in the air. Thus, a much greater lethal force is achieved from the effect of the ricochet of an artillery shell, against which not a single trench will protect. When our "Things" drop their cargo, the earth trembles for a kilometer around.

A trench mortar is installed in one of the mouths, with the help of which it is assumedto throw Ivan's trenches with disk mines from a distance of thirty to forty meters. The design of the mortar resembles the catapult of the Romans. She is very primitive. Such weapons are a product of trench warfare. When the front starts moving again, these things are quickly forgotten. But this game of "Roman toys" speaks volumes about the unit's morale.

The day before yesterday I fired a gun for the first time. Ten shots. It was an amazing feeling. You forget about everything - about the danger, about the cold. This is a duel. In fact we were not in danger; everything went like a training ground. Our first shell hit near a dugout with soldiers, which we had been watching all day. We fired at two other dugouts. At the third, a fountain of earth shot up, as if a mine had exploded. This was our farewell shot. After that we withdrew to S., where we had lodged some time before. From here we must withdraw to previously prepared positions.

Yesterday I went to visit the old brethren. Franz was finally awarded the Iron Cross First Class. The service record says: "For chasing an enemy tank from point C. to the next village and trying to knock it out with an anti-tank rifle." We laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks. For this, among all other merits! While he had already received a severe reprimand!

Still, I was glad. I got there just as the squad was setting up. “We miss you,” Franz said later.

We're a little shy about sentimentality, but there's something to it. "Old brethren"... this is the whole world. Isn't that right, father?

German soldiers about Russians.

From Robert Kershaw's 1941 Through the Eyes of the Germans:

“During the attack, we stumbled upon a light Russian T-26 tank, we immediately clicked it right from the 37-graph paper. When we began to approach, a Russian leaned out of the hatch of the tower to the waist and opened fire on us with a pistol. It soon became clear that he was without legs, they were torn off when the tank was hit. And despite this, he fired at us with a pistol! / Artilleryman of an anti-tank gun /

“We almost did not take prisoners, because the Russians always fought to the last soldier. They didn't give up. Their hardening cannot be compared with ours ... ” / Tanker of the Army Group Center /

After a successful breakthrough of the border defenses, the 3rd Battalion of the 18th Infantry Regiment of the Army Group "Center", numbering 800 people, was fired upon by a unit of 5 soldiers. “I did not expect anything like this,” the battalion commander, Major Neuhof, admitted to his battalion doctor. “It’s pure suicide to attack the forces of the battalion with five fighters.”

“On the Eastern Front, I met people who can be called a special race. Already the first attack turned into a battle not for life, but for death. / Tanker of the 12th Panzer Division Hans Becker /

“You just won’t believe this until you see it with your own eyes. The soldiers of the Red Army, even burning alive, continued to shoot from the blazing houses. /Officer of the 7th Panzer Division/

“The quality level of Soviet pilots is much higher than expected ... Fierce resistance, its massive nature does not correspond to our initial assumptions” / Major General Hoffmann von Waldau /

“I have never seen anyone angrier than these Russians. Real chain dogs! You never know what to expect from them. And where do they get tanks and everything else?!” / One of the soldiers of Army Group Center /

“The behavior of the Russians, even in the first battle, was strikingly different from the behavior of the Poles and allies who were defeated on the Western Front. Even being in the encirclement, the Russians staunchly defended themselves. /General Günther Blumentritt, Chief of Staff of the 4th Army/

71 years ago, Nazi Germany attacked the USSR. What was our soldier like in the eyes of the enemy - German soldiers? What did the beginning of the war look like from other people's trenches? Very eloquent answers to these questions can be found in a book whose author can hardly be accused of distorting the facts. This is “1941 through the eyes of the Germans. Birch Crosses Instead of Iron Crosses” by the English historian Robert Kershaw, which was recently published in Russia. The book almost entirely consists of the memoirs of German soldiers and officers, their letters home and entries in personal diaries.

Non-commissioned officer Helmut Kolakowski recalls: “Late in the evening, our platoon was gathered in the sheds and announced: “Tomorrow we have to enter the battle with world Bolshevism.” Personally, I was simply amazed, it was like a bolt from the blue, but what about the non-aggression pact between Germany and Russia? I kept thinking of that issue of Deutsche Wochenschau that I saw at home and in which the contract was announced. I could not even imagine how we would go to war against the Soviet Union.” The Fuhrer's order caused surprise and bewilderment among the rank and file. “We can say that we were taken aback by what we heard,” admitted Lothar Fromm, a spotter officer. “We were all, I emphasize this, were amazed and in no way prepared for this.” But bewilderment was immediately replaced by relief from the incomprehensible and tedious waiting on the eastern borders of Germany. Experienced soldiers, who had already captured almost all of Europe, began to discuss when the campaign against the USSR would end. The words of Benno Zeiser, who was then studying to be a military driver, reflect the general mood: “All this will end in some three weeks, we were told, others were more careful in their forecasts - they believed that in 2-3 months. There was one who thought that it would last a whole year, but we laughed at him: “And how long did it take to get rid of the Poles? And with France? Have you forgotten?

But not everyone was so optimistic. Erich Mende, Oberleutnant of the 8th Silesian Infantry Division, recalls a conversation he had with his superior during those last moments of peace. “My commander was twice my age, and he had already had to fight the Russians near Narva in 1917, when he was in the rank of lieutenant. “Here, in these vast expanses, we will find our death, like Napoleon,” he did not hide his pessimism ... Mende, remember this hour, it marks the end of the former Germany.

At 3 hours 15 minutes, the advanced German units crossed the border of the USSR. Johann Danzer, an anti-tank gunner, recalls: “On the very first day, as soon as we went on the attack, one of ours shot himself with his own weapon. Clutching the rifle between his knees, he inserted the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. Thus ended the war and all the horrors associated with it.

The capture of the Brest Fortress was entrusted to the 45th Infantry Division of the Wehrmacht, numbering 17,000 personnel. The garrison of the fortress is about 8 thousand. In the first hours of the battle, reports were pouring in about the successful advance of the German troops and reports of the capture of bridges and fortress structures. At 4 hours 42 minutes "50 people were taken prisoners, all in the same underwear, the war found them in cots." But by 10:50 the tone of the combat documents had changed: "The battle for the capture of the fortress was fierce - numerous losses." 2 battalion commanders have already died, 1 company commander, the commander of one of the regiments was seriously injured.

“Soon, somewhere between 5.30 and 7.30 in the morning, it became completely clear that the Russians were fighting desperately in the rear of our forward units. Their infantry, with the support of 35-40 tanks and armored vehicles, found themselves on the territory of the fortress, formed several centers of defense. Enemy snipers fired accurately from behind trees, from roofs and basements, which caused heavy losses among officers and junior commanders.

“Where the Russians managed to be knocked out or smoked out, new forces soon appeared. They crawled out of basements, houses, from sewer pipes and other temporary shelters, conducted aimed fire, and our losses continuously grew.
The summary of the High Command of the Wehrmacht (OKW) for June 22 reported: "It seems that the enemy, after the initial confusion, is beginning to offer more and more stubborn resistance." OKW Chief of Staff Halder agrees with this: “After the initial “tetanus” caused by the suddenness of the attack, the enemy moved on to active operations.”

For the soldiers of the 45th division of the Wehrmacht, the beginning of the war turned out to be completely bleak: 21 officers and 290 non-commissioned officers (sergeants), not counting the soldiers, died on its very first day. During the first day of fighting in Russia, the division lost almost as many soldiers and officers as during the entire six weeks of the French campaign.

The most successful actions of the Wehrmacht troops were the operation to encircle and defeat the Soviet divisions in the "cauldrons" of 1941. In the largest of them - Kiev, Minsk, Vyazemsky - Soviet troops lost hundreds of thousands of soldiers and officers. But what price did the Wehrmacht pay for this?

General Günther Blumentritt, Chief of Staff of the 4th Army: “The behavior of the Russians, even in the first battle, was strikingly different from the behavior of the Poles and allies who were defeated on the Western Front. Even being in the encirclement, the Russians staunchly defended themselves.

The author of the book writes: “The experience of the Polish and Western campaigns suggested that the success of the blitzkrieg strategy lies in gaining advantages by more skillful maneuvering. Even if we leave out the resources, the morale and the will to resist the enemy will inevitably be broken under the pressure of huge and senseless losses. From this logically follows the mass surrender of the demoralized soldiers who were surrounded. In Russia, these "primary" truths were turned upside down by the desperate resistance of Russians, sometimes reaching fanaticism, in seemingly hopeless situations. That is why half of the offensive potential of the Germans was spent not on advancing towards the goal, but on consolidating the successes that had already been achieved.

The commander of Army Group Center, Field Marshal Fedor von Bock, during the operation to destroy Soviet troops in the Smolensk "cauldron" wrote about their attempts to break out of the encirclement: "A very significant success for the enemy who received such a crushing blow!". The encirclement was not continuous. Two days later, von Bock lamented: "Until now, it has not been possible to close the gap in the eastern section of the Smolensk pocket." That night, about 5 Soviet divisions managed to get out of the encirclement. Three more divisions broke through the next day.

The level of German losses is evidenced by the message of the headquarters of the 7th Panzer Division that only 118 tanks remained in service. 166 vehicles were hit (although 96 were repairable). The 2nd company of the 1st battalion of the "Grossdeutschland" regiment in just 5 days of fighting to hold the line of the Smolensk "cauldron" lost 40 people with a regular company size of 176 soldiers and officers.

Gradually, the perception of the war with the Soviet Union among ordinary German soldiers also changed. The unbridled optimism of the first days of the fighting was replaced by the realization that "something is going wrong." Then came indifference and apathy. The opinion of one of the German officers: “These vast distances frighten and demoralize the soldiers. Plains, plains, there is no end to them and never will be. That's what drives me crazy."

The troops were also constantly worried by the actions of the partisans, whose number grew as the “boilers” were destroyed. If at first their number and activity were negligible, then after the end of the fighting in the Kiev “cauldron”, the number of partisans in the sector of the Army Group “South” increased significantly. In the sector of Army Group Center, they took control of 45% of the territories occupied by the Germans.

The campaign, which dragged on for a long time to destroy the encircled Soviet troops, caused more and more associations with Napoleon's army and fears of the Russian winter. One of the soldiers of the Army Group "Center" on August 20 complained: "The losses are terrible, not to be compared with those that were in France." His company, starting from July 23, participated in the battles for the "tank highway No. 1". “Today the road is ours, tomorrow the Russians take it, then we again, and so on.” Victory no longer seemed so close. On the contrary, the enemy's desperate resistance undermined the morale and inspired by no means optimistic thoughts. “I have never seen anyone angrier than these Russians. Real chain dogs! You never know what to expect from them. And where do they get tanks and everything else?!”

During the first months of the campaign, the combat effectiveness of the tank units of Army Group Center was seriously undermined. By September 1941, 30% of the tanks were destroyed, and 23% of the vehicles were under repair. Almost half of all tank divisions intended for participation in the Typhoon operation had only a third of the initial number of combat vehicles. By September 15, 1941, Army Group Center had a total of 1346 combat-ready tanks, while at the beginning of the campaign in Russia this figure was 2609 units.

Personnel losses were no less heavy. By the beginning of the attack on Moscow, the German units had lost about a third of their officers. The total losses in manpower by this point reached about half a million people, which is equivalent to the loss of 30 divisions. If we take into account that only 64% of the total composition of the infantry division, that is, 10840 people, were directly "fighters", and the remaining 36% were in the rear and support services, it becomes clear that the combat effectiveness of the German troops decreased even more.

This is how one of the German soldiers assessed the situation on the Eastern Front: “Russia, only bad news comes from here, and we still don’t know anything about you. And in the meantime, you are absorbing us, dissolving in your inhospitable viscous expanses.

About Russian soldiers

The initial idea of ​​the population of Russia was determined by the German ideology of that time, which considered the Slavs "subhuman". However, the experience of the first battles made its own adjustments to these ideas.
Major General Hoffmann von Waldau, Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe Command, 9 days after the start of the war, wrote in his diary: “The quality level of Soviet pilots is much higher than expected ... Fierce resistance, its mass character does not correspond to our initial assumptions.” This was confirmed by the first air rams. Kershaw cites the words of a Luftwaffe colonel: "Soviet pilots are fatalists, they fight to the end without any hope of victory or even survival." It is worth noting that on the first day of the war with the Soviet Union, the Luftwaffe lost up to 300 aircraft. Never before had the German Air Force suffered such large one-time losses.

In Germany, the radio was shouting that the shells of "German tanks not only set fire to, but also pierced Russian vehicles through and through." But the soldiers told each other about Russian tanks, which could not be penetrated even with point-blank shots - the shells ricocheted off the armor. Lieutenant Helmut Ritgen from the 6th Panzer Division admitted that in a collision with new and unknown Russian tanks: “... the very concept of tank warfare changed radically, the KV vehicles marked a completely different level of armament, armor protection and tank weight. German tanks instantly moved into the category of exclusively anti-personnel weapons ... " Tankman of the 12th Panzer Division Hans Becker: "On the Eastern Front, I met people who can be called a special race. Already the first attack turned into a battle not for life, but for death.

An anti-tank gunner recalls the indelible impression on him and his comrades that the desperate resistance of the Russians made in the first hours of the war: “During the attack, we stumbled upon a light Russian T-26 tank, we immediately clicked it right from the 37-graph paper. When we began to approach, a Russian leaned out of the hatch of the tower to the waist and opened fire on us with a pistol. It soon became clear that he was without legs, they were torn off when the tank was hit. And despite this, he fired at us with a pistol!

The author of the book “1941 through the eyes of the Germans” cites the words of an officer who served in a tank unit in the sector of Army Group Center, who shared his opinion with war correspondent Curizio Malaparte: “He reasoned like a soldier, avoiding epithets and metaphors, limiting himself only to argumentation, directly related to the issues under discussion. “We almost did not take prisoners, because the Russians always fought to the last soldier. They didn't give up. Their hardening cannot be compared with ours ... "

The following episodes also made a depressing impression on the advancing troops: after a successful breakthrough of the border defense, the 3rd battalion of the 18th infantry regiment of the Army Group Center, numbering 800 people, was fired upon by a unit of 5 soldiers. “I did not expect anything like this,” Major Neuhof, the battalion commander, confessed to his battalion doctor. “It’s pure suicide to attack the forces of the battalion with five fighters.”

In mid-November 1941, an infantry officer of the 7th Panzer Division, when his unit broke into Russian-defended positions in a village near the Lama River, described the resistance of the Red Army. “You just won’t believe this until you see it with your own eyes. The soldiers of the Red Army, even burning alive, continued to shoot from the blazing houses.

Winter 41st

In the German troops, the saying "Better three French campaigns than one Russian" quickly came into use. “Here we lacked comfortable French beds and were struck by the monotony of the area.” "The prospect of being in Leningrad turned into an endless sitting in numbered trenches."

The high losses of the Wehrmacht, the lack of winter uniforms and the unpreparedness of German equipment for combat operations in the conditions of the Russian winter gradually allowed the Soviet troops to seize the initiative. During the three-week period from November 15 to December 5, 1941, the Russian Air Force made 15,840 sorties, while the Luftwaffe only 3,500, which further demoralized the enemy.

Corporal Fritz Siegel, in his letter home on December 6, wrote: “My God, what are these Russians planning to do with us? It would be nice if they at least listened to us up there, otherwise we will all have to die here"

Source - "Diary of a German soldier", M., Tsentrpoligraf, 2007.

From the memoirs of G. Pabst, I extract only those fragments that I consider important from the point of view of studying the realities of the confrontation between the Red Army and the Wehrmacht and the reaction of the local population to the occupation.
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07/20/41... you can see local residents lined up at our bakery for bread under the guidance of a smiling soldier...

In the villages, a huge number of houses are abandoned ... The remaining peasants carry water for our horses. We take onions and small yellow turnips from their gardens and milk from cans. Most of them willingly share this...

09/22/41 ... Walking this cold winter morning was a pleasure. Clean, spacious country with big houses. People look at us with awe. There is milk, eggs and lots of hay... the accommodations are amazingly clean, quite comparable to German peasant houses... The people are friendly and open. It's amazing for us..

The house where we are staying is full of lice. The socks that were put there to dry were white with lice eggs. The Russian old man in greasy clothes, to whom we showed these representatives of the fauna, smiled broadly with a toothless mouth and scratched his head with an expression of sympathy ...

What a country, what a war, where there is no joy in success, no pride, no satisfaction...

The people are generally responsive and friendly. They smile at us. The mother told the child to wave to us from the window...

We watched as the remaining population looted in a hurry...

I stood alone in the house, lit a match, and bugs began to fall in a stream. By the hearth it was completely black from them: a terrible living carpet ...

11/02/41 ... we do not get new army boots or shirts when the old ones wear out: we wear Russian trousers and Russian shirts, and when our shoes become unusable, we wear Russian shoes and footcloths or even make earmuffs out of these footcloths ...

The offensive on the main direction to Moscow was stopped, "stuck" in the mud and forests about a hundred kilometers from the capital ...

01/01/42 ... in this house we were offered potatoes, tea and a loaf of bread, kneaded from rye and barley flour with the addition of onions. There must have been a few brown cockroaches in it; at least I cut one...

Franz was finally awarded the Iron Cross. The service record says: "For chasing an enemy tank from point C to a neighboring village and trying to knock it out with an anti-tank rifle" ...

03/10/42... for the past few days we have been picking up the corpses of Russians... This was done not for reasons of piety, but for hygiene... the mutilated bodies were thrown into heaps, hardened in the cold in the most unthinkable poses. The end. It's all over for them, they will be burned. But first they will be freed from their own clothes, Russians - old people and children. It's horrible. When observing this process, an aspect of the Russian mentality is visible, which is simply inaccessible to understanding. They smoke and joke; they are smiling. It's hard to believe that someone in Europe can be so insensitive.....

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Of course, where are the Europeans to understand what value trousers and overcoats were for the villagers, even if they had holes ...
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Some of the bodies have no heads, others are chopped up by fragments...only now you begin to gradually realize what these people had to endure and what they were capable of...

The field mail brought me satisfaction with letters and parcels of cigarettes, biscuits, sweets, nuts, and a pair of hand warmers. I was so touched...
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Let's remember this moment!
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Our Russian Vasil gets along well with the battery ... We picked him up with thirteen of his comrades in Kalinin. They remained in a prisoner of war camp, not wanting to be in the Red Army anymore ... Vasil says that in fact he does not want to go to Germany, but wants to stay with the battery ..

Yesterday we already heard how they (Russians - N) sang in their dugouts in P. The gramophone howled, the wind carried fragments of propaganda speeches. Comrade Stalin gave out vodka, long live Comrade Stalin!...

Order is maintained in the dugout thanks to the general good will, friendly tolerance and inexhaustible good humor, and all this brings a glimmer of cheerfulness into the most unpleasant situation ...

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Keep that in mind for later comparison...
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It seems that the Russians cannot, and we do not want to...

How tired I am of these dirty roads! It’s already unbearable to see them anymore - rain, ankle-deep mud, villages that look alike ...

Country of extremes. There is no moderation in anything. Heat and cold, dust and dirt. Everything is wild and unrestrained. Isn't it to be expected that people here are like that too?...

There were many destroyed buildings in the city. The Bolsheviks burned all the houses. Some were destroyed by bombing, but in many cases it was arson ...

08/24/42 ... they have been advancing here now since the beginning of July. It's incredible. They must have terrible casualties... they rarely manage to deploy their infantry even within range of our machine guns... but then they reappear, moving into the open, and rush into the forests, where they come under the flat fire of our artillery and dive bombers. Of course, we also have losses, but they are incomparable with the losses of the enemy ...

Their mother was washing the dugout today. She began to do the dirty work of her own free will; believe it or not...

At the door I saw two women, each carrying a pair of buckets on a wooden yoke. They friendly asked: "Comrade, wash?" They were going to follow me just like that...

And yet they hold on, old men, women and children. They are strong. Timid, exhausted, good-natured, shameless - according to the circumstances ... there is a boy who buried his mother in the garden behind the house, the way animals are buried. He rammed the ground without uttering a word: without tears, without putting up a cross or a stone ... there is a priest's wife, almost blind from tears. her husband was deported to Kazakhstan. She has three sons, who are unknown where now...the world collapsed, and the natural order of things was violated a long time ago...

All around us, the villages blazed in a wide ring - a terrible and beautiful sight, breathtaking in its splendor and at the same time a nightmare. With my own hands I threw the burning logs into the sheds and barns across the road....

The thermometer dropped to forty-five degrees below zero ... we have created an island of peace in the middle of the war, where companionship is easily established and someone's laughter is always heard ...

01/25/43 ...between our own trench and the barbed wire of the enemy, we were able to count five hundred and fifty dead bodies. The number of captured weapons was represented by eight heavy and light machine guns, thirty submachine guns, five flamethrowers, four anti-tank rifles and eighty-five rifles. It was a Russian penal battalion of 1,400 men...

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here, indeed, the theory of one rifle for five is confirmed, as it were. With the only feature that the battalion was penal. "Redempted", that is, with blood ...
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04/24/43 ... I can’t help but recall how often during the first summer of the war we met with sincere hospitality from Russian peasants, how even without asking they put out their modest treats before us ...

I again saw tears on the woman's haggard face, expressing the full severity of her suffering, when I gave her child a candy. I felt the old hand of my grandmother on my hair when she received me, the first terrible soldier, with numerous bows and an old-fashioned kiss on the hand ...

I stood in the middle of the village handing out candy to the children. I already wanted to give another one to one boy, but he refused, saying that he had one, and stepped back, smiling. Two candies, just think, that's too much...

We burn their houses, we steal their last cow from their barn, and we take their last potatoes from their cellars. We take off their felt boots, often shout at them and treat them rudely. However, they always collect their bundles and leave with us, from Kalinin and from all the villages along the road. We assign a special team to take them to the rear Anything, just not to be on the other side! What a split, what a contrast! What must these people have experienced! What should be the mission of restoring order and peace to them, providing them with work and bread!...

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In general, what can be said about these memoirs? As if they were written not by a Nazi occupier, but by some direct warrior-liberator. It is possible that he passed off something he wished for reality. Certainly missed something. Perhaps, in his notes, G. Pabst calmed his conscience. It is also clear that, in addition to such intellectuals as he, there were enough cruel and immoral people in the German army. But it is quite clear that by no means all the Nazis were fascists. Even, perhaps, those were a minority. Recording all the German mobilized by Hitler as destroyers and tormentors could, without hesitation, only Soviet propaganda. She carried out the task - it was necessary to increase hatred for the enemy .. However, G. Pabst does not hide the fact that the Wehrmacht brought destruction to the conquered villages and cities. It is also very important that the author did not have time to fit his notes to any ideology. Since he was killed in 1943, and before that he did not belong to the censored war correspondents at all ...

It should also be noted that for the German, everyone was "Russian", "Ivan", although he met both Ukrainians and Belarusians on his way. Those attitude towards the Germans, and the opposite attitude, was somewhat different.

However, in the next post, we will consider excerpts from the diary of a Russian soldier. And let's compare some important points. At the same time, I affirm that I did not specifically select the diaries, I took them for analysis by random sampling ..