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Our communications, our intelligence were no good, and at the level of officers. The command did not have the opportunity to navigate the frontline situation in order to take the necessary measures in a timely manner and reduce losses to acceptable limits. We, ordinary soldiers, of course, did not know, and could not know the true state of affairs on the fronts, since we simply served as cannon fodder for the Fuhrer and Fatherland.
Inability to sleep, observe basic hygiene standards, lice, disgusting feeding, constant attacks or shelling of the enemy. No, there was no need to talk about the fate of each soldier individually.
The general rule was: "Save yourself as best you can!" The number of dead and wounded constantly grew. During the retreat, special units burned the harvest, and even entire villages. It was terrible to look at what we left behind, strictly following the Hitlerite scorched earth tactics.
September 28 we reached the Dnieper. Thank God, the bridge across the wide river was safe and sound. At night we finally got to the capital of Ukraine Kiev, he was still in our hands. We were placed in the barracks, where we received allowances, canned food, cigarettes and schnapps. Finally a welcome pause.
The next morning we were gathered on the outskirts of the city. Of the 250 people of our battery, only 120 survived, which meant the disbandment of the 332nd regiment.
October 1943
Between Kyiv and Zhytomyr, near the rocky highway, we, all 120 people, stopped to wait. According to rumors, the area was controlled by partisans. But the civilian population was quite friendly towards us soldiers.
October 3 was a harvest festival, we were even allowed to dance with the girls, they played the balalaikas. The Russians treated us to vodka, cookies and poppy seed pies. But, most importantly, we were able to somehow escape from the oppressive burden of everyday life and at least get some sleep.
But a week later it started again. We were thrown into battle somewhere about 20 kilometers north of the Pripyat swamps. Allegedly, partisans settled in the forests there, who attacked the rear of the advancing units of the Wehrmacht and staged sabotage actions in order to interfere with military supplies. We occupied two villages and built a line of defense along the forests. In addition, our task was to keep an eye on the local population.
A week later, my friend Klein and I returned to where we had been camping. Wahmister Schmidt said: "Both of you can go home on vacation." There are no words for how happy we are. It was October 22, 1943. The next day, we received leave certificates from Shpis (our company commander). Some Russian from the locals took us in a cart drawn by two horses to a rocky highway, located 20 kilometers from our village. We gave him cigarettes and then he drove back. On the highway, we got into a truck and got to Zhytomyr on it, and from there we went by train to Kovel, that is, almost to the Polish border. There they appeared at the front distribution point. Sanitized - first of all, it was necessary to expel the lice. And then they began to look forward to leaving home. I felt like I had miraculously escaped hell and was now heading straight for heaven.
Vacation
On October 27, I got home to my native Grosraming, my vacation was until November 19, 1943. From the station to Rodelsbach, I had to stomp several kilometers on foot. On the way, I came across a column of prisoners from a concentration camp returning from work. They looked very dull. Slowing down, I slipped them a few cigarettes. The escort, who was observing this picture, immediately attacked me: “I can arrange for you to walk with them now!” Enraged by his phrase, I replied: “And you will go to Russia for two weeks instead of me!” At that moment, I simply did not understand that I was playing with fire - a conflict with an SS man could turn into serious trouble. But that's where it all ended. My family members were happy that I returned alive and healthy on a visit. My older brother Bert served in the 100th Jaeger Division somewhere in the Stalingrad region. The last letter from him was dated January 1, 1943. After everything I had seen at the front, I strongly doubted that he could be as lucky as I was. But that's exactly what we hoped for. Of course, my parents and sisters were very eager to know how I was being served. But I preferred not to go into details - as they say, they know less, they sleep better. They're worried enough about me as it is. In addition, what I had to go through, simply cannot be described in simple human language. So I tried to keep everything to trifles.
In our rather modest house (we occupied a small stone house that belonged to the forestry) I felt like in paradise - no attack aircraft at low level, no roar of shooting, no flight from the pursuing enemy. The birds are chirping, the stream is babbling.
I am back at home in our serene Rodelsbach valley. How wonderful it would be if time stopped now.
There was more than enough work - harvesting firewood for the winter, for example, and much more. This is where I came in handy. I did not have to meet with my comrades - they were all at war, they also had to think about how to survive. Many of our Grosraming died, and this was evident from the mournful faces on the streets.
The days passed, the end of my stay was slowly approaching. I was powerless to change anything, to end this madness.
Return to the front
On November 19, with a heavy heart, I said goodbye to my family. And then he got on the train and went back to the Eastern Front. On the 21st I was supposed to arrive back at the unit. No later than 24 hours it was necessary to arrive in Kovel at the front distribution point.
On the afternoon train I left Großraming via Vienna, from the North Station, to Łódź. There I had to transfer to a train from Leipzig with returning vacationers. And already on it through Warsaw to arrive in Kovel. In Warsaw, 30 armed accompanying infantrymen boarded our carriage. "On this stage, our trains are often attacked by partisans." And in the middle of the night, explosions were heard on the way to Lublin, then the car shook so that people fell off the benches. The train jerked to a halt once more. A terrible commotion began. We grabbed our weapons and jumped out of the car to see what had happened. And this is what happened - the train ran into a mine planted on the tracks. Several wagons derailed, and even the wheels were torn off. And then they opened fire on us, fragments of window panes rained down with a sound, bullets whistled. Immediately throwing ourselves under the cars, we lay down between the rails. In the dark it was difficult to determine where the shots were coming from. After the excitement subsided, I and several other fighters were sent to reconnaissance - I had to go ahead and find out the situation. It was scary - we were waiting for an ambush. And so we moved along the canvas with weapons at the ready. But everything was quiet. An hour later we returned and learned that several of our comrades had died and some had been wounded. The line was double-tracked, and we had to wait until the next day when a new train was brought in. They got there without incident.
Upon arrival in Kovel, I was told that the remnants of my 332nd regiment were fighting near Cherkassy on the Dnieper, 150 kilometers south of Kiev. I and several of my comrades were assigned to the 86th artillery regiment, which was part of the 112th infantry division.
At the front distribution point, I met my brother-soldier Johann Resch, he, it turns out, was also on vacation, but I thought he was missing. We went to the front together. I had to go through Rovno, Berdichev and Izvekovo to Cherkassy.
Today Johann Resch lives in Randagg, near Waidhofen, on the river Ybbs, this is in Lower Austria. We still do not lose sight of each other and meet regularly, every two years we always visit each other. At Izvekovo station I met Herman Kappeler.
He was the only one of us, residents of Grosraming, whom I happened to meet in Russia. Time was short, we only had time to exchange a few words. Alas, Herman Kappeler did not return from the war either.
December 1943
On December 8, I was in Cherkassy and Korsun, we again participated in the battles. I was assigned a couple of horses, on which I transported a gun, then a radio station in the 86th regiment.
The front in the bend of the Dnieper curved like a horseshoe, and we were on a vast plain surrounded by hills. There was a positional war. We often had to change positions - the Russians in some areas broke through our defenses and fired at fixed targets with might and main. So far, we have managed to discard them. There are almost no people left in the villages. The local population has long since abandoned them. We received an order to open fire on anyone who could be suspected of having links with the partisans. The front, both ours and Russian, seems to have settled down. However, the losses did not stop.
Ever since I ended up on the Eastern Front in Russia, by chance, we have not been separated from Klein, Steger and Gutmair. And fortunately they are still alive. Johann Resch was transferred to a battery of heavy guns. If the opportunity arose, we would definitely meet.
In total, in the bend of the Dnieper near Cherkasy and Korsun, our grouping of 56,000 soldiers fell into the encirclement. Under the command of the 112th Infantry Division (General Lieb, General Trowitz) the remnants of my Silesian 332nd Division were transferred:
- ZZ1st Bavarian motorized infantry regiment;
- 417th Silesian regiment;
- 255th Saxon regiment;
- 168th engineer battalion;
- 167th tank regiment;
- 108th, 72nd; 57th, 323rd infantry divisions; - the remnants of the 389th Infantry Division;
- 389th cover division;
- 14th Panzer Division;
- 5th SS Panzer Division.
We celebrated Christmas in a dugout at minus 18 degrees. There was a calm at the front. We managed to get a Christmas tree and a couple of candles. We bought schnapps, chocolate and cigarettes in our military store.
By the New Year, our Christmas idyll came to an end. The Soviets launched an offensive along the entire front. We continuously fought heavy defensive battles with Soviet tanks, artillery and Katyusha units. The situation became more and more threatening every day.
January 1944
By the beginning of the year, German units were retreating in almost all sectors of the front. And we had to retreat under the onslaught of the Red Army, and as far as possible to the rear. And then one day, literally overnight, the weather changed dramatically. There was an unprecedented thaw - the thermometer was plus 15 degrees. The snow began to melt, turning the ground into an impenetrable swamp.
Then, one afternoon, when we once again had to change positions - the Russians settled in, as expected - we tried to drag the guns to the rear. Having passed some deserted village, we, together with the gun and the horses, ended up in a real bottomless quagmire. The horses were bogged down in the mud. For several hours in a row we tried to save the gun, but in vain. Russian tanks could appear at any moment. Despite our best efforts, the cannon sank deeper and deeper into the liquid mud. This could hardly serve as an excuse for us - we were obliged to deliver the military property entrusted to us to the destination. Evening was approaching. Russian flares flared up in the east. Again there were screams and gunfire. The Russians were two steps away from this village. So we had no choice but to unharness the horses. At least horse traction was saved. We spent most of the night on our feet. At the barn we saw ours, the battery spent the night in this abandoned barn. At about four in the morning, perhaps, we reported our arrival and described what had happened to us. The officer on duty yelled, "Deliver the gun immediately!" Gutmair and Steger tried to object, saying that there was no way to pull out the bogged down cannon. And the Russians are there too. Horses are not fed, not watered, what is the use of them. “There are no impossible things in war!” - this scoundrel snapped and ordered us to immediately go back and deliver the gun. We understood: an order is an order; Here we are, having grabbed our horses, and walked back, fully aware that there is every chance to please the Russians. Before we set off, we did, however, give the horses some oats and water them. With Gutmair and Steger, we had not had poppy dew in our mouths for days. But even this did not worry us, but how we would get out.
The noise of battle became more distinct. A few kilometers later we met a detachment of infantrymen with an officer. The officer asked us where we were going. I reported: "We are ordered to deliver the gun that was left there and there." The officer bulged his eyes: “Are you completely crazy? There have been Russians in that village for a long time, so turn back, this is an order!” That's how we got out.
I felt that a little more, and I would fall down. But most importantly, I was still alive. For two, or even three days without food, without washing for weeks, in lice from head to toe, the uniform stands like a stake from adhering dirt. And retreat, retreat, retreat...
The Cherkasy cauldron gradually narrowed. 50 kilometers west of Korsun, we tried to build a line of defense with the whole division. One night passed quietly, so it was possible to sleep.
And in the morning, leaving the shack where they slept, they immediately realized that the thaw was over, and the muddy mud had turned into stone. And on this petrified mud we noticed a white piece of paper. Raised. It turned out to be a leaflet dropped from a plane by Russians:
Read and share with others: To all soldiers and officers of the German divisions near Cherkassy! You are surrounded!
The units of the Red Army have enclosed your divisions in an iron ring of encirclement. All your attempts to escape from it are doomed to failure.
What we have long warned about has happened. Your command threw you into senseless counterattacks in the hope of delaying the inevitable catastrophe into which Hitler plunged the entire Wehrmacht. Thousands of German soldiers have already died in order to give the Nazi leadership a short delay in the hour of reckoning. Every sane person understands that further resistance is useless. You are the victims of your generals' incompetence and your blind obedience to your Fuehrer.
The Hitlerite command has lured all of you into a trap from which you cannot get out. The only salvation is voluntary surrender to Russian captivity. There is no other way out.
You will be mercilessly exterminated, crushed by the tracks of our tanks, shot to shreds by our machine guns, if you want to continue the senseless struggle.
The command of the Red Army demands from you: lay down your arms and, together with the officers, surrender in groups!
The Red Army guarantees to all who voluntarily surrender life, normal treatment, sufficient food and return to their homeland after the end of the war. But anyone who continues to fight will be destroyed.
Red Army Command
The officer yelled, “This is Soviet propaganda! Do not believe what is written here!” We didn't even realize that we were already in the ring.
Dedicated to my comrades from the 2nd company of the 502nd heavy tank battalion, in order to honor the memory of those who died and remind the survivors of our immortal and unforgettable friendship.
TIGER IM SCHLAMM
Foreword
My first notes about what I had to experience at the front, I made exclusively for those who fought in the 502nd battalion of the "Tigers". Eventually culminating in this book, they proved to be an excuse for a German soldier from the front line. The German soldier has been slandered openly and systematically, deliberately and occasionally since 1945 both in Germany and abroad. Society, however, has the right to know what the war was like and what a simple German soldier really is!
However, most of all, this book is intended for my former tank comrades. It is conceived for them as a reminder of those difficult times. We did exactly the same thing as our comrades in arms in all other branches of the military - we did our duty!
I was able to capture the events that formed the main essence of the narrative, the military operations between February 24 and March 22, 1944, because I managed to save the relevant divisional and corps reports after the war. They were then placed at my disposal, and I sent them home. As an aid to my memory, I also happened to have the usual official documents for all other occasions.
Otto Carius
By the call of the motherland
“What are they thinking of doing with this little thing… that's what I'd like to know too,” said one of the card players. They huddled together with their suitcases on their knees, and in an attempt to make their departure less painful, whiled away the time playing cards.
“What are they thinking of doing with this little thing…” – I heard. I stood at the compartment window and looked back at the Hardt Mountains as the train thumped eastward for miles across the flat country of the Rhine. It seemed that this ship had left the safe port, sailing into the unknown. From time to time I still made sure that my draft certificate was in my pocket. It read: "Posen, 104th reserve battalion." Infantry, queen of the fields!
I was a black sheep in this circle and, perhaps, could not blame anyone for not being taken seriously. As a matter of fact, it was quite understandable. I was rejected twice after being challenged: "Currently unfit for active duty due to underweight"! Twice I swallowed and secretly wiped bitter tears. Lord, there, at the front, no one asks how much you weigh!
Our armies have already crossed Poland in an unprecedented victory march. Just a few days ago, France began to feel the paralyzing blows of our weapons. My father was there. At the beginning of the war, he again put on a military uniform. This meant that my mother would now have very little housework to do when she was allowed to return to our home on the border.
And for the first time I had to celebrate my 18th birthday on my own in Posen. Only then did I realize how much I owe to my parents, who gave me a happy youth! When will I be able to return home, sit down at the piano or pick up the cello or violin? Just a few months ago I wanted to devote myself to the study of music. Then he changed his mind and became interested in mechanical engineering. For the same reason, I volunteered for the army with a degree in anti-tank self-propelled guns. But in the spring of 1940, they did not need volunteers at all. I was assigned as an infantryman. But that was good too. The main thing is that I am accepted!
After a while it became quiet in our compartment. There is no doubt that everyone had something to think about: thoughts swarmed in a heap in his head. The long hours of our journey, of course, provided the most favorable opportunity for this. By the time we landed in Posen with stiff legs and a sore back, we were quite happy that we had lost this time for introspection.
We were met by a group from the 104th reserve infantry battalion. We were ordered to keep pace and brought to the garrison. Barracks for conscripts, of course, did not shine with luxury. The barracks was not spacious enough, and in addition to me there were forty other people there. There was no time to reflect on the high duty of the defender of the fatherland; began a struggle with the old-timers for survival. They looked at us like we were annoying "strangers". My situation was practically hopeless: a mustacheless youth! Since only a thick stubble was a clear sign of real manhood, I had to be on the defensive from the very beginning. Jealousy on the part of others about the fact that I got by with a shave only once a week only made matters worse.
Our preparation was quite adequate to get on my nerves. I often thought of my Ludwig-Maximilian University when drill and formation reached a breaking point, or when we floundered in the mud on the training ground during field exercises. Why such training is needed, I learned later. I had to repeatedly use the skills I learned in Posen to get out of dangerous situations. However, only a few hours passed, and all suffering was forgotten. From the hatred that we felt in relation to the service, to our superiors, to our own stupidity in the course of training, soon there was not a trace left. Most importantly, we were all convinced that everything we did had a purpose.
Any nation can consider itself lucky if it has a younger generation that gives its all to the country and fights so selflessly, as the Germans did in both wars. No one has the right to reproach us after the war, even though we abused the ideals with which we were overwhelmed. Let's hope that the present generation will be spared the disappointment that was destined for us. It would be even better if there came a time when no country would need any soldiers, because eternal peace would reign.
My dream in Posen was to complete the basic training of an infantryman and still smell like a rose. This dream turned into a disappointment mainly because of the marches on foot. They started at fifteen kilometers, increased by five kilometers every week, reaching fifty. It was an unwritten rule that all recruits with higher education should be allowed to carry a machine gun. Apparently, they wanted to test me, the smallest in the unit, and see what the limit of my willpower was and whether I could successfully pass the test. Not surprisingly, when I returned to the garrison one day, I had a sprain and a festering blister the size of a small egg. I was unable to further demonstrate my prowess as an infantryman in Posen. But soon we were transferred to Darmstadt. Proximity to home suddenly made life in the barracks less painful, and the prospect of being fired at the end of the week brightened it up even more.
I think that I behaved rather self-confidently when one day the company commander began to select twelve volunteers for the tank corps. It was supposed to take only auto mechanics, but with a benevolent smile I was allowed to join a dozen volunteers. The old man was probably glad to get rid of the undersized. However, I did not quite consciously make a decision. My father allowed me to enter any branch of the military, even aviation, but categorically forbade tank troops. In his mind, he probably already saw me burning in a tank and suffering terrible agony. And, despite all this, I put on a black uniform of a tanker! However, I never regretted this step, and if I had to become a soldier again, the tank corps would be my only choice, I had not the slightest doubt about this.
I became a recruit again when I went to the 7th Panzer Battalion in Vaiingen. My tank commander was Sergeant August Dehler, a huge man and a good soldier. I was the loader. We were all filled with pride when we received our Czechoslovak 38(t) tank. We felt almost invincible with a 37 mm cannon and two Czechoslovak-made machine guns. We admired the armor, not yet realizing that it was only moral protection for us. If necessary, she could protect only from bullets fired from small arms.
We got acquainted with the basics of tank combat at the training ground in Putlos, in Holstein, where we went for real shooting. In October 1940, the 21st Panzer Regiment was formed in Vaiingen. Shortly before the start of the Russian campaign, he became part of the 20th Panzer Division, during exercises at the training ground in Ohrdurf. Our training consisted of joint exercises with infantry units.
When in June 1941 we were given the main allowance in the form of emergency supplies, we realized that something had to happen. Various suggestions were made about where we were going to be transferred before we moved in the direction of East Prussia. And although the peasants of East Prussia whispered this and that to us, we still believed that we had been sent to the border to maintain security. This version was an illusion formed during our training at Putlos, where we trained on underwater tanks, so we tend to think that England will be our opponent. Now we were in East Prussia and no longer tormented by uncertainty.
We moved to the border on June 21st. Having received a directive about the current situation, we finally learned what role we were assigned. Everyone pretended to be icy calm, although internally we were all extremely excited. The tension was becoming unbearable. Our hearts were about to burst from our chests when we heard squadrons of bombers and Stuka dive bombers roaring over our division in an easterly direction. We were stationed at the edge of the forest, south of Kalvaria. Our commander installed an ordinary radio receiver on his tank. From it we heard the official announcement of the beginning of the Russian campaign five minutes before the time "H". With the exception of a few officers and non-commissioned officers, none of us have yet participated in hostilities. Until now, we have heard real shots only at the training ground. We believed in the old warriors who had Iron Crosses and military insignia, but they remained completely calm. All the others could not stand the stomach and bladder. We expected the Russians to open fire any minute. But all remained calm, and to our relief we received the order to attack.
In the footsteps of Napoleon
We broke through the border posts southwest of Kalvaria. When, after a 120-kilometer march along the road, in the evening we reached O Lita, we already felt like veterans. And yet we experienced joy when we finally stopped, because our senses were sharpened to the limit during the march. We kept our weapons ready; each was at his post.
Since I was the loader, I was in the most disadvantageous position. Not only could I not see anything, but I could not even stick my nose out into the fresh air. The heat in our car became almost unbearable. Each barn we approached gave us some excitement, but they all turned out to be empty. With unusual curiosity, I expected that the commander of our tank would tell about what he had seen. We were excited by his report about the first dead Russian he saw, and we anxiously awaited the first combat contact with the Russians. But nothing of the sort happened. Since our battalion was not the lead battalion, such contact could only be assumed if the vanguard was stopped.
We reached the first destination of our movement that day, the airfield at Olite, without incident. Happy, they threw off their dusty uniforms and were glad when they finally found water to wash properly.
“It’s not bad at all to fight here,” Sergeant Dehler, the commander of our tank, said with a chuckle after once again pulling his head out of the tub of water. It seemed that this washing would never end. The year before, he had been in France. The thought of this gave me self-confidence, because I entered the fighting for the first time, excited, but also with some fear.
We literally had to dig our weapons out of the mud. In the event of a real battle, we would not be able to shoot from it. We cleaned everything to a shine and looked forward to dinner.
“These flyers did a good job here,” our radio operator, who was cleaning weapons, remarked. He looked towards the edge of the woods, where the Russian planes had been caught on the ground during the first Luftwaffe raids.
We took off our uniforms and felt like we were born again. Involuntarily, I remembered pictures from cigarette packs that we had been enthusiastically collecting for years, and in particular one of them: "Bivouac in enemy territory."
Suddenly, a rumble rang out over our heads.
- Damn it! our commander scolded.
He lay next to me in the dirt. But it was not the enemy's fire that angered him, but my clumsiness: I was lying on breadcrumbs from his army ration. It was some kind of unromantic baptism of fire.
The Russians were still in the woods that surrounded the airfield. They gathered their scattered units after the initial shock of that day and opened fire on us. Before we realized what was happening, we were back in our tanks. And then they entered into their first night fight, as if from year to year they were doing just that. I was surprised at the calmness that came over all of us once we realized the seriousness of what we were doing.
We almost felt like seasoned soldiers when we came to the aid of the tank battle at Olita the next day. We provided support in crossing the Neman River. For some reason, we were pleased to realize that our tanks were not the same as those of the Russians, despite their own small losses.
The advance continued without interruption. After mastering the Pilsudsky tract, it continued in the direction of Vilna (Vilnius. - Transl.). After the capture of Vilna on June 24, we felt pride and, perhaps, some self-confidence. We considered ourselves participants in significant events. We hardly noticed how exhausted we were from the strenuous march. But only when they stopped, they immediately fell down and fell asleep like the dead.
We didn't really think about what was going on. How could we stop this advance? Few, perhaps, paid attention to the fact that we were moving along the same road that the great French emperor Napoleon once walked. On the same day and hour 129 years ago, he issued exactly the same order to advance to other soldiers accustomed to victory. Was this strange coincidence coincidental? Or did Hitler want to prove that he would not make the same mistakes as the great Corsican? In any case, we soldiers believed in our abilities and in luck. And it's good that they couldn't look into the future. Instead, we only had the will to rush forward and end the war as quickly as possible.
We were greeted enthusiastically everywhere by the people of Lithuania. The people here saw us as liberators. We were shocked by the fact that before our arrival, Jewish shops were destroyed and destroyed everywhere. We thought that this was possible only during the Kristallnacht in Germany. This outraged us, and we condemned the fury of the crowd. But we didn't have time to think about it for a long time. The attack continued uninterrupted.
Until the beginning of July, we were engaged in reconnaissance and were rapidly moving towards the Duna River (Dvina, Daugava). We had an order: to move forward, forward, and only forward, day and night, day and night. The impossible was required of the drivers. Soon I was already sitting in the driver's seat to give a couple of hours of rest to our exhausted comrade. If only there weren't this unbearable dust! We wrapped the cloth around our nose and mouth so we could breathe in the clouds of dust that hung over the road. We have long removed the viewing devices from the armor in order to at least see something. Fine as flour, dust penetrated everywhere. Our sweat-soaked clothes stuck to our bodies, and a thick layer of dust covered us from head to toe.
With a sufficient amount of at least some potable water, the situation would have been more or less tolerable, but drinking was forbidden, because the wells could be poisoned. We jumped out of cars at bus stops and looked for puddles. Having removed the green layer from the surface of the puddle, they moistened their lips with water. So we could hold out a little longer.
Our offensive went in the direction of Minsk. We started fighting north of the city. There was the first major encirclement, the Berezina was forced, and the offensive continued on Vitebsk. The pace has not slowed down. Now there were problems with maintaining an uninterrupted supply. The infantry units could not keep up, no matter how hard they tried. Nobody cared about the neighborhoods on either side of the freeway.
And there were hiding partisans, which we will have to learn about later. Our field kitchens soon also hopelessly lagged behind. Army bread has become a rare delicacy. And although there was an abundance of poultry meat, the monotonous menu soon became boring. We began to drool at the thought of bread and potatoes. But the advancing soldiers, who hear the fanfare of victory announcements on the radio, don't take anything too seriously.
This happened near the completely burned village of Ulla. Our engineering units built a pontoon bridge next to the blown-up bridge across the Dvina. It was there that we wedged ourselves into positions along the Dvina. They disabled our car, just at the edge of the forest on the other side of the river. It happened in the blink of an eye. A blow to our tank, a metallic screech, a piercing cry from a comrade - and that's all! A large piece of armor wedged near the radio operator's position. We didn't need anyone's order to get out. And only when I jumped out, clutching my face with my hand, found in a roadside ditch that I was also hurt. Our radio operator lost his left arm. We cursed the brittle and inflexible Czech steel, which did not become an obstacle to the Russian anti-tank 45-mm gun. The fragments of our own armor plates and mounting bolts did more damage than the fragments and the projectile itself.
My knocked-out teeth soon ended up in the trash can of the infirmary. The fragments that pierced my face remained in it until the first rays of the sun the next day and came out by themselves - as predicted.
I was hitchhiking back to the front. Burning villages led the way. I met my company just before Vitebsk. The burning city turned the night sky blood red. After we took Vitebsk the next day, we got the feeling that the war was just beginning.
Offensive, defense, suppression of resistance, pursuit succeeded each other. The events of three weeks were recorded in my diary with only a few lines.
“From 7/11 to 7/16. The offensive through Demidov - Dukhovshchina in the direction of Yartsev (Smolensk - Moscow highway) with the aim of encircling enemy forces in the Vitebsk - Smolensk area. The battle for the crossing of the Dnieper at Gatchina.
From 7/17 to 7/24. Defensive battle for Yartsevo and near the river Vyp. Defensive battle at the turn of the Vyp - Votrya. Fight with the aim of destroying the encircled enemy forces in the "Smolensk bag".
From 7/25 to 7/26. Pursuit along the upper reaches of the Dvina.
From 7/27 to 8/4. Defensive battle near Yelnya and Smolensk. Defensive battle near the Vyp River in front of the Belev point.
Hidden behind this enumeration of bare facts are hardships that can only be understood by those who were there. Those who were not there, their listing only suggests an exaggeration. Therefore, I believe, I can afford not to give further comments, especially on the basis that I can convey all the impressions only from the point of view of the loader. And the loader is in a position that does not allow him to get a general idea of \u200b\u200bthe operations being carried out.
Each of us showed himself and tasted all the hardships in full. We were convinced that success is only possible when everyone gives their best.
Despite this, we sometimes cursed our commanders, some of whom neglected their duties and showed irresponsibility. After one sweltering day of fighting, when our parched throats waited in vain for water, we swore at the top of our lungs when we learned that our battalion commander had ordered him to be bathed using the water prepared for our coffee. This egregious behavior of the commander was beyond our comprehension. But the thought of our commander washing himself gave us such grounds for coarse soldierly jokes that soon this incident began to be regarded only as a curiosity.
Memoirs of a German soldier Helmut Klaussmann, corporal of the 111th Infantry Division
Battle path
I started serving in June 1941. But then I was not quite a military man. We were called an auxiliary unit, and until November, as a driver, I drove in the triangle Vyazma - Gzhatsk - Orsha. There were Germans and Russian defectors in our unit. They worked as porters. We carried ammunition, food.
In general, there were defectors from both sides, and throughout the war. Russian soldiers also ran across to us after Kursk. And our soldiers ran across to the Russians. I remember that near Taganrog two soldiers stood guard and went to the Russians, and a few days later, we heard their appeal on the radio with a call to surrender. I think that usually the defectors were soldiers who just wanted to stay alive. They usually ran across before big battles, when the risk of dying in the attack overcame the feeling of fear of the enemy. Few people ran across their convictions both to us and from us. It was such an attempt to survive in this huge carnage. They hoped that after interrogations and checks you would be sent somewhere to the rear, away from the front. And there life is somehow formed.
Then I was sent to a training garrison near Magdeburg to a non-commissioned officer school, and after it, and in the spring of 1942, I ended up serving in the 111th Infantry Division near Taganrog. I was a small commander. But he did not make a great military career. In the Russian army, my rank corresponded to the rank of sergeant. We held back the advance on Rostov. Then we were transferred to the North Caucasus, then I was wounded, and after being wounded on a plane, I was transferred to Sevastopol. And there our division was almost completely destroyed. In 1943 I was wounded near Taganrog. I was sent to Germany for treatment, and five months later I returned to my company. There was a tradition in the German army - to return the wounded to their unit, and almost until the very end of the war this was the case. I won the whole war in one division. I think this was one of the main secrets of the resistance of the German units. We lived in the company as one family. Everyone was in sight of each other, everyone knew each other well and could trust each other, rely on each other.
Once a year, a soldier was supposed to leave, but after the autumn of 1943, all this became a fiction. And it was possible to leave your unit only after being wounded or in a coffin.
The dead were buried in different ways. If there was time and opportunity, then each was supposed to have a separate grave and a simple coffin. But if the fighting was heavy and we retreated, then we buried the dead somehow. In ordinary funnels from under the shells, wrapped in a cape, or tarpaulin. In such a pit, as many people were buried at a time as they died in this battle and could fit in it. Well, if they fled, then in general it was not up to the dead.
Our division was part of the 29th Army Corps and, together with the 16th (I think!) Motorized Division, made up the army group "Reknage". We were all part of the Army Group "Southern Ukraine".
As we have seen the causes of the war. German propaganda.
At the beginning of the war, the main propaganda thesis we believed in was that Russia was preparing to break the treaty and attack Germany first. But we just got faster. Many then believed in this and were proud that they were ahead of Stalin. There were special front-line newspapers in which they wrote a lot about this. We read them, listened to the officers and believed in it.
But then, when we found ourselves in the depths of Russia and saw that there was no military victory, and that we were bogged down in this war, disappointment arose. In addition, we already knew a lot about the Red Army, there were a lot of prisoners, and we knew that the Russians themselves were afraid of our attack and did not want to give a reason for war. Then propaganda began to say that now we can no longer retreat, otherwise the Russians will break into the Reich on our shoulders. And we must fight here to secure the conditions for a peace worthy of Germany. Many expected that in the summer of 1942, Stalin and Hitler would make peace. It was naive, but we believed it. They believed that Stalin would make peace with Hitler, and together they would start fighting against England and the USA. It was naive, but the soldier wanted to believe.
There were no strict requirements for propaganda. No one forced them to read books and pamphlets. I still haven't read Mein Kampf. But the morale was strictly monitored. It was not allowed to conduct "defeatist conversations" and write "defeatist letters". This was supervised by a special "propaganda officer". They appeared in the troops immediately after Stalingrad. We joked among ourselves and called them "commissars". But every month it got worse. Once, a soldier was shot in our division who wrote home a "letter of defeat" in which he scolded Hitler. And after the war, I learned that during the years of the war, for such letters, several thousand soldiers and officers were shot! One of our officers was demoted to the rank and file for "defeatist talk." Members of the NSDAP were especially feared. They were considered snitches because they were very fanatical and could always file a report on you on command. There were not very many of them, but they were almost always not trusted.
The attitude towards the local population, towards Russians, Belarusians was restrained and distrustful, but without hatred. We were told that we must defeat Stalin, that our enemy is Bolshevism. But, in general, the attitude towards the local population was correctly called "colonial". We looked at them in the 41st as the future labor force, as the territories that will become our colonies.
Ukrainians were treated better. Because the Ukrainians met us very cordially. Almost like liberators. Ukrainian girls easily started romances with the Germans. In Belarus and Russia, this was a rarity.
There were also contacts on the ordinary human level. In the North Caucasus, I was friends with Azerbaijanis who served as auxiliary volunteers (Khivi) with us. In addition to them, Circassians and Georgians served in the division. They often cooked kebabs and other dishes of Caucasian cuisine. I still love this kitchen. Few were taken from the beginning. But after Stalingrad, there were more and more of them every year. And by the year 44 they were a separate large auxiliary unit in the regiment, but they were commanded by a German officer. We called them “Schwarze” behind their backs - black (;-))))
They explained to us that we should treat them like comrades-in-arms, that they are our assistants. But a certain distrust of them, of course, persisted. They were used only as supporting soldiers. They were armed and equipped worse.
Sometimes I talked with local people. Went to visit some. Usually to those who collaborated with us or worked for us.
I didn't see the partisans. I heard a lot about them, but where I served they were not. There were almost no partisans in the Smolensk region until November 1941.
By the end of the war, the attitude towards the local population became indifferent. It was like he didn't exist. We didn't notice him. We were not up to them. We came, took a position. At best, the commander could tell the locals to get away, because there would be a fight. We were no longer up to them. We knew we were retreating. That all this is no longer ours. Nobody thought about them...
About weapons.
The main weapons of the company were machine guns. There were 4 of them in the company. It was a very powerful and fast-firing weapon. They helped us out a lot. The main weapon of the infantryman was a carbine. He was respected more than an automaton. He was called the "soldier's bride". He was long-range and good at breaking through defense. The machine was good only in close combat. The company had about 15 - 20 machine guns. We tried to get a Russian PPSh assault rifle. It was called "little machine gun". There were 72 cartridges in the disk, and with good care it was a very formidable weapon. There were also grenades and small mortars.
There were also sniper rifles. But not everywhere. I was given a Simonov Russian sniper rifle near Sevastopol. It was a very accurate and powerful weapon. In general, Russian weapons were valued for their simplicity and reliability. But it was very poorly protected from corrosion and rust. Our weapons were better crafted.
Artillery
Definitely Russian artillery was much superior to the German. Russian units always had good artillery cover. All Russian attacks were under heavy artillery fire. The Russians very skillfully maneuvered fire, knew how to masterfully concentrate it. The artillery was well camouflaged. Tankers often complained that you would only see a Russian cannon when it had already fired at you. In general, it was necessary to visit Russian shelling once in order to understand what Russian artillery is. Of course, a very powerful weapon was the "Stalin organ" - rocket launchers. Especially when the Russians used Molotov cocktails. They burned entire hectares to ashes.
About Russian tanks.
We were told a lot about the T-34. That this is a very powerful and well-armed tank. I first saw the T-34 near Taganrog. Two of my comrades were assigned to the advanced sentinel trench. At first they assigned me with one of them, but his friend asked to go with him instead of me. The commander approved. And in the afternoon, two Russian T-34 tanks came out in front of our positions. At first they fired at us with cannons, and then, apparently noticing the front trench, they went to it and there one tank just turned around on it several times and buried them both alive. Then they left.
I was lucky that I almost never met Russian tanks. There were few of them on our sector of the front. In general, we infantrymen have always had a tank fear of Russian tanks. This is clear. After all, we were almost always unarmed in front of these armored monsters. And if there was no artillery behind, then the tanks did what they wanted with us.
About stormtroopers.
We called them "Rusish Shtka". At the beginning of the war, we saw little of them. But already by the year 1943, they began to annoy us very much. It was a very dangerous weapon. Especially for the infantry. They flew right overhead and poured fire from their cannons on us. Usually Russian attack aircraft made three passes. First, they threw bombs at artillery positions, anti-aircraft guns or dugouts. Then rockets were fired, and with the third run they deployed along the trenches and from the cannons killed everything alive in them. The projectile that exploded in the trench had the strength of a fragmentation grenade and gave a lot of fragments. It was especially depressing, then, to shoot down a Russian attack aircraft from small arms was almost impossible, although it flew very low.
About night bombers
Po-2 I heard. But I have not personally encountered them. They flew at night and very accurately threw small bombs and grenades. But it was more of a psychological weapon than an effective combat one.
But in general, the Russian aviation was, in my opinion, rather weak almost until the very end of 43. Apart from the attack aircraft, which I have already mentioned, we hardly saw any Russian aircraft. The Russians bombed little and inaccurately. And in the rear, we felt completely calm.
Studies.
At the beginning of the war, the soldiers were taught well. There were special training regiments. The strength of the training was that the soldier tried to develop a sense of self-confidence, a reasonable initiative. But there was a lot of pointless drill. I think that this is a minus of the German military school. Too much pointless drill. But after the 43rd year, teaching became worse and worse. Less time was given to study and fewer resources. And in the 44th year, soldiers began to come who didn’t even know how to shoot properly, but they marched well for that, because they almost didn’t give cartridges for shooting, but the combat sergeant majors were engaged with them from morning to evening. The training of officers has also become worse. They already knew nothing but defense and, apart from how to properly dig trenches, they knew nothing. They only had time to cultivate loyalty to the Fuhrer and blind obedience to senior commanders.
Food. Supply.
They fed well at the forefront. But during the fights it was rarely hot. They mostly ate canned food.
Usually in the morning they were given coffee, bread, butter (if any), sausage or canned ham. For lunch - soup, potatoes with meat or lard. For dinner, porridge, bread, coffee. But often some products were not available. And instead of them they could give cookies or, for example, a can of sardines. If a part was taken to the rear, then food became very scarce. Almost starving. Everyone ate the same. Both officers and soldiers ate the same food. I don’t know about the generals - I didn’t see it, but everyone in the regiment ate the same. The diet was general. But you could only eat in your own unit. If for some reason you ended up in another company or unit, then you could not dine with them in the canteen. That was the law. Therefore, when leaving, it was supposed to receive rations. But the Romanians had as many as four cuisines. One is for the soldiers. The other is for sergeants. The third is for officers. And each senior officer, a colonel and above, had his own cook, who cooked for him separately. The Romanian army was the most demoralized. The soldiers hated their officers. And the officers despised their soldiers. Romanians often traded weapons. So our “blacks” (“hivi”) began to have good weapons. Pistols and machine guns. It turned out that they bought it for food and stamps from the neighbors of the Romanians ...
About SS
The attitude towards the SS was ambiguous. On the one hand, they were very tenacious soldiers. They were better armed, better equipped, better fed. If they stood side by side, then one could not be afraid for their flanks. But on the other hand, they were somewhat condescending towards the Wehrmacht. In addition, they were not well liked because of their extreme cruelty. They were very cruel to the prisoners and to the civilian population. And standing next to them was unpleasant. People were often killed there. Besides, it was also dangerous. The Russians, knowing about the cruelty of the SS towards the civilian population and prisoners, did not take the SS prisoners. And during the offensive in these areas, few of the Russians figured out who was in front of you an Esseman or an ordinary Wehrmacht soldier. They killed everyone. Therefore, behind the eyes of the SS was sometimes called the "dead".
I remember how one evening in November 1942 we stole a truck from a neighboring SS regiment. He got stuck on the road, and his driver went to his own for help, and we pulled him out, quickly drove him to our place and repainted him there, changed the insignia. They searched for him for a long time, but did not find him. And for us it was a great help. Our officers, when they found out, cursed a lot, but did not say anything to anyone. There were very few trucks left then, and we mostly traveled on foot.
And this is also an indicator of attitude. Our own (Wehrmacht) would never have been stolen from us. But the SS was not liked.
Soldier and officer
In the Wehrmacht there has always been a great distance between a soldier and an officer. They have never been one with us. Despite the fact that the propaganda spoke of our unity. It was emphasized that we were all "comrades", but even the platoon lieutenant was very far from us. Between him and us were still sergeants, who in every possible way maintained the distance between us and them, sergeants. And only behind them were the officers. The officers usually had very little contact with us soldiers. Basically, all communication with the officer went through the sergeant major. The officer could, of course, ask you something or give you some instructions directly, but I repeat - this was rare. Everything was done through sergeants. They were officers, we were soldiers, and the distance between us was very large.
This distance was even greater between us and the high command. We were just cannon fodder for them. No one considered us and did not think about us. I remember in July 1943, near Taganrog, I stood at a post near the house where the headquarters of the regiment was and through the open window I heard the report of our regiment commander to some general who had come to our headquarters. It turns out that the general was supposed to organize an assault attack of our regiment on the railway station, which the Russians occupied and turned into a powerful stronghold. And after the report on the plan of the attack, our commander said that the planned losses could reach a thousand people killed and wounded, and this is almost 50% of the strength of the regiment. Apparently the commander wanted to show the futility of such an attack. But the general said:
Well! Get ready to attack. The Führer demands decisive action from us in the name of Germany. And this thousand soldiers will die for the Fuhrer and Fatherland!
And then I realized that we are nobody for these generals! I was so scared that it is now impossible to convey. The offensive was to begin in two days. I heard about this through the window and decided that I must save myself at all costs. After all, a thousand killed and wounded is almost all combat units. That is, I had almost no chance of surviving this attack. And the next day, when I was placed in the advanced observation patrol, which was advanced in front of our positions towards the Russians, I was delayed when the order came to withdraw. And then, as soon as the shelling began, he shot himself in the leg through a loaf of bread (this does not cause a powder burn of the skin and clothes) so that the bullet would break the bone, but go right through. Then I crawled to the positions of the artillerymen, who stood next to us. They understood little about wounds. I told them that a Russian machine gunner had shot me. There they bandaged me, gave me coffee, gave me a cigarette and sent me to the rear by car. I was very afraid that in the hospital the doctor would find bread crumbs in the wound, but I was lucky. Nobody noticed. When, five months later, in January 1944, I returned to my company, I found out that in that attack the regiment lost nine hundred people killed and wounded, but the station never took ...
This is how the generals treated us! Therefore, when they ask me how I feel about the German generals, which of them I value as a German commander, I always answer that they were probably good strategists, but I have absolutely nothing to respect them for. As a result, they laid seven million German soldiers in the ground, lost the war, and now they are writing memoirs about how great they fought and how glorious they won.
The hardest fight
After being wounded, I was transferred to Sevastopol, when the Russians had already cut off the Crimea. We flew from Odessa on transport planes in a large group, and right before our eyes, Russian fighters shot down two planes packed with soldiers. It was terrible! One plane crashed in the steppe and exploded, while the other fell into the sea and instantly disappeared in the waves. We sat and waited impotently for who was next. But we were lucky - the fighters flew away. Maybe they ran out of fuel or ran out of ammo. In the Crimea, I won four months.
And there, near Sevastopol, there was the most difficult battle in my life. It was in early May, when the defenses on Sapun Mountain had already been broken through, and the Russians were approaching Sevastopol.
The remnants of our company - about thirty people - were sent over a small mountain so that we would go out to the flank of the Russian division attacking us. We were told that there was no one on this mountain. We walked along the stone bottom of a dry stream and suddenly found ourselves in a fire bag. We were shot at from all sides. We lay down among the stones and began to shoot back, but the Russians were among the greenery - they were invisible, but we were in full view and they killed us one by one. I don't remember how, shooting back with a rifle, I was able to crawl out from under the fire. I was hit by several fragments from grenades. Particularly for the legs. Then I lay for a long time between the stones and heard the Russians walking around. When they left, I examined myself and realized that I would soon bleed to death. Apparently, I was the only one alive. There was a lot of blood, but I didn’t have a bandage, nothing! And then I remembered that there were condoms in the jacket pocket. They were given to us upon arrival along with other property. And then I made tourniquets out of them, then tore the shirt and made tampons out of it for the wounds and pulled them with these tourniquets, and then, leaning on the rifle and the broken bough, I began to get out.
In the evening I crawled out to mine.
In Sevastopol, the evacuation from the city was already in full swing, the Russians had already entered the city from one side, and there was no longer any power in it.
Everyone was for himself.
I will never forget the picture of how we were driven around the city by car, and the car broke down. The driver undertook to repair it, and we looked over the board around us. Directly in front of us on the square, several officers were dancing with some women dressed as gypsies. Everyone had bottles of wine in their hands. There was some unreal feeling. They danced like crazy. It was a feast during the plague.
I was evacuated from Chersonesos on the evening of May 10, after Sevastopol had fallen. I cannot tell you what was happening on this narrow strip of land. It was hell! People cried, prayed, shot, went crazy, fought to the death for a place in the boats. When I read somewhere the memoirs of some general - talker, who told that we left Chersonesos in perfect order and discipline, and that almost all units of the 17th Army were evacuated from Sevastopol, I wanted to laugh. Of my entire company in Constanta, I was alone! And less than a hundred people escaped from our regiment! My whole division lay down in Sevastopol. It is a fact!
I was lucky because we were wounded lying on a pontoon, right next to which one of the last self-propelled barges approached, and we were the first to be loaded onto it.
We were taken on a barge to Constanta. All the way we were bombed and fired upon by Russian planes. It was horror. Our barge was not sunk, but there were a lot of dead and wounded. The whole barge was full of holes. In order not to drown, we threw overboard all the weapons, ammunition, then all the dead, and still, when we arrived in Constanta, we stood in the holds in the water up to the throat, and the wounded who were lying down all drowned. If we had to go another 20 kilometers, we would definitely go to the bottom! I was very bad. All wounds inflamed from sea water. At the hospital the doctor told me that most of the barges were half full of the dead. And that we, the living, are very lucky.
There, in Constanta, I ended up in a hospital and never got to the war again.
America? No more your America..
Konrad, SS-Sturmann of the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Reich"
In 2002-2003, I had the opportunity to interview a German veteran named Konrad who lived in Germany. The interview took place over the Internet, via email, and in English (not bad for an 80-year-old soldier). Konrad served in the Regiment "Führer" (Der Führer Regiment) of the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Reich" (Das Reich). Konrad spoke about some interesting features of his service in one of the most famous divisions of the SS Troops, what it was like to be a soldier in the SS units, as well as what the German soldiers were equipped with in such units.
The Konrad family was originally from East Prussia but moved to Berlin after the First World War. Konrad was born in Berlin, in Friedrichshain. Like his father, Konrad joined an elite regiment. In 1940, after a conversation with a work colleague who had just been enlisted in the police regiment of the SS Troops (Polizei Regiment, later 4. Polizei Division der Waffen-SS), Conrad also set out to get into the SS Troops. In those years, the regiments of the SS Troops were the new elite, brought up in the spirit of National Socialism. The selection of volunteers for these units was very tough. Of the 500 applicants, only 40 people got into the regiment. Among them was 16-year-old Konrad.
Conrad completed the basic shooter course at Radolfzell and was sent to Holland in the "Der Führer" regiment. There he ended up in the assault sapper squad (Sturmpioneere). All his colleagues already had the experience of two years of war behind them. Conrad turned out to be one of the youngest recruits in the regiment. With the transfer to the regiment, his training did not become easier, but, on the contrary, became even more complicated.
In June 1941, the regiment "Der Führer" stood in a huge estate near Lodz in Poland. The personnel of the regiment were brought up to look like a Russian uniform, tanks and so on. From this, Konrad concluded that the rumors of a war with Russia would soon come true. He and his fighting comrades sincerely believed that this campaign would bring them to Persia and India. However, some fears were caused by the fact that during the First World War his uncle was captured on the Eastern Front and returned home only in 1921 after escaping from Siberia.
After the start of Operation Barbarossa, Konrad and his comrades found that the Red Army was much better equipped than they were. In July 1941, Konrad received the rank of SS-Sturmann and soon after was wounded for the first time - fragments of a mine that exploded nearby hit him in the face. In December of the same year, Konrad received a second wound - a shell fragment hit him in the leg. Thanks to this wound, he received a ticket to the rear hospital in Poland. It was quite cold and the German communications worked poorly. It took 10 days to get to the hospital in Smolensk. By this time, the wound was already infected. When Konrad finally reached the hospital near Warsaw, for the first time since October he was able to properly wash and change clothes.
In January 1942, Konrad was given 28 days leave to visit family in Berlin. When, after the end of his vacation, Konrad appeared in the reserve and training battalion (Ersatz und Ausbildung Bataillon), he was considered not yet ready to serve on the front lines * and was assigned to a weapons repair shop. For a short time he served as an instructor for assault sappers (Sturmpionieere).
After returning to the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Das Reich", Konrad served with it for the remainder of 1942. In February 1943, he received notice of his father's death and was rushed home to arrange a funeral. He was convinced that the causes of his father's untimely death were poor nutrition on the home front and Allied bomber raids. Before receiving the notice, Conrad had a dream in which he saw his father standing in the doorway of his dugout in Russia.
At the end of 1943, Konrad received a third wound, this time in the right leg. Because of this injury, he is still forced to walk with a cane. On the way to the hospital in Poland, the train Konrad rode was fired on by partisans, and several wounded were killed. After being discharged from the hospital in January 1944, Conrad visited his mother, who was living alone in Berlin. By this time, the city had already suffered greatly from the bombing and Konrad helped his mother move to relatives in Silesia. After his recovery and leave, Conrad arrived at the training unit in Joesefstadt in the Sudetenland. He was intended to be appointed commander of a motorized infantry platoon (Panzergrenadiere) in the 2nd SS Panzer Division "Das Reich", but somehow he managed to decline this promotion and returned to his unit as a private.
In July 1944, Konrad returned to his division, which was already pretty battered during the fighting in France. During the August retreat to the Seine, Conrad fell behind with one of his comrades and ended up behind British lines. Without hesitation, they became prisoners. Konrad noted that the British were very wary of the fact that their captives were from the SS, and did not turn the barrels of their machine guns away from them. After arriving at the POW assembly point, Konrad was given medical attention, as well as tea with milk and sugar. Conrad was then sent to England in a camp for captured German soldiers. He was released from the camp in 1948. Like many other German prisoners, he decided to stay in England. After some time he came back to Germany and settled in the city of Lorch.
What training did you receive as a Sturmpioneer?
We were trained both as infantrymen and as sappers. We were taught to shoot from the 98K carbine, MG34 and MG42 machine guns. We also studied subversion. Usually my platoon consisted of 10 men.** This platoon was attached to an infantry battalion in combat.
What type of vehicle did you use?
We had half-track armored personnel carriers and Opel Blitz trucks. However, for almost the entire duration of the war, only the first battalion of the "Der Führer" regiment had armored personnel carriers, the rest were supplied only by trucks. Despite this, I should note that it was often necessary to travel on foot during the war.
Do you have any items left to remember the service?
My uniform and equipment were taken away in the prison camp, even my wristwatch was taken away. The rest of my things went missing in Berlin. My mother was sent to the camp by the Russians just for keeping my photo of me in SS uniform. She died before I could return home.
The SS troops were somewhat unique in that they had camouflage uniforms. Did you have her?
Yes. All I had in camouflage was an anorak and a helmet cover. I didn't get anorak very often. Perhaps I wore a helmet cover more. In order to have access to the lower pockets of the tunic, we pulled the anorak quite high. I don't remember if I saw other types of camouflage uniforms in the 2nd SS Panzer Division or not. In addition, we were at the very end of the supply chain. And this also applied to uniforms and equipment. The divisional headquarters and tank units were the first to receive new uniforms and equipment, and then the motorized infantry units.
What do you usually carry in your tunic pockets?
Usually we had something in our pockets that contributed to survival on the front lines. We rarely went into battle fully equipped, so our pockets often filled with ammo and food. As for the tunics, new ones were not issued often. For example, I wore one tunic from the beginning of the Russian campaign in June 1941 until October, when it was already full of lice and was thrown away. On the front line, it was difficult to get new uniforms.
What equipment did you have at the front?
I started the war with the second number of the machine gun. Usually, in this role, I carried two machine-gun boxes with cartridges and two cases with interchangeable machine-gun barrels. Later, when I began to command the squad, I received an MP-40 assault rifle. Every time I went to the front line or on a mission, I needed to leave behind any items that might make noise while moving. We most often left gas mask tanks and bread bags. All this equipment was stored in armored personnel carriers or trucks.
Who was your unit formed from? What were these people?
At the beginning of the war we were the best that Germany had. To earn the ranks had to go through a lot. However, with the height of the war, we began to receive as replenishment no longer volunteers, but those called up or transferred from other branches of the military, the navy or the Luftwaffe. In 1943 we received a large number of recruits from Alsace-Lorraine, Strasbourg and the Vosges. These people spoke German and French. We tried to keep the composition of the first companies of the battalions, replenishing them with experienced fighters. New conscripts were distributed among the second and third companies. It seemed to us that it was necessary to maintain a high combat readiness of the companies that were the first to enter the battle.
What were your field rations like?
Each company had its own field kitchen on a three-ton truck. At least once a day we received a hot meal. We were also given the so-called. ersatz coffee or "Mugkefuck" as we called it. It was roasted barley. We also got one third of a loaf of bread from the field bakery. Sometimes there were even sausages and jam. On the front line, we usually received food at night or early in the morning.
In December 2002, during his visit to the United States, Conrad had the opportunity to watch a reenactment of a World War II battle that took place in Lovel, Indiana. The author was also present and made the following observations:
After arriving at the place, Konrad was amazed by the picture that presented itself. He had not seen people in the form of soldiers of the SS Troops since the war itself.
Konrad watched the performance with keen interest.
Konrad noted that he had never seen such well-equipped German soldiers in combat before. Everything that existed at that time was hung on the reenactors of German soldiers. He also noted that he rarely saw a winter parka, both on the soldiers of the Wehrmacht and in the SS Troops, which was on the reenactors. It was also striking that the reenactors were wearing camouflage uniforms of various colors, which Konrad had never seen before.
When the Mauser 98k carbine was in the hands of the veteran, he quite skillfully and quickly was able to perform the basic manipulations with him, which the soldier was supposed to know. And this despite his decent age!
A crowd of re-enactors surrounded Konrad to listen to his stories, because a combat veteran of the SS who fought on the Eastern Front is quite a rarity! Especially for American reenactors, he noted that during the battles in Normandy in 1944 it was impossible to do anything during the daytime because of the huge number of American aircraft in the air.
When Konrad was shown the German MP-40 machine gun, he remembered that he and his comrades usually set it aside and took the Soviet PPSh with them into battle.
At the end of his story, Conrad said that he did not want his grandchildren to participate in any wars and would do everything in his power to prevent this from happening.
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Translator's notes:
* In the Wehrmacht and the SS Troops, there was a practice to leave soldiers and officers in the rear for some time, required for a full recovery after a wound. At this time, they were listed in the so-called. Genesenden Kompanie - convalescent company.
