Otto Carius(German Otto Carius, 05/27/1922 - 01/24/2015) - German tank ace during the Second World War. Destroyed more than 150 enemy tanks and self-propelled guns - one of the highest results of World War II, along with other German tank battle masters - Michael Wittmann and Kurt Knispel. He fought on tanks Pz.38, "Tiger", self-propelled guns "Jagdtigr". Book author " Tigers in the mud».
He began his career as a tanker on a light tank "Skoda" Pz.38, from 1942 he fought on a heavy tank Pz.VI "Tiger" on the Eastern Front. Along with Michael Wittmann, he became a Nazi military legend, and his name was widely used in Third Reich propaganda during the war. Fought on the Eastern Front. In 1944, he was seriously wounded, after recovering he fought on the Western Front, then, by order of the command, he surrendered to the American occupying forces, spent some time in a prisoner of war camp, after which he was released.
After the war, he became a pharmacist, in June 1956 he acquired a pharmacy in the city of Herschweiler-Pettersheim, which he renamed Tiger Apotheke. He headed the pharmacy until February 2011.
Interesting excerpts from the book "Tigers in the Mud"
the book can be read in full here militera.lib.ru
On the offensive in the Baltics:
“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 a 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 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..»
On the attack on Moscow and the arming of the Red Army:
“The attack on Moscow was given preference over the capture of Leningrad. The attack choked in the mud, when the capital of Russia, which opened before us, was a stone's throw away. What then happened in the infamous winter of 1941/42 cannot be conveyed in oral or written reports. The German soldier had to hold out in inhuman conditions against those accustomed to winter and extremely well-armed Russian divisions.»
About T-34 tanks:
“Another event hit us like a ton of bricks: Russian T-34 tanks appeared for the first time! The astonishment was complete. How could it happen that up there, they did not know about the existence of this excellent tank?»
The T-34, with its good armor, perfect shape and magnificent 76.2-mm long-barreled gun, made everyone in awe, and all German tanks were afraid of him until the end of the war. What were we to do with these monsters thrown against us in multitudes?
About heavy IS tanks:
“We examined the Joseph Stalin tank, which, to a certain extent, was still intact. The 122-mm long-barreled gun aroused our respect. The disadvantage was that unitary shots were not used in this tank. Instead, the projectile and powder charge had to be loaded separately. The armor and uniforms were better than those of our "Tiger", but we liked our weapons much more.
The Joseph Stalin tank played a cruel joke on me when it knocked out my right drive wheel. I did not notice this until I wanted to back away after an unexpected strong blow and explosion. Feldwebel Kerscher immediately recognized this shooter. He also hit him in the forehead, but our 88-mm gun could not penetrate the heavy armor of "Joseph Stalin" at such an angle and from such a distance.
About the Tiger tank:
“Outwardly, he looked handsome and pleasing to the eye. He was fat; almost all flat surfaces are horizontal, and only the front slope is welded almost vertically. The thicker armor made up for the lack of rounded shapes. Ironically, just before the war, we supplied the Russians with a huge hydraulic press with which they were able to produce their "T-34" with such elegantly rounded surfaces. Our armaments experts did not consider them valuable. In their opinion, such thick armor could never be needed. As a result, we had to put up with flat surfaces.”
“Even if our “tiger” was not handsome, his margin of safety inspired us. He really drove like a car. With just two fingers, we could control a 60-ton giant with 700 horsepower, drive at a speed of 45 kilometers per hour on the road and 20 kilometers per hour over rough terrain. However, taking into account the additional equipment, we could only move on the road at a speed of 20-25 kilometers per hour and, accordingly, at an even lower speed off-road. The 22 liter engine ran best at 2600 rpm. At 3000 rpm it quickly overheated.
On successful Russian operations:
« With envy, we watched how well equipped the Ivans were compared to us.. We experienced real happiness when several replenishment tanks finally arrived to us from the deep rear.
“We found the commander of the Luftwaffe field division at the command post in a state of complete despair. He did not know where his units were. Russian tanks crushed everything around before the anti-tank guns had time to fire even one shot. Ivans captured the latest equipment, and the division fled in all directions.
“The Russians attacked there and took the city. The attack followed so unexpectedly that some of our troops were caught on the move. Real panic set in. It was quite fair that the commandant of Nevel had to answer before a military court for a flagrant disregard for security measures.
About drunkenness in the Wehrmacht:
“Shortly after midnight, cars appeared from the west. We recognized them as ours in time. It was a motorized infantry battalion that did not have time to connect with the troops and advanced to the highway late. As I found out later, the commander was sitting in the only tank at the head of the column. He was completely drunk. The disaster happened with lightning speed. The whole unit had no idea what was happening, and moved openly through the space being shot through by the Russians. A terrible panic arose when machine guns and mortars began to speak. Many soldiers were hit by bullets. Left without a commander, everyone ran back to the road instead of looking for cover south of it. Any kind of mutual assistance is gone. The only thing that mattered was every man for himself. The cars drove right over the wounded, and the freeway was a picture of horror.
On Russian heroism:
“When it began to get light, our infantrymen approached the T-34 somewhat inadvertently. He was still standing next to von Schiller's tank. With the exception of a hole in the hull, no other damage was visible on it. Surprisingly, when they approached to open the hatch, he did not give way. Following this, a hand grenade flew out of the tank, and three soldiers were seriously wounded. Von Schiller again opened fire on the enemy. However, until the third shot, the commander of the Russian tank did not leave his car. Then he, seriously wounded, lost consciousness. The other Russians were dead. We brought a Soviet lieutenant to the division, but it was no longer possible to interrogate him. He died of his wounds on the way. This incident showed us how careful we must be. This Russian sent detailed reports to his unit about us. He only had to slowly turn his turret to shoot von Schiller point-blank. I remember how we resented the stubbornness of this Soviet lieutenant at that time. Today I have a different opinion about it ... "
Comparison of Russians and Americans (after being wounded in 1944, the author was transferred to the Western Front):
“In the midst of the blue sky, they created a screen of fire that left no room for imagination. It covered the entire front of our bridgehead. Only Ivans could arrange such a barrage of fire. Even the Americans, whom I later met in the West, could not compare with them. The Russians fired in layers with all types of weapons, from continuously firing light mortars to heavy artillery.
“Sappers were active everywhere. They even reversed the warning signs in the hope that the Russians would drive in the wrong direction! Such a ploy sometimes worked later on the Western Front against the Americans, but did not pass with the Russians.»
“If I had two or three tank commanders and crews from my company that fought in Russia with me, then this rumor could well turn out to be true. All my comrades would not fail to fire on those Yankees who were marching in "ceremonial formation". After all, five Russians were more dangerous than thirty Americans.. We have already noticed this in the last few days of fighting in the west.
« The Russians would never give us so much time! But how much it took the Americans to eliminate the "bag", in which there could be no talk of any serious resistance.
“... we decided one evening to replenish our fleet at the expense of the American one. It never occurred to anyone to consider this a heroic deed! The Yankees slept in the houses at night, as the "front-line soldiers" were supposed to. After all, who would want to disturb their peace! Outside, at best, there was one sentry, but only if the weather was good. The war began in the evenings only if our troops retreated, and they pursued them. If by chance a German machine gun suddenly opened fire, then they asked for support from the air force, but only the next day. Around midnight we set off with four soldiers and returned pretty soon with two jeeps. It was convenient that they did not require keys. One had only to turn on a small toggle switch, and the car was ready to go. It wasn't until we were back in our lines that the Yankees fired indiscriminately into the air, probably to calm their nerves. If the night were long enough, we could easily drive to Paris.”
“The warm spring sun lit up the ground southeast of Berlin. It was about ten o’clock in the morning. Everything started all over again. From the nearby asparagus field, the wounded were reaching for us, everyone was trying to cling tightly to the armor of our “King Tiger” again.
We quickly rushed forward, catching up with others. Soon the tank stopped again. In front, next to the road, stood an anti-tank gun, which we managed to destroy with a high-explosive shell.
Suddenly, a metallic clang came from the starboard side, followed by a prolonged hiss. A dazzling white fog spread around.
There was dead silence for a second. We should have noticed earlier this Russian tank to our right. Eyes closed on their own, hands clenched over head as if it could protect...
Thick white smoke filled the entire cockpit of our tank, a wave of scalding heat took our breath away. The tank was on fire. Horror and paralysis, like an obsession, took possession of consciousness. Choking scream.
Everyone is trying to find a saving way out into the fresh air, and the flames are already burning their hands and face. Heads and bodies hit each other. Hands cling to the red-hot cover of the rescue hatch. Your lungs are about to explode.
Blood pounding furiously in the throat and skull. Before the eyes - purple blackness, sometimes torn by green flashes. With unruly hands, I grab the hatch, flounder, bumping into the gun and instruments, and two heads hit the hatch cover at once.
Instinctively, I push Labe down and forward with my head and my whole body falls out. I hook my leather jacket on the hook and rip it off; for the last time I notice how the Iron Cross flashes silver before the jacket flies into the burning belly of the tank.
I fall headfirst from the turret of the tank, pushing off the armor with my hands. I see that all the skin has almost peeled off the fingers of my hands and with one jerk I tear off its remnants, feeling how blood is flowing. Behind me, a figure of a radio operator, burning like a torch, jumps out of the tank.
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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.
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 the 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:
Good! 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 forward 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 branch, 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.
