“How long have you been hiding her?”
“About nine months. She was with some friends of mine for over two years before that. They were betrayed by a neighbor, and I took her in. It was another minor miracle that she wasn’t taken then.”
“You need extra provisions for her?”
Dora nodded again, and Hans offered her three more onions.
“She doesn’t like onions,” said Dora. “I’m sorry.”
“What does she like?”
“Anything but onions. She likes books. She reads a lot.”
“I don’t have any books,” said Hans. He pulled three carrots from a sack and handed them to Dora. “No charge.”
Waving Dora’s thanks away, he gave her back the money she’d paid earlier. “Anything I can do to help, you let me know.”
“You don’t need to give me back the money,” said Dora. “I have friends who give me money. They have nothing else to give.”
“Keep it,” he said, pushing her hand away.
24
January 2, 1945
Anton presented himself at the Olympic complex for training and received his armband. He put it on with pride.
Of his fellow trainees – a ragtag mixture of the old and very young, some even younger than him – Anton shone as the best pupil, loading the Panzerfaust 30 faster than anyone, and scoring more direct hits on the target than anyone else.
By January 9, he had been posted to the defenses east of the city and found himself in a trench overlooking a wheat field on the Seelow Heights, dressed in a Wehrmacht uniform intended for a man with a much larger frame. He was armed with a rifle with not a Panzerfaust anywhere to be seen, and no sign of his father, Ludwig, or the enemy.
Nothing very much happened for several days. Seelow Heights was the second line of defense. The first line was twelve miles away on the banks of the Oder. Anton clung to his rifle, keeping his eyes glued to the east. He imagined he could hear voices shouting, but the other soldiers laughed at him.
“When will they reach us?” he asked a soldier.
“Soon enough,” replied the soldier. “Eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat,” said the soldier. “You need to keep your strength up.”
The meals, when they came, were filling. The problem was there were days when they didn’t come, leaving the Volkssturm ‘volunteers’ and their companions, the regular soldiers, to sleep with aching bellies.
Ludwig’s trench was 300 meters from the river Oder. On the far side of the river, a forest hid the Red Army that everyone knew was there.
On January 10, Herr Tannhäuser was replaced by a younger man and they moved Ludwig to a trench occupied by an old sergeant armed with a Panzerfaust. This man was even more curmudgeonly than Herr Tannhäuser, and Ludwig could get little more than a few grunts from him. At dawn on January 12, artillery shells began to fall from the sky. They still hadn’t seen a Russian tank or a single Russian soldier.
The noise was deafening, the carnage worse than anything Ludwig could have imagined. He saw fellow soldiers, young and old, blown to pieces in the trenches.
The sergeant fired his Panzerfaust blindly into the forest. Ludwig kept the ammunition flowing. After about five minutes, someone shouted at them to cease firing. Ludwig was glad of the interruption; the weapon’s barrel was too hot to touch, and he already had blisters on his hands.
And then a shell exploded above their trench. Ludwig was blown off his feet. The sergeant was struck in the neck by a piece of shrapnel and fell at his feet. Ludwig screamed. No one heard him above the roar of the artillery shells.
Ludwig watched the blood pour from the sergeant’s neck. He tried to stem the flow with his fingers, but the sergeant died in less than a minute. The troop leader recoiled from the body and used water from his canteen to wash the blood from his shaking hands.
The bombardment continued for another hour. And then it stopped.
A bugle sounded the retreat and they all scrambled from their trenches and ran away from the river, back toward the city. The older men and some of the luckier boys found places on Wehrmacht trucks, but most of the young boys made the journey on foot. The dead and wounded were simply abandoned. Thirty minutes of breathless, desperate running took Ludwig to a collection point where they rested before forming up.
After a half day’s march, they reached another line of defensive trenches in the Seelow Heights. There were hundreds of soldiers and boys here and the trenches had protective covers. They had heavy machineguns and many Panzerfaust weapons. They could take a stand here. They could fight back.
The new arrivals were given time to rest. Soon, boys were moving about, exchanging stories and seeking out missing friends. Ludwig wandered among the trenches.
A soldier handed Anton half a pack of cigarettes for his nerves. He’d heard the Russian artillery fire in the distance. And he’d seen the troops arriving from the east in trucks and on foot. His hands were shaking. He was beginning to understand what was coming.
He was experimenting with his first cigarette when Ludwig, his troop leader, jumped into the trench beside him. Anton hardly recognized him; he looked thin, and much older than his 16 years.
“I told you your chance would come,” said Ludwig.
Anton offered Ludwig his cigarette. Ludwig took a long drag and handed it back. Anton admired his friend’s familiarity with the forbidden art of smoking. He drew in a deep lungful himself and broke out in a wild coughing fit.
Two soldiers laughed at him.
Ludwig patted him on the back. “I didn’t see you at the Oder. Were you there?”
Anton shook his head; he couldn’t speak.
Ludwig waited for Anton to recover his breath. “Seen any action?”
“Nothing’s been happening here.” Anton’s face was red, his voice a distorted croak. “What about you?”
“There was a big battle at the Oder. The Russians fired their artillery into our trenches.”
“We heard the artillery,” said Anton. “Did you fire back?”
“We had to run for our lives.”
“That’s defeatist.” Anton started coughing again.
Ludwig took the cigarette from him and drew on it once more. “We got the signal to pull back.”
“A strategic withdrawal.”
“I suppose. Guess who I was assigned to?”
“Who?”
“Your father! They moved him somewhere else after a few days.”
“And left you on your own?”
“They moved me in with an old sergeant.”
“What was it like?”
“Old and grumpy.” He handed the cigarette back, but Anton waved it away.
“No, what was the battle like?”
“Very noisy.” Ludwig stuck out his chest. “We fired our Panzerfaust at the Russians. We took out three of their tanks.”
“That’s amazing! We heard the artillery bombardment, but we haven’t seen a Russian yet.”
“There were a lot of soldiers killed. It was really scary.” Ludwig’s voice broke. “My sergeant was killed…”
“You saw that?”
Ludwig shuddered. “It happened in the trench right beside me… He was hit by a piece of shrapnel that would have killed me if he hadn’t been standing where he was.”
“That’s nothing,” said Anton. “I’ve seen hundreds of dead bodies in my father’s funeral parlor.”
Ludwig glared at him. “This was different. When the bugle sounded, we ran for our lives. We left—” His voice broke. “We left the d-dead and injured behind. We left my s-sergeant in the trench where he fell.”
“You’re sure he was dead?”
Ludwig said nothing more. He took a last drag on the cigarette and threw it away.
25
Anton and Ludwig were told to stay in the trench where they were. An officer came by and asked all their names. Then they gave them Panzerfaust 30s and 100s and several crates of shells into
the trench.
Ludwig and Anton were given a Panzerfaust 100.
“Wait until you get the order to fire,” said the officer.
They both saluted. The officer moved on without saluting back.
“I’ll fire, you load,” said Anton. “I’m good at this. I scored a high number of hits in training.”
On January 17, word flashed through the trenches that Operation ‘Watch on the Rhine’ had collapsed. General Patton’s move over the Moselle had enabled his tanks to cut the supply chain to the German armor. The offensive – the last real hope of a counterattack – turned into a rout.
Nothing happened for another two weeks. On January 30, the twelfth anniversary of Hitler’s appointment as Chancellor, the Soviets crossed the Oder unopposed. The vast Red Army made its way slowly, relentlessly, westward. On February 2, the vanguard of the army was spotted by a lookout on Seelow Heights. Everyone ran to their positions.
They watched all day as hordes of Russian troops and tanks lined up facing them in the distance.
“Should we fire at them?” said Anton to Ludwig.
“No point. They’re out of range.”
“What’s holding them back?” said Anton. “What are they afraid of?”
Ludwig shrugged. “They know we’re the last line of defense. They are in no hurry.”
The Red Army inched closer until they were within range of the Panzerfaust 100.
“Wait for the order,” said Ludwig.
As dusk fell the Red Army unleashed their artillery. Within minutes, they found their range and the trenches took a pasting. The German defense line’s heavy machinegun response was totally inadequate. Anton was itching to fire their weapon, but the order never came.
Anton and Ludwig cowered together in their trench. Within five minutes, Anton was screaming in terror. After 20 minutes he was clinging to Ludwig like a drowning man.
After another ten minutes of terrifying, ear-splitting bombardment, Anton lost his nerve. Leaping to his feet, he climbed from the back of the trench, shells exploding all around him, and lost all sense of where he should run to safety. In one of the trenches to the rear, a lone figure rose to his feet. “Get your head down,” he shouted.
At the same moment that Anton saw the figure fall, he recognized who it was. He turned and threw himself back into the trench.
Twenty minutes of continuous shelling ended suddenly. Anton was uninjured but his head was pounding, his ears ringing. He sat in the mud of the trench beside Ludwig, facing west, trying to stop his hands from shaking.
“Father…”
“That was your father?” said Ludwig.
Anton could barely hear him. “He shouted a warning to me. I think the Russians k-killed him.”
During the pause in the conflict, everyone in the trenches was given food. They were allowed 15 minutes to eat before the order came to collect the dead. Anton confirmed the identity of one of the bodies. His father had been killed by a single shot that penetrated his helmet.
Ludwig tried to console him, but Anton’s grief consumed him.
Ludwig turned to the nearest Wehrmacht soldier and shouted angrily. “What chance do we have if Russian bullets can go straight through our helmets?”
“It was a chance in a million,” said the soldier. “A long-range sniper’s bullet.”
As the morning dawned, they made preparations for the expected Russian onslaught. Ludwig was given a Panzerfaust 30 and a crate of shells.
“I hope I won’t have to use this,” said Ludwig. “If they get within thirty meters we’ll be done for.”
The Russian advance never materialized.
A soldier came by mid-morning. He peered down into the trench. “You, boys. Come with me. Bring your rifles.”
Anton and Ludwig climbed out of the trench and followed the soldier back through the lines. They stopped at a set of steps leading down into a wide fortified trench. The soldier left them at the back of a queue of youngsters. The line shuffled forward quickly.
Ludwig climbed down first. When Anton went in, he found himself in front of a senior army officer – an Oberst by his insignia – sitting behind a makeshift desk.
“Name?”
“Tannhäuser, Anton, Herr Oberst.”
“You were seen leaving your post last night. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry, Herr Oberst, I was frightened.”
“How old are you, soldier?”
Anton stood as straight and tall as he could. “I’m nearly thirteen, Herr Oberst.”
The Oberst grunted. “You got one of your Volkssturm colleagues shot.”
“That was my father,” said Anton. His lower lip trembled.
The Oberst took a few moments to consult the papers on his desk.
“That was unfortunate. Perhaps now you understand why it’s important to obey orders. I’m reassigning you.” He handed Anton a card. “Next!”
When Anton emerged from the trench Ludwig was waiting for him.
“I’ve been reassigned,” said Anton.
“I’m to remain here. Let me see your orders.”
Anton gave him the card.
“They’re sending you to the south of the city. You have the luck of the devil.”
Anton didn’t feel lucky. He gave Ludwig his packet of cigarettes.
Ludwig thanked him. “See you after the war, after our glorious victory.”
Anton laughed nervously.
26
On February 3, Frau Niedermeyer told everyone that the Russians had crossed the Oder. They had been seen lining up their tanks and infantry in preparation for a major assault on the Seelow Heights.
“What are they waiting for?” said Gretchen.
“Perhaps they’re nervous of taking on our magnificent army,” said the postwoman.
“It’s the Volkssturm they are afraid of,” said Hans. “How could the Red Army face so many battle-hardened pensioners and Hitler Youth?”
That night, they found out what the Russians had been waiting for. The sirens sounded and everyone rushed to the safety of their shelters. Hundreds of Allied bombers flew across from England, unleashing a bombing raid on the city like nothing seen before.
Oskar objected when Gretchen tried to lift him from his chair. “Leave me alone.”
She tugged at his arm. “We have to go, Oskar. There’s a bombing raid.”
Oskar stiffened his body, clinging to the arms of the chair. Gretchen went looking for help, and Frau Carlson came to her rescue. Between them they managed to get him onto his feet and down the stairs and to the safety of the Neu-Westend U-Bahn station. The platform was crowded with others from the Kaiser Wilhelm blocks. Frau Carlson and Frau Tannhäuser were together but the pair kept their distance.
Gretchen could only hope that Dora and Inge, her ‘U-boat’, were safe, as well as her friend, Martha, who used a different shelter.
Hans arrived late, swinging his iron leg awkwardly down the stairs. He joined Gretchen and Oskar.
Frau Niedermeyer did the rounds, spreading more stories of rapes and other horrific atrocities committed by the Russian soldiers. Groups with children chased her away. Gretchen tried to ignore her, but she’d heard most of the stories before. Some were too gruesome to contemplate, but the more she heard them, the more she thought they were probably true.
Dora waited until Professor Hepple had left the building before calling Inge to come down from the attic. They took shelter on the ground floor. The building was deserted. They watched as wave after wave of enemy aircraft flew in across the city and the bombs began to drop.
Dora became nervous. She’d never seen an air raid like it. Within 15 minutes she decided she needed to get Inge to safety in a proper shelter.
Avoiding the nearest U-Bahn station, they ran to another one where Dora might not be recognized. It was a hair-raising dash with bombs falling in streets nearby and explosions behind them, but they made it to the safety of the U-Bahn station, found a shadowy corner and s
ettled down to wait out the raid.
The bombing went on and on. Hans covered his ears. The anti-aircraft batteries made more noise than the bombs, but the bombs that fell near the Neu-Westend shelter shook the ground like earthquakes. Children screamed in terror and plaster drifted down like snow from the ceiling.
The air in the shelter grew more and more foul with every passing hour. Babies cried incessantly. A pair of dogs barked, and their owners shouted at them.
Hans was surprised. “I didn’t think there were any dogs left alive in Berlin,” he said.
Gretchen said she was afraid that the noise would disturb Oskar, by awakening bad memories of his wartime experiences. But he slept through the worst of it, and when he was awake, he seemed unaware of what was going on. Hans wondered if he was deaf; he didn’t seem to hear any of the terrible noise.
At midnight a woman gave birth to a healthy baby boy. That lightened everyone’s mood for a few minutes, until the sounds of the bombs and the answering guns resumed.
Three long siren blasts signaled the all-clear at 4:00 a.m. The weary residents of Berlin climbed out of their underground shelters to see what further devastation the Allies had wrought on their city.
Hans struggled going up the stairs. Going down had been much easier. By the time he reached the start of the last flight of stairs, the U-Bahn station was deserted. Looking up through the entrance, all he could see was a red sky, and his nose was filled with smoke.
Berlin was on fire.
27
Whole streets had been demolished by the bombs. Others were ablaze. The KaDeWe
department store on Tauentzienstrasse was a raging inferno. Teams of firefighters were battling the blaze courageously, but Hans could see that their task was impossible; there were just too many other buildings on fire for them to stand any chance. Smoke from a thousand fires rose into the sky and coalesced into one huge plume that hung, roiling overhead. The air was thick with it.
The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII Page 56
