There were lines in my parents’ faces I had not noticed before. We stayed on subjects that were pleasant and not offensive. We didn’t talk about the war. We didn’t have to. I knew my parents regarded the war as lost and were afraid that the Nazis would fight on with us as pawns until, as the marching song every Jungvolk-Hitler Youth boy learned said, “Wir werden weitermarschieren, bis alles in Scherben faellt…” (“We’ll go on marching till all lies in shambles …”). I mentioned the good things about Hüls and omitted others. Dinner in the evening was good, pork chops. My parents had saved meat allowed on their ration cards for this event. The table was set carefully as always, crystal, fine china, silverware. There were reasons to be thankful.
These became two good days after all. Air raid alarms sounded both nights and we spent time in the basement shelter. But the English had flown on elsewhere. The radio in the morning said that Leipzig and Stuttgart had been attacked. On a rainy morning I took the dismal journey back feeling better than when I’d come.
A Nightfighter’s Night. Returning, walking away from the Recklinghausen end station of the streetcar line, I could see and smell the acid-tasting fog while I was still two kilometers from the 4. Zug tower. Before I got there, air raid sirens howled. I rushed up the stairs, dropped my gear and book satchel in our apartment and hastened to the gun platform. They were all there, standing around the corporal with serious expressions on their faces. “Amis over Rotterdam,” Ferdi whispered to me. Sieber listened intently to a new message coming through the earphones. He looked at the floor. “They are over Emmerich now, continuing east.” Emmerich was 75 kilometers northwest of us. Considering that a Fortress was supposed to have a maximum speed of 475 km/h, somewhat less fully loaded, the bombers could reach us in fifteen minutes or less if Hüls was the target. Getting down from the tower and into the foxholes would take five minutes, so we had less than ten minutes to spare, waiting for more news. The heavy Flak to the north had not opened up. Perhaps they might pass us by?
The bomber fleet did pass. They hit Braunschweig, 250 kilometers east-northeast of us. There were American fighter planes with the Viermots, Lightnings and Mustangs. What would they do if their escort was not needed? We remained on the tower for three hours until the last of the armada left the air space north of us on their way back.
There was no school in the morning. And there was none on the following morning. That day was a repetition of Monday. Again we wasted hours on the tower while the bomber stream passed us to the north and hit Magdeburg, 75 kilometers east of Braunschweig. On the way back it came into the range of the heavies on the edge of the Ruhr around Dorsten, Marl and those in the north of Recklinghausen. We watched the build-up of vapor trails from a safe distance.
Relentless day and night attacks continued. On the 24th the Americans bombed Schweinfurt again and the English followed with an attack during the night. As in their earlier raids on the Schweinfurt ball-bearing industry, the Fortresses and Liberators suffered grievous losses. During the night we watched an interesting spectacle from our tower. In a cloudless sky English Lancasters and Halifaxes flew in a steady stream relatively low, about 5,000 meters (16,000 feet) high. Each plane was separated from the next by a kilometer or more. The searchlights had a great night. They picked them up one after another. As each rode the light cone, heavy Flak set to work on it, until passing it on to the next string of batteries. The shooting was pretty accurate due to visual ranging.
One plane was brought down. Six times the Flak ceased firing when sudden flares were dropped behind a Viermot. Shortly thereafter, we saw tracers and the Viermot burst into flames and came down. Six Abschüsse by nightfighters. This was a bad night for the RAF. We saw something like this only once more during our time in Hüls. It was obvious we knew little about what hard battles were fought in the sky.
We had school again in 5. Zug on Monday but the next day, February 29, Americans hit Braunschweig again and we spent another three hours on the tower. Until my next furlough, March 18-19, we had class just four times, March 6 and 7, and March 13 and 14. Math and chemistry got the short end of the stick compared to our other chores. Most days we spent hours and hours on the tower on stand-by as the Americans flew no less than seventeen raids on major cities beyond the Ruhr, including two in our old neighborhood, Köln and Bonn, March 4. And so our lives went.
My weekend furlough was similar to the last one. My parents and I were happy to be together. On Sunday afternoon I took the .22 to the Ruine. My hunting ground looked forlorn, its magic lost. I walked in the wet grass and once sat for a while on a pile of stones that had fallen from the crest of the castle keep. Everything was fading away, nothing remained as it had been. I left in the morning with another load of books, German classical and post-classical literature – the best company for a wounded heart.
A Promotion. During the following four weeks we had classes Monday and Tuesday mornings; for a change they were not interrupted by alarms. The fog canisters remained a threatening presence during class sessions, but did not get into action. Nevertheless, American bombers flew nine missions into Germany while we sat useless on our tower during six of them. The teacher from Dortmund dropped chemistry and focused on math. We agreed that we needed math most; teaching chemistry without a lab was impossible. The going was so tough that we called on Sasha, our Russian math teacher, to help us with homework and prepare us for in-class exams. With his help we managed. I had been never fond of math, so I barely got by.
A couple of events occurred during that time that stood out and disrupted our routine. One day we were all promoted to LW-Oberhelfer, the highest grade available, our promotions because of seniority. From then on we wore a thin silver cord on both shoulder straps of our dress uniform. We also received the Flakleistungsabzeichen: (Flak Merit Badge). This was an oval piece of blue-grey cloth 10cm (3¾ inches) wide, embroidered with silver yarn depicting an 8.8cm cannon between eagle wings with oak leaves attached and a small swastika underneath. This piece had to be sewn on to the lower left sleeve of the dress uniform. I recorded neither the promotion to Oberhelfer nor the decoration in my diary, so I have no dates for them. We proudly wore the silver cords on our dress uniforms because they signified that we were alte Hasen (“old hares”) who had been under fire. We were ambivalent about the merit badge. In Reisholz we had fought to protect our cities and others. We did nothing in Hüls that deserved praise.
Another event was the repetition of what had happened on February 24-25. The English once again bombed Schweinfurt, March 30-31, and again on a clear night. On the way back, the Lancasters and Halifaxes followed the same route that had brought them such harm five weeks earlier. Searchlights picked them up and passed them from one battery to the next. We saw four Viermots shot down by Flak and one by night- fighter.
Two sad events happened on the nights of March 26-27 and April 11-12. The first was a heavy raid on Essen, once again, the second, a raid on Aachen. Essen was just twenty kilometers south of us. When the bombers approached the Ruhr we thought it might be our turn, the one we anticipated with dread. A short time after the alarm sounded we were ordered to clear the tower. I sat hunched in my foxhole, my head with the steel helmet pressed against the earth, listening to the sounds that came through the night. The rumble of Flak fire accompanied the English bombers from the moment they neared Bottrop and held on from Oberhausen to Essen. So they went elsewhere! Then came the awful sounds of booming explosions, again and again. I climbed out of the foxhole and, with the others, ran up the stairs to the platform. We stood together, leaning against the parapet, and watched pillars of fire and smoke spring up and reach in to the sky and redden the clouds. We had seen it so many times before, but the destruction of a city still caused a shock that burned into our hearts.
We only saw the red sky from the Aachen raid a hundred kilometers to the southwest. The ancient city of Charlemagne, founded at the end of the 8th century A.D., put to the torch, too! When Thei and I went through Essen on furlough on the
weekend of April 15-16, we saw the ghastly new scars that had been added three weeks ago atop the old ones from earlier attacks.
Oh Düsseldorf. When the two of us returned on Monday morning, our three buddies were waiting anxiously. We had received orders to transfer to 1. Zug for the next fourteen days. Someone at battery headquarters had worked out a plan to shuffle gun-crews among the various sections. The section chiefs remained where they were, so our pleasant Corporal Sieber would not go with us. We never learned the reasons for this new system. Perhaps it was thought we had become too complacent or too comfortable in our present haunts.
That was bad news for us. The section chief of 1. Zug, a sergeant by the name of Kulick, had the reputation of being a boor, a plebeian, and a sexual fiend, according to the Flakhelfer who had served under him. They had been very unhappy in 1. Zug.
We packed our gear and moved out. 1. Zug was located in the birch forest about 1 kilometer northwest of battery headquarters. There were three wooden towers but only two 2cm guns. The birches were young trees no higher than ten meters (30 feet). The towers, accordingly, had a supply shed on ground level and the gun platforms on the second floor, above the treetops. The buildings of the Hüls factory lay to the south and southwest. We immediately missed our 4. Zug apartment on the third floor. Now we were quartered in a sizable wooden shack on the ground next to a washroom, about 50 meters from the sergeant’s hut. The sergeant made us stand at attention when he explained the situation. He was a burly man in his early forties with a roundish face and no medals on his chest. He eyed us with suspicion; boys from an elite school like the others who thought they were better than him. Or so he had told our predecessors. It didn’t matter that we didn’t think that way; he lived by his misconceptions and acted upon them.
We were split into two crews to serve the guns. Thei and Wenner stayed with me. Ferdi took the second gun with Hannes. We were forced to do training exercises with the guns. Wasted time. We were already experts at dry runs. We never fired a round while in 1. Zug. I had test fired short bursts in 4. Zug a couple of times at night. It was called Funktions-Schiessen. At an exact moment all the guns of the battery let loose. The command to fire was given to the section chiefs by radio. I had never shot at, nor even seen, a real target.
There was no class that morning. None on the following day when American Viermots came through and bombed Brandenburg, Wittenberge and Oranienburg. Again, we sat for hours on the platforms.
The sergeant never visited the guns during an alarm. He stayed in his hut by the radio and only pushed the alarm button and gave the all-clear signal. He was rarely alone there. Almost every day he was visited by one woman or another. Usually the visitor stayed over night. We could clearly hear them as they carried on. They knew we heard, but they didn’t care. Our Flakhelfer buddies were right: Kulick was a plebeian and an unabashed sex fiend, as were his women. In the mornings, after the woman had left without giving us a glance, the sergeant tore through our abode playing non- commissioned officer. He made sure our bed covers were straightened to perfection and our lockers were organized according to his demands. The slightest actual or imagined deviation resulted in the “offender” being sent to polish the two-seat latrine. He enjoyed sneering at the books on our table, books for school and books for private reading, before he retired to his hut. Sometimes he left the section without explanation, charging us to cover for him at the radio, and depending on us for keeping quiet about his absence.
On the third night after our arrival in 1. Zug, April 20-21, Köln was bombed again, and on the night following, Düsseldorf. Twice we watched the burning sky to the west-southwest. The far one on the first night we suspected was Köln. The closer one on the second night we thought was our city. In Reisholz we had learned to identify the locations of huge fires and firestorms at night. We feared for our parents, relatives, neighbors, and friends, and all the others. We watched helplessly. In the morning we learned that the Düsseldorf attack had been severe. We were angry at the “terror bombers.” We would have understood if the English bombed Hüls, even though we might not have survived it. After all, Hüls was an important chemical facility, perhaps of relevance to the German war effort. Why did the English hit the same cities again and again when the industries there had already been destroyed, and after destruction reorganized somewhere in the countryside?
We asked for furlough to look for our people in Düsseldorf. It was granted to five of our 31 Flakhelfer, and they left immediately. Thei was one of them. They were to check on all our families. Those of us remaining at the battery worried for three days. When the guys came back their news was bad, but not too bad. None of our loved ones had died, although four families lost their homes; they had survived in concrete bunkers. They would be quartered somewhere, but did not know where yet. Their sons were given furlough for a couple of days to be with them. None of the bombs had fallen on Gerresheim. My parents were safe. There was another attack on Essen on April 26-27. We spent some time in the foxholes during that night and later watched the fires from the towers. I was finally granted furlough for the weekend of April 29-30. My parents knew from Thei’s visit that we in Hüls were all right. They told me that the attack had caused great damage south of the main railroad station of my city. One thousand two hundred and fifty people were counted dead, others still missing, many injured, and another 25,000 had lost their homes.
5. Zug. When I returned to the battery I went straight to 5. Zug for class. The Dortmund teacher disliked absences due to furlough; they interfered with his plans. Although interruptions by air raid alarms were frequent and unavoidable, he seemed to think furloughs should be avoidable. To us they were a link to our families and a world threatened but still existing. They gave us a brief release from the life and monotony in the battery.
After class and after lunch we walked the two and a half kilometers to 3. Zug where we had been transferred. When we passed the 1. Zug towers and Kulick’s shack we felt sorry for the boys who had come up with us and replaced us there. 3. Zug consisted of three revetments sitting in a line on the wall of the Rhein-Herne Canal, a waterway that connected the Ruhr cities with the Ems River and the North Sea coastal city of Emden. Below the canal wall sat the corporal’s hut, a larger wooden barrack for us, the gun crews, and the ubiquitous latrine. There were only two 2cm cannons here also, not the full complement of three. The corporal, by the name of Brand, served as section chief and radio man. He was a heavy-set, jovial man, happy to be stationed in what appeared to be a backwater place in the war. Our association with him was good and friendly. And we, too, felt that we were away from everything, including the Hüls factory.
Over the next fourteen days we had class three times. On Monday, May 4, instead of class we sat in our revetments as American Viermots came through on the way to Braunschweig and Berlin. Five times we stood by the guns when the Americans bombed Münster, May 7, Saarbrüeken, May 11, Merseburg and Chemnitz, May 12, and Osnabrück and Stralsund, May 13. Aside from this, we had a good time in 3. Zug, and as always, much time to ourselves. We got permission to call on Sasha, our Russian genius, for math homework.
On May 14 we transferred to 5. Zug, along with boys from the other sections to raise the numbers to the required fourteen Flakhelfer. This was the first time I sat in the gunner’s chair on a 2cm Vierling, the K 1 position. I had to make a few adjustments. My left foot fired the lower left and upper right barrels, the right foot the lower right and upper left barrels. The sighting mechanism was the same as on the single-barrel gun. The K 2 position, assistant to the gunner, generally recommended in regulations, was considered superfluous and omitted. The K 3 sat on the left side of the gun, the K 4 on the right side. These were the magazine gunners, charged with feeding magazines into the breeches. The ammunition gunners, K 5 and K 6, were Russian Hiwis. The section chief, a Fähnrich (officer-candidate), was in a small command post in the middle of the triangle formed by the three revetments. The Russian Hiwis were permanently stationed in the Vier
lings-Zug. We had not met them before but got along with them well.
While we were in 5. Zug the RAF opened a new campaign on the Ruhr cities and the Rhineland. On May 20-21 Düsseldorf was attacked again, on May 21-22, Duisburg, on May 22-23, Dortmund, and Aachen on May 24-25 and 26-27. During these night attacks we just stood in the open and watched the bloody skies. There was no end to it. What bothered us most, of course, was the repeated bombing of Düsseldorf. Our parents had been spared so far. It was a miracle. But for how much longer? This was a bad time for us. On Tuesday, May 23, the morning after his city had been hit, our teacher from Dortmund did not show up. We knew transportation was disrupted; perhaps he had perished.
On Saturday, May 27, I was granted another furlough. Because of the damage to Duisburg I had difficulty getting to Düsseldorf. Trains had been re-routed. I got there in the evening. On the streetcar to Gerresheim I found out that the suburb was still intact. What a relief! What would I do if my parents were dead? I had no one else. My aunt Lisbeth had lost her large house on Kreuz-Strasse, near the Düsseldorf downtown area, a year ago and was a homeless refugee somewhere in the country. My uncle Peter, the Nazi in the family, was with the Rheinmetall arms factory, destroyed in Düsseldorf but now operating somewhere hidden in the country in a secret location. Even if I knew where to find him, I would never stay with him and his wife. The parents of my cousins who had been killed in action were too distant from us, from me. Without my parents, what would I have to live for?
Flakhelfer to Grenadier: Memoir of a Boy Soldier, 1943-1945 Page 12
