by Alan David
They circled the town, trying to find their unit, and when Leutnant Reinhalt, the Troop Commander, came on the air to give them instructions, Kurt reported that they were ready for action. They were informed that the town had fallen into their hands and the armour was pushing on.
Dust trailed across the plain beneath the rising smoke, and Kurt tried to relax in the turret. Schultze did not have to ask directions, for the battle was still pounding up ahead, and they closed quickly upon their infantry, who were mopping up. Dead Poles and Germans lay everywhere, testifying to the ferocity of the fighting, and Kurt discovered that he no longer winced when their broad tracks ran over some of the sprawled figures. He smiled wryly as he guessed that, despite his first painful reaction, he was becoming accustomed to the horrors of war.
There was an amazing amount of enemy equipment lying around, hastily discarded by troops who were demoralised and defeated by the superior forces attacking them. Surprisingly, they came across large numbers of prisoners being herded along by a few German infantrymen, and Kurt stared hard at what were his first live enemies.
The only road going east was crammed with vehicles of all kinds; half-tracks, staff cars, tanks, trucks, armoured cars and motor cycles. Some of them showed scars of battle and others were fresh, evidently reinforcements. It made Kurt think seriously about the war and how much his people were throwing into it. He failed to see how or where the Poles could make a stand, and there was a mixture of horror and pity in him for this unfortunate nation.
They eventually caught up with their unit and rejoined, but the pace was fast, for the breakthrough was complete and they had to exploit it to the limits of possibility. They soon outdistanced their supplies, and night was falling when they finally halted and checked their surroundings. The grenadiers took up defensive positions and the tanks leaguered. By the time their supplies caught up with them and they had prepared for the next day, it was past midnight, and Kurt staggered with fatigue as he went to the troop commander’s tank for a briefing.
Captain Zimmermann was there with Leutnant Reinhalt, and he was exultant. Their advances of the day had exceeded even his wildest hopes. The tank commanders stood in a small group and listened to a pep talk, and then Kurt learned that they would be moving on at first light in the morning and briefing would be at 0500 hours. He had started back to his tank, ears still filled with ringing, the night black about him, when a sudden rapid drumming sounded. He frowned, turning to look at one of his fellow tank commanders, and then all hell broke loose. A machine-gun began firing and rifles joined in. Kurt ran to his tank. There were Polish cavalrymen out there, making a raid upon the outposts.
Fear seeped into his mind as he reached the tank, for an immobile tank was vulnerable to all kinds of attack by determined men. He could hear the sound of many hooves despite the rattling guns, and discovered that his crew were already leaping upon the tank and disappearing into its interior via their hatches. Kurt gained the turret and took up a defensive watch. But he was concerned that anyone opening fire would set the whole leaguer into action, and then someone might get hurt.
But the attack, whatever it was, seemed to be held by the grenadiers in their defensive positions, and artillery laid down fire plans while machine-guns crackled incessantly. After some minutes the action was broken off, and they stood down, feeling relieved.
Kurt managed to get some sleep under the tank, and was awakened as usual by Schultze in what for them was to become a daily ritual. The tank driver always seemed to be the first one awake, and he made coffee before calling Kurt for the tank commanders’ briefing. It was Sunday morning, Kurt thought as he drank the coffee. At the moment there was very little action, although shells were exploding in the distance, but soon they would be on the move again, and reality was already at his shoulder, waiting with whatever fate had in store.
At the briefing he learned that they were to head south-east to meet up with the Third Army striking south from East Prussia, and they would join the attack upon Warsaw itself. The Polish army was beginning to crumble, and the Panzer commanders were considering advancing along routes thought to be impassable to tanks.
The advance continued at first light, and again the Panzers proved to be invincible, rushing at their objectives and capturing them. Kurt felt as if he were in a vacuum. There was good news from the other fronts. In Army Group South, General von Rundstedt and his Chief of Staff, General Manstein, had sent Tenth Army halfway to Warsaw, and the Tenth would form the southern prong of the pincer which would crack the Polish capital.
But there was some ominous news that day which Kurt found disconcerting. Britain and France declared war on Germany. Their ultimatum regarding the withdrawal of German troops from Poland had been ignored by the Führer and consequently a state of war now existed between the Allies and Germany.
Kurt stood in the turret of his Mark IV and gazed ahead at the shattered countryside through which they were rumbling. They were winning this war so easily. It was true that the Third Army, with very few tanks, had run into trouble against the Polish defences, but Blitzkrieg was making all the difference to the whole war and nothing could stop them. In a matter of two or three weeks, if they maintained their present rate of advance, Poland would be finished.
Such a display of military prowess should daunt Britain and France and make them think twice before attacking such a powerful nation as Germany! Kurt wanted to believe that, but in his heart he felt that the die was cast, and no matter what the German forces did now, disaster faced them in the future. Eastwards lay the sleeping giant that was Russia, and every German knew that the worst enemy of western civilisation was bolshevism. If the British and the French had any sense at all they would ally themselves with Germany to fight the communists. The Führer had given an indication of what they could expect from the East but no other nation was paying any heed to the grim warning. The war clouds spreading across the skies of Poland would surely drift to encompass the whole of Europe and engulf Asia and the rest of the world.
From his narrow and lonely point of view, Kurt could not see farther than the next enemy strong point, but he was aware that very soon their attention would have to be turned elsewhere, and that really frightened him.
Chapter Seven
Max Eckhardt sat in his platoon HQ and tried to stay awake. The long, sunny hours of the sixth day of war were over and his ears were ringing from the incessant din to which they had been subjected. Exhaustion filled him and he could barely hold up his head, yet he could not rest, for the news that France and Britain had declared war upon Germany filled him with relief. At long last they would get the opportunity to strike at the French. He wished his father were alive, for this would have been a triumphant moment for him. But Max himself could savour the elation his father should have felt.
Outside, the sounds of war continued, although the night was dark. They had halted because they needed to regroup. Yet another breakthrough carried them forward over a tremendous amount of ground — they were halfway to Warsaw — and their supplies were late in coming up. But endless lines of vehicles were making their way through the devastated countryside, and villages and farmsteads had been reduced to rubble by the sledgehammer blows of ‘Blitzkrieg’. The Luftwaffe had rained down death and destruction on countless towns, smashing strong points and crushing resistance, while the artillery had bombarded defensive positions and reduced them to smoking ruins.
The Poles were hoping that autumn rains would hold up the onrush of German armoured columns, but the skies had been cloudless over the past days and it seemed that nothing could halt the advance or even slow it down.
Max was jubilant with the way their fortunes had gone. He was certain that nothing could stop them now. It was in his blood to want to fight the enemies of the Third Reich, and all the Führer’s prophecies were coming true. Army Group South, particularly Tenth Army, was rolling through the Polish major defence group known as the Krakow Army, and the spearhead was moving irresistibly east
and north-east in the general direction of the Polish capital. Krakow had fallen that day and the Polish army was in retreat. The fighting was non-stop, and they halted only to await the arrival of fresh supplies. The combination of tanks and infantry was unbeatable, and news of many successes, on their own front and in the north, where the Danzig Corridor had been overcome, filled Eckhardt with grim elation.
But he was impatient for the war with Poland to end. He wanted to be transferred to the western front where he would be able to fight the French as his father had done, and this time they would show France what determined Germans could do with the right weapons and leadership.
Sergeant Meyer entered the cellar, and his usually stiff shoulders were slumped. Exhaustion lined his face and his eyes glittered as he saluted Eckhardt.
‘The platoon is down in all-round defence as you ordered, Herr Leutnant. No signs of Polish patrolling. From the sound of it they are still falling back.’
‘We’ll soon be fighting in the suburbs of Warsaw,’ Eckhardt promised. ‘Two days at the latest, I’d say.’
‘And then, sir?’ Meyer stifled a yawn and shook his head to rid himself of the overwhelming desire to close his eyes. He had seen men, during that day, falling asleep over their weapons whenever they had halted for a few brief moments, and at a crossroads they had come across a column pulled on to the verge where motor-cyclists were drooped asleep on their machines. They had not stopped to rest since the war began, and now the first week was at an end and they had captured almost half of west Poland. It was obvious to everyone that the Poles could not stop them and it would be only a matter of time before all resistance ended.
‘I’m not concerned with the future, Sergeant, apart from hoping that we will be sent to the western front and the French.’
‘There have been no reports of attacks by the French,’ Meyer said hopefully. ‘They can’t get men and material here to Poland to help, and it doesn’t look as if they have the nerve to attack us in the west. It will be up to the Führer to decide where the next blow shall fall.’
Eckhardt nodded, getting to his feet and picking up his machine pistol. ‘I’ll make a round of the platoon before reporting to Company HQ,’ he said. ‘You stay near the wireless and have a work-party standing by to collect ammunition and supplies as soon as they arrive. I expect we’ll be pushing on again at first light.’
Sergeant Meyer nodded. The past six days had changed him from a ‘green’ soldier into a veteran. He had witnessed incidents he would not have believed possible only weeks before, and now he was confident that the German Army could hold its own with any army in the world. He fought off his tiredness and sat down to remain at the alert. There had been too many executions in the Company for his liking, and Captain Dantine was not hesitant in ordering the death sentence for any failure, however slight, to comply with orders.
Eckhardt went out into the uncertain night. Artillery-fire flared and rumbled and the shadows seemed uneasy. He went to check the sections, finding them resting but alert, and then made his way towards Company HQ, aware that they could have advanced a great deal farther were it not for the policy of restraining the mobile forces until infantry units could catch up to them. Even now he could hear trucks in the rear, coming forward slowly, and he knew that by the time the tanks set out in the morning, accompanied by the grenadiers, the infantry would be in position and holding the easily won ground. But underneath he was uneasy. All that he had learned about the bolsheviks before the war taught him never to trust them, and he was keenly aware that they were pushing ever closer towards the Russian border.
He found Captain Dantine alone in his command post, drinking schnapps, and the hard-faced SS man smiled grimly when he looked up into Eckhardt’s weary features.
‘That was a brilliant move on your part this afternoon, Leutnant,’ he commended. ‘I am forwarding your name to Battalion for a decoration. You advanced your platoon exactly at the right moment, and your leadership is of the highest order.’
‘I was merely doing my duty, sir,’ Eckhardt replied modestly.
‘Nevertheless we need all the publicity we can get, and I have been informed by Colonel Spaten that any unusual devotion to duty must be brought to his notice. I see that you are already wearing the ribbon of the Iron Cross Second Class. You won that in Spain, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Then another is due for your collection.’ Dantine nodded. ‘I wish I had more officers of your calibre, Leutnant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Your platoon has been tightened up considerably. You have had the least number of cowards and deserters. Only three, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Eckhardt’s eyes glittered in the lamplight.
‘And one of them you executed yourself.’ Dantine smiled. ‘I like an officer who thinks and acts like me. You had the right kind of upbringing for the job we have in hand. When Poland has capitulated, and that may happen any day now, we, the SS, have a special job to do.’
‘Special, sir?’ Eckhardt frowned. ‘I was hoping we would be transferred to the western front to fight the French.’
‘I admire your spirit, and I know why you want so badly to fight the French. But there are more important issues at stake, Leutnant, and you must learn to get your priorities right.’
‘I am totally prepared to carry out any orders you give, sir.’ Eckhardt stiffened. ‘I understand the need for cleaning up afterwards. Poland is a big new country for us, and there will have to be many changes.’
‘You came out of the SS leadership school top of your class, Eckhardt, and I can tell why, listening to you talking. I am watching you very carefully. You are one of the senior officers of this Company, and further promotion cannot be far away. Continue to do your duty as you have performed it during the past week and you will be a credit to us all and the SS in particular. We have need of heroes, Leutnant. The Wehrmacht have no time for us. Their commanders do not want us in the field with them. So we have to show them that we are better soldiers than their own command. That is an express order from Reichsführer Himmler himself.’
Eckhardt nodded. ‘What are your orders now, sir?’
‘We cannot do anything until the infantry move in and our supplies arrive. Stand down half your platoon and let them rest. We must be ready for the big push towards Warsaw. You know whose Company is going to be the first to sight the Polish capital, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir, and I hope my platoon will be leading it.’
Dantine chuckled harshly. His glittering eyes remained serious, however, and regarded Eckhardt in a detached way, as if he were two different men in the same body, one listening to the dictates of strict duty while the other tried to act like an ordinary man. But there was no room in the SS for ordinary men, and both Dantine and Eckhardt knew it.
‘We are going to get along famously,’ Dantine commented. ‘When Warsaw has fallen we shall be taken out of active service and detached from the Wehrmacht. We have other duties to perform. The orders are secret until the moment arrives, but I was at a battalion briefing recently and something is in the wind. I will let you know about it as soon as orders arrive.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Eckhardt was puzzled but did not show it. ‘Will there be anything else before Orders Group at 0400 hours?’
‘No, that will be all. If I were you, I’d get some rest. Split up the rest of the night with your sergeant. Meyer is a good NCO, so Leun informs me. When the fighting is over there will be many promotions for the right men. We are going to expand. New SS divisions will be formed. I think you can look forward to a great future, Leutnant. Heil Hitler!’
‘Heil Hitler!’ Eckhardt saluted and withdrew, and he was thoughtful as he walked back to the platoon positions. A figure materialised at his side and he tightened his grip upon his Bergmann, but it was Leun, and the sergeant-major was alert as usual.
‘Leun, don’t you ever sleep?’ Eckhardt demanded. ‘No matter where I go, you are pr
owling around.’
‘Just doing my duty, sir,’ the sergeant-major replied, smiling. ‘I don’t need much sleep. I’m making a round of the company positions while waiting for the ammunition to come up. As soon as it arrives I’ll have work parties out distributing it. We can’t fight without ammo, sir.’
‘You’ve done a very good job so far. But you exceed your duties by joining in the fighting. I’ve seen you in the thick of it several times.’
‘I like to keep my hand in, sir.’ Leun chuckled. ‘The way things are going, we’ll be in Warsaw in a couple of days.’
‘We may find it a very tough battle when we come up against its defences. I can’t see the Poles letting it go easily. They must have prepared defences in depth around it.’
‘Nothing can stop us!’ Leun boasted with the knowledge of one who had seen ‘Blitzkrieg’ shatter and pulverise the Polish first line of defence. ‘When Warsaw is finished the rest of the country will fall. Army Group North are pushing on to Warsaw from the opposite direction. I saw the maps in Captain Dantine’s command post. Third Army has split and is sending a spearhead towards Brest Litovsk and one due south to Warsaw. It’s a perfect pincer movement.’
‘I didn’t realise that you were such a tactician, Leun.’
‘Being around the Captain has taught me a few things, sir.’
‘Well the Poles underestimated the speed of our attack. They’re falling back to successive lines of defence, and we are getting to them first. We are behind the main Polish defences here, and there is nothing they can do about it.’ Eckhardt spoke harshly, his mind flitting across the broad face of the strategy that had been employed. ‘But after Poland, what comes next? It’s a question everybody is asking.’
‘I’m afraid of the Russians, sir.’ Leun spoke quietly, and because they were friends of long standing the sergeant-major could voice his feelings. ‘Not physically afraid of them. I’ve fought too many bolsheviks, in my time, on the streets of Berlin. But we can’t trust the Russians. That pact was signed with them last month. If you ask me, it isn’t worth the paper it is written on.’
