In the Fire of the Eastern Front

by Hendrick C. Verton

  Our comrade, Szibulla, who came from Upper Silesia, understood a little of both Polish and Russian, and he kept us up-to-date with the movements of the Reds, for they were to be heard, loud and clear. When he heard something that meant they were on the move, or we had a combat order, then we were suddenly very wide awake. Mostly it was the bad language from our counterparts which he translated and which we did not want to hear such as “F ... your mother”, or tantalising attempts to win us over to their side, “Come to us comrades”.

  Then we had real cause for alarm as we heard the faint squeak of a tank-track coming from the riverbanks, which became suddenly louder and louder as well as the loud ‘brumm’ of its motor. A recce detachment confirmed that it was a heavy Stalin tank that could worsen our situation badly, for apart from Panzerfäuste, we had no other anti-tank weapons. It was Scharführer Harry Kähler, a very experienced ‘front-man’, who solved the problem for us, taking the responsibility on to his own shoulders. Under cover of fire from my squad, he emerged from cover only thirty metres away sending two shots broadside into the giant from his Panzerfäuste. The roar of the detonation produced a crescendo in which our own weapons could not be heard. Thick black smoke soared through the turret as it opened, followed by tongues of flame. Then a succession of ear splitting explosions emerged from the 46-tonner, as its ammunition exploded. It was a daredevil mission that could have ended in the death of our chum from the south-east of Germany. But like David and his sling, his pluck paid off. Scharführer Kähler was presented with the Iron Cross 1st Class for his bravery, on that same day, and our fighting spirit was sent soaring. Yes, I must admit that we were proud to have stopped the westwards advance of the Reds on the Oder, whose numbers and material were superior to that of our own forces.

  At the same time as we, the 11th were holding strongpoints, another part of our Regiment narrowed and eliminated another bridgehead near Peiskerwitz. The Wehrmacht General Hans von Ahlfen and General Hermann Niehoff, commanders of Festung or ‘Fortress’ Breslau wrote about those incidents. “The elimination of bridgeheads around Peiskerwitz was successfully conducted by the best organised Regiment of the garrison, Waffen SS Regiment Besslein, on 8 February. Many attempts before this had failed. The bravery shown by the troops and the necessary support they gave, stems from a tried and tested pattern of combined skill and tactics in the line of fire. The Peiskerwitz success had and still has a symbolic meaning. The whole garrison, not only Regiment Besslein, found faith in themselves, one another and their subordinate officers, and we could not have survived without them.”

  One of the many propaganda posters put up in Breslau

  Two days before we were to be relieved, we had found ourselves in a critical situation stemming from a bitter attack on us from the Reds. My squad found itself separated from the rest of the Company as they moved out. Before we knew where we were, the trap closed in around us and we knew that we were left to our own devices, having missed the withdrawal. We had no other choice but to fight to the last bullet. In order to give the impression to the enemy that we numbered more than we actually did, we hopped from house to house, window to window and other positions, firing as we went, in the hope that we could hold out until we were relieved. We didn’t even think about being taken prisoner, of receiving a bullet in the back of the neck, or, even worse, submitting without a fight. We knew that the revenge of those outwitted Russians, having been cheated of success, would have been terrible.

  The Company did not forget us however. This time it was another known daredevil, of the same calibre as Kähler. It was our platoon leader Erwin Domke from East Prussia, who came to our aid. He was not going to leave us in the lurch. With a handful of men, this highly-decorated subordinate officer, managed to free us at dawn on the second day. He surprised the sleeping Red Army men with Panzerfäuste, hand-grenades and small arms. Under protection of their fire we could retreat. We lost one of our younger men, a machine-gunner whom we had to leave. But we were able to take Szibulla with us. He had been wounded in the thigh at the last minute. We willingly handed over the position to our relieving troop, without further losses to the 11th Company.

  Numbering over a hundred men, we had stormed and held this position for eleven days. We left it without many words, exhausted and sad at the thought of having to leave our fallen comrades behind us. Peiskerwitz had been their fate. Only a few had been spared the hell of it all. We slowly made our way along the country roads, and met many of the company’s wounded at the first-aid station in Trautensee. They included one soldier who, since seeing him last, had turned grey overnight. Separated from his unit and totally alone, he had hidden in the loft of a barn as a band of Russian soldiers made it their quarters. He lay there for the next three days. He had to lie almost motionless for those three days, in the fear of being discovered by them, and in fear of what they would do to him. He watched their totally intoxicated antics through the slits of the loft’s wooden flooring. He had to listen to their singing. The Red soldiers enjoyed themselves for those three days, ignorant in their stupor, of his existence. Finally, they moved on. He was so thankful that they had not set the barn alight, thankful and grey.

  We stood once more on the parade ground in Kirschberg, the Regimental headquarters, where twelve days before, we had started our march to Peiskerwitz. Apathetic and freezing with the cold, we let the following proceedings wash over us. We stood with deathly-grey faces, forced to accept how many had not returned with us. The names had no ring to them as they were read out on that occasion. Many, very many, did not answer “here” to their names on being called out, for here they were not. The voice answering with “wounded”, “missing”, or “fallen in combat”, was exactly as lifeless as we felt, for from a proud company of 120 men, only 26 were “here”!

  It was on 15 February 1945 that an announcement was to be heard on the radio, with information that the Red Army had been beaten in Lower Silesia. As in Breslau, there had been bitter fighting from our attacking troops. Many were decorated for this feat, with the Iron Cross, or the Infantry Assault Badge. Our company commander shook our hands, without uttering a single word. We were then released to go to our beds, where totally exhausted, we slept solidly for the next 48 hours.

  Sometime later we were to be found once more in our old barracks of Deutsch-Lissa, having been brought back to full strength, with new men from all arms of the services. We were kitted out with only the best of equipment and arms, as well as a new platoon commander, Leo Habr. This SS-Scharführer was well-known, an experienced front-line fighter, and one with whom I formed a good relationship, as his second-in-command. This amicable native of the Ostmark left the day-to-day duties to me, but in combat he was an example to us all. Our old company leader Zizmann had been promoted to and had been given the command of the 11th. Together with the new men, we were all posted to Johannisberg, to defensive positions on the western banks of the Oder and only a few kilometres from Peiskerwitz.

  From our recent experience, and in our naivety, we were convinced that we could hold the Red Army here too. Having done it once, then we could do it again. What did not occur to us was that then, and now, we had no knowledge of the strategic plans of the campaign as a whole. Because of that, our convictions were to prove to be very, very wrong.

  The pattern was the same as before, and we were given quarters in the deserted houses to be found near our defences. There we found to our joy that the larders were full of food. We helped ourselves and for once we altered the tone of our cuisine, which was such a change to the meals from the military ‘gulash-cannon’, or mobile field kitchen.

  My platoon-leader and I took a short walk to acquaint ourselves with the surrounding area and found that a biplane had taken a nose-dive into one of the fields. We inspected this ‘sewing-machine’ which had caused us so many pestering moments in the past, and then we found the pilot. Whether he had been flung from the plane or had crawled out of it we couldn’t tell, but we found this red-haired Russian a few
metres away from his biplane, dead in the snow. We buried him the next day. As German soldiers, so to speak, we gave the pilot a soldier’s grave, complete with a wooden cross which we made from branches of trees. In doing so, we gave him more than we could for our own soldiers at times, but at that moment we had the time. When the roles were reversed, would this have happened with one of ours? We hoped so!

  We could still hear the noise of combat coming from around Peiskerwitz, but in our own sector the enemy was surprisingly quiet. In fact it was a little too quiet on the other side of the riverbank. Red flares gave their nightly performance and lit the heavens. Now and again we heard the faint sound of motors, but the war did not seem to want to have anything to do with us. The longer that situation lasted, the more suspicious we became. Was something brewing that we didn’t know about? Was it to be a nasty surprise? An order came from our company command-post, to send a recce detachment from our right-hand side of the sector, to the other side of the river. Strength of troops, weapons and positions, and perhaps a prisoner for inter rogation were needed. I volunteered, together with our platoon-leader, Leo Habr who came from Bavaria. We were both curious. Apart from that, a boat-trip at night was a welcome change to guard-duty in the trenches.

  There was a Volkssturm battalion some kilometres away from us, positioned in the lowlands of the Oder. They were to provide us with a boat. It was also to be our starting point. The battalion’s commanding officer was an older man, a major, who was not enamoured with our task when we reported to him. “One should not challenge the enemy unnecessarily,” was his critical comment. But we needed his support and we argued that the information would also be of use to his sector too. He had no choice but to give us his support and as it was not quite dark enough, we enjoyed a drink in the command post. We left some time later, leaving behind our pay-books, ‘dog-tags’ and private belongings, for obvious reasons. Among the grey-haired Volkssturmmänner who manhandled the rowing-boat to the shore, was a young HJ lad of perhaps no more than fifteen years who wanted to come with us. The planks of the rowing-boat, which was old, seemed to be somewhat porous, but it would certainly bring us three over to the other side of the stream and back. We were rather sceptical as we left the Volkssturm and so were they, as they wished us “good luck with the return”. They themselves returned very quickly to the cover of the command post, perhaps thinking that someone might make the suggestion of sending some of them too!

  Although there was thin ice on the shores of the river bank, the river flowed to our benefit rather sluggishly, so that we did not have to strain on the oars. So we rowed as silently as possible in the quiet of the night, until the boat hit sand. It was the shore on the easterly side of the river. Armed with hand-grenades and pistols, we slowly and tensely made our way through overgrown shrubs and trees, making signs to one another as we went. Flares lit the night sky now and again. Then we froze to statues until it was dark once more. We had advanced quite a way and there was no sign of the enemy. Not knowing how far we had moved away from the riverbank, we became a little uneasy. The darkness seemed to envelop us, as if it would swallow us up and we would not escape.

  “We cannot walk to Warsaw, in the hope of seeing the ‘Ivans’,” whispered Habr, breaking the spell. Our mission seemed to be at an end, but almost at the same time, he saw a glimmer and it was back to sign language. It turned out to be the red, flickering glow of a camp-fire. We watched, having crawled on our stomachs for a closer look. From the look of things, a small band of very unconcerned Russian soldiers were enjoying themselves, laughing loudly and enjoying themselves as only Russian soldiers could. But we could not understand what they were saying. I lay there and thought “if only we had Szibulla with us”. His knowledge of the Russian language would have helped us so much in that situation, but we didn’t. It was clear to us that the sector was very thinly manned indeed and now having what we came for, we could depart. Could we take a prisoner? We decided against this order under the circumstances, and left those very happy men of war. Besides that, there were more of them!

  We had fulfilled our mission, and happy that Habr had said that we could return to the boat, our march back was much quicker. Very soon, we saw a band of shimmering water and so that the Volkssturm men were warned of our return, Habr lit a cigarette in mid-stream. Alighting from the boat, they all slapped us on the back when we told them how far away the enemy were and how peace ful too. The major seemed to have been relieved from a nightmare and then invited us for a ‘moist’ night-cap, in his command post.

  Incidentally, the Volkssturm was officially initiated into active service with the Wehrmacht on 25 September 1944. All men between the ages of 16 and 60 years of age, competent in the use of firearms, would be active in the de fence of German territories. The enthusiasm of the young was huge. Sometimes that enthusiasm had to be curbed so that it did not develop into care less, boisterous, high spirits. Many of the ‘infant’ soldiers proved themselves with heroic acts, but on the whole the military performance of the Volkssturm was minimal.

  I must point out that a continuous front-line did not exist along the Oder. Very many soldiers were left to their own devices, became lost, and fought in the bleak and wretched winter countryside without adequate supplies. They had to fight against an enemy that was superior in numbers and material. Very often a single tank, or a group of them, would suddenly appear from the north-west sector, and in the rear of troops holding defensive positions. The attacked units never had a chance. They were destroyed like seeds between two millstones.

  Just as in East Prussia, the raging, merciless fury of the Russians was also felt in the areas that they conquered in Silesia. Even the dead were not spared their fury. The 19th Panzer Division in Blüchersruh, south-west of Breslau, found a skull just ‘lying around’ in the street. It had been removed from the tomb of Marshall Blücher also known as Marshall Vorwärts, the freedom-fighter from 1813—15. Not even he could rest in peace.

  The fight on the Oder was one of continuous movement of troops. With the threat that Russian tanks could break through our front-line, the 11th was moved to Frobelwitz and the winter returned, in all its spiteful-ness. The Leuthen-Frobelwitz road leading to the north is a very straight country road. We had sentry duty along this road, in a snowstorm. Placed at an interval of 50 metres, we stood alone and deserted as the wind whipped the snow around us. It created a white screen that obstructed our view. We could not see one another. If a tank had appeared then it would have been too late. We tried with half-closed eyes against the biting wind, to find our next comrade, either to the right or the left of us. But we couldn’t. So we tried oral contact, calling to one another. But the cry of the wind swallowed our calls. Our hands froze around our rifles and the storm really raged.

  We held our positions that afternoon, through into the evening and the night, without being relieved. Some of us stood there and asked ourselves if we were the only ones, perhaps the last ‘Sentries for Europe’ who were left. I was reminded of the winter of 1941/42 whilst standing there. I remembered the snowstorm raging unhindered over the flat and endless Russian Steppe. There was however a very big difference. The enemy was still the same, but now his advance was on German soil. We held our posts, all of us. Only with dawn the next morning, did a messenger arrive with our marching orders.

  The village of Leuthen, which lies south of Frobelwitz was our next position. It was practically deserted. Those who had remained in the village were women and children, who looked at us through cellar windows as we arrived. We were not expected and were not welcome. They had all hoped that the war would spare their tiny village, which was of really no importance. We took up our positions behind stonewalls, and pyramids of harvested turnips and parsnips. Although we understood the fear in their eyes, for them, our presence also meant the presence of Russian soldiers. We tried our best to warn them of the danger that they were in, as women, if the village were seized by the Russians. But our reasons were ignored by those few who even talked
to us, and many didn’t. We were to leave and then they would be left in peace, was the way that they interpreted the situation. Such ignorance caused some of the men to wish them to the devil. One couldn’t really blame them, for this was the first time that we were not welcomed by our own, in our own land.

  A little time later a Russian lorry drove leisurely past the vili age and came under fire from us. The driver and his companion were killed after a short fight and the lorry burst into flames having been hit in the motor. Before being fully enveloped, we were able to see that it was laden with feather beds, furniture and other household articles, ready to be sent back ‘home’ to Russia. It had been stolen from German farmhouses in the area, the ‘liberation’ had begun, with German goods and chattels, which were certainly luxury articles for them.

  At midday, the low-lying sun cast a faint red glow over the snow. Through our field-glasses we saw Russian tanks advancing towards the village with their infantry on board. Their progress was indeed slow, perhaps because they mistrusted the peaceful impression the village gave. Suddenly, fire spewed from a gun-barrel and the first shell exploded in the vill age. Then the tanks stopped in their tracks, staying at a respectful distance. The in faniry alighted in order to seek projection behind the white-painted tanks.