Once more we were in a position which offered very little protection, for Leuthen lay like an island, in the middle of flat terrain, in a farming area. There was also little or no protection for reserves on their approach to the village, if we called for them. It was so small it really was not worth defending for any length of time. A direct hit on one of those pyramids of turnips would flatten you too, if you were hiding behind one of them. It was then that we saw white bed-linen on the west side of the village being waved by the women surrendering. The situation altered dramatically. We received the order, with some bitterness, to retreat. We reformed, just a couple of kilometres away and dug-in separately on the road to Saara, which was not an ideal place to dig-in either. We would have preferred to have sought protection on the edge of the wood but the infantry were there. So we found ourselves in no-man’s land but between the line of fire from the infantry and that of the enemy. To say that we were uneasy would be an understatement.
All was quiet until the next morning because the Russians were busy looting the houses in Leuthen. That was confirmed by one of our recce detachments who had made their way under cover of darkness to the village. Upon their return they told of the cries for help from the women and children, who were easy prey for the Russian soldiers. They were now paying for their obstinacy, unfortunately. We were rudely awakened at dawn, with an ice-cold greeting from the Russians, as was to be expected, as a shell exploded somewhere behind us in the woods. We were now wide awake. More followed, hitting the road and the fields in front of us at the same time. The higher the sun rose on that day in late February, the more intense the barrage became. Heavy artillery began to plough the terrain, and we had no other choice but to cower in our dug-outs and let it roar over our heads. We were helpless.
We closed our eyes tightly against the flashes of detonating shells, but had no remedy for the decibels bursting our ear-drums or the clouds of choking gun-powder causing us to cough and splutter. Our dug-outs rose and fell and shook with every explosion. The timpani began as steel splinters, sods of earth, sand and stones hit our steel helmets, with the barrage coming from the Russians. In the pauses between the impacting rounds our infantry returned their fire and we had to duck once more against the blast of whistling shells whipping around our ears, although they did their best to fire over our heads. I dared to take a quick peep from my dug-out to find that the terrain had now another face. It was almost ghostly, as banks of smoke hung over a landscape of craters. My neighbouring comrade to my left lay lifeless in his dug-out, which was no longer a dug-out but a crater. He had received a direct hit. On that occasion there were no wounded, only the dead. To my right lay a legless comrade, who had perhaps tried to leave his dug-out, unable to hold out in such hell. The price was losing his legs and his life. He no longer moved. In doubt, I called out to others who may be living. Almost in slow motion, one after another steel helmet rose out of the ground. The faces of my young comrades had eyes wide open in fright. They were hardly able to speak.
We then had a pause in the firing. It was still, it was sinister, and not a good sign. We knew from experience that our infantry would attack immediately. Already they were to be seen, about a battalion in strength. We saw the soldiers in Sturmangriff, in assault formation and widely spaced from one another. The dark figures in contrast to the white landscape, came nearer and nearer, and became larger and larger. For once, the Russians considered their own men and did not fire. We showed ourselves too and left our holes in the earth. We had swallowed the first ‘potion’ the Reds had served, but we were not going to sell ourselves so cheaply. We were ready, come what may.
With targeted firing from our machine-guns and machine-pistols, we fired directly into the screaming masses of oncoming Red infantry, including ponies pulling the carriages of anti-tank guns. They halted now and again to allow the ‘Urra’-screaming gunners to fire a salvo or two in our direct ion. Our officers in the foremost lines fired tracers, aiding us to concentrate our fire in the right direction. Although our own bitter attack may have delayed the impetus of the enemy’s attack, in the end there were too many of them. We were outnumbered and the situation was hopeless. A few of our comrades still lay in their dug-outs and used their last ammunition. In front of us we had the attacking enemy, behind us flat terrain giving no protection, and all of two hundred metres before we hit the woods. We had no choice. The prospects were grim. We had to fight to the end, and it appeared on this occasion that that would be the case.
Death was so near that I do not believe we fought as perfectly trained soldiers in that situation. A careless instinct took command, guiding us almost in a trance. I certainly was no longer aware of what I was doing, but I re member that my life replayed before my eyes with great speed. Because of that, it took some time before I heard the calling from the edge of the wood. Company and platoon leaders were signalling towards a stream, running in a straight line through the fields to the wood. Together with others, I used the last of my strength to spring into the ice-cold water, with machine-gun fire whipping around our ears. Although splinters and fragments landed in the water and only light wounds were received, under such freezing conditions it meant the end for many of us.
We reached the wood and the protection that it gave. We were soaked, and with chattering teeth. We saw the ‘Ivans’ spring into our dug-outs. In looking back at our dead comrades lying on the road who we had to leave behind, the scene blended into the battlefields of Leuthen in December of 1757. Troops of Fredrick the Great, numbering 34,000, had reached Silesia to fight the invading Austrians. They were outnumbered by 2 to 1 with 70,000, and won. 188 years later German nationals, together with volunteers from westerly lands, in a futile attempt, tried to do the same against an Asiatic power threatening not only Silesia, but the whole of Europe.
We received orders to move to Saara and make new positions there. We found it to be deserted, except for two very old ladies, sisters, wrapped in woollen blankets in one of the farmhouses. We found them when looking for something to eat. Like many others, they did not want to leave their home. Equipped with more than enough food, they were going to acquiesce to their fate, whatever it was to be. An odd cow roamed around the village, giving a bellow now and again and the cats greeted us with a purr and cuddled around our boots, hungry, just like us.
Our next stop was once more the garrison town of Deutsch-Lissa. The companies of the battalions collected together on the parade ground of the barrack complex to receive new orders. We had very little time, for the Russians were at the door. They had advanced very quickly. We had just enough time to change our still clammy uniforms, as Russian tanks roared over the parade ground. Together with the infantry we managed to delay their advance with well-aimed firing, but only for a while. Continuous defensive tactics could not stop them. So we retreated once more, through the back door, to the outskirts of the town and the river. There was a stone bridge over the river Weistritz.
It was the only river crossing in the direction of Breslau and was of strategic importance. Situated on the eastern riverbank it led to the main road, which the Russians must use. I was given the order to occupy with my group a two-storey house to the right of the bridge in the southern terrain. They were terraced houses parallel to the river, the gardens of which were now overgrown and which stretched down an incline, to the riverbank. We took up positions at the back of the houses, digging in just a few feet away from the cellar door. I put six men to digging trenches, others attended to the machine-guns and others made themselves comfortable and familiar with the contents of the cellar pantry. It was full of conserves for the winter, and we helped ourselves. We had profited over the last few weeks from such housewifely customs, adding to our meagre provisions with fruits, pickled meats including chicken meat and many other commodities including eggs, a feast for us.
Our combat engineers prepared to blow the bridge as soon as the last of the German troops crossed it. Because we were in close proximity, we promptly took cover in the ce
llar. Suddenly the explosion was deafening. The dark cellar suddenly became a hall of light and the floor shook. The candles flickered so violently that they were almost extinguished. We held our breath as it rained chunks of brick and roof tiles. We heard it all hitting the house, as well as the sound of splintering glass. The cellar then filled with clouds of dust particles and the biting stench of gunpowder. It was so intense that it robbed you of your breath. We nearly choked. Our lungs full, we all started to cough and splutter as we rubbed the dust from our eyes.
We left the cellar and went outside. It looked as if a hurricane had hit the houses. None had roof tiles anymore. They lay on the cobbles, strewn together with glass splinters and other rubble. A large part of the bridge had disappeared, the large blocks sinki ng into the river. But other parts remained. They would all be used in a rebuild. The Russians were experts. They began to rebuild the bridge the same night.
The whole time, of course, they worked under fire from our infantry, and paid a very high price for their bridge. They worked away with death-defying stubbornness. Many Russian engineers fell screaming into the dark waters of the Weistritz, having been hit as they worked to repair the bridge. The loss in men for the Russians must have been enormous. But they only had themselves to blame, for they had begun the work without prior safeguards. Naturally we had everything under fire that was in close proximity to the approach of the bridge. However, I have to admit that an efficient defence was not possible. We then had a surprise ‘cease-fire’ order from a Leutnant of the combat engineers. He was giving continual progress reports to the Festung commander. “Let the ‘Ivans’ alone to build their bridge”, he told us. That was bewildering to say the least. He was going to have the pleasure of destroying the bridge, when finished, with his Goliath tank. That was news to us, and yes, it was a tank, of a sort, but not in the usual sense of the word.
This tank was no more than 67cm high and had a length of 160cm. It could carry however 75 kilos of high explosives and was remote-controlled. It was a mini-tank and not sensitive to infantry fire. It was a piece of equipment developed to save lives in situations where large obstructions, be it bridges or other obstacles, needed a solut ion, other than manpower. Radio-controlled by radio waves or a wire connection, it could strike from a distance of 600 to 1,000 metres and was controlled by specially trained soldiers. We couldn’t wait to see what this wonder-weapon could pull out of the hat! They were indeed ‘wonder-weapons’, for there were three. With the eyes of a engineer and the instinct of a hunter, the Leutnant observed the progress of the rebuilding. As soon as the bridge flooring was laid with planks, the Goliaths, at all of 20 kilometres an hour, drove into position.
It was six o’clock in the morning on 18 February. With one almighty thunderous crash, the Goliaths spewed their 225 kilos of explosives at the bridge. The thick black cloud over the bridge slowly disappeared to reveal the devastation our little ‘giants’ had caused. Two spans of the bridge and a pillar lay in pieces in the Weistritz. It was all over in the blink of a Russian eye. We had only one wounded engineer.
That action however, only gave us a short pause. A little further along the riverbank from the bridge or what remained of it, 24 Russian soldiers had crossed the river in a rubber boat. They had landed on our side, unnoticed by our neighbours on the left flank. Our friend Domke, who had freed us from Peiskerwitz, then formed an assault detachment. In engaging in close combat with those Russians, he lost his life. In a dawn mist and in clouds of dust from hand-grenades, plus a little nervousness from one of his own men, he received a bullet through the heart, from the said soldier. Domke was posthumously awarded the German Cross in Gold.
In order to ward off surprise attacks of this nature in future, we organised ‘listening posts ‘. Near the river in no-man’s land, one man kept guard in a dug-out. Armed with pistol and hand-grenade, his duty was to report, without a fight, and give the alarm the moment that he recognised enemy movement. The guards were relieved at hourly intervals and were accompanied by the commander, so that he could inspect the situation at the same time. On a nightly inspect ion I lost my way through thick shrubs. The well-camouflaged guard could not be found. I ordered the relieving guard to lie low and wait. In absolute darkness, I made my way through the gardens to find myself at the water’s edge. I turned round to go back.
Suddenly a blinding flash hit me, a detonation threw me to the ground and my pistol flew out of my hand. Dazed, I felt myself from top to toe in order to see that I was still in one piece. On hands and knees I felt around for my pistol and called the pass words several times, before I received an answer. The guard who had thought that I was a Russian soldier, then answered. He was dismayed when finding that I was not Russian. I had splinters from his hand-grenade in my thigh. With blood staining my trousers, I limped back to our positions, hanging on to my two companions. I was given a tetanus injection. Then I slept for some hours in the cellar, with a provisional dressing on my wounds. De spite this I had to stay put, the criteria being that I had not bro ken a bone and could walk, albeit in a lot of pain, for every man was needed.
The guard, a Hungarian-German, would not admit that he had slept on duty. He had thrown the grenade in panic on being woken, without asking for the passwords. He had certainly slept at his post. I did not accuse him of doing it on purpose, for he was shaken to the core at what had happened. After all, I had escaped without serious consequences, but I still had parts of his hand-grenade in my thigh. He felt very guilty over the whole affair. Thereafter he ‘spoiled’ me with bottled eggs and pickled pork that he organised from the pantries of the other houses. We then received our marching orders.
We left the river. As we marched, we reviewed the situation of being constantly in combat for the previous few weeks, without a break. Our combat in flat terrain was bound together with high losses in men. The constant changing of positions had delayed the advance of the Russians to the Silesian capital, Breslau. While we were busy with such delaying tactics, other units were able to organise defensive measures. But only just in time, at least, so we were told.
The march for me be came unbearable with the splinters boring into my flesh. I had a stick and the support of two comrades who never left my side. They supported me in every way they could. We reached Schmiedefeld in the early morning hours. It lay to the west of Gandau aerodrome. It could not then be very far to Breslau.
We secured our positions between the greenhouses of nurseries, dug our trenches and set up machine-gun positions. My squad settled into a newly-built house on a new housing estate. The pantry was very well stocked. But no sooner had we cooked a warm meal for ourselves on a coal-heated cooker, and were looking forward to a couple of hours’ sleep, than the guards gave the alarm. Thick dark smoke was to be seen over Neukirch and we were bitter that the ‘Ivans’ were so close on our heels and could not give us a moment’s peace. It was only a couple of hours later that their shells started to hit us. The shattered greenhouses and their broken glass lay all around. Some of my men cut themselves very badly when hitting the ground amongst the shards of glass. Around the same evening the Russian advanced units reached our positions, trying to break through our lines in various places. Each and every time we drove them back. I lost one of my men, my best machine-gunner, in the bitter fighting. He had that day prophesied his own death. His prophesy became reality when he died from a bullet in the stomach. We also lost Leo Habr in the dawn hours. It pained us that we could not recover his body, for the Russians were too far advanced into the grounds of the nursery.
A sudden depression enveloped us, for Leo Habr was very popular with the men and was a good officer and comrade. He had possessed a typical Viennese charm, was a successful soldier and we had thought that he was invulnerable. His dry humour had turned the last experience with him, that dangerous boat-trip, to one almost of pleasure. I then was to replace him and take over his platoon. We could only hold Schmiedefeld for another few hours. Then we saw dark smoke from fires hanging over the M
aria-Höfchen estate to the south, in the direction of Mochbern. The enemy was standing at the doors of the city. From the lowland around the town, their next target was the aerodrome in Gandau, to the west of Breslau. That aerodrome was very important as the supply link to the city’s garrison. But it was some weeks before they could take it. We were under pressure from the continual attacks and so we retreated to the outskirts of Breslau and into the grounds of the aircraft and motor manufacturer FAMO. That manufacturer was the successor of the famous Linke-Hofmann factory. It had a worldwide reputation and took over the armament programme during the war. Between the highly qualified staff, of whom there were 8,000, and the fighting troops, a very trusted and almost dedicated association formed. The extremely large factory premises provided more than enough protection from enemy shrapnel and infantry.
The houses around were already evacuated, apart from a few people who, in hope, had left it to the very last minute before leaving. Now the last of them packed the most precious of their belongings. They locked their doors, as if that last action was going to save their valued home from further damage.
CHAPTER 16
Festung Breslau
After weeks of varied fighting to the north-west of Breslau, our SS Regiment Besslein was moved back to the outskirts of the city. There we were to learn that the 6th Soviet Army had completed their encirclement on 15 February 1945, and with that my private fears became reality.
Seven well-equipped divisions then stood on a front that surrounded Breslau, with another six as reserves. In total 150,000 Russian soldiers waited to besiege the Silesian capital. They were experienced ‘Red’ fighters who had not been defeated in many a battle on their way to the west. On top of that, they had support from numerous aircraft.
In the Fire of the Eastern Front Page 19
