With Our Backs to Berlin

by Tony Le Tissier

  Meanwhile Lieutenant Schöne’s group reached the potato shed and then followed the track west across the fields for about thirty minutes before they too had to storm the last of the Soviet trenches. Using the last of their strength, some 30-35 men, including some severely wounded, got through to the German lines. Several others were to slip through the Soviet lines during the course of the night and reach the neighbouring Grenadier Regiment 1241.

  The Political Department of the Russian 8th Guards Army utilised the victory over Klessin to issue a special pamphlet aimed at the 1242nd with the text:

  THE LESSON OF KLESSIN

  SOLDIERS of the Officer Cadet Grenadier Regiment 1242! More than 300 German soldiers were surrounded in Klessin. On the 23rd March 1945 the entire garrison was destroyed. No man broke through to their own lines. 75 men raised the white flag and stayed alive. All the others died senselessly.

  Who is to blame?

  HITLER IS TO BLAME!

  He began this senseless war. He demanded in his orders: “Hold out at any price!”

  YOUR COMMANDERS ARE TO BLAME!

  They did not withdraw the troops from Klessin when they should have done and then condemned them to death with lying promises. With their futile attempts at relief they sent hundreds of other soldiers to their deaths, as well as squandering many tanks and self-propelled guns.

  When the war ended, just part of the front portal of the Schloss remained, together with the rusting hulks of the destroyed German and Soviet tanks. Tens of thousands of mines littered the landscape. The mines and hulks were removed and the remaining ruins collapsed. Later the hamlet was revived with the construction of a row of houses along the Wuhden road and two cottages on the old site.

  In 1995 a stone was unveiled in Wuhden commemorating those who had fought and died on the Reitwein Spur, with the inscription:

  He who lives in the memories of his comrades is not dead

  Only those forgotten are dead

  We remember our fallen comrades and all that died in the war

  1945

  Reitwein Spur with the villages

  Podelzig, Wuhden and Klessin

  1995

  FIVE

  The Bridge at Golzow

  HORST ZOBEL (6 MAY 1918 – 3 OCT 1999)

  Horst Zobel, as a captain, commanded the 1st Battalion of Panzer-Regiment ‘Müncheberg‘ in the fighting in the Oderbruch. Here he relates his experiences near Golzow as the Soviet 5th Shock and 8th Guards Armies united their bridgeheads, isolating the fortress of Küstrin. Zobel’s newly-formed battalion was under threat of disbandment at the time.

  Suddenly the division was allocated a sector of the front and, as the preparations for our proposed disbandment were not yet complete, we were committed intact. At the commanders’ conference at Division, I was able to establish that at least two of my squadrons would be included, although our mixed 2nd Squadron would have to detach its SPG (self-propelled gun) Troop to secure the Küstrin ‘corridor’. It had unfortunately become the practice for the tanks to be split up on the ground in order to reinforce strong points. This tactic had been born out of the necessity of the time, the tanks being needed to bolster the fighting spirit of the infantry, and was known as ‘corsetting’. Only after I had pointed out that the completely flat terrain with its kilometres-long visibility enabled me to guarantee that I would be in a position to repel any attack promptly, were my proposals for deployment accepted. Fortunately, I had enough time to inspect my squadron commanders’ individual areas and to give them explicit instructions before we drove out to our positions on what must have been the night of 20/21 March 1945. That same night the individual tanks were dug in and camouflaged. I was able to assure myself next day that the tanks were superbly camouflaged from view both from the front and above, and that many had a field of fire of from two to three kilometres.

  The 2nd Squadron, less one troop, was located in Gorgast, the 3rd Squadron in Golzow, while the 1st Squadron blocked the highway at the Tucheband level. I and my staff were located with the 3rd Squadron at Golzow. My command post, there being not much of a choice, was located in a cellar that was spacious, but unfortunately very high-ceilinged. The tank crews were also sheltering in cellars when not required to be in their tanks, as the Russians were using harassing fire and heavy bombardments at irregular intervals on the villages, which had been almost completely cleared of civilians.

  We believed the danger of being detached from the division was over, but the very next day the new regimental commander, Major Marquand, visited us with his staff to see our positions and be briefed, as he would be taking over command the day after. There was nothing we could do but accept orders and await our fate.

  So we came to 22 March, the day of our intended relief. We were all in our improvised lager – it must have been about 0600 hours – when the morning quiet was torn apart by a chain of powerful explosions that caused us to leap up in shock and take cover in the corners of the room, as the house rocked down to its foundations. The next moment the windows blew in and a whole flood of plaster and stones swept into the cellar, followed by a thick cloud of dust that darkened everything around us. Our lovely, high-ceilinged cellar threatened to be our undoing. The explosions and splintering continued, hit following hit. With an effort, we were able to hang some rugs over the windows. Now we crouched in the dark while the shells crashed down around our house. Whenever the house sustained a direct hit, everything shook around us. It was simply impossible to leave the cellar and climb into our tanks. The telephone lines were already shot through. We sat close together and waited for what was to come. How long this lasted, I cannot say, all sense of time having left us.

  Quite suddenly a feeling of unease came over me. This unease I knew of old. Its meaning was quite clear; we had to get out of here and into our tanks. It was high time. The shells were still hailing down on our house, which unfortunately lay in the middle of the village. One by one we leapt out of the cellar into our tanks. It was a wonder that no one was hit, and even more a wonder that all the tanks except one, which had only minor damage, were still fully serviceable. All the company’s crews were aboard when we formed up on the street with our tanks and made our way to the village exit in the shortest possible time.

  We had not quite reached the exit when, suddenly, the crashing and exploding stopped, and a silence descended that seemed even more sinister. Once the smoke and dust had settled down a little, we saw the Russians had covered the whole village with smoke. We pushed through the smoke and saw a whole number of enemy tanks opposite coming toward us several hundred metres away. This was a proper mass attack by the Russians, but we had moved at the right moment. With the routine drill of an experienced tank man, Second Lieutenant Strauss, who happened to be driving next to me, assessed the situation and shot the first two enemy tanks into flames with his Panther. The others became unsettled and drove excitedly into one another. We used their confusion to push further forward, shooting up several more of them. Within a short while we had cleared the situation in this sector and beaten off the attack. A bit further away, in front of our right wing, several Stalin tanks raised their turrets threateningly, but remained at a reasonable distance from us, leaving their burning comrades to serve as sufficient warning. But neither did we wish to challenge their superior 125mm guns.

  Then to our left, on the other side of a stream lined with alder bushes, we could see our infantry coming back, apparently in a rush, and soon we heard their shouts: ‘Tanks, tanks, enemy tanks in front!’

  I turned round immediately with several tanks from the left wing and crossed a bridge and advanced left of the ditch. Close behind our fleeing infantry, who, despite the outstanding Panzerfaust, had not lost their fear of tanks, we saw a whole herd of Russian tanks coming toward us. We were in collision within a few seconds. The commander of my Tiger squadron, who had been following me in his tank, overtook me and drove in the middle between the Russians, shooting up tank after tank right in front of my nose.
Once the first tank had caught fire or blown up, the Russians became confused here too and drove excitedly all over the place, and then in fast flight to the rear, seeking to gain distance, leaving a whole number of them behind.

  At this point I recognised, or thought that I recognised, that we could now use the Russians’ confusion to launch a counterattack and strike a wonderful blow. It was important for me to re-establish contact with my 2nd Squadron in Gorgast, which the Russians had already thrust past, although I already had a good understanding with the commander of this squadron. I had just given Division my proposal, when I received orders to hold on to our present position and not advance any further. So we took up a suitable defensive position right and left of the stream, having to use all the tanks, including the command vehicles. The adjutant, with his tank, secured one corner, facing east, of a lone farmhouse that had an orchard, while I secured the other corner facing north. The commander of the 3rd Squadron was also with us.

  Once we were more or less in order, the Russians brought us under heavy artillery and mortar fire. From the very beginning, their favourite target was apparently our farm, with its orchard, which they kept under constant fire from heavy calibre weapons. However, it was absolutely essential that we remained in this position, as from this farm the bridge was barely 100 metres away, and whoever held the farm had the bridge in hand.

  Toward evening we were again attacked in our position by tanks. The adjutant told me that some seven to ten enemy tanks were advancing toward him. As I was myself fully engaged, I had him passed the reply that he should shoot his attackers, because ten tanks attacking over open ground posed no big problem for a well-sited Panther. Then I heard the adjutant open fire and the problem seemed resolved. Only after dark did I discover, to my dismay, that his turret had been jammed and so things could have gone very badly for us.

  It was late evening before I could sum up the day’s events. The Russians had attacked along the whole front with equal force, the main thrust in the morning having been south of Gorgast, where the 2nd Squadron with its self-propelled guns and one troop of Mark IV tanks was located. Lieutenant Ziehmann, the commander of the 2nd Squadron, had his tank outside the defensive position pointing directly south, where he was able to shoot us a considerable number of enemy tanks. With his very short, in comparison to those of the Panthers’, 75mm gun, he was even able to shoot into flames several Stalin tanks from the flank.

  Unfortunately, there was still no report from the 1st Troop of the 2nd Company, which had been sent forward to secure the ‘corridor’ to Küstrin. Not even the squadron had heard from them but, according to statements from returning infantry, the troop had in fact been commandeered by the commandant of Küstrin.

  Despite all the strength and the heaviest artillery support used in the Russian attack, which I later discovered had the aim of breaking through our front and at least occupying the heights around Seelow, it had been wrecked by our tanks up front. The enemy’s only achievement had been in severing the land connection to Küstrin. Excluding the fate of the 1st Troop, 2nd Squadron, we had sustained only minimal material damage and had two men wounded that day, and had shot into flames 59 enemy tanks, not counting others rendered immobile.

  On the other hand, our infantry had been decimated. Major Steuber had been severely wounded in the first hours of the battle. That evening a battalion commander and his adjutant reported to me that he had lost his whole battalion. I later saw him in our position manning a machine gun like an ordinary soldier. Of my officers, only Lieutenant Ziehmann had been wounded.

  I sent my report back to Division by Second Lieutenant Henatsch, who returned with the Division’s congratulations to my battalion. Unfortunately, I could not talk to Division myself, as I could only leave my command post with the express permission of my immediate superior, which the situation here did not warrant.

  It was gone midnight before everything had quietened down and we could take some rest beside our tanks.

  Then that same night the 25th Panzergrenadier Division, which we had relieved to go into reserve, conducted a counterattack along the Seelow-Küstrin highway, but became stuck in the Russian minefields. The commander of their tank battalion later told me in jest that they had not encountered any enemy tanks, we having apparently destroyed them all, but had seen numerous wrecks littering the ground. Unfortunately, we were not to have the same feeling about the day that was to follow.

  We resumed our positions of the previous day around the lone farm at dawn. During the night the returning infantry, some of whom had stopped by our supply column, had been reorganised and sent forward again. Of these 200 soldiers were allocated to me for the defence of our small bridgehead.

  It was to prove a very, very hard day indeed. The previous day, although not lacking in drama and tense moments, had above all brought visible success. This day, however, was different, far more tense, and demanding extensive effort from all of us. Throughout the whole war I never had such a long and exhausting experience as on this day, 23 March 1945. What success the previous day had brought through luck and perhaps also routine drills and experience, had come relatively easily, but this day I had to earn it the hard way.

  We were about 100–150 metres from the stream and bridge, with completely flat and open country in front of us. We had four tanks in the orchard of about 75 square metres. There was a massive single-storey building on the north side of the orchard with several outhouses. We were supposed to, and had to, hold this farm, for once the Russians crossed the bridge, the divisional front could easily be rolled up from that flank. The fruit trees were very young and had no leaves at this time of year, so we had no cover from view at all.

  This little plot of land became the Russians’ goal for their artillery, mortars, anti-tank and tank fire. At first we pressed our tanks close to the buildings, but these were soon shot to pieces. The hits were so accurate and so dense that we were constantly having to change position. In the end we moved from one corner to another, hour after hour. Between the loud explosions of the heavy and extra-heavy calibre artillery came the lighter sounds of mortars and the sharper crack of tank and anti-tank shells. And all the time, as the shells were landing so densely that we kept thinking the next one must be a hit, we kept changing location again and again, back and forth, here and there. So it went on the whole day long, and a day can be dreadfully long.

  The infantry too were suffering under this heavy fire. Instead of digging in about 50 metres from the orchard, they bunched around the tanks like grapes, and consequently were hit more often, but they could not see this. Even before midday the 200 men of that morning had been reduced to a second lieutenant and six men. On the other hand, our few tanks were still in full fighting order, although we had had to switch off our radios to preserve our batteries. Only if a direct tank attack against our position was identified would our radios be switched back on.

  That afternoon our situation did not improve one iota. Again and again I asked myself whether this spot of ground was really worth it. Several times I was close to giving the order to clear the orchard, but then convinced myself once more that there was no other possibility of preventing the Russians from occupying this ground with their tanks by surprise, and that would mean the loss of the bridge. So I was actually pleased that I had this inner conflict about the orders given by Division to hold on to this present position to the last man. Orders of this kind were not unusual at this time.

  With these orders – perhaps it was meant as a small sop – I was also permitted to hand out the awards given for the day before. (Experience had shown that awards should be handed out as soon as possible after the event concerned because, firstly, it gave pleasure and had a greater educational effect; and secondly, because decorations had unfortunately often arrived too late. A posthumously awarded decoration can no longer be regarded as a reward, only as a nice gesture.) So I called the tank commanders concerned to come to the rear of my tank and climbed out myself. Even this slight movemen
t must have been spotted by the Russians, for I had yet to pin the Iron Crosses on the commanders when two shells exploded right and left in front of my tank, so close that the blast threw us to the ground. It could have been a disaster, but fortunately no one was hurt.

  At dusk the Russians attacked with tanks again, but it was not difficult to repel their attack. Then it was dark at last, and we were just thinking that we had made it, when such a ferocious barrage from weapons of all calibres clattered down on top of us that it was simply impossible to take. As the shells burst with showers of sparks and flashes of light all around us, everyone sought to reach open ground with their tanks as quickly as possible. The crews had held out bravely the whole day long, but what came now was more than they could bear. Had it only been an artillery or mortar bombardment, we might perhaps have held on, but the rockets and the flat-trajectory tank and anti-tank shells forced us to flee from the orchard. We had clearly identified that the Russians, under cover of this terrible bombardment and the darkness that had meantime overcome us, were aiming to take over our positions with their tanks. But even if we had lost the orchard, I wanted at least to prevent the bridge falling into Russian hands. I therefore formed up my tanks immediately around the bridge. The shells continued to shower down on the orchard, then it quietened down again. Before it became completely dark, I formed a semi-circular defensive belt behind the orchard and looked forward to a quiet night, although this position would be untenable next day.

  We would have to throw Ivan out of the orchard again. About midnight I obtained two sections of infantry under a staff sergeant from the infantry commander to carry out a reconnaissance in force. Beforehand I had brought my tanks close up to the orchard to provide covering fire for the infantry should they come into contact with the enemy, When everything was ready, the infantry set off. We stared intently into the darkness, the gun layers having their eyes pressed to the optics, ready to cover the infantry with fire at any moment. This intense concentration lasted a quarter of an hour, and then another quarter of an hour, without anything being seen. Then suddenly shadows appeared right in front of us that immediately identified themselves as our scouts, and to our great surprise, the staff sergeant reported the orchard free of the enemy. It would seem that the enemy found the situation too critical for them in the dark and had withdrawn back to their start-point. Nothing could have pleased me more. We immediately reoccupied the orchard, and then had peace for the remainder of the night. Even the following morning passed without incident. The Russians had apparently decided that further attacks on that position were pointless.