Eastern Inferno

by Christine Alexander

  I arrive in Piaseczno around noon. The forest there has already been taken by the Russians. The Russian flag, with its hammer and sickle, waves within a stone’s throw. It is unimaginable what would happen to our cohorts if the Russians were to get the idea to send out a reconnaissance unit to explore the area. We know all too well that this is possible.

  How should we handle this? The Russian bunkers and machine gun positions are just 100 meters away, facing ten soldiers and a few pionieren [engineers]. The river is the border—past it, the abyss. If the Russians do come, we will be unable to retreat, as we are without vehicles. Are we the scapegoats who are supposed to be slaughtered by the Russians [as an excuse] for the German attack? Similar situations took place in Poland. A truly honorable death sentence! Nevertheless, we sleep peacefully. We do not even bother to set out guards. Why should we, only to anticipate the inevitable?

  My dear Rosel, if I wrote to you about such events, you surely would not find any peace of mind. How good it is that you do not know about this.

  15 June: The situation is becoming more and more serious. Russian scouts were on our side of the river last night, close to our encampment. Gauging from the footprints in the sand, it must have been a group of at least twenty men. What a fine mess we have gotten ourselves into! Should we fire at them?

  We are now no longer able to make a move without being noticed. They track our every movement with their scherenfernrohr [scissor telescopes] all day long. We have to sneak like Indians to the riverbank in order to accomplish our task. This is how I will have to map out the enemy’s positions and establish the artillery sectors tomorrow, which should allow us to complete our assignment. I hope that will be the result!

  16 June: What luck we have! I was able to finish my task without any disruption from the Reds [die Roten]. I now also know the location of where we, along with our pionieren, are going to traverse the river. Once again we will be part of the first wave! Since the mission is intended to surprise the Russians, the attack will probably commence in a few days. The forest to our rear is filled with intense activity. Heavy artillery has been placed in position. Our panzers have also arrived. Flak cannons were set in place last night.

  There is a great deal of activity on the enemy side as well. The Reds have strengthened their positions, and given the noise from the opposing forest, they appear to have rolled their tanks into position. I am extremely tired tonight and it is still unbearably hot.

  Hans Roth on leave with his wife Rosel.

  (Photo courtesy Christine Alexander and Mason Kunze)

  17 June: It is raining, which is a blessing for the local farmers, but bad news for us. Where there were paths yesterday there are muddy creeks today, which reach up to the top of my jackboots.

  Our commander [General Willi Moser] arrives at noon. He brings bad news, declaring that we have to stay put for a few more days. The weather clears up in the evening, and a stroll down to the bridgehead on the Bug wonderfully relaxes my nerves, which have suffered greatly under the tension of the past few days.

  I now know the day of the attack. It will unfold on June 21, and stretch across an expansive front. What will the following weeks bring? I think of my dear family with longing. As I have asked myself so often in the past, I wonder if my longing actually comes from simply missing the comforts of civilian life. I thought about this on my way down to the fortifications on the Bug: such an idea is not possible. Time and time again I envision Rosel and Butziben [daughter Erika]. How else could the true love that speaks from each line of her letters touch me so deeply? These two people are the most precious things that life could have taken away from me.

  My thoughts are with Father and Mother, these two kind beings; the love between is us great. With gratitude I think of all the good things they have done for Rosel and me. God willing, I will get through the coming weeks—for their sake.

  18 June: It is now becoming serious. Under the cover of night, the entire division will move into attack formation. Reinforcement troops from the 528th Infantry Regiment arrived today around noon—young guys with fresh faces. For some of them, the sun will shine for only a few more days. Such is the soldier’s fate! I expect the attack to occur across the front on Sunday.

  This new day has already brought great joy to me—two lovely letters from my dear Rosel and one sweet letter from Hanau.

  19 June: My most recent observations lead me to assume that our section [of the front] should expect great resistance. Will our surprise maneuver really succeed?

  Further to the rear, farmers are forced to leave their fields and property. Our troops might also have to advance tomorrow. It is atrocious. The farmers’ wives hurl themselves on the ground, pulling their hair. All this damn crying! There is no way we can help them!

  Hurray! The greatest battle of all times will start the day after tomorrow!

  20 June: Our cabin is being abandoned. The division has arrived; final preparations for the strike on the Bug fortifications.

  21 June: The attack starts tonight at 0300 hours. We are attached to the von Kleist group [1st Panzergruppe commanded by Field Marshal Paul Ludwig Ewald von Kleist]. Our assignment: a rapid putsch in wedge formation, regardless of casualties…

  For the moment there is a quiet, wonderful, twilight peacefulness over the countryside. The huts in the village will be on fire in a few hours; the air will be filled with the howling and screeching of shells. The impact of the shelling will tear apart the fields and roads.

  How amazing it is that we are once again part of this offensive—fighting under Kleist. Farewell my wife and sweet Erika. Farewell my beloved parents. You will be in my thoughts tomorrow. Do not worry; a soldier’s luck will be with me.

  22 June: All of a sudden, at exactly 0315 hours, and apparently out of the blue, an opening salvo emerges from the barrels of hundreds of guns of all calibers. The howling and staccato of Stalin’s arsenal fills the air as if Armageddon had begun. It is impossible to comprehend one’s world in such an inferno.

  Our homeland is still innocently asleep while here death is already collecting a rich harvest. We crouch in our holes with pallid but resolved faces while counting the minutes until we storm the Bug fortifications… a reassuring touch of our ID tags, the arming of hand grenades, the securing of our MPi [machinenpistole: submachine gun].

  It is now 0330 hours. A whistle sounds; we quickly jump out from undercover and at an insane speed cross the 20 meters to the inflatable boats. In a snatch we are on the other side of the river where rattling machine gun fire awaits us. We have our first casualties.

  With the help of a few sturmpionieren we slowly—much too slowly—eat through the barbed wire barriers. Meanwhile, shells fire into the bunkers at Molnikow [Ukraine].

  We finally get out of this mess. In a few short steps we are able to advance to the first bunker, arriving in its blind spot. The Reds fire like mad but are unable to reach us. The decisive moment is near. An explosive specialist approaches the bunker from behind and shoves in a short-fused bomb into the bunker’s fire hole. The bunker shook, and black smoke emerged from its openings, signaling its final doom. We move on.

  Molnikow is completely in our hands by 1000 hours. The Reds, hunted by our infantry, disperse quickly to Bisknjiczo-Ruski. Because the crossing of the river by our panzers is progressing slowly, we are ordered to cleanse the village of any remaining enemy combatants. The area is combed house by house. Our shelling has caused terrible damage. The Reds, however, have also done their fair share.

  Slowly, our nerves grow accustomed to the all too familiar gruesome images. Close to the Reds’ customs house lies a large mound of fallen Russians, most of them torn to shreds from the shelling. Slaughtered civilians lie in the neighboring house. The horridly disfigured bodies of a young woman and her two small children lie among their shattered personal belongings in another small, cleansed house.

  I am compelled to think of you Rosel and Erika, when I witness such horrible images. How wonderful it i
s that we are able to exterminate these murderous beasts. How good it is that we have pre-empted them; for in the coming weeks these bloodhounds might have been standing on German soil. It is inconceivable what would have happened then!

  We have taken our first prisoners—snipers and deserters receive their deserved reward.

  After our panzers arrive, we proceed with our attack under nothing more than light fire and make our advance via Motkowicz-Myskzów, approximately 40 kilometers from the front. We meet serious resistance near Biscupicze.

  Helmulth Pfaff and his 14th are pressed hard by enemy tanks. With many casualties, he has had to retreat to Biscupicze. According to his observations, we should expect an attack from 50—some heavy—tanks. We move into hedgehog formation at sunset. Although everyone is extremely exhausted after the first day of fighting, no one thinks about sleeping. It is an uneasy, restless night.

  23 June: The morning starts with light artillery fire. The Red tanks still have not left their deployment area. We can apparently expect panzer and Stuka [Sturzkampfbomber] support at around 0800 hours. This good news has noticeably raised our morale.

  In the interim, our Luftwaffe comrades deliver a bit of entertainment. Dogfight after dogfight is fought over our heads. One after another, nine Russian bombers are shot down and crash to the ground in flames. This is the precision work of which [fighter pilot Werner] Moelders and [Adolf] Galland are true masters.

  The Russian tank attack commences at noon, with the German counterattack starting thirty minutes later. Never have we experienced anything like this: 100 Russian tanks are fighting against us. The most important thing is to keep the blood cool and the nerves calm. We eliminated four tanks within a short amount of time. Approximately 20 Stukas dive bomb, howling from the skies, to attack the Russian tank line. By the afternoon, the battle is decided to our advantage. More than 60 enemy tanks stand burned out or crushed all over the battlefield. Most of the enemy units retreat back to Babicze. We follow close behind them during the night so that we will be able to encircle them.

  24 June: Encirclement of the enemy has been achieved by dawn and continues to close in, despite the desperate attempts by the Reds to break through. The battle culminates around 0900 hours. The tremendous pressure on the enclosed division worries us. The Russians run like maniacs against our lines. The situation becomes extremely critical around 1000 hours, with the enemy encirclement being breached to the southern end of the valley basin.

  Artillery fire has been ordered, and just minutes later, scores of heavy shells hiss and howl over our heads. A wall of black smoke stands before us. The smoke is at times white, and occasionally holes are torn into it from the shrapnel. The entire valley swills from the impact of the shelling. We are able to reach the first buildings in Babicze under the cover of the well positioned fire. The damn spiral mines [spiralminen] explode one after another in angry thunder right before us and over our heads. That sound—that nasty and poisonous sound from the swarms of artillery shelling. With our faces contorted by anger, we jump into the Reds’ shrapnel trenches. Anti-tank grenades hammer into their fortifications. All goes crazy now and chaos erupts. The shelling from the Reds spews forth clouds of shrapnel which blow over us.… And from these swirls of fire rain down showers of metal into the small pond right in front of us.

  Ratas [Soviet fighter planes] appear and attack us. Thank God, no casualties. We reach the middle of the village around noon. Resistance from the Reds has been broken—an entire Red division has been destroyed. Clusters of dead and wounded soldiers are blocking the street. The number of our own casualties is also high. We are so exhausted we could pass out. Despite this, we reassemble and continue to advance without any noteworthy resistance, to the village of Lokacze. The welcome there is not very pleasant, as wild gunfire was awaiting us. Damn snipers! House after house must be cleansed with hand grenades. Fanatics fire at us until the roofs collapse over their heads and they are buried under the rubble. Others escape their houses at the last minute as human torches. They either collapse dead on the street or are beaten to death. Within the hour the entire village has transformed into an ocean of flames.

  A thought comes to mind about our infantry during the slaughtering: how many innocent men have been sent to kingdom come? It is a bizarre thought. Our lancers go out and get drunk.

  As soon as the first house goes up in flames, dead bodies can be found lying on the street. Soldiers destroy and shoot about mercilessly until plumes of smoke cover the horizon. I believe that this raiding by the infantry brings balance to the extreme exertion of marching and fighting. At the single shot of a sniper the exhausted men return to life. With their nerves pulverized, they have forgotten the barbarian heat, forgotten all that damn traipsing about. An infantry soldier recently said to me, “You see, I was terribly tired, now I am fresh again. It went back to being a good party!” Yes, yes, this “party” makes me sick to my stomach.

  25 June: What I would give to be able to sleep in! After only two hours of sleep we are back at it. We have received orders to rush and break through enemy lines to the south of Lutsk. Will we be successful at crossing the River Styr?

  Our rapid advance in narrow wedge formation has created a terrible situation for us: only the banks along the road are able to be cleansed of enemy troops. There is no time to comb the neighboring forests, which is precisely, however, where the enemy combatants are reassembling. Time and time again there are small battles to the rear of the front line.

  Supply convoys are being attacked and obliterated by the enemy far behind our own line. Red aircraft are hanging over us today like flies. It is a miracle that their relentless attacks have caused only a few casualties.

  We reach the Styr around noon. The Reds have broken the river. The flooded territory is kilometers wide, rendering a crossing of the river for our panzers impossible. Attempts to use floating bridges are futile. The enemy fires unremittingly at our bridgehead.

  A sad day for me! Four dear comrades have fallen: Walter Wolff, Horas, Muegge the always good humored, and Schielke. Many have been badly wounded. I myself am spiritually and physically totally exhausted! If my dear Rosel could see me like this—dirty, jaded, thirsty… I think she would cry out of pity for me. Our beloved homeland [Heimat] will never fully comprehend what we have accomplished during this campaign. They do not have the slightest idea of the difficult terrain we have experienced, nor the types of battles.

  We have just had another attack from a Red Tiefflieger [low-flying bomber]. Gruber was killed. He had just married his bride eight days ago by proxy. The night is restless. Hell must be loose to the rear of the line. The sky is blood red; relentless rumbling and thunder are indicative of the heavy battle occurring all around us.

  Our panzers roll in to provide reinforcement. At present, we receive news that the battle for Lutsk has commenced. At dawn, we notice dark, smoky clouds hanging over the riverbanks close to the village.

  26 June: Latest observations in the morning bring no changes to the situation. It is still impossible to get the vehicles across the river. We receive orders from division HQ and are commanded to cross the Styr near Lutsk, despite the chance of meeting strong Russian tank forces there. Very well; we take off toward our destination—all by ourselves, without the support of heavy artillery and infantry, which will cross the river by way of the floating bridges.

  The constant attacks from the enemy are sickening. Enemy aircraft, mostly bombers, suddenly attack, as if they were coming from right behind the hedges. All of the drama is over within seconds: first, the incredible thunder of detonations; next, the hammering of on-board cannons from the bombers; and finally, the smell of dark and foul smoke along with the hissing and singing of shrapnel over our heads. In the end, the wounded are shrieking, and the show is over. That is how it went five times until we arrived in Lutsk.

  The number of casualties is considerable. Slowly, we enter the village, all while keeping our left and right flanks secure. We are able to take a s
hort break in the town center. The time is used to collect the injured and take a swig from our canteen.

  The beating that the town has taken from the Stukas and heavy artillery is extensive. The local prison is a gruesome sight. Prior to their retreat, the Bolshevik mob staged a terrible bloodbath. More than a hundred men, women, and children were slaughtered like cattle. Never will I forget such appalling images. These are the dead of our enemies, for those bloodhounds and murderers would prey on English priests!

  Meanwhile, a few comrades have pulled the remaining Rotarmisten [Red Army soldiers] and Jews from their hiding places. A solo gun performance echoed across the square and with that, the mob ascended to the heavens of “the English High Church.”

  We move on. Together with our panzers, we advance slowly to the east side of the village, where Russian tanks suddenly appear. PaKs [anti-tank cannons] have never before been brought into position so quickly. Our panzers are deployed; we lie atop them, packed with hand grenades in order to eliminate the approaching infantry. After an hour of battle, the attacking behemoths and their accompanying fighters are either destroyed or have fled. Unfortunately, we too have suffered the loss of some of our panzers. I was on top of one of them, but was incredibly lucky that it did not catch fire. Such an episode is typical for the entire damn Eastern campaign. The panzers that have been able to make a quick advance are already in Lutsk, approximately 40 kilometers from here.

  Lutsk was captured by our troops this morning, and the area around the town has been cleansed of enemy troops. So where did the enemy tanks and infantry suddenly come from? This Asian mob is sly and cunning; every hour brings an evil surprise—a large pile of scheisse [shit]. We are no longer safe anywhere. There is not a single hour of peace and quiet. It is true that I am not a coward. Fear is a term unknown to me. It is rather eerie, however, to ride alone on a messenger motorcycle through large stretches of forest that have yet to be cleansed.