First, there is nothing to be seen—but then, they come running out of their huts, all scrambling; the officers are cursing and screaming, it is total chaos. My boys are shooting well, and considering the great distance, an astonishing number are hit and collapse. But then it whistles back at us from the other side. It is high time to clear out. Two hours later we meet up at the pre-arranged location with the other group which did not have any enemy contact. Tomorrow we will come back and smoke out this gang of schweined. We do not know yet, but how will this play out differently?
Half frozen, we reach Obojan in the evening. On our way, we were attacked by Ratas; unfortunately two men were injured. In our quarters, there is lots of partying, for the supply office has given out suspiciously large amounts of liquor, the finest French cognac, “Hennessy.” Someone says, “The Defense Ministry is having a sale, gentlemen, it stinks!” A little later we will all know just how right he was.
Oh Scheisse! Today is New Year’s Eve, and we are all buying ourselves one hell of a hangover; maybe it will be the last one we have in this lifetime! In that case, “Cheers, comrades!”
This night is turning out very badly; chains of Red bombers arrive without let-up. By morning, entire streets have been reduced to rubble. The mission to raze the city to the ground has begun.
1 January, 1942, Obojan: We are getting news that the supply lines have been ambushed. The enemy is now advancing on the streets of Nikolskoje. With my reconnaissance unit, I am also able to determine that there are strong enemy forces near Pselezkoje whom we encounter on the front lines. Krasnikowa is also seriously threatened.
The division gives orders to commence our defense of the city. The only units that we have at our disposal are weak, and only a very small number of them are experienced frontline units. These include the men from the bakery, butcher, and supply units, along with their staffs—all less than 1,000 men.
In mid-afternoon, Russian bombers appear. They release countless bombs in rolling attacks through 0500 hours the next morning. Because most houses have well-constructed basements, there are only a few losses.
2 January: Near Dmitrijewskoje, Group Bargmann is defending itself desperately against a superior enemy force. Here, just like everywhere else, everyone is giving his all in order to protect Obojan. If the city falls, there will be a gap in the front for hundreds of kilometers, and no longer a connection between Charkow and Kursk; access to the wellbuilt railroad would thus be lost. It is very unfortunate that the Bargmann battalion is missing its supply of shells.
Fourteen trucks have been loaded with ammunition. The protection of the crews is taken over by Neckam and me, along with two groups.
We are attacked near Kriwzowo by strong tank forces. Those 52ton tanks squash our vehicles like they were toy trucks and the ammunition carried inside them explodes. The tracks of the armored vehicles make pulp of the injured.
With a heavy anti-tank rifle we shoot and ignite a medium tank just 10 meters away. Then they roll at us and we are running half crazy with horror for 20 meters. The bullets are whistling behind us. Damn! I throw myself into the deep snow, hitting my head on a tree stump, bleeding like a pig. My God! The lungs are rattling, the eyes are caked with blood, I am at the end of my strength! Still, up again, running, only running. If I could just reach the forest over there! Where on earth are the others? Again, bullets are scraping my ears, from the right side there are ten or more Red Army soldiers running at me. This is the end! Then suddenly there comes the thought. It is the last shot at saving this little life, this straw of consciousness: I run some few steps more, again the bullets are coming at me—then I throw my arms into the air, turn around on my own axis, and then I let myself fall down!
The Reds arrive, step on my chest and stomach, they see the blood on the face and on the uniform. I can discern the words “krowj” (blood), “mjortwuj” (dead) and “soldatmushij” (simple soldier). They are just about to empty my pockets or undress me when there is loud screaming and cursing from the tanks; it must be orders directed at these guys. Dusk is falling and they probably want to get lost. They let go of me, a kick with the foot for a farewell and they are gone.
I am saved, damn it, indeed saved! These pigs took with them my machine gun and my field hat,
Luck must be with the simple soldier! I have been saved by my missing braids and EK band and the blood on my face. Carefully I move into a shallow fold in the ground, which stretches all the way to the forest. Under the protection of the first trees it is over and it grips me, the crying of the nerves. Chest and stomach are hurting from the kicks of the Reds.
Nevertheless, further on, just move on! It is terribly cold and I cannot stay put here, hypothermia comes quickly. I take my socks off and wrap them around my head in order to protect it against the cutting ice air. The night is moonlit, and by detour I reach Krasnikowa. Toward the direction of Obojan the sky is blood red; the low thunder of the detonating bombs can be heard clearly.
Where are the others; how many could escape the slaughter? These are the thoughts that keep going through my head and will not allow me any rest.
January 3: The marching group has been cut to pieces. Neckam and myself are in Obojan, supposedly there are still three men on their way here; we are the only survivors. Now I have been admitted into the club of the “corpses.” Eight men who were yesterday in the same situation as I was carry the honorary title of “corpse.” Now I am the ninth one. These are men who I will gladly take along on reconnaissance and front-line missions.
Again the chains of enemy bombers arrive; it is the beginning of events to come.
The daily order of the general who is with us and remains here with his staff is read: “Obojan will hold out until the last man has died; a general joins the defense line with his weapon in his hand….” A “hail” to the Führer and the men take up their positions.
The main access roads are secured against tanks by mines; we form veils of shooters as well as advanced posts, which are now all occupied. Every available man has to lend a hand.
The first alarming news arrives, only 4km southeast of the city the Reds are advancing with strong troops and tanks. Group Bargmann retreats, bitterly fighting back to Obojan. Also in the north, near field watch 2, strong tank noises. From a different position comes the news of Russians advancing by trucks.
With senses and nerves on high alert, the defenders of the city await the attack in an area of 2 square km. Heavy tanks put their feelers out here and there, but remain outside shooting range. Towards the evening we have been completely surrounded.
Shortly before 22.00, in complete darkness, there is the first attack in the south and east. In the south it is met and rejected with bloody close combat. In the east, however, the enemy is successful in making deep progress. Ear-shattering explosions are ringing through the streets, the Reds fire into the city from all sides, the noise of the exploding and detonating bullets is amplified a thousand-fold, and from all sides tracer fire is crossing. Tank grenades shred into the houses; burning roof timbers and rafters smash into the street. The air is full of singing and chirping, nobody knows where the shots are coming from. Across the street the Bolsheviks are sitting in the gardens. The “corpses” go on another spying mission. The quarter is barricaded and the Reds are thrown out in a counterattack.
But again and again they are running at us from the south and the east.
January 4: In the south the attack of the Reds stops immediately in front of our lines. Field watch west reports that the enemy is moving closer and closer to the city. Here a deep valley traverses the terrain from west to northwest, which separates the city from the suburban villages. In this valley lies our most important water source. All day long there is heavy field fire right here. Fetching water alone is paid by numerous losses. A brave raiding party finally gets us some air. Late in the afternoon enemy tanks are closing in on the city. Equipped with “Molotov cocktails” and gasoline canisters we man our defensive position; sufficient han
d grenades are kept ready and close by, and the flame-throwers are put on alert. The colossal beasts are nearing, firing wildly, until they are in reach of our outmost position which has the order to let them pass through. But angrily we have to recognize that they dare not enter.
After a short while they disappear behind a ground elevation and attack the city from there, firing directly without pause.
With the setting of dusk all hell breaks loose again. The 7.5 shells of the tanks are ripping huge holes in the rows of defenders, the huge pears of the heavy mortars arrive gurgling in the air.
Bombers destroy with 200-pound bombs whole street quarters, the city is burning at every corner. The losses are enormous. I have been on my legs now for many days and nights. I follow my orders feverishly, do reconnaissance, operate the machine guns, the artillery, throw hand grenades.
Every single man fights unimaginably. 25 times the Russians attacked today with tank support.
Many times tonight the pig has infiltrated the city for a short time, in our counterattacks we threw him back each time. We men are standing like iron in the defense despite terrible losses and terrible temperatures (–42 degrees C), for a large part with frostbitten hands and feet. Being sick is not an option; we are fighting for our bare life.
January 5: We receive the order to burn all files and boxes, personal, paper and map material. The trucks with luggage and equipment are being prepared for detonation. The pressure of the Reds is huge. If that is not enough, now ammunition and provisions are becoming scarce.
In the morning a heavy tank is blown up by 8.8cm flak artillery, the infiltrating enemy is destroyed. Among other things they have incinerated our provision storage; there are dead bodies lying in the snow, army bread tucked under their arms. At noon, air raid alarm. With muffled roars they are approaching—but what is that? A squadron of our heavy bombers!
Finally!! They circle, push deeper and deeper, three times, four times they fly over us at close height. The bomb shoots open…there, in the middle of the city the rows of bombs are falling, parachutes are opening: deployment of ammunition!
The Russians are shooting like there is no tomorrow, it sounds strangely close in the clear winter air. A heavy load is lifted off our chests when we see the floating parachutes come down. Finally there is help from the leadership! On one of the ammunition shells somebody wrote with chalk;” Hold on! We are coming!”
You bet we will hold on!
Ammunition is at hand again and roasted cats and roasted dogs do not taste that bad either. The mood barometer points to “Nice weather.”
We have to succeed!
January 6: In the south there is loud fighting to be heard. Group Postler is supposed to attack there in order to bring relief to the occupation of Obojan.
Right now we sense nothing of the sort. To the contrary, in the northern part of the city the enemy succeeds in infiltrating with a battalion. The fire of their mortars lies heavy on the spot of the breakthrough. This time the situation is very grave because the attack is supported directly with tanks.
In the evening the heavy battle is still raging in full force. Our quarter is again barricaded. Tank shells, flares and explosives are whistling through the street. One block of houses bursts up in flames. In its eerie glow we see the Reds jumping their short steps, a good target for our machine guns. At midnight, 2cm anti-aircraft artillery is put in position—and that cleans it up. In the hardest fighting, man against man, the Bolsheviks are thrown back.
A small scene should illustrate what kind of tough enemy we are dealing with: While advancing with my group we are cleaning a garden. In a foxhole we discover a wounded Russian officer. I yell out to him, “Rukij war!” (Raise your hands) His answer given with a smile goes “Njet!” (No)
A hand grenade thrown in his hole rips him to pieces.
At a hedge close to the end of the garden there is a badly injured Red. Shell splinters have ripped the fingers off his hands; the legs seem to be smashed as well. We are five steps away; brightly he lies in the light of a burning house. When he sees us approaching he makes a lightning fast move and rips off a hand grenade with his teeth and lies his head on it. “Lie down!” and already the hand grenade explodes with a hollow thud. Vogel, who is slow on the pick-up, did not make it to the ground, a dozen splinters ram through his body. (He dies within the following hour.) During the course of the night the most beautiful news of these hard days arrives from the division: A battalion, I.R. 217, stands with its spearhead 8km south of Obojan. A patrol immediately makes contact. This time the “corpses” are spared from this mission. During the early morning hours the brave infantrymen succeed in breaking though the pincer movement.
It is high time that they arrive, because our losses already amount to 1/3.
January 7: A raiding party of the enemy makes it to the city center. We catch them at the field post office. Lying behind the filled sacks of mail—we have erected a considerable barricade out of them—we are firing like mad at them, then we attack with hand grenades and at the point of the bayonet, for the danger is extreme, 20 steps further there lies the general and his staff. Those gentlemen also open fire from all the windows of the staff quarters. And then an image which I will never forget, free standing on a balcony, our best comrade, a white haired officer, our general Neuling. Without a care about the whistling of the bullet bursts he is unloading his machine gun into the rows of the attackers.
Suddenly, to the surprise of friend and enemy, there is loud rattling and hissing, and two or three times a terrible burst of fire comes from a cellar window to the right onto the street. Flamethrowers!
The effect is terrible. Corpses burned beyond recognition are lying in black lumps on the street. The remaining Bolsheviks are fleeing in horror. But our machine gun bursts reach the fleeing; the enemy patrol is destroyed completely.
A little bit later a heavy attack supported by tanks calls us to the northeastern part of the city. The Red hordes arrive, screaming a shrill “Hurrah.”
Mortars and tank shells transform our defensive position, the Kolchose yard, within the shortest time into rubble. Half of the defenders are dead or wounded. Our artillery fires at a 52-ton caterpillar. But not one shell penetrates the thick armor plating. We want to despair. Now our second machine gun gives out due to a direct hit. Officer Nold is dead, the other two, who armed it, are heavily wounded. We demand reinforcement but they cannot come through because there is heavy fighting in the west as well as in the east.
Finally, after 30 horrible minutes, a tank and an assault gun arrive, and the latter shoots down a Charkow tank. We are advancing our counterattack, and what a miracle: the Reds are retreating.
With the fall off dusk we pick up chores, which we had missed, the whole area in the front is mined by our pioneers despite very dense combat fire of the enemy.
The mess of noon today will not be repeated soon. Our losses today are damn high!
During the night, heavy attacks of Red bombers in rolling waves, strong mortar fire, some infantry attacks. All in all it is quieter than during the last few nights, nearly too quiet. We are suspecting something devilish. The large cupola of the north church—an extraordinarily beautiful building, seat of the important B position—is fired at and ignites, in a bursting rain of embers the tower collapses. Bright as daylight the fire illuminates the northern position, every man, every single gun is clearly visible from above. Like hawks the bombers bear down on our trenches. Their bombs brings us many losses.
But the airplanes are bathed in red light as well, and our machine guns and the 2cm anti-aircraft artillery take aim like wild at the good targets—God knows, they succeed: a heavy bomber is hit and crashes burning into a field. Great is the jubilation, more even as the others are scurrying away.
January 8: There is absolute quiet in the direction of Strelezkaja, not a single shot fired from over there. The eternal attacks probably will have also tired out the enemy; they will be asleep over there—as they can, because th
ey determine the pace of the action, not us. Maybe they assemble their powers for a counterattack? Who knows? But we have to find out. A reconnaissance troop goes out. With utmost care the men are stalking toward the village. There is utter quiet in Strelezkaja, few posts are standing around, bored and freezing. Without them noticing we return at 5.00 a.m. to Obojan. In a hurry we assemble a strong raiding party with two PaKs, even assault guns are included.
At 5.30 a.m. we penetrate Strelezkaja. The surprise of the sleeping Russians is one hundred percent successful. Most of them do not even get the chance to get up. Without mercy everything and everybody is gunned down or clubbed to death on their sleeping cots. The whole nightmare lasts about a half hour. Strelezkaja burns down to the ground, in every hut there are 20 to 30 dead Russians; the houses become places of cremation. (Today we know that more than 360 Russians fell victim during the bloodbath.)
Well, you Asian pack, you certainly did not dream of that!
At 7.00 a.m. we have already taken up our positions again in the line of defense. The heavy mortars beat into the city, machine gun salvos are whipping through the streets, the usual!
At noon again, a resuplly of ammunition and provisions.
Otherwise nothing unusual. It is calm, alarmingly calm. At 15.00 hours there is suddenly the heaviest shooting.
Now we are in the know.
The Reds are ready for the counterattack! At the same hour an order arrives from headquarters: tomorrow morning at 9.00 a.m. an attack maneuver is to be undertaken. Group Dostler pressures from the south, the occupying forces will we trapped within the shortest time in this scissor formation, if they do not get possession of Obojan this very night.
Eastern Inferno Page 14
