Inside their small, clean home, we somehow managed to communicate in a limited fashion through gestures with our hands and feet. Yet, while the brief encounter perhaps somewhat humanized the Russians for me, their true emotions toward me and the German presence in their land appeared hidden behind a mask of inscrutability.
There was one Russian girl as well as a couple of Soviet POWs who worked in the company kitchen, located back about two miles behind the front. Not surprisingly, the girl became involved in a romantic relationship with one of the German kitchen staff. Military regulations prohibited such fraternization with the enemy, particularly out of concern that they might be spies.
Although this was the only truly romantic liaison of which I had firsthand knowledge, there were other German troops in my regiment who exploited the dire Russian food situation for sexual gratification. Putting a loaf of bread under their arm, these men would head for a certain area a couple of miles behind the front where there were hungry Russian women or girls who would willingly exchange sexual favors for food.
One tale circulated that a particularly heartless soldier had responded to a woman’s request for her “payment” of a loaf by slicing off a couple of pieces for her while retaining the remainder for himself. Most German officers and troops disapproved of such behavior, but I knew of no one who was reprimanded or punished for engaging in this type of act.
What was more difficult to explain was the widespread absence of a strong urge to have sexual relations with women as would be normal among a group of young males. Naturally, the rumor mill provided an answer: our cooks were under secret orders to mix an agent into our food that chemically suppressed our sex drives. While it might make sense for the high command to take such a radical step given the general lack of women at the front, the true explanation for our low libidos remained a mystery.
Generally, our own food supplies in Russia remained constant throughout the war, once the crisis of the first winter had passed. During heavy combat or when on the move, our company’s quartermaster supplied only canned goods like tuna, sardines, herring, or sausage with canned crackers or bread which we kept in our Brotbeutel (food bag) on the side of our belts.
When we were engaged in stationary warfare, troops from the Tross would come forward at night to deliver food and mail up to the bunkers. Typically, they brought an insulated kettle of hot soup from our company field kitchen containing a generous ration of beef or pork and potatoes, or perhaps sausage for dinner.
They also left us with a small round loaf of brown bread from the large divisional bakery and butter, or occasionally cheese, to eat the following morning. Frequently, the quartermaster also provided us with chocolate. Since real coffee was rare, we ordinarily drank a fairly tasty artificial coffee which we called Mukefuk, made from roasted grain.
Troops rarely went hungry, but our diet quickly grew monotonous. In certain circumstances, the army provided us with additional items that helped break the routine of army food. In the winter, we received a regular ration of a couple of small bottles of vodka to help us keep warm. At Christmas and Easter, they sometimes issued a bottle of cognac that would last for three or four days. Patients recuperating in the rear from injury or illness frequently enjoyed better foods like a roast of beef or pork, a chicken, or boiled sausage.
Even if my closest comrades and I were somehow able to acquire potatoes or meat to supplement our rations, we lacked the means to cook such items. In these instances, we would pass along the potatoes or other foods obtained outside of normal quartermaster channels to our company cooks to prepare.
On a few rare occasions, we were lucky enough to find something to eat that did not require any preparation. Although most Russian houses had burned down, we once discovered a barrel of sour pickled tomatoes in an abandoned home that provided us with a rare treat that lasted for several days.
Once the war became stationary, the issue of sanitation grew increasingly important, so building latrines was one of the first priorities. These Donnerbalken (literally, thunder-beams) were simply wooden planks on which the soldier could sit with holes dug into the ground beneath them.
In certain ways, our position in the outskirts of a city had its advantages in that some of the troops could find more satisfactory shelter. There were even toilets in a few of the three-story wooden buildings in Uritsk that offered a small measure of civilization in the midst of our primitive conditions. However, because the apartments’ plumbing was comprised of narrow square wooden channels inside the walls instead of pipes flushed by water, the sound of the waste tumbling down through the structure was audible to anyone in close proximity every time someone used the toilet on one of the upper floors.
Thinking that it would be a pleasant alternative to our latrines, I once made use of the toilet on a visit to that area of the front. The next day, my groin began to itch terribly, leaving me hardly able to function. Unfortunately, the large number of people sharing the toilet had led to the sharing of multiple diseases, including lice in the groin area. Distinctive from the larger head and body lice, an infestation by these nearly invisible groin lice caused much greater irritation.
Embarrassed that my comrades would think that I had visited one of the local Russian women, I attempted to take care of the problem on my own by shaving the area, but the terrible itching persisted. Unable to bear it any longer, I visited the medic and obtained a special ointment. Its application replaced the itchiness with a painful burning sensation, but eliminated the infestation within about a week.
Personal hygiene remained difficult to maintain and very low by today’s military standards. Occasionally, we would rig a tub or shower or have access to a lake or river in which to bathe. More often, we would just wash with a little water and a bar of soap once a week or so, if we were not in combat. Lacking a toothbrush, I would squirt toothpaste on my finger to clean my teeth perhaps once or twice a week. There was generally only an opportunity to shave with my straight razor every couple of weeks.
Our basic gray-green German uniform consisted of a denim cotton tunic and pants worn over a cotton undershirt and underwear. In the woods or brush, this easily blended with the background environment, but in the open steppe where there was no cover, you could not avoid sticking out like a camel silhouetted against a desert horizon.
Over our socks, we wore tight-fitting leather boots with leather soles. These were known as Knobelbecher, a term suggestive of the cup that is used to shake dice before they are rolled. While both the boots and uniforms were fairly durable, the divisional quartermasters still had to issue new ones to the enlisted men a couple of times per year as the old ones wore out. In 1941, I was issued riding pants made of a thicker fabric as well as a pair of riding boots that were of higher quality. The German Army required officers to purchase their own uniforms, but provided a clothing allowance as part of their pay package that helped to defray the cost. Officers could also receive fresh uniform items as needed in combat.
Generally comfortable in most climate conditions, our basic uniform was completely inadequate in the subfreezing conditions we confronted at Uritsk. Once the quartermaster finally distributed our thickly padded white uniforms a couple of months into the winter of 1941–1942, they only proved to be barely sufficient to keep us warm in the harsh Russian climate.
With only two uniforms, we laundered our clothes whenever our situation at the front made it possible. Wearing the same clothes and underwear for two or three weeks without changing, soldiers were almost always covered by itchy bites from the ubiquitous body lice, even in the cold of winter. You could feel them and see them crawling around on you. We would strip off our shirts to kill them, but could never rid ourselves of all of them. However, in contrast to the trenches and bunkers during the First World War, we experienced few problems with rats.
In such a stressful environment, it is not surprising that perhaps three quarters of the troops smoked tobacco. Although never smoking cigarettes in my youth, I started soon af
ter the invasion of Russia when the fighting intensified. Because the supply of tobacco in our rations was inadequate to meet the demand, cigarettes became a currency when trading or gambling.
Gambling seemed foolish to me, but I frequently joined the other men in my bunker at night when they played a “thinking” card game called Skat at night. Our games helped keep me mentally alert in case of a Red Army attack. Like smoking, drinking, gambling, or other forms of relaxation, they also simply provided a temporary means of escape from the tension and tedium of war.
Most of the time we entertained ourselves, but the army provided occasional recreational activities for us behind the lines. Perhaps once every six months, we would even be given a day off from frontline duty, depending on the situation. The main center for recreation in the Leningrad area was Krasnogvardeisk. Though the small city was located just 10 or 15 miles south of Uritsk, I visited it only once for about 24 hours.
While the army organized soccer matches or other sporting events in Krasnogvardeisk where teams from different units would compete, many personnel from all services sought out the temporary companionship of females during their leaves. To meet this need, the army did not establish brothels, but it did bring in German women as “entertainment troops.” According to rumor, the Luftwaffe was purported to operate two Junkers transports filled with women from occupied Europe who flew on a regular circuit of its bases to visit the pilots. Not interested in pursuing such liaisons during my visit to Krasnogvardeisk, I instead visited the German cemetery and a local theater presenting comedy routines and musical performances.
While we had lacked radios during our march into Russia, once we took up residence in our bunkers we frequently listened to the soothing Volkskonzert and other music programs on German armed forces radio. Sometimes, we would together sing the popular tunes like “Lili Marlene” or “Erika” that reminded us of home and the girls we had left there. At our rare religious services, we sang songs like “Wir treten zum Beten” (We Gather Together) and “Eine feste Burg is unser Gott” (A Mighty Fortress Is Our God) that provided us with spiritual comfort.
Despite the German Army’s standard-issue belt buckles engraved with the phrase “Gott Mit Uns” (“God with Us”), religion and an inner spiritual faith never played a big part in most German soldiers’ lives during the war. Military chaplains existed at the divisional level, but the troops usually only saw them at infrequent worship services or when they were behind the lines recuperating at a field hospital. Though chaplains sometimes led collective prayers at religious services before big battles, I knew few soldiers who prayed. If faith had played a bigger part in the lives of German soldiers, maybe they would have been more morally conscientious and held life in higher regard.
Despite regulations against it, it was not uncommon for German soldiers to ship looted Russian property such as icons or artifacts back to Germany. Most of the time, however, troops sent back items taken from the battlefield or from captured Red Army troops such as Soviet pistols or decorations. In general, the military authorities closed their eyes to such behavior. In my experience, parcels sent home were not even checked for stolen property.
When a soldier is fighting a thousand miles away from his native soil, mail from home provides a tremendous boost to morale. Because of military censorship, we could not write about our units, where we were, or our battles at the front. At the same time, letters to those back home provided us a momentary release from war’s miseries and gave loved ones relief from their constant anxiety over the soldier’s fate. Mail from my mother or occasionally another family member arrived at the front about three or four times a month.
By early 1942, the exchange of correspondence between Anneliese and I had increased to two or three times a month. Despite her continued engagement to the florist’s son, I felt a growing sense of optimism that I could gradually entice her back to me. While we usually did not discuss her fiancée, she herself had begun expressing doubts about her future with him after becoming aware that he had a drug addiction and other problems. Even though I recognized that she was not yet prepared to break off her relationship with him, the tone of our letters to each other grew steadily more intimate in nature.
Like most soldiers, I read and reread these messages from home and devoted a large portion of my free time to writing letters in reply. In my experience, news from home was one of the most significant factors shaping a soldier’s capacity in combat because it determined his state of mind and morale. Throughout the war, these letters were as important to sustaining our souls as food was to sustaining our bodies.
Chapter 9
COUNTERATTACK AT THE VOLKHOV
March–August 1942
ARMY GROUP NORTH’S FRONT IN 1942
Heavy lines indicate the location of the front in Russia during 1942.
IN EARLY DECEMBER 1941, the Red Army staged a large-scale counteroffensive that pushed back the German forces of Army Group Center attempting to capture Moscow. The Russians followed up this counterattack with a number of other operations along the entire front.
On January 13, 1942, the Soviets began a major assault on German positions at the Volkhov River south of Leningrad. Their ambitious objective was to swing behind our forces farther north and break the siege of Leningrad. Within a few days, the attack covered half the distance to Leningrad, but Army Group North overcame the crisis and soon stabilized its front. The German high command then ordered the 58th Infantry Division and other units to the Volkhov front in order to cut off the enemy’s offensive spearhead from its rear.
Pulled out of Uritsk in early March, our division’s infantry immediately journeyed directly south on trucks. Meanwhile, our company and other heavily equipped units traveled south by train on a circuitous, roughly 200-mile route. Neither group knew that its destination was the Volkhov River; we only knew that we had to halt a Russian breakthrough. Arriving at a rail station south of the fighting, our heavy company reached the battlefield about a week after the infantry.
The German counterattack started on March 15. With temperatures still far below zero Fahrenheit, our infantry and other German forces advanced northward along the western side of the wide Volkhov River. Simultaneously, other German units were moving southward to link up with us and isolate the Soviet spearhead from its main lines to the east. By the time our two pincers met on March 19, we had trapped almost 180,000 Red Army troops in a Kessel (pocket).
While the battle raged about a mile distant, our heavy gun company and artillery units trudged through waist-high snow and dense forest to reach the gun position selected by the regiment’s Vorkommando (advance team). Located on ground that was slightly elevated above the surrounding flat terrain, the wisdom of their choice would become apparent when spring weather arrived and low-lying areas reverted to swamp. As our forward observer, I took up my station beside the infantry on the nearby frontline, operating behind the log fortifications that formed the perimeter around the Kessel.
As soon as our howitzers fired the first ranging shot, it was apparent that the many tall trees in this virgin forest would pose problems beyond just obscuring my observation of enemy movement. If one of our shells prematurely collided with a tree on its ascent, its impact would cause the tree to fall or shower splinters that might injure or kill any friendly troops around it. On its descent, meanwhile, a round had to be on a steep enough trajectory to drop unobstructed onto an enemy target moving through the dense woods in the area. To overcome these obstacles, the barrels of the guns were raised to their maximum elevation of about 45 degrees and essentially employed as mortars, which proved modestly effective.
Following their encirclement, the Russian forces reacted rapidly. Even with the Red Army’s numerical superiority in troops and tanks, they had to struggle fiercely to break out of the Kessel. The main axis of their counterattack breached our lines about half a mile north of my location at the end of another week of intense combat, reestablishing a link to their forces on the eastern side of
the Volkhov through a roughly mile-wide corridor.
Using the old logging paths that formed a grid pattern inside this Schlauch (land bridge), the still largely isolated Red Army troops could now potentially receive a constant flow of reinforcements and supplies. From top to bottom, the passage contained three main Schneisen (logging roads) running east to west that we referred to respectively as Friedrich Schneise, Erika Schneise, and Dora Schneise.These were intersected at right angles by West Schneise, Mittel Schneise, Kreipe Schneise, and Süd Schneise.
Once the new lines stabilized, I was about a half mile south of the Dora Schneise. The primary mission of our heavy weapons company was to support our infantry in a defensive capacity. As a secondary task, we also sought to harass the Red Army forces passing through the corridor as well as prevent them from widening the breach. Meanwhile, the combined fire of approximately 120 105-millimeter artillery pieces located on both sides of the corridor plus air strikes by Stuka dive-bombers relentlessly hammered the grid of Schneisen that ran through the gap.
Unlike the long lulls in the fighting at Uritsk, the air at the Volkhov was filled day and night with the incessant roar of artillery and the clatter of machine-gun fire.
BATTLING IN A SWAMP: April–June 1942
When the spring thaw arrived in early April, it swiftly turned the whole Volkhov battlefield into a muddy bog. The warmer weather was initially welcomed, but we would soon discover that conducting combat operations in the steamy heat of a swamp was even worse.
Though under constant bombardment from us, the Soviets somehow succeeded in constructing a narrow-gauge railroad track right through the middle of their Schlauch within a month’s time. Upon its completion, this railroad became our principal target, but the storm of German shells and bombs could only hamper rather than halt movement through it. However, this disruption to the flow of traffic limited the corridor’s value to the Russians, especially once the tree cover was obliterated.
At Leningrad's Gates Page 14
