Eastern Inferno: The Journals of a German Panzerjäger on the Eastern Front, 1941-43 (27 page)

We try to conceal our movements in order not to reveal any more to the Russians than they can already see, for dawn is encroaching over our sap trenches and ditches. Next a slurping and gurgling come from above, which turns into a booming hissing, then a huge bang; the earth trembles, a shower of shiny glowing splinters cut through the air… once… twice, and once more. Planes then hurtle by over our heads. In the neighboring trenches, flames now shoot into the sky until there are no more bombs. Flashes of light come from above; he is shooting at us with his on-board weapons. From below, we attack the multi-colored bursts with our machine guns and 2cm artillery. There is a crashing and thundering all around us. What a tremendous spectacle, just like judgment day! Whoever is calm enough to take this wild, frenetic picture in, will keep these nights in Liwny—in spite of everything—in good memory.

What difficult days! The Russians, knowing full well the importance of the Kunesch sector, throw reinforcements into the trenches day after day, along with pulling out more heavy guns and their damn Stalin’s Organs, which they position across the front.

There is a fine drizzle of rain in the oppressive heat—this feverish air is as warm as piss! A considerable number of men stumble about, sick with malaria. The roads are bottomless pits of mud, the trenches one big swamp. Damn this trench warfare! My hole is about to drown, there’s not a dry speck anywhere!

The sun is again shining, and the Reds, who probably just like us have been suffering like dogs during these periods of rain, are becoming utterly and ferociously aggressive. By night, with the support of their tanks, they break through to our most forward trenches; by day we strike back. This is how it goes for three days, when we, full of righteous wrath, finally bring a small section of forest, where they commenced their attack, into our possession through a bitter close-range attack. At dawn, when the whole affair starts to look more precarious than ever, the excellent
DO-Geräte
[otherwise known as
Nebelwerfer
: a multiple rocket launcher] comes to our aid. We sit on the other side with this terribly rutted forest thoroughly in our hands; no force in the world would be able to expel us from here!

We have been sitting here for a week now; a burned out Russian tank is used to construct our B-position, and the forest is packed with our most modern weapons. The Reds approach a few times a day, but only to get their heads bloodied. The position is ideal and almost impossible to capture. The Russians also seem to understand this, and over the next few days and nights hardly bother us. This, however, doesn’t seem right either, for personally I am suspicious of this calm.

Our leadership doesn’t appear to be too trusting of this quietness either, for our sound locating devices and surveillance posts are doubled. After two more days, everybody up here knows that the Reds are planning something devilish for us. On day three this becomes clear, and on day four, the entire combat position, including our important B-position, explodes under Russian tanks.

I want to tell the story of how this all played out in detail, and how it was reported to the corps:

30 June:
A Russian officer is visible in front of our positions, apparently scrutinizing our tanks and taking photographs.

6–7 July:
Conspicuous expansion of berms along the entire length of the enemy trench facing us.

7 July:
A deserter divulges that a mine tunnel is being built at this position, which lacks only 20 meters before completion.

12 July:
Fifteen meters from our own barbed wire barrier a metal post sticking out of the ground is observed. At the same time, Russians are sizing up our tanks from their trenches. Based on these initial observations, it is assumed that the Russians could be advancing with their tunnel toward our tanks. Therefore, a screening trench three meters deep is dug and manned with a sound locater. Based on the deserter’s testimony from July 10, a counterattack with nine heavy T mines [T.Mi.Z.35] is attempted, which despite being executed along ten meters, does not bring any results. An examination of the craters does not provide any evidence of a tunnel. Three more counter-blasts don’t bring any results, and a fourth one is being prepared for the evening of July 14. Our artillery and heavy weaponry are conspicuously organized along the front line. Spanish riders [
spanische reiter
, X-shaped sharpened poles tied together to form a barrier] and S rolls [
S-Rollen
, a particular gauge of barbed wire] are laid out as a precaution.

It is a terrible feeling to sit here and wait for the havoc to commence, which could rage upon us at any moment. Abandoning the position is out of the question, therefore, it’s time to write your will and wait with your frazzled nerves for the volcano to erupt. What a terrible situation! Hours turn into minutes, and minutes into hours; time is now crawling by. It’s making us crazy! I could scream, fume, and howl out of rage. Dirty jokes and cursing do not help in this case; the men just stare into nothingness, numb and catatonic while they wait for the catastrophe.

14 July:
1900 hours. There is a sudden explosion about 25 to 30 steps to the right ahead of our tank line. A few moments later, a second, even bigger detonation in the same spot occurs, followed by two more about 80 steps from our panzers. The battalion leader on the spot and a few men are thrown over from the force of the explosion; the troops in the frontline trenches are buried alive. The support trenches [
grabenbesatzung
], however, did not cave in; the main pressure from the explosion passes without doing much damage up front. Except for a few scratches, it did nothing to me or my men.

With the sudden onset of artillery fire, an assault unit attempts to break through our position. Everything is turned upside down with hand grenades and carbines; our small and large machine guns that were buried under the collapsed berms are not functional, and are useless in the close-range combat.

We are even able to take in a few prisoners while all of this is occurring. They will tell interesting things later on when they are interrogated. Besides a dozen wounded and three dead, we escaped with nothing more than a black eye this time. Fixed position combat to mine combat! Now we’re there! The only thing I am missing now is fuel.

From the attack we also discover the following: the origin of the tunnel was located in the very first trench across from our position. Large numbers of storm units were deployed for the construction of the tunnel, which on the 14th was 170 meters long. In the tunnel, twenty men worked at a time, and the work itself was accomplished with an earth cutter the shape of a horseradish cutter. Because of the soft clay, they were able to accomplish the work in almost complete silence. At the end of the tunnel, in the actual explosive chamber, there was, according to the prisoner’s account, a 1,000 kilo bomb, which was detonated on the 14th. This incident can be counted as one of the most devious forms of combat on the part of the Reds. Hardly a day passes during this singularly brutal campaign that the Reds do not bring us losses through one devilish plan or another.

The following is just a small sampling of this:

Wired balloons and phosphorus grenades are not new anymore, as we already made their acquaintance last winter along with about fifty different kinds of mines. On the other hand, how ever, are the mine traps. The especially cunning Bolsheviks cross German lines at night and at different points put up signs with the following written in German: “Attention! Mine! Trucks must drive to the right!” The right side of the road is of course mined, and the truck meets its destiny.

Other examples: the sign “This is a mine-free passage!” is placed in the middle of a mine field, or in a mine-infested crater you will see a cardboard sign reading, “collection station for grenade shells—‘Remember comrade, the home front needs raw materials to be able to provide you with new grenades!’” Many conscientious infantrymen fell victim to this malicious trick before being warned from above.

That nothing is sacred to the Red
schweine
can be demonstrated by the following: in the back-and-forth of positional warfare, dead comrades have to very often be left behind in enemy territory. It is expected that a counterattack on the following day will bring the lost sections back into our hands. The Reds know that this is the minimal duty of the honorable German soldier to at least bury his fallen comrades. They know that we do this with the peace and devotion that frontline soldiers owe to their fallen comrades. Precisely because of this, they do something that is unimaginably devilish and cruel: they connect the stiff arms or the shattered limbs of the fallen with a mine, which blasts our comrades who want to put them to rest into smithereens. Again and again, I stand aghast before the villainy of such thugs.

A few days ago a new Russian mine in the shape of a first-aid kit displaying a red cross was used by partisans to booby trap a supply road. It detonated when the kit was picked up, which killed the truck driver. Besides the already familiar drop of mechanical pencils and fountain pens loaded with sensitive explosives, the Russian air force now also drops small first-aid kits resembling German kits. When the bandages are unwrapped, a highly sensitive detonator cap explodes, causing extensive abdominal and facial wounds.

According to the statement of a deserter—an officer—the Russian air force has the following at its disposal:

—Cigarette cases: when opened will detonate.

—Pocket watches: when one attempts to wind them they explode.

—Grey colored frogs: detonation occurs when pressure is applied to the natural looking body.

At Maloarchangelsk, along the supply road, 100-gram field post packages with German addresses and senders were picked up. When touched, they exploded and caused serious burns. In the same area, small, oval tin cans were found with the German label “oil treatment for mosquitoes and lice,” along with a very dangerous explosive effect. And so forth, and so forth…. Yet another wonderful thing which has caused great confusion during the difficult nights near Droskowo….

Listen up! The following has been confirmed by official sources: “Russian sound grenades.” The grenade explodes a few meters above ground; after the detonation, a sound is audible for ten seconds, which is very similar to sound of the impact. What causes this sound cannot be explained. Despite a thorough investigation of the impact sites, nothing can be found that would explain what causes such noises.

I could list a good dozen similar examples. They are always the same! Bolsheviks are far superior to us when it comes to waging war in this manner. It is a pitiful superiority, and a dangerous one!

July:
Deserters and POWs state that on the other side, comprehensive preparations for underground combat are taking place. The Reds want to capture our advantageous cave position this way; corresponding orders from Stalin have been submitted.

Subterranean combat! The Vosges [a small mountain range in southeastern France] and Argonne [the site of heavy battles between German and France during World War I] combatants of the Great War know all too well that this form of combat takes its toll on the nerves of every man. Day and night, we now lie listening in the deepest parts of our bunkers.

Four weeks ago, we were lying exactly like this in our holes and sap trenches, our ears pressed to the wet ground, listening for the muffled pounding of the pick axes and shovels with which they were digging. To calm our pounding hearts and frazzled nerves, we tell ourselves again and again: as long as there is pounding, there is no danger. What pitiful comfort during these hours! But then we heard shuffling and buzzing when the cases of explosives were installed at the head of the completed tunnel. We knew that danger was growing and growing; if it becomes quiet down there, then it is time—the chamber is fully loaded and any second now an enormous, destructive blast could erupt.

For hours and days, we were literally lying on 1,000 kilograms of dynamite, until the evening of July 14, when its detonation blasted our positional structures to bits, and combat around the still smoking craters began.

Even today, we don’t know where or if the Reds are digging their tunnels. It is exactly this uncertainty that is worse than everything else. Again and again, we place our heads on the ground to listen! We are driving each other crazy, each person claims to have heard a suspicious noise on the ground. It is like the loony bin here, as it is very difficult to bring our men to their senses.

I know, however, that even the smallest preparation on the other side will be quickly detected by our leadership, and it is this trust that relaxes me and therefore my men, for nothing is more contagious in the trenches than perseverance and cold blood.

And then something else stirs our spirits and turns even the staunchest of pessimists into happily smiling optimists—the new leave regulations! I am hoping to see my wife and kid in the beginning of August. With all the joy of knowing this though, suddenly a great fear comes down over me. We, who God knows have battled with death and the devil, are dreading that before then we will be hit by a piece of metal, which would rip this whole saintly picture to shreds. All of a sudden, we are now cautious in combat; gone is the stubbornness during heavy bombardments. We are no longer the callous
Frontschweine
, we are civilians in uniform. God knows, I’m just like all the others!

Leave—how long will it be? Will we be able to cope internally and externally at home? Thousands of thoughts and considerations are running through my poor head. Damn it! If the vacation would just get here!

Prisoners are taken during my nightly reconnaissance mission. It is of utmost interest for us to find out about the enemy’s mine preparations. According to statements made by captured Bolsheviks, the gophers over there are working night and day. Where the tunnels are being driven forward, they can’t—or won’t—say, despite our drastic measures.