Excerpt from Chapter 22:

Midday next day we entered Kovel through the southern outskirts, passing newly dug defence positions occupied by units of the garrison. Observation posts and communication trenches were part of the inner defence system of the town and a battery of heavy field guns were digging in in the town square. They were probably the same unit who had frightened hell out of the truck driver and me, me more then the driver, a few days previously. Our guns parted company with the Squadrons and we proceeded to Oberleutnant Hahn's headquarters for instructions.

The German retreat from Russia saw a new element of warfare introduced. In order to stem the massive onslaught of the Soviet armies Hitler in his directives decreed that certain strategic cities or towns be declared 'Fortified Places', to be defended at all cost, to the last man, with no retreat. The term 'fortified' didn't necessarily mean the town was bristling with arms, so we weren't surprised when Hahn informed us that Kovel had been declared one as well as Brody and Ternopol south of us.

It was bad news, whether expected or not. Fate had finally caught us - the end of the line - kaput. With it came the realization that should one be unlucky enough to survive the siege, the prospect of ending one's days in some rotten Siberian slave camp was too awful to contemplate. When it came to the worst and the Russians hadn't done it then the last bullet would have to be saved. Such were our thoughts...

Two of our guns were detailed to join an infantry company deployed along the northern defence perimeter, some two miles out of Kovel on the road to Ratno. We knew this village quite well as we'd been through it a few times on our escorting patrols to Ratno. Now the road was barricaded and our instructions were to dig in on either side immediately behind the barricades and camouflage our position.

In front of us were about 500 metres of open field then a forest. The road was lined with trees on either side, slightly obscuring the approaches to the wood and where the open field met the tree line stood a windmill, the top storey of which would have served the Russians perfectly to observe our positions. The trench commander ordered our gun to destroy it and two magazines of incendiary grenades was enough to set the wooden structure ablaze from top to bottom.

Behind us were a row of empty houses, the occupants having been evacuated, and we made use of the one closest to our gun for our living quarters while things were still reasonably quiet. Among odd bits of household items we found an old-fashioned HMV phonograph with a huge sound trumpet and a crank handle winder and I remember so well the tune - 'Hear my song, Oh Violetta' - from some opera I can't remember. (Verdi's La Traviata it could have been). The damn thing was played continually until Kapo Holder couldn't stand it any longer and one day pulled out his pistol and shot the rotten thing to bits. Poor fellow, his nerves must have given out but it wasn't a very nice thing to do as it was the only disk there was. Wilfried and I had the early morning watch 4.30 to 6.00 and close to 6.00 Wilfried left the gun to wake our relief. It was just getting light enough to make out the edge of the forest in front and as I looked along the road to where it disappeared into the wood I missed a heartbeat or two from what I saw - a long column of troops emerging from the tree line, all clad in brown! Russians?

I pulled the string that raised the alarm in the living quarters, inserted a full magazine into the loading block and activated the safety mechanism on the gun. Wilfried was out first and into his seat, directing the barrel on to the oncoming mass, closely followed by Holder who trained his powerful glasses along the road for some time. Then he put them down and informed us we could relax again - those brown figures were not Russians, but Romanians. They had abandoned their posts in the outlying villages to join the Kovel garrison. They were jolly lucky we didn't open fire on them.

Later that afternoon the observer from the artillery battery came to our positions to establish coordinates for various barrages his battery was to deliver once attacks began. He made contact with his battery Command Post by means of a powerful transmitter. "Willi calling Rosengarten." Willi the observer and Rosengarten his battery. Willi requested a test shot with 'hochgezogenem Sprengpunkt', a shell that explodes in the air with a red coloured puff from which the observer can make his adjustments. The test shot came and exploded some distance in front of us and the observer radioed back his corrections "two degree left, break off ten" and then asked for a full salvo. When it came the shells hit the edge of the forest with awesome precision and the coordinates were then given to our trench commander for any future barrage requests.

That last salvo also made us realize that the Russians would soon be firmly entrenched opposite us in the woods in superior numbers and would do their very best to rout us. They were masters in digging themselves into the ground, silently and mole-like and once in position they could wait the opportune moment to deliver their attack, making sure they outnumbered us in manpower and equipment. It could be tomorrow or in a week's time. It didn't matter to them when, they knew they would get us eventually because they knew we couldn't retreat. They were operating in the knowledge that we were well and truly trapped and to them it was just a matter of time. They didn't, however, know our exact positions. We were well dug in and camouflaged and were ready for them too.

Wilfried and I stood the 9 to 10.30 watch one evening and it was very cold and quiet, the stillness only interrupted by the occasional flare and the ever-present distant rumbling of the artillery. We spent the time talking and smoking and generally felt sorry for the predicament we found ourselves in. Well, actually the talking was more like whispering and the smoking always done under inside the overcoat. Voices carry over a distance on a cold, still night and the glow of a cigarette could be seen for miles.

We both got off the carrier and Wilfried disappeared in the direction of the living quarters to wake our relief while I made myself comfortable in a sort of half sitting position over the mudguard contemplating a couple of hours' sleep in the warm living quarters. I thought Wilfried had been quick on his waking mission when a figure loomed out from the dark before me, then to my horror I realized it wasn't Wilfried. In the reflective light of the snow I glimpsed a slight metallic flicker on his collar - the Knight's Cross! It was our Commander on his rounds before turning in. I slid off the mudguard and tried to salute, which was a feeble attempt I must admit. He then asked me for my rifle, which he noticed I didn't have. I'd left it on top of the carrier for the next watch to take over. I told him we normally stood watch on top of the carrier and the rifle was only in the way there. "Why are you not up there then," he wanted to know. "Because you have been asleep on the mudguard?" Then he asked for my rank and name and ordered me to report to his Command Post in the morning.

What saved me from a possible early demise was the fact that although technically our gun was under his tactical command, the jurisdiction over us was still the privilege of our battery commander and Oberleutnant Hahn, when acquainted with my problem, told me to stay put and he would have a word with the good Major himself. To my relief he must have been successful as I didn't hear any more about it.

One frosty morning as we were munching our hard black bread and marmalade, washed down with 'ersatz kaffee' two German Junker 88s flew overhead, so low the Luftwaffe insignia was clearly visible on their wings and about 1800 metres up according to our range finding gear. They must be mad we thought as we watched them circling round expecting any moment Russian anti aircraft guns would home in on them. They were just asking for trouble. Wilfried and I remembered the occasion when we'd hit a Junker when we were after a Nachthexe. Then it dawned on us. Those planes were night fighters - we could clearly discern the four antenna sticking out their noses - but they were being flown by Russian crews! That was why they weren't being shot at. They felt perfectly safe up there in German planes with German markings and could survey our positions at leisure. Holder checked out with the command post and received permission to fire. I put a magazine of tracer fitted explosives in the gun block and Wilfried, already in his seat, took careful aim and put his foot on the firing pedal. The tracers found their target and the plane tossed from side to side then dived almost vertically into the forest where it disintegrated. The second plane quickly got out of firing range and took off eastwards before we could home in on him too. A later check with air control confirmed that there were no German Ju.88 operating above our sector. They must have been captured intact on one of the airfields that were overrun by the Russians in their push through the Ukraine.

Later that afternoon a message was passed to us from the Commander that enemy troop movements had been detected on the edge of the woods by the road leading into the forest. Orders were that camouflage and gun silence had to be maintained as long as possible as it was assumed that the newly arrived Russian units were unaware of our positions and this assumption proved to be reasonably correct.

We quietly manned the gun without disturbing our camouflage, Holder scanning the edge of the forest with his binoculars saw them as they emerged from the tree line. They were in two single lines, maybe twenty or thirty, coming closer we could discern their machine pistols at the ready as they cautiously moved from tree to tree, led by an officer with his pistol outstretched. They looked like they were not quite sure what to expect, probably assuming the village to be abandoned and we hoped we hadn't given away too much by shooting at those spy planes in the morning.

Holder's instructions were to be ready to shoot the moment the Command Post's machine guns started firing and,if possible, prisoners were to be taken for interrogation. Holder and the gun Kapo from the opposite side of the road ordered everybody off their vehicles with the exception of Wilfried and me and Gunners One and Four from the other gun, and the rest to position themselves behind the barricades by the roadblock, rifles at the ready.

We watched them coming closer, still unaware of what was in front of them. I had the magazine fully inserted and cast a quick glance at Wilfried who I was sure could have done with a 'Juno' right then. Something must have caught the Russian officer's eye and made him suspicious because all of a sudden he stopped in his track and motioned his men to take cover but it was too late for them. Two machine guns from the company's Command Post opened up simultaneously, while Wilfried put his foot on the pedal and the gun the other side of the road immediately joined in.

The Russians were caught in the crossfire, completely taken by surprise and their return fire was aimless and ineffective. Holder and the men manning the barricades rushed out to charge them and their officer, still in a crouched position and half hidden by a tree was pretty quick to raise his hands when ordered, his submachine gun still firmly clasped in his right hand. Besides the officer, eight of his men also gave up the desire to continue fighting for Mother Russia and as for the rest of his platoon, one could only guess. It was getting dark and our Commander had no intention to go after them. Some were killed, some just played dead and made their way back to their lines during the night and, no doubt, some of the badly wounded received the customary treatment by their commissar, shot in the neck, to put them out of their misery and save Mother-Russia some hefty hospital bill.

We remained on full alert for the night, waiting for a full-scale return attack on our positions since they were now known. But it didn't come. Noises were heard all through the night, carried from the adjoining hills in the still, cold air, sounding as if they were getting all their equipment in place - heavy artillery, Katyushas and armour. They weren't yet ready for the struggle but we knew time favored them as we had to stay put.

The Commander sent out a patrol in the early morning but they didn't get very far. Halfway across the field they were pinned down by well-aimed Russian mortars. Flares lit up the field and our guns opened up, directing fire to the forest edge to assist our patrol's return to the line. They made it eventually but the mortars got two of their mates who had to be left behind. The Russians continued their mortar barrage, creeping closer to our position and forcing us to leave the carrier and shelter in the trenches.

The attack began at dawn. We watched swiftly moving figures come out of the wood, taking short runs and then hitting the snow, almost invisible in their white camouflage and covering our defence line effectively with well-aimed rifle barrages to allow their second line of men behind to rise up and catch up with them. The mortar fire had moved away from us and we manned the gun for a sweep along the tree line but it was short lived. The moment we started firing back came the mortars and once more we took to the trenches. Then a message from the Command Post ordered us to abandon our position and move the guns to a safer site, and that was the most welcome order for us that morning. We waited for the barrage to shift away before attempting to get the vehicle moving. Some of the grenades had come jolly close but by sheer luck, apart from a few shrapnel none had inflicted serious damage to the carrier, yet.

Welcome as it was, we thought it a bit strange to be pulled out in the middle of an attack but one didn't question the wisdom or merit of a superior's order. Thinking was the privilege of the officers, the rank simply obeys. But the Commander's thinking became apparent when our artillery started up and hammered the advancing Russians on the open field with well placed salvos. They came from the 'Rosen Garten' and Willi, their observer, had done a good job and his coordinates were spot on. They silenced the mortars and we were able to pull out and move to the end of the village where we listened to the shells of our own artillery whooshing over our heads and into the field hindering the Russian advance.

Unless the Russians pulled back there would be quite a few casualties. Judging from the concentrated machine gun and rifle fire coming from the direction of our previously held position some Russian units must have succeeded in getting into our trenches. Indeed, they did get hold of a section of the line and overran a few houses, including the one we used for our quarters and a message was delivered to our guns to move forward again and destroy the houses.

Slowly and cautiously we moved up the street as far as we dared to get an unrestricted aim on the target while not exposing ourselves unnecessarily, our driver reversing for a quick get-away, which was no easy task. He sat low in his cabin and depended on the rear mirror but ours had been smashed, so Holder had to step on the sideboard looking towards the rear of the vehicle and operate the steering wheel behind him while the driver had his foot on the pedal. Perfect, and it nearly always worked...

Nearby, a German machine gun was delivering short bursts on to some unseen target and we hoped they would keep it up for a while to muffle our engine. Our second gun started firing from a position somewhere to our left and hit the first of the houses, then we followed and two magazines later pulled back to the end of the street, leaving three houses well lit, including our old quarters. A counter-attack, ordered by the Major put the trench back into German control.

Looking towards Kovel where the sky was heavily overcast aircraft noises could be heard from the direction of Chelm and we made out the shape of bombers breaking through the snow- laden clouds. We stared at them in disbelief - they were dropping parachutes! Everywhere parachutes were drifting down over the centre of the town, swinging like pendulums. It wasn't a sight to cheer us up in our present predicament. The Russians must be pretty desperate using paratroopers to take the town, we thought.

But there was something strange about those parachutes. Some were white, some red and others grey. Holder looked through his binoculars and informed us that they had containers attached and the planes were German Heinkel bombers. So that was it. Kovel was surrounded and we were now on our own, isolated and cut off from the rest of our Wehrmacht. The Russians would be aware of that and would make sure that we were slowly squeezed into surrender and a slow, lingering death in Siberia.

Halfway between our village and Kovel was a single track railway line from Kovel which curved its way up a hill to join the main line to Brest-Litovsk. It was on the western side of the road and on the eastern side was an abandoned farm house with hilly fields and small patchy stretches of pine forest. We were ordered to position ourselves by the farm building and at the same time cover the railway. Holder decided to position the gun on the eastern side of the road and have the machine gun dug in on the southern embankment of the railway line as the Kovel to Brest main line on the crest of the hill was already firmly in Russian hands. We were ordered to dig in and be out of sight by morning.

Not only was the ground frozen, it was consolidated, being the base of the railway line. It was very hard work but since everybody had a strong instinct for self-preservation we dug deep and by morning the machine gun was well out of sight. The foxholes were perhaps a little bit too deep and eventually became waterlogged by seepage from higher ground. We lined them with straw from the barn across the road but it didn't stop the moisture getting into the boots and soaking our clothes which froze in the icy cold nights.

The Russians were busy. We couldn't see them but the occasional shovel of dirt thrown a bit too high above the track gave them away. They were digging in all along the main line, lying flat on their bellies and working like moles and were experts at it. Their presence up there was particularly unhealthy, especially for the machine gun position. It meant the two who took watch in the morning had to remain indefinitely since a relief could only cross the road in a snowstorm or at night, otherwise fall victim to a sniper's bullet.

Wilfried and I had been in the foxholes since before dawn. Heinkel bombers flew over again in the early morning and dropped more parachutes on the town centre and the Russians were still digging up on the mainline, suggesting something big was being prepared. Across the road Holder must have been watching them too as a round of tracers from our 2 cm tore over our heads and whacked into the rail but apart from the initial shock couldn't have done much damage as their foxholes were on the far side of the embankment and well protected.

A plane skimmed over the embankment, zoomed down along our side line, hopped across the road and nearly shaved off the roof of the farm building. It was a Russian fighter and couldn't have been more than 8-10 metres off the ground, too fast to see its make and to shoot at it as he skimmed over our machine gun, probably wanting to draw our 2 cm gun's fire and locate its position. Whatever his intention it was certainly excellent flying but it was just as well we didn't fire and give our positions away as not long after we discovered why the Russians were so hard at work digging all the morning.

From the direction of Kovel a half-track vehicle appeared and we watched it pass the farm house. Then the driver sped along the open stretch of road in full view of the entrenched Russians to reach the safety of the village. It was the supply carrier taking ammunition to the infantry units still holding out in the forward lines. He almost made it.

There was a flash and bang up on the junction and a simultaneous impact down on the road with an almighty explosion and when the smoke disappeared so had the half-track. So that's what they had been digging in up there - a heavy calibre anti tank gun, a 'Ratch Boom'- so named because they sound exactly so. Their high velocity shells came in in a straight line, making firing and impact almost one sound. A horrible thought then entered my mind: Had that Russian plane not been so low and fast this morning we would have trained our machine gun on him for a burst or two. Then the Ratch-Boom wouldn't have missed us either!

A bitterly cold wind blew down from the north-west and the sky was full of heavy snow clouds. A blizzard swept through and with it came our relief watch. We quickly crossed the road to the farmhouse for some hot coffee and a little warmth before crawling under the floor boards to catch up on sleep. Since we left in the morning for our watch an anti-tank gun crew had joined us, using the hayshed for their quarters, and had positioned a gun in the ditch the side of the road. The day was reasonably quiet, just the usual sporadic machine gunfire and rifle exchange from the village defence line.

The food carriers were late that evening but they came with a surprise - a bottle of champagne for everybody! They told us it came from an abandoned supply store by the Kovel railway station. Wilfried and I were ordered to relieve the machine gun watch who'd been stuck over the railway line since mid afternoon and our thoughts were identical. What was the use of leaving it behind, we might not be coming back and what a waste of good bubbly that would be. The two chaps we relieved couldn't get across the road quick enough to share in the largesse.

The foxholes were cold and dampness crept up from the bottom through the straw turning our 'mattress' into a crust of thin ice. The Ratch-Boom started up and whacked a round of missiles into the village. We opened the bottles and let the ice cold 'bubbly' run down our throats, making sure not to waste a spot. It was really too cold to enjoy, but what was there to enjoy anyhow? For all we knew it was probably our last drink. Wilfried finished off his bottle and tossed it over the rails as if it were a hand grenade and I followed likewise.

No doubt it was the alcohol taking effect, maybe helped by the cold, or more likely we were not used to it anymore, but it must have gone to Wilfried's head too. He got the fixed idea that that big gun, the Ratch Boom on the hill had it in for us and he was going to put a stop to it. Naturally I concurred. How inconsiderate of them to single us out when there were other targets. When stupidity takes over all reason goes. Wilfried then placed the machine gun on top of the rail track to get a good aim at the Russian positions but I was having some difficulty getting the cartridge belt in its proper place - a bit like threading a sewing needle in the dark, not knowing which end had the opening. Anyhow, Wilfried got a firm grip on the gun, or so he thought, and fired.

Not much damage was done judging from how the tracers arched skywards and off target, unlike Wilfried's usual expertise, but it was the recoil action which really was to be blamed for that, the recoil lifts up the gun muzzle during rapid firing if the gunner doesn't have a good grip on it. We must have given them a bit of a fright all the same and satisfied with our effort we slid back into our foxholes, and none too soon. There came an almighty explosion, right between the rail tracks, followed by a few more in rapid succession. It was the Ratch-Boom crew homing in on us with alarming accuracy as they had no trouble in getting a fix, thanks to Wilfried's tracers and it was only the rail embankment that saved us from a direct hit.

One of the shells tore a large piece off the rail track and sent it flying with an eerie whirring sound over our heads and ending with a deep thud when it hit the frozen ground behind us. Then a Russian mortar stationed somewhere near the big gun joined in and some of its shells came jolly close, which was reason enough for us to sober up quickly. The mortar barrage veered off and must have assumed they'd finished us off since we didn't return fire. They had almost succeeded.

The mortars concentrated their fire on the village approaches and we feared an attack must be imminent. The sound of rifle and machine gunfire could be heard from the village and there was increased activity on the road leading to it. A few more houses had gone up in flames, throwing all sorts of imaginary shadows and the night air filled with drifting smoke. A figure loomed out of the dark and luckily for him we recognized him as one of ours. At first we thought he was our relief but he'd only sped across to tell us to get the hell out because the Russians were just about to take possession of the whole village.

The message was that all outlying units were to fall back to Kovel proper and we were mighty glad to hear it. We hastily extracted the gun and ammo boxes and followed the runner across the road. The look in Holder's face gave the impression he wasn't entirely pleased with us. "I will deal with you later," he said, "in the meantime get that rotten cannon out of here and on the road before Ivan does it for us." Over by the hay shed were two bodies from the the antitank crew. The hayshed had received a direct hit from the Ratch-Boom and they were its casualties.

It was snowing quite heavily and the ground was frozen. We had little trouble getting the vehicle on to the road and managed to move out before the snowdrift cleared away and the big gun could swing back to our direction again. As it was our shooting episode had little to do with what followed, but just coincided with a full-scale Russian attack. We pulled out, trying to catch up with our second gun who were dug in the other side of the pine tree patch but were stopped by an outgoing infantry platoon going in for a counter attack and their commanding officer ordered us to go along for additional fire support. The infantry went into the attack and we supported them as best we could with well-aimed strafing tracers homing in just a bit ahead of our advancing platoon. It must have hurt the Russians pretty badly as they went to ground and slowly retreated into the burning village, our infantry following on their heels. We were ordered to stop firing so as not to endanger our own people. We had done what we could and our kapo got permission to proceed to Kovel.

Our other gun, dug in somewhere to the east, by the pine forest patch, was silent during the entire counter operation. They had either pulled back or something had gone terribly wrong. We gradually made our way to their last reported position, only to find their luck had run out. Their position had been overrun by Russian infantry during the blizzard. We found three dead and the rest must have been taken prisoner. Two of the dead were stripped naked, and their clothes and hand arms were missing. One had been propped in the gun's operational seat and his penis was missing. The third, the driver and fully clothed, was slumped behind the steering wheel, his hands firmly gripping it. The gun was still in working order, only the barrel was swivelled around and pointing towards Kovel. A full magazine was in the block but the gun couldn't be fired as the safety lever was in the 'off'position and presumably the Russians were unaware of that. We figured the reason for taking the uniforms, was perhaps to hand them over to the partisans.

We removed the remaining ammunition to our vehicle and as I'd had a few driving lessons from our driver in the past, I got the unenviable task of driving the vehicle in the wake of our carrier into Kovel. It was not easy to remove the already stiff body of the driver from his seat and shift him to the empty one on the right so that I could do so.

We got into town from the eastern end where the railway line from Kamen-Kashirsky came into Kovel and military police gave us directions where to proceed. Driving along the back fence of a row of seemingly deserted houses we halted behind one and our driver then took over from me and drove the stricken vehicle and it's ghostly crew back to our head- quarters.

We discovered when searching the house that it was occupied by two women. In front was an open field at the opposite end of which was a cluster of pine trees and in between were a few small farm sheds. During the night the woodline had been taken by Russian units. Being on watch I scanned the edge of the trees and was suddenly aware of movements behind one of the sheds and noticed two figures dart from behind the structure and disappear into it before I could properly train my field glass on it. I raised the alarm and told Holder what I'd seen and he ordered us to put a few shells on to the shed. Three of them precisely and they went straight in. Then one of the women came running from the house, grabbed Holder by the arm, pointing to the field and yelling in Russian and broken German trying to tell him that two of her boys had gone out in the morning to bring home their goats which had been grazing on the field and they were in the shed. She pleaded with Holder to let her go out there with the sledge and get her boys.

Holder had no objections and let her go. She should be relatively safe to cross the field without the Russians using her for target practice but just in case they thought otherwise we kept our barrel trained on the edge of the woods. All the same, it was a sorry sight, when the woman returned with one boy hanging on to her while the toboggan she pulled carried the other boy who looked as white as the snow and obviously was dying. He couldn't have been more than ten, perhaps twelve.

Damned rotten war. It was awful to see little children die like that. But there was nothing we could do about it. The American and British airmen did it every day and night in German cities without giving a damn about how many women and children died in their attacks, because they never saw the agonized faces, like we were seeing then. They got their orders and we got ours and when one saw the barbarity witnessed earlier in the day the idea of surrender remained out of the question. Whoever lost the war would be burdened with all the atrocities committed in its wake and unless a miracle happened it looked like it would be Germany blamed for everything...

 

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