Excerpt from Chapter 8:
A boxcar transport waited on the railway siding,
each car fitted out with a table and two benches
bolted to the floor at one end of the wagon
while the rest of the area was covered with
straw for sleeping. Officers were accommodated
in a sleeper car up front. A great deal of time
and effort went into loading and securing the
equipment on the flat top carriages for the long
haul into Russia and I remember one of our
motorcycle dispatch riders, in a hurry to get
back to the train, on his last run missed a bend
and killed himself hitting a tree. Our first
casualty and we were not even in combat yet.
Unteroffizier Langhans, who had rejoined us
after his vacation in the dungeons of Rheims's
prison, didn't make us feel any better with his
superior wisdom, saying that most of us would 'snuff'it
anyhow before the war was finished - and he
proved to be right there.. Our transport CO
called us together for a few last-minute words
and told us that time for action had finally
come and he expected everybody to do his duty
acording to orders and our military oath. He
informed us that our destination would be
somewhere in the Ukraine, southern Russia.
Late that evening our transport pulled out of
Mourmelon and we crossed into Germany during the
night, to Saarbrucken, over the Rhine at
Ludwigshafen and into Mannheim where we came to
a halt on a siding outside the main station for
morning coffee and porridge provided by a mobile
field kitchen, plus toilet facilities - a quick
stop as transport followed transport from west
to east. These `comfort stops' were repeated
strategically along the whole route, with
precision timing which must have been an
absolute nightmare for the German rail
authority. The indications were that something
big was in the making over in Russia, as indeed
it was. We didn't know it then that we were part
of Army Group South, and were destined to take
part in the spring offensive into Stalingrad and
the Caucasus.
The weather was reasonably moderate, being the
second half of April, so we travelled with the
sliding doors open, with just a bar across to
prevent anybody falling out. We spent a lot of
time just waving back at people, who cheered us
as we passed through the stations and the
villages. We didn't lose anybody tumbling off
the wagon but I lost my steel helmet. It must
have come off the hook and disappeared through
the opening and down the embankment somewhere
between Ehrfurt and Weissenfels. I hoped it
wasn't an omen and was quite sorry because I had
the feeling that very shortly I might be in need
of it and Unteroffizier Langhans's remark that I
would probably get shot for losing it when we
reached our destination gave me something else
to think about....
We journeyed on past Leipzig, Dresden into Upper
Silesia to Breslau. The border crossing into
Poland was a little station called Morgenrot.
Morgenrot is German for the early morning glow
just before sunrise and it also was the title of
a song the First World War soldiers sang when
they got ready for a dawn, 'going over the top',
only to be mown down by a hail of bullets and
gored by scores of bayonets from the defenders
of the trenches on the opposite side.
'Morgenrot, Morgenrot, leuchtest mir zum fruhen
Tot.
Bald wird die Trompete blasen dann muss ich mein
leben lassen,
Ich und mancher Kamerad.'
'The dawn light is the sign of early death,
The bugle will sound and then I will have to
lose my life,
I and a few of my mates.'
As we stood on the station siding the whole
train started to sing that old soldiers'song,
which sounded quite good and was convincing
enough, only to be told by the stationmaster to
shut up as he had heard it from every transport
passing through his station. Well, I suppose we
couldn't blame him for that; it must have got a
bit monotonous after a while. Leaving Morgenrot
also meant we had left Germany and were
travelling on Polish rails. Security measures
were tightened considerably with guards posted
at every stop, with live ammunition in their
carbines. The car doors were left only slightly
ajar, and we settled down in the straw to sleep.
We passed Krakow, Tarnow, Jaroslow and entered
Soviet Russia at Przemysl, the foothills of the
Carpathian Mountains. We knew exactly when the
border was crossed as every mile- stone along
the line had the Soviet Red Star on the top. We
crossed Galicia on the way to Lemberg (Lvov) and
came to a halt by the side of a supply transport
also eastward bound. Langhans had it already
worked out. He suspected that that train was
carrying provisions -food- though food to
Langhans was Schnaps or vodka. Actually, he
looked in need of something more substantial,
like an extra length of salami; he was very thin
and must have lost a few pounds on his 'holiday'
in prison. We never dared ask him whether he had
had a guard to clean his boots, or maybe he'd
had to do that task himself
It was getting dark so Langhans thought we
should go and investigate, which was pretty hard
to do as every boxcar was closed and sealed. It
was also very risky as the transport had guards
on either side and no doubt were prepared to
shoot if necessary. When it was dark enough
Unteroffizier Langhans went to the guard nearest
our wagon and involved him in a conversation to
distract him from looking in our direction,
while we undid the seal and opened the sliding
door on the boxcar immediately opposite us and
bit by bit slid back the door. The slightest
noise would have spelt disaster. The car was
filled with identical boxes and we grabbed the
nearest and passed it over to our wagon,
carefully closing the door, though we couldn't
replace the seal. We hid the stolen box under a
pile of straw, covering it with our gear, then
signalled to Kapo that the mission was
accomplished, at the same time hoping our train
would move out quickly before somebody
discovered the break in. We were really scared
to death as we all realised that discovery of
what we had done would have meant instant firing
squad.
Thankfully, our train started to move and we
started to breath again and as soon as we'd
increased speed we got out our box and began
opening it, full of anticipation - a bit like
opening a Christmas parcel. But what a
disappointment it was: candles, a whole box of
'Hindenburg lights'! Just imagine being shot for
pinching candles. Actually Langhans was quite
pleased as he predicted that from then on
candlelight would be in demand so suggested we
take as many as we could safely stow in our gear
and throw the rest out of the car.
We reached Ternopol in the morning, well into
the Ukrainian prairie which was dead flat with
wheat fields in spring growth as far as one
could see, broken only by farming communities
(Kolkhoz). These were all state owned and had
the inevitable watchtower in the centre from
which the Kommisar kept an eye on the workers
and the community at large and ensured they were
all good communists by having them listen to
broadcasts of national importance and State
propaganda on his radio. Langhans told us this;
he knew it all and we had no reason to doubt his
tales since he grew up in East Prussia,
practically next door to Russia.
We journeyed on past Proskurov, Zhmerinka,
Vinnitsa, Fastov and eventually pulled into Kiev
main station. Kiev is on the river Dnieper, on
the embankment overlooking the river valley. We
stopped briefly outside the station then moved
on again, crossing the mighty Dnieper on the
eastern side of Kiev. By the time it flows
through Kiev it is already some 600 miles long,
having its origin at Sychevka, about 150 miles
west of Moscow in the Smolensk area. We were now
heading for Borispol and on to Poltava, where we
were told our pilots had flown their FWs to.
There we expected to leave the train but instead
we travelled on to Krasnograd to a railway
siding where our flak unit was detached, shunted
around a bit and then hooked on to another
transport destined for Novo-Moskovsk and
ultimately to Dnepropetrovsk.
It was now the beginning of May. We had been in
transit for more than a week when our train
pulled into the waterfront rail yard in
Dnepropetrovsk, and judging from the widespread
damage all around there must have been a fair
bit of fighting for possession of the place. We
unloaded our equipment at the water's edge and
were allocated one of the undamaged harbour
buildings for our accommodation.
The Dnieper is a very big river, made wide by
the huge Dneproges Dam some 40 miles downstream,
part of the Zaporozh'ye hydro-electric works.
The wreck of a sunken gunboat was visible in the
middle, showing part of the superstructure and
masthead and the muzzle of the foredeck gun. To
the left was a large steel bridge carrying the
railway line to Pavlograd, Zaporozh'ye and
ultimately to Sevastopol in the Crimea. Down by
the river an enterprising old Russian was
renting old row boats in exchange for food. We
were too busy that day but decided when the
opportunity arose we would exchange some of our
provisions for a boat and get a look at that
sunken gunboat.
We went down to the river in the afternoon the
following day, three of our crew. Ferdle, our
driver and Ludwig his offsider, couldn't join us
as the vehicle had to be looked after and taken
to the motor pool at the Panzer depot in town.
We got a boat in exchange for cigarettes and
some shaving cream which we gave the old 'gospodin'
as skin lotion, and he assured us everything was
'kharasho'. We checked the old boat just the
same to make sure the bottom didn't fall out the
moment we stepped aboard and, indeed, it seemed
to be 'kharasho' so we pushed off and started
paddling.
Well, it wasn't so 'kharasho' as we soon
discovered. We were only about 10 metres or so
away from the bank when we were snatched by a
strong current which whirled us round in circles
and we were heading almost out of control for
the sharp-edged concrete pillar bases of the
steel bridge downstream. The bridge grew quickly
and alarmingly in height as the four of us
paddled for our lives, realising once through
the bridge there was no way of turning back and
the swift flowing river would take us over the
dam. The old man at the river's edge probably
was hoping we would do just that. Through
tremendous effort, straining the paddles to
almost breaking point but mostly by sheer luck,
we eventually managed to get out of the current
and scrambled up the embankment, no more than 20
metres from the bridge, and the last glimpse we
had of the boat was when it quickly disappeared
between two pillars under the bridge.
Unteroffizier Langhans was furious when we
returned, mainly for not letting him know what
we were up to without his permission.
We had no more inclination nor was there time to
go near the river again as the next day our
personnel carriers were replaced with brand new
Krupp halftracks, and our guns removed from the
trailers and mounted on them. Ferdinand and the
other drivers spent the whole afternoon getting
instructions in operating the vehicles as the
steering is done by the use of chain brake
levers as well as by coventional steering wheel.
I was relieved to be issued a new steelhelmet I
had the feeling I would soon be in need of one.
Rumours circuled that we were getting ready for
something big. There's always some truth in
rumours and indeed this one was no exception.
Unknown to us the German offensive into the
Izyum-Barvenkovo salient, codenamed Fridericus
I, was planned for 18 May by Fieldmarshal von
Bock of Army Group South, which included the 4th
Panzer Army (Hoth), 6th Army (von Paulus) from
the Volchansk and Balakleya area and the 1st
Panzer Army (Kleist) from the Kramatorsk Sector
South. But it wasn't exactly working out the way
it was planned.
By 9 May (42) Marshal Stalin's top General,
Timoschenko, who supposedly was unaware of the
massive German buildup, launched the Russian
surprise attack from the Volchansk sector with
his 28th Army, followed on 16 May by the 38th
and 6th Armies from Izyum and Barvenkovo with
the intention of encircling Kharkov and
advancing on Dnepropetrovsk. This involved
almost half a million Russian troops, 3000 tanks
and 2500 heavy artillery guns, in fact
everything General Timoschenko had at his
disposal.
We were ordered to move out in a northerly
direction towards Krasnograd which by then had
already come under attack from the Russian 6th
Army who had advanced from the Barvenkova
salient. Langhans was told to remove the forward
armour plates from our gun, which seemed a bit
odd to me as I was the one who had to stand
beside the barrel to feed in the ammunition and
I regarded the armour plates as my protection.
He explained that we were ordered to give anti
aircraft protection on the Rollbahn (main supply
route to the front line) and it was thought the
armour plates were a bit too cumbersome for a
rapid 360 degree turn. "You'd only get your head
split open by the sharp edges", said our
cheerful leader. Well, he should know, he'd seen
it all before. We reached the Rollbahn shortly
after midnight. The sky was overcast, rain was
drizzling down which, together with the spring
thaw, turned the ground on either side into a
quagmire, traversible only by tracked vehicles.
Although originally attached to von Kleist's 1st
Panzer Army it became necessary to transfer two
or three divisions of his armour to reinforce
von Paulus' 6th Army which was under heavy
pressure from Timoschenko's attack on Kharkov so
we found ourselves part of that contingent going
north. Just as well we didn't know the magnitude
of Timoshenko's Army, though that wasn't our
immediate worry just then. It was the conditions
on the Rollbahn, the never ceasing traffic. Tank
after tank rolled on either side of us,
intermingled with supply vehicles of all
descriptions, but of all possible vehicles the
sight of a petrol tanker immediatly behind us
was just what we did not need to assure a
reasonably safe passage. Also, some three
vehicles ahead we spotted the markings of a
dangerous goods carrying truck, probably loaded
to the top with ammunition. It felt like we were
sitting on a submarine's deck with all hatches
closed and the damn thing was just about to
dive. I was scared right through and just hoped
the drizzle would become rain and keep the
Russian planes away. I'm sure everybody felt the
same, even the redoubtable Langhans kept his
thoughts to himself.
It all changed next morning. The drizzle had
stopped, the clouds began to lift and we scanned
the sky and all of a sudden they were there.
Four Yakovlev fighters appeared on the horizon
at 2 o'clock. It was Langhans who made the
recognition. Russian Yak fighters were
formidable machines with the speed of 373 mph, a
2 cm canon (same as ours) and 2 heavy machine
guns. We had learnt the statistics almost by
heart during our training seeing the planes on
the screen but now they were coming towards us,
real and threatening! Now they were planes with
inbuilt deadly canons and machine guns and we
realised they were unmistakeably enemy aircraft.
They completed a full circle at low level then
straightened out in attack formation from 12
o'clock and opened up with everything they had.
Somewhere up front one of our guns commenced
firing and the noise of the plane's canons and
the tracers coming from the muzzle of our gun
ahead of us pushed the fear from my mind
momentarily and since we were on full alert and
supposed to be ready to shoot at split second
notice I rammed home my first magazine of deadly
projectiles, the first of many, many more I
would handle before the war came to its bitter
end. Bitter for Germany, glorious for all its
opponents. We joined in with our forward gun and
emptied a full magazine into the planes as they
skimmed along the Rollbahn at low level. Jakob
guided the barrel simply by aiming his tracers
into the target and I forgot I was scared but
was quickly reminded again when a tremendous
explosion, a huge fireball followed by a
terrific shock wave came from behind us,
knocking me flat to the platform and throwing
Langhans over the side. The petrol tanker had
been hit and just exploded.
The attack was over as quickly as it began and
the planes veered off in an easterly direction,
leaving chaos, destruction, mangled bodies and
screaming wounded, most of them terribly burnt.
Langhans suffered a few bruises but I was all
right. Jakob cut his cheek hitting his head on
the guidance system and Hans and Anton were
unrecognisable, covered in slime and mud from
the mire they had jumped into trying to get
clear of the road. Ferdinand and Ludwig who had
jumped out of the driver's cabin had taken
shelter by the chains on the lee side of the
vehicle throughout the attack and suffered no
damage but we were all badly shaken. We were
later informed that one of the Yaks had crash
landed and exploded a few kilometres to the
east. Langhans complimented us for a job well
done on our first action. For what I don't know.
I hadn't done anything apart from hanging on to
the magazine I put in the block and was still
shaking and wished I could have stayed at
home...
Tanks got busy clearing the Rollbahn of
wreckage, and medics comforted the casualties
waiting for ambulances to take them to the
nearest first aid station. Ahead in the
direction of Kharkow a fierce tank battle raged,
sounding like thunder before the storm. At
Merefa Timoschenko's tanks had succeeded in
cutting the Rollbahn at several places and their
momentum enabled them to penetrate deep into the
German lines. With their infantry riding on top,
Russian KV tanks (46 ton monsters) battled with
the German armour and infantry. Heavy smoke
covered the area and the Russian Illyushin 2
dive bombers were hammering the German tank
formations. We scanned the sky in all directions
for approaching enemy aircraft and saw west of
Merefa an air battle in progress between German
Messerschmitt fighters and Russian MiGs flying
escort for the IL 2 (Sturmoviks) - or 'Rollbahnschreck'
(highway terror) as we called them.
Sturmovik in Russian means dive bomber. They
were formidable planes, virtually indestructible
from the ground with anything less than 88 mm
calibre guns, so Langhans informed us. Indeed,
they spelt curtains for anything they dived on,
as we soon discovered. Even Langhans changed
colour a little at sight of the approaching
destruction. First they circled round in tight
formation. Why did they have to be that slow; we
will all be dead the moment they dive on us, I
was thinking. I was scared stiff and so was
everyone else, only nobody dared show his
feelings. Langhans made up his mind, and I was
beginning to admire this cool machine in
uniform. "Everybody off the gun carrier," he
ordered "except Jakob and Max." I wished he
hadn't said that as I already had one foot over
the side, but as he had no intention of jumping
I remained. Jakob was in the seat with his feet
on the firing pedals, and I rammed a magazine of
20s into the breech. "Keep the barrel on the
fighters, and I'll tell you when to jump"
Langhans shouted. One of the MiGs banked sharply
and dived, coming in from behind our convoy and
commenced firing, its bullets going straight
over our heads, slamming into the vehicle in
front of us, already abandoned by its driver and
crew. Some six vehicles ahead one of our guns
received the full blast of the fighter's machine
guns, knocking its canon out of action, killing
the Kapo and wounding the ammunition gunner, the
same position I had on our gun. A second MiG
pulled out from its dive and came in on our
left, showing his whole underbelly to our gun
barrel, and received the entire magazine, some
of which must have hurt as he went off
eastwards, trailing smoke.
Meanwhile, the Illyushin Sturmoviks having
completed their circle were forming up for their
dive when suddenly heavy gunfire thundered to
the west of us where a battery of 88 mm guns had
just found their range and directed their heavy
shells into them. "Jump" yelled Langhans, though
I had already done so, diving straight under the
chains of the Panzer IV parked on our right and
Langhans and Jakob dived under our vehicle for
protection from falling shrapnel from the
exploding 88 mm above us. Then a horrible
thought entered my mind: I was lying under an
arsenal of high explosive weaponry and should
the Panzer get hit I was gone too...
The 88s did a good job. One Illyushin got a
direct hit and disintegrated, another didn't
pull out of his dive and exploded on impact, and
a few more limped eastwards more or less hurt,
joined by two remaining MiG fighters. They will
be back soon, I thought. Then heavy Russian
artillery of 15.2 calibre homed in on the
Rollbahn from some position east of Merefa. The
shells howled through the air and exploded deep
in the mud with a deafening 'whoompf', throwing
the soil into huge mushrooms of mud, lumps of
dirt and hot shrapnel of all sizes. Angst and
cold sweat! I was convinced I would never see
home again.
We abandoned the Rollbahn for the field to the
left and headed for three German Marder assault
guns stuck in the mud. We slid more than drove
but our chains held us above ground. The Marders
were firing into a woodland slightly uphill and
to the right on the approaches to Merefa where
the Russian infantry was dug in. They were
strafing the Rollbahn with their slow firing
Maxims (machine guns) and quickly answered back
by German MG 34s and concentrated rifle fire. We
watched Russian KV tanks emerge from the trees
carrying their infantry on top who quickly
dismounted and went to ground in a futile
attempt to avoid getting hit when German machine
guns picked them off as they tried to join their
comrades near the Rollbahn.
The strip of woodland must have been full of
Russians. Rows and rows of brown figures emerged
from within, hit the mud firing their rifles,
with bayonets in place. Some got up for a few
jumps then down again, and quite a few staid
down forever. "Penal units, filled with
samakhonka" Langhans told us. They had little
alternative but to run forward into the German
fire, for if they turned back they would only be
shot by their own kommissars. Langhans knew it
all. Their losses were horrendous.
Somewhere east of the Rollbahn yellow-red
fingers streaked across the sky with a fearful
howling noise something like a fire engine
siren, hitting the field and Rollbahn in a chain
explosion - Katyusha rockets! Fortunately we
were well clear of them. We had positioned
ourselves behind one of the Marders for
protection and began firing, concentrating on
the lines advancing from the woods, magazine
after magazine until the barrel became so hot it
had to be changed. We carried two spares and I
managed to remove the almost red-hot one, throw
it overboard and insert the spare in about five
seconds flat.
The KVs came closer, homing in on the Marders
and a shell ripped into the side of the one
closest to the woods, disintegrating the chain
like a heap of match sticks. Then the German 88s
opened up as the Russian tanks came into their
most effective firing range and after two salvos
4 KVs were left burning. We ceased firing when
our tanks and infantry commenced counter
attacking and by late that night the Rollbahn
was again in German hands. The crew of the
wrecked Marder had been lucky; apart from being
shaken up they suffered no casualties. That
night we remained on full alert, not very sure
what the next day would have in store. Luckily
we had the Marder crews for company so could
divide the watches and we got through the night
safely.
Next morning two more Marders arrived to pull
the two undamaged heavy self-propelled guns out
of the mud. We managed to get moving on our own
chains and the third Marder was abandoned. We
moved towards the woodland and the wrecked KVs,
past the field to the left which was covered
with great numbers of corpses of Russian
infantry, lying as they'd been cut down the
previous afternoon. We encountered more tanks,
some still burning, Russian KVs and German
Panzer IVs alike, more bodies in the mud and
quite a number of dead horses, casualties of
Ivan's cavalry divisions. The air was filled
with smoke and the sweetish smell of burnt
flesh. We got to the Rollbahn again, passed
Merefa and into Kharkov that same day.
Kharkov was burning from end to end. The most
devastation was around the huge tractor factory,
caused by heavy Russian artillery, Illyushin
attacks and 'Stalin Orgels' (Katyushas) in their
futile attempt to regain a hold on the city. Our
group was held back in Kharkov for the next two
days, awaiting replacement for two of our
damaged half-tracks. While there we received
permission to hook up our armour plates, which
made me feel a lot better as I had come to the
conclusion that to have the head split open on
one of them was preferable to a bullet through
the brain. On second thoughts, maybe there's not
much difference...
As soon as our replacements arrived we moved out
of Kharkov in the direction of Balacleya. We
reached Zmiyev on the Severnyy- Donetz river and
were ordered to dig ourselves in for the defence
of the river crossing which was of vital
importance to elements of von Paulus's 6th Army
and the LI Corps under the command of General
von Seydlitz Kurzbach in their attack towards
Izyum to join up with General von Mackensen's
3rd Panzer Corps of Kleist's Panzer Army coming
up from Barvenkovo in the Izyum salient.