Excerpt from Chapter 27:
Road and rail links north to Brest-Litovsk were
still cut and subjected to heavy fighting so our
only escape from Kovel was via the recently
restored rail line to Chelm, a precarious and by
no means safe journey. Any attack by the Russian
air force would have had devastating
consequences.
We were the survivors of Oberleutnant Hahn's
battery and outside Kovel we mustered on a
makeshift ramp alongside a transport going back
to Chelm, mostly flat tops and goods wagons
which had brought in a substantial number of
Panthers and their crews. We'd left most of our
equipment behind with the remnants of the
battalion so were soon aboard the wagons and on
our way hoping there would be no air attacks.
On either side of the line for practically the
whole way to Dorohusk (the Russian-Polish
border) were swamps making it slow going but
fortunately with no hindrance from the air.
Maybe we were lucky or perhaps the Russian
steamroller had run out of 'puff' temporarily,
but most probably it was due to the heavy
equipment guarding the line - 8.8 anti-aircraft
cannons, 2 cm guns on half-tracks and PAKs
(anti-tank guns) and scores of General Gille's
formidable Panther tanks.
The further away we got from Kovel the more
relaxed we became and thanked our lucky stars
that we'd got out of that rotten valley of death
and were still alive. So many of our mates
remained. For them the war was brutally ended
and they would never go home - Bokorny, Ferdl,
Janko, Bertl, Hans, Helmut - and thousands more.
`Ich hat einen Kameraden'. And I don't think
they'd give a damn for that song either. At
Lyuboml, some 40 km from Kovel we were
side-tracked a while to allow troop transports
to pass on their way to Kovel; two train loads
of Panthers, well protected by numerous four
barreled 2 cm anti aircraft guns. That was the
stuff we should have had. But then those guns
need an awful lot of ammunition and we didn't
have that either.
Approaching the Bug river at Dorohusk, was a
nervous time as we had to wait our turn to cross
and there was a steady flow of transports coming
from the other side. This was a dangerous
situation - one heavy attack from the air could
mean the end of the crossing for some time, an
opportunity the Russians weren't likely to
ignore. They had attacked it before, judging
from the scattered wreckage around the
embankments.
There was something else that was very worrying.
The Polish Home Army's 27th Division, 6000
strong who fought side by side since March 20
with the Russian Red Army for the capture of
Kovel, had dispersed itself into the forests
east of Kovel to act as partisan units.
Lt-Colonel 'Oliwa'in command of that division,
had been killed on April 10 in the German
counter attack fighting and Major Zegota, his
second in command had temporarily taken over.
Those Home Army units had full military status
and were under the overall command of General
Bor Komorowski. Their field equipment and heavy
armaments were supplied by the Russian Army.
We were alerted to keep a good lookout. The
damage around the crossing had been done by a
raid only the day before, and they would soon
return we were told. Our eyes were glued to the
sky and sure enough it wasn't very long before
they paid another visit. Six MiGs came in low
from the south-east and spread out to see how
much more damage they could inflict on the
crossing. They were probably the same lot who'd
been before.
Unfortunately for the Russians and lucky for us,
the timing of their attack that day was not the
best. On the opposite side of the river was a
full battery of 2 cm on half-tracks, newly
arrived and waiting their turn to cross and they
were instantly ready to take on the MiGs. Their
tracers slammed into the fighters, downing three
on their first attack. A fourth just
disintegrated in mid air so must have flown nose
first into a shell from one of the heavy Acht
Acht guns who had joined in the shooting. The
other two hastily turned and flew off, most
likely reporting to their mates at the base to
either stay away from the place or send in
heavier ordnance. We certainly hoped we'd be
gone long before then.
Our turn came and we crossed the river safely.
Looking back across the Bug we realized we'd
left the Ukraine and Russia and were now back in
Poland. >From there it was just a short trip to
Chelm where trains were being prepared for the
return run to Kovel with fresh supplies. Chelm
was still an important rail junction on the main
track leading to Lublin and Warsaw, another line
north to Brest Litovsk and Bialystok and one
going south to Lemberg.
We were not particularly interested where we
were heading, Krakow or Warsaw or wherever.
Anywhere would be fine as long as it was in a
westerly direction and away from the front.
Eventually we were shunted on to the
Lublin/Warsaw line though on leaving Lublin we
were switched to the north- eastern track, back
towards the border, in the direction of
Brest-Litovsk, which became our destination.
We disembarked at a loading ramp and were met by
air force trucks which took us to their base, a
fair way outside the city. This was the home
base of the Heinkel bombers who flew into Kovel
to drop the supplies. We were told we were going
to stay there for a few days until it was
decided what to do with us. That was welcome
news. No more snow and waterlogged foxholes. We
were housed in the air force barracks and slept
in comfortable bunk beds with proper straw sacks
and warm blankets. Being able to shower again
after months of snow and icy water `licks' was
absolute bliss as was having proper food - no
more half-cooked horses. Perhaps appreciated
most of all was not having to man the guns every
time an alarm was sounded. In the event of an
air attack we just ducked into the splinter
trench and sweated it out there, hoping it would
soon be over so we could get back to sleep.
The Abteilung's Commander, Major Kessler and
Oberleutnant Hahn visited our hut in the morning
and told us to get cleaned up for the
afternoon's presentation ceremony by the Base
Commander. Good old Major Kessler - I wonder
where he'd been all the time we were dancing
with death in Kovel? I didn't see him once on
all my trips as runner, but I expect he'd been
busy running his abteilung from the depths of
some basement.
With battle worn clothes exchanged for clean and
smarter gear, followed by plenty of spit and
polish we felt fairly smart when we lined up for
the ceremonial show before the base commander, a
Luftwaffen colonel. We stood to attention for
the greeting exchanges between the commanding
officers, then at ease while the Colonel
delivered a moving speech with the usual
references to `heroism', the `privilege' of
putting your life on the line `fur Fuhrer, Volk
und Vaterland' and that spiel about our `best'
who paid the ultimate sacrifice. He seemed
relieved having got that part of his address
over for he knew as well as we did that our
`best' were just ordinary blokes like the rest
of us, no better, no worse, and none of them
sought the `privilege' to die so desperately for
the Fuhrer. They were just unfortunate enough to
be in the wrong place at the right moment.
The rest of the Colonel's speech was to make us
welcome at his base, while mentioning the
involvement of his Group in flying relentless
but costly missions into Kovel to keep the
garrison supplied with the essential needs. He
told us he took part in a few of them and
referred to the real heroes, those crews who
didn't return, and there were quite a few of
them. Our Major Kessler thanked the Colonel for
his well chosen words and in return was
presented with the Knights Cross to the Iron
Cross, again thanking the Colonel and assuring
him that he would proudly wear it on behalf of
his Abteilung. Then he thanked us for our
efforts that enabled him to wear such a
decoration. Yes, and so he should we all
thought. We'd risked our lives while he sat in
his basement headquarters.
The next highest decoration was the German Cross
in Gold awarded to Wachtmeister Wehrt, who came
hobbling along on crutches from the sick bay.
Again he had refused to be sent to a hospital
for treatment and recuperation though he looked
like he would fall over any moment. But he was
too proud - some would say too stupid - to miss
the occasion but after the Colonel pinned the
shiny star on his tunic the stress caught up
with him, and he had to be put on a stretcher
and wheeled to the sick bay. Our battery
Commander and Unteroffizier Kahle were awarded
the Iron Cross Second and First Class and
Wilfried and I and a few others the Iron Cross
Second Class, also the Luftwaffen Erdkampf
Abzeichen (ground battle medal), the latter in
recognition of three successfully participated
trench fight operations. Then followed many
moving speeches and posthumous awards honoring
those who didn't make it out of Kovel. We hadn't
realized just how horrific their numbers were
but learned they were roughly 7000, from a
garrison of 9000. They wouldn't be caring much
about crosses and awards; for them it was a
wooden cross, if that, and then only until
filched for firewood.
After the ceremony we returned to the mess hall
for a meal, followed by a film show, Die Deutche
Wochen Schau. Part of the newsreel was a segment
from the action in Kovel. First there was a
glimpse of the town from the air taken from a
Heinkel and we recognized the town square and
the church. Then followed some scenes of ground
action and to our surprise an impressive shot of
the Panther tank and the Sherman disintegrating
and there was Wilfried and I crouched the side
of our vehicle as the camera swept past us.
For the rest of the evening we got stuck into
the vodka and generally had a good time. How we
got back to our living quarters is hard to
remember but the morning after was sheer agony.
A cruelly ordered morning run a few times round
the admin block got most of us back to waking
condition and after breakfast we had a lecture
in the mess hall from the Abteilung Commander
Major Kessler. We maliciously suspected the
purpose was mainly to show off his sparkling
Ritter Kreuz. He kept his chin well up so we
couldn't possibly miss it!
Next day the UVD read out a list of names
numbering about 40, which included Wilfried and
me. We were told to get packed and ready to move
out after lunch and when we asked the UVD where
to he said as far as he knew it was Radom, for a
two-week course. We'd heard of that place. It
was a training centre for Unteroffizier
candidates. Who, us? That must be a joke! The
prospect of being trained for promotion to Kapo
was not really our goal: decision making,
telling others what to do instead of being told
yourself, was not something to aspire to. It
reminded us too much of names like Langhans,
Bokorny, Janko and scores of others. Wilfried
and I were quite happy to remain Obergefreiter
der Wehrmacht. Obergefreiter was always looked
upon as the best rank in the army as one was
generally held in esteem and admiration for
being an `idiot'.
It was not the training course that kept us
cheerful but the thought of the place itself. To
spend two weeks in Radom, 200 km to the west,
far away from the front, spelt bliss to us. With
little gear to pack we were soon ready for our
transport to the station. The first stop at the
station building I recognized as the sanitary
block, the delousing station I'd gone through at
Christmas before proceeding on home leave.
Anybody going west or on leave had to go through
the station to get rid of the accumulated
vermin. We took hot carbolic showers while our
uniforms were steam cleaned and then, with a
Feldwebel from the air base, and after the usual
issue of half a salami and chunk of black bread,
were marched to the train and boarded the train
for the overnight journey to Radom.
About mid-morning we arrived and were met by an
Unteroffizier from the training school and while
our Feldwebel handed us over to him and returned
to Brest Litovsk our new minder seemed pained by
our appearance and quickly marched us to the
waiting trucks. Then followed a half hour drive
through Radom to the barracks, securely battened
down under canvas so we saw nothing of the town.
We'd hoped for something to eat but were told
the provisions we'd received in B-Litovsk had to
last us all day even though it had all gone well
before the previous midnight. Living quarters
were the usual long wooden huts with pot belly
stove in the centre, and once settled in we
spent the rest of the day preparing for the
scheduled inspection next morning by the base
commander and after the evening meal (at last!)
and roll call were glad to turn in, pondering on
the nature of the training sessions during the
next week or two.
After breakfast next morning we paraded before
two Feldwebels and a couple of Kapos whose task
was to smarten up our appearance before
inspection by the base commander, an infantry
major. They darted up and down the lines like
sheep dogs, adjusting something here and there
they were more worried then we were for the
major's approval. When he finally nade his
appearance we thought he was rather arrogant
looking, but then we figured he would have to be
to safeguard such a cushy position and look the
part. The last thing he would want would be a
transfer to a front line unit. He certainly
looked able to avoid such a disaster.
The Major looked us over and made a short
speech, the usual thing about fighting fur
Fuhrer, Volk and imminent victory and said we'd
been sent to his training school for him to make
leaders of us, which in his opinion was very
doubtful. He thought we'd have a long way to go
to achieve that goal but assured us that he
personally, and all his staff would work very
hard to do the seemingly impossible and make
reasonably good soldiers out of us! What did he
think we'd been doing before he got hold of us?
But it didn't really matter what his opinion of
us, or his means of achieving his good
intentions were, we were quite happy to spend
the next two weeks under his `loving' care. The
important thing was we were a long way from the
Katyushas, mortars and machine guns and it
didn't matter whether we learnt anything or not,
the rest there would do us the world of good.
Actually we did very little during our stay
there. The mornings were taken up with parade
ground drill followed by lectures and the days
finished off with mending and cleaning. It was
announced on the following Saturday that two
trucks would be going into town and anybody
interested must apply for a pass and be ready
after lunch.
Wilfried and I decided we would have a look at
the town so groomed ourselves and waited at the
guardhouse. The officer of the watch looked us
over to make sure we are fit enough for a visit
to town and then the truck was on its way and
this time the tarpaulin was left open so we
could actually see where we were going. Some
others aboard who'd been to town before had a
good laugh when we asked them what there was to
see and where to go. They said the only place
the truck stopped was at the military pub and
brothel. Beyond that no military personnel were
allowed to go without legitimate reasons. The
beer was good they assured, while joking about
the other available goods!
Actually the place wasn't even in the town
centre but in an outer suburb, heavily guarded
by Kettenhunde (military police). On entering
the building all side arms, rifles and pistols
had to be handed in at the counter in the foyer
in exchange for a token coin. The bar and salon
was on the ground floor and the brothel rooms
upstairs. The salon was pretty large but was
gradually filling up. We managed to secure some
chairs at a table not far from the bar and
settled down to a mug of Pilsener ordered from
one of the waitresses and generally watched how
things were done in such an establishment. The
waitresses were the girls not being occupied
upstairs at the time and there were quite a lot
of them, each wearing an identification number
on her dress.
At first we couldn't make out what one did in
getting friendly with the girls as no contact
was allowed in the salon - the military police
in the bar made absolutely sure of that.
Everything in the German Army was subject to
rules and regulations, even a visit to a
bordello. However, our knowledgeable friends
soon filled us in on the finer workings of the
business; one could tell they'd been before.
They told us it was quite simple. One just noted
the number on the dress of the waitress of one's
choice then went to the foyer and picked the
corresponding number from the board by the desk
and handed it to the attendant. He then arranged
for the girl to come out and there you were.
Voila! She would take you upstairs, no red
faces. "Simple, goes like clockwork" they told
us, then in a subdued voice added "but you have
to be quick, die Arschl(tm)cher there won't
allow you extra time," pointing his nose in the
direction of the military police. There was a
steady coming and going of waitresses, some
better looking than others though none ugly and
it looked like they worked to a strictly
enforced time limit. Did military police stand
upstairs with a stopwatch? Wilfried and I
decided to order another dose of Pilsener to
pluck up enough courage before making a choice.
We shouldn't have done that. While we slowly
sipped our beer Wilfried had second thoughts,
seriously thinking of what his girlfriend would
say if she would find out. Our experienced
friends on the table told him not to worry about
that, suggesting she was probably just getting
ready for a weekend fling herself. That didn't
make him feel any better and while I was trying
to decide which waitress to select there was an
announcement by the police that the bordello
would stop operating for the rest of the
afternoon and all personnel were ordered to
return to their bases immediately. Something
must have happened, serious enough to even stop
the working of a brothel, perhaps the Russians
had broken through and were advancing on the
town? God forbid, they should have timed it a
bit better.
The military pigs didn't even let us finish our
beer. We collected our belongings from the foyer
and filed out to board the trucks and just as we
drove off a whole company of 'Hiwis' (Russian
volunteers) was seen marching towards the
brothel's front entrance. So that was why they
threw us out in such haste. The waitresses would
certainly be busy for the rest of the afternoon
and the military police would have a hard time
keeping the place in order.
We never got to see the town again. The end of
the following week we were ordered to return to
Brest-Litovsk to rejoin our unit and once again
the trucks taking us to the station were
battened down under tarpaulin. We weren't much
wiser from the training course but it had been a
welcome break from `life' in foxholes.