His Deeds:

Drafts" From His Book

Western Front:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His Deeds:

Drafts" From His Book

Western Front:

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

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