Excerpt from Chapter 19:

One of our duties was to patrol the road leading to Brest-Litovsk as far as Ratno, and the railway line from Kovel to Vyzya. Not a healthy job as the whole area was dense forest and swamp and every village controlled by partisans. From Vyzya onwards to Brest an armoured train took over. Another train was on patrol duty from Kovel to Kamen-Kashirsky on the line to Pinsk and a third armoured train also ran from Kovel to Chelm on the Polish border. Those trains were formidable fortresses on wheels, equipped with heavy artillery, a number of 2 cm guns and a company of infantry. They carried all sorts of spares, lifting gear etc, and miles of spare rail tracks to replace those removed by partisans.

The road and railway from Kovel to Brest Litovsk was controlled by strategically placed outposts manned mostly by Romanian troops and a number of units of German military police. They were heavily fortified with high palisades and machine gun ramparts and were in constant radio communication with the armoured trains or road patrols and at first our patrols were fairly routine and not too demanding, probably because of the enormous firepower protection of those trains.

Janko returned from home leave but had to take charge of another gun whose kapo was due for leave and Wachtmeister Wehrt also went on home leave, having recovered from his embarrassing stab wound. Since we'd got into Kovel Oberleutnant Hahn, our battery Commander, had acquired a horse on which he carried out his inspection of gun positions spread around the outskirts of the town. The horse was looked after by Juergen, his orderly, who came from a large Junkers property in East Prussia and whose family were horse breeders.

Juergen knew a good horse from a bad one. All the same Hahn's had a bad temper, not that that was of any consequence to me until one day when Oberleutnant Hahn came to our gun position on foot and then decided he would continue his rounds on horseback. He asked our kapo Holder to send somebody to his quarters to fetch the horse and as I'd just come off watch I was detailed this enviable task.

When I arrived at Hahn's quarters, hidden behind a row of trees at the end of a dirt track I found Juergen and told him his master's request, noticing the horse was already saddled and ready to go. Unfortunately the stirrups were set for the horse's master whose legs were longer than mine. Seeing that, I told Juergen that I preferred to walk the horse. "Oh no," he said, " You must ride it. If Hahn wants his horse he wants it in a hurry." I couldn't argue about it and he obligingly gave me a leg-up on to the saddle, with the stirrups a good 10 cm below the soles of my boots. Then he slapped the brute on the rear, which was totally unnecessary, and off it bolted the moment I made contact with the saddle.

It tore along the narrow dirt track, hardly giving me time to hang on to the mane to save myself falling off and made straight for the nearest tree where the lowest branch barely cleared its head. I just managed to throw my arms over that branch and the horse slid away from under me and there I was, swinging to and fro, while the stupid nag returned to Juergen in a wide circle through the paddock, its lips parted and teeth flashing and I swear it was laughing at me. Juergen, with a somewhat satisfied smile on his face then mounted the brute and I followed on foot.

As the front line came closer the partisans became more active. Kiev fell to the Russians on 6 November, followed by Fastov on the 7th and Zhitomir on the 12th. A heavy battle raged around Korosten on the railway line to Sarny and Kovel so our patrols were on the road more frequently. They were carried out with all units of the Kovel Garrison taking their turn, with one of our guns selected in rotation to join it. Our turn could be once or twice a week, depending on the number of patrols on the road.

They were very risky ventures. Apart from hidden road mines there was the ever present danger of being ambushed from within the forest. The mines were tricky and dangerous as they were set to differing pressure scales. Some went off from just touching them with the foot, while some needed the weight of a heavy vehicle to explode. The going was always slow.

Whenever I had the opportunity on some of the less hazardous runs I watched the driver and his driving technique, and quite a few times when he thought I was proficient enough, and with the Kapo's approval, he would let me drive it home. One day our patrol took us to a Romanian outpost close to Ratno because it had failed to answer the routine call sent out from the armoured train's wireless. They had been ambushed, silently and efficiently butchered, their throats cut while asleep. The wireless was destroyed and there were the usual missing penises. A dead German military police lay on the side of the road, his penis stuffed in his mouth and a letter pinned to his chest by his own bayonet. It was a letter from his wife whom he'd married on his recent leave. More heroic medals for the partisans, no doubt, who were from the 27th Division, Polish Home Army, engaged in operation 'Tempest' under the command of Lt- Col. Oliwa and the control of the Russian Army.

A few days before Christmas I was called to headquarters and told I was next on the list for home leave, which was unexpected as I had only been with the outfit for about ten months. I noticed Wilfried's name was immediately below mine so enquired if the two of us could go together but replacement problems didn't allow that. Either Gunner One or Gunner Four could go, but not both. Wilfried was One and I was Four, so that settled it. I wasted no time picking up my rucksack from the headquarter's store and collecting all entitlements for a home leave from the eastern front. These included two bottles of Schnaps or whatever was available, and ten packets of 'Junos' or 'Salems' (cigarettes). I went back to our gun and said goodbye to everybody. and just as I made my way back to the Command post our gun crew was getting ready to do another of those dangerous patrols so I was only too glad to miss that.. Since Wilfried asked me to call on his girl friend, I asked headquarters to mark my papers with Ruesselsheim as a second destination I was lucky my name had come up before Wilfried's, because as things turned out he missed his home leave altogether.

I collected my leave papers and made my way to the leave processing camp at the railway station. The camp was large and completely enclosed by barbed wire fencing with guards posted at the gates and patrols going round the perimeter. Since it was one of the main transit leave camps for the Army Group Centre it held a lot of stores and strict formalities had to be gone through, papers checked and endorsed, provisions collected for the train trip, all before being marched to the train. I suppose I was stupid or maybe felt safe enough inside the compound to take off my rucksack, gas mask and rifle and put them all against the wall outside the office while I went inside for a few minutes to collect my salami and black bread. But when I came out to pick up my gear there was nothing there. Rifle, gas mask, the rucksack, bottles and cigarettes - the lot, gone! I stood there, devastated, with my miserable hunk of salami and bread and then I became fearful for the consequences of having lost my rifle.

The German army took a very dim view of anyone losing his weapons. I also thought of all the buying power I'd lost with the cigarettes gone. Food and all other commodities were pretty short at home and the cigarettes would have been very helpful indeed. I reported my loss immediately to the office suggesting perhaps they could close the gates as anybody carrying two rucksacks and two rifles would surely look suspicious. They wouldn't close the gates but ordered a sergeant to take me to the platform where the previous contingent was still lined up with their luggage, waiting to board the train. I walked up and down the rows of rucksacks but it was futile, just rucksacks all looking the same.

Quite a number of civilians worked in that camp, too, most of them probably Partisans or sympathizers so it would be fair to say my gear was removed by them and hidden somewhere but the chances of finding it were practically nil. We were marched to the train and later that night we pulled out of Kovel for Brest-Litovsk and I was certainly travelling light on this occasion. All the way to Vyzhya we were on full alert against partisan attacks. Rifles pointed from every window and doorway, with the train in complete darkness I suppose I must have been the only one without a gun. It was very slow going, walking speed mostly, and fortunately without incident, but the real dangerous stretch from Vyzhya to Malorita and beyond to Brest- Litovsk was still ahead.

From Vyzhya, however, our train was in the protective company of the Panzerzug which travelled slowly in front. Without the Panzerzug's protection it would have been very difficult for any train to slip through those woods at night, the area around Malorita being Partisan home ground. We crossed the Pripet river, with Ratno somewhere to the right and were now right in the middle of the Pripet swamps.

Early in the morning we arrived at Malorita which was as far as our armoured escort went. They would then refuel and escort a train back to Vyzhya. We continued our journey, arriving in Brest-Litovsk mid-morning where we all left the train for the sanitary routine - carbolic soap showers and steam treatment of our clothes - to get rid of the lice and sweeten us up before entering the train which would take us home to Germany. A surprise came our way as we were about to board in the form of a parcel marked 'Fuer den Frontkaempfer im Grosskampf im Osten' (for the front line soldier engaged in the giant eastern battle). It contained all sorts of stuff like smoked ham, naturally the good old salami, a bottle of brandy and champagne, biscuits and a large carton of cigarettes. Going home this time was certainly different from my last journey from the Caucasus, when I was weak to death from jaundice and with not much hope of making it. People were dying all around me and tossed out of the wagon on to the frozen wasteland.

The train route was via Warsaw, Breslau and on to Dresden, Hof, Nuernberg, Neuoffingen, Guenzburg and when I eventually reached Krumbach station I made sure I had my papers properly stamped this time to get the full benefit of my leave.

My father had been on leave from France just before Christmas and I'd missed him by two days. He had left behind a few goodies so those and my rations and the buying power of the Salems ensured a reasonable menu. Pity about the goose though, and all those other things. The Gold Fasan (gold pheasant) downstairs was still in residence though was out of town on Party business so I didn't see him but wasn't sorry about that. Mother told me brother Willi had been home three months previously from somewhere around Kiev and she had received one letter saying he was back with his old unit. I figured he would have got there when Kiev fell but didn't tell her my fears. With the three of us away she had enough worries.

The time went all too quickly. Three weeks is nothing really. One enjoys the first and second but the third is overshadowed by the uncertain prospect of what agony the future has in store. The break does little for you; it's just a short period when you think you are reasonably safe from collecting a bullet but the fear of going back out there again is always with you.

Two days before my leave expired I said good-bye to Mother and left for Frankfurt early in the morning as I had promised Wilfried I would call on his girl friend in Ruesselsheim. I arrived in Frankfurt late in the evening and had to wait for the early morning commuter train to Ruesselsheim so stayed overnight in the air raid shelter at the station. Smoking was forbidden and trying to sleep was impossible. The shelter was crowded and the military police kept coming in every so often to check identity and marching orders. I was OK as far as the Ketten Hunde (chain dogs, military police) were concerned as my papers were endorsed for Ruesselsheim and my leave was still valid to midnight the next day, but it didn't stop them asking silly questions such as why was I in Frankfurt when I should be in Ruesselsheim. It needed quite an effort to convince the bullies that, short of walking, I had no means of transport until the first train out in the morning, if there ever was one.

I left at 6 am. for Ruesselsheim which is in the industrial belt to the west of Frankfurt. It was the home of the Opel car manufacturing plant which before the war had been the American General Motors European plant and now they were making Panzer motors and aircraft engines. I was a bit surprised it hadn't been bombed and wondered whether they still regarded it as their property, though I was quite wrong, as it turned out.

I found Wilfried's girlfriend, who was living with her parents in a basement flat on the edge of the immense factory complex and they were pleased to see me and hear some news of Wilfried. I had noticed in the factory grounds three huge concrete structures resembling oversized wheat silos and was told they were air raid shelters. I thought they were joking as my idea of a shelter was something built below ground, not above, and reaching some six storeys high. I jokingly said they wouldn't get me in one of them; a six feet deep zig-zag splinter trench would do me fine. Anyhow, with all the buildings around still standing they didn't appear to have the need for shelters so I was surprised when they said they used them many times as practically every night bomber formations flew over them on the way to other targets. The shelters had the capacity to house 30,000 people as they went just as deep underground as they stood above. The previous night the target of the British bombers had been Berlin using Frankfurt as their navigation marker, so they'd all been in the shelter. Since the beginning of January (44) Berlin had been having heavy raids, by night from the British while the Americans did their bit during the day. Frankfurt was under the flight path so people used the bunkers at night regardless of whether there was a raid on or not.

I decided to stay with Gertrude's parents for the rest of the day and catch the late evening train back to Frankfurt. She only had the morning off and returned to work midday. Well, I'd chosen the very day the Americans decided to pay a daytime visit to Ruesselsheim and surrounding industrial cities like Wiesbaden and Mainz. The sirens sounded at 2 o'clock and Gertrude's father grabbed a ready packed suitcase and made it clear to me it was time to head for the bunker without delay as he thought the alarm had gone a bit too early for his liking. So off we went joining the rest of the population heading for the shelters.

Arriving at the entrance to the enormous concrete structure with its huge steel gates wide open I was informed by the Air Raid Warden that military personnel had to remain outside and be available to the emergency crews and fire fighting units. Oh well, the place hadn't been bombed before so why should it be now and I figured I would be leaving by the evening anyhow. But I was wrong. Soon we heard the drone of engines long before the planes could be seen, then the realization of imminent disaster sank in with the appearance of the 'Christmas trees' (large flares on parachutes) dropped by path finder planes on all four corners of the manufacturing complex. And there I stood, right in the centre of it. Bloody Wilfried and his girl friend! Why did I have to come here today. I could still have been safe at home in Krumbach until my leave expired tonight.

One could already make out the first line of bombers, American B 17 Flying Fortresses in tight formation and staggered in altitude from Mainz and Wiesbaden. 8.8 cm anti-aircraft batteries had opened up and were homing in on them. We could see the greyish-white mothball-shaped puffs of the exploding shells closing in on the first wave and hear the sharp cracks of the explosions. I would have felt a bit safer if I'd had a steel helmet. Mine, no doubt, was protecting the head of a partisan somewhere around Kovel. Come to think of it that was the second helmet I'd lost so far in this war.

The first formation started to release their bombs - a bit like a matchbox being opened upside down and all the matches tumbling out, deadly destructive matches. They started to whistle as they straightened out and I figured there wouldn't be much left once they hit the target. Then the loudspeaker from the huge concrete canopy overhanging the massive steel doors came to life loud and urgent, ordered everybody inside and the doors closed. I was in like a flash, not waiting for the end of the announcement and the doors closed with amazing speed sealing us off from the approaching terror.

The first bombs had already found their target on the western side of the complex but inside the shelter, although we knew an awful lot were falling, we felt only slight tremors and the only sound was the piped music (Franz Lehar's operettas) through the speakers. The intercom announced that fires were raging all over the factory grounds. The attack lasted about two hours and when the all clear was given the huge doors opened, very slowly this time. Outside, daylight had given way to dark, though the whole Opel works was one burning heap of rubble and our bunker showed evidence of a few hits. One corner of the 1.5 metre thick concrete overhang protecting the steel doors was hung down, held together only by its reinforcing bars and must have taken a direct hit. Just as well they hadn't insisted military personnel remain outside as our life span would have been very short indeed. In fact the three shelters were about the only structures still standing.

Looking west we could see devastation everywhere and fires raging from Mainz to Wiesbaden. No doubt thousands of people were roasting in the rubble while the American crews, back at their bases, would be celebrating their success and calling for revenge on the German flak crews who shot down some of their mates. As it was revealed later, of the 800 B 17 Fortresses that took part in that raid about 100 never made it back to their base. Amazingly the Opel works were soon back in production as practically all the machinery had been installed underground long before the raid, but had it not been for those wonderful shelters a terrible number of people would have died a horrible death, like a great number around Mainz and Wiesbaden did that afternoon. But they were only bloody 'Nazis' to the Allies, to Churchill and to 'Bomber' Harris in particular.

It was my last day of leave with midnight the deadline so I headed for the station to get my papers endorsed as I had no inclination to be detailed into search parties by the SD (Sicherheits Dienst - Security Service) looking for unexploded bombs. The last entry on my papers was very important and overstepping the date could have fatal consequences: bomb disposal penal units were always short of men.

There was quite a bit of damage in and around Ruesselsheim station, mainly to the western approaches. The lines to Mainz and Wiesbaden were cut completely and I had to get to Frankfurt via detours. The station commander's office was out of action so I didn't get a stamp entry there but was told to report to Frankfurt's Command Station immediately I arrived.

It took some time for the station authorities to find enough rolling stock to put together a makeshift train. I just hoped they would hurry as I wanted to get out of the area quickly and had no desire to be held up in Frankfurt either as I feared there might be another bombing attack, if not by the British at night then next day by the Americans.

We finally got under way shortly before midnight. It wasn't exactly a luxury train especially the last two carriages which were to carry all military personnel. None of the windows had any glass in its frame it was fragmented instead and spread over the floors and wooden benches. The train was crossly overcrowded but huddled close together gave us some protection from the icy wind. However, the realization that should there be an air-attack was a bit worrying and I could only think of the disastrous consequences trying to get out in a hurry.

What would have been a very short journey under normal conditions turned into a four hour shunting trip via detours along the wrecked lines. However, it wasn't all gloom. The compartment was full of 'Blitzmaedels', women auxiliary communication telephonists on their way to Frankfurt where they were stationed and I found myself tightly packed between heaving bosoms of various dimensions. The train was in complete darkness and so were the faces.

I was almost sorry when we finally pulled into Frankfurt. We just had time to say our goodbyes before the Ketten Hunde (military police) were on the scene, scrutinizing papers, asking all sorts of stupid questions and I nearly got into trouble right there on the platform since my leave had expired at midnight. Those bullies wanted to tell me that I had deliberately failed to get the proper endorsement at the appropriate time. Trying to explain I had just got off the train from devastated Ruesselsheim was futile. They called it 'loitering around the platform' and ordered me immediately to the station commander's office, where I would have gone in any case.

Having convinced the station commander's office that I was not loitering I received the appropriate stamp and transport directions for Kovel via Byalistock, north of Brest-Litovsk, to be reached by the shortest possible way.

 

 

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