Western Front Chapter 4:
There was a fair bit of activity across the
river during the night which sounded like real
heavy equipment being shifted about. Remer would
like to have sent a round or two over and went
on the phone for permission but it was denied.
Instead he was told to keep an eye open and
report any unusual happening. We were ordered to
be on full alert and to place double sentries in
the trenches. With extra watches there wasn't
much sleep and we were even more understaffed as
one of our crew had to move to Wehrt's bunker as
replacement. We still referred to it as `Wehrt's
Bunker' though poor Feldwebel Wehrt was gone,
along with the chap who'd stood the side of him.
Had I not been detailed to the emergency hatch
by the Leutnant 'that chap' sure would have been
me. Wehrt always had it in for me. I wondered
where they would bury them: gone forever in an
unmarked grave and forgotten like so many of our
dead soldiers. But then, to the Americans, they
were only Nazis, Krauts and War Criminals.
Just before daybreak I was on watch in the
trench with Erich. We could make out the river
and gradually the opposite shoreline and as the
misty daylight became stronger, we saw what
they'd been working on so hard during the night.
Exactly opposite us they had put into position
one of their 155 mm `Long Toms', a heavy
artillery gun and it was trained squarely on our
bunker's concrete dome. As it grew lighter we
could almost see down its huge barrel. They
would most likely have it loaded by then and
were just waiting for daylight to improve to
give them a clear vision for making their final
target adjustments. Then they would pull the
string that would hurtle the projectile across
the water and into the face of our bunker.
Our mates inside were unaware of death
overtaking them in a moment or two. As fast as I
could I struggled through the mud and slime to
the main hatch and stumbled down the gangway to
the living level and raised the alarm, yelling
at the top of my voice for everybody to clear
out and into the trenches. My voice echoed from
every corner of the dark vault and I didn't see
who was there, nor did I wait for anybody to
heed the warning. There wasn't time and I simply
raced on down the corridor and through the
emergency hatch into the trench. Fortunately
they all got out though not a moment too soon.
The last man was still slipping through the mud
down to the zigzag when there was a blinding
flash from across the waters, a supersonic
booming roar and an ear-splitting terrifying
crack, all mixed in one, as the huge shell
crashed on to the concrete through the armour
plated front face of the gun gallery.
The bunker spewed out a huge cloud of dust and
smoke as if from a giant dragon's mouth and with
it came pieces of armaments, steel and concrete.
The huge concrete dome shook momentarily and
then settled back again on its massive
foundations. Had anybody been below in the
living quarters it would have been instant death
from the immense air pressure. The lungs would
have burst like an overblown balloon. Two more
shells came in from the same gun but both
overshot the target and crashed into the railway
line behind us, ripping up the remaining twisted
tracks and sleepers, already heavily damaged
from earlier bombardments.
We stuck it out in the mud until we thought it
would be safe enough to creep back into the
bunker and inspect the damage. Surprisingly,
considering the total wreck of the gun gallery
in the upper level, apart from dust and debris
there was little apparent damage done to the
living area on the lower level and the biggest
surprise of all was when Remer picked up the
phone the connection with Headquarters was still
intact. Brother Willi and his mates must have
done a good job digging in the wires so deep.
Kapo Remer made his report and gave the Command
Post the location of the `Long Tom'. Our orders
were to stay inside and they would instruct our
artillery to home in on the big American gun and
try to eliminate it. A few minutes later the
barrage came. We didn't see it but we sure heard
the shells crashing in on the opposite river
bank. For those on the receiving end it must
have been horrendous since it was pretty
frightening for us listening to them passing
over our bunker with very little safety
clearance. When it finally stopped and the last
echo had gone from the hills we slid out to the
trench for a quick look across the river: 'Long
Tom' was just a twisted heap of junk.
Upstream, at Saarlautern things weren't going
too well either for the defending Volksgrenadier
units. Units of the American 95th Infantry had a
good foothold across the river and had captured
the important Saarlautern bridge before it could
be destroyed. They established a massive
bridgehead and captured and occupied a large
section of the bunker line. Across from our
sector the American artillery started up again
and continued their relentless barrage for what
seemed to be hours. Our bunker was a wreck as
far as the upper gun gallery was concerned but
its lower quarters still provided good
protection against the heavy shells, but we
could feel the abrupt change in the air pressure
ripping through the lower corridor every time
one of those missiles came a trifle too close to
the edge of the bunker....
As quick as it started, the shelling stopped. We
grabbed our guns and made for the trenches, and
not a moment too soon. The chemical units across
the river had their smoke machines already
fuming and the dirty brown stuff was creeping
over the water, while their assault boats stood
ready for the dash across. Our position was not
very promising, more like hopeless. Our bunker
had lost its main means of defence, the gun
gallery, and we were only three in one section
of the trench, Remer and the rest of the crew
having gone to the other side of the bunker.
Three in a trench that required at least a
platoon to defend it effectively was a piteous
plight.
The Americans taking to their boats on the
opposite river-banks seemed to have all the
manpower they needed and perhaps more.
Fortunately the bunkers on either side of ours
still had their battle compartments intact and
had already started delivering a good
coordinated cross fire into the smoke blanket
rolling towards us. As fast as the oozing slime
allowed I made my way down to the last zigzag,
to the farthest point at the river's edge, to
get as far from the bunker as possible before
the first mortar shell came crushing in on top.
We knew the routine, it was always the same. As
soon as their heavy artillery from the valley
beyond the hill stopped their mortars would
start up with full fury and uncanny precision to
pave the way for their assault troops and
provide them with some protection. From their
mortar positions halfway up the hill their crews
were able to see what they were hitting and make
necessary adjustments. They would have no great
difficulty hitting the bunker.
I didn't get to the zigzag. The trench was
partially caved in and a huge crater was there
instead, already filled with slime and water. A
shell from the earlier bombardment must have
exploded right in the bottom. I crawled back to
the nearest step-up recess, rested my rifle into
the 'vee' cut in the rampart and started to fire
into the smoke covered river, short busts at a
time then quickly ducked into the face of the
recess before a sniper across the river could
get his gun telescope fixed on my head. They
seemed to be having a good view into our trench
from their unseen positions so all our movements
had to be done close to the riverside face of
the trench.
When I put my gun over the vee cut again for
another burst I was met by a fusillade of
bullets pinging over my head. I dropped down
into the muddy slime like a bag of soaked flour,
my gun on top of me. Jesus! They must be right
in front of my recess and had been waiting for
me to pop up. How many were they? A boatload, or
may be two? Who knows. I grabbed a stick grenade
from my belt, pulled the firing ring and tossed
it over the rampart at the appropriate moment
and it exploded with a sharp crack and a yell. I
quickly grabbed my gun and crawled back to the
next nearest step-up, and cautiously got up for
another peep over the top, only to be met by
another hail of flying steel. Those Yanks must
be everywhere. I dropped down and continued
crawling back along the trench and around the
next zigzag and was bloody lucky to get to the
lee side just in time before there came two
sharp explosions in the trench from which I'd
just crawled. They were hand grenades tossed in
by the Amis lying along the top just ahead of
me. Had I been the other side of the zigzag, I
would have received the full blast of them. They
are devastating, especially if one gets caught
in a confined space such as a deep narrow
trench.
I feared the Yanks might now be in the trench so
kept my gun trained on the zigzag ready to fire
should they come round the corner. Looking
behind me I saw Josef on the step- up. He'd been
delivering steady bursts through his vee cut but
had stopped shooting. He caught my eye and
pointed over the side of his rampart and I took
a cautious look over the edge and saw two bodies
sprawled in the snow a few metres in front. I
went down again and it remained quiet, no more
bullets pinged overhead, and when I took another
peep it looked like the Americans had gone,
leaving their dead mates behind. They'd been
forced to take to their boats by the cross fire
from the bunkers either side of ours and were
trying to reach the shore while the smoke still
hung over the river. They would try again
though, tomorrow or the day after and would get
us eventually.
Their artillery started up again and the first
shells screeched over and crashed into the
snow-covered no man's land before our trench. It
was time for us to clear out, fast. Josef and I
struggled through the icy slime and slush as
quickly as we could to reach the bunker's hatch
and relative safety before the next salvo
arrived on top of us. The artillery observers on
the face of the hill opposite were frightfully
accurate in their directions. Our third man sure
hadn't waited for us and was already safely
inside. We stumbled through the hatch and
another came staggering in behind us. It was
Albert, one of Remer's men from the other
trench. He didn't get any further but collapsed
on top of the stairway. A bullet had ripped
through his upper torso and made a bloody mess
of it. We took him down and put him on the
stretcher on the concrete floor and Erich got to
work with the first aid kit.
There wasn't much in that kit box for Erich to
use, so he just did the best he could. Remer got
on the phone to the Command Post in a futile
attempt to get an ambulance but was told none
could reach us in broad daylight, that we would
have to take him up at night as far as the
village and the stretcher bearers would pick him
up from there. To carry a stretcher up to the
road at daytime would have been suicide, the
snipers would pick us off one by one before we
got halfway up. There were still a few hours of
daylight left and in the meantime we feared poor
Bertl would die. But Bertl wasn't dead when we
were ready to take him out. Again it was my turn
to go with the food carriers. The temperature
had dropped below freezing and the slush had
turned to ice which made it extremely hard to
make any headway up hill with a canister
strapped on the back and the additional burden
of a loaded stretcher. We had two more walking
wounded with us and they had to fend for
themselves as we were flat out coping with the
stretcher, plus the odd shells of American
artillery probing the slopes of the hill.
We dropped Bertl once when one of the leading
bearers slipped and fell headfirst on his belly.
A long, piercing scream came from Bertl as he
fell and started to roll down the slope before
we could pick him up. He hollered away in agony
and somebody told him to shut up or we would all
be picked off by the night snipers. I don't
think Bertl cared but after a while he calmed
down to just a whimper. We were jolly relieved
when we reached the village where two medics
were waiting and took the wounded. There was
still random shelling but it was reasonably safe
to get through the village now that the sneak
attacks from the artillery had stopped after the
two informers were lifted from the tower.
It was pretty late when we reached the bunker
line again and the downhill run was just as
treacherous as the uphill climb as lately the
food carriers also had to bring back a certain
amount of ammunition. We weren't yet short but
it always helped to build up supplies. The night
was unusually quiet and quiet nights were always
treated with suspicion. The Amis were up to
something over there or maybe they just wanted a
good rest, to be ready for more of the same
tomorrow.
During the night they did come over, commandos.
They left us alone in our sector, but some
bunkers down river towards Merzig were not so
lucky and were torched with flame throwers. All
killed, roasted by 3000 degree of ignited napalm
jelly.
In the morning bombers came over though not the
usual Thunderbolts. The Americans had changed
tactics from dive to level saturation bombing
which meant bigger planes and larger bombs and
more of them could be dropped at the same time,
rarely missing their target. If one such fat
bomb hit a bunker square on its roof it was all
over for the crew inside. There would be burst
lungs and instant death, but for near misses the
bunkers still provided some protection. To
minimize the build-up of sudden pressure inside
from a close hit, we opened the upper hatch and
prepared to lie flat on the floor below in the
living area, with mouth wide open and fingers
stuck in the ears at the first sounds of
descending death. We were lucky that time as
most bombs were dropped in the area between
Merzig and Beckingen and our bunker was just on
the end of their target run. We weren't hit but
a few of them came close enough to give us a
mighty jolt and made our eyes bulge in their
sockets awash with a sudden onrush of tears. I
had lately gone quite deaf in my left ear but
then everybody else had the problem, though mine
had started in Russia and was getting worse.
Sometimes I felt like a walking telephone
exchange with the never-ceasing humming in my
head.
Upstream from our sector was Dillingen and
Saarlautern and part of Saarlautern was already
taken by the Americans with quite a lot of the
bunkers in the area either destroyed or
occupied. American artillery had started up
again, more ferocious than ever and kept
hammering our bunker line with heavy shells,
without pause. That explained the unusual quiet
during the night. They'd been busy bringing up
reinforcements and must have doubled their heavy
artillery pieces all along the hills. When the
barrage stopped they would come over again and
it would only be a matter of how long we could
hold the line. We were trapped in our bunker
with no way to retreat up the hill, not at
daytime anyhow. And our orders were to hold the
line at any cost. The `cost' would be us, the
bunker crews.
With the hatch open our bunker gradually filled
with strong cordite fumes and we couldn't get
rid of them because the ventilation system had
been knocked out. Breathing became more and more
difficult but since cordite fumes settle
downwards rather then rise we stood on the upper
section of the stairs where the fumes were
thinnest, nervously waiting for the infernal
barrage to end so we could breath air again
outside. Remer stood below by the phone coughing
his lungs out while trying to get instructions
from the Command bunker.
It seemed to last for ages and when it finally
stopped Josef and I were out in the trench
before the last echo in the hills had died. But
the air outside was not much better. Acrid fumes
drifted up from the zigzags and by the river a
thick blanket of dirty brown smoke hung over the
water. Perhaps the Yanks had taken to the boats
or even reached our side of the river during the
bombardment and were slowly creeping up to the
trench. The two bunkers either side of us
started sweeping the river through the smoke
screen with their well-placed cross fire and
were joined by our own artillery. Their shells
turned the water into a boiling cauldron and as
they howled over our heads we dropped to our
knees as there couldn't have been much clearance
between us and the shells hurtling over.
Bursts of machine gunfire pinged over the
bulwark, coming from the direction of the river
where the trench sneaked up to 'Wehrt's' bunker.
The Amis must have managed to get ashore in that
area and a heated battle was going on, small
arms fire and hand grenades with `Wehrt's crew.
for the Yanks To get into our section of the
trench from there they would have to crawl
around the bomb crater unless they fancied
wading through it and they would have to be
desperate to do that as it was full of icy
water. I got to the step-up, put my gun into the
'vee' cut, took a quick glance over the parapet
and saw them creeping up to our trench down by
the lower zigzag.
I caught a flicker of bayonets on their rifles
and gave a burst to that point along the river's
edge, Josef joining in when I stopped to change
my position to the recess around the next
corner. I put another short burst over the
escarpment and my fire was returned by an
American automatic. I dropped into the mud as
bullets hit the dirt around the rampart and
crouching low I crawled through the slush to the
next step-up closer to Josef's position. Fearful
of what I might see I waited a moment or two
before stepping up for a quick look but was
prevented from doing that. Out of the corner of
my eye I noticed movement, a figure was creeping
up to my battle recess, from the lower end of
the trench bent slightly forward, his automatic
rifle stretched in front of him.
I froze stiff, but he hadn't noticed me yet.
Like a stone I dropped into the mud which
startled him and he pulled the trigger with an
aimless sweep towards the recess where I had
stood. He jumped back into the side of the
trench and was out of sight momentarily but I
emptied my magazine in his direction. I wasn't
sure whether I'd hit him so remained still in
the mud for a few seconds and then crawled round
the zigzag behind me to replace my empty
magazine. I watched for any movement but there
was none then slowly inched my way back to the
next battle recess closer to Josef. He was
crouched against the dirt wall and it flashed
through my mind what a futile situation we were
in, two of us trying to hold a trench of some
fifty-odd metres against a fully equipped
American platoon or perhaps a whole company, who
knew, I had no way of finding out how many of
them had slipped in yet, It was not only
suicide, it was sheer lunacy. On the other hand,
those GI's down in the trench were most likely
just as scared as we were, and not too eager to
die for Uncle Sam.
What would their thoughts be? Supreme Commander
Eisenhower was battling from his hotel in
Versailles with a personal staff of 500,
numerous pet dogs and mistress. His generals
Hodges and Bradley would also be having it tough
holed up in their chateau and castle, not to
mention Patton's torrid time organising French
whores for his sex-starved GI's. As he said, "A
man who won't fuck, won't fight". Those GI's in
front of us didn't know how many we were in our
trench. Until they rushed us they could only
guess. They must have got into the trench at
it's weakest point, at the river's edge. There
was a lull in the shooting overhead and I
ventured to take another quick peep over the
rampart. I saw nothing, only the two bodies
still lying there from yesterday. The Yanks had
gone, must have sneaked down to the river to
help their mates. The crew of `Wehrt's' bunker
were still holding out though they were just as
undermanned and desperate as we were.
I came up for another look through the 'vee' and
saw the bow of an assault boat stuck in the
river bank. The smoke still hung low over the
water but I saw no other movement. I cast a
quick look towards Josef who was crouched
against the recess with his gun in the cut. Then
there came a sudden shout from behind us,
immediately followed by the loud retort of
seemingly never-ending automatic fire and a hail
of bullets smashed into the face of the trench
wall. I dropped into the mud but too slowly,
trailing my left arm behind me. I caught a
momentary glimpse of Josef's head being smashed
forward into the trench wall and as I went down
I felt something like a sledge hammer hit my
left wrist.
Behind me I'd been briefly aware of a crouching
figure on top of the trench, his helmet slightly
askew on his forehead, his assault gun stretched
in front of him, then he disappeared, presumably
to take shelter. I ripped the last hand grenade
I had from my belt to throw it over the top I
tried to pull the activator ring, to do that I
had to use my left hand but the feeling in it
had gone. I had lost control of my movements,
and was unable to get the grenade over the top
it came back and dropped into the mud. With my
right hand I grabbed the sling of my gun and
quickly crawled away like a tadpole through the
slime, frantically trying to put some distance
between me and the grenade. I was about 5
seconds away and had reached Josef's battle
stand when the grenade went off with a somewhat
muted `whoompf'. A mushroom of mud splattered
over the trench and I buried myself deeper into
the slime. Had the American decided to jump into
the trench after I'd left he most likely
wouldn't be after me any more.
I looked up at Josef whose lifeless body had
sunk to its knees. A bullet had smashed into the
base of his head just below the rim of his steel
helmet and gone straight through his neck. There
was nothing I could do for him. My left arm had
gone stiff, I had lost all feeling and the blood
was oozing down my fingers, dripping into the
mud. I briefly toyed with the idea of picking up
Josef's assault gun to take to the bunker but
then I had to carry mine and only one hand. I
pulled it from the 'vee' and dropped it into the
mud; it would have been too inviting for a Yank
to snatch and use it against us.
I struggled my way up the last zigzag towards
the bunker's main hatch and my heart sank. I
could see the hatch, which was shut and in front
were Americans, four or five- I wasn't
interested in how many, I just wanted to get
into the bunker and out of the mud, but my
access was barred. Fortunately the Amis were
unaware of my presence. Slowly I crawled back to
the turn-off that would get me to the emergency
exit and when I got there I stared at it in
disbelief. That square bit of steel which
separated me from my mates, and perhaps safety,
was shut too. I knew they were inside and here I
was, wounded, outside in the trench.
From the main door the Americans would soon be
crawling round the side looking for the
emergency hatch and when they stumbled over me I
was quite sure they wouldn't ask too many
questions, not of one lone German, who happened
to be in their way. There would be no witness
and I would simply join my mate Josef in hell.
Yes, we knew from reports that reached us that
some Americans weren't much better than their
Russian counterparts in quickly disposing of a
few 'Fritzes'. But as the Yanks said, the only
good German was a dead one; all others were
Nazis, Krauts and war criminals.
Maybe they wouldn't notice me when they came
crawling round. I was covered in mud and slime
and so were they. Cautiously I waved my hand
towards the viewing slot in the door desperately
hoping somebody inside would look through and
recognize me and as I did so the centre pin in
the steel door where the locking wheel was
attached started to move. Somebody inside had
seen me! Moments later the hatch opened, a
figure dashed out and quickly pulled me in. I
lost the grip on my gun and left it in the mud.