Memoirs of the German soldier Helmut Klaussman, corporal of the 111th Infantry Division

Battle path

I started serving in June '41. But I wasn’t exactly a military man then. We were called an auxiliary unit, and until November I, as a driver, drove in the Vyazma-Gzhatsk-Orsha triangle. There were Germans and Russian defectors in our unit. They worked as loaders. We carried ammunition and food.

In general, there were defectors on both sides throughout the war. Russian soldiers ran over to us even after Kursk. And our soldiers ran over to the Russians. I remember that near Taganrog two soldiers stood guard and went to the Russians, and a few days later we heard them calling over the radio to surrender. I think that usually the defectors were soldiers who just wanted to stay alive. They usually ran across before big battles, when the risk of dying in an attack overpowered the feeling of fear of the enemy. Few people defected due to their convictions both to us and from us. It was such an attempt to survive in this huge massacre. They hoped that after interrogations and checks you would be sent somewhere to the rear, away from the front. And then life will somehow form there.

Then I was sent to a training garrison near Magdeburg to a non-commissioned officer school, and after that, in the spring of 1942, I ended up serving in the 111th Infantry Division near Taganrog. I was a small commander. But he did not have a great military career. In the Russian army my rank corresponded to the rank of sergeant. We held back the attack on Rostov. Then we were transferred to the North Caucasus, then I was wounded and after being wounded I was transferred by plane to Sevastopol. And there our division was almost completely destroyed. In 1943, near Taganrog, I was wounded. I was sent to Germany for treatment, and after five months I returned back to my company. The German army had a tradition of returning the wounded to their unit, and this was the case almost until the very end of the war. I fought the entire war in one division. I think this was one of the main secrets of the resilience of the German units. We in the company lived like one family. Everyone was in sight of each other, everyone knew each other well and could trust each other, rely on each other.

Once a year, a soldier was entitled to leave, but after the fall of 1943, all this became a fiction. And it was possible to leave your unit only if you were wounded or in a coffin.

The dead were buried in different ways. If there was time and opportunity, then everyone was entitled to a separate grave and a simple coffin. But if the fighting was heavy and we retreated, then we buried the dead somehow. In ordinary shell craters, wrapped in a cape or tarpaulin. In such a pit, as many people were buried at one time as died in this battle and could fit in it. Well, if they fled, then there was no time for the dead.

Our division was part of the 29th Army Corps and, together with the 16th (I think!) Motorized Division, made up the Reknage army group. We were all part of Army Group Southern Ukraine.

As we have seen the causes of the war. German propaganda.

At the beginning of the war, the main thesis of the propaganda that we believed in was that Russia was preparing to break the treaty and attack Germany first. But we were just faster. Many people believed this then and were proud that they were ahead of Stalin. There were special front-line newspapers in which they wrote a lot about this. We read them, listened to the officers and believed in it.

But then, when we found ourselves in the depths of Russia and saw that there was no military victory, and that we were stuck in this war, disappointment arose. In addition, we already knew a lot about the Red Army, there were a lot of prisoners, and we knew that the Russians themselves were afraid of our attack and did not want to give a reason for war. Then propaganda began to say that now we can no longer retreat, otherwise the Russians will burst into the Reich on our shoulders. And we must fight here to ensure the conditions for a peace worthy of Germany. Many expected that in the summer of 1942 Stalin and Hitler would make peace. It was naive, but we believed in it. They believed that Stalin would make peace with Hitler, and together they would begin to fight against England and the United States. It was naive, but the soldier wanted to believe.

There were no strict requirements for propaganda. No one forced me to read books and brochures. I still haven't read Mein Kamf. But they strictly monitored morale. It was not allowed to have “defeatist conversations” or write “defeatist letters.” This was monitored by a special “propaganda officer.” They appeared in the troops immediately after Stalingrad. We joked among ourselves and called them “commissars.” But every month everything became tougher. Once in our division they shot a soldier who wrote home a “defeatist letter” in which he scolded Hitler. And after the war, I learned that during the war years, several thousand soldiers and officers were shot for such letters! One of our officers was demoted to rank and file for “defeatist talk.” Members of the NSDAP were especially feared. They were considered informers because they were very fanatical and could always report you on command. There weren't very many of them, but they were almost always distrusted.

The attitude towards the local population, Russians and Belarusians was restrained and distrustful, but without hatred. We were told that we must defeat Stalin, that our enemy is Bolshevism. But, in general, the attitude towards the local population was correctly called “colonial”. We looked at them in 1941 as the future workforce, as territories that would become our colonies.

Ukrainians were treated better. Because the Ukrainians greeted us very cordially. Almost like liberators. Ukrainian girls easily started affairs with Germans. This was rare in Belarus and Russia.

There were also contacts on an ordinary human level. In the North Caucasus, I was friends with the Azerbaijanis who served as our auxiliary volunteers (Khivi). In addition to them, Circassians and Georgians served in the division. They often prepared kebabs and other Caucasian dishes. I still love this kitchen very much. From the beginning they took few of them. But after Stalingrad there were more and more of them every year. And by 1944 they were a separate large auxiliary unit in the regiment, but they were commanded by a German officer. Behind our backs we called them “Schwarze” - black (;-))))

They explained to us that we should treat them as comrades in arms, that these are our assistants. But a certain mistrust of them, of course, remained. They were used only to provide soldiers. They were less well armed and equipped.

Sometimes I talked to local people too. I went to visit some people. Usually to those who collaborated with us or worked for us.

I didn't see any partisans. I heard a lot about them, but where I served they were not there. There were almost no partisans in the Smolensk region until November 1941.

By the end of the war, attitudes towards the local population became indifferent. It was as if he wasn't there. We didn't notice him. We had no time for them. We came and took a position. At best, the commander could tell the local residents to get away because there would be a fight here. We had no time for them anymore. We knew we were retreating. That all this is no longer ours. Nobody thought about them...

About weapons.

The company's main weapon was machine guns. There were 4 of them in the company. It was a very powerful and fast-firing weapon. They helped us out a lot. The infantryman's main weapon was the carbine. He was respected more than a machine gun. They called him "the soldier's bride." He was long-range and penetrated defenses well. The machine gun was only good in close combat. The company had approximately 15 - 20 machine guns. We tried to get a Russian PPSh assault rifle. It was called the “small machine gun.” The disk contained, it seems, 72 rounds of ammunition and, if well maintained, it was a very formidable weapon. There were also grenades and small mortars.

There were also sniper rifles. But not everywhere. I was given a Russian Simonov sniper rifle near Sevastopol. It was a very accurate and powerful weapon. In general, Russian weapons were valued for their simplicity and reliability. But it was very poorly protected from corrosion and rust. Our weapons were better processed.

Artillery

Undoubtedly, Russian artillery was much superior to German artillery. Russian units always had good artillery cover. All Russian attacks came under powerful artillery fire. The Russians very skillfully maneuvered fire and knew how to skillfully concentrate it. They camouflaged artillery perfectly. Tankers often complained that you would only see a Russian cannon when it had already fired at you. In general, you had to visit Russian artillery fire once to understand what Russian artillery is. Of course, a very powerful weapon was the Stalin Organ - rocket launchers. Especially when the Russians used incendiary shells. They burned entire hectares to ashes.

About Russian tanks.

We were told a lot about the T-34. That this is a very powerful and well-armed tank. I first saw the T-34 near Taganrog. Two of my comrades were assigned to the forward patrol trench. At first they assigned me with one of them, but his friend asked to go with him instead of me. The commander allowed it. And in the afternoon two Russian T-34 tanks came out in front of our positions. At first they fired at us from cannons, and then, apparently noticing the forward trench, they went towards it and there one tank simply turned around on it several times and buried them both alive. Then they left.

I was lucky that I almost never saw Russian tanks. There were few of them on our sector of the front. In general, we infantrymen have always had a fear of tanks in front of Russian tanks. It's clear. After all, we were almost always unarmed in front of these armored monsters. And if there was no artillery behind us, then the tanks did what they wanted with us.

About stormtroopers.

We called them “Rusish things”. At the beginning of the war we saw few of them. But by 1943 they began to annoy us very much. It was a very dangerous weapon. Especially for infantry. They flew right overhead and showered us with fire from their cannons. Usually Russian attack aircraft made three passes. First they threw bombs at artillery positions, anti-aircraft guns or dugouts. Then they fired rockets, and on the third pass they turned along the trenches and used cannons to kill everything living in them. The shell that exploded in the trench had the force of a fragmentation grenade and produced a lot of fragments. What was especially depressing was that it was almost impossible to shoot down a Russian attack aircraft with small arms, although it was flying very low.

About night bombers

I heard about 2. But I haven’t personally encountered them myself. They flew at night and threw small bombs and grenades very accurately. But it was more of a psychological weapon than an effective combat one.

But in general, Russian aviation was, in my opinion, quite weak almost until the very end of 1943. Apart from the attack aircraft, which I have already mentioned, we saw almost no Russian aircraft. The Russians bombed little and inaccurately. And in the rear we felt completely calm.

Studies.

At the beginning of the war, the soldiers were taught well. There were special training regiments. The strength of the training was that they tried to develop in the soldier a sense of self-confidence and reasonable initiative. But there was a lot of meaningless drill. I believe that this is a minus of the German military school. Too much pointless drill. But after 1943, teaching began to get worse. They were given less time to study and fewer resources. And in 1944, soldiers began to arrive who didn’t even know how to shoot properly, but they marched well because they were given almost no ammunition for shooting, but the front sergeant majors worked with them from morning to evening. The training of officers has also become worse. They no longer knew anything except defense and knew nothing except how to dig trenches correctly. They only managed to instill devotion to the Fuhrer and blind obedience to senior commanders.

Food. Supply.

The food on the front line was good. But during battles it was rarely hotter. We mostly ate canned food.

Usually in the morning they were given coffee, bread, butter (if there was any), sausage or canned ham. For lunch - soup, potatoes with meat or lard. For dinner, porridge, bread, coffee. But often some products were not available. And instead they could give cookies or, for example, a can of sardines. If a unit was sent to the rear, then food became very scarce. Almost from hand to mouth. Everyone ate the same. Both officers and soldiers ate the same food. I don’t know about the generals - I didn’t see it, but everyone in the regiment ate the same. The diet was common. But you could only eat in your own unit. If for some reason you found yourself in another company or unit, then you could not have lunch in their canteen. That was the law. Therefore, when traveling, it was necessary to receive rations. But the Romanians had four kitchens. One is for soldiers. The other is for sergeants. The third is for officers. And each senior officer, colonel and above, had his own cook who cooked for him separately. The Romanian army was the most demoralized. The soldiers hated their officers. And the officers despised their soldiers. Romanians often traded weapons. So our “blacks” (“Hiwis”) began to have good weapons. Pistols and machine guns. It turned out that they bought it for food and stamps from their Romanian neighbors...

About SS

Attitudes towards the SS were ambiguous. On the one hand, they were very persistent soldiers. They were better armed, better equipped, better fed. If they stood nearby, then there was no need to fear for their flanks. But on the other hand, they were somewhat condescending towards the Wehrmacht. In addition, they were not very popular due to their extreme cruelty. They were very cruel to prisoners and civilians. And it was unpleasant to stand next to them. People were often killed there. Besides, it was dangerous. The Russians, knowing about the cruelty of the SS towards civilians and prisoners, did not take the SS men prisoner. And during the offensive in these areas, few of the Russians understood who was in front of you as an Essenman or an ordinary Wehrmacht soldier. They killed everyone. Therefore, the SS was sometimes called “dead men” behind their backs.

I remember how one evening in November 1942 we stole a truck from a neighboring SS regiment. He got stuck on the road, and his driver went to his friends for help, and we pulled him out, quickly drove him to our place and repainted him there, changing his insignia. They looked for him for a long time, but did not find him. And for us it was a great help. When our officers found out, they swore a lot, but didn’t tell anyone. There were very few trucks left then, and we mostly moved on foot.

And this is also an indicator of attitude. Ours would never have been stolen from our own (Wehrmacht). But the SS men were not liked.

Soldier and officer

In the Wehrmacht there was always a great distance between soldier and officer. They were never one with us. Despite what propaganda said about our unity. It was emphasized that we were all “comrades,” but even the platoon lieutenant was very far from us. Between him and us there were also sergeants, who in every possible way maintained the distance between us and them, the sergeants. And only behind them were the officers. The officers usually communicated very little with us soldiers. Basically, all communication with the officer went through the sergeant major. The officer could, of course, ask you something or give you some instructions directly, but I repeat - this was rare. Everything was done through the sergeants. They were officers, we were soldiers, and the distance between us was very large.

This distance was even greater between us and the high command. We were just cannon fodder for them. No one took us into account or thought about us. I remember in July 1943, near Taganrog, I stood at a post near the house where the regiment headquarters was and through the open window I heard a report from our regiment commander to some general who came to our headquarters. It turns out that the general was supposed to organize an assault attack on our regiment on the railway station, which the Russians occupied and turned into a powerful stronghold. And after the report on the plan of the attack, our commander said that the planned losses could reach a thousand people killed and wounded, and this is almost 50% of the regiment’s strength. Apparently the commander wanted to show the pointlessness of such an attack. But the general said:

Fine! Prepare to attack. The Fuehrer demands from us decisive action in the name of Germany. And these thousand soldiers will die for the Fuhrer and the Fatherland!

And then I realized that we are nothing to these generals! I became so scared that it is impossible to convey now. The offensive was to begin in two days. I heard about this through the window and decided that I had to save myself at any cost. After all, a thousand killed and wounded is almost the entire combat unit. That is, I had almost no chance of surviving this attack. And the next day, when I was placed in the forward observation patrol, which was advanced in front of our positions towards the Russians, I was delayed when the order came to retreat. And then, as soon as the shelling began, he shot himself in the leg through a loaf of bread (this does not cause powder burns to the skin and clothes) so that the bullet would break the bone, but go right through. Then I crawled towards the positions of the artillerymen who were standing next to us. They understood little about injuries. I told them that I was shot by a Russian machine gunner. There they bandaged me, gave me coffee, gave me a cigarette and sent me to the rear in a car. I was very afraid that at the hospital the doctor would find bread crumbs in the wound, but I was lucky. Nobody noticed anything. When five months later, in January 1944, I returned to my company, I learned that in that attack the regiment had lost nine hundred people killed and wounded, but never took the station...

This is how the generals treated us! Therefore, when they ask me how I feel about German generals, which of them I value as a German commander, I always answer that they were probably good strategists, but I have absolutely nothing to respect them for. As a result, they put seven million German soldiers into the ground, lost the war, and now they are writing memoirs about how great they fought and how gloriously they won.

The most difficult fight

After being wounded, I was transferred to Sevastopol, when the Russians had already cut off Crimea. We were flying from Odessa on transport planes in a large group and right before our eyes, Russian fighters shot down two planes full of soldiers. It was terrible! One plane crashed in the steppe and exploded, while the other fell into the sea and instantly disappeared into the waves. We sat and helplessly waited for who was next. But we were lucky - the fighters flew away. Maybe they were running out of fuel or out of ammo. I fought in Crimea for four months.

And there, near Sevastopol, the most difficult battle of my life took place. This was in early May, when the defenses on Sapun Mountain had already been broken through and the Russians were approaching Sevastopol.

The remnants of our company - about thirty people - were sent over a small mountain so that we could reach the flank of the Russian unit attacking us. We were told that there was no one on this mountain. We walked along the rocky bottom of a dry stream and suddenly found ourselves in a bag of fire. They shot at us from all sides. We lay down among the stones and began to shoot back, but the Russians were among the greenery - they were invisible, but we were in full view and they killed us one by one. I don’t remember how, while firing from a rifle, I was able to crawl out from under the fire. I was hit by several fragments from grenades. It especially hurt my legs. Then I lay for a long time between the stones and heard Russians walking around. When they left, I looked at myself and realized that I would soon bleed to death. Apparently, I was the only one left alive. There was a lot of blood, but I didn’t have a bandage or anything! And then I remembered that there were condoms in my jacket pocket. They were given to us upon arrival along with other property. And then I made tourniquets out of them, then tore the shirt and made tampons from it for the wounds and tightened them with these tourniquets, and then, leaning on the rifle and the broken branch, I began to get out.

In the evening I crawled out to my people.

In Sevastopol, the evacuation from the city was already in full swing, the Russians from one end had already entered the city, and there was no longer any power in it.
Everyone was for themselves.

I will never forget the picture of how we were being driven around the city by car, and the car broke down. The driver began to repair it, and we looked over the side around us. Right in front of us in the square, several officers were dancing with some women dressed as gypsies. Everyone had bottles of wine in their hands. There was some kind of unreal feeling. They danced like crazy. It was a feast during the plague.

I was evacuated from Chersonesos on the evening of May 10, after Sevastopol had fallen. I cannot tell you what was happening on this narrow strip of land. It was hell! People cried, prayed, shot, went crazy, fought to the death for a place in the boats. When I read somewhere the memoirs of some general - a chatterbox, who talked about how we left Chersonesos in complete order and discipline, and that almost all units of the 17th Army were evacuated from Sevastopol, I wanted to laugh. Out of my entire company, I was the only one in Constanta! And less than a hundred people escaped from our regiment! My entire division lay down in Sevastopol. It is a fact!

I was lucky because we were lying wounded on a pontoon, right next to which one of the last self-propelled barges approached, and we were the first to be loaded onto it.

We were taken on a barge to Constanta. All the way we were bombed and strafed by Russian planes. It was terrible. Our barge was not sunk, but there were a lot of dead and wounded. The whole barge was full of holes. In order not to drown, we threw overboard all the weapons, ammunition, then all the dead, and still, when we arrived in Constanta, we stood in the water up to our necks in the holds, and the lying wounded all drowned. If we had to go another 20 kilometers, we would definitely go to the bottom! I was very bad. All the wounds became inflamed from sea water. At the hospital, the doctor told me that most of the barges were half full of dead people. And that we, the living, are very lucky.

There, in Constanta, I ended up in a hospital and never went to war again.

Behind the front line. Memoirs

The former commander of the submarine fleet of Nazi Germany, Werner, introduces the reader in his memoirs to the actions of German submarines in the waters. The Atlantic Ocean, in the Bay of Biscay and the English Channel against the British and American fleets during the Second World War.

Herbert Werner

Preface

Review of the book by an American war veteran

Who would not be embarrassed by the opportunity to write, as I did, an introduction to a book by a foreigner, and even a soldier of a former hostile state, whose military fate almost exactly repeats the own fate of the author of the preface? We studied at the higher naval schools in 1939, both completed the course of training to become submariners and first reported to our duty station in 1941. We both served throughout the war, from lower ranks to submarine commanders. Each of us heard the explosions of enemy depth charges, although we were protected from them, unlike some of our combat friends. It is clear, however, that these explosions sound remarkably the same whether the bombs are British, American or Japanese. We both took part in torpedo attacks on combat and merchant ships. Each of us has seen large ships sink when their bottoms are pierced by torpedoes - sometimes majestic, sometimes ugly. German submarines used the same tactics as us. Both Werner and I uselessly cursed our opponent simply because he had done his duty conscientiously.

So, Herbert Werner and I had a lot in common, although I knew nothing about him before reading his book. But having said all this, it is necessary to avoid two pitfalls. The first is respect for professionalism, which may obscure important differences between us, arising from the contrast of the conditions in which we found ourselves and the goals we pursued. The second is that the objective assessment of the past that we strive for today may, wittingly or unwittingly, be hindered by wartime feelings and sentiments. By avoiding these pitfalls, we will eventually find the right approach to the problem. Because we can admire the people who fought for Germany, even if we condemn Hitler and the Nazis. To properly evaluate the book, it is important to keep this in mind and take into account the positions of the parties in each specific case.

In the preface, Werner explains why he felt it necessary to write his book. According to him, he thereby fulfilled a long-standing commitment and wanted to pay tribute to the thousands of battle friends who are forever buried in steel coffins in the depths of the sea. Political predilections are completely absent both in his narrative and in the interpretation of professional tasks. Werner does not allow himself to make harsh attacks against his opponent, although it is clear that at times he, like the rest of us, is capable of experiencing bouts of irritation. In such cases, Werner's book acquires greater dramatic power and the bestial, bestial essence of war comes to the fore. This may seem unusual, but think about this: submarine sailors, regardless of their affiliation with any of the warring parties, most admired the time when they went to sea and were in the steel shells of boats, in the cramped confined space of which The noise of operating diesel engines continued unabated, and with a lack of oxygen in the stale air, the stench of human excrement and rotting food could be felt. In such conditions, submarine crews frantically attacked the enemy with torpedoes, carried out a grueling search for his naval convoys, or waited in fear for the end of the attack with enemy depth charges.

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“The soldiers of the Red Army shot, even burning alive”

Letters from German soldiers and officers from the Eastern Front as a cure for the Fuhrers

June 22 is a sacred, holy day in our country. The beginning of the Great War is the beginning of the path to the great Victory. History does not know a more massive feat. But also bloodier, more expensive for its price - perhaps too (we have already published terrible pages from Ales Adamovich and Daniil Granin, stunning with the frankness of front-line soldier Nikolai Nikulin, excerpts from Viktor Astafiev’s “Cursed and Killed”). At the same time, alongside inhumanity, military training, courage and self-sacrifice triumphed, thanks to which the outcome of the battle of nations was predetermined in its very first hours. This is evidenced by fragments of letters and reports from soldiers and officers of the German armed forces from the Eastern Front.

“Already the first attack turned into a battle for life and death”

“My commander was twice my age, and he had already fought with the Russians near Narva in 1917, when he was a lieutenant. “Here, in these vast expanses, we will find our death, like Napoleon,” he did not hide his pessimism... “Mende, remember this hour, it marks the end of the old Germany”” (Erich Mende, chief lieutenant of the 8th Silesian infantry division about a conversation that took place in the last peaceful minutes of June 22, 1941).

“When we entered the first battle with the Russians, they clearly did not expect us, but they could not be called unprepared either” (Alfred Durwanger, lieutenant, commander of the anti-tank company of the 28th Infantry Division).

“The quality level of Soviet pilots is much higher than expected... Fierce resistance, its massive nature do not correspond to our initial assumptions” (diary of Hoffmann von Waldau, Major General, Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe Command, June 31, 1941).

“On the Eastern Front I met people who could be called a special race.”

“On the very first day, as soon as we went on the attack, one of our men shot himself with his own weapon. Clutching the rifle between his knees, he inserted the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger. This is how the war and all the horrors associated with it ended for him” (anti-tank gunner Johann Danzer, Brest, June 22, 1941).

“On the Eastern Front I met people who could be called a special race. Already the first attack turned into a battle for life and death” (Hans Becker, tankman of the 12th Panzer Division).

“The losses are terrible, they cannot be compared with those in France... Today the road is ours, tomorrow the Russians take it, then we again and so on... I have never seen anyone more evil than these Russians. Real chain dogs! You never know what to expect from them” (diary of a soldier of Army Group Center, August 20, 1941).

“You can never say in advance what a Russian will do: as a rule, he rushes from one extreme to the other. His nature is as unusual and complex as this huge and incomprehensible country itself... Sometimes Russian infantry battalions were confused after the first shots, and the next day the same units fought with fanatical tenacity... Russian as a whole is certainly excellent a soldier and with skillful leadership is a dangerous adversary” (Mellentin Friedrich von Wilhelm, Major General of Panzer Forces, Chief of Staff of the 48th Panzer Corps, later Chief of Staff of the 4th Panzer Army).

“I have never seen anyone more evil than these Russians. Real watchdogs!”

“During the attack, we came across a light Russian T-26 tank, we immediately shot it straight from the 37mm. When we began to approach, a Russian leaned out waist-high from the tower hatch and opened fire on us with a pistol. It soon became clear that he had no legs; they were torn off when the tank was hit. And, despite this, he fired at us with a pistol!” (memories of an anti-tank gun artilleryman about the first hours of the war).

“You simply won’t believe this until you see it with your own eyes. The soldiers of the Red Army, even burning alive, continued to shoot from the burning houses” (from a letter from an infantry officer of the 7th Panzer Division about the battles in a village near the Lama River, mid-November 1941).

“... Inside the tank lay the bodies of the brave crew, who had previously only received injuries. Deeply shocked by this heroism, we buried them with full military honors. They fought until their last breath, but it was just one small drama of the great war" (Erhard Raus, colonel, commander of the Kampfgruppe Raus about the KV-1 tank, which shot and crushed a column of trucks and tanks and an artillery battery of Germans; a total of 4 Soviet The tanker was held back by the advance of the Raus battle group, about half a division, for two days, June 24 and 25).

“July 17, 1941... In the evening, an unknown Russian soldier was buried [we are talking about 19-year-old senior artillery sergeant Nikolai Sirotinin]. He stood alone at the cannon, shot at a column of tanks and infantry for a long time, and died. Everyone was surprised at his courage... Oberst said before his grave that if all the Fuhrer's soldiers fought like this Russian, we would conquer the whole world. They fired three times in volleys from rifles. After all, he is Russian, is such admiration necessary? (diary of Chief Lieutenant of the 4th Panzer Division Henfeld).

“If all the Fuhrer’s soldiers fought like this Russian, we would conquer the whole world.”

“We took almost no prisoners, because the Russians always fought to the last soldier. They didn't give up. Their hardening cannot be compared with ours...” (interview with war correspondent Curizio Malaparte (Zuckert), an officer in the tank unit of Army Group Center).

“The Russians have always been famous for their contempt for death; The communist regime has further developed this quality, and now the massive Russian attacks are more effective than ever before. The attack undertaken twice will be repeated for the third and fourth time, regardless of the losses incurred, and both the third and fourth attacks will be carried out with the same stubbornness and composure... They did not retreat, but rushed forward uncontrollably" (Mellenthin Friedrich von Wilhelm, General major of tank forces, chief of staff of the 48th tank corps, later chief of staff of the 4th tank army, participant in the Battles of Stalingrad and Kursk).

“I’m so furious, but I’ve never been so helpless.”

In turn, the Red Army and the inhabitants of the occupied territories faced a well-prepared – and also psychologically – invader at the beginning of the war.

"25-th of August. We throw hand grenades at residential buildings. Houses burn very quickly. The fire spreads to other huts. A beautiful sight! People cry, and we laugh at the tears. We have already burned ten villages in this way (diary of Chief Corporal Johannes Herder). “September 29, 1941. ...The sergeant-major shot each one in the head. One woman begged for her life, but she was also killed. I am surprised at myself - I can look at these things completely calmly... Without changing my facial expression, I watched as the sergeant major shot Russian women. I even felt some pleasure at the same time...” (diary of non-commissioned officer of the 35th Infantry Regiment Heinz Klin).

“I, Heinrich Tivel, set myself the goal of exterminating 250 Russians, Jews, Ukrainians, indiscriminately, during this war. If each soldier kills the same number, we will destroy Russia in one month, everything will go to us, the Germans. I, following the call of the Fuhrer, call all Germans to this goal...” (soldier’s notebook, October 29, 1941).

“I can look at these things completely calmly. I even feel some pleasure at the same time.”

The mood of the German soldier, like the backbone of a beast, was broken by the Battle of Stalingrad: the total enemy losses in killed, wounded, captured and missing amounted to about 1.5 million people. Self-confident treachery gave way to despair, similar to that which accompanied the Red Army in the first months of fighting. When Berlin decided to print letters from the Stalingrad front for propaganda purposes, it turned out that out of seven bags of correspondence, only 2% contained approving statements about the war; in 60% of the letters, soldiers called to fight rejected the massacre. In the trenches of Stalingrad, a German soldier, very often for a short time, shortly before death, returned from a zombie state to a conscious, human one. It can be said that the war as a confrontation between troops of equal size was ended here, in Stalingrad - primarily because here, on the Volga, the pillars of the soldiers’ faith in the infallibility and omnipotence of the Fuhrer collapsed. This - this is the truth of history - happens to almost every Fuhrer.

“Since this morning, I know what awaits us, and I feel better, so I want to free you from the torment of the unknown. When I saw the map I was horrified. We are completely abandoned without any outside help. Hitler left us surrounded. And this letter will be sent if our airfield has not yet been captured.”

“In the homeland, some people will begin to rub their hands - they managed to preserve their warm places, and pathetic words surrounded by a black frame will appear in the newspapers: eternal memory to the heroes. But don't be fooled by this. I’m so furious that I think I would destroy everything around me, but I’ve never been so helpless.”

“People are dying from hunger, severe cold, death here is simply a biological fact, like food and drink. They are dying like flies, and no one cares about them, and no one buries them. Without arms, without legs, without eyes, with their stomachs torn apart, they are lying everywhere. We need to make a film about this in order to destroy the legend of “the beautiful death” forever. This is just a bestial gasp, but someday it will be raised on granite pedestals and ennobled in the form of “dying warriors” with their heads and hands bandaged.

“Novels will be written, hymns and chants will be sung. Mass will be celebrated in churches. But that’s enough for me.”

Novels will be written, hymns and chants will sound. Mass will be celebrated in churches. But I've had enough, I don't want my bones to rot in a mass grave. Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for some time, because I am determined to become the master of my own destiny.”

“Well, now you know that I won’t come back. Please inform our parents about this as discreetly as possible. I am in great confusion. Before I believed and therefore I was strong, but now I don’t believe in anything and am very weak. I don’t know much of what’s going on here, but even the little that I have to participate in is already too much for me to handle. No, no one will convince me that people die here with the words “Germany” or “Heil Hitler.” Yes, people die here, no one will deny this, but the dying turn their last words to their mother or to the one they love most, or it is just a cry for help. I saw hundreds of dying people, many of them, like me, members of the Hitler Youth, but if they could still scream, they were cries for help, or they were calling for someone who could not help them.”

“I looked for God in every crater, in every destroyed house, in every corner, with every comrade, when I was lying in my trench, I also looked in the sky. But God did not show himself, although my heart cried out to him. Homes were destroyed, comrades were brave or cowardly like me, there was hunger and death on earth, and bombs and fire from the sky, but God was nowhere to be found. No, father, God does not exist, or only you have him, in your psalms and prayers, in the sermons of priests and pastors, in the ringing of bells, in the smell of incense, but in Stalingrad he is not... I no longer believe in the goodness of God, otherwise he would never allow such terrible injustice. I no longer believe in this, for God would clear the heads of the people who started this war, while they themselves spoke in three languages ​​about peace. I no longer believe in God, he betrayed us, and now see for yourself what to do with your faith.”

“Ten years ago we were talking about ballot papers, now we have to pay for it with such a “trifle” as life.”

“The time will come for every reasonable person in Germany when he will curse the madness of this war, and you will understand how empty your words were about the banner with which I must win. There is no victory, Mr. General, there are only banners and people who die, and in the end there will be no more banners or people. Stalingrad is not a military necessity, but political madness. And your son, Mr. General, will not participate in this experiment! You are blocking his path to life, but he will choose another path for himself - in the opposite direction, which also leads to life, but on the other side of the front. Think about your words, I hope that when everything collapses, you will remember the banner and stand up for it.”

“Liberation of peoples, what nonsense! The peoples will remain the same, only the power will change, and those who stand on the sidelines will argue again and again that the people must be freed from it. In 1932, something could still have been done, you know that very well. And you also know that the moment was missed. Ten years ago we were talking about ballot papers, but now we have to pay for it with such a “trifle” as life.”

German postcard and notebook seized during the arrest of prisoners of war

I was called up for military service.

In the battles near Revel on August 20, Ferdi Walbrecker fell for his fatherland. Hans and I spent the last Sunday in September in Aachen. It was very nice to see Germans: German men, women and German girls. Previously, when we first arrived in Belgium, the difference did not catch my eye... To really love your homeland, you must first be away from it.

1941 October. 10. 10. 41.

I'm on guard. Today I was transferred to the active army. In the morning we read the list. Almost exclusively people from construction battalions. Of the July recruits, only a few mortarmen. What can you do? I can only wait. But next time it will probably affect me too. Why should I ask voluntarily? I know that it will be more difficult to fulfill my duty there, much more difficult, but still...

14. 10. 41.

Tuesday. On Sunday, machine gunners were selected from 1st platoon. I was among them. We had to swallow 20 quinine pills; suitability for service in tropical conditions was tested. On Monday I received an answer: good. But I heard that the shipment was cancelled. Why?

Today we had a review. It was conducted by our company commander. This is all just a theatrical performance. As could have been predicted in advance, everything went well. Vacation in Lüttich for 18-19.10 has been arranged.

22. 10. 41.

The vacation has already passed. It was good. We still found the military priest. During divine services, I served him. After lunch he showed us Lüttich. It was a pleasant day. I felt like I was among people again.

Hans, Gunther and Klaus left. Who knows if we'll see each other.

There has been no news from my brother at home for many weeks (7-9). After I received the news of Ferdi Walbrecker's death, I felt as if my brother would also be killed. May the Lord God protect me from this, for the sake of my parents, especially for the sake of my mother.

Werner Kunze and Kosman are killed. Nothing more is heard from Africa.

Written by Frieda Grislam (relation to the government and to the people; soldier and woman at the present time).

1941 November.

20. 11. 41.

Five days in Eltfenborn are over. The service there was very easy. Apart from shooting as a platoon, we practically did nothing. But we were in Germany, and it was nice. In Eltfenborn I visited the priest.

The way the Germans are holding out in the former Eifen-Malmedy can be understood; we expected a different Germany. Not so anti-Christian. But there are also Walloon villages there, and quite a few. During the shooting, someone lit a fire. When you stand like that and look at the flame, old memories come up. As it was before. For me, nothing better could happen right now than to go on the road with a few guys, but...

P... also wrote about wasting time; now that we are in the prime of our powers and want to use them. What would you like to work on?

What challenges await us! They say that two marching battalions are being formed again. News from home: Willy Walbrecker has also been killed. We also made our sacrifice. Willie is fourth. I ask: who's next?

26.11. 41.

Willie Schefter is in the infirmary. This was a real comrade. More and more often the thought occurs to me that I am wasting my time here aimlessly. I hesitate on what I want to be: Africa; technical profession; or a priest only for God.

There is no camaraderie to be found in our room. I would like to get to the front sooner. It will be good for me.

25. 11. 41.

Yesterday morning, unexpectedly for everyone, the dispatch order arrived. Now no one wanted to believe it when we were gathered. But it is so. The day was spent in uniform. What I expected has finally arrived, and I firmly believe that more will come. A more difficult, but better (if that is the right expression) time is coming. Now you have to show whether you are a man or a coward. I hope that this experience will be a lifelong gain for me; I will become more mature.

I don’t want to write about the general enthusiasm that was reflected in drunkenness; it won't last long.

1941 December. 8.12.41.

I've written various things this week, and there's a lot more I could write. About general enthusiasm, about duty at the moment, etc. Dusseldorf! It's not good for you. No!

Magdalene was also here on Wednesday (my parents were here last Sunday). The Gestapo searched and took away my letters and other things. No comments needed. I'll get my leave on Sunday and find out more about it. From me they went to the Dealer and took a lot of things there. Do they have the right, because we live in Germany; The dealer was taken to... and from there sent to Dortmund, where he is in pre-trial detention. They were still sitting until Sunday. Johann is there too. I think there are 60-100 people sitting there.

12.12. 41. Friday.

We've been on the road since Wednesday. They say that we are 13.12. We will be in Insterburg, and on December 15 we will be on the other side of the border.

America also entered the war.

It's cramped in the carriage here. Whether we will get to the Southern Front is now, perhaps, doubtful. Regarding the Gestapo, I visited our captain; he promised me full support. I composed the letter, but there are still some little things, we'll see. We'll be somewhere for Christmas.

13.12. 41. Saturday.

I wrote a letter to the Gestapo. The captain will probably sign the petition. What more could you want? I put it all in a business-like manner. Success is doubtful. We are in Insterburg.

East Prussia is almost all behind. I haven't shaved since Monday. “Unshaven and far from home.” Still haven't encountered any camaraderie. I hope that things are better at the front in this regard; otherwise it would be a big disappointment for me.

16.12.41. Tuesday.

Lithuania, Latvia are behind. We are in Estonia. We had a long layover. I was in the city. Nothing interesting. Riga was already better. Unfortunately, we couldn't get into the city.

The mood in our carriage is terrible! Yesterday two people fought; Today there are two again. Friendly relations here are an illusion, a utopia.

Lithuania is a flat country that stretches wide before our eyes. This country is poor. Everywhere there are wooden huts (they cannot be called houses), covered with thatch. The inside is small and cramped.

Latvia is not so smooth. One part is mountainous and covered with forest. The houses here, even in the villages, are better and look more comfortable. Estonia also has a lot of forests and hills.

The people here are very nice. The language is completely incomprehensible. There's not much here either. No vodka. Food cards.

In Riga, they say, 10,000 Jews (German Jews) were shot. No comments needed. Three people were shot for robbery, I support this, no matter how harsh it may be. To prevent this from spreading, decisive intervention is needed. This is a mistake: on Tuesday we were not yet in Estonia (18.12.)

18.12. 41.

In Russia. We passed through Estonia very quickly. Russia is a flat, endless country. Tundra. We received cartridges.

We traveled along the following route: Riga - Valk (Estonia) - Russia; to Pskov. Pskov is said to be the third most beautiful city in Russia.

I read Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice and Hamlet. We are located 10 km. from Pskov and we will probably stay here for a long time. I like Shakespeare.

19.12. 41.

We are still near Pskov. The fact is that the Russians have severely damaged the railway industry and there are few steam locomotives here.

I gave bread to several Russians. How grateful these poor people were. They are treated worse than livestock. Of the 5,000 Russians, approximately 1,000 remain. This is a shame. What would Dvingoff and Etighofer say if they knew this?

Then I “visited” one peasant. When I gave him a cigarette, he was happy. I looked at the kitchen. Poor! I was treated to cucumbers and bread. I left them a pack of cigarettes. Not a word is clear from the language except: “Stalin”, “communist”, “Bolshevik”.

The ring around St. Petersburg was broken through by the Russians a few days ago. The Russians broke through 40 km. They couldn’t do anything against the tanks. The Russians are extremely strong here. Whether the ring is closed from the side of the lake is doubtful. There are too few of our troops there. When will Leningrad fall? War! When will it end?

21. 12. 41.

Today is Sunday. It's not noticeable in any way. The trip is over. In Gatchina (Baltic) we were unloaded. The population besieged our carriages, asked for bread, etc. It is good when you can bring joy to a child, woman or man. But there are too many of them.

We are located 6 km. from the station. There are 16 of us in one room with 4 wide beds; There are 3 people for each bed, and the other four..?

I don’t want to write anything about the last days in the carriage. There is not a trace of soldier's friendship. In one prison camp, more than 100 prisoners are said to have died in one night. 22.12.41.

Our apartment is good. The hostess (Finnish) is very kind, but poor. We give her quite a lot. After all, it is better to give than to take.

24. 12. 41.

Today is Christmas Eve... In Gatchina, most of the churches were destroyed by German pilots, not by the Reds. There is still a cross on the palace.

(Bra)ukhich resigned or was dismissed. What does this mean?

27. 12. 41.

Christmas has passed. In fact, these were very, very sad days, there could not be any real Christmas cheer.

It is said that the 1st Division, since it took part in very heavy fighting, will be sent to the south of France. Therefore, we will probably end up in the 12th division. I hope so. Others would also like to get to the south of France.

Today we saw seven carriages with soldiers who arrived from the ring near Leningrad. These soldiers looked terrible. Such pictures are not seen in newsreels.

It's gradually getting cold here. 20 degrees.

Wrote something about a soldier's life. I think a lot about Dealer, Johann and things related to them.

30. 12. 41.

Today or tomorrow we are being sent, and to the 1st division at that... Something will happen with Dealer, Johann and others...

1942 January. 03.01.42.

New Year has arrived. Will the war end in 1942? On December 31, 1941 we set out from Gatchina. When we walked 15-20 km, two buses and one truck arrived, which immediately delivered 60 people. to 1st division. Among these 60 were also myself, Wunten and Tsuitsinga. In the division we were immediately distributed among regiments; the three of us ended up in the 1st regiment. That same evening we were sent to the 3rd battalion, where we spent the night in an ice-cold dugout. This was a New Year's gift. Then we were distributed into companies. Wunten and I ended up in the 10th company. We handed over our food to the kitchen and “stomped” to the company, which had been on vacation for five days and just 1.1.42. in the evening she returned to the front line.

And now we are in the dugout. We stand on duty 6-7 hours a day. The rest of the time we lie down or eat. A life unworthy of man.

We are here between Leningrad and Shlisselburg, near the Neva, where it makes a sharp bend. The crossing is still in Russian hands. We are to the left of it. The dugout is tolerable (compared to others). It's calm here. Occasionally mortars fire. One person was killed last night. One person in the second platoon was killed today.

Our life is in the hands of God. We must remain on the front line for 10 days, and then 5 days of rest.

The company numbers 40-50 people. Of the division (15,000), only 3,000 remained alive. The ring around Leningrad is not closed (propaganda). The food is very good.

04. 01. 42.

You look like a pig. That's not putting it too strongly. You can't wash your face. And so, eat it in this form. I don't write this to complain. It just needs to be recorded.

Yesterday we brought a dead man - “We are not carrying treasure, we are carrying a dead man.” The rest don't pay attention to it. It's because you see too many dead people.

Friendship! Will she come again? Don't know. Or am I still not accustomed to the new environment?

Johann and Dealer, what could it be? You often get furious when you think about this meanness. If you then think that you are here at the front, then questions arise to which you would like to receive an answer. But there is a difference between the government and the people. This is the only solution.

07. 01. 42.

Yesterday more reinforcements arrived from the 4th marching company. There is talk that we will be replaced in the coming days!?!

“Comrades” often sing a beautiful song:

“Heil Hitler, heil Hitler.
All day - Heil Hitler
And on Sundays Heil Hitler
Heil Hitler, heil Hitler."

They sing this song to the melody of “Gedwig’s aunt, Gedwig’s aunt, the machine doesn’t sew”... Comments are unnecessary.

There is one soldier in our department. He is a Catholic. He is 35 years old. Peasant (6 cows, one horse). He is from Altenburg; from Bourscheid 2.5 hours walk. Maybe it can be used somehow for a group, or..?

(?). 1. 42

Yesterday there was talk that we were leaving here. The convoy seemed to have already been loaded. Everyone believes it. I also think this is true. I call this big disgusting. The “comrades” rejoice. I understand those who have been here from the very beginning. But we, who have just arrived, and are already back; This is downright scandalous. But we can't change anything about this. Nobody knows where they are sent. To Koenigsberg? Going skiing to Finland?

13. 1. 42.

We're on vacation. If you can call it a vacation. In any case, better than on the front line. Regarding the shift: behind Mga, where the convoy is located, a new position is being built.

18. 1. 42.

We are back on the front line for ten days. This time on the right position (south). We should post a few more posts. The dugout is small and cold. The conversations were really in vain. This will probably last a long time. But we believe that in the spring, when the attack comes, we will not be here, since then we disappeared, everyone says.

Friendship is funny. Sometimes you are pleased, and sometimes you again commit the most unfriendly and selfish act that can be done. In the near future I will be collecting cigarettes again, since my comrades really don’t deserve to always be given cigarettes.

30. 1. 42.

Only today did I find time to write further. Instead of ten days, it turned out to be thirteen, but it was pretty good in the dugout... During this time, I shaved once and “washed” in a lid with water (1/4 liter). Von Leeb also left, or was suspended. Reichenau died. It is not known how this should be understood. I don't mind going to Germany either.

1942 February.

02. 02. 42.

The two days of rest were soon over. On Sunday, January 31, the order came. At 18 o'clock we left and came back again. We weren't supposed to be here until the next morning at 6 o'clock. At night we changed our underwear and “washed ourselves”. We are further east from the old position. Again at the Neva. The area is calmer and better. The dugouts are all quite comfortable. The company occupied 1800 meters (probably the length of the defense section - editor's note). There are 4 people in our department. We put one person out for the night. This would have been nothing if we had not been occupied with too many other things during the day (carrying ammunition).

They say we will stay here until the attack? We don't get trench rations. It is not right.

15. 2. 42.

I'm again in another department. Tomorrow we move to another place. Erwin Schultz was wounded 7.2 by a mine fragment. Because of this, the three of us are forced to stand at the post. This is a bit much, but other branches cost the same. So you need to be happy. Everything is still calm here. I rejoice at every letter from home. Now I finally know about Johann and the Dealer... I’m finishing. Prayer must not be forgotten. I will be glad for the time when I will be free from military service and will be able to live the way I want - not like everyone else.

Long live Moscow! Mouth front!

22. 2. 42.

We are still in the same position. It became colder again. I'm happy with the mail. The Gestapo was with us. They wanted to know the address. Hope I hear something about this soon.

27. 2. 42.

Today I turn 19 years old. Corporal Schiller arrived from Mga. The wound was not terrible; it was caused not by the Russians, but by Domerak.

I am already looking forward to the day when I can start working, free from military service.

Non-commissioned officer Riedel seems to be a big pig. Nothing has been heard from the Gestapo yet. If only I could hear nothing at all from all that is so disgusting for a few days.

1942 March. 09.03.42.

Several days passed again. It would be nice to get a few nights sleep. I don't have enough food - too little bread. There is wild talk about Vienna, Koblend, etc.

12. 03. 42.

From 9.30 to 10 o'clock approximately 100-200 rounds were fired per rifle, 600-1000 rounds per machine gun; in addition, a mass of flares were fired. After 10 o'clock there is silence. We weren't supposed to show up during the day. This was done in the area from the crossing to Shlisselburg (15 km). The command wanted to attract defectors in this way or cause the expulsion of a reconnaissance detachment, since prisoners were needed to obtain testimony.

On the night of 9.3. on 10.3. a man came on the left wing of our company - a defector or not, eyewitnesses differ on this point. He told a lot: the positions were poorly defended, there was nothing to eat, the company commander was supposedly a Jew, etc. Whether this is true is doubtful. I don’t know how many Russians fell into our hands in the indicated area.

It was also said that if we do not receive prisoners, we will have to send a reconnaissance detachment across the Neva, which, one might say, is a team of suicide bombers. Volunteers, go! We need to bring in the prisoners!

I haven't heard anything about the Gestapo yet.

20. 3. 42

At 20-30 we were loaded and transported by truck to Shapki (a little further).

21. 3. 42

Reconnaissance squad in the forest.

24. 3. 42

About 3 o'clock. Order: get ready. Now, as a battalion reserve, we are sitting in dugouts in which “the sun is shining.” The worst thing is artillery fire.

10th company - losses of 9 people.

10, 11, 12 companies - losses of 60 people.

9th company - losses 40%.

Our position is omega (possibly Mga - comp.). Food is better. Easter. What will happen for Easter?

Translated by: shekhn. Quartermaster I rank - Zinder.

In war and in captivity. Memoirs of a German soldier. 1937-1950 Becker Hans

Chapter 3 EASTERN FRONT

EASTERN FRONT

Like any uninvited guest on Russian soil, it took me some time to understand that, like representatives of other nations, Russians could not be lumped with the same brush. According to my first impression, all of them were evil beggars and looked more like animals than people. In battle they knew no pity, like a herd of hungry wolves.

However, somehow an incident occurred that I will not be able to forget for the rest of my life. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before or since. And I still remember it like a nightmare. There may be skeptics who will not believe me, but as a witness, I am ready to swear to anything that this really happened. If it is true that those who have been on the verge of death are incapable of lying, then this fully applies to me: after all, I have experienced this feeling several times, therefore, I have long ago lost any taste for embellishing what happened to me. by me actually.

I found myself on the Eastern Front immediately after the war with Russia began. And in my opinion, we were opposed by an enemy who belonged to some other, terrible breed of people. Fierce fighting began literally from the very first days of our offensive. The blood of invaders and defenders flowed like a river onto the blood-thirsty land of “Mother Russia”: she drank our blood, and we disfigured her face with machine gun and artillery fire. The wounded screamed a terrible cry, demanding help from the orderlies, the rest continued to move forward. "Further! Even further!" - that's what we were ordered to do. And we had no time to look back. Our officers drove us eastward like evil demons. Each of them, apparently, decided for himself that it was his company or his platoon that would win all conceivable and inconceivable awards.

A big tank battle near Ternopol, and after it another, near Dubno, where we did not have to rest for three days and three nights. Replenishment of ammunition and fuel reserves here was not carried out as part of the units, as usual. One after another, individual tanks were withdrawn to the nearby rear, and they quickly returned to rush back into the thick of the fighting. I had the opportunity to disable one Russian tank in the battle near Ternopol and four more near Dubno. The area around the fighting turned into a chaotic hell. Our infantry soon ceased to understand where the enemy was and where our own were. But the enemy was in an even more difficult situation. And when the fighting here ended, many Russians had to either remain dead on the battlefield or continue their journey in endless columns of prisoners of war.

The prisoners had to be content with watery stew and several tens of grams of bread a day. I personally had to witness this when I was wounded near Zhitomir and received an appointment during the recovery period to a warehouse of spare parts for armored vehicles, in order to provide me with what was believed to be a more “gentle” treatment. There I once had to visit a prisoner of war camp to select twenty prisoners for a work team.

The prisoners were housed in the school building. While the non-commissioned officer - an Austrian - was selecting workers for me, I examined the camp area. What were they doing here, I asked myself, how bad or good were the conditions of their detention?

So I thought in those days, not suspecting that not much time would pass and I myself would have to fight for survival in exactly the same circumstances, not paying attention to all the obvious signs of human degradation. For several years, all my vitality and aspirations were spent on such a struggle. I often thought with a grin about how radically my beliefs had changed after that day in the camp near Dubno. How easy it is to judge others, how insignificant their misfortunes seem, and how nobly, in our own opinion, we would behave if we found ourselves in their desperate situation! Come on, I teased myself later, why aren’t you dying of shame now, when not a single self-respecting pig would agree to change places with you and live in the filth in which you live?

And so, when I stood at the threshold of the camp barracks, thinking about what strange creatures these “Mongols” must be, this happened. A wild scream came from the far corner of the room. A lump of bodies burst through the darkness like a whirlwind, growling, fiercely grappling, seemingly ready to tear each other apart. One of the human figures was pressed against the bunk, and I realized that one person had been attacked. The opponents gouged out his eyes, twisted his arms, and tried to scratch pieces of flesh from his body with their nails. The man was unconscious, he was practically torn to pieces.

Stunned by such a sight, I shouted to them to stop, but to no avail. Not daring to enter the room, I was frozen in horror at what was happening. The killers were already stuffing pieces of torn flesh down their throats. I was able to make out the bare skull and protruding ribs of a man on a bunk, and at that time, in the other corner of the room, two people fought for his hand, each pulling it towards himself with a crunch, as if in a tug-of-war competition.

Security! - I shouted.

But no one came. I ran to the guard commander and excitedly told him what had happened. But it didn't make any impression on him.

This is nothing new to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. - This happens every day. We stopped paying attention to this a long time ago.

I felt completely empty and exhausted, as if after a serious illness. Loading my batch of workers into the back of the truck, I hurried away from this terrible place. After driving about a kilometer, I sharply increased my speed, realizing that the heavy feeling was gradually beginning to subside. If only I could erase memories from my memory as easily!

The selected prisoners turned out to be closer to us Europeans. One of them spoke German well, and I had the opportunity to communicate with him while working. He was a native of Kyiv, and, like many Russians, his name was Ivan. Later I had to meet him again under completely different circumstances. And then he satisfied my curiosity about the “Mongols” of Central Asia. It seems that these people used some kind of password word. As soon as it was uttered, they all rushed together to attack the one who was destined to replenish their meat ration. The poor fellow was immediately killed, and the other inhabitants of the barracks saved themselves from hunger, which could not be satisfied by the meager camp ration.

The locals' clothing was made from simple, undyed fabric, mostly homespun linen. In the village, their shoes were something like slippers made of straw or wood shavings. Such shoes were only suitable for dry weather, but not everyone could afford to buy rough leather boots that were worn in bad weather. Homespun socks were also worn on the feet, or they were simply wrapped from feet to knees with pieces of coarse fabric, which was secured with thick twine.

In such shoes, local residents, men and women, walked many kilometers through the fields to the market with a bag over their shoulders and a thick stick on their shoulders, on which two containers of milk were hung. This was a heavy burden even for the peasants, despite the fact that for them it was an integral part of their harsh life. However, men were in a more privileged position: if they had wives, then they did not have to endure heavy burdens so often. In most cases, Russian men preferred vodka to work, and going to the market became a purely female responsibility. They walked there under the weight of their simple goods intended for sale. The woman’s first duty was to sell the products of rural labor, and the second was to buy alcohol for the male part of the population. And woe was that woman who dared to return home from the market without the coveted vodka! I heard that under the Soviet system the procedure for marriage and divorce was greatly simplified and, probably, this was often used.

Most people worked on collective and state farms. The first were collective farms that united one or more villages. The second were state-owned enterprises. But in both cases, the earnings were barely enough to make ends meet. There was no concept of a “middle class”; only poor workers and their wealthy leaders lived here. I got the impression that the entire local population was not living, but was hopelessly floundering in an eternal swamp of the most miserable poverty. The most suitable definition for them was “slaves”. I never understood why they were fighting.

A few of the major roads were well maintained, but the rest were simply terrible. On the rutted, uneven surface there was up to half a meter of dust in dry weather and, accordingly, the same amount of sticky mud during the rainy season. The most common type of transport on such roads were short Russian horses. Like their owners, they demonstrated miracles of unpretentiousness and endurance. Without complaint, these horses covered distances of twenty to thirty kilometers in any weather, and at the end of the journey they were left in the open air, without any hint of a roof over their heads, despite the wind, rain or snow. This is who you could take survival lessons from!

Music brightened up a hard life. The national instrument, the famous three-string balalaika, was probably in every home. Some, as an exception, preferred the accordion. Compared to ours, Russian harmonicas have a lower tone. This is probably what causes the effect of sadness that is invariably heard in their sound. In general, every single Russian song I heard was extremely sad, which, in my opinion, is not at all surprising. But the audience, as it turned out, liked to sit motionless, surrendering to the aura of sounds, which personally caused unbearable sadness for me. At the same time, national dances required each dancer to be able to move quickly and perform complex jumps. So only a person with innate grace and plasticity could reproduce them.

Suddenly I had to interrupt these private studies of life in a foreign country: I was ordered to return to the front. I left the tank spare parts warehouse and found myself one of those moving through Zhitomir to Kyiv. In the evening on the third day of the journey, I rejoined my comrades. Among them I saw many new faces. Gradually, the pace of our advance became lower and lower, and our losses became higher. During my absence, it seemed that half of the unit’s personnel managed to go to the hospital or to the grave.

Soon I myself had to witness the intensity of the fighting. We were sent into battle the same evening I returned to my unit. In close combat in the forest, the crew of my tank acted with such skill that we managed to knock out six Russian T-34s. A real hell raged among the pines, but we did not receive a scratch. I was already silently thanking God for this miracle, when suddenly the right roller of our Pzkpfw IV was destroyed by a direct hit from an enemy shell, and we stopped.

We did not have time to ponder this misfortune for a long time: under the fire of enemy infantry, only lightning swiftness could save us. I gave the order for evacuation, and I, as the captain of the ship, was the last to leave my tank. Saying goodbye to an old tank comrade, I disabled the cannon by firing a double charge, as well as the tracks, which I blew up with Teller mines. It was all I could do to damage the car as much as possible.

By that time my crew was already safe and I had more than enough time to join my comrades. They were waiting for me in a relatively safe shelter, hidden in a ditch. I quickly crawled towards them, and everyone greeted me with joyful exclamations. We were all pleased with the result. The score was six - one in our favor; however, none of the crew members received a scratch.

My next duty was to write a report to the platoon commander. We have not forgotten the deep-rooted sense of discipline in each of us, although those brutal battles turned even platoon commanders into our best comrades. This is how it should be at the front, where the common threat of death hovering over everyone neutralizes ranks and positions. Therefore, I could write a report in a simple form, without much formality:

“Six enemy tanks were destroyed, my commander. Our tank lost speed and was blown up by us. The crew returned safely to their positions."

I handed the commander this sparse description of that battle. He stopped me, smiled broadly, shook my hand and let me go.

Good job, my young friend,” the commander praised me. - Now you can go and get some sleep. You deserve a rest, and even before the start of tomorrow it may turn out that it was not in vain.

He was right about the second part of the sentence. It was not yet dawn when the alarm sounded. Everyone ran to their tanks to be ready at any moment to go wherever they were ordered. Everyone, but not me and my crew: our tank remained in no-man’s land. But we could not allow our comrades to go into battle without us, and I persuaded the commander to allocate one of the reserve vehicles for us. He gave his consent.

Unfortunately, we did not have time to draw the number of our victories on the barrel of the cannon. This tradition of indicating the number of destroyed enemy vehicles with rings on the cannon meant a lot to the crew. Without this distinction, which was ours by right, we felt somewhat out of place. In addition, the new tank, even though it was the same model as the previous one, was unfamiliar to us due to its small details. And on top of everything else, we were all still experiencing the consequences of last night's battle.

But all these inconveniences, worries and worries were instantly forgotten as soon as shots were heard again. Our attack continued without a break for four and a half hours, and during this time I managed to set fire to two enemy tanks. Only later, when we began to turn around to go “home,” suddenly there was a heart-grabbing clap, followed by a blow. Thus, the morning's bad premonitions were justified. This time it wasn't just the loss of the skating rink. Our tank received a direct hit in the rear on the right. The car was engulfed in flames, and I lay inside, half-conscious.

What brought me out of this state was the terrible understanding that we were burning. I looked around to try to assess the damage and the chances of rescue, and discovered that a Russian shell had killed two of my subordinates. Bloodied, they huddled in the corner. And we, the survivors, quickly jumped out, and then dragged the bodies of our comrades through the hatch so that they would not burn.

Ignoring the heavy fire of the enemy infantry, we dragged our dead colleagues away from the burning tank so that if the battlefield remained behind us, we could bury them with dignity. The ammunition inside the burning tank could explode at any moment. We ducked for cover and waited for the ground to shake from a powerful explosion that would send pieces of hot metal into the air and notify us that our tank was no longer there.

But there was no explosion, and after waiting a little longer, we took advantage of the temporary lull in enemy fire and hurried back to our own. This time everyone walked with their heads hanging, the mood was bad. Two of the five crew members were dead, and the tank, for unknown reasons, did not explode. This meant that the ammunition and, possibly, the gun would fall undamaged into the hands of the enemy. Dejected, we walked the three or four kilometers back to the location, smoking one cigarette after another to calm our nerves. After the explosion of an enemy shell, we were all splashed with blood. I had shrapnel stuck in my face and hands, and my ID badge miraculously protected me from a deep shrapnel wound to my chest. I still have a small dent where that token, about the thickness of a large coin, entered my sternum. The fact that this small token helped keep me alive once again strengthened my confidence that I was destined to survive this war.

The platoon's location had already reported the remaining losses. Two tank crews were completely killed, and the platoon commander himself was seriously wounded. But he was still there, and I managed to bitterly report to him about our misadventures on that unfortunate day for us, until an ambulance arrived and he was taken to the hospital.

Later that day I was called to division headquarters, where I and two surviving comrades from my crew received Iron Crosses 1st class. And a few days later I was given the medal promised for the first successful battle for the destruction of enemy tanks. After another three weeks I received a badge for participation in close combat, which, when I found myself in the hands of Russian soldiers, caused me to receive further wounds. (Obviously, this was the “General Assault” badge (Allgemeines Sturmabzeichen), established on January 1, 1940, in particular, it was awarded to military personnel who destroyed at least eight units of enemy armored vehicles. - Ed.)

Victory honors after the battle! I was proud, but not particularly cheerful. Glory grows brighter as time goes by, and the biggest battles have long since taken place.

Order to go to the Eastern Front However, a surprise awaited me in Berlin. Instead of the expected transfer to Copenhagen, I received orders to go to the Eastern Front. First I had to report to the front-line personnel department in Krakow. The departure was so urgent that