8. November 1942
| GEO & MIL INFO | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| no later than 15: directly unfder 7th Army[1] | ||||
The officers of our two companies deployed on the coast give a party. The battalion’s officer corps gathers at the villa of one of the company commanders. The evening begins with a peacetime-style banquet consisting of eight courses. Afterwards, we sit down in the adjoining room, where we gradually move on to alcoholic drinks while having a lively conversation. And then we dance, because there are a few French girls among us. I sit next to a little French girl with a chubby doll’s face. Max Müller has named her “Praliné”. The name is apt, because she looks really sweet and appetising. On the other side of the girl sits the Major, but he drops out of the conversation because he doesn’t know French. At one point he expresses his surprise that I speak French. I look over at Max, who also speaks good French. He winks at me and with a throwing gesture towards the commander, he shakes his head with a smile.
We haven’t been dancing long when we are disturbed by bad news: The Americans have landed in Africa. We are more annoyed than shocked. There is no more advancement. First Stalingrad, now the threat of the Afrika Korps[2]! However, we will not let this spoil our beautiful evening. It’s 10 o’clock. One more hour we will stay together. The commander must have enjoyed the evening immensely, otherwise he would have broken it off long ago. But at 11 o’clock he has no more peace and gives the signal to depart. Shortly before we leave, a regimental order about security measures against acts of sabotage or attacks by the resistance fighters arrives. I am immediately assigned to pass the order on, get into the waiting car and speed back through the night to Lannion with the safety off my pistol. It is 8 Nov 42.
The French civilian population behaves neutrally, if not friendly, towards us Germans. But they never show it in public. Jeannine, the tailor’s daughter, doesn’t look at me at all in the street, but at home she kisses me. But that should not blind us to the fact that the French are inspired by a deep national pride and, at the bottom of their hearts, want us to go to hell.
Tuesdays are market days. I always go there, stroll from stall to stall, listen to the haggling and hawking of the traders and occasionally buy something. Once I had to accompany the commander to the market. He wanted to do some shopping and needed an interpreter.
I get into a conversation with a girl who is doing her shopping with a big bag. She is from Brest. I ask her quite non-committally about her profession, her job, her flat, and she gives me an equally non-committal answer.
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- ↑ KTB OKW 1942 p. 1390; possibly related to Case Anton
- ↑ The term colloquially stands for all German units of the German-Italian Panzer Army.