6. Dezember 1944
| GEO & MIL INFO | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Meseritz, Regenwurm Camp[1] |  
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| Grenadier Replacement Battalion 188, machine gun training company | ||||
M.G. (Ausb.) Kp.
Gren.Ers.Btl. 188
Regenwurmlager
über Meseritz
prove Machine Gun Training Company and probably the whole Grenadier Replacement Battalion 188 was located in the Regenwurm camp near Meseritz (image source and more about the camp: Heimatkreis Meseritz)
Landsberg is the replacement unit for the rifle companies of the 457th Infantry Regiment of the 257th Infantry Division. The machine gun company is based in Meseritz. That’s where I actually belong, but I ended up in Landsberg by chance and have felt very comfortable here from the very beginning. I have very unpleasant personal memories associated with Meseritz, which is why I can’t stand this place, even though it’s undoubtedly a quite nice little town. But now there’s no getting round it: I have to go to Meseritz. Carola has just been here again, and now we’re leaving at the same time, she to Cammin and I to Meseritz.
6 Dec[2]44 Report to Major Huth, commander of the Grenadier Replacement Battalion 188 in Meseritz. At the lunch table on the first day, I sit in the “place of honour” to the right of the commander, but he doesn’t speak a single word to me during the whole meal. I found it very thoughtful of him. He must have had a good upbringing! A captain I have seen before in Landsberg is a fierce opponent of the church. During the meal, the conversation turns to the garrison church service and the captain asks the commander: “Can’t we throw a spanner in the works and prevent the church service?” Major Huth shakes his head regretfully. As the man in charge, he is bound by regulations and doesn’t want to be inconvenienced. Just don’t make an unpleasant impression on your superiors! I don’t want to make myself unpopular on my first day and I keep quiet about it all. I know that’s cowardly and am annoyed about it. No, it’s a disgusting atmosphere here in Meseritz.
I’m on training duty, preferably with the mortars. One day, I’m returning to the barracks after field duty when I notice a note stuck to a door: Lieutenant Fischer. I wonder if this is the former lance corporal Fischer, the gunner in my machine gun platoon, who was so badly wounded at the Ssula crossing. I press the door handle, but the room is locked. I hear that Lieutenant Fischer won’t be back for a few days.
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